#THE drabble

[catofthecanals289]

little max maybe please?

oh i wrote this ages and ages ago and it's the beginning of something kinda long but never published. hope you enjoy this little snippet of it anyway

--

Max is ten years old when he finds his mother’s packed bag hidden under a pile of laundry in a basket by the washer.

It’s the first day of the second week of school tomorrow and Max wants to wear his Sponge Bob shirt again because Willem, the boy who’s been seated next to Max said it was cool and they hadn’t talked much more that week because Willem likes playing soccer during breaks and talking to Fabian and Ruben who Max got into a fight with last year, but that first day he’d been nice and he’d asked Max if he thought Patrick was stupid too, if he found Sandy as annoying as he did and Max had had to admit that he never actually watched much Spongebob that the shirt was a gift by his uncle but Willem hadn’t seemed bothered so Max wants to wear the shirt again.

But he hadn’t found the shirt in his closet, so he’d asked his mom about it and she’d told him to not bother her, that she didn’t have time for this now, that she needed to go and do grown up stuff and that Max should be a good boy and leave mommy alone now.

She’d looked over her shoulder, had looked at Max, had looked at the hallway and back at him. She’d smiled tightly and she’d cupped his cheek for a moment, soft and gentle. But she hadn’t said anything else, so Max had run back up to his room, had checked the closet again only to still not find the shirt.

Victoria had been sitting in her room, door open, loudly making vroom noises, playing with her Barbie doll in her Barbie car and Max hadn’t asked if he could play with her, even if his dad was nowhere to be seen. He’d been still little and Victoria even little when their dad had caught Max playing with Victoria and her dolls, but Max still remember show much she had cried, how she’d wailed and hit her little fists on the floor because dad crushed the pink plastic car under the heel of his boot, when he’d ripped her doll out of Max’s hand tossed it into the trash.

Max had cried too, he thinks, but only after, and only because his cheek had hurt so much and his knuckles even more, bruised and aching because he’d still been holding the car, because he hadn’t let go in time.

But Max doesn’t want to play Victoria anyway, doesn’t care about stupid girl stuff like Barbies, knows now that boys don’t ever like those things, that there’s a difference between dolls and action figures, that there are things that are for you and others decidedly aren’t. And that’s that.

So Max had turned away from Victoria’s door and he’d climbed the stairs down into the basement and had not been scared of the laundry room and it’s cold tiles and little spiders in the corners unlike Victoria who always shrieks when she sees one. But she’s barely eight, she’s a baby, and Max isn’t anymore.

Still, when he finds the packed bag, he doesn’t understand. Even less when he finds another, close to it with stuff in it, that’s not his mom’s but Max’s. There’s the yellow Sponge Bob shirt, and his favorite trainers that he couldn’t find the other day and- And one of Victoria’s dresses, one of her books, it’s-

“Mom, are we going on vacation?” he asks, when he’s back upstairs, looking up at her, the Spongebob shirt clutched in his hand.

“What?” she says, distracted again, turning with a frown on her face that turns into a weird kind of smile quickly enough. “Honey, no. No, why would you say that?”

Chewing on his lip, Max shifts from one foot to the other. She sounds weird, voice waiver and wrong, but she does that a lot lately. “Because of the bags? Downstairs?”

“Oh.” Her breath hitches, and again she looks over her shoulder before crouching down, getting more on eyelevel with him. “Max, schatje, listen.” She smiles, again, but again, it makes Max’s stomach feel funny in a bad way. “The bags have to be our little secret, yes? Just you and me, my love.”

“But why?” Max frowns. He still doesn’t understand why the bags are there in the first place, much less why they would have to be a secret.

“Because- Because it’s a surprise,” she says after a pause, hand son his shoulders, grip a little too tight, making Max squirm. “So we can’t tell anyone. That we’ll go on a trip. Because that would ruin the surprise.”

 Still frowning, Max shakes his mother’s hands off.

“A trip where?” he asks, but in the same moment the sound of the front door interrupts them, and his mother’s expression warps, a flash of something there, then another smile, even worse as she puts her finger to her lips, a quiet request for Max’s silence, as Max’s father makes his way into the kitchen.

“Hey, buddy,” he greets Max.

Max’s mom stands there, still, right where she is, looks at Max, then at his father. She doesn’t say anything, and Max’s father doesn’t either. Not to her. He’s mad at her, Max knows because of something that happened at the barbecue last week. She’d been talking to this neighbor and Max’s dad had gotten angry and-

Max doesn’t know. He’d taken Victoria by her hand and ran to the garage with her to show her the racing track he came up with and drew on the driveway with chalk, and that had been good, that had been better. He doesn’t know what happened, just knows that his parents haven’t been talking since that day, only icy silence between them.

“Hey, dad,” Max had said dutifully and he hadn’t said anything about the packed bags, not then, not ever.

Not even that night not even a week later, when Max woke up while it was still dark to his Mom shaking him, his jacket already thrown over her arm.

“You have to get up, Max,” she’d said quickly, voiced hushed. “Honey, please. Put on your jacket. Hurry.”

She hadn’t waited for him to move, she’d pulled on his arm, had made him sit up, and stand up, had put shoes on his feet and he’d still been in his pyjama’s and she hadn’t answered when he’d asked her what was happening, why he couldn’t keep sleeping, if something was wrong, where his dad was.

“That trip, I told you about?” she’d said between putting his jacket on him and making him hold his backpack. “Our secret? We’re going on it now. You, me, and Vicky. It’s going to be so much fun, I promise. But we have to hurry. We have to leave now.”

“But-” Max had said, confused and upset, scared by her fluttery voice and moving around. The back and forth, the here and there, it’d been- “But what about dad?”

[cloudbattrolls]

It's Too Cliché

Crista Condyl | A Remote Beach | Present Night

Crista brooded over their coffee cup. Well. They sulked, more like, but let them have this. They deserved it. They needed it.

The wizard leaned back in the old but comfortable recliner. They were currently in a little rentable beach cottage they liked to return to when they could, since it was often empty. 

If it wasn’t when they got there, they could activate their ward on the place that made whoever was there pack their things and get going in a hurry, manifesting an illusion of whatever problem with the hive would get them going fastest by using their subconscious fears as a base. 

The little wooden building wasn’t the nicest place - hence why it was often empty - and yet another draft came whistling through the poorly insulated walls, but a few wards for warmth and protection made it safe and comfortable enough. They couldn’t do too much - didn’t want to attract attention from any other passing magic users, even if the chance was low. 

Or worse and much more likely, undead. 

Ghosts were easily kept out, but a horde of zombies was a slightly bigger issue.

They sighed, taking a sip of the hot beverage, just having poured it from the place’s coffeemaker. The blend was good, at least; they’d bought it with money from their last job. Nice and smooth, with tones of hazelnut.

Often they liked tea, but right now? Right now was a coffee moment, for sure and absolute certain. The heels of their lavender boots drummed against the floor as they considered their situation.

Two! Two crazy…attachments!

As if one wasn’t enough. At least the first one could just be put down to Catill being unfairly gorgeous and talented. Who wouldn’t be a bit smitten with a woman that impressive and a little frightening to boot?

But there was no way to explain away Kormut as anything but. That. 

Pale feelings. 

Ugh.

A blueblood! A ruddy blueblood of all things! Didn’t that cap it all. Granted, he was hardly typical…but still. He’d far outlive them. They could hardly go out together without getting looks for what a ridiculous caste gap there was.

Even thinking about that was crazy! Kormut probably didn’t see them that way at all. What a silly thought. They’d look so stupid if they told him how they felt.

‘Oh hello, Kormut dear, I’ve fallen in pale with you. Want to go out for dinner? Presuming we can get you to a restaurant without major injury or the food all spoiling on arrival.’

He’d be nice about it, but probably confused, trying to let them down gently. Ughhh, so awkward! 

Catill…

She’d made that little world for them, hadn’t she? Such a beautiful place…so well done, so well lit and that gorgeous sky, the detail on those lanterns…had she really meant it as…?

If she had - oh gods, what were they supposed to do? Try to impress her again? What if it failed? What if they were assuming too much?

Well. If they had, they’d just…laugh it off! That’s right. Everything could be laughed off. Haha, whoops, I thought you might be flush-flirting! With me! Haha, that’s sure a funny mistake I made, oopsie daisy, my bad. Please don’t rot my brain.

But if they were right…

Catill. Gathering mushrooms. Casting a spell. Moonlight shining pink and green on her white hair. That tiny little curled part of her horns that seemed so delicate. The way her face looked when she teased them…they wanted a closer view of that expression.

Crista coughed on their drink, hot brown liquid dousing the back of their throat and arcing back into their warm cream mug patterned with daisies.

Women, perpetually their undoing. 

Well, in for beetle, in for a caeger. Even if they were imagining things, might as well have fun, right? Plus, they had an idea…

They finished off their coffee and decided to retire for the night, but they knew what they’d do next evening, right after breakfast.

—

“Oh, boo.” They complained, down on their hands and knees among the beach’s rocks and tide pools, the damp sand clinging to their bare skin and clothes. “There has to be some somewhere! Right? Surely everyone didn’t take it all already…”

They squinted through their glasses, which were after all supposed to help with their farsightedness, and which they suspected might need a prescription update sometime, since they had neglected it for…almost a sweep. 

Of course, it couldn’t be anywhere that used an imperial database. That was the bother of it, and of so many other things. 

Oh, sure, they had fake IDs and the like, they could fog a mind or two…but you never knew what sort of mind readers, empaths, or nullifiers such a place might have on staff. They had a good read on magical energy, but their own psi being so weak, they weren’t much good at sniffing out how powerful someone else might be on that way.

“What are you looking for, fellow?”

They looked up, ears flicking in alarm as they startled from the sudden voice.

Oh, that was a tall oliveblood. 

They didn’t know greens got that gangly - well, gangly wasn’t the right word, this person was stouter and curvier than that. 

They had a nice voice, too, fairly deep and mellow, and their hair was…red, huh. Dyed, clearly, they could see the black roots, but red nonetheless. 

They also wore sunglasses, even though it was a cloudy night.

Well, whatever. Some people had things to hide, other trolls just liked the aesthetic, silly as it looked.

“Sea glass, seen any?” Crista saw no reason to lie; this person didn’t seem aggressive. 

Not yet, anyway. 

“Hmm, no, sorry.” They genuinely sounded a bit apologetic. “What do you need it for?”

“Uh.” They paused. “I want to make a sort of…miniature fountain thing…for a friend. I thought pieces of it would be good decoration, nice for lights to shine through.”

The midblood put a hand - with red claw polish - to their mouth as they laughed delightedly.

“Sweet thing to do! I’ll help you look if you do me a favor; you haven’t seen any trolls with jade pins around here, have you? Ones shaped like crowns?”

Crista shuddered. “Absolutely not, and if I had I’d scarper. Don’t ever want to tangle with those…people.” The rust said, with the clear impression that they would have happily used a different and far more negative noun.

“Smart! Now this one’s stranger, but bear with me; how about mannequins? Any clothes mannequins in places they shouldn’t be?”

Crista startled. “Thought that was just some urban legend rubbish. You’re telling me it’s true?”

“Not sure yet.” The tall troll said casually. “So you haven’t?”

“I’ve seen one from a distance in the woods one time…I thought it was just a prank.” They admitted.

“Maybe so.” Replied the olive amicably. “Either way, thanks. So where do you want me to look?”

“Uh.” Crista was surprised the olive was holding up their end of the deal, and blinked a few times. 

“Er, over at the other end of the beach would be helpful, I haven’t looked down there yet. Um, thanks.” They added as they gestured with a pointer finger, somewhat awkward but sincere.

“It’s nothing.” Said the green, laughing again as they turned and walked the other way down the strip of sand. 

Crista realized the troll hadn’t given their name, but well, they hadn’t given theirs either. Not that the carefree midblood seemed too fussed either way.

They kept looking, but only found a few small pieces, and sighed. At least they’d picked up a half-dozen nice shells, too…they brushed the sand off their hands and stuck them into the cold sea for a few moments, then shook them off.

The olive came back with - with - heavens, how had they possibly found that much? Sea glass of multiple colors glimmered in their hands, easily over a dozen pieces of it. 

“Wh -“ Crista sputtered, honestly a little jealous, adjusting their glasses to make sure they were seeing correctly. “How? Are you psychic? What’s your secret?”

The midblood laughed again. “Nothing very dramatic, I promise.” 

They handed it over, the smooth pieces pouring out of their darker-skinned hands into Crista’s pale ones as the maroon blinked in disbelief. The wizard put them in their sylladex with the others, noting that the other troll hadn’t answered their question. 

Definitely a strange one…but they supposed they shouldn’t question someone who had helped them for the low price of answering two questions.

The olive nodded cheerfully, then turned and began to walk away. Crista watched them go…then called out.

“Wait, I…what IS your name?”

“Djimin.” Said the troll easily. 

“Thank you, Djimin.”

They tipped their head with a fond smile, and then walked away further, vanishing from the maroon’s sight.

Crista looked up at the moons, the pink one a mere sliver, the green one soft and gibbous. 

Moonlight on white hair. Moonlight on water. Moonlight streaming through glass, as if it were a current unto its own, particle and wave and liquid all at once.

They hoped their idea would be enough.

—

Keeping the water starry had stumped them for a hot minute, but what did any wizard worth their salt do? Cheat. 

In this case, enchant the water to draw a reflection from water on whatever part of the planet was currently experiencing nighttime.

Said water flowed from a pot Catill herself had made from the clay they’d found and shared with her, looping up and back down into it in an infinite spiral. 

When she’d given it to them, it had been the first time their face had warmed because of the yellowblood…

Ack! So sappy. Why did she do this to them? 

Well. That wasn’t exactly a mystery…she was everything a witch should be. Powerful. Ruthless. Imperious. 

Beautiful.

Kind to them. Even though she was so much stronger. 

Crista looked at their own rippling reflection in the water. Not bad. Not amazing, either. So-so, but it was amazing what a little confidence and some magical talent did for you…

Among ordinary trolls. For her, it would require more.

They swallowed a sip of ordinary water from a glass, then prepared to speak the final spell to complete the piece they had planned. It didn’t do to go dry-mouthed in the middle of an incantation.

Everything was laid out on the worn wooden table in front of them, the old brown thing a bit rotted and worn by the sweeps and salt air. But it still held, and would for a while longer.

They looked at the page they had written it on, at the sea glass carefully placed in the appropriate sections of a magical array. Their maroon eyes wandered over the shells they had gathered, and the crystallized mana they had borrowed - from Catill - to aid in this spell and make sure they wouldn’t pass out after casting it.

Crista had even cleansed themself with saltwater beforehand, and said a quiet prayer to the spirits they hoped were listening.

One night they’d hear them again. Right?

“O éiríonn uiscí agus fite fuaite le chéile, ag éirí mar ghloine go scarann ​​tú arís…”

Gaelige. Of all the languages they knew - though many only in bits and pieces - it felt right for this spell. These were the words of making.

Words through which magic flowed, pouring through reality to mingle with the mundane and elevate it to so much more.

As they spoke, the simple clay container unfolded into a miniature fountain. It became three-tiered, decorated with small leaping cats and perching parrots, the baked earth turning a rich golden yellow.

The sea glass all melded together and adhered to it in decorative engravings in its many shimmering blues and greens, delicately accenting the animals’ eyes, along with the tips of their fur and feathers. The shell covered the edges of the tiers, in soft pearlescent and striped-brown hues.

The water itself could turn to starry glass with a simple command, capturing the constellation that its water reflected at the time. Yet it could also be returned to the flow and become its native shape again.

If someone who so happened to be skilled with light shined their power through the liquid…

It would radiate like a galaxy.

Crista breathed heavily, sweating with effort despite their preparations. Oh…that had taken…

They sat down heavily on the old recliner again. They could stay awake, but only barely.

Perhaps Catill would have to wait a little longer, just a bit…but what a present they’d have for her.

Something made by - and at its best with - both their talents.

Magic was better when shared, after all. 

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Perhaps they ought not to have eaten the dragon. There had been people objecting to it at the time. Surely such meat was poisonous. Perhaps it was even an affront, an insult to some intangible order of nature they ought to honour.

But the city was starving, the siege had gone on too long, and the king's troops were still a week's march away. The scorched earth would be fertile again in time, but right now it was barren. Right now there were mouths to feed. So they changed their crossbows for butcher knives and got to work.

None of the royal commanders asked any questions that could not be answered. After all, their aid had come shamefully late. The dragon's horned skull made a noble gift, a fitting tribute from a triumphant city to its humbled king. Who would have thought to question them?

And none of the townsfolk spoke up, when the first golden-eyed babes were born. Children who grew up barefoot and fearless, clambering over the city's patched and rebuilt roofs like they had no notion of falling, with a strange glitter to their skin when the sunlight hit it just so. No one breathed a word about dragons.

Because soon enough there were deft, young hands taking loaves straight out of the oven, heedlessly lifting iron from the forge, plunging into boiling laundry water. And some of them more wondrous still, wild, warm-skinned youths, with inexplicable knowledge and peculiar remedies.

A blessing, their families said proudly. A blessing after so much hardship. Which it was, in its way. This city would never fear dragon fire again.

[fumiliar]

toji has a secret tattoo, in a place hidden from the rest of the world. and you wanted to find out what exactly this man was hiding.

"where?" you asked one more time.

"nuh uh, no telling," toji shaking his head once more.

"let me find it then!" you got closer to him as you inspected him. you decided to make a plan, you'd ask him to take off a piece of clothing, if he hesitated, that's the spot.

"take your shirt off," you slowly observed the man.

"if you wanted my clothes off, could've just said so," toji taking off his shirt easily with one arm. "do-"

"your pants," you continued, as the man raised his eyebrows.

"do you want to fuck me or something?" he took off his pants, leaving him with just his boxers in the middle of the living room. "quit staring won'cha, my eyes are up here."

you were lost, no hesitation in any of his movements. his skin was clean, in all the places you'd expect a patch of ink, there was nothing.

"give up?" toji taunted as a smirk slowly came to his lips.

you had an epiphany, his lips. you walked closer to the man, looking pitifully as if you were a kid who got their lollipop stolen. as you got closer, you leaned for a kiss. slowly, your hands reached for his face, landing on his bottom lip. you pulled his bottom lip down finding the tattoo, "kiss me" right on his inner lip. jackpot!

"YES!" you jumped in happiness, releasing his bottom lip. before you do your third jump, you felt large hands grabbing your waist, immobilising you. he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist making you see him eye to eye.

"don't be too excited, now this is a secret between me and you, no one else doll, no one," toji emphasising the last 2 words glaring at your smile.

"ok, kiss me," before toji could respond, you smashed your lips to hip making him shut up, giggling in between kisses.

note: firm believer toji is a man who got a tattoo bcs of a silly dare.

[jjk4isen]

super annoying gojo satoru when a girl comes up to you and asks you if he's your brother even after clearly seeing him grabbing your ass and saying super cheesy lines to you to make you only roll your eyes at him.

and you're stuck dumbfounded because it's not rocket science to figure out that you two are a thing just by looking at the both of you because the clingy bastard is quite literally stuck to you everywhere you go, whining and pleading for yet another kiss after stealing several from you.

and it's the same clinginess that prompts him to answer in your stead "yes actually. we're siblings" he beams a smile at you and you scowl, why the hell is he feeding onto this random girl's delusions like that? can't he take the hint?

you're not done scrutinising him when he grabs your chin with his big ass hands and smashes his lips onto yours, tugging and devouring your mouth into an extra sloppy kiss for the girl to take a hint.

he pulls away, a smirk on his lips as he licks his lips where yours had been a second ago. "is that obvious enough?" he chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as you see the girl storm off in the corner of your eye.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader. husband nanami, whiney nanami, brēeding, cowgirl, mdni. adding to this

riding nanami so good that it makes him want to propose. focusing his weight purely on his rocking chair, the continuous creaks sing as you’re rutting back and forth. “s- sweetheart,” he slurs in a dreamy tune, a baritone-like rasp falling on his words. one hand of his grips toward your waist, tracing a thumb against the pretty curvature of your torso. whining yourself, you lean in toward his neck to bury your face near the crook, but he makes you collapse back. “no, no. don’t hide from me, wanna see those eyes,” and as gentle, mahogany irises meet your own, he groans. “good girl, my good girl. jus’ keep lookin’ at me, yeah.”

“kennnn,” you whimper, the repetitive dragging of your hips scratching a bittersweet carnal itch near the insides of your brain. his body heat was scorching hot, you thought you were gonna melt. the insatiable skin slapping against skin makes you deliriously numb, you want more. with your loose jaw hanging itself open, drooping—you lean in to lick a stripe up his neck. “fuck, ‘s good. mhm,” and each time you slam back and forth against him, he kisses his teeth. nanami’s sweating profusely, he barely even notices though because his entire attention’s focused on you. his pretty girl. although, the moment you start to dip your hips in a deep circular rotation, he tosses his head back.

“fuckin’ s- shittt,” he swears, and even his curses sounded so blissful . . sinful. for the first time in forever, nanami whines. the palm of his hand then closes in on your ass to give it a good firm squeeze. with fawn strands covering his eyes, he starts to shake. with his hefty chest heaving and a needy tone pouring from his voice, his gaze meets yours once more. “marry me, m- marry me, i need you to be my wife, please.”

an eyebrow of yours quirk upward at his words as a smile pierces its way against your spit-slicked lips. you throw your arms over his broad shoulders before giving him a sweet reply.

“hm?” and your hips had him going insane—the tempo, it was just right. not too fast nor too slow. the centers of your jittery knees bury itself into the sides of the chair before you whisper into his ear. “did you forget, baby? ‘m already your wife.”

nanami moans, your voice was enough to make him spasm right then and there—you sounded so sweet but your insides felt even sweeter.

your sloppy cunt grips against him tight like a vice, simply clinging onto him for dear life. within each pull and bounce against his lap, your walls were so gummy and goopy. it was just tantalizing. you were nothing but a tease and he only craved for more as each second passes.

taking in every inch of his thick cock, you hold back a noise yourself. digging the edges of your teeth into your bottom lip to suppress an incoming squeal, you kiss his neck — it was slow, you create a soft trail of butterflies with your lips. marking his neck with your own wings that press against your mouth.

“hah, oh . . are we?” he responds, panting. with a hand still glued to your hip like it’s made of adhesive, his eyes meets his ring finger. you and him were definitely still married. he groans, feeling a lump in his throat equivalent to the size of a saucer. “ah, forgive me sweetheart. ‘m sorry, y- your hips are just so..”

he doesn’t even bother trying to finish his trembling sentence before his cock kisses up against your g-spot once more. not just an ordinary kiss though, a french kiss.

it’s sloppy, passionate, and exquisitely thorough.

tangled fingers of yours claw at his cerulean blue dress collar. with cobwebs and cobwebs of slick saliva sloshing against each mouth — he huffs, shivering from your hands to roam further down his work shirt he wore. nanami was sexily slouched back, two thighs spread open for you with a single leg bouncing up and down in anticipation.

oh, he was close. his base sags and hangs as you’re rutting against him quicker and quicker. with a nice amount of fingers scraping through his hair and toying your fingertips with his scalp, you dip your tongue further into his mouth. “m- my love,” he purrs, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him so whiney. his voice was melodic at most, each breaking syllable making the throbbing between your legs intensify. “don’t stop, please—i love you, i love you.”

“i love you too ‘ken,” you babble, feeling the elastic stretch curve and pull through your walls.

your lips part and you moan before feeling him hold your waist tight. nanami groans against your ear and it’s so low that it was almost a mere growl. it could have easily been mistaken as a growl with the raspiness in his voice. with your knees continuing to plow deeper into the chair, bouncing back and forth, he spanks you, again, and again, and again.

nanami’s about to come, you know once his prettily blown irises roll wayyy back until he’s seeing white and his thin brows curl into a proper furrow.

each sloppy bounce against his lap punctuates so good that he’s barely able to hold his moans back by now. you had him hooked. his faint poking dimples press together as he tries to speak, but instead of words, another dragging whine escapes. leaning up against his ear, your warm breath tickles his lobe. “c’mon, kento. cum in me, ‘s okay. make a mess in me, baby.”

“f- fuck, keep talk to me just like that, sweetheart ‘n i might,” he replies back in a shaky tone, feeling a chill reside up his spine.

your cunt’s addictive warmth was preparing to milk him for all that he’s worth. as he clenches down on his jaw for the umpteenth time, his grip against your waist tightens. “ugh, ‘s gonna be so much. so much for you, my sweet l- love,” and as he’s rambling, a thick load abruptly shoots into your core, dribbling into your womb. it’s hot, and when it rains it pours. nanami swallows thickly, the same lump that lived in his throat was now forming into a ball. your hips steadily slow down and you glance down to see the lewd mess emitting deeply into you. it’s so much—it’s velvety, creamy ropes of cum that quickly fill you up to the very top. as his tip spits such sloppy amounts of seed into your starved cunt, he bites his lip. “oh, ‘s still comin’ out. forgive me, ‘m givin’ you all of me, princess.”

with a soft smile, you kiss near the crevice of his mouth where a tiny crinkle caresses and marinates against his soft features. “don’t apologize for being dirty, ken. ‘s okay.” and his face softens at your words. nanami feels his body shudder with heat from how gentle you were with him.

you’re clinging onto him dry and he’s still pumping you full of ridiculous inches—featuring his beloved, syrupy textured cum. it’s a whopping amount that he could barely process how much he’s gifted to you until he actually looks down. the moment chest deflates, the sensitive crown head of his cock gives your sweetest spot its final chaste kiss. satisfied with being filled to the very brim, you don’t get off just yet. instead, you remain there, gently brushing your hips forward.

“m- marry me,” he repeats, his voice cracking.

nanami hears the squelches and spurts your own pussy makes from the residue of cum spewing from the undersides of your legs. “ah,” and he grips your chin, attempting to kiss you but his lips instead reach toward your chin. you worn him out, he’s barely even reaching your mouth and it’s cute. nanami’s got hooded half lidded eyes and a pried open mouth. he’s almost drooling for you, that’s how whipped you had him. “be my wife, i need you.”

kissing his cheek, you smile at his current pussy drunken state. taking a mental image to savor this moment forever, a thumb brushes its way against his tender cheek. “i'm your wife already, silly,” and his eyes dramatically roll back in rapture again. nanami’s releases always last long, and he’s still getting over it. his dick twitches from the sound of your voice, and he wanted more of his sweet sweet wife. the feeling of your sopping walls squeezing him for every ounce of cum he’s got makes him grunt. it feels so good that it’s almost heavenly. it’s warm and insanely sticky — oozing in ropey wads from your hole before trickling all near his lap. “all yours, ken.”

“all m- mine,” he repeats breathlessly, gently grabbing your wrist up to his mouth.

with a sheepish exhale leaving his lips, a free hand slithers its way toward your tummy. sighing deeply, nanami makes direct eye contact. “my love,” he repeats for a final time, and you gasp once he suddenly pulls out.

pouting for a second at feeling empty, he makes you lie flat on your back. nanami’s got a feral look in his eyes, broad shoulders raising up and down and messy unkempt strands all in his face, he wants one thing tonight and it’s you.

as he spreads your quavering legs open with a single hand, he then creeps two fingers toward your stuffed cunt to smear his cum near your entrance. “since we’re already married, let me g- give you a baby, sweetheart. you’d be such a good m- mommy.”

[nezuscribe]

gojo never imagined an arrange marriage with you, but now you’re all he can think about.

he thinks about you when he’s training, when he’s seated at his round table, when he’s in his bed, everywhere, every time, you’re all he can think about.

and you’re oblivious to it.

you heard the gossip everywhere you walked, about the girl gojo was pleading with his family to marry. how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much more elegant she was compared to you. you knew you were never his first choice, not even his fifth, but it hurt even more when everybody acknowledged it.

you stopped wearing your wedding ring, started acting like you were just another person there. luckily gojo didn’t seem to be in any hurry about making heirs, so pretending like you two were working things out didn’t even matter anymore.

you find yourself alone most of the time. your maids were kind and patient, but they had so many things to do throughout the day that you felt awful pestering them to walk around the estate with you.

eating dinners with gojo became normal, but most of your other meals were in silence, always feeling like a speck of dust in the large dining hall.

one day when you’re walking around aimlessly you stumble across the training grounds, the open space below you filled with men swinging wooden swords back and forth at each other.

it wasn’t difficult to find your husband, his white hair hard to miss in a crowd of others. he didn’t notice you watching from above, and so you stayed hidden, not knowing if the men were picky with who watched them.

he was swift and agile. everything he did was precise and with meaning. no wonder he was named the best warrior of the north.

you found this to be more entertaining than walking around the gardens for the tenth time or watching the cooks assemble the next meal, so you didn’t even notice how gojo looked up to see you, somehow slipping away without you knowing.

you were in a state of watching but not really thinking, almost jumping out of your skin when you heard his voice behind you.

“didn’t know i had an audience,”

you yelp, flinching as you look behind you to see your husband all sweaty, panting slightly as he moves his hair away from his face. you eye the stairs that led him up here, wondering how you could’ve missed that.

you laugh sheepishly, giving him an apologetic smile as you pick are your nails.

“i’m sorry,” you scratch behind your ears, feeling heat rise to your cheeks under his intense gaze. it’s unfair how pretty somebody can look, especially after training for an hour straight, “i was just walking around and i saw this.”

he waved it off, shaking his head as he leaned his sword on the wall.

“not a problem,” his eyes shine, “i just would’ve tried harder if i knew my wife was watching.”

my wife.

the words fall so smoothly from his lips you wonder how many times he’s said it before. with malice, hatred, necessity?

you smile a little bit, eyes crinkling around the edges as you look away briefly, not noticing the way gojo chased after your cheerful face.

“how’d you get up here? where are your ladies?” he asks suddenly, looking around at the fact that it was just you up here.

“my what?” you say, looking up at him through furrowed brows.

“you know,” he waves his arm around as if that would help, “you’re ladies in waiting,”

you scrunch up your nose a little bit, something he noticed you did when you were confused.

“oh, well, my maids are working right now,” you tell him, noting that he still didn’t look any less confused.

“no, not your maids, your ladies,” he tilts his head to the side, “the girls your family sent them up to help you around.”

you stare at him, unblinking.

“the girls that are your friends, the ones that help accustom you…” gojo trials off when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere with you.

you feel even more embarrassed than when he caught you watching him, hating the way you were clueless at yet another thing in this life that no one explained to you.

“the girls you hang around with?” he finally lands on, hoping this jogs your memory.

you shake your head, eyes wide as you fidget with the fabric of your dress. his eyes fall onto your finger, lingering on the fact that you’re not wearing your ring.

“who do you spend your time with throughout the day?” gojo seems even more lost than you. he’s seen you with…? well surely that one time…?

“by,” you swallow, embarrassed, “by myself. i walk around a lot.” you admit sheepishly.

“your family didn’t send…?” he answers his own question with his silence.

this entire time you’ve been alone?

he opens his mouth to speak but somebody beats him to it.

“satoru! get down here! we’re still not done!” his friends shouts from below, and you look over your shoulder to see all the men staring at the two of you.

gojo stares at you, unblinking.

“i,” he swallows but can’t find any words.

you can’t either.

he leaves you there, running down those stairs as he shouts at the other guys to resume what they were doing. that entire day he was off his balance because he kept looking up to see you there, but you weren’t.

maybe you were just walking around, like you said.

[beloveds-embrace]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[ofourlee]

megumi x reader

"i want a kiss."

"no."

megumi let out a scoff, feigning being offended by your response

"no? you're denying me a simple kiss? that's cold."

megumi turned his head slightly, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff, his lower lip sticking out in a slight pout.

"gumi,"

he continued to sulk, his back facing you as he laid on his side. he was stubbornly refusing to look at you

"meg—"

"you're so mean to me. you're not even calling me baby anymore."

you slightly chuckle

"baby, can you look at me? pretty please?"

but to no avail.

you wrap your arms around him and kisses his cheek from behind. leaving occasional pecks on the corner of his lips.

"i was kidding, let me see your handsome face, baby."

megumi, still stubbornly facing away from you, huffed a small sigh before reluctantly facing your way.

"what?"

"are you done sulking?"

"yes, i'm done sulking," he admitted, his voice low and sincere. "in fact, i think i've been teased long enough. now, give me my kiss please."

[nanaphrenia]

thinking about yuta seeing your pussy for the first time. ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱

bf!yuta who practically falls to his knees in front of you when you finally peel down those pretty pink panties and show him your wetness.

“g-god.. my baby, so pretty.” he’d murmur as he holds your thighs in his big hands, pressing wet and needy kisses to your ankles all the way up to your inner thighs.

he’d spread your folds with his fingers and practically groan as he sees you dripping, your cunt clenching around nothing. his gaze is searing, and you can feel him picking you apart. when you try to swat him away, his grip on your thighs will just grow tighter and he’d look up at you.

“stop.. ‘m admiring what’s mine..” he’d say with an adorable pout.

bf!yuta who begs you to let him eat you out, to let him make you feel good. and obviously, you can’t deny him for so long. not when he’s practically crying to give you pleasure.

his nervous tongue would lick a long stripe up your slit, and he’d close his eyes and moan as your taste and smell overwhelms his senses. “taste so good, baby..” he’d murmur before diving in and tracing his tongue around the rim of your hole, his nose bumping against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.

you’d grip his hair tight and pull on the raven strands, trying to get him closer. he’d growl in an almost animalistic way, his tongue darting out to delve into your folds, wriggling inside of you as he scream and moan.

your sounds are music to his ears, and it’s hard to ignore the tightness of his pants and the pre leaking into his boxers. he’d grind his hips down onto the bed while making out with your pussy, long black lashes fluttering under his eyes.

bf!yuta who doesn’t stop tongue fucking you even after you come, your heels hitting against his back and you squirming and crying out in pleasure and pain, begging for mercy. he just can’t get enough of you.

“nnoo.. don’t pull away.. just one more, please babg? i promise just one more. wanna taste you.”

but one more turns into 2, and then 2 turns into 3 and the next thing you know he has you shaking and writhing beneath him, his long, slender fingers pounding into you, stroking your g-spot with each thrust while his tongue laps greedily at your clit.

his jaw and mouth had started hurting a while ago, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop. not when his gorgeous baby was feeling so good all because of him <3

©nanaphrenia on tumblr. do not repost to another platform or translate my works without permission.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“I also grabbed that oatmeal you liked.”

“Mhmm.”

“You know, the one we tried a few weeks ago, and you were certain you wouldn’t like.”

“Mhmm.”

“Luckily by the time I made it out of the gym they wer-”

“Mhmm.”

You finally glance up from where you’ve been unloading the groceries onto the kitchen counter, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you look to your boyfriend.

Sure enough, Simon’s not listening to a word you’re saying. Eyes locked on the steady jiggle of your tits in your tight new sports bra, as you continuously bend down and bounce back up with item after item.

He doesn’t mean to ogle you so obviously. Well maybe that’s not so true. Really he doesn’t mean to be ignoring you as he ogles you so obviously. But today it appears his lower half is in control of his attention span.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you wonder how long it’ll take him to snap out of his trance.

“So yeah, thought we might start having oatmeal more often now.”

“Mhmm.”

“Maybe three meals a day.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He answers, eyes still fixated on your chest, clueless as to the smirk beginning to spread across your face.

“Might even change my license plate to ‘oat-mobile’, watcha think ‘bout that?”

“Sure thing.”

You’re shaking your head to yourself in disbelief, a smile still splayed on your lips. At this point you’re turning around to put things into their rightful cupboards. But you think there isn’t anything behind you he won’t stare at either? While you’re wearing those workout shorts??

“Looks like they updated the class schedules at the gym too.” You continue, glancing back over your shoulder and seeing that, sure enough, Simon’s gaze has shifted to your ass.

“Mhmm.”

“Think they’ve got some new trainers or somethin’.”

“Mhmm.”

“Heard one of em’s quite hot. The men’s personal trainer. Maybe I’ll ask if he stretches the women out too.”

“Okay lov- wait what?!”

Got him.

[khioneee]

simon knew it was over the moment he realized just how freaky you are.

simon knew he was massive—he always had.

it was a quiet fear that followed him, the thought that if he lost control for even a moment, he might hurt you. his touch was always careful, deliberate.

his hands were wrapped around your neck, not tight, but gentle—just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. his thumbs rested softly against your throat, his grip light, careful not to leave a mark. but when you started frantically grinding your hips against his, rolling your body in desperate need, everything shifted.

a low, guttural noise rumbled from his throat as his body responded on instinct. without meaning to, his hands tightened, gripping your neck for leverage as you moved against him. he froze for a second, startled by his own strength. but then—

it happened.

you clenched tighter around him, your head falling back as a broken moan escaped your lips. you were crying out, completely undone, lost in the moment. your hips bucked harder, desperate for more, and it hit him like a bolt of lightning:

you liked it rough.

you, his innocent, angelic girl — the one with soft smiles and bright eyes, the one who blushed at the smallest touch — had been hiding it all along.

he stared at you, stunned, as you begged with your body, your innocent exterior cracking to reveal the wicked, burning desire beneath. his angel wasn't just soft and sweet

—you were freaky.

a low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned in, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “you've been holding out on me, haven't you, lovie?” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement and something far more dangerous.

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Dadbod!Nanami...

Hear me out... Once you're married, all settled down and he's not a sorcerer anymore and he's at peace. He gains a few extra pounds, just because he's been baking so much and eating good food.

And you're not complaining, the extra weight feels so nice when he's on top of you, fucking into you slowly. You grab onto his thick biceps, wrapping your legs around his torso as he bullies his cock into you. And you can almost swear his cock feels bigger, thicker since he gained the weight.

So much so that tears trickle down your face from the added girth. And Nanami like the man he is takes notice.

"Feel good? Why are you crying, honey?" an expression of slight worry on his gorgeous face. But his cock has you speechless and the way you clench around him tells him just that. And he smirks as he feels you go dumb because of his cock.

"So... so fucking good...," is all you manage to say, as you pray to whatever God there is, for your husband to keep the dad bod.

[tame-the-lion-writes]

“… Sweetheart, when was the last time you went into heat?”

“I mean, I’ve— I’ve always been on suppressants, so—“

“That’s not a date, love.”

You swallow hard, looking at the cement floor of the makeshift safe house. You were supposed to be home by now, to have access to all your meds—but no. You were here. Out in enemy territory, holed up with the rest of your team.

Your otherwise all alpha team.

“Never.”

Well. Shit.

[fumiliar]

kento nanami would unconsciously close jars a little bit too tight due to his fear of spoiled food, causing you to need his help every time you wanted to access a jar he had used in the past. yet, he never realised how tight these jars were and the level of difficulty in opening it.

slowly, he started to realise a pattern. every single jar you'd ask for help to open, it would be a jar he had used recently. the jam he used to eat along with his bread daily, the jar of mayonnaise, every single other jar he had opened, you asked for assistance.

realising this pattern, he started loosening the jars by just a little bit every time he closes it. and you just stopped asking for help, that's when his suspicions were confirmed. you were struggling because of him...

a little voice in him tells him to tighten a jar once in while, to see you asking him for help as he desperately missed. but he just can't bring himself to consciously continue this behaviour, his love for you stepping over any personal need of his, knowing that in the end, a simple pleasure towards him could cause a debilitating stress towards you, he couldn't bear that thought.