#thanks for the prompt Nonnie!

[aparticularbandit]

Agatha x R

25 R to Agatha

arguing like an old married couple - dialogue prompts 25) "Have you ever considered how it's making me feel?" ...also a former life within the nature of soulmates universe. having multiple previous lives for reader here is actually really useful.

Agatha runs her fingers through your hair, and you shiver, instinctively curling closer against her. Rain pelts the windowpanes outside of your cabin.  It’s gotten colder outside, but it’s not quite enough for snow just yet.  Somehow, you think you would like that better, would far prefer curling up next to Agatha as snow falls in large, looming flakes outside, a cup of hot cocoa cradled in in her other hand that you both could share.

But no.  It’s just rain and a fine layer of mist covering the sidewalk outside and the gratefulness that this is your day off and you don’t have to walk in that torrential downpour all the way to the café, make it inside completely soaked, and then hope against hope that you can dry your hair with one of the hand dryers in the employee bathroom.  (Unless Whitney was there, in which case you would find a way to swipe the hair dryer from out of her locker.  Whitney always had one just for days like today.  And a make-up bag.  And a lot of other things that you don’t want to think about.)

Of course, if you walked back in a torrential downpour, then something tells you Agatha would have immediately stripped you of your drenched clothes, shoved you into a steaming hot shower, and then stepped in with you, massaging your sore skin and pressing kisses along your neck.

That’s fine.  That’s fine.  Right now, you want nothing more than to be curled up against her as her fingers thread through your hair, massaging gentle into your scalp.

“Agatha?” you ask as one of her fingers traces the nape of your neck, just where your spine connects to your skull.

At your words, Agatha shits, angles herself to look down at you where you rest against her chest.  “Yes, my love?”

“Do you love me?”

Agatha stares at you, confused.  “You’re my soulmate,” she says, testing each word on her tongue before she speaks it aloud.  “Of course, I love you, dear.”

Your brow furrows, and you look away, refusing to meet her eyes.  “I mean…if I weren’t your soulmate.”  You hesitate before continuing, “Would you still love me?”

“I don’t see why that matters.”  Agatha closes the book she’s been reading around one finger and sets it on the bedside table.  “You are my soulmate, and I love you just as you are.  I suppose, if you weren’t, then we would never have met, but why think about that?  You are, and we did.  So—”

“So you wouldn’t have even talked to me.  If I wasn’t your soulmate.”

Agatha takes a deep breath in through her nose, lips pressing firmly together.  “Witches like myself don’t reveal ourselves to just anyone, hon—”

“So you don’t love me, you love what I am,” you continue, not really hearing what she’s saying.  “You love me because I’m your soulmate, but if I wasn’t your soulmate, then you wouldn’t love me because you would only ever love your soulmate.”  You start to sit up, pressing your hands into the mattress as you rise.  “It’s not about me, it’s the…it’s the title.”

Agatha doesn’t move, but her eyes follow your every movement.  “I didn’t say any of that, hon.  You did.”

You still don’t hear her, not really.  “You don’t love me, you love the idea of—”

“Babe.”  Agatha takes your face in her hands and turns you so that you face her, so that she can rest her forehead against hers as she breathes out that name that isn’t quite yours but still feels like the shoes you’ve worn in so well they have holes in the soles but you wouldn’t ever want to trade them for something new.  “I love you.  I have found you in a hundred lifetimes, and I will find you in a hundred more, and I will keep finding you because I love you.  Not anyone else.  Just you.”

You pause, squeeze your eyes shut.  “Have you considered how it’s making me feel?”

“Loved, I hope,” Agatha says, rubbing her thumbs hard against your cheeks.  “Out of everyone in the world, I want you—”

“But you didn’t choose me,” you say, eyes opening and peering up to meet her blue bright ones.  “Someone else did, something else did, whatever does this whole soulmate bullshit did, it’s not…it’s not you choosing me.  It’s you being forced into—”

“I didn’t have to find you, you know,” Agatha interrupts before you can finish.  Her left hand moves from your face, takes one of your hands in hers, and gives it a gentle squeeze.  “I could have continued on in my life without you.  Found myself another witch who I wouldn’t have to worry about dying and settle down with her.  She might not be my soulmate, but we would do well enough together.  We could do well enough together.  None of this dying business, none of this going out into the rest of the world and trying to find a mortal who doesn’t understand what it’s like to be us.  You would have dreamed me, and it would only have been a dream, and I would have dreamed you and decided, for once, no.”

You breathe deep, listening, listening.  Her words churn in your mind.  “So why…why don’t you?  If that’s…that’s an option, then why don’t you do that?”

Agatha kisses you – which is not an answer, thank you very much, but she’s so gentle that you can’t help but kiss her back.  Your free hand curves through her dark waves just as much on instinct as on desire, and as you open to her, she angles you, easy, down against the soft pillows.  “Because I don’t want anyone else,” she whispers, voice dark, breath hot against the shell of your ear.  “I want you.”  She brushes her nose against yours, peers deep into your eyes.  “In every lifetime, in every world, no matter how you come back to me, I.  want.  you.”

Your breath hitches at the weight, the intensity of what she is saying.  “You love me.” Her lips curve in a smug smiles.  “Yeah, hon,” she says.  “I love you.”

[flowercrowngods]

for prompt tag!

28. i'm just getting comfy (would love if this was established relationship/domestic fluff.. perhaps one of them is sick in this... idk)

but also take your time 🫡🫂

in which steve is sick but that won't stop soft boys hours

When Eddie hears the sound of fuzzy sock-clad feet dragging over the hardwood floor, accompanied by a sniffle or two, he drops the book he's reading onto his chest, exasperated by his restless boyfriend who refuses to stay in bed after Eddie tucked him in — again! Ready to give him A Look and tell him to get back to bed, because whatever it is he needs, Eddie can and will get it for him, Just go back to bed, Stevie. 

But whatever words were on the tip of his tongue even just a second ago have disappeared at seeing Steve – the same way that they always used to when they've only been dating for a few months. Instead of giving him anything remotely like A Look, Eddie grins, and instead of exasperated, all he feels is immeasurably fond. Endeared. Fucking enamoured. 

Because Steve, in all his pale, sniffly-nosed glory, is standing in the doorway to the living room, blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, painting everything golden and bringing colour back to him, too. But it's not the way the light catches on his skin that makes Eddie fall in love all over again in what Robin would describe the most pathetic way possible, no. 

The thing that makes Eddie want to propose on the spot, in sickness and in health, is the fact that Steve is wearing Eddie's woollen hat. The one Joyce knitted for him with thick, soft, dark brown wool a few Christmases ago, with two distinctive bat ears sticking up.

God, where did Steve even unbury that? 

And what business does he have looking so absolutely fucking adorable wearing it?  His glasses are askew, the hair sticking out from beneath the hat is tousled and greasy, and the bags under his eyes are stark against his sickly pale skin that makes his nose shine red. 

Eddie is about to die with how much he loves him. It’s like a scream lodged in his throat that he cannot let out, an urge that grows evermore to let the whole world know, to not rest until the last person knew about his endless, endless, endless love for this angel of a man. 

In sickness and in health. It is there, residing in the back of his head, and he almost says it out loud — but Stevie would kill him if Eddie proposed to him because of a stupid woollen hat with bat ears (Sorry, Robbie). 

“Baby,” he breathes instead, miraculously keeping a hold of his heart in this wave of affection that overcame him so suddenly. “You good? Everything okay?” 

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, though it’s more of a growl with how rough his voice is. He wipes at his face, almost nudging his glasses off his nose, and Eddie can’t keep in the chuckle that bubbles out of him. 

He’s about to get up off the couch and wrap the angel with bat ears in his arms, just because he can, but then Steve is already approaching him, the blanket thrown around his shoulders dragging on the floor just as much as his feet. There is something so young about Steve when he’s sick, something so vulnerable and raw that makes Eddie want to latch onto him and never let go. Protect him from the evil germs and the headaches they bring. It’s dumb. Stupid, really. 

Eddie doesn’t even try to fight it as he sits up and holds out his arms for Steve to fall into. He brushes kiss after kiss to his overheated skin as Steve cuddles into him, burying his face in Eddie’s neck and his hands underneath his shirt. 

They hum in unison, finding a sound for serenity.

“That’s my hat,” Eddie says after a while, breathing in his sick angel and feeling him melt in his arms. 

“Our hat,” Steve mumbles into his skin. "My turn to be Batman."

Eddie laughs, wrapping his arms tighter around him, giving in to the urge to hold, the urge to never let go. “You’re ridiculous, d’you know that?” 

“I did know that,” Steve says, and he somehow manages so sound proud of that. 

“Good, just making sure,” Eddie remarks, hiding his own grin in Steve’s cheek, nosing along his temple and the edge of the hat. After a moment of silence that they spend just holding onto each other, he murmurs, “You need anything?”

Steve shakes his head, winding his arms tighter around Eddie’s shoulders and leans into him; it takes him a moment to catch up with Steve, but eventually he lets himself fall backwards so they’re lying flat on the couch. 

“What are you doing, hm?” he asks, reaching for the blanket that has pooled around Steve’s legs and pulls it up again, wrapping it around his shoulders properly again. 

“I’m just getting comfy,” Steve rumbles, slowly and sluggishly wiggling and twisting on top of him until he stills with a satisfied hum that sounds a lot like a smile. 

“Good?” 

Another hum, affirmative this time, as Steve buries his cold fingers underneath Eddie’s body. “You’re warm.” 

“And you have a fever.” 

“Hmm. Still.” 

It makes him grin again, makes him want to burst and scream and cry and laugh endlessly. 

“Ridiculous,” he says again, no louder than a whisper, and Steve turns his head to press a kiss to the centre of Eddie’s chest. It’s as much of a No, you as Eddie’s going to get, and he cherishes it with everything he has. 

“I like that,” Steve says, half asleep by the sound of it.

Eddie reaches for Steve's glasses and places them on the coffee table, and tucks the hat back over his ears. When no elaboration follows, asks, “You like what, angel?” 

“That. Your voice. Feels nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Want me to read to you? I think you might like this book, actually.” 

Another hum, another kiss — to his heart this time. “I like everything about you.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Eddie laughs, reaching for the battered copy of Momo that’s been one of his favourites since Wayne brought it home on a rainy night in ’85 and Eddie stayed up all night devouring it. 

“At the edge of the city,” he starts reading the blurb, to give Steve an idea what this is about and let him decide if he wants to listen in or just feel the rumbling of Eddie’s voice in his chest, “in the ruins of an old amphitheatre, there lives a little homeless girl called Momo. Momo has a special talent which she uses to help all her friends who come to visit her. Then one day the sinister men in grey arrive and silently take over the city. Only Momo has the power to resist them, and with the help of Professor Hora and his strange tortoise, Cassiopeia, she travels beyond the boundaries of time to uncover their dark secrets.”

Steve doesn’t react, but Eddie can feel that he’s not quite asleep yet, so he opens the book and starts reading from the beginning that he almost knows by heart. Somewhere on page seven, Steve takes to playing with Eddie’s hair, carding slow fingers through the strands in the gentlest way that is almost enough to distract him. Switching the book from one hand to another as his arms get heavy from the position he’s holding the book, he always has one hand drawing idle patterns underneath the blanket, between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

It’s a slow afternoon as the sun sets on them, painting them in golden hues of orange and rose. Once he’s sure Steve is asleep and the living room too dark to keep reading, Eddie puts down the book and sneaks his arms under the blanket, wrapping them loosely around Steve’s shoulders to follow him into dreamland.  

hope this lives up to what you had in mind! 🫶

[valeriianz]

Hob and Dream sharing a bath?

Can be smut or fluff your choice

i made it smutty ;) CW: bubble baths and handjobs, human au

----------------

“You’ve been working yourself ragged. You need to relax,” Hob insisted, broad hands on Morpheus’ slim shoulders, directing him towards the bathroom.

“And you think a bath is the answer?” Morpheus grumbled but allowed himself to be gently coaxed into their bathroom, currently dark save for the few candles that flickered on the edge of the bathtub. 

Morpheus swallowed, taking in the scene before him. The candles gave their usually drab, off-white apartment bathroom a soft yellow glow. The room was warm and humid, sage and lavender permeating the air and immediately filling Morpheus with a sense of calm.

There were also bubbles in the water.

It was very… sweet. Hob was always too sweet with Morpheus.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Morpheus mumbled as he felt Hob’s lips on the back of his neck. “I’m capable of taking a bath without all these… accouterments.”

Hob chuckled into Dream’s hair, making him shudder pleasantly. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Hob gave the back of Morpheus’ head one more kiss before gently turning him around. “And I think you’ll like it. Nothing like a hot epsom salt bath to relieve tension and stress.”

Morpheus stared at Hob with wonder clear in his gaze at how he got so lucky, what he did to deserve such kindness.

“C’mon, off with these…” Hob smiled as he tugged at the ends of Morpheus’ oversized shirt. Morpheus raised his arms and allowed Hob to tug it off him.

He stepped back to remove his jeans and underwear himself, noticing, even in the limited light, how Hob blatantly watched.

Morpheus grinned as he stepped out of his remaining garments and tugged on Hob’s belt loops, causing the other man to lean forward and laugh in surprise.

“Would you join me?” Morpheus asked against Hob’s lips.

“I’m very tempted…” Hob breathed, nudging his nose to Morpheus’. “But this is for you. To relax.” He reminded Morpheus with a pointed look.

And, regrettably, a step backwards, but latched his hand into Morpheus’ and helped him into the water.

Morpheus dipped his foot in slowly, humming as he felt the bath slowly caress him. The water was still hot, but not uncomfortably so. Hob must’ve drawn it while Morpheus was on his way home. The idea of Hob timing his arrival to this surprise made something warm and wanting bloom in Morpheus’ chest.

As Morpheus settled back against the tub, sighing long and heavy, he allowed his eyes to slip shut. The water gently splashed around him as he got comfortable, a low groan unconsciously tumbling past his lips.

“Feel better already, huh?”

Morpheus turned his head and opened his eyes, finding Hob crouched by him, next to the tub. The flutter of the candle close by cast Hob in amber shadows that made Morpheus want to reach out and touch, curious if the curve of Hob’s cheek and jaw would be as warm as they appeared.

After a moment passed, Hob smiled again, hoisting himself up. “You just relax and enjoy yourself, okay?” He paused to plug in an old mp3 player to the speaker on the sink, where Tchaikovsky began to quietly echo off the walls. And Morpheus could only watch as Hob went to the door, turning one more time.

“I’ll check up on you in a bit, if you’re still here.”

An unnecessary afterthought, but appreciated nonetheless. Morpheus sighed again as the door closed and he looked down at himself… the thick cover of bubbles concealing his form under the steaming water. His toes peeked out from the surface near the drain and Morpheus, indeed, felt himself loosening up. 

He hummed along to the violin orchestra and brought his hands out of the water to touch the cool porcelain of the tub surrounding him, dancing his fingers on the edge.

And thinking about Hob again, lit up so handsomely and warm against the candle light. It reminded Morpheus of that time they went on a vacation in the mountains, renting out a cabin with a fireplace and a lush, fur rug before it. Where they had stripped each other naked and Morpheus rode Hob with the wood fire burning next to them, accenting Hob’s best features and making everything so, so warm.

Morpheus’ hand dropped back into the water, fingers gliding along his hardening dick, teasing himself, drawing a small gasp before wrapping his hand around himself completely with a low moan.

Hob did tell him to enjoy himself.

—--------

Hob knocked on the door before opening it and allowing himself in.

“Hey love, how’s it going?”

Hob’s ears perked at the sound of water softly splashing, and the unmistakable cut-off gasps that Hob had memorized by now… if not the sound alone, then how to get Morpheus to perform that musical note over and over again.

He walked to the tub, his blood rushing south at the image that greeted him.

Morpheus’ eyes were dark, and focused right on him. The bubbles had simmered down to almost nothing and Hob could clearly see how Morpheus was taking himself apart, a hand on his cock, the tip occasionally breaking the surface, and his other hand hidden somewhere between his legs, jerking back and forth.

Hob knelt by the side of the tub, crossing his arms over the edge.

“Someone’s having fun,” Hob grinned, unable to help himself. But Morpheus only groaned, his back arching beautifully and making Hob’s mouth go dry.

“Hob…” Morpheus’s voice was like melted chocolate, so sweet and dark, making Hob lick his lips.

“What are you thinking about, my Dream?” Hob murmured, leaning up on his knees and testing the water with his fingers, finding it still warm.

“Thinking about you–” Morpheus sighed, his eyes still locked on Hob’s. “Always you.”

“Me?” Hob played along, ignoring how his breathing had become shallow and his own cock twitched in interest. He dipped his hand below the surface, finding Morpheus’ fingers around himself and wrapping his hand around both of them.

Morpheus’ eyes slammed shut and he cried out, sliding his hand free to come out of the water and grip the front of Hob’s t-shirt.

Fuck, Morpheus was already so close. Hob felt stunned as he watched his boyfriend writhe in the water, bucking his hips up in time to Hob’s strokes and causing waves that lapped over the edge of the tub and splash onto the floor, soaking Hob’s sweatpants.

Hob picked up the pace, swiping his thumb over Morpheus’ cockhead and, unable to resist any longer, lunged forward to latch his mouth against Morpheus’ just as a high-pitched moan tore through him, now muffled in Hob’s mouth.

The grip on Hob’s shirt tightened, yanking him closer as Morpheus’ tongue shot down Hob’s throat, making his hips give an involuntary jerk against the tub and for a brief moment, entertained the idea of crawling into the water with Morpheus.

Before he could even pull away to swing a leg over though, Morpheus was coming, his jaw dropping and his own hips giving short, jerky motions as he rode out his orgasm in Hob’s hand.

Morpheus’ long, low moan of satisfaction echoed off the tiled walls and tickled Hob’s ears, his own arousal coiled tight and demanding attention.

For now though, Hob took his hand away and cupped it around Morpheus’ cheek, tilting his head and resuming their kiss, slow and languid with fire simmering just below the surface.

Morpheus kissed him back just as eagerly, but clearly worn out, boneless in Hob’s hold and slouching further into the water.

He hummed like a cat content, breaking apart with a lewd, wet sound and chuckling softly.

“You were right. I needed that.”

[mausinly]

BIG BURLY FLUSTERED MEN with a/o who takes one of their hands and kisses their knuckles - knuckles that have been covered in blood - and big burly man (I’m imagining König) just self destructs. Blue screens. Combusts.

Unwinding after operations is always a hassle. There's this limbo between finishing the mission and arriving back at base where adrenaline is still high, but you can't stay in one place long enough to come down from it.

Everyone is still milling about the building your unit is using as a temporary base. Counting your dead, if any, and treating the wounded before heading to the drop ships to fly back to KorTac's base.

You and König are holed off in a corner of the courtyard, you being seated on a bench with your back pressed against the wall while he sits on the ground between your legs. He rests his head back on your thigh, and you can feel the way he fidgets. Itching for something when there is nothing left to do but wait. His mask is still on, along with the rest of his gear. One of his hands idly tap your ankle, trying to find some way to release this anxious energy he has until you both can get back to base, where he knows it's safe.

You look down at him and remove your gloves, placing them aside before sneaking one of your hands under his hood and the balaclava beneath. Your fingers drag against the column of his neck, and your nails gently scratch his nape, making him groan and tilt his head back further to look up at you.

König let's out a grunt and fixes you a curious look. You hold out your free hand toward him. "Give me your hand." You murmur, and he does so compliantly.

He melts a little at the pleased little smile you give him, eyes darting down to where your hand holds his. His are so much bigger than yours, thicker too with the bulky material of his gloves. The fabric is stained red, speckles of blood still wet and crimson. He frowns a little at the idea of your hands becoming stained as well.

König thinks to rip his hand from yours, but falters when you begin to tug the leather off his fingers and down his wrist until his skin is released from the suffocating material. His hands are rough, pale and scarred and calloused. Your hands aren't perfect, but they are much more delicate and pretty than his in comparison.

You seem to disagree, though, with the way your hands trace the shape of his. You spread his fingers a little, dragging your nails along each callous and faded scar. It's almost devout in the way you study each line of his palm, the pads of your fingers so gentle against his skin.

You lift his hand up to your lips, tenderly pressing a kiss to each knuckle. You start at the base before moving down each finger, almost as if you don't want any of them to be left out. He would have laughed at the thought if his body wasn't frozen like a deer in headlights.

Your eyes fall down to his and your smile widens at the absolutely mystified look in his eyes, stormy blues flickering between yours and your lips against his hand as his pupils dilate.

His mouth opens and closes underneath his mask, but any attempts to speak die in his throat. How could you put so many thoughts in his head that he is unable to fabricate them into words? Do you have any clue what you do to him?

You let out a small chuckle and go back to kissing his hand, trailing your lips down across his palm and the back of his hand. You pull down the edge of his sleeve just to press your lips to his wrist. König groans as your affection doesn't let up, long and pained as his head lulls against your thigh and he drapes an arm over his eyes.

"Du wirst mein Tod sein, Engel..." He murmurs, thankful that his mask hides the stupid grin on his face.

[ladytauria]

The prompt list. Listen. I think Jason deserves a kiss to the thigh. Whoever you want to give it to him

nonny you are SO right

i went with jaytim bc i'm predictable like that~

Tim challenges anyone to find a more comfortable pillow than one of Jason's thighs. (Well---alright. They actually come in at a close second to his chest, while his stomach sits at a narrow third. But---still.) There's nothing like reclining on the couch, his head pillowed on Jason's lap while the TV plays in the background.

Tonight, Tim's foregone his laptop. For once in his life, he's had enough of numbers. He just wants to relax with his boyfriend.

Jason's hand drops into his hair, stroking idly through the strands. Tim's eyelids droop. He raises his hand, wrapping it around Jason's knee; thumb pressed to the back of it. Jason's leg shifts to accommodate him.

He smiles, humming softly. He turns his face, pressing a kiss to Jason's thigh. Jason's fingers pause in his hair for a moment, and then continue; the gentle scratch of nails against his scalp making Tim wish he could purr, pushing into his hands.

Jason laughs; a soft huff of air that turns Tim's insides soft and fuzzy. "Overgrown kitten," he murmurs.

Tim's mouth twitches. "Meow~"

Jason snorts, flicking his ear. "Hush, I'm watching a movie."

Tim nips him through his sweats, earning a light tug to his hair. He heaves a put-on sigh, drawing his blanket higher up his shoulder.

Then he settles, letting the low murmur of the television and Jason's fingers in his hair lull him to sleep.

[ sultry prompts list ]

[dewedup]

I feel like no one sees my vision, so please do not feel bad if you don't either:

In my mind Phantom is actually not at all innocent and the others just assume he is because he's kinda quiet because he doesn't know them that well yet. But then one day he ends up in bed with Rain and Rain is thinking he's going to be naive and innocent, but once he tries to tease him Phantom is like; actually,

²¹⁾ “if you want to come, you’ll have to beg.”

And rain is like 👀 damn, guess I'm begging tonight...

I just think Rain and Dew would think "yeah we can fuck the newbie silly, have him wrapped around or fingers" but phantom would just fucking destroy them (beautifully and consensually).

I'm talking too much and not making much sense. I just really vibed with that sentence in the prompts...

I hope your day is going well and that if this prompt doesn't appeal to you you'll get some that do!! 💜

omg nonny how could i NOT write this??

i SEE the vision, i FEEL this vision, i hope this IS the vision!!!

²¹⁾ “if you want to come, you’ll have to beg.”

phantrain, top!phantom, bottom!rain, basically rain gets his world rocked

Rain and Phantom have been making out lazily in the water ghoul’s bed for hours. All hot puffs of air, lips tracing skin and soft breathy moans. 

Phantom’s a little bit of an enigma, floating from one ghoul to the next and leaving them all tight-lipped and refusing to share any details of their escapades. Even Dew, who he’d joked with about fucking Phantom silly and getting him cockdrunk on them, didn’t utter as much as a word about how he’d had the quint ghoul wrapped around his finger the other night. And Dew isn’t usually one to shy away from a good kiss and tell. 

If anything, it’s made Rain want this even more. To have the small ghoul pliable under his fingers, taking what he gives him and keening under his praise. It must really be an out of body experience if it’s left loud-mouthed Dew speechless. 

Rain let out a gasp as fingers brushed his hole, already stretched to take a few from earlier exploration. Phantom’s opening had received the same treatment, taking turns pushing each other open wide. Rain’s versatile, never opposed to a good dicking down, but mostly prefers being a top. Has imagined bending Phantom in on himself as Rain slams ruthlessly into him, needs it like he needs oxygen to breathe. 

Rain grasps his cock, moving slightly to hover in a position where he can drag it lazily around Phantom’s slick hole, moving in light circles and only applying the faintest hint of pressure. 

Faster than he can blink he’s being flipped over, pushed into the bed hard with Phantom wasting no time shoving his cock as far as he can into Rain, burying himself deeply. The sound that leaves Rain’s lips is partly surprised, coming out in a higher pitch than he’s ever heard himself make. His whole world view has shifted in the span of milliseconds and now he’s being filled up, pushed to his limits while Phantom’s dick brushes against the softest part of him. 

“If you want to come,” Phantom growls, licking a fat stripe up Rain’s neck, nipping slightly at the tender skin. “You’ll have to beg.”

Rain’s cock jumps at the command, pre splashing onto his stomach as he looks up in genuine surprise at the tiny ghoul above him. He doesn’t look so tiny now, crowding Rain with his hands slightly above his shoulders, face inches from his own, and his cock carving its own home inside Rain’s asshole. 

“S-shit,” Rain breathes, clenching down on the thing filling him up completely. This is… unexpected. Rain has built this fantasy up over the last few weeks, painstakingly creating layers of exactly how this would play out, never once considering this turn of events. It’s almost too much all at once, the sensation, the mental and physical somersault he’s just been victim to. 

But Rain’s versatile, can roll with the proverbial punches. So, he mentally shrugs while physically bearing down on the cock splitting him open. 

Looks like I’m begging tonight. 

-

It’s early the next morning when Rain enters the kitchen, slowly easing his way onto the chair, lower body on fire from the way Phantom absolutely ruined him last night. 

Dew’s up, sipping at his scalding hot coffee and eyeing Rain’s movements with a calculating look. He grabs Rain a mug of his own, making it the way the water ghoul prefers before taking a seat and sliding it across the table to him. Rain blushes as he offers his thanks, taking a sip of the beverage. 

“So… Phantom?” Dew ventures, a knowing smirk dancing across his face. If possible, Rain blushes even harder, eyes widening as he tries to look anywhere but at the fire ghoul taunting him from the other side of the table. The fucker knew this was how it’d go down and didn’t even give a ghoul a curtesy warning. 

Phantom enters the kitchen quietly, making his way to the refrigerator, letting a hand float out to drag across Rain’s shoulders as he props open then fridge door. Rain’s skin burns where the touch lingers like a ghost, truly wishing the ground would open up and swallow him back to the pit in this particular moment. 

As if it couldn’t get any worse, he sees Swiss making his way down the hallway, face splitting into a grin as he surveys the water ghoul.

“Phantom took you for a ride, yeah?” 

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Vague prompt: Rebecca vehemently disagrees with the dad advise that Ted gives Jamie

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ted, why would you tell him something so stupid – not to mention potentially dangerous! What’s next, are you going to tell me I need to forgive Rupert for the years of lying and cheating and bloody gaslightning, too?”

Ted blinked at her, looking a little stunned, and Rebecca loved him, she did, and respected his opinion hell of a lot more than she did most other people’s, but sometimes he just didn’t get it.   

“Well, no, but to be honest, I kinda thought you might have had already, what with you no longer feeling the need to destroy him and those other things you said.”

“That’s not forgiveness, Ted,” Rebecca said flatly as she reached for the drink she suddenly felt a very strong need for, “that’s just not letting him matter enough to make me do things I otherwise wouldn’t, and that’s not even remotely the same thing.”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sweet Amber, I wana request "hushed sex while staying in the guest room of another’s home" for AOU Steve and reader when they were at Clint's farm, because he wants a life and family with his girl.

And thankyou for seeing my previous ask, I'm the same AOU anon BTW.. I can't tell how much I love this man.

I hope this is some of the feels you were looking for. I'm super tired tonight and having a hard time wording what I want to say. But thank you so much Babes for sending me this request. All the love right back and imagine Steve just loving you so damn much.

Send me an Ask from this list of Prompts

This is an 18+ Only Blog.

Everything felt so much MORE.

The squeak of the bed, Steve's soft huffs against your neck where he buried his face for a moment, the feeling bombarding both of you overwhelming in this second. Your thighs squeezed around his waist, encouraging him to continue while your fingers grazed up and down his muscled back, making an invisible painting speaking of your love along his spine and over his shoulder blades.

The tension of the past few days, all of your worlds being disrupted by Tony and Bruce's error was bleeding out of you both for now. You both tried to be quiet in your needs for each other, hushed tones whispered to each other about how good it felt passed between press of lips. The house was full, brimming with people and this might not be the right place or time, but there were no real rules between you two anymore.

Right now it was about feeling, anything, something. As long as it gave you both hope to keep going. The world threw so much as all of you, you had to take it where you could get it to prepare for the next disaster. "Oh god, Steve." You muttered, arching under him when his hips pushed back in, his cock thick against your slick walls, squeezing him just right that his movements stuttered in several quick thrusts before he pulled back again.

You were ready for him to push back into you, wanted it, your body arched in an invitation for him to fill you in the way you only ever wanted him to. "I know Doll, it's just so good." He lifted away to catch your lips, drawing out the moan built up in your throat to keep quiet, gasping against you at how you made him feel.

"You gonna fill me with your babies Steve?" You moved away from his mouth, moving along his jawline as his mouth went slick, his eyes screwed close in concentration to keep from cumming yet.

"Dance with me late at night after our kids are in bed?" You continued, painting the dream you knew he has had since you two fell for each other. "In our home full of love and life?"

You could feel him, he was so close and you didn't even care that you weren't. Today this was about Steve, being able to take care of him in a way he never had with anyone, to give him tenderness and passion among the anger and heartbreak surrounding them right now.

Steve pushed up enough to roll the two of you in the small bed, making it creak ominously beneath the two of you while you straddled him, pushing your hands against his strong chest to ride him slowly, let him savor watching you, your golden-haired super soldier seemed to finally let go of all the bullshit, being here with just you.

His hands glided onto your hips, fingers possessively pressing into the soft curves of you while helping you move, unhurried, you just let yourself sink onto him over and over, your sighs and moans all soft just for him. "You know I love you right?" He asked out of nowhere, his hips arching under you to press himself back into the deepest part of you. "I don't think I would have been able to do this without you Y/N."

You let yourself fall forward, your chest pressing against his and your hands cupping his face, tracing the angles of his features that you were so intimate with, your eyes softening with love in return. "It's always going to be you and me, Steve, no matter what happens."

Your forehead leaned against his, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close while you felt him cum, his spend warm as it spread through you and you melted in against him, sated and content to just enjoy the moment right now, not what had already happened, or what was possibly going to come. "I love you too Steve, we were always meant to be here I think." You let your head lift to look at him. "Even here and now, in Clint's house, trying our damndest to be quiet." You broke into a grin and his matched, finally some of the shine returning in his eyes.

"I don't know how quiet we were Doll, but we certainly tried."

[smoosey]

Unseasonable, for your prompts. <3

"It wasn't supposed to rain today," Obi-Wan comments, but in truth it's lovely, lovely, the midsummer rain light and cool and misty where they walk under the wide sweep of the stars, belly full, warm and tipsy and flushed and alive.

"We've had worse surprises," Cody says from beside him, and Obi-Wan laughs, because the Force is singing all around him, and Cody is beautiful in the rain, and there's something buoyant in his chest that makes him feel young again and quite in love with every star and raindrop, the wide galaxy and every soul that shines in the Light of the Force.

Cody's watching him laugh, eyes warm and dark, and then he's taking his hand, leading him into an alcove where Obi-Wan lets himself be sheltered by his heat. Obi-Wan raises his robe over them, and kisses him in a hallowed space, alone with Cody's smiling lips and reverent hands and his good, good heart.

(AKA: I saw this gif and lost by entire mind...)

[xinhua-jun]

https://www.tumblr.com/darlingjunebug/728466035752271872?source=share

it's skull, skull is the third party who gets involved bc he's the only who has the emotional intelligence to notice the problem and the lack of self preservation to put himself in the line of fire

There are some pros and cons to being a civilian suddenly thrust into not only the cursed mafia world, but also the cursed mafia world.

Pros: he gets paid to do what he loves—to play out his stunts in a setting where he doesn’t have to hold back so as to not to raise civilian suspicions about his condition, while also getting all of the acclaim when his subordinates genuinely shower him with it.

(Was it a mindfuck when some clown just showed up in his living room trying to reclute him? Yes. Is it dangerous? Yes. But if there’s anything the great Skull-sama loves, it’s a good challenge!)

Cons: once in a while he has to spend time in the vicinity of some less-than-desirable individuals, who consider him—him!—to be the less-than-desirable individual. The nerve!

(He’s not factoring Kawahira’s little misadventure, specifically, into this; getting turned into a toddler isn’t any weirder than being able to regenerate his body and coming back to life in his books.

Now that they’re out of the woods and he can laugh about it, he can begrudgingly admit—in the safety of his mind—that Checker Face did it for a noble cause, despite going about it in a not-so-hot fashion. If Skull were a millennia old being, he would play Russian roulette with some douchebags and give them body dysmorphia just for shits and giggles.

Skull will, however, complain about the acquaintances it left him with, as much as he wants, for as long as they’re assholes—which is shaping up to be for a very, very long time.)

The delightful but ultimately exasperating shit show that are one Sawada Tsunayoshi and Reborn-senpai does not fall into either of those categories, but in a secret, third, second-option-adjacent thing: idiots in love who, despite being more in sync with each other’s emotions than anyone could ever wish to be with their partner’s, couldn’t be more out of touch with their feelings if they tried. (And Skull has seen some paradoxes in his time, okay?)

All of this is relevant because, ultimately, despairingly, he’s gonna have to intervene. Jesus fucking Christ.

None of Tsuna’s little Elements, let alone any of Skull’s former colleagues—or anyone else who could, for that matter—is gonna do jack shit about it. They’re all either too emotionally constipated themselves, too scared of Reborn to dare going against him, or too willing to let them ‘go at their own pace’ (as if that will ever lead anywhere!).

So. It all falls into his hands to do something about it.

Does Skull win anything by meddling? Not in the slightest. On the contrary—

“I do not get paid enough for this shit,” Skull groans. “I do not get paid at all for this shit.”

If anything, he’s risking death by Reborn-senpai!

But he owes it to Tsuna, because despite being obviously influenced by Reborn in more ways than anyone would like, he has never, not even once, been unkind to Skull. Even before the whole Representative Battles happened—and that’s a whole other debt he needs to repay.

Unlike anybody else who has ever interacted with both Skull and Reborn, Tsuna has never once lacked basic human decency. (Skull wishes he had lacked basic human decency; he wouldn’t feel so morally obligated to protect the kid’s heart then.)

Enma pats his back in comfort when Skull hides his face in the other’s shoulder. Earnestly, he says, “I think you’re doing something truly honorable, senpai,” because he’s seen those two and knows what Skull has to deal with; more so than Skull, actually, because while Skull can just fuck-off whenever they get unbearable, Enma lives here and still has to interact with them on a daily basis.

What the fuck.

Skull raises his head long enough to look at him. “How do you deal with it, Enma-kun?”

Like the true child soldier he is—and he’s not gonna open that can of worms at the moment; Jesus, why did he even have to think about it?! One emotional crisis at a time, please!—Enma stares off into space before solemnly saying, “I grew up with Adel and Julie,” like that answers anything.

It kinda does, funnily enough.

“Ne, ne, Enma-kun,” Skull wheedles, getting an idea.

But Enma shakes his head, smiling apologetically before he can even say anything else. “I can’t help you with this,” he says, soothing the sting of his betrayal by running gentle fingers through Skull’s nape. “I grew up with Adel and Julie,” he reiterates meaningfully.

It takes Skull a moment.

“That bitch,” he says with an offended gasp. “She told you not to get involved, didn’t she?!”

Enma tugs gently at a lock in reproach. “Be nice to my sister.”

Skull pouts. Enma’s eyes soften. The fond amusement in his expression makes Skull’s stomach flutter.

(Maybe he has indigestion or something? He’ll have to pick up some Otha’s Isan on his way back.)

“If it makes you feel better, I will cheer you on every step of the way, okay? So hang in there, senpai.”

That does make him feel better.

If nothing else, Skull will at least have a cute little kouhai to come back to and be comforted by when this inevitably blows up on his face.

“Well,” Skull says, revisiting his earlier thoughts. He leans into Enma’s touch, feeling rejuvenated. “If there’s anything the great Skull-sama loves, it’s a good challenge!”

[aparticularbandit]

12 "Stop evading my questions!" Agatha x r

arguing like an old married couple - dialogue prompts consider this a...previous life within the nature of soulmates universe.

Your fingers flinch within your sleeves, bits of golden magic flicking at their tips before dissipating.  Just little sparks.  The sleeves of your golden tunic are over large, dangling far beyond your fingertips, so you’re certain – absolutely certain – that she can’t see the sparks.

And still, Agatha tenses at the slightest use of your magic.  She never calls it that – will never call it that – because what you do, what you have learned, comes from practices of which she cannot and never will approve.  It’s not like her magic, and so it must not be any sort of magic at all.  When she has to call it anything, she calls it sorcery.

Witchcraft, sorcery – it doesn’t matter to you.  Magic is magic.  The use of it fills something in you, some void, some desperate ache that you’ve never been able to pin down otherwise.  Sometimes…sometimes something about it feels off, like maybe this isn’t supposed to be how magic flows through you, like it shouldn’t be so disconnected, weaving through other realms before fluttering out from you in a disjointed sort of manner, but it’s….

It’s something.

It’s better than nothing.

“I told you not to do that, dear,” Agatha murmurs, not turning to face you, her head lowered, hair half-braided and swept up and away over one shoulder, exposing her neck, the long slope of her spine as it trails from her scalp beneath her violet dress, and yet the dress doesn’t hide it, if anything, it enhances the stately shape of her, that slender curve through her shoulder blades to where it reaches—

You slip behind her, let your fingers trace around the thin dark ribbon tucked around her waist, accenting it before the skirt of her dress flares outward, and draw her form against your own.  “Not to do what?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck before resting your chin on her shoulder.  “Not to kiss you?”

She should hum with pleasure at your touch, the way that she always has and she always does; she should curve just enough to look at you, to brush her nose against yours; she should turn in your grasp, wrapping her arms around your much less accented waist the same way yours are wrapped around hers, exposing the upper curves of her breasts to you, as her supposedly modest dress does nothing to cover them; and after all of this, she should lean up on her tiptoes to capture your lips with her own, to curve one hand along your head, fingers pressing softly against your scalp as her lips part against yours so that she can taste you – so that you can taste her.  Her fingers will, as always, find less and little purchase against your robes, and she will curl her fingers beneath the first layer of them, pressed against your chest until you take her wrists in yours and lead her elsewhere, somewhere you can disrobe without fear, somewhere you can tug at the bow on her dress until it comes undone, the same as you, too, will come undone with her gentle – but insistent – attentions, her body finding the pulse and rhythm of your own as intuitively as it always does, her breaths quick and haggard as your lips caress the softest spots of her, tugging her skin between your teeth, tasting the slick wonder of her on your tongue.

That is how this should go.  That is how this has gone countless times before – not because they cannot be counted, but because you have refused to count them – and that is how it should go countless times after.

But it isn’t how this goes.

Agatha’s head lowers further, and her fingers find yours where they meet just below her bellybutton.  “Your sorcery,” she says, voice soft and quivering.  “It scares me.”

“You have nothing to fear,” you say.  “Time and again, you have shown me that no one can do you harm.  You even let Roland Goodfellow thrust his magic attuned sword straight through your chest—”

“Don’t call that magic—”

“—and stood there unharmed as he pulled it from where your heart should be, without a single scratch on your skin.”  You chuckle lightly.  “He ruined your blouse, but that wasn’t too horrible a loss.  I never did like that thing.”

Agatha murmurs your name like a warning, and she turns in your arms the way to which you are accustomed, but she keeps your hands in hers and steps away from you instead of toward you.  She squeezes your hands before glancing up to meet your eyes with her own blue bright ones.  “I told you I cannot be killed by one such as him.”

“My mastery of magic – of sorcery,” you correct yourself as the corners of her lips pull thin, “is far less than his.  If you have nothing to fear from him, then you have nothing to fear from me.  Isn’t that right?”

The corners of her lips pull thinner.  “Please don’t use your sorcery around me,” she repeats, much more insistently, continuing to hold your gaze with hers.  “It scares me.”

“Why?”  You cup her face with one hand, thumb skimming along the smooth skin of her cheek, smile still playing about your lips.  “Why be so scared when you know I can’t hurt you?”

Agatha curves just enough to press a gentle kiss along the lifeline of your palm.  “Humor me, dear.  Please.”

Something in her tone sits wrong within you, and the smile you’d kept, the good humor you’d had, slowly fade away.  Your brows furrow.  You frown.  “Are you…are you keeping something from me?”

“What would I need to keep from you?”

“Stop evading my questions!”  The words slip a little too harsh through your gritted teeth.  You feel like you’re snapping at her.  You never mean to snap at her.  “I know you think my sorcery is lesser than your witchcraft, but that doesn’t mean you need to lie to me about—”

“I wasn’t lying.”  Agatha takes your hand in hers, interlaces your fingers together, hesitates, and then places your hand on the center of her chest.  “Do something for me, dearest.”  She glances up, sees the raise of your brow, and then says, soft, “Kiss me.”

You shake your head.  “I’m upset,” you say, fully aware of your frustrations and how those would play out.  “I don’t want to—”

“—hurt me?” Agatha completes for you.  She smiles, but there’s no mirth to it; if anything, there’s a sadness in it.  “Do you really believe you can hurt me when your Goodfellow’s magic has failed to do so?”

You consider, feel the resounding no hum through your bones, and push your hand through her hair, tighten your hold, and yank her up, wincing, until your lips meet hers.  She whimpers against you, but you do as she requested, letting your frustration flow through you as another form of magic, causing you to treat her more roughly than you otherwise would have.  Still, she seems to not hate you for it, letting out a little sound of pleasure as you tug her lower lip harshly between your teeth.

Then you feel it – the split – and you taste it – the slightest bitterness of copper.

Your eyes widen, and you release her all at once.  Before she can say anything, you take her lower lip between your thumb and forefinger, searching until you see the bright red welling up.  You run your thumb along the red and pull it back bloody.  “That’s impossible.”

Agatha steps back, crosses her arms around her, and says, voice soft, “Only you can kill me.  That’s what being my soulmate means.”  She glances up.  “So please do not use your sorcery around me.  It scares me.”

[lambsouvlaki]

Omg please cuddling for comfort in a very platonic manner

They were sprawled on her couch together. They dog slept on the rug, empty cups of tea and a half eaten bar of chocolate sat on the coffee table. The Lord of the Rings played on her old box tv.

Boromir was on his knees before the Uruk-hai archer.

Andy made a choked noise in her throat.

Jason looked down at her. His lip quirked. She was half draped over him, and gripping a fistful of his hoodie.

She was in the midst what she called the Week of Many Emotions: her period.

They had started the movie on their own sides of the couch. But when she spent the entire journey to Rivendell grimacing through cramps whole waiting for her painkillers to kick in, he pulled her into a side hug to try and comfort her. She melted into his side.

“You’re so warm,” she said, sagging with relief. He couldn’t just let her go after that.

It wasn’t cuddling of course. He was just looking after a friend.

The tension in her body eased away while the Fellowship attempted the snowy mountain pass, and he lay more reclined on the couch. She didn’t pull away so he brought her with him, letting her drapes herself over his side. Maybe the cramps would come back.

His arm slid down from her shoulder to rest in the soft dip of her waist.

Her head leaned against his chest, hair sprawling over him. His other hand came up to play with the curls.

Aragorn slew the Uruk-hai, but too late.

Andy sniffed.

“Sweetheart?” He asked, trying not to be amused.

“I don’t know why i’m crying, I’ve seen it so many times before!”

On the screen, Boromir clasped Aragon’s hand over his chest. “I would have followed you, my brother. My captain, my king.”

She buried her face in his chest. He crooned softly, cradling her head to him. She fit in so snuggly there.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” she said miserably.

He laughed. She whacked his chest, then burrowed in closer.

[bekkachaos]

For the writing prompt - #5 for Malex please ☺️☺️

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Deep Sky didn't get many new recruits, but when they did, they were obviously brilliant in one way or another.

The newest team member, a twenty-something classical physicist named Ash, had been labelled somewhat of a prodigy and after a rocky initiation, fit right in.

Not only was he somewhat of a human calculator but he had a quick witted nature about him that everyone seemed to love.

He and Alex got along very well. They bounced ideas off one another and were usually on a very similar wavelength when it came to their thoughts, so when the two of them came together on a project they usually got a lot further than others had in half the time.

Alex sat on the couch at home, the dregs of a glass of wine sat on the coffee table as Michael walked over with a glass of whiskey and the last of the bottle to top up Alex's glass. He had been regaling a story from earlier in the day about some piece of technology they had been tinkering on together, his mouth drawn up in a smile as he explained the way he watched Ash work and how Eduardo had started to joke that they were sounding like an old married couple.

"Honestly, I was never that smart at his age," Alex said as Michael put down the empty bottle and slotted in beside him so that he could put his arm around his shoulders. "I think it should probably be illegal. He just gets this crazed look on his face when he's onto something, although today that led to him nearly electrocuting himself."

He chuckled as he looked back at Michael who just nodded, smiling with just his lips and eyebrows before he took a drink from his own glass.

"Sounds like fun," he said dryly, making Alex narrow his eyes at him curiously.

"Okay, what's with the mood?" he said, making Michael shrug in that infuriating way he did when he was about to make Alex guess what was going on in his brain.

"No mood," he said.

"There's a mood, or, you know, thoughts happening in there," he smirked, making Michael roll his eyes.

"No thoughts," he shrugged again, and Alex chuckled and rolled his eyes. "I mean I've just been sitting here listening to you talk about spending all day with some guy, but no, no real thoughts."

"I've been talking about the project, Guerin," Alex shook his head. "Ash is helping me with that so he's probably going to come up. What have you got against him? You didn't mind him when you came in to drop me some food last week."

"Never said I had anything against him," he said, smirking back at Alex and nudging his shoulder with his chest. "Have you? Had anything against him?"

He was teasing, in tone, but Alex knew Michael well, enough to know the way he was tensing his body up, deflecting with jokes and an arrogant curl of his mouth. It was the same posturing he did when he became defensive, protective, and one other thing.

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Michael squirmed a little, scoffing with a roll of his eyes.

"Of that scrawny kid?" he said, snorting derisively and making Alex bite his lip to stop from laughing.

"You're the same build as he is."

"You noticed that huh?"

"Michael," he said with an exasperated sigh, putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "If you find him attractive well that's on you, don't bring me into it."

"So you don't then?" Michael asked, that antagonistic smirk still glued to his mouth.

"Honestly? I haven't noticed," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I don't notice those things anymore. If you asked then yeah, objectively I could say he's an attractive guy. But I'm not attracted to him."

Michael let out a sigh through his nose, his lips faltering a moment as he gave away the facade, putting his glass down on the table and letting his hand rest on Alex's knee.

"So you don't need to be jealous, of him, or anyone else," he said, reaching out to press his palm to Michael's chest, sliding it up and over the crook between his shoulder and neck.

And then the smirk was back, a shrug of his shoulders as he slid his hand further up Alex's thigh, over his hip and slipping his fingers under the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't worry, I'm not," he said, leaning in until he could place a soft kiss under Alex's jaw, his head tilting up willingly to give him the space to crowd him closer. "I mean, can that guy do this?"

He mumbled the words into his skin, chasing them down with his tongue, then his lips, his hand rising higher under Alex's shirt until he was slowly pulling back so that Alex could raise his arms and be stripped out of it.

Michael's arrogant smirk was replaced by parted lips and hungry eyes, making Alex roll his eyes as he let Michael shift him so that he had one leg on the couch and the other on the floor, a perfect fit between them for Michael to settle.

"Nah, he just gets the science and that little wrinkle you get when you think too hard," he grinned, making Alex chuckle and drop his head back a moment.

"You're an idiot," Alex said as Michael leant in over him.

"You're in love with an idiot," he smiled, leaving a soft kiss against Alex's lips. "What does that say about you?"

send me a pairing and a prompt from this list 💕

[krirebr]

Your moodboard game is fun!

Lloyd Hansen, purple, lyrics of your choice

I'm so glad you think it's fun, Nonnie! I always worry I'm annoying people when I do something like this. 😂

Ok, I've been in a real Florence + the Machine mood, so Rabbit Heart is what immediately popped into my head with this prompt. Specifically, Midas is king and he holds me so tight/ turns me to gold in the sunlight. And then as I was searching for images to use, I kind of tripped into a forced marriage theme. 😂 So here we are! I really like how it turned out. I hope you do too!

[randomingoftherandomness]

I wish i had the power write it myself but, the paralel of them before the minister(li bing’s dad) death, all childhood sweethearts and after it all went down, tied with a ribbon of a sentence. I imagined something like “we could’ve worked together” between them as kid imagining themselves in the future, and them in the future talking abt their current relationship (qiu qingzhi(if im not wrong writing his name) keeps taking li bing’s cases for ‘protection’)

A/N: I’m taking that ribbon bit seriously 😚ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

—

“What’s this then?”

Li Bing merely smiles in reply, licking his lips as he one handedly tries to tie the end of a red string around his pinky finger. “Come here,” He instructs, immediately looping the other end of the string around Qiu Qingzhi’s left little finger.

“Are you trying to cut off circulation to my finger? Is this how you succeed in killing me?”

“Oh, hush,” Li Bing grouses, unable to hold a serious face for too long at the way Qiu Qingzhi is wiggling his eyebrows. “We still have to make good on working our way up the Court of Judicial Review. Both of us as Vice Ministers under my father, remember?”

“Of course,” Qiu Qingzhi says agreeably with the tone of someone used to playing along and indulging with whatever his most precious person says. “But it still doesn’t tell me what this is all about?”

“Silly. I’m making rings for the both of us.”

Qiu Qingzhi makes a curious noise, scooting closer to see the neat knot Li Bing used to tie off the string around his finger.

“We could just as easily buy ones from the market? I’m sure there’s a craftsman there who can even shape our rings in whatever designs we want.”

Li Bing clicks his tongue disapprovingly. Putting on an air of ‘I know things that you don’t’, he takes a pair of scissors and snips the loose string between the down so that the threads on their fingers are sitting snug and flat.

“I overheard the matchmaker talk about red strings today. She was saying that fated people have red strings that tie them together,” Li Bing explains. Infinitely patient while he hums in satisfaction at his handiwork. “There. All done.”

Qiu Qingzhi holds his hand out to the sky, examining the red against his pale skin.

“You know that’s not how it works, right? You can’t just make a red string of fate,” He says, hooking his finger around Li Bing’s. “You either have a red string of fate or you don’t at all.”

Li Bing shakes his head. Tightening the hook of their fingers, he sits closer. “I don’t believe that.”

“Stubborn.”

Smiling ruefully, Li Bing shrugs. “Only when it comes to you.”

-

He finds it threaded into a belt charm. Tucked under all that armour that Qiu Qingzhi wears, it would have looked like nothing to anyone who didn’t know what it was.

But Li Bing wasn’t just anyone and he definitely knew what that was. What it meant and still means to the both of them.

“You kept it,” Li Bing whispers. Awe and guilt seizing tight in his chest.

“I never took it off. Even when…”

Li Bing nods. Understanding what Qiu Qingzhi still can’t say out loud. The hurt is still there and soon they’ll need to address it if they want to keep doing this. And by the heavens above, Li Bing will do it whatever it takes to keep this stupid man with him for forever.

“Don’t move,” He sighs, immediately reaching out to help Qiu Qingzhi sit up in bed. “You’re still healing.”

“I can’t help it. You kidnapped me from my perfectly fine bed—“

“Someone needs to keep an eye on your foolish ass and you’ve got your men too cowed to say a word against you—“

“—practically tied me to your bed—“

“So that I can watch over you—!”

“The Jinwei Guards have perfect access to medical personnel and we have just as good of resources as the Court of Judicial Review.” Qiu Qingzhi raises an eyebrow. “Just admit it. You’re stubborn. It has always been your way or no way at all.”

“Only when it counts. Only when it comes to you,” Li Bing says. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales, shoulders slumping. “Can’t you just… Let me do this?”

If Qiu Qingzhi has anything to say, he keeps it locked away. When Li Bing looks back to him, the man is serenely watching the way the rain is sluicing off the rooftops.

“I can’t lose you. Not when I almost lost you for good.” Li Bing admits, offering the truth uncoloured by any intent other than to be honest.

Reaching out a hand, he hooks their pinky fingers together. “I made a red thread for both of us. I chose you. I’ll choose you, every single time. I made the mistake of not fighting hard enough for you the first time round and I won’t do that again.”

“You…” Qiu Qingzhi huffs. Shaking his head, he slowly smiles, indulging and fond. “I can’t ever win against you.”

Scooting closer to him, Li Bing folds a hand over their joined digits. “It’s only because you always let me win.”

[rattkachuk]

Can i request a mattdrai drabble with bowie?

turned into a bit more than a drabble at 2.5k, but!!!! here's a cheesy little one shot of leon proposing to matty (with bowie's help, of course)