#(515 words)

[arianatwycross]

Splattered Paint

This has evolved into a little muggle university au now, you're welcome @constancezin and @themaraudershavethephonebox 😜

For @jilymicro-oops March prompt 'Uneasy':

James stared morosely at the blank grey wall. It was a daunting task for a first year, but the Course Coordinator had already seen his sketchbook and faintly threatened his GPA if he didn't at least try.

It was a highly trafficked area, so he had to corner it from passersby, earning confused and noisy looks from students. A few had already been confident enough to step beyond the yellow tape and stick their noses into his paint cans. 

“Have you not started yet?” His best mate interrupted, stepping over the tape and picking up his sketchbook. “This the idea?” 

James looked down silently at the rough-coloured sketch he had drafted just last week. It had already been approved by the Fine Arts Course Coordinator, yet James hadn’t convinced himself that it was perfect. 

Now on A03 or continue reading below

“I don’t like the colours, but Sarah already approved it,” James mumbled, still staring at the blank wall. 

“When does it have to be finished?” Sirius pressed, handing James back his sketchbook and fiddling with a paint tin balancing precariously on another. 

“I have two weeks.” 

Sirius, not used to James’ sullen mood, crossed his arms and gave his best mate an assessing look. 

“What?” James grunted, feeling the weight of his eyes without even glancing at his mate. 

“You’ve been in a mood since the weekend. What happened at that party?” 

James tore his gaze from the wall and picked up a pencil from the table he had set up nearby. 

“Nothing.” 

Before Sirius could argue back, James felt the hair on his neck rise. 

“Hey, Black! What’s going on here then?” A familiar light voice called from behind James. 

“Oh, hey Evans! James here’s been tasked with doing the new mural for the Arts Department.” James can see Sirius beam in the corner of his eye. 

“Oh wow! That’s incredible. Can I get a sneak peek?” 

Before Sirius can reply, James takes a deep breath to steel himself and turns on his heels. But facing Lily Evans seems to be, something he cannot prepare his body for. 

Instead, he’s once again hit with the uneasy twinge in his chest that had followed him around since he last saw her. Her dark red curls are pined up into a messy bun today, nothing like the silky waves she had on the weekend - but it doesn’t lessen the impact of her beauty. Ultimately, he seems to crash into the memory of the guy brushing his hand through her hair, kissing her neck and making her smile. 

“No sneak peeks,” He snaps. Lily’s smile drops instantly, and James’ stomach swirls in a nauseating rhythm. 

Before he can scare Lily away completely, he manages to turn his frown into a gentle smile, “Sorry, I mean I’m not sure about the idea, so not yet.” 

Lily scanning his face curiously, frowns before settling her gaze back on Sirius, “You meeting us in the library?” 

Sirius now looking at James with a curiosity not common for someone normally so unbothered, takes a moment before looking back and answering, “Sure am, Red. Let’s go.” 

[elumish]

I am, hilariously, ahead of NaNoWriMo pace for the month despite not doing NaNoWriMo this month.

[beholdenning]

SHOOT THE MESSENGER.

sniper mastery.

It was made to speak, but knows the motions of an archer from the moment of its creation. It knows the motion, but not the articulation, the harmony between knowledge and execution. Gangly, pale limbs could scarce even support itself like a newborn fawn, like easy prey, but Nergal looked upon its weakness with favor, regardless.

Denning, he said, and it knows its name as soon as it was heard. Rise for me.

So they rose. And so he asked: Speak.

Speak for me. Speak my words, take them under your tongue, let them melt into your throat. Speak for me, each syllable, chew them and swallow them down and spit them back up. Speak for me, tangle me up in your vocal chords, and forget my voice nevermore. You are mine. You are progress. You are my blossoming ambition upon false flesh.

Their first purpose, their first role.

So they spoke until their kin filled the silence. Then they remained, even when their voice was not needed, because when the weakness faded, their hands still had use. Their hands, digits, each perfectly molded to nock and pull taut, this too a favor from their master, a further purpose once they had outlived theirs. It is a blessing they were also made for the bow, for such is the fate of the first to speak: Clumsy fragments, broken syllables, smoothed over and forgotten in being followed by negotiators, manipulators, orators.

So it is they find their use in marksmanship: Their second purpose. Any kind of it, the heavy draw of a longbow, the easy bend of a shortbow, drawing the fletching almost to their chin, is picture-perfect, tailor-made. The light brush of the string against porcelain skin, the snap of its release, the occasional crack against a bracer is a reverberation of purpose, a strike against a tuning fork, clear and fulfilling. With eyes that see far, flesh that does not flinch and hands that do not waver, feet that move swift and silent and no soul, no room for mercy, they are the very picture of a marksman, a huntswoman, a predator made.

Yes, loyal huntsbird, obedient thing, well-worn tool. O opening volley, o message wrapped around an arrow-shaft. They were his, he never theirs, they were his and were put to the work they were meant for. It is all they needed: To speak. To fight. To shoot. To obey in all three. Eventually, to die. For an arrow shot is not always retrieved. A word spoken is not easily taken back. A bow drawn must release its tension, be it by bending or breaking. The morph was as much an arrow in their master's hands as those in their own quiver, drawn, shot, moved on from.

(Not sacrificed, because that implies value. Simply used. Then left behind.)

But an arrow does not mourn its use, its own expenditure. It too is a tool. It only flies the way the hand directs it. And when it is set upon Castle Ostia, target of its sights, it has not the audacity to look back.

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

FIRST DRAFT DONE. for realsies this time!

Also I graphed the word count by chapter because I'm a nerd like that

[sairitaikutsu]

me about to write the longest summary of a fic i haven't even started yet-

[lunariadocs]

El Angel de la Muerte - Drabble* Draft, 515 words

Before you decide to hop in, be informed that my action writing is VERY unpolished and unpracticed, and that Athena is referred to by a lot of different aliases (El Angel de la Muerte, Death Angel & The/el Angel). It's the same with The Obelisk, though much less. ("The man" & "the tall guy")

The crowds roar from above in their colosseum seats. Out from behind the gates emerged two physical giants, each ready to rip each other to shreds if it meant they survived one more battle, perhaps to escape or be released from this prison. The face on the screens at the center high above the ground spoke. “To the North enters our 7-time humanoid champion, El Ángel de la Muerte!” The crowd cheered. “And from the South we have the new and rising tardigrada powerhouse–The Obelisk!” The crowd’s roar grew louder. The Obelisk stood at a powerful and towering 2 meters-36, significantly more top-heavy than Athena. Good. He’ll be easier to topple. Athena snapped her dislocated wrist back into place, preparing herself. It’d only been an hour and 43 minutes since the last round. She scanned The Obelisk for any possible weaknesses apart from his stature and build. Eyes. Gaps in his shell. There, a crack in the spinal shell on his lower back. 

“Be ready for some bloodshed everyone since this might get wild!” The announcer exclaimed, and the horns blared.

The Obelisk charged at Athena like an enraged bull. She slid between his legs and flipped off the ground, crashing a knee into his upper back. That was gonna hurt, how much blood did fractures take again?

“Ye-ouch! That one’s gotta hurt, Tartigrada shells have about the same strength as level 1 bullet-proof glass! That’s at least a shattered patella and at most a completely lost knee!” The voice of the screens said with such casualty that it made this kind of fighting ring normal.

 The towering man whips around, grabbing Athena’s leg and tossing her to a side, bringing his foot up and crashing it down, a pillar of sandstone rising from the ground below the Angel and jutting into her chest and breaking a rib. She instinctively heals the rib and her knee. She pushes off the rock with her legs and swings her body toward the man, leading with her heel. It crashes into his skull, sending him clamoring to the ground. There is an audible snapping sound emanated from below the man as the shell on his back cracks in two. 

“Looks like The Obelisk’s down! Let’s see if he can save himself, this is usually where el Angel’s duels end!” 

Athena drives her heel into the Obelisk’s stomach and begins throwing punches down on the man’s head. He tries to shield his face by bringing his hands up, which are swatted away with swift but firm kicks. The Death Angel is encroaching on her 8th and second-to-last successful round before she gains her 8th tournament win. And for what? She grips the sides of the man’s head and drives her thumbs into his eyes, drilling them into his sockets. 

“Another brutal win for our Angel de la Muerte! What a surprise! My bets were on the tall guy.” Athena stands over the body of yet another defeated opponent, panting for air, staring into the blinding glare of The Ruin shielded by the screens above the stadium. Was it worth it?

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

It's not really a second hand.

vishnu has many

[dearestmui]

HEALING KISS

summary: as you were cooking dinner for muichiro, you burned your finger

cw: pure fluff

pairing: Muichiro x reader

adittional tags: manga spoiler free, muichiro after ssv

word count: 515

You have been happily living in Muichiro's mansion after the both of you got together. Since he would be out on patrol all day, you enjoyed preparing warm meals for him to return to. Muichiro had just returned home from a mission as you finished frying the salmon. He walked into the kitchen and stood next to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took in the comforting sight of you after a long day.

"Mui, welcome back," you turned your head to look at him. He gave you a gentle smile in response. Muichiro noticed a basket of washed, unpeeled potatoes. He grabbed a knife and began peeling them without hesitation, wanting to help you finish dinner more quickly. It was a small act of gratitude for cooking while he was away. Both of you basked in the moment. Just the two of you cooking, with nothing but the sound of the potatoes getting peeled and oil cooking the fish filling the room. At that moment, Muichiro reminisced about when he spent cooking with his brother, smiling as the memories flooded back.

However, Muichiro's smile dropped when your finger accidentally touched the side of the hot pan. You winced, quickly retrieving your hand. You frowned at the nasty red mark on the back of your pointer finger. His head turned quickly to look at you, amused by how you had foolishly burned yourself and slightly worried. He gently took your hand and looked at the burn. He slowly pulled your hand towards his lips and kissed the mark, letting his lips linger there for a few seconds before he pulled your hand away, still holding onto it. He looked at your now blushing face.

"Be more careful next time," he told you and let your hand go. You were so surprised that you forgot about the pain already. Muichiro showed no reaction, his face still holding the same neutral expression. It was almost as if this was instinct for him. As the initial shock gradually faded, a smile irresistibly spread across your face. "Oh! Um, thank you."

As he returned to what he was doing, you were left flustered. You tried returning to your original task at hand, but you couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on your finger. Muichiro's eyes turned to you and noticed your dazed state.

"Love,"

"Hm?"

"You're going to hurt yourself again."

"Ah! Yes, sorry!" He sighed, wondering what you were distracted by. You returned to your senses, but a faint blush was still decorating your face.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence as the two of you finished preparing your meal together. As you ate, you looked at your burn again, the mark now faintly red. You couldn't hold back your smile. It was unusual for him to be affectionate towards you in the past. Now after he regained his memories, it became his habit to unknowingly fluster you. The gesture might've been small, but knowing he's there to care for and love you makes you feel so safe.

Do not repost

[hisunflower]

Love | Lee Haechan ☀︎ . ݁ ˖

summary: Haechan holds you close, as you’ve been having trouble sleeping with so much on your mind lately, yet there is love seen and felt in the silence of being in his arms.

Genre: Fluff | Word Count: 515

The bedroom ceiling fan spins on medium speed, with a temperature cool enough to hide underneath the covers and warm enough to be able to stay comfortable without overheating.

You lay on your side watching the stars behind your eyes as you walk the trail of thoughts that are too loud.

Suddenly you feel a dip in the mattress behind you as Haechan crawls into bed, slipping underneath the blankets and wrapping his cold arm around your body as your back is facing him.

He pulls you closer and begins to whisper the sweetest words to you, peppering small kisses on your neck in between them. He moves your damp hair behind your ear, the smell of fresh mint toothpaste and your favorite body wash from him causes you to smile, making you forget all of your worries as his scent calms you as always.

He brings the same hand down your body, softly caressing your thigh and gliding it back up to massage your arm, relaxing your tense shoulders.

You melt into his touch.

His body warmth, the warmth of his words, his heart, everything about him always tends to make you feel the safest you’ve ever felt, reminding you of home and fulfilling that empty space in your heart that no one can take up except for him. You simply wouldn’t allow it.

Your previous thoughts long gone, feeling like memories of old drifting away from the once crowded trail into a quiet place.

He whispers your name, guiding you to turn around and lay on his chest. Your mind focuses on nothing but his touch as it makes way to your scalp, his fingertips gliding through your hair. He kisses your forehead and the spot leaves a tingle that eases your heart.

You listen to his heartbeat as he brings you even closer and holds you safely in his arms.

Haechan understands that sometimes you don’t want to talk about what is on your mind, so this is how he lets you know that he is always open to listening if you ever want him to walk that path with you.

Your breathing is calm and steady, and with a final deep breath, you slowly feel yourself drift into a long and peaceful sleep into a world of dreams.

But it isn’t until you wake up the next morning when you realize it was never a journey you walked by yourself, because even with the smallest of gestures like those of last night, he was with you and you were never alone. It was only when it was quiet could you see that he was there all along.

And with this, your eyes flutter open to feel a different heaviness on your chest than days past.

It is the head of the man with the softest and fluffiest hair that sleeps peacefully to the sound of your heart.

And as the morning sun seeps through your curtains into your dim bedroom, you look to the star in your own darkness that shines right in front of your eyes as you walk the trail of thoughts that have now replaced themselves with words of love.

Author’s Note: Hii! I actually created this story along the way, (which means I surprised myself.) It was late and 100% unintentional, but I trusted myself, and it almost feels like I was being told the story while writing it! Even now, whenever I come back to it, it feels like I’m reading it for the first time.

I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is deeply appreciated, with love @hisunflower ❀

Check out my other fics here.

[kamaluhkhan]

IDLE WORSHIP

SLOTH — part i of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 515 summary: you and luke fooling around on the roof of the hermes cabin after curfew ;) warnings: smut!! oral (reader receiving); body worship; luke and reader smoke weed....18+ ! author's note: i wanted to do a series of blurbs *loosely* based off the 7 deadly sins and here we are....also, i (finally!) made a masterlist so....enjoy!!

♪ "idle worship" by paramore

you bite the back of one hand to keep from waking up the entire camp, the other still holding a half-smoked joint loosely between your fingers. 

luke was always skilled, but tonight his tongue feels particularly heavenly.

it hadn’t been either of your intentions for the evening. the plan was for a peaceful night of getting high and stargazing on the roof of the hermes cabin after curfew. 

not entirely innocent, but more so than what it had become as soon as luke decides to shuffle underneath the blanket you share, lips traveling down your body as he mumbles sweet nothings into your skin.

luke kisses down your sternum, unbuttoning the flannel you had taken from him. “you’re so beautiful,” he praises. luke sucks bruises underneath your breasts. “prettier than any goddess.” his tongue traces over your scars. he bites just above your belly button, fingers fumbling with your shorts. “absolutely divine,” is the last thing he says before devouring your cunt.

in your defense…. it has been a stressful week. you and luke had barely had a moment alone, and chris warned that the weed would be strong. 

it’s slightly careless, yes, especially for senior counsellors — but fuck, if you don’t feel utterly blissed out.

you almost break skin when luke tugs your clit with his teeth, bringing you over the edge. luke pokes his head out from underneath the blanket that still covers your bottom half; you take a moment to admire him.

the moonlight softening his scar, illuminating his cheekbones and jawline. backlit by a million shining stars that mean nothing compared to his smile, luke looks like an angel. 

and then, you get a better look at him — his black curls slightly askew; his dark eyes rimmed red; his lips wet with your release, curling into a smirk at how you unraveled for him so easily. 

a fallen angel, maybe. a fucking gorgeous one at that. 

“can i have another hit?”

you take a drag of the forgotten joint, holding the smoke in your mouth until luke is hovering above you. when he presses his lips onto yours, you let him suck up all the smoke, along with whatever air is leftover in your lungs. he removes himself from you, allowing you a moment to breathe while he exhales. 

luke rests one hand on your hip, and reaches the other down to run two fingers across your folds and shoves them into his mouth, sucking like his life depends on it.  

“tastes just like nectar.”

“better be careful then, angel,” you drawl and tangle your free hand into his curls. you can tell luke likes the new nickname from the way he tightens his grip, firm enough to bruise. “if you have too much, it might just kill you.” 

he grins down at you lazily, blinking slowly.

“at least i’d die happy,” luke sighs. 

a giggle bursts out of your chest in response. 

you bring the tail end of the joint to his lips; this time, he exhales directly into your mouth, allowing you to share the last dregs of smoke.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism x Reader: Aftermath (Goo, Gun)

G/N. 514/515 Spoilers. Fluffy, surprisingly. Masterlists

"Look at the state of you."

Goo doesn't look abashed at all, despite the literal hole in his body.

The goddamn self-inflicted sword wound.

You had half a mind to inflict a few more of your own for his stupidity.

"Was this really the best strategy you had?"

His air of arrogance and self-confidence doesn't dissipate. There's a stubborness in his gaze even as he looks at you with a pout on his lips and tells you to stop being mean. Gun was already a disappointment during the fight, and now he comes back to you being a sourpuss.

"I am not a sourpuss-" you start through gritted teeth, and then realise maybe you should handle this menace with some delicacy.

Hurt lies beneath his playful attitude and under his wound. Gun was always intended to be his ride die-or-die, at least from Goo's point of view. Him rejecting his offer of a partnership wasn't unexpected, but what was supposed to be their 'final fight' was an anticlimax.

"He cheated!" Goo still screeched, days after the fact. Mentioning something about Gun's ultra-instinct, and how he wasn't being 'him'.

By now you had heard this story and his complaints with endless patience. You can recount every detail of the fight, and recite word for word how wrong-footed Goo felt.

"I know," you would agree every time, despite not really caring. "Bastard, isn't he?"

"YES!" Goo shouts vehemently, vindicated, eyes bugging out. "I knew I could count on you, Cupcake."

He presses a loud kiss to your cheek, as a thank you and an agreement that Gun truly is a bastard. Appeased, he doesn't bring this up again until the next hour.

.

.

"Your eyes are kinda pretty."

Gun doesn't flinch at the antiseptic on his wounds, the solutions you pour onto his scrapes, your sloppy stitching on his lesions.

He does, however, recoil sharply at your comment.

"I haven't seen them properly before," you add with an impish grin, "Pretty."

"No." Gun glares at you with his eyes, like voids. Dark brown, almost black. Shark-like, you think, predatory. There's no golden hues, no flecks of light reflected. A vacuum.

The only thing that has carried over from his Ultra-Instinct defining feature - is the warmth.

(Strange to think of someone like Gun Park, a man constantly out for blood, as warm.)

But even as he glowers at you for your comments, there's a softness only you can see, only when he looks at you.

Whether his eyes are colourless, set amongst an obsidian backdrop; or natural - like the darkest chocolate, an unpolluted midnight sky...

You find comfort and tenderness in his gaze.

[hungwy]

that OP imaginably intended it to mean something like this doesn't really overcome the fact that what they're calling a "4th person pronoun" 1. is not a pronoun (someone else pointed this out but, but to push the point further, see that "chatself" doesn't really check out here like "myself", "yourself", "itself", etc. does) and 2. also not really "4th person" in the way they're describing. i dont think its necessary to analyze it like this. in fact, it might be kind of incoherent? if you are talking to or at someone, you are speaking to them in the 2nd person, that's just the definition. if you are talking about someone and not to them, it's the 3rd person. what's happening in sentences like "chat, how are we feeling today?" or "this game sucks, chat" is that chat is 100% being spoken to and thus involved in the conversational situation. they are not "beyond" the conversation. they are being spoken to directly. so clearly these sentences have 2nd person references, but to capture what kind of behavior this is exactly, realize that "chat" is being used as a term of address. to quote the handbook of pragmatics:

Terms of address are the linguistic forms speakers use to refer to their collocutor(s), in the words of Oyetade (1995: 515) “words or expressions used to designate the person being talked to while talk is in progress”. In English, for example, these are words like you, mom, young man, or Professor Snyder.

"You are my best friend." "Mom, I'm home." "Go to your room, young man." "Professor Snyder, sorry I'm late." "I'm not doing that, chat." "You know what happened, my friends?"

[prentissluvr]

book shop, 12:00 p.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, just softness!, 515 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ open ] .

summary : you take sam on a book shop date to help get his mind off of things.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

rarely does sam get to read for pleasure these days. it’s always the lore books, always a race against time to save someone’s life. it’s good that he enjoys the lore books, but sometimes he just wants good old literature.

today, you’ve taken charge of plans, driven him to the bookstore in town you’ve always wanted to visit, and made sure that there’s nothing else for him to worry about.

you’ve been there all morning, sitting in the cafe section with warm drinks and crisp new books. sam is content, so you are too.

the high noon sun streams through the cafe’s wide windows, warming your back and brightening the pages of sam’s book across from you. it illuminates his big, rough hands that softly hold the book open. the strong light casts strong shadows, even from the details of his veins and strong tendons. he doesn’t notice you watching him, and for right now, you’re glad for it.

instead of a flannel, he wears a grey crewneck shirt that’s thick enough to almost be a sweater. it’s fitting for the weather, and looks soft and comfortable. he looks soft and comfortable, and it sends relief through your veins.

these days, he’s been tired. exhausted, really. he still holds tension in his shoulders, and you’ll smooth it all out with a soft massage at home. but his features are relaxed, for once. you don’t miss the slight furrow in his brows that he carries with him everywhere. there’s even a light upturn to his lips as his eyes flick across the page. he’s a fast reader, and he’ll probably be done with his new book if you stay here through the afternoon as well. that’s why you made sure that he bought two.

his hair looks very pretty too, lightened softly by the sun. sam is more often the one who stares; one of his favorite things to do is just watch you. of course, you love to watch him too. he’s pretty much stunning, and looking at him is practically addictive. so today is your day to stare, to soak up his calm and relaxed joy.

and of course, sam has you partially fooled. when you read, he stares, and when you stare, he reads. he’s very in love with you. you paid for his books and his drink. you look so beautiful, the edges of your body rimmed with sunlight. and you love him better than anyone’s ever loved him before.

you take care of him, with every bit of effort that he cares for you. you reciprocate, you take initiative, you put your heart and soul into loving him.

sam grabs your hand gently, the pages of his book shifting lightly as he does. he doesn’t look up at first, his hand just knows where yours is, like there’s a piece of silver thread tied from his palm to yours.

the smile on your face grows and you curl your fingers around his. then he looks up, eyes bright and soft in the sun.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and your heart soars.

[ynsvnte]

Summer-Fresh — Park Jongseong

Genre: fluff, drabble, est. relationship.

wc: 515

warnings: pet names, kisses, teasing

pairing: bf!jay x fem!reader

Synopsis: this is how you spend your summer vacation with your boyfriend. Very fresh..very relaxing.. also very fun.

Masterlist

The sound squeals as you’re being pushed towards the huge body of water. You try to resist, even begging. Too late. You get soaked as you’re pushed in the ocean. You decided to take a summer vacation with your boyfriend. Jay. Having to want to spend quality time together. Just the two of you. On this nice beach.. you didn’t expect to get in the water. Despite you wearing the proper attire.

“What the hell!” You shout. You frown your brows. Jay's laughter prevents you from being mad at him. You just can’t. You giggle shortly after before splashing water trying to get him wet. “Hey, now!” He sticks his hands out and backs up. You make your way out of the water running towards him, right behind him. “You can just run away!” You yell, chasing him, your boys getting cold as you fasten your pace trying to catch up.

You slowly started getting tired. There’s no way you could keep up. Having completely stopped . You stand there breathing hard. Hands on your knees. You watch him run away further. You take a moment staying there before turning around and walking back to your area.

You didn’t notice somehow. But on your way back you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist fitting perfectly. “And where do you think you're going?” The voice whispers in your ear. Shivers spreading down your back. “I was just going back to our area.. where our stuff are—“ being cut off by a kiss being planted on your cheek before he runs past you.

You shake your head and continue walking. Once you make it back you take a sip of your drink. Replenishing your energy. You can feel his eyes on you, you turn your eyes towards him and make eye contact. He smirks at you, eyes not looking away from yours. You start walking to him and grab the towel nearby. Trying to dry off yourself.

“Need something?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. “No..” he says, eyeing you. You knew he had something to say. You stare ahead, “Your eyes don’t seem to say quite the same..” you hear him laugh at your statement. You swiftly turn your head, glaring.. “What? Can’t I just stare at the love of my life?” Jay says, If he only knew the effect he had on you. Your eyes widened a bit. “What! No” you say, shaking your head, denying. Jay coughs, “how about a date later..?” You could barely hear him. “Repeat what you said..” He mumbled over his words once more. “Babe if you’re going to speak, speak more clearly so I can hear you”

“How about a date later..” much better. “Huh? I can’t hear you” you tease.

“I SAID HOW ABOUT A DATE LATER?!?” He raises his voice loudly enough to make you giggle. “Ok ok I’m sorry..” you say as soon as you open your eyes.

Jay had a slight pout on his face.. not looking at you. You lean in and kiss his cheek. “Of course my love. ”

Author’s note: I RUSHED THIS A BIT thanks to my wifey eires for giving me the member bc I was lost so thank @sincerelyrki 🫡 also I love this theme? IM NOT SURE ABOUT THW WRITING OK ITS 3 am but I ain’t going to bed soo 🤷🏻‍♀️ MORE CASE OH VIDEOS

© ynsvnte copyright 2024

[touyaism]

please — touya todoroki

summary: dabi begs you to let him touch you

wc: 515

If there was one thing you knew about Dabi, it was that he got what he wanted. No matter what it was, he’d find a fucking way.

So, when you began rejecting his sexual advances, he really didn’t know how to behave.

“Not today,” you told him, despite him clinging to you like a baby, touching you everywhere, desperate to just take your clothes off.

“C’mon,” he groaned, dragging out his words, “can’t you just let me touch you?”

“I’m tired,” you said. Straight to the point and the truth, despite the fact that you did want him. If only you had the energy for it.

“Doesn’t matter,” he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and drowning himself in it. “Just let me do all the work.”

“Dabi…” you groaned, rolling over in an attempt to get him off you, but it was no use, not when he was so much bigger than you. “I just wanna sleep.”

You could feel his cock pressing against you, piercings and all. He wore nothing but his boxers, the loose fabric falling off his body with any movement. Already rock hard, he pressed it harder into your bare thigh as if to make a point.

“Sleep, then,” he protested. “I don’t care.”

“What?”

“You can sleep, just let me fucking touch you.”

“Dabi-“

“Please .”

The word caught you off guard. It wasn’t something you’d ever heard from Dabi’s mouth - let alone in such a gentle tone. You opened your eyes to look at him, only to find him glaring at you like you were his next meal, sucking in and biting his bottom lip, his eyes fixated only on your body.

Your hesitation made you pause, and Dabi used it as an opportunity to sneak his hand under your shirt. You didn’t stop him. His hand teased further, gently rising upward and grabbing your tit. He squeezed gently, thumb dragging over the nipple and toying with it. You whimpered, squirming beneath him and trying to push him away. There was no way you call fall asleep when it felt that fucking good.

“Dabiii,” you groaned again, he moaned back mockingly, teasing you for the way you dragged his name.

“Can’t help it,” he muttered, lifting your shirt up all the way and pressing his face in the space between your tits. “You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he moved his head and aligned his mouth to your nipple, taking it in his mouth and sucking. He released with a pop, swirling the hard bud around with his tongue. You couldn’t help but arch your back into the movement, relishing in the way his hot breath on your sensitive skin teased you even more.

“Dabi,” you whimpered, unsure of whether you wanted him to stop or not.

“Please, don’t make me stop,” another lick, “your tits are too fuckin’ perfect.”

You couldn’t deny him. Instead, you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed him closer, closing your eyes and drowning in the soft feeling of his hands all over your chest.

[leenieweenie12]

No Weight At All

Just a little headcanon about our beloved Alfie comforting reader during a bit of a down episode. No dialogue, just thoughts and actions. Lightly inspired by lyrics from Something in the Orange by Zach Bryan.

Warnings: allusion to depression and/or some PTSD, vague mentions of trauma and violence

Word count: 515

divider from @cafekitsune

It had been a difficult few days for you and Alfie knew it. You never had to tell him how you were feeling, he always knew. He picked up on the smallest look in your eyes that told him you were caught up in your emotions. Even if to the rest of the world you appeared to be the happiest person, a simple glance to your face told him the truth. Alfie had that skill with everyone, seeing into their soul. His intense gaze was proof of that.  

The evening before had been quiet with both of you in the sitting room in your respective seats by the fire, Alfie with his spectacles resting on the tip of his nose rifling through paperwork and you pretending to read your book. When he noticed that you hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes, he knew something was up. You had been together long enough that Alfie knew better than to ask if you were alright. He knew you would say yes, even if that wasn’t the truth. Instead, he made you a cup of tea, exactly how you like it, and set it on the table next to you. He motioned for you to move over and make room for him. Snaking his arm around your waist, he slid you up on his lap to face him. He put his large hand behind your head and guided it down to his shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and just sat like this, sitting on his lap with your head between his collar and jaw, two bodies melded into one, and closed your eyes. 

Alfie loved being able to comfort you with such a simple gesture. He didn’t always know what it was that caused you to have these somber periods, but that was fine. There were things that happened in your past that were never discussed between the two of you. Alfie didn’t mind. He knew all about inner demons, from his own dealings with adults abusing their power over him as a child, to the trenches in France, to the replays in his mind of downright evil things he had done to supposedly deserving men who were on the wrong side of conflict. He could surely understand the desire to say nothing at all but still crave the comforting touch of another. Which is why he never asked you to talk about what was on your mind during these times. He knew you well enough to know that you would tell him in time or even never at all if you so chose. 

The two of you sat together for what felt like hours but was likely far less. Alfie rubbed your back in a slow rhythm so soothing that you fell asleep. The growing weight of your head on his shoulder was the sign that told him you were no longer awake. Even with your entire body resting on his, he felt no weight at all. This was where he was happiest. This was where he was meant to be.