#winning drabble

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer - NonCon

There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you. Warning: general noncon, anal, abuse of authority and unorthodox baton use

Yandere! Riot Cop with his bulky body armour and faceless glass helmet. With his baton and falsely justified sense of violence.

Yandere! Riot Cop who initially runs into you when he's off duty. Who thinks you're totally his type. Who even flirts with you a little and smirks at the pretty blush he causes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tackles you during the riot and gets one hell of a surprise when he pulls down your mask. 

Yandere! Riot Cop who hates your politics, who hates that you're one of them. A girl like you should know better.

Yandere! Riot Cop who says 'degenerates' and 'anarchists' when you say 'revolutionaries.'

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams you into the concrete and bends your arm so far up your back you scream that he's going to break it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who holds you down and presses his boot into your face. His blood is way up and he gets rougher than he needs to. A little handsy too.

Yandere! Riot Cop who throws you into an unmarked police hovocraft and takes you down to the Statzi headquarters instead of to jail.

Yandere! Riot Cop who claims he wants information but who really wants to pin you down to a steel interrogation table and fuck you from behind until you're begging him to stop.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is just aching to use the excessive force you're always accusing the police of.

In custody, Yandere! Riot Cop takes you deep underground. Until you can't hear the hovocraft or the chanting of the crowds. Until you feel entirely alone.

Yandere! Riot Cop who asks his captain for permission to personally interrogate you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who who takes you to a stark, bare room and chains your wrists to the interrogation table.

You're a nobody now, he tells you. Just another terrorist. He can keep you in here for as long as he wants. Hell, even his boss doesn't care what he does, as long as he keeps you alive.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you a choice - give up your allies or stay here and suffer.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grins like a cat with the cream when you put on a brave face and tell him to fuck off. You're a scared little girl caught up in a bigger mess than you realise and he's going to take full advantage of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs the back of your neck and forces you down onto the table, cold steel biting into wrists and his fingers biting into your skin.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is so much stronger than you. Who has years of training that let's him maneuver you however he pleases.

And you bent over the dull steel of the interrogation table pleases him plenty.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tuts at your attempts to get away. So weak... Did you really think you could challenge the State?

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams his baton against the table right next to your face. It sounds like a gunshot in the quiet of the room.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you jump and tense up. Is it finally sinking in? It's just you and him and right now he holds all the power.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly runs his baton up and down your thighs. Who goes a little higher each time.

He can't mean to go through with it, you think desperately. There's cameras, there's records, there's the law for God's sake.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses the tip of his baton to flip your skirt up and over, so your ass is bare. Who rubs one gloved hand over your cheeks. The material is cool and rough and nothing you do can shake off his touch.

Yandere! Riot Cop who let's his baton climb even higher, until the thick rubber tip is rubbing against your good girl cotton panties.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you one last chance to give up information. Who laughs when you tell him what he's doing is illegal. You're a terrorist, remember? You don't have rights.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your panties aside with two fingers and nudges the baton against your entrance. Who takes in the site of you and savours it. A filthy rebel entirely at his mercy.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly pushes his baton into your cunt. The rubber is cold and unyieldingly hard, the shaft thicker than it looked.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls back out and sets a slow, drawn out pace. He's as implacable as a machine, never letting the pace drop because he knows your body will respond to it eventually, no matter how much you try and fight it. Who puts his free hand on your lower back and shoves you against the table when you try and squirm away.

Yandere! Riot Cop whose cock is so rock hard he can barely think. Who grips onto his baton so tightly the handle creaks from strain.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves watching you scrunch up your nose and try not to cry. You brought this on yourself and he's enjoying every second of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can see your pussy getting wetter, can see the way your thighs shake. Who isn't surprised at all when you finally come, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives your ass a hard squeeze, sucking air through his teeth when your skin turns red under his hand. You look so damn good like this - skirt up, ass blushing, pussy dripping. And you're all his.

You cunt is an aching mess and your hair sticks to your cheeks in damp strands, and still you refuse to talk.

Yandere! Riot Cop who feels every sadistic instinct rising up to play.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tears a condom open with his teeth.

Yandere! Riot Cop who rubs his tip against your tight little asshole. There isn't any lube besides the juices from your pussy and whatever came with the condom but he's far past the point of caring - if he had one to begin with.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs his cock with one hand and your handcuffs with the other. It's a damn struggle to push into your ass and when the tip is in, he throws his head back and groans.

You're unbelievably, unbearably tight.

Yandere! Riot Cop who finally has enough leverage to go all the way. Who plants his hands on either side of your face and forces himself in with a brutal thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you scream.

He's fucking huge. It feels like your whole body is being stretched to its limit. When he pulls almost all the way out and slams himself back in, the shock makes you sob. Finally, you give in. Beg him to stop and you'll tell him whatever he wants.

Yandere! Riot Cop who's honestly impressed you lasted this long. Who pulls out almost all the way but keeps the tip inside you.

Names, he demands.

And you give them to him. Student leaders, writers, underground information runners...

It's betrayal, pure and simple. But in this empty room, miles from the open sky, your comrades and your cause feel irrelevant.

They aren't here with you. He is.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives a satisfied purr, his hands cradling your waist. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you finally relaxing.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses it as an opportunity to snap his hips forward and bury his cock in you again.

"The first bit for was interrogation. The rest is just for me."

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs your hair the entire time he's railing you, the other hand on your handcuffs to pull you back onto his dick with every thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you to scream as much as you can, the people who can help you can't hear you and the people who can hear you won't help you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who fucks like a stallion and growls like a dog.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you orgasm again with the nerves his hitting. Your ass and cunt both shivering around him. He's giving you the worst sort of pain and the worst sort of pleasure at the same time.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your hair until you're practically bent backwards, his voice a rusty growl right in your ear when he comes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who smashes you face into the table when he's done and lifts up his visor just to whisper to you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you that you don't even know who he is. He could be your neighbour or your friend's boyfriend or even someone you flirt with at the gym.

You'll never know who fucked you and you'll be filled with dread about every man you take to bed.

Yandere! Riot Cop who drawls that he might pay you a visit. He knows exactly who you are now, and such a tight little ass shouldn't be wasted on degenerates and rebels.

"Well sweetheart, how does it feel to really get fucked by the State?"

[lilacgaby]

morning patrols were something katsuki hated with a passion. as his break finally rolled around after a day as dead as ever, he slumped onto a random bench.

his peace lasted approximately five minutes until a group of fans came around, phones 'discreetly’ out and pointing towards him, though the flashlight gave away that they were recording. as the one scrambled to turn it off, another spoke up.

“dynamight? no way! i thought you'd be like– going crazy after seeing the rankings that dropped today.”

a record scratched in his head, his head tilted slightly as his eyebrows raised. “i don't think my patrolling is the problem.”

“yeah, it's probably your temper or something!” another one said, finger raised in the air. he didn't have time to be offended, as they then shoved a phone in his face, showing his ranking.

fifteen. not bad for how many people he'd cursed out recently. all he could do was scoff. “'s not horrible.”

“yeah! but she's totally beating you!”

his eyebrows scrunched inwards, his expression incredulous. “..she?”

“your wife! she's in the top ten!”

his eyes widened again, though this time, it was accompanied by a smirk on his lips. one that only grew alongside his pupils at the sight of you in your hero costume, a golden number eight right next to you.

“i guess she is.”

“you're not like.. upset?” they asked, not expecting at all this reaction from the guy who yelled just as much, if not more, at the people that he would actively save.

“nah, she deserves it.” a beat paused, and he looked up thoughtfully. until his fist slammed down onto the palm of his hand. “actually no, my wife deserves better. she's a damn good hero.”

he spaced out slightly, the words they spoke to him going through one ear and out the other as he though about the few missions he'd taken with you.

your mannerisms, the way your personality would bleed into your interactions with others. you had an undoubted professionalism about you. hiding the twitch of your eye with a smile, using your quirk masterfully even in your early career. your face, your body-

he closed his eyes, only after signing the shirts of those fans that had already left, and leaned against the uncomfortable recycled plastic of the bench.

you really did deserve it, and more. he'd have to tell you that..

well, he tried to. but he was beaten by his own words, seeing as the video those fans took of him praising you was trending pretty much everywhere.

as you laid on his chest and scrolled on your phone, a smile on your face as you showed him the screen.

“look, you went up a ranking. maybe you should talk about me more often, huh?”

he couldn't help but laugh. “be careful what you wish for. i could talk about you for hours.”

so now, you actually become an avoided topic for reporters. not unless they want the press conference to last an extra hour just on you.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @lulumi1u @bakunis @twirlyphim @drawingforshitsandgiggles @babylambdietcoke @deimosjay

[neoheros]

to this day, there are only three things in this world that kuroo tetsuro is deathly afraid of: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and worse of all, his mean and evil older sister (as he likes to call her).

now, normally, his sister doesn’t scare him at all.

normally, she’d just annoy him so much that he’d just rather pretend she doesn’t exist, and normally, seeing her at the family dinner tonight wouldn’t be so nerve wracking and horrific.

but normally, you wouldn’t have your arm in a bright pink cast, your left hand all the way up to your forearm covered in a hardened plaster.

and kuroo just knows — he knows so well — that it’ll take his sister one look at your injured hand and then he’d be a total goner.

talk about a dead man walking.

there’s a sound of a “clink” made as a plate is set in front of you.

your morning laziness as you lay contently on the couch interrupted as kuroo stands in front of the TV, arms at his hip and a wide, proud smile, donned on his face.

you blink, looking up at him and then down at the dish he set on the table.

you look warily at the plate of seemingly black and gray pancakes (?) in front of you. a small stack of the most ominous looking breakfast you’ve ever seen.

you glance up at kuroo again, still smiling proudly in front of you as he gestures to the dish.

“oh… uhm…” you feel the sweat forming on your temples, “thank you?”

were you supposed to eat this?

kuroo gives you a wider smile at your response, and he pushes the plate closer to you, prompting you to take a bite.

you can’t help the way he looks at you, all proud and happy at his accomplishment of making something that mildly resembles food, and you almost feel bad for feeling anything else but gratitude that he took the time to make you breakfast.

still though … are pancakes supposed to be gray? plus, you don’t really remember seeing any flour or baking powder in the kitchen the last time you checked… and would it really be a good idea to risk eating the world’s scariest pastry right now before the family dinner tonight?

… you pick up the fork slowly with your good hand, cursing under your breath as you recall the series of events that got you in this situation in the first place.

see, two days ago, you got into an unfortunate car accident with kuroo — something about a late night drive for ice cream and an unsuspecting duck who wasn’t taught to look both ways crossing the road.

lucky for all of you though, everyone made it out of the accident just fine — duck included — and the only real injuries sustained were a couple bruises and scratches here and there, save for the minor hairline fracture on your left arm, but it still isn’t anything too serious to fret about.

truthfully, it was the best outcome in a horrible situation, and if the worse thing you can get from an accident is a bright pink cast on for three weeks, then you’ll happily take it.

… but kuroo’s cooking?

“ehem.” he coughs, bringing you back to the predicament you find yourself in.

he’s still staring at you with that expectant smile of his, waiting for you to take a bite of his hard work.

hesitantly, you touch the fork to the pancake and you shudder as it bubbles slightly, a wheezing sound coming from it as you let the fork sink in.

no freaking way. you already almost broke your arm for pete’s sake, you’re not getting food poisoning too!

“it looks really good…” you look at him with a forced smile, “but you know the doctor said i can’t have any of … whatever this is…”

you try your best to sound as miserable as you intend to.

kuroo’s hand falls from his hip, “are you serious?”

your smile is more apologetic now, “such a shame…”

“i made this!” he exclaims, scoffing as he points to his mysterious plate of mystery, “with ingredients and shit! … for you!”

you shake your head at him wantonly, like it can’t be helped, and you thank the stars in the sky when he sighs and pushes the plate of doom away from you.

kuroo gives you a pouty look now, shoulders falling dramatically as he crashes on the empty spot on the couch, and with the TV still going on in the background, you happily welcome him in to your lazy posture, making space as he cozies up next to you.

once he settles, he turns to you, a lot less pouty now that you’re so close to him, and he says, “how’s the arm?”

“itchy.” you shrug, “but it doesn’t hurt anymore, so it’s okay.”

for a moment, there’s a flicker in the way kuroo looks that almost bothers you. eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed into a thin line, eyes sunken and worried.

its the exact same look you’ve woken up to in the past two days in the middle of the night. just suddenly jolting awake and seeing kuroo stare at you so intently. you ask him what he’s doing up and he says something about a nightmare and you kiss him goodnight and the two of you fall back asleep together with his hold on you just a little bit tighter than before.

you bump your shoulder with his, nudging him as you shake your head, “don’t look like that, i can’t have you crying on me again.”

and he scoffs, turning away, “i have never cried. i don’t cry at all. i deny all such accusations.”

(you know though that that’s a lie.

kuroo’s probably cried more in the past two days than he has all his life.

he was a teary mess as he rode with you on the ambulance to the hospital, a teary mess when the doctor said you had a fracture in your arm, and a teary mess this morning when he woke up to you in your cast).

to be honest, these past two days are probably the worst in his life. in such a short amount of time, he’s experienced such pits in his stomach that he didn’t know was possible to feel.

he still feels it sometimes when he closes his eyes, the fear and worry setting in his body as he waited in the hospital waiting room.

kuroo looks at you much softer now, gentler, and he puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. “you sure you don’t need me to go with you today?”

“i’ll be fine on my own, i just need to grab a couple of things from campus,” you shake your head as you answer him, and you move in deeper to his side to bring you closer.

even the way he touches you now is lighter — like he’s deathly afraid to hurt you even more.

you turn to look at him, “but it might make me late to the dinner with your family later, maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”

“that’s okay,” he nods at you, and then he sighs again, as if suddenly remembering something important.

“well,” and there’s a helpless smile on his face, “it’ll give me more time to work on my “why you’re in a cast” story to my family.”

you grin, “yeah? what have you got so far?”

and he tells you, with a hint of a clipped laugh in his voice, “really big bees.”

…. “oh.”

“yeah.” kuroo grumbles, and he sinks deeper into the couch, “they’re gonna kill me.”

he turns slightly to face you, and he points, quite dramatically, “you’re gonna be a widow.”

you push him off, shaking your head in amusement as you watch his dramatization play out, “you’re such a drama queen.”

kuroo shakes his head incessantly, and he clutches his chest with both his hands, “oh, trust me, the first words my sister is gonna say to me when she sees you later in that cast is “how could you let this happen?!” followed by “waiter, may i please have a bigger knife – this one doesn’t seem to pierce my brother all the way.” and then i die.”

you look at him, incredulous, and you shove him away as you get off the couch to stride away from him.

you scoff, loudly, “has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

and kuroo nods his head, following you as he stands up too, “you did — in our vows.”

you laugh, and you push him away again when he tries to get closer to you, “so i got it right then.”

he’s less tense now, less pouty, and seemingly out of things to complain about, and in the morning silence, he pulls you in, the two of you standing in the middle of the living room floor.

kuroo touches your injured arm slightly. the tv forgotten behind him.

all his life, he’s only ever been afraid of three things: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and his evil, mean older sister yelling at him for allowing you to get hurt after she made him promise that he’d never let anything bad happen to you.

he knows now though that beyond those three, there’s something deeper in his bones that terrifies him deeply. something that scares him so much it wakes him up in the middle of the night in cold sweat. something that ruins his day and something that makes him call you out of nowhere when you’re away from him.

his biggest fear, bigger than spiders or losing matches or his mean sister, is … you.

he’s looking at you that same way again; eyes worried, lips pursed, eyebrows knit together, and you don’t miss the way his mouth trembles slightly as he stares.

“it isn’t your fault, and i dont blame you at all.” you say, and even now as he holds you, you still feel how scared he is to hurt you.

you squeeze his hand. “accidents happen.”

and you can say this all you want, but in his head, at the end of the day, he was still the one driving the car.

but he knows you, and he knows you won’t allow him to think that way, so instead, he just nods, short and clipped and he pulls you in as gentle as he can, embracing you tightly.

kuroo mutters against your neck, “my sister is still gonna kill me.”

you laugh, patting his back with your good arm, “oh, well, some things can’t be helped.”

lord help him for what you’ve done to his poor heart, for you’ve made him deathly afraid of the one thing he can’t control.

something so out of his hands that it sets deep within his bones, ruins his day, and wakes him up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, leaving him desperate and exhausted staring at you helplessly.

his worst fear that terrifies him daily … waking up without you.

[remtrack]

haechan talks in pout — which makes it impossible to not get the urge to kiss him every time. he's rambling about his day as he lays beside you, something about eating with mark... you're not too sure. his lips pucker at every syllable that he mouths and it's so endearing. his hands are waving around, clearly enthusiastic.

you couldn't hold back anymore. you lean in and press a quick kiss against his lips. as you pull away, you're met by a confused haechan.

nevertheless, he resumes talking... and god, he's such a pouty talker. you kiss him again, to which he pulls away.

"babe. why do you keep silencing me?"

"it's not that! it's just so hard to resist kissing you, you're so pouty."

haechan's face softens. he rolls his eyes, clearly endeared by your words but pretending not to.

"okay, whatever..."

and when you kiss him again, this time, he kisses back, smiling into the kiss.

[ghost-kings-court-jester]

Thinking about Astarion who has like no actual solid idea about camping or being a human coming up with a clever plot to make himself as useful to the group as possible - (so they’ll keep him and enact his revenge, not because he likes them and wants to help duh) - by bringing back his kills to the camp and leaving them for the camp chef to use.

Like literally just plopping them down, drained dry, right outside Gales tent. Starting with a hare or two, then a boar, a whole deer, that one bear maybe.

Meanwhile Gale certified Cat Dad can not figure out if this is:

(A) A sign of affection

(B) Astarion showing off how well he can provide for him in a weird bizarre vampiric courting ritual or

(C) Like when the mafia gives you a horse head.

It doesn’t help that Astarion is always watching his reaction like a Gods Damn Hawk across the camp EVERY SINGLE TIME.

So it just results in like Gale spiralling about the implications and coming up with ways to cook all this weird ass meat so as to not offend Astarion.

Then it becomes a way to possibly show off himself - even though wait Astarion can’t eat - what if that was actually rude of him? - maybe the bear was threat or maybe he is just over thinking it.

But what if it is a courting ritual? Should he should be finding a way to make his blood palatable and leave bottles outside Astarions tent, or what if he’s wrong and he’s over thinking it and it’s definitely a threat.

All the while Astarion is just oblivious thinking he’s scored a wizard for fighting Cazador without sex and so what if he starts giving the wizard part of his loot as well. That’s just to to keep him on his side and to be sure the wizard doesn’t explode unless Cazador is in the room. He must really be actually getting the hang of this whole being part of camp thing.

That’s totally why he sits avidly at the camp fire and watches Gale cook and eat the meals he provided for him. That’s just good camping. He isn’t obsessed with the wizard and his happy little smiles and food wiggles, don’t be crazy.

[maxlarens]

lando and 3💗💗

3) hiding face in neck

There’s a grin splitting its way across your face as you hustle through corridors and fight crowds across the paddock. You thought you’d be able to get away with watching the race in one of the fancy Miami VIP areas. You’d thought he’d do good but not this good— you shouldn’t have underestimated him.

P1. P1.

You should have started hustling to McLaren earlier in the race honestly, when he was leading and you had a sick feeling in your gut from the anticipation.

Whatever.

You’re sprinting like your life depends on it, flashing your lanyard and flagging down McLaren staff who recognise you so you can be let into areas that Lando or someone equally as important usually takes you through.

You’re waylaid just before you can hit the tarmac. Stopped by an obstinate security guard who you can’t really blame for just doing his job. You can see flashes of orange, bits of the car as you stand on your tiptoes to catch someone anyone’s eye.

“You have to let me through,” you say, “I am literally his best friend. He just won.” Then you’re seeing a Red Bull cap and you’re shouting, “MAX! Oi, Max!”

Max frowns, head turning in each direction until he finally spots you and the security guard who’s trying to hold you off. He rolls his eyes, then jogs over.

“You can let her through, mate,” he says, an exasperated edge to his tone that you will deal with later thank you very much, “She’s with Lando.”

You’re not with Lando, you want to bite back. Okay, technically in Max’s sense of the word you are.

Whatever.

The moment the security guard moves his arm you’re off like a shot, sparing only a second to pat Max’s arm in thanks. You take off onto the tarmac, out into the Miami sun. There’s the MCL38, there’s a sea of papaya behind a barricade, there’s Zak Brown and there’s Lando.

You thud into his side, almost knocking him into Zak as you throw your arms around his neck. Responding on instinct he catches you, one arm winding around your waist. You’re babbling as soon as you’ve got him in your grip— I’m so proud of you’s and I knew you could do it’s bubbling from your mouth as you try to stop from crying.

He’s laughing— giggling that shrill, joyful thing he does— as he twists around in your arms. He puts both arms around your waist, squeezes and lifts. And you don’t even care that he’s sweaty and smells bad, because he’s shoving his wet (from sweat, from tears) face into your neck and he’s hugging you like he doesn’t want to let go.

[spidehpig]

can’t stop thinking about soap being the kind of boyfriend that takes you on arcade or carnival dates. he definitely takes all of the games WAY too seriously. absolutely smokes everyone at skeeball. probably does those stupid punching bag/hammer strength tests just to show off in front of you. he doesn’t even let you win he’s that competitive. but it’s kinda funny and endearing. he wins a TON of tickets and then gets you the biggest fucking stuffed animal they have even as you protest and tell him that you have no place to put it.

his little mohawk popping around the head of the giant puppy stuffed animal he won you boyish smile plastered on his face while he ignores your protests. you’re stuck with the thing forever now.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Trager’s heart | Fem!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Note // saw a post with edited screenshots of fem!mark… dare I say, I was enraptured. (Referred to fem!mark as Marc here, full name Marcela.)

You utterly carry her heart to the edge of the universe, the field, the door of your home. Wherever. But she sincerely hopes you know just how much of her heart is in your hands, and not just simply ignore the red that weighs down in your hands.

The front door clicked shut behind you as you helped Marcela inside, her arm slung around your shoulders, her weight heavier than usual. The fight had left her drained, muscles trembling and bruises blooming across her skin. You didn’t speak much — just led her through the darkened house, one step at a time, until you were both in the warm, familiar quiet of her bedroom.

It still smelled like her. Fabric softener, shampoo, the faintest lingering scent of ozone from her suit.

“You should sit,” you murmured, gently lowering her to the bed. She let out a breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a wince — and leaned back on her elbows, watching you through strands of dark hair clinging to her forehead.

“You don’t have to fuss,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “I’ll heal.”

You shook your head, already grabbing the first-aid kit from the nightstand. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you like this.”

Marcela’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. She didn’t argue again.

You peeled off what was left of her suit, careful around the tears and burns. Her skin was marred with purple welts, gashes already trying to close. Her body worked fast — you knew that — but you still cleaned the blood off with slow, tender motions, the kind that said you’re home now. You’re safe.

“You’re always this gentle?” she teased, though her voice cracked halfway through.

“Only with the people I love.”

She went quiet after that.

You glanced up. Her eyes were on you — wide, glassy, tired. “You could’ve died,” you whispered. “Again.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you could have.”

Marcela sat up, wincing, and rested her forehead against yours. Her skin was warm — maybe too warm — and you could feel the unsteadiness in her breath. She was still processing it all, still coming down from the high of survival.

“I don’t wanna be brave without you,” she said, voice barely audible.

Your hands cradled her jaw. “Then don’t be. Come back to me every time. Like this.”

She nodded, and finally, finally, let herself fall into your arms. Strong arms that had just held up cities now clung to you like a lifeline, like you were the only solid thing left in the universe.

You pulled her down into the sheets, holding her close, her head tucked beneath your chin. Her breathing evened out slowly, body melting into yours, each exhale a little less sharp than the last.

And in that moment — with the world outside quiet, and the woman you loved curled up against your chest, bruised but alive — nothing else mattered.

Not the Viltrumites.

Not the missions.

Not the war waiting out there.

Just this.

Her heartbeat.

Your embrace.

The way she whispered, barely audible, “Hold me like this forever.”

And you did.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Warnings: adult consumption of alcohol, sexual innuendo

"Alrigh'... I think it's time to go. Ya've had enough to drink fer both of us," Daryl said, gently grabbing you under the arm and pulling you up to your feet. He nervously wrapped his arm around your back to steady you.

"Orrrr how about you go get us both another drink and we drink together," you said, your words slightly slurred.

Daryl let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. "How 'bout I take ya home," he retorted.

Suddenly you were smiling widely at him and then biting your bottom lip. "Well, I didn't think I'd be drunk for our first time but I'm not gonna turn that down," you said with a smirk.

"W—what? No. What?" Daryl's entire face was burning out to his ears. "No, I meant—I'll take ya to yer house and then—then I'll go to my house. I didn't mean—"

You laughed again lightly. "I know you didn't mean that, Daryl. I'm just kidding... sort of..."

Daryl gulped and tried to draw in a slow breath. His heart was pounding. "Let's just—get ya to a damn bed, okay?"

"Mine or yours?" you joked with another good-natured laugh.

"Christ... just be quiet, would ya?" Daryl growled, going completely red again. But his hand tightened slightly on your waist and he moved in closer to you.

Prompt: "How about I take you home."

[seobinghard]

this might be niche but imagine clubpromoters!mingi and yunho rounding up a huge crowd around your booth hyping you up for your birthday with huge LED marquee signs that read 'BIRTHDAY PRINCESS', yelling at the top of their lungs, "ayeee give it up for the birthday girl!" but alas, they're met with the unexpected sight of you balling your eyes out because your loser boyfriend didn't show up. the crowd quiets. everyone's whispering. yunho eyes mingi like wtf do we do. mingi tells him "pass me the fuckin letters" and quickly reassembles the words on the sign to read 'BOYFRIEND APPLICATION OPEN'. the crowd breaks into hollers of cheer as the men go feral chanting your name. when the night ends and you're at the bar sorting out the final bill with mingi, you point out the missing charge on bottle service but he only reassures you coolly, "it's on the house, princess." you blush, blinking at the numbers at the bottom of the receipt. "what's this charge?" mingi smirks, "that's my number if your boyfriend application's still open."

m.list

[cheeseceli]

Love wins all

Pairing: Jungkook × Gn!reader (established relationship)

Genre: fluff, comfort, late 40s au, drabble (<1k words).

Prompt: "however big, however small, let me be part of it all. You may be right, you may be wrong, but say you'll bring me along."

Warnings: Both y/n and Jungkook struggle financially, they are married.

A/n: This is a mix of the greatest showman with the notebook (although I never watched the latter) | daily click

"Jungkook, if you let me trip over another rock I swear that I-"

His laugh cut you off, not allowing you to finish your threat towards him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We're almost there, I promise."

"You said that a few times already. I miss the light."

You heard his giggles once again. You loved that sound. It never failed to amuse how, even with all difficulties life presents, your lover always managed to find joy in the little things. Like leading you through the sidewalk when your eyes were covered. That seemed to be bringing a lot of fun to him and, although he still hasn't confessed to you where the destination is, claiming this would ruin the surprise, you trusted him enough to literally follow him blindly.

"But we're getting closer every new step, aren't we?"

"I bet people are staring weirdly at us."

"I wouldn't say that."

Now it was your turn to smile, a lighthearted laugh coming out of your lips "we've been walking down this entire road with you covering my eyes, people would be crazy if they didn't find it weird."

"I really don't think it's that weird. Don't worry about that. Instead, focus on this."

With that, Jungkook slowly took off his hands from your eyes and placed you in front of the destination.

As your eyes got used to light once again, you saw a house in front of you. It was simple: a single floor, rather small, with visible dust and some broken stairs. It seemed abandoned for a while, but it had this cozy charm. It seemed like a lovely house, one you would love to visit given the right circumstances. "Where are we?"

"At our home."

You looked at him, speechless, only to find a quite anxious yet very smiley Jungkook. His eyes shone as you looked at them. "Surprise," he nervously giggled.

"You bought this house?"

"I did. I've told you I'd give you a good life once you married me, hadn't I?" not even once he stopped looking at you, trying to understand your reaction through your glossy eyes "I mean, the house is not very big and it needs some adjustments... A lot of them, maybe. But it's ours."

You couldn't believe it. Not once in your life you would've expected this. When you married Jungkook, you never expected gold nor glory. None of you never even saw it throughout your lives, and you genuinely think that you could die without it as long as you had Jungkook's love.

When your lover told you as a wedding vow that he would do the unimaginable to give you a proper life, you knew he was true to his words. But still, him buying a goddamn house for the both of you was not in your plans. As he promised you, you couldn't have ever imagined it.

And yet, here you are: seeing the man you love the most guaranteeing a home to keep your love safe for the following years, all while looking at you like you are the most precious thing in the place, even when considering the current situation.

You really were at a loss of words, but maybe you kept quiet for too long, as now Jungkook was getting nervous. He didn't plan your silence. He didn't think you would've cried. He wished you had at least smiled a bit. But you were seriously looking at him, tears threatening to spill at any second. Did you not like it?

"I know I should've bought the house with you... It's just that I wanted to make a surprise. If you don't like it, then I can... I don't know, I can come up with something to-" you hugged him. Tighter than you have ever hugged him before, maybe just not comparing to how you embraced him when he proposed.

He then remembers that your reaction at the moment was the same back then: speechless at his will to build a future with you.

"I love it, Kook. I love the surprise. I love the house. I love you."

This time he is the one who couldn't come up with things to say. He could never get tired of hearing you say things like that. So he hugged you tighter, bringing you closer to where his heart beats, maybe in an attempt to keep you and your sweet words with him for longer.

Maybe you would never be rich. Maybe you would never wear brand clothes and live in fancy houses, with expensive cars and food. But you had a home. You had each other. And you could never think of anything else you longed for. Your life was complete, and maybe that was the rarest thing to find, yet you and him did.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: 7:44 pm

Reminder that this is all fiction, this does not represent the members in real life!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @butnotmontana @lelewright1234

Dividers by @adornedwithlight | images 1, 2 and 3

[ogorodami]

It’s kind of funny how after all these efforts to make Aegon as unlikable and pathetic as possible (like making him a rapist when he wasn’t one in the book), he ended up being one of the very few characters worth giving a damn about in this lizard shitshow and I credit TGC for this, a 100%. His performance straight up overpowered the showrunners’ mediocrity. It really is amazing.

Mind you, I don’t like Aegon per say, but his presence in the story means something and that’s so much more than what I can say of the characters we’re actually supposed to care about.

As much as it pains me to admit, I don’t care about Alicent anymore. I don't root for her and I also don't hate her, I simply don't care. And I sure as hell don’t give a damn about Rhaenyra, her harem, or her spawn either. The twins and Helaena aren’t real characters at this point. Aemond makes no sense. Jace will never be interesting to me with or without his dumbass wig. Mysaria can fucking die and I wouldn’t notice. Daemon sucks ass as usual. Granted, he got to do it on his own terms for most of the season, but nah, who needs actual character development, back under St. Nyra’s skirts you go.

That's not to say I blame the actors, sometimes you just can’t salvage bad writing, especially one so bland, toothless, and stagnated.

I guess, Condal and Hess had such a strong hate boner for Aegon they accidentally gave his material room for the tiniest sprinkle of spice to work with, so Tom annihilated their own narrative.

[iridescentpull]

fitpac nation we are so back

[sunny44]

Sparks and spats

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Warnings: Unrevised chapter, English is not my first language

Summary: Y/n and Lando can't go a minute without fighting with each other, but that's just a flawed way of hiding the sexual tension between them.

The tension between Lando and me was palpable. Since we first met, it seemed a simple glance could spark a heated argument. Our mutual friends, including Max F., had grown accustomed to the frenetic and fiery dynamic between us, who oscillated between teasing and almost kissing. The chemistry between us was undeniable, but both of us insisted on hiding it behind a facade of fights and barbs.

In recent months, our arguments had become almost a daily ritual. Any small comment could ignite another round of provocations. In the paddock, Lando would often tease me about my career decisions. I, in turn, would always find a way to jab at Lando in a sensitive spot.

"Do you really think that move in Padel was as amazing as you're making it out to be?” Lando asked, clearly provocatively.

"And do you really think driving poorly like that will get you the title?" I retorted, without losing my composure.

Our friends were no longer surprised. Max, especially, found amusement in our arguments, though he sometimes had to intervene to prevent things from going too far.

It was a Friday night, and the group of friends had decided to go to a nightclub to unwind after an intense week of training. The loud music and flashing lights created a perfect atmosphere to forget our problems and just have fun. However, the peace was interrupted when a rumor started circulating at our table: a mysterious blonde had been seen with Lando recently.

"I heard you've been seeing a girl, Lando,” Max said with a mischievous smile.

Lando rolled his eyes and sighed, visibly irritated by the insinuation.

"It's not true. You, of all people, should know not everything online is true. Besides, she's not my type.” He replied, trying to stay calm.

"So, what's your type then? Flirty blondes that boost your ego?” I said, with a challenging smile and a penetrating gaze.

Lando turned to face me, and for a moment, the club's noise seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of us immersed in the tension between us. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Nah, more like sassy brunettes who roast me every chance they get,” he replied, his voice low and full of intensity.

The silence between us seemed to electrify the air around us. Max, noticing the situation, tried to shift the focus of the conversation but not before exchanging a complicit look with the other friends, who also noticed the charged exchange.

I looked away for a moment, feeling my heart race. Lando's provocation had hit me in a way I didn't expect. Maybe, behind all the fights and barbs, there was something deeper. Something neither of us was ready to admit.

The night continued, but the tension between Lando and me was now even more palpable. His words echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but wonder what else was hidden behind those bright eyes and challenging smile.

As the night progressed, the dance floor became the club's focal point. The friends dispersed, some dancing, others chatting in smaller groups. Lando and I, however, remained at the table, the tension between us visible to anyone watching.

Max, always the mediator, decided to intervene.

"You two need to dance. Come on, get up. Enough provocations for one night, let's enjoy being together." he said, pulling me by the hand and pushing Lando towards the dance floor.

Reluctantly, we both followed the flow. When we reached the dance floor, the music changed to a slow, sensual beat, and Lando took the opportunity to pull me closer. His hands rested on my waist, and I, hesitantly, placed my arms around his neck.

"You really can't help it, can you?" I murmured, my voice barely audible above the music.

"Help what?" Lando asked, leaning in to hear better.

"Provoking me. Making me confused," I replied, my eyes shining under the club's lights.

"Maybe because you do the same to me. Maybe... because I like seeing how you react." Lando smiled, a genuine smile, different from his usual teasing grin.

"That's not fair, Lando," I sighed, feeling vulnerable.

"I know," he admitted, his expression softening. "But what if... what if all this is just a way to hide what we really feel?"

"And what do you feel, Lando?" I stopped, my eyes locking onto his, trying to decipher the sincerity in his words.

"I feel that, despite all the fights and barbs, there's something between us. Something real. Something worth exploring." Lando stepped closer, our bodies now practically touching.

"Do you think we can give this a chance? Stop the provocations and see what happens?"

"I don't think we can stop the provocations because that's already part of us,” he said, and we both started laughing. "And I want to try, if you do too."

I hesitated for a moment before finally smiling.

"Okay, Lando. Let's try." With that, he smiled and pulled my face closer to his and kissed me.

The music changed to a more upbeat rhythm, and Lando twirled me around the dance floor, laughing. For the first time in a long time, the tension between us seemed to be dissipating, replaced by a new feeling.

Our friends, watching from afar, exchanged satisfied looks. Max, in particular, couldn't hide a broad smile. Maybe, finally, the incessant fights were over, though it made the nights more entertaining for them. He knew Lando deserved someone who was sincere and cared for him as a person, not for his fame.

Bonus scene!

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“I think I like him”

[jasmineoolongtea]

is it cocky to say that gojo satoru isn't used to competition?

well, if you were to ask satoru himself, he would say no. actually, he would insist that this was par for the course for someone his calibre since it would just simply be unfair in almost every imaginable way to compare anyone, regardless of their status or skillset, to him.

a little-known fact about him is that he's all about fairness and playing fair, alongside his sense of humility which puts everyone else's to shame.

that is, until now. even he has to admit (albeit very begrudgingly), that this might be the toughest opponent of his life, nay, of his generation perhaps.

and it all began on that cursed day two weeks ago.

it's a particularly rainy day outside and satoru's sitting idly on the couch eagerly awaiting your return from the local convenience store when, without warning, the door suddenly slams open and he's met with a very curious sight. it's you, standing there in the doorway and slightly drenched from the downpour with a plastic bag hanging from one arm with a mysterious medium-sized lump of something resting precariously on your other.

"look at what i found just outside, tour!" there's an edge of excitement to your voice like a kid on christmas day. you quickly slip off your shoes and unceremoniously dump the plastic bag on the floor as you scramble towards satoru, clearly very eager to show off your newfound spoil.

in your eagerness however, you almost trip over your own two feet but lucky for you, he has fast reflexes and is there in the blink of an eye to steady you. his eyes roam around your figure, searching for any other possible injury you might have sustained from your near fall when they land on the object you've been seemingly holding on to for dear life.

squinting his eyes in an attempt to further scrutinise it, he notices that it's all curled up in your arms and that what might once have been snowy white fur is now an off-white that is much closer to beige thanks to the amount of dirt and dust that it has probably racked up from being outside.

"why do you have a bundle of dirty fur in your arms?" he asks doubtfully.

you gasp at his words.

"don't be rude!" you chide, bringing the object closer to you as you nuzzle your cheek into it. "it's a cat. i found it shivering in the rain and of course, i couldn't just leave it there." true to your words, and seemingly on cue, there's movement coming from the furry object and soon a cat's head pops out from who knows where which takes him by surprise as he jumps back in shock.

"he even looks like you in a way. you know, with the white fur and blue eyes." as if to emphasise your point, you pick up the cat and showcase it to him like an auctioneer would do with the item they're auctioning off, trying to display it in its best light.

too bad for you, your tactics aren't working on him and his face scrunches up in an expression of disdain.

"it's a he?" the thing- no, the cat blinks owlishly at him with its freakishly bright blue eyes staring into his soul. he shudders at the sight of it. "and if you love me babe you wouldn't compare me to that wet furball." he quips back, a comically large pout on his face as he appears to almost be insulted by your recent comparison.

"you're being dramatic, toru." you roll your eyes at him, bringing the cat back into your arms to cuddle with it once again which earns you a content purr from it. he's fighting off the urge to glare at it right now. "he's probably not going to stay here that long anyways since it seems he likes to be outside."

yeah, famous last words right there.

what was supposed to be a few hours where the cat could wait out the rain in the safety and comfort of your shared apartment soon turned into a few days and then into several weeks and before satoru knew it, your home now had a new (and unwelcomed in satoru's opinion) inhabitant.

not only that but the cat, who now apparently had the name of daifuku on account of your insistence that you needed to give the cat a name since you couldn't go on calling the cat 'cat' forever, was living absolutely rent-free on his part and had essentially claimed the entire space as his own.

to top it all off, this also meant that a new challenger was entering the arena to compete for the most coveted prize of them all; your affection.

and unfortunately for satoru, he had finally met his match.

whenever he was feeling particularly affectionate during the day or just wanted to spend some precious time with you in each other's arms, he would almost always find himself late to the party when there was someone else, or more specifically something, already waiting there as if to lord his victory over him.

logically, he knows that cats can't smile or emote like humans do but he's pretty sure if they could, this one would be smugly smirking and looking down at him from its gilded throne.

as if to further rub salt on the wound, the cat was stretched out in a boneless mass on your lap aka his favourite spot to lie down on. that was prime real estate right there if you asked him! and now what should have been satoru's right as your boyfriend to rest there was thrown out the window for someone new and apparently cuter, judging by how much you coo at it daily much to his chagrin.

when he puts on his best puppy dog eyes (the ones he knows that you're weak in the knees too) and does his best to convince you to push the cat off in favour of him, he's met with another punch to the metaphorical gut when you go against all odds and deny him of his simple wish. instead, you just motion to the cat resting on your lap and press a consolation kiss to his cheek before pulling away and redirecting your attention back to it.

stubborn as he always is, satoru refuses to budge and although his ego is severely wounded by this point, he takes the second-best option and rests his head against your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, earning him a soft melodious giggle from you as you shiver slightly from the ticklish sensation.

when you're not looking, he takes the opportunity to glare jealously at the cat and the cat, ever so proud in its high castle, smugly glares right back at him as if daring him to try and dethrone him now. he huffs

satoru may have lost the battle for now but he swears that he won't lose the war.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Jesus way to fuel my ego-

But if y'all insist~ It'll be a little Christmas treat <33