#.drabble

[cod-sins]

.ೃ࿐ Format: Drabble

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: Fluff/Mild NSFW.

Touchy!König who constantly makes you sit on his lap when you're trying to watching a movie just so he can trace and pick with parts of your skin.

Touchy!König who comes up behind you when your cooking dinner. His hands snake towards your stomach locking together as he plants sweet kisses your neck and nibbles on your earlobe.

Touchy!König who convinces you that sleeping over at his house is more important and that he'll make up whatever money you lost for coming in late to work that day.

Touchy!König who enjoys sharing a shower with you because he gets to properly examine your body. He won't keep his hands to himself, he's lathering you up making sure to cup and fondle your chest.

Touchy!König who let's you lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat while he plays with your hair and mumbles sweet nothings in German.

Touchy!König who plants a kiss on your forehead as you sleep knowing you'll be safe from the harm of the outside world.

[keigologies]

gojo knows he's far from boyfriend material, especially when it comes to his job: late nights, early mornings, the constant threat of death lingering over his head. it's a less than ideal situation, so he's never been surprised when nobody wants to stay; when the going gets tough, they always tap out and he's become so jaded that it stopped bothering him a long time ago.

so it surprises him when you stay. you, with your gentle heart and gentler hands and even gentler loving, stay. he comes home and finds you waiting for him, dozing on the couch, wearing one of his sweaters (too big for you, swallowing you whole in black cotton). he comes home to find you cooked dinner, left him a plate on the counter, covered in tin foil to keep it warm. he comes home to find you sitting at the dining table, first aid kit in front of you to clean him up after a fight.

he's never had someone to come home to before, not this many times at least. it goes on like this for months and even when he knows for sure that you would never leave this home permanently, he always finds himself worrying that one day you will, that one day you'll realize you deserve better, deserve more than what he can give you. but he keeps coming home and you keep staying and he hopes it goes on forever.

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[lskisms]

You asked for ghost requests?

I got an idea for Phantom cause from the clips I've seen. He's like a high-energy puppy.

Relaxing with his partner after a concert, and he's sleepy as he comes down from the high of performing or he still has unspent energy leftover. So two options: soft sleepy smexy times or doing it to release the rest of his energy. Feel free to choose either one.

can attest to the puppy energy !! he was all over the stage in austin and it was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen actually i was giggling at the barricade like a little schoolgirl

anyways bc phantom is SOOOO my baby why not both

sleepy and soft.

say he comes back to the hotel room and once he’s freshly showered, he’s got you in his arms, relaxed in bed and chatting about anything that comes to mind. the adrenaline, all that octane, has burned through him and smothered itself out, but still, he has this urgent need to feel you entirely. he kisses you soft and slow, pressing you back into the plush pillows. when he moves to kiss you neck, little fangs dragging lightning across your skin, you try to tell him he just showered, so he shouldn’t work up another sweat. he doesn’t listen to you, of course, just nips at the junction between your shoulder and neck, the soft skin pricking hotly, and whispers that he needs you.

and because you’ve always been weak to him, you let him shimmy you out of your pajamas and take you as he pleases. his hips roll against yours deliciously, agonizingly slow, but each press of his cock against that spot inside you that only he knows how to get to makes it worth it. his mouth is everywhere, muttering praises into your skin and swallowing up each noise of yours that dares to rise abovea soft moan. he makes sure you come first, as he always does, and his release follows just seconds after. his body eases into yours, skin against skin, breaths mingling between you. he refuses to pull out of you for quite sometime, but you don't complain (you never complain) because he fills you in ways undescribable, an otherworldly feeling of completion.

but he is thoroughly exhausted, sleepiness settling heavy into his very bones. he does get up eventually to clean you up and redress you, but each motion is slow-going, syrupy and languid and perfect. he takes you into his arms again the second he's back in bed, whispers of love confessions falling on deaf ears as you let the remnants of his warmth inside you lull you to sleep.

pent-up.

he doesn't bother to shed his clothes or shower first, doesn't even bother to kick off his shoes. the second he sees you in the hotel room, he's getting himself out of the offending mask and sealing you in a kiss that is all teeth and tongue and spit. it's a way you have him often, messy and fumbling, but that always drives the experience of letting him have you from perfect to life-altering.

he barely gets himself out of his boots, his pants, or even you out of your own clothes, soaked with the sweat of yourself and the people you'd been with in the pit that night, crushed against the barricade. he gets you on all fours on the bed and slips inside without much of a fight, his cock straining against the slick of your walls. the pace he sets is brutal and it has you keening loudly; you're certain you'll have a noise complaint before he's even halfway decided to be done using you tonight.

his hands press bruises into your skin, claws digging deep into the plush of everywhere he can reach. the bite of each pinprick has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, a delicious haze filling your head until all you can think of is his name and the earth-shattering way his hips drive into your ass. he pulls you up by the back of your neck, tongue sliding against the shell of your ear as he asks you who your body belongs to, who gets to use it as they please (it's yours, phantom. all yours, comes your reply, each syllable broken and stuttered). and when he's content with your answers, he pushes you down into the mattress, his hand pressing your back into a perfect arch just for him.

he overstimulates you, focused on nobody's pleasure, just on getting that livewire of energy out of himself. you're lucky he doesn't make you count how many times you come because you lose count after three. and when his rutting finally comes to an end, it's almost as agonizing to not have him inside of you as it is for him to keep fucking you. you're so limp and foggy that it makes him giggle hazily himself, proud to have been the progenitor of your undoing.

he'll do it again after the next concert too, he tells you, so don't worry your pretty little head. he knows how much you adore being brainless for him and it'd be awfully despicable of him to deny you that pleasure.

[mikichko]

i have been laughing my ass off all day at these setsubun day videos and all i can think is that nanami would do this for his kids too

obviously he wants his children to learn about japanese culture, along with the danish bits he got from his mom, so he decides to dress up.

what he didnt anticipate was your daughter’s reaction.

she takes one look at him in the mask and just takes off running and screaming at the top of her lungs. doesn’t even look at yuuji (yes he’s here too, he’s adopted) when he tries to give her the bowl of soybeans to throw at him, just immediately takes off.

you’re trying to call her name in between giggles but all you hear in response is her screaming as she moves around the house. you’re really trying to keep it together since you’re recording for your family back home but you lose it once she’s back within eyesight.

she managed to do a loop around the house, picked up one of your slippers in the process, and was heading straight for nanami. continues to ignore yuuji and the bowl of soybeans, choosing to start smacking nanami with your slipper.

nanami, goes bless his heart, just takes it like a champ. dont get me wrong, he’s so surprised his sweet angel baby girl started attacking him but he instantly starts cowering. backing up and trying to open the door with one hand while she keeps smacking him and he tries not to laugh.

finally he manages to get out the door and your daughter finally stops yelling. just standing there huffing and puffing at the door while you and yuuji try to regain your composure. she still keeps the slipper on her in case he’s coming back.

a moment later nanami steps back in with his hair disheveled and some little red indents on his face (from where she smacked the mask into him). your daughter instantly brightens up and runs to him arms wide open.

“papa I scared away away a demon!”

he lets out a laugh and bends down to scoop her up, “is that who i saw running out of here? he seemed pretty scared coco, you must have done a really good job”

she just beams up at him, “i did my best papa! because you told me to be brave and protect mama when you’re not here!”

nanami just melts and gives her such a loving look before pressing his lips to her forehead, “you did so well coco, i’m so proud.”

tiktoks that inspired this: (x) (x) (x) (x)

[treasuringizu]

⤷ izuku m. x reader

⤷ 1k

⤷ tags - izuku is tipsy and very touchy, reader is kind of tipsy, izu has dimples, u guys make out in public but in a dark corner, dry humping, drabble for this, i did not read this over so pls ignore mistakes :D

"why're you so far away?" izuku asks. his cheeks are prettily flushed, forest green eyes a little hazy, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his forehead.

the room is loud; you can make out the sound of denki's voice somewhere on the dance floor, terribly shouting the lyrics to some new popular song and messing them up, and then you hear mina's right along with his. the rest of his friends are spread out, bakugo and someone else somewhere in the corner, a few doing whatever. the lights are flashing between red, blue, green and purple, gleaming over izuku's face and making him look even more handsome than he already is.

you and izuku are sitting together on stools at the bar, your legs brushing against his when you turn your head to look at him. you smile at the blissed-out look on his face, his eyes already on yours. "i'm right next to you?"

he shakes his head, a slight crease between his eyebrows and a cute pout on his lips, "too far." then he reaches for the edge of the stool you're on, pulling you close to him until your body is facing him, legs intertwined with his. he places a hand on your thigh that's between his, leaning in and smiling, dimples deep in his cheeks.

you laugh at his eagerness. "better now, izu?"

he blinks, slowly, "...yeah." you watch as his eyes trail from yours to your lips, and then trace down your neck, lingering, and then down. his elbow rests on the bar, and you bring your hand up to intertwine with his, your other moving to rest against his cheek. he briefly closes his eyes at the contact, inhaling, and his hand on your thigh moves up, slowly, thumb smoothing over the skin in a way that makes you shiver.

his hand continues moving up your thigh, and before you get a chance to say anything he's leaning in, broad shoulders crowding you, covering you, and his lips are on yours. so soft; you can taste the alcohol, can taste the sweetness of the cherry you gave him from your drink earlier, and it all makes you melt into him, your surroundings fading away as you focus solely on the way he feels against you. the hand on your thigh squeezes, strong fingers digging into the plush of your skin, and it's the action that finally brings you back to awareness.

"izuku," you whisper, pulling away from him but he doesn't let you get far, chasing your lips and giving you another kiss before he relents and rests his forehead against yours. a silver of saliva is drawn from your mouths, falling against his lips, and his tongue darts out to lick it off, eyes half-lidded.

"mm."

you smile, "we're in public."

"yeah."

you don't think he heard you with the way he's leaning in again, and you detach your hand from his to push against his chest.

"izuku," you say again, firmer. his eyes slowly move to yours, and his hand squeezes your thigh again.

he sighs, "wanna kiss you. you look so pretty tonight."

oh, lord. he'll kill you someday, you're sure of it. "thank you, baby." you look around, taking in the crowd. "we can't really... do anything here, though."

the stool scrapes against the floor, izuku's warmth leaving yours as he stands up, taking your hand in his again. your eyes drop to his pants. "izu-"

he cuts you off. "let's go."

he's gently pulling you up and out of your seat, leading you to a corner of the room that's especially dark, the multicolored lights not quite hitting the area he takes you to. there's barely anyone there, except for a single person a couple of tables away that izuku strides right past.

he settles down in a booth seat, bringing you down so you're flush against him. you barely even have time to say anything before his hand is on the small of your back, the other cupping the back of your head, and he's pulling you in to kiss you. he's sloppy with it, uncoordinated, teeth clacking and almost missing your lips, hands pulling at you with a certain desperation, pants falling from his mouth.

and then he moves down to your hips, squeezing and tugging you onto his lap. your legs settle on either side of him, arms wrapping around his neck and you vaguely remember the music playing in the background and the fact that you guys aren't the only ones here, but then he's tugging at your bottom lip and he's the only one that exists. he's sliding his hands up and down your sides, eliciting soft gasps from you before they move to your ass, pushing you down onto him and a broken moan falls from his mouth at the sensation. you brush through his curls, tugging a little too hard in the way you know he likes, letting him guide your hips against his.

izuku trails his lips down your jaw, moving to your neck, gently nipping and sucking as he goes, wrapping his arms around you to pull your body as close to his as possible.

"you're so sweet," he mutters against your skin, and you can feel the flutter of his eyelashes. he's just breathing you in at this point, inhaling your perfume and your scent, rubbing his face against you, nudging his nose into you, before you pull him up by his hair to meet your lips again.

you smile into the kiss, moving your hand up and down his arm, feeling his bicep. "you couldn't just wait until we got home?" you ask, in between it.

"you know i couldn't. you're too —" he sighs when you grind down on him. "ah, y-you know."

he's too distracted to finish his thoughts, and it makes you laugh. "too what? amazing?" you peck his nose. "gorgeous?" his cheek. "tempting?"

he nods eagerly, turning his face so you kiss his lips instead of his other cheek, "all of the above."

"izu, everyone can probably see us."

"yeah." he breathes against you, "let them."

[radiaking]

Oct. 23, 2077

"Is it your thumb or mine?"

It takes a moment for her words to filter through, but even as you kneel beside her, cake held loosely in your hand, you can tell something isn't right. Her breaths come quick and shallow, eyes wide in fear off in the distance, her thumb held up in front of her like you just showed her. Your eyes follow hers out toward the horizon as you stand, a plume of smoke billowing in the distance.

"That's smoke, Janey; that's just a fire."

You almost even believe it, too, despite that sinking feeling in your gut, the way the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rise. But as the cloud mushrooms ever larger, you know it's not just a fire. Your mouth falls open in shock as the thing engulfs the city down below, covering towering skyscrapers, and you know when the smoke clears, they’ll be nothing but rubble.

It’s eerie, too—happy voices sound from inside, muffled by the glass, the party goers as yet unaware of what’s going on outside, miles away. Everything else feels quiet, the calm before the storm. Then you see it, some kind of shockwave and you have only a moment to react as it rushes toward you.

So what do you do? Of course you grab your daughter, your little girl, placing your body in front of her, shielding her as the glass shatters behind you, those inside alerted at last. That’s when all hell breaks loose. As the party goers scramble, already fighting one another to get out, to get to their cars, to get to their makeshift fallout shelters, you grab her, Janey and you run.

You don’t think about the futility of it all, don’t think about the words of your captain you’d only just shared with her a minute ago. You run. You throw her on Sugarfoot and hop on, spurring the horse into action. People pass you frantically on their way to their cars, kids screaming and crying, parents shouting in fear to one another. But you don’t stop, you have one thing on your mind, the safety of your little girl.

Where will you take her? Where’s her mother? Did she know it would happen today? She can’t have, you decide the moment the thought enters your mind—not knowing you have Janey, she wouldn’t have done that, couldn’t have. You refuse to believe that possibility and you just keep running, fleeing down Mulholland Drive. More bombs fall, a blinding flash accompanying each one. They’re getting closer and closer.

Still, you don’t stop, gripping the reins tightly in one hand, your other holding Janey tightly, carefully, she’s the only thing that matters. Until you can’t anymore you’ll just keep running—you have to. You have to keep her safe. You have to.

She’s the only thing that matters now.

[thebrandywine]

Ohhh it's so hard to pick one, I see what everyone else was saying now...

🦷+ Leon, please? :)

🦷 Bite down on this

"This is going to hurt," Piers says grimly. "I can tell you that from experience."

Leon laughs raggedly, eyes too wide in his face, pupils so, so dark. "Just get it over with. We'll match."

Chris tightens the tourniquet above Leon's right elbow, the man spasming at the pain, the pressure. "We really need to talk about your sense of humor."

Leon just laughs again, already peaky in the face as he glances down at his arm, at the rebar that has him pinned to the poured concrete floor, the curve of it locking him in place and keeping him from sliding off the metal. There's no time to look for bolt-cutters, the building already shivering under their feet.

"It's fine to pass out," Chris says as Piers gets to his feet, jogs across the room to bust open the glass case holding the fire axe with his elbow. "I can throw you over my shoulder without a problem, alright?"

"No bridal carry?" Leon asks, and he's laughing again, higher pitched, panicked, edging on hysterical.

Piers grabs the axe and darts back to Leon's side as Chris adjusts him so that his arm is fully extended, perfectly bared. He hefts the axe with a shaky breath, making eye contact with Leon and reading the distant horror there with sickness and grief in his throat.

Chris presses his belt to Leon's mouth, says, "Bite down on this."

Leon grins up at Piers sharp and savage. "Don't miss."

[exurgedomine]

🎧 "And from dusk to dawn we suffer from our immortality" or from the same song "After the dead lover's kiss you fall into a dreamBut with your second birth you're a prince in our mournful realm" I simply could not choose between the two. Nagato and Orochimaru

🎧 Drabble || Accepting

Pale, sickly fingers caress over the contours of a dead jaw. Pads tracing over all the angles of a dead man, marking the features of a cadaver that had once lived, yet now lived again in undeath. 

It was a precious item atop God’s lap.One of his many deific masks of which he postured for worship, gathering both the admiration and ire of those who seek either conviction or forgiveness.

God stared down upon its resting face, a body present, his thoughts absent; he was ignoring his guest.

Orochimaru. The Ouroboros. The legendary sannin. Nagato committed the rumored titles well into memory, especially after the sweet fondness his previous master used to speak of it. Though, the old sage spoke of his companion as a man with ambition and personality, yet all God sees is inscrutable living-flesh chasing the supplanted pleasures of accrued knowledge. 

Chasing? Hunting. 

Nagato’s companion here felt starved for eternity— seeking immortality with a subtle urgency. To a Layman, the ravenous desire was not obvious, but Nagato was not any man, for his eyes burdened him with far too much.

Insofar, immortality has not graced this man in any divine way other than under the suggestion of a steel scalpel and borrowed technique. And yet, it seems the concept was the connecting bridge between God and this non-believer.

Eternity was of latter concern. God’s work was in the present and will not be finished until his goal is complete. However, he supposes that he could live a life infinite. It only crossed his mind whenever Orochimaru drew near with a golden gaze that itched to swallow Nagato whole and curious hands that longed to drink all such potential from whatever remained of his holy body. 

Perhaps he is mistaken. Perhaps, he wishes to be mistaken. The longer the other lingered, the more this meddling feeling troubled his divinity, this idea that what connects these two men was kinship. 

Kinship under bloodied, conquered immortality. 

God’s doubt deluded him that the white snake found itself an ephemeral match of no comparison. Beings of a higher consciousness with a timeline as generous as a millennium. Orochimaru’s touch was warm against his cool skin, his voice honeyed with deceit and innocuous interest. He touched on him with what felt like envy, but grasped with what tasted like fear. Death chased him like how fire clamored after the wax on a candlestick and while Nagato was not the answer to his solution— he was a step in the right direction.

Deities were iconographies. Ideas to behold, philosophies to be pondered. God did not mind extending his mercy and grace towards this wayward soul, yet it seemeth the more he flayed his dermal flesh towards the snake, the greedier he clung to it, sinking his teeth into the ever-rare warmth in a world so terribly cold. 

It was beyond Nagato’s understanding what Orochimaru wanted. Truly wanted. What he had yearned for, nor did he care to know. 

“ Orochimaru, “ God breathes, removing his loving hand from his favorite corpse and laying against the sunken cheek on a skull with its flesh strung too tight, “ indulge me your desires. “

[parasitxs]

the thoughts in his head - he knows they aren't always his own. the ramblings of many men and women ---- all at once. he thinks on the past and can't help the hatred that fuels a fire someplace inside. a sharp pain, their memories are the twist of a knife; the searing scream that comes with the agony of grief. a memory he'd not lived but one he can recall.

his people, taken. ' loved ones ' -- gone.

to close his eyes is to see the smiling faces of their oppressors - the saiyans, ever so proud in their grizzly pursuit of power. beneath their heel, a tuffle's skull. to feel it has him furious, to close his eyes and see such a thing - has him haunted.

truthfully, it's a curse. to know how they felt, to see what they saw. but it must be done. his curse must be carried for the weight of their burden will offer unto him a strength. a will. the power to do what they couldn't. death to the oppressors; vengeance on behalf of his people.

he furrows his brow; a second lost to thought, a second too long. breath exhaled and heels hitting the ground, he casts eyes across a long landscape before him. the dirt is settled, the soil - still. in the air, he smells something sweet and in the close distance, he can hear the hustle and bustle of village vendors and shoppers alike. what a shame that they should die.

would the people of earth one day remember his kind as he sees the saiyans? perhaps. but in truth, he doesn't want to think about that and in truth --- he doesn't really care.

[twinstarsies]

no quirks au, fluff, crackfic

It's an innocuous Tuesday afternoon when Katsuki says, "We should get married."

Izuku blinks as he processes the words, turning down the volume on the tv. He hangs his head over the arm of the couch to look at his roommate. Katsuki is stirring something in a pot on the stove.

"Oh, are you thinking of proposing to Hanta?" he asks. "That's great, Kacchan!"

"What? No." Katsuki scowls. "Why the fuck would I be proposing to him?"

Izuku furrows his brow in confusion. "Because… you're dating him?"

"I sure as fuck am not."

"Then…?" Izuku is completely lost. "But you spend a lot of time with him!"

"Deku. I hang with him to smoke and get high. That's it." Katsuki turns down the heat on whatever it is he's making and turns to face Izuku, crossing his arms. "Besides, he's been pining for Prince Icemelt for years now."

"Ah." Izuku had wondered about that. He hadn't wanted to say anything because Katsuki is his best friend and his happiness is more important to Izuku than just about anything, but he'd been sure Hanta and Shouto were carrying torches for each other.

Turns out he was correct.

Anyway. If Katsuki isn't dating Hanta, and therefore not thinking about proposing to him, Izuku is right back to where he started in his confusion.

"So if you're not proposing to Hanta," he asks, "then who were you talking about?"

Katsuki runs a hand over his face with a sigh. "I was talking to you, you idiot," he says, and Izuku feels his heart skip a beat. "We should get married."

"But…" Izuku still doesn't understand. He feels like he's missing something. A step or two in the development of where they are as roommates to spouses. "Why?"

Not that he doesn't want to marry Katsuki! In fact, if Izuku were held at gunpoint and asked who he'd be happy to spend the rest of his life in happily wedded bliss with, Katsuki would be his immediate answer.

Hm. Maybe Katsuki is onto something here.

"Why not?" Katsuki throws back. He goes back to the food. "We've known each other forever, we live together, and there's really no one else I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.

"Plus," he adds, "you'd look good with my ring on your finger. And my last name."

"Izuku Bakugou," Izuku murmurs aloud, tasting it. It does have a nice ring to it. "I could get used to that."

"So is that a yes, nerd?" Katsuki grins at him.

Izuku pretends to think about it, getting up from the couch and padding over to wrap his arms around Katsuki's waist.

"Hm, I don't know, Kacchan." He stands on his tiptoes to hook his chin over Katsuki's shoulder. "We aren't even dating."

"We basically are," Katsuki argues, and if Izuku thinks about it—living together, going out together, taking care of each other—he can't refute it.

"Does that mean i'd get to kiss you?" Izuku asks, eyes tracing the sharp line of Katsuki's jaw to his mouth. He wonders if it's as soft as it looks, plush and peachy.

Katsuki turns his head, and Izuku finds out that yes. yes it is.

"So? How about it, Freckles?" Katsuki asks, turning back to the food like he hadn't just kissed Izuku like it was something they'd been doing for years. "You wanna marry me or not?"

Izuku hugs him tighter and tucks his face into the crook of Katsuki's neck, inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne. It smells like comfort, and home, and he thinks there was never any other answer.

"Yeah, Kacchan," he says. "I think I wanna marry you."

[cod-sins]

Something about Ghost with a sir kink.

He secretly gets off to his favorite new rookie who'd get on their hands and knees to please him.

"Can I fetch you some water sir?" "Is there anything I can do to help you sir?" "Anything to pleasure you sir!"

He notices the slight glimmer in your eye with that last line. It's only a matter of time before he pulls you into his office and has you bent over draining the cum from his balls.

[keigologies]

this is wrong, so wrong, and alhaitham knows it, but he can't do anything to stop it. he won't, not when it feels so good, so perfect despite the perverseness because how can something like this possibly be bad when it feels heavenly?

language escapes him when he looks down at you, knelt so beautifully between his legs, your throat taking his cock so well it nearly makes him short circuit. your tongue, your mouth work him over so entirely he can't help but think this is something you were made for this, for him.

but it's not possessiveness that overtakes him, it's piety. and it's you who he's worshipping, panting out your name like a prayer, a near beg to give him the release he's so desperately in need of. and you do, you give it to him. he finds that he doesn't need words when this is the language you're sharing right now, primal and unbridled pleasure.

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[lskisms]

pairing steve harrington / gn!reader genre romance, fluff warnings steve is a sweetie

you really hadn't meant to fall asleep, really. you were supposed to just be studying, but steve had convinced you to do your assigned reading in bed and because it's steve, nothing could ever go the way you planned it; he's always had too much power over you like that.

when you open your eyes, the sun has long since set; the clock on your bedside table declares just a little bit after ten pm. you inhale deeply, stretching your legs, toes brushing against steve's calf. shifting to get a little more comfortable, you look up and see steve is stirring too.

his arms tighten around you and he groans sleepily, pressing his cheek into your hair. "did we fall asleep?"

you flush at his groggy just woke up voice (doesn't matter how often you hear it, it'll always have an effect on you), thanking god he's still trying to fight to stay asleep. you hum in assent, not wanting to move your head and disturb your cute boyfriend. "yeah... i think so."

steve hums and lets out a sigh, going quiet afterwards and you think for a moment that he's gone right back to sleep. you wouldn't put it past him.

"what time is it?" his words are warm against your hairline. when you tell him, he laughs silently a few times before tethering you to him even more. "let's just go back to sleep."

you want to protest, but you are still tired and the homework you were supposed to be working on isn't due until next week anyways. so you snuggle in close, shut your eyes, and let his breath lull you back into the dark.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[dcccivcr]

Ji Xinzhan was a stern, but ultimately caring man. He was cold and strict in his affections, but gentle in his scoldings. He had an undeniable soft spot for his only son, as the eldest of four siblings who often starved growing up. The death of his youngest sister only accentuated this tender nature until it became more of a vice than a virtue, nearly ruining himself supporting the drunk of his own father. He never openly expressed his relief when speaking about his passing, but Xinyuan has always had a keen instinct for reading between the lines.

Because Xinzhan was raised a survivor, he trained his child for honor and glory, Xinyuan remembers fondly. And what greater honor than to serve the Emperor. Humbler goals were of equal help to their glorious nation — teachers and civil servants are equally reputable pillars of it —, but Xinzhan dreamed with seeing his son earn a place in the Chinese court. He fantasized with the image of visiting the capital in his elder years, and being greeted by the product of his hard labor serving the imperial family themselves.

And so, he taught Xinyuan everything he knew, and whatever he did not know, he hired others to teach him. By the age of twelve he could recite entire passages of the military classics, which his father asked him to do every morning. He was taught to shoot a bow as soon as he could hold one, and ride a horse as soon as he was tall enough to. His father spent a small fortune in an old, bony beast for him. Ri Chu was unremarkable as far as horses go and had seen better days, but Xinyuan's eyes light up when he reflects on the excitement he felt when his father first brought him home.

He wishes he had known the sacrifices the man had to make for him, if only to appreciate them when he still had the chance to.

Ji Xinzhan was a humble and truly wonderful man, Xinyuan recalls.

The greatest man he's never known.

🦂

[treasuringizu]

d. did he sign them?

he did.

when you ask pro hero deku to sign your boobs, he isn't quite sure what to think.

he was fighting this villain, someone who just wanted to stir up some trouble with no real motive. a crowd had accumulated on the side like usual, watching deku fight, cheering on the number one hero with smiles on their faces and some with tears in their eyes.

everyone is cheering when he apprehends the villain; he binds them so they can no longer move, using one muscular arm to drag them to the side where the police are located and the other to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

they're all ecstatic, chants of deku deku deku drowning out the engines of the cars that drive past on the streets; it makes him laugh as he looks upon the crowd and thinks he sees someone with a hand to their forehead pretend to faint when his eyes land on them.

never one to neglect his supporters, he strides up to them, running a scarred hand through his messed up curls, flashing the smile at them, and enthusiastic squeals travel through the air while cameras go off with lights flashing in his eyes.

he takes pictures with his lopsided dopey smile and holds up the peace sign, signs autographs on whatever he's given, answers a few of the questions that are thrown his way by journalists, and then he finally sees you.

you shoved your way to the front of the crowd that surrounded him, the largest grin on your face that grows even bigger as he sets his eyes on you. and you look familiar, he thinks. he vaguely recalls seeing you at another site like this, and he thinks he's seen you on twitter a few times, running one of those fan accounts. and then he's suddenly teleported back to that time he had found your account, sitting in the dark of his bedroom and scrolling through your posts, blushing over the thirsts and stumbling upon a picture of you. thinking that you were beautiful.

but before he even gets the chance to say anything to you, you're unbuttoning your shirt, holding it open with both of your hands to reveal your bra and smooth skin underneath, and he feels himself grow hot from his head to his toes. his eyes flit down and he knows everyone is watching him get flustered but he really doesn't even know what's going on and he's getting kind of nervous and -

he hears you say will you sign for me?

a marker is shoved in his hand as he short circuits but he's moving on auto pilot, looking into your eyes and — wow you're really pretty —grasping the marker tight and asking here? smiling stupidly before lowering his hand to run the marker across the swell of your chest in the shape of his name, trying not to stare too hard because this will definitely end up on some articles in the morning and his pr manager will surely have a bone to pick with him.

and then his name is literally on your chest, and you're beaming up at him, thanking him for his signature and he thinks he can just die on the spot—

when he's home later, videos and pictures of the interaction are trending, people all have something to say about it, but then he sees your account, again.

you posted a picture of the handwriting on your chest, tagging him in the caption. thank you for the autograph, deku :)