#Expansion bolt

[gudmould]

Mould for Plastic Wall Plug

Cavities 6 for 6 changable styles from 180-420mm size Cavities 6 for 3 changable styles from 220-260mm size Cavities 10 for 5 changable styles from 180-160mm size Cavities 12 for 4 changable styles from 80-140mm size

[hedonisticbabyfeedee]

big tummy uwu

[bustlilbluepigg]

I hope you enjoy this greasy girl chugging as much milkshake as possible and bloating like the piggy she is 🐷

[fierykitten2]

What the Proto Beasts and Neo Swords think of the photos Perrin has of them:

Walking Wake and Iron Leaves are sad that they left Area Zero before the photographer was able to get their photos

Gouging Fire seems to be the only one who’s actually happy with its photo. It thinks it makes it look the most majestic (everyone else thinks Crown’s photo makes it look the most majestic. Crown strangely agrees with Fire) okay I’ll admit it’s very hard to find screenshots of the photos online and somehow there seem to be more screenshots of Boulder and Crown’s photos than there are of Fire and Bolt’s photos. Since coming up with the idea for this post the other day I haven’t actually had another look at the photos and even yesterday I couldn’t quite remember what Fire’s one looked like. I do remember the other three though

Iron Boulder is sad that the photographer didn’t want to get closer (I wouldn’t be surprised if the photographer did try to get closer but was like the average fan and somehow looked at Boulder and was like “this is ugly but you know what isn’t? Skeledirge” so they never took a close-up. Boulder deserves a close-up you can hardly see it in its photo. I think Boulder would be rightly offended in this situation)

Raging Bolt isn’t too happy to see how little of it made it into the photo. And the boulder in front of it was so small all it needed was three more seconds and it would have poked its head up. The camera person would have needed to point the camera a lot higher to get the photo then. Also Bolt probably would have attacked the moment it saw the camera (it’s never seen a camera before) so maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see its head or neck in the photo

Iron Crown was fully aware of where the photographer was and had every intention of moving away to avoid getting its photo taken but it was too distracted by the beauty of Area Zero to move in time

Bonus: Fire likes to use Bolt’s photo to blackmail it (occasionally Wake joins in despite not knowing what blackmail is) and Leaves and Boulder like to use Crown’s photo to blackmail it

[sonicfrontiers]

(shoots straight upright in the middle of the night) quel'thalas void expansion (passes out again)

[kaizenmetals]

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[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 

[caelivir]

“are ya sure yer not dating (y/n)?” osamu suddenly asks his brother during a quiet lunch between the two of them.

atsumu chokes on the grains of rice in his mouth, coughing violently and punching his chest. when he finally settles down, he throws a glare at his brother. “what the hell, ‘samu?”

“that’s not an answer.” osamu continues to press.

“we’re not!” atsumu answers, picking up a piece of chicken katsu with his chopsticks. “i don’t like them like that. they don’t like me like that. we’re just friends.”

the bright red-pink of his ears speak otherwise. you see, osamu knows his twin better than he knows himself. he knows that whatever comes out of atsumu’s mouth is a load of crap. just friends? yeah fucking right.

osamu has never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at you, starlight and pure adoration swirling in his irises. he acts as if your every word were an earth-shaking prophecy sent by the heavens. his honey brown eyes stare, and he smiles so gently that it makes him sick.

friends aren’t touchy in the way you guys are. you hold each other’s hand like it’s nothing. with interlocked fingers, atsumu will trace his thumb down the back of your hand for no apparent reason. when you’re bored, you’ll take atsumu’s hand into your lap and play with it, bending his fingers, comparing hand sizes, and running a featherlight touch across the expanse of his palm to see if he’ll react.

osamu notices how you never miss the opportunity to find a seat on his brother’s lap. whether there are no seats of available or ten open ones, you will always choose atsumu. and it’s not like he’s complaining about it. in fact, osamu thinks that he waits for it because atsumu would never want to miss the chance to secure his arms around your waist and whisper into your ear amidst a loud conversation.

and you can’t forget the cuddles, and the hugs that linger longer than they should, and the way you’ll cup atsumu’s face, and the way you play with his piss blond hair.

you’re the one person atsumu lets wear his jersey to his game. he ensures you get the best seat to watch him play. osamu doesn’t miss the way his twin looks at you before every serve or the way you cheer the loudest when he scores an ace.

osamu doesn’t think that someone who “doesn’t like you” would be thinking about you every time they shop. “(y/n) likes this snack”. “(y/n) would love this shirt”. “oh hey, (y/n) showed me this”. “‘samu, should i buy this for (y/n)?”.

osamu has never seen two people so madly in love before. he doesn’t know how you guys haven’t realized it yet. and he can’t keep playing along because atsumu’s katsu looks really good right now.

“right…” osamu chooses to answer, dipping his chicken into the tonkatsu sauce. “i sure hope they’re gonna have fun on that date they have today.”

his brother’s chopsticks clatter onto the table before rolling onto the floor. the sight of atsumu’s open mouth filled with rice is unsightly, and osamu has to suppress his laugh.

“they didn’t tell you?” osamu raises an eyebrow.

“no?!” atsumu suddenly stands, slamming his palms into the table.

“yeah, i think they’re gonna leave soon.” osamu lies easily. there is no date. but of course, does ‘tsumu really need to know that?

the blond twin practically bolts away from the dining table and out of the house. when the door slams shut, osamu grins to himself, reaching for the unfinished plate in front of him.

“he can thank me later.”

atsumu brainrot never ends. something short and sweet bc school is kicking my ass.

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[eevees-hobbies]

An Accidental 'I Love You'

Synopsis: Saying ‘I love you’ is difficult for some of the Wind Breaker boys (some more than others), but sometimes intimacy is all one needs to be inspired to say those sweet three words. Characters are aged up.

Based on prompt #16 from @prompt-heaven. Dividers by saradika. Story banner by me.

CW: Female Reader. Smut & Fluff below. MDNI

Word Count: 1.6K

Authors Note: I genuinely love the Wind Breaker characters, so I’m excited to write for them for the first time. Remember, my requests are open if you'd like something written! As usual, I always appreciate a like, comment, or reblog.

Haruka Sakura has his issues. If you asked his closest enemies—and some friends—to list his flaws, they’d rattle off: impatient, hot-headed, kind of clueless. But you know Sakura, and, sure, he can be some of those things, but the flaw that makes your heart ache the most is what he exhibits in his most vulnerable moments: insurmountable insecurity. 

When you start to date Sakura, you know that he needs gentle praise and reassurance to build him up to combat the years of abuse he’s experienced—and it’s a delicate balance of the right amount of praise without sounding insincere.

So when you finally reach the next level of intimacy in your relationship, which admittedly felt like a slow crawl, you start to see another side of Haruka Sakura.

You’re his first everything—-date, hand-hold, kiss, and sexual experience. One thing about Sakura is that he’s eager to make up for lost time, gingerly touching you in places that make your bottom lip quiver, licking you in a way that makes your pupils dilate and your mouth open in a breathless moan. Sakura buries himself in you because while he’s never outwardly expressed it, he feels safe, accepted, and loved when he’s with you.

And maybe you’re a bit surprised when his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling the hickey-covered expanse of your flesh as he whispers a quiet, “I love you.”

You both pause what you’re doing—your gentle scratching of his toned shoulder blades and his deep rolling of his hips. Suddenly, Sakura pulls back, beet-red and a horrified expression on his face. And you know him and his proclivity to shut down and run away when embarrassed, so you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him from leaping out of the room and bolting down the street.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, the internal dialogue you’re almost always attempting to fend off, contributing to a new narrative that you may reject him.

“H-hey! Look at me.” You reach a hand up and stroke his face, the heat of his cheeks permeating against your palm. 

“Haruka, I love you, too. I hope that you know that.” You look down between you both, your bodies still connected, which you hope clearly indicates the feelings you share for one another.

He bites his lip, following your eyes, taking in your naked form splayed out underneath him, fleshy thighs wrapped around his waist, the insides of those thighs coated in your slick and him still throbbing inside of you. 

You can see him doing something that he doesn’t do often—fighting back the harmful dialogue in his head that says he isn’t enough. 

Sakura leans down so he’s back to hovering in your orbit, his strong arms on the sides of your head and caging you in. His voice remains slightly above a whisper, but at least he’s now gazing into your eyes with his luminescent ones. “I got in my head…again.” 

You rake the tips of your fingernails across his spine, earning a shiver and a low whimper from him—he doesn’t need much more of an invitation to recapture your lips in his own and continue to roll his hips into yours.

Hayato Suo is as calculated as they come; everything he says is said with reason—whether the other party knows that reason is another story. With that knowledge, I can’t imagine Suo accidentally saying those three special words. 

In fact, he’d never say those words if he didn’t mean it. So when Suo informs you that he loves you in a way that feels akin to asking you what you wanted for dinner on a random Tuesday, despite you both laying in bed, fully unclothed after a heated lovemaking session, you’re a loss for words. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places soft kisses against each of your knuckles, but you stare at him to make sure he’s not—excuse the language—fucking with you.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel you staring into his soul. A corner of his lips tilts upward in amusement. 

“Say it again.”  

And so he does. Every chance he gets, he tells you that he loves you, that he adores you, and that breathing you in sustains his very being. He not only whispers the sentiment during mundane moments like walking down the aisle of your favorite tea shop but also when you’re in the throes of experiencing his passion for you. 

Gentle caresses of your stomach as he delivers gentle suckles to your clit, devouring your essence one swallow at a time. And while what he says is muffled because his mouth is full of your sex, it’s clear to you that he’s showering you with praise among the sanctum between your thighs.

“I love you,” “you’re simply everything,” and “my pretty girl” consume the spaces you share, and no one can blame you if you develop a bit of a praise kink because no one has the unshakeable swagger that Suo does. 

Jo Togame has a feeling that there’s something about you when harmless flirting in the hangout turns into letting you wear his Shishitoren jacket to send a message that if anyone fucks with you, they’re going to have a massive problem on their hands. 

Among the stolen kisses, frenzied quickies in the cover of alleyways, and lazy weekends spent in bed with your legs wrapped around each other, it finally hits Togame as he’s drawing large circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. And it isn’t until one of the aforementioned lazy Sundays that he’s willing to share the revelation. 

You’re laying in bed with one another—-he, the big spoon to your little one, his cock buried deep inside of you as he rolls his hips in a manner that only Togame can—-in no particular rush to bring on his orgasm but having a preference to prioritize yours.

You’ve gotten used to the sensual lovemaking, the slow build of your orgasm bubbling deep within you as you tremble from the overstimulation.

Togame presses his lips against your neck, slowly trailing kisses near the edge of your hairline and upward until you can feel his tongue sucking gently at your lobe, and a deep, slow rumble emits from his chest, “God, I love you.” 

Togame says it with the conviction of someone who has resolved themselves to one person, his person, you, you, you. There is no room for doubt because once Togame commits to you, he’s simply committing to the destiny of your love story, which was always inevitable. 

Hajime Umemiya is also someone who would never proclaim his love for someone unless he meant it, but unlike Suo, his reasoning has little to do with a preference for remaining aloof and more to do with the fact that once he says, ‘I love you,’ he’s marrying that person.

In a perfect world, Umemiya would plan a romantic date somewhere where you’d be surrounded by blooming flowers, the rays of the sun beaming down on you, and creating a golden halo around the crown of your hair. You’d never looked as beautiful as you do now, and he was ready to express to you what you meant to him. Umemiya would be visibly nervous, and because you know him so well, perhaps this would indicate that something was amiss. 

Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t always go according to plan because one thing about Umemiya is that he can be caught in the heat of the moment. 

Umemiya has your hands pinned above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours because there’s not a world in which he doesn’t crave that connection with you. And as he slides into you—an unashamed moan escaping his lips, he takes in your smell, the way you murmur and sigh his name as he fills you up; he can’t help but sputter out a shakey, “I…i love you.”

Instead of being embarrassed that this wasn’t what he planned, he chuckles because this is as good a moment as any and says it again, and again, and again, while placing tender kisses against your lips, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

Ren Kaji has had quite the stressful day—even by Makochi’s standards. After throwing fists with thugs terrorizing the town's shop owners, he seeks you out, his anchor, the one person who can keep him from losing control and beating people within an inch of their lives. 

And you’re more than happy to take on that role, not only because you adore the sweet-toothed man but also because it results in some rough romps in the bedroom, which you could never complain about. 

Hard smacks to your bare ass, angry, dark hickeys littered across every inch of you, and a soreness radiating between your legs later warrants intensive aftercare, according to Kaji. So after he’s done massaging your scalp, helping you into your cute pajamas, and grabbing you a glass of water, he holds you. 

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the soft, rhythmic repetition of his beating heart as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

And in between soft snores and a relaxed dream state, Kaji utters a simple “I love you.”

You laugh softly so as not to wake him because, of course, he does, and this isn’t the first time he’s spoken those words in his sleep. But every morning, neither of you mention the confession. 

His actions are more than enough proof to show that he loves you, and you aren’t sure that he remembers, anyway. Regardless, you have no doubt that the day in which Kaji speaks those words to you will come.

[potatoplace]

Three's Company

Cassian x Reader x Azriel

kinktober day 3 | threesomes, spitroasting

kinktober '24 masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: You come home to your roommates after a terrible date, and they offer a sympathetic ear. And maybe some sympathetic touch, too.

Warnings: smut, uhhhh smut

Words: ~2.2k

Author's Note: here it is, day 3 of kinktober! I'm happy I got this out lol it was a bit of a struggle, work tired me out. But enjoy some nice smutty Az n Cass! I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍❤️🤍💙🤍

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed as you fell back onto the couch, right between your two roommates.

“What is it, Y/N?”

It was Cassian, sitting to your left who asked.

You sighed again. “You know that guy I was seeing?”

“George, or something, right?” Azriel asked from your right.

“Yeah… We went out again tonight, and things were going really well until we got back to his apartment.” You fell forward, pressing your chest to your knees and your head in your hands.

“Did he try something?” Azriel asked, his voice low, almost irritated, if you had to guess.

“I mean, technically yes, but I wanted him to. It’s more what he didn’t do that was the problem,” you said, still bent over yourself. “Like, I went down on him without him even needing to ask, but when I asked if he would eat me out…” You bolted upright, covering your face with your hands as your face turned crimson. “I’m sorry, that was probably way too much information.”

Two gentle, giant hands rubbed your back soothingly.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I’d like to know just how much I should glare at the man if I ever run into him,” Cassian said.

“Keep going, you had more to say, right?” Azriel asked, his hand on the back of your neck now, gently rubbing out the tension.

“Just… He refused to eat me out, said that it’s disgusting for me to even ask… And then I still…” You sighed once more. “We still had sex but he came after like, a minute. How fucking pathetic is that?”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian said softly, his arm wrapping tightly around you, bringing you into his side. “What an asshole. You deserve so much better than any of that.”

Azriel’s arm joined his, and then you were being squeezed between the two men, both of them placing a kiss on your head.

“I think I have an idea to make you feel better,” Azriel suggested.

You dropped your hands to your lap and turned your head to look at him, his blazing hazel eyes meeting yours. “And what would that be?” You asked quietly.

Azriel’s eyes left yours and looked over your head for a moment before locking eyes with you again.

And then two hands wrapped around each of your thighs, hauling each to rest between two thick, strong legs, spreading you wide open.

“I’ll offer you a deal, kitten,” Azriel started. “If we can make you cum harder and more times than any of those crappy guys you’ve a dating over the past six months, you date us.”

Your breath hitched in your throat- were they serious?

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Cassian asked lowly, his lips by your ear, and you shivered at the feeling.

“Mm…” You bit your lip, considering their offer as their fingers drummed on your inner thighs, small licks of heat accompanying their touch. “Yes,” you breathed, and that was all it took for their hands to start moving.

Cassian’s moved to take off your top, while Azriel’s slid beneath your skirt, brushing against your bare cunt- you had forgotten to grab your underwear before booking it out of George’s apartment.

“Naughty little kitten,” he whispered in your ear before dipping a finger inside of you, humming in satisfaction when he found you wet already.

Cassian pulled your top over your head and off of your arms, tossing it to the side. His arms wrapped around you, hands immediately moving to cover your breasts, squeezing them and testing their weight. His plush lips kissed along the expanse of your throat, drawing a quiet whine from your lips.

Azriel had moved his finger, coated in your slick, to rub small, slow paced circles on your clit, and you knew then that you would be dating them, one way or the other.

After all, how common could it be to find two incredibly attractive men who wanted to give you pleasure at the same time?

Cassian’s hands kneaded your tender flesh, thumbs rolling over you nipples in time with Azriel’s swirling finger on your clit, heat building quickly in your core from their touch.

“Feeling good so far, sweetheart?” Cassian asked in your ear.

You nodded in agreement with your eyes closed, moaning out a soft “Yes,” your breath hitching when Cassian squeezed your right nipple tightly.

Azriel stopped his movements, removing his hand from your center altogether, and you whined in protest, eyes still shut. He moved your leg that was over him setting it back down on the couch. There was a quiet squeaking noise, and your eyes flew open in the next second when something warm, wet, heavenly wrapped around your clit, eyes making contact with Azriel’s as he sucked on your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned out, one hand latching on to Cassian’s thigh, the other fisting in Az’s hair. He laughed lowly, sending pleasurable vibrations through your clit and you squirmed in their grasp.

“Hold still, princess, be good for Az, hmm?” Cassian ordered gently, his arms keeping you in place as Azriel moved from your clit to your soaked hole. “Can you do that for us?”

“Mm-” you groaned, nodding your head a moment later. “Mhm.”

“Good kitten,” Az said softly, his gaze meeting yours when he lifted off of your core for a moment before returning his attentions to your clit.

With just a few precise licks and two fingers inside you, you shattered in Cassian’s arms and under Azriel’s tongue, your back arching as Azriel’s thick fingers drew out your pleasure.

“Such a good girl for us, Y/N,” Cassian murmured in your ear as you came down, his thumbs rubbing a soothing pattern on the underside of your breasts. “Do you think you can stand, sweetheart?”

With the way your legs were still shaking, even with Azriel’s hands no longer touching you, you didn’t think you would be able to.

“No…” You admitted quietly, and Azriel’s lips split into a grin at your words- a true rarity for him, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Want me to carry you, princess?” Cass asked, not waiting for you answer as he slid your leg off of his and stood, an arm hooking under your knees and the other supporting your back as he lifted you into his arms.

Your arms flew around his shoulders, and you giggled when you saw Az with a slight pout. “Be faster next time and you can carry me, Az.”

“Is that a promise, kitten?”

You bit your lip as you looked at him, then nodded your head.

There was no way you could go back to being just friends with the two of them, even if you stopped what you were doing at this very moment.

“Good, now let’s get you into a bed, hmm?” Cassian said, already walking in the direction of your bedroom. Azriel opened the door, letting the two of you pass through first before he joined you.

Cassian gently set you down on the edge of your bed, then knelt at your feet and began taking off your shoes, which you had forgotten to do before sitting down between them earlier. Azriel was already stripping off his clothes, his shirt first, then his belt, and he had just unbuttoned his jeans when Cassian’s touch drew your attention again.

“Stand up, princess, unless you want to be fucked in your skirt.”

The offer was tempting, but you wanted to feel their skin against yours, anyplace that you could. So you stood on shaky legs and rested your hands against Cassian’s broad shoulders as he tugged the skirt down over your hips to pool at your feet, sitting back down when his hands pushed your hips lightly.

“Get on your knees for us, kitten,” Azriel ordered when he reached the edge of the bed, his hard cock bobbing in the air.

He was big.

You did as he asked, getting on your knees and facing the end of the bed. At least, you assumed that’s how they were wanting you.

“Look at that, Az, she takes orders from us so well already,” Cassian praised, and your cheeks flushed further, if it was possible. Both from his words, and the fact that he was naked now too, and his cock was even larger than Azriel’s.

“Thank you,” you said breathily, and they both smiled at you.

“So polite, too,” Azriel murmured, running one of his thumbs across your cheek. “Where do you want us, kitten?”

“Oh, uhm… I’m not sure.”

Cassian stepped closer, his own hand tangling in your hair. “Do you think you can swallow my cock? Or would you rather I fuck you with it right now?”

You licked your lips, sizing up the girth and length of him. “I… I’m not sure I could fit you in my mouth,” you said sheepishly.

Cassian smirked in response. “We can try some other time, princess. You heard her, Az.” He walked to your right and kneeled on the bed behind you, spreading your knees apart with his legs, and you fell forward onto your hands at the change in position.

Azriel moved to stand right in front of you, his cock close enough for you to lick now, if you chose to. You peered up at him through your lashes, and he let out a soft groan.

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed at you as he stuck a thumb in your mouth, smirking when you swirled your tongue around it and sucked. “Are you ready for us, kitten?”

You held his gaze as you nodded, frowning when his thumb left your mouth with a slight pop.

“Open up, kitten,” he said, fisting his cock in one hand as the other gripped your hair lightly. You could feel as Cassian lined the head of his cock up with your soaked entrance, waiting for Azriel’s signal.

A shiver ran up your spine, one of anticipation.

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around Azriel’s cock, letting him push in a couple of inches, and that’s when Cassian pushed into you, slowly, oh so slowly.

The stretch of him was overwhelming, the delicious feeling of pained pleasure overtaking you as Azriel commanded your mouth, setting a slow but steady pace for the moment.

“Fuck, princess, you’re so damn tight,” Cassian hissed as he pushed further in, nearly fully seated now. You moaned loudly around Azriel’s cock in your mouth, causing him to hiss in pleasure.

“You should feel her mouth, brother, it’s the best I’ve ever felt. And you’re taking me so well, little kitten,” Azriel praised as he ran a thumb over your cheek. “Do you think you can handle me picking up the pace?”

You nodded as best you could, what with him in your mouth and his hand in your hair. He smiled down at you and moved his hand to join the other in your hair, holding you in place.

He did as he said he would, moving faster in and out of your mouth, a pace that Cassian matched, each one of his strokes hitting you in the perfect spot- over, and over, and over, driving you closer and closer to the brink with each movement.

And there, in the moments that they filled you at the same time, you found utter bliss, lost to the freedom of giving yourself over to the two men, the way that they carved a space for themselves inside of you.

Cassian’s fingers slipped over your clit in fast, small circles, and you fell over the edge, your cries muffled by Azriel, still occupying your mouth, sending him over the brink as well, spilling his seed down your throat with a long, low moan that had you clenching around Cassian again.

Cassian was the last to fall, the grip of your cunt squeezing his climax from him, and he gave a few last, triumphant pumps before pulling out of you, watching with a satisfactory look in his eyes as a bit of his cum dribbled out of your hole onto your bedspread.

Azriel pulled out of your mouth and let go of your hair, only to rush forward as your arms and knees gave out and you collapsed into his arms in a giggling heap on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Azzie, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your bare chests together.

“What the hell you guys, come back up here,” Cassian whined, scooting to the edge of the bed so he could look at the two of you. “I need some post-sex cuddles too, if you don’t mind.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “Come down here, then, you big baby.”

“Yeah, Cassie, c’mere,” you murmured, already snuggling into Az’s warm, warm body. “Bring a blankie too.”

Cassian sighed in feigned annoyance, but crawled down onto the ground anyways, pulling your comforter off the bed as he went. “Only for a little bit, and then we actually get in bed, okay?” He said as he spread the blanket over the three of you, his arm slinging over your waist and hand resting on Azriel’s.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed as Azriel muttered, “You’ll be the one who won’t want to move in five minutes, Cass.”

“No I won’t,” Cassian said, but yawned a moment later. “… Fine, maybe I will.”

You giggled into Az’s chest. You might have just had amazing sex with the two of them, but they were still the same goofballs you knew and loved.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[minnesota-fats]

A fic-lit about Danny working at the watchtower, not as a superhero but as an engineer.

This is based on an prompt I read months ago but cant find where Danny put that he was a halfa on his resume but the hiring manager didn’t pay attention to it and hired him anyway. Rather than that its just Danny working at the watchtower and vibing on break when a tiny Robin finds him in the viewing deck.

—

Danny had been working for the justice league watchtower for a couple of months. He has seen hero’s come and go, paying him no mind and he was absolutely living for it! Unlike at 14, he was just a simple, normal worker—despite being half dead and the next in line for the crown in the infinite realms—he is just a simple mechanical engineer, Danny Nightingale. No one to fight, no one to save, just a big space station that needed someone to help keep it up in space.

And that's another bonus to this job; Space!

He gets to spend his shift up in the stars, looking out at the cold expanse of their solar system. Admiring the earth from a whole new angle, and he is getting paid to do it! Sure he could go into space any time, but being able to spend a good portion of his time here really made his core sing in joy. When he was on break he would wander around the areas he had clearance to go into, looking out every window at every star. Cataloging the ships movement through space with sharp eyes. His favorite place to go is the viewing deck, it was exactly what it sounded like, a place to just go and view that space outside.

It was there that Danny decided to take his break today, the Watchtower was at just the right angle to be able to see the earth from the viewing deck. Danny smiled watching the planet he lived on from afar, this really was the best job he could have ended up with!

A few months back he was having a hard time finding work after college, sure he had all the proper qualifications for the positions he applied for. But due to his medical condition—being half dead with a slow almost nonexistent heartbeat—they all refused him, afraid that his heart wouldn't keep up if he left the atmosphere to board any of the space stations orbiting the earth. To be fair it wouldn't have, he tested it by flying up to the moon and back the old fashioned way. But he couldn't just tell them that; being an ecto entity was still a crime that he was just barely able to get away from at age eighteen.

He came out to his parents once he graduated high school, they reacted poorly. Danny’s mom saw red and tried to kill him the rest of the way, claiming that Danny was just a ghost “piloting” his corpse around. Danny’s dad just stayed silent and watched, but before maddie could really do anything he acted. Jack knocked Maddie out with a strong blow to the back of her head. Danny remembered the hope that he had when Jack did that, but after he looked up at the man that hope died in his chest. The man looked torn, both angry and sad and in a voice lacking any of the familiar warmth said, “leave before she wakes up.” And he turned to pick up Maddie and made his way up the stairs. It was because of his dad that he was able to get away because after that Danny Fenton was declared dead. With the help of Sam and Tucker he was able to make a new identity for himself and go to school. From that day on Danny decided to move on and never look back.

After putting his name out there time and time again he was rejected. It wasn't until he got a letter in the mail saying he had been scheduled for an interview at Wayne tech of all places. He didn’t remember applying there but decided to go anyway, needing some sort of job to get him through. But when he got there he was greeted by Lucius Fox and Batman of all people! Danny nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the dark knight, Danny couldn't help but think the worst. But before he could bolt, Lucius explained that Batman was looking for workers with the help of Wayne Industries for the base of operations for the Justice League—The Watchtower. Turns out all his applications to several different space programs caught the man’s attention. He even explained that Danny wouldn't even need to have a physical or get on a spaceship because The Watchtower utilized teleportation technology. Danny was so excited that he agreed on the spot without even knowing the benefits he would get from working with them. Which—surprising to no one—were a lot of benefits.

Danny was drawn from his thoughts when he heard the soft, almost nearly nonexistent footsteps coming from behind him. Danny turned and saw a child—no older than twelve—wearing a hero’s costume that looked like he was mimicking a traffic light. The kid froze in his tracks when Danny turned to face him, the two staring at each other for a few moments before the kid smiled and waved at him.

“Hi,” the kid beamed at Danny, “I’m D—Robin!”

Danny lifted a brow, “you a part of the justice league?” He asked, not remembering a kid being a part of their team.

The kid shook his head, “No, my guardian is though!” He explained.

“Ah, neat,” Danny said nonshalontly as he turned back to look at the window, “you come to see the view?” He asked.

The kid walked farther into the room and gasped when he got a better look at said view. “Woah—��, he exclaimed, now standing next to Danny.

Danny looked beside him to see the stars reflecting off of the kids' eyes, “cool isn't it? I come here on my lunch breaks," Danny says.

The kid looked at him and then squinted suspiciously, “if you're at lunch where is your food?” He asked.

Danny smiled, “I forgot my lunch at home today,” Danny lied, seeing the stars gave him enough energy to continue going. He usually eats when he gets home.

“Really?” The kid asked with a raised brow.

Danny smiled and looked around to see if anyone else was there, when he saw no one he asked, “do you wanna hear a secret?” He asked. Robin looked around himself as well before he leaned down a bit so Danny could whisper into his ear, “I actually just absorb the energy from the stars to sustain myself.” He explained.

“Really?” Robin asked, looking at him again, trying to gauge if Danny was lying or not.

Danny smiled, “yep,” he said, popping the p, “that's why I got a job here, that way I won’t starve to death.” Danny grins.

“But cant you just look at the stars from earth?” Robin asked, tilting his head.

“I mean, sure,” Danny says with a shrug, looking back out the window, “but this is so much better, isn't it?”

Robin looked out the window, “yeah!” The boy exclaimed, “it's so much clearer up here than in Gotham.” He commented.

Danny smiled and looked back at the boy, “I live in Gotham, too.”

“Really?” Robin asked, “No wonder you come up here,” the boy commented, causing Danny to snort in laughter and it wasn't long before Robin joined him.

“You got that right,” Danny says with a smirk before something dawns on him, “Wait, hero from gotham? I didn't know Batman had a kid?” Robin looked away, Danny could feel his nerves and sadness pass through him.

Danny was about to tell him that he didn't have to talk about it but before he could get his words out Robin spoke up, “My parents died about a year ago… he took me in only recently, he decided to train me when I found out he was Batman,” the kid says looking down at his feet, a glare etched on his face, “i never got to avenge my parents, the murderer had a heart attack before I could even get to him….”

Danny reached out to the kid and placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder, Robin looked up at him—as if remembering that Danny was there with him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Danny says softly, Robin looks away from him. “But I can tell you wholeheartedly, your parents are proud of you and what you are doing,” robin began rubbing at his mask, preventing him from wiping the tears away from his eyes underneath. “Here,” Danny says as he goes to pick up the 12 year old, “let's get you back to the Big Black Bat, I bet he is looking for you.”

Danny sits Robin on his hip and walks out of the room, rubbing circles into the child’s back. They walk together in silence, Robin resting his head in the crook of Danny's neck. “…Thank you,” Robin mumbles.

“Don't mention it kid,” Danny says as he looks around the corridor trying to spot anyone who could help him get this kid to the upper levels, “I know what it's like to lose your parents….”

“Really?” Robin asked, his head lifting off of Danny’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Danny says, “they didn't die, but they basically said they never wanted to see me again.”

Robin gasped, “that's not nice!” Robin declared making Danny laugh again.

“Your right,” Danny agrees as he turns down another hall towards where the zeta tubes were, maybe someone in there could help. “But, now I'm here, having the time of my life with the job of my dreams.”

Robin smiled again, “you could say you're living the HIGH life.”

Danny paused in the hall and started snickering, “that was a good one, Birdy.”

“Birdy?” Robin asked.

“Yeah, your name is Robin, that's a bird, so Birdy,” Danny explained, “its a nickname

“Does that make us friends?” Robin asked.

“Sure, as long as your guardian is ok with it.”

The boy smiled happily, excited at the idea of having made a new friend. The calm was interrupted but Danny’s supervisor yelled from across the room, “Nightingale!” He shouts, causing Danny to jump.

Danny turns to look at the man, “hey boss—” he starts, blocking Robin from the man, not wanting to scare the kid.

“You are late to clock back in! You're not getting paid to sit around with your head in the clouds!” The man shouts.

“Sorry sir, I was—”

“No! You need to get back to work, NOW!” He demanded, “this is a multibillion dollar space station, everything needs to be on a strict schedule!”

Danny sighed, his supervisor hasn't liked Danny from day one. Something about him being “young and nïeve” or something like that; “head higher up into space than we were right now.” At least that's what Danny heard him say about him once or twice.

Danny was about to talk back when something just past his manager caught his eye. It was Batman, walking fast with a look that told everyone to get out of the way. But Danny could feel the worry bleed off the man in waves. Must be looking for Robin, Danny’s mind supplied. Danny sidesteps his supervisor and shouts, “Hey Batman!” To catch the dark knight’s attention. Danny had to restrain his laughter when he saw the look of horror pass on his supervisor's face.

Now with the vigilanties cold glare focused on him, Danny smiled and adjusted his stance to show Robbin to him. “Looking for you kid?” Danny asked.

Robin smiled nervously and waved at Batman, guess he wasn’t supposed to wander off like he did. “Hey B!” He shouts.

Batman’s glare softens so slightly, a regular person would have missed it. However, Danny could feel the man’s previous anxieties melt away into a strong relief. Batman strutted forward and glared down at Danny—despite Danny being taller than him. Danny just smiled and adjusted Robin on him so he could hand him over to the dark knight.

Now in Batman’s arms, Robin tapped his pointer fingers together nervously. “Sorry for wandering off,” he mumbled before his smile came back full force, “but,” he exclaimed, “I made a friend! His name is Danny and he liked my puns! And we both have bird names!” He exclaimed all while pointing at Danny.

Batman looked from the kid in his arms to Danny, “hmm,” he grumbled. A man of few words, Batman nods at Danny.

Danny nodded back, “He’s a good kid, glad I was able to help.” Danny replied. Feeling gratitude from that small gesture alone. Batman isn't the most expressive but being able to read emotions like Danny really helps when talking to people.

Batman turns his head to look over at Danny’s superior, “hmm.” After that Batman turned and walked away.

Robin climbed to sit up on Batman’s shoulder and waved back at Danny, “Bye bird buddy! Have a good day!” He shouts as Batman enters the elevator. The doors closing behind them and leaving the zeta tube control center in near silence.

Danny looked back to his supervisor who looked as pale as a sheet ghost, Danny gave him a shit eating grin and shrugged at him. “I tried to tell ya—”

“Get back to work Nightingale!” He shouts.

“Ok, ok, I'm going.” Danny says, turning on his heels and walking away from the man with his hands held up in surrender.

—

I have so many ideas for this au and if I write more I might post it on my AO3 feel free to read other things I posted on there!

[drewharrisonwriter]

Overtime

Status: Complete.

Pairings: Boss Dave York x Secretary Female Reader

Word Count: 1008 words

Summary: Preparation for an investor presentation kept you and your boss Dave York working overtime.

Author's Notes: Hey, it's been a while and I know I have a shit ton of WIPs lol but I hope you all enjoy this new Dave York piece. I am open to requests and prompts, too.

Warnings: Minors DNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit sexual content, themes of infidelity, and unhealthy relationship dynamics/power imbalance, employer-employee relationships. Reader discretion is advised.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The office is eerily quiet, the low hum of the central air system the only sound as you perch yourself on Dave’s lap. Your back arches slightly, your hands gripping the polished edge of his mahogany desk to keep your balance. The soft fabric of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the creamy expanse of your thighs and the black lace of your panties pushed to the side. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as you move atop him in slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and it’s not just from the pleasure coursing through your veins. It’s always like this. Heated. Urgent. Completely reckless. You bite your lower lip, stifling the sound bubbling up your throat, your mind warring with itself. You hate and love this in equal measure. You love how his touch makes you feel alive in a way nothing else ever has, and you hate the reality you always face when it’s over.

His thick cock stretches you perfectly, filling you in a way that makes your breath hitch with every movement. Each upward thrust of your hips meets the firm grip of his hands, steadying you as he guides you into a rhythm that is both demanding and intoxicating.

“Fuck, baby, I love this so much…” he groans, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His head rests against the back of his executive chair, his sharp features cast in the dim light of the desk lamp. “You feel so goddamn good. Always so damn good…”

Your chest tightens at the words. They aren’t new. He always says things like that when you’re in a moment like this. And the pounding in your chest isn’t from the building pleasure but from the knowledge that this will never be more than what it is… A dirt little secret from the world. 

Your internal conflict swirls in your chest, tangled with the physical ache of your body chasing the high he always brings you to. He shifts slightly, leaning forward to press a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder. His teeth graze your skin, making you clench around him involuntarily.

“Don’t stop,” he commands, his voice low and rough. One of his hands slides from your hip, skimming over your stomach before dipping lower, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He presses tight, deliberate circles there, and you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as the sensation shoots through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Dave,” you whimper, your grip on the desk tightening as your thighs tremble. You’re so close, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

“Not yet,” he growls, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You don’t cum until I tell you to.”

You whimper, biting your lip hard to stifle the moan threatening to escape. You try to focus on the desk under your hands, on the steady rhythm of your hips against his, but the sensation of his fingers rubbing your clit while his cock fills you to the hilt is too much. Your body quivers, teetering on the edge of release.

And then the phone fucking rings.

You freeze, your breath hitching in your throat. He lets out a low growl of frustration, his hand stilling on your nub as he reaches for the phone on his desk. He glances at the caller ID and sighs heavily before answering.

“York,” he says, his voice clipped, though his fingers resume their torturous circles on your clit. Your eyes widen, your body trembling as you try to stay still, to keep quiet, but it’s impossible.

“Yes, the investment presentation is on track,” he says into the phone, his tone professional despite the way his hand works you over, keeping you on the brink. He leans back in his chair, his free hand gripping your hip tightly to steady you. His voice drops slightly as he says, “I’ll call you back. My secretary is… coming.”

Your cheeks burn, your breath coming in sharp gasps as he ends the call and drops the phone back onto the desk. Before you can recover, his hands grip your hips again, and he thrusts up into you hard, his movements unrelenting.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Now.”

Your body obeys, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him as your thighs quiver. Your head falls back, your eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure wracks through you. He doesn’t stop, his pace relentless as he chases his own high, your body tightening around him only spurring him on.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head against your nape as he comes, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his release. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you tightly against him as he empties himself inside you. You swear you can feel every hot rope of his release, leaving you feeling bloated and utterly spent.

The room is silent except for your ragged breathing. You slump forward, your hands still braced on the desk as you try to catch your breath. His hands soften their grip, his fingers brushing over your skin in lazy, soothing strokes.

It’s always like this. Passionate and consuming. And yet, as you clean up, straightening clothes and fixing hair, the reality always looms. He kisses you softly, his lips lingering on yours for a moment longer than usual, but it’s not enough to chase away the ache in your chest.

You watch him leave, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he walks to the elevator. He will go home to his family, to his wife, and lay in bed beside her while you lay awake in your own. And that’s the part that hurts the most. This is all you could ever be. And you hate that it isn’t enough—but you hate even more that you can’t stop wanting him anyway.

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

💃A corner of the production workshop of the wedge anchor through bolt fa...

[skribbledarker]

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanj’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH