#a lil on edge ngl

[kominfyrirkattarnef]

Icelandic moots ik the new eruption is getting all the attention rn (rightfully), but mayeb spare a few good thoughts to us up in the westfjords tonight and tomorrow

It's not that serious, but there haven't been any big avalanches this winter and this storm is just feeling like... something

[lavenderreturns]

Daddy told me he wanted me to start posting pictures but he said he wanted me to choose what pics!!! and so I don’t debase myself immediately fully off the bat here’s some cute pics of me in my bikini from Sunday 🩷

[impishsensei-a]

muse body language

DEFENSIVENESS : arms crossed on chest // crossing legs // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // karate chops // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture // curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE : hand-to-face gestures // head tilted // stroking chin // peering over glasses // taking glasses off — cleaning // putting earpiece of glasses in mouth // pipe smoker gestures // putting hand to the bridge of the nose // pursed lips // knitted brows

SUSPICION : arms crossed // sideways glance // touching or rubbing nose // rubbing eyes // hands resting on weapon // brows raising // lips pressing into a thin line // strict, unwavering eye contact // wrinkling of nose

OPENNESS & COOPERATION : open hands // upper body in sprinters position // sitting on the edge of a chair // hand-to-face gestures // unbuttoned coat // tilted head // slacked shoulders // droopy posture // feet pointed outward // palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE : hands behind back // hands on lapels of coat // steepled hands // baring teeth in a grin // rolling shoulders // tipping head back but maintaining eye contact // chest puffed up / shoulders back // arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY : chewing pen or pencil // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb // biting fingernails // hands in pockets // elbow bent / closed gestures // clearing throat // “ whew ” sound // picking or pinching flesh // fidgeting in chair // hand covering mouth whilst speaking // poor eye contact // tugging at pants whilst seated // jingling money in pockets // tugging at ear // perspiring hands // playing with hair // swaying // playing with pointer / marker // smacking lips // sighing // rocking on balls of feet // flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION : short breaths // “ tsk ” sounds // tightly-clenched hands // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // running hand through hair // rubbing back of neck // snarling // revealing teeth / grimacing // sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in the brows // shoulders back, head up - defensive posturing // clenching of jaw / grinding teeth // nostrils flaring // heavy exhales

tagged by : @wormb0i

tagging : @2xcursekissed @jikoku @ntzenin @capuchinofoam @vartouhix @wellfell @zorkaya & anyone else that wants to do this!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[mantomhive]

forever scarred by a drunk conversation I had in college with two other girls where I told them they were really pretty, and then they both started arguing passionately with each other that the other one was prettier, then they both looked at me and there was this awkward silence and one finally said “…well you have a really good personality?”

[shandian-go]

Deft's story is amazing! Seeing his face crumple after hugging a crying Keria was heartbreaking, especially after that interview where Keria said that when DRX separated, they all promised to meet each other in a bigger stage...

It really was an incredible and emotional journey ;A; I first started cheering for him in 2016 during his EDG days and the fact that he had to defeat so many of his old teammates at every stage is a knife to the heart;;; Plus in the finals he had to face off against both his closest friend (Keria) and also his high school classmate slash the greatest player of all time (Faker) and the entire thing honestly felt like the plot of an anime come to life 🥺🥺

[fizzywrench]

I have antibiotic ointment in my hair and the electric razor in my bathroom is lowkey talking to me like the green goblin mask, but also I've got a wedding to attend in october and i dont want to have a buzzcut for that

[thatgirlwithasquid]

me and ghost just straight up stare each other down for like 10 minutes every evening. so heres a shitty artistic rendition i did on paint

[becarefulcontentspriceless]

NO ONE TOLD ME YELLOWJACKETS WAS A HORROR!!!

I just got jumpscared by Taissa's grandmother screaming about a no eyed demon thing in the mirror and imagine my surprise when they pan to the mirror and its ACTUALLY THERE!

[wellnesscard]

the adderall espresso until u throw up in front of som joggers then eat a box kf prepared couscous until u can feel ur self returning combo

[love-fictional-ppl]

Marking

Pairings: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x reader, Leviathan x reader

Warnings: slapping, blood, penetration, biting, scratching, sadism, slight degradation, usual smut warnings

A/N: I rlly just wanted to write Lucifer nd mams so Levi’s part is a lil😭😭

Lucifer

He loveeeessss when you scratch his back. Don’t be scared to dig your nails in ladies nd gents nd all my friends in between.

If he bleeds, oh well🤷🏼‍♀️ it only adds to the pleasure in his eyes. I feel like he purposely would go rougher just to feel u leave deep red lines in his back. Ooooooo imagineee

He’s slamming into you at a ruthless pace, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure. One hand gripping the headboard, the other holding your jaw, keeping your head positioned so all u can look at is his face.

Your eyes are rolled back and your arms lay limp near your head, dumb look on your face. He looks at you disappointed ‘I still need to cum,’ he thought to himself. Suddenly he hiked one leg over his hip to reach a different angle inside of you.

Immediately you reward him by lunging to wrap your arms around his neck, whilst your hands claw and scratch at his upper back.

Mammon

He would be into being bit ngl

But like no cap fr tho he would.

Cover his chest, thighs, shoulders, neck, everywhere.

He would keep the tightest grip on you while letting out whimpers and moans tbh he js likes to make noise

You’re perched on Mammon’s Lap, bouncing at an insane speed. The sound of skin clapping is almost defiling. Mammon keeps his arms wrapped around your waist so that he can help guide you, his body is twitching like a maniac

“Pleaseee! I need to cum again!”

You respond by leaning forward, lips right near his left nipple. You stop above the nipple, biting down and breaking skin. He’s twitching inside of you, groaning in pleasure, eyes shut as if looking at you will ruin him completely.

Leviathan

He likes u hitting him, like being so fr.

Back hand him in the face, because he’s “being too needy,” he’ll have the most crooked smile on his face.

He likes when your knuckles hit him just the right way, bruising his skin.

Lucifer asks where the bruises come from nd he js says hitting his head on the bed

You’re sat atop his gaming desk, legs wrapped around his waist, hands flat on the table. Levi desperately thrusts inside, kissing you on your neck underneath you chin.

You see how desperate he is to finish. All he needs is a slight push towards the edge, so u push his chest back slightly with your index finger. He looks up at you confused, immediately met by the burning sensation of your hand against his face.

Cheek red and stinging only adds to the pleasure. He speeds up, twitching inside of you, “ahh, yes right there!”

You only look down at him and tell him, “You’re pathetic.”

[ivysangel]

Okay but a threesome with Dick and Jason. what would that be like? Are they competing to see who makes you come harder? Does each try to out do the other because he’s secretly jealous? Are they gonna Eiffel Tower? Is one really sweet while the other is being aggressive and rough? I need opinions.

-🧸

honey i am so so so so so sorry. this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and i hope you're still around to see it! i already wrote a lil smth smth about this a while ago here but allow me to elaborate.

i think the dynamic can get pretty crazy because dick can get wayyy nasty; not to say jason doesn't either, but i don't think jason would get crazy nasty in front of dick. dick's there to overstimulate you, tease you, play around with you, and bring you to the edge and back and then over, and jason's there to comfort you through it. i think they both could be "he talks you through it," guys, but in this specific scenario, i think it would be jason who sweet talks you, whispers in your ear, tells you you're doing so good for them, and quiets you down when you get too loud. i don't really know how to explain it, but he'd be the comforting presence out of the two of them, not even taking a submissive role or anything, just not as actively winding you up as much as dick.

dick, a menace as always, treats it like a game. how many times can he make you cum before you're begging for a break, and how many different ways can he make it happen. i think he'd be like that on a normal day, too, but i feel like it's very amplified in this situation because however this threesome happens, it's a very tense and intimate affair, out of character for both of them and, therefore everything about it is just different (?) i can't even think of a good way to explain it other than the next morning you're all kinda like woah. lost all inhibition the night before and don't really know how to go back to the way things were. he's quick to get nasty; he's the one eating you out while jason is kissing your neck and lightly grazing your skin, touching and squeezing, etc. the combination of both of them is really just insane, and both of their actions, in tandem, are what makes it so much more intense.

i do think they could be eiffel tower guys, but idk, i think (and walk with me here)…double penetration might be the way they go. like, you can't say, "dick grayson is an ass man," without admitting that he'd probably be into anal, so boom. and if your pussy is open, then yeah, ofc jasons taking it; it just makes sense TO ME. it's definitely a lot and not for the faint of heart, and you have to hold onto one (or both) of them while you get used to the sensation and while they find a nice rhythm, so it feels good for all three of you. during this part, the talking might die down just because you're all so in the moment; it's definitely out of character for dick because he's a D1 yapper, but it's cool cuz he was dirty talking so much during the foreplay, like lifting his head from between your legs just to look you in the eye and say something nasty.

i'm also ngl i could see the roles reversed where jason is eating you out or fingering you, and dick is the one whispering crazy shit in your ear. i could see it working both ways, but the first more so.

when i tell you this would be probably the best orgasm you've ever had, i mean that. there's just so much that went into it that there's really no way you aren't gasping for air and clutching your chest when it's over. damn near passing out, and they gotta shake you a little to make sure you're still kicking. and it's not even really over because if you show any semblance of energy after, they might try to go another round i fear.

[frogchiro]

omg Coyote Graves and Farmer Reader?! Just a lil farm girl trying to grow some veggies but Graves keeps trying to eat ur chickens and ngl he scares u- one day he shows why he's so insistent to be near u and it's not cuz he wants to eat you... like that anyway 💕

This is literally my time to shine COTTAGECORE GIRL READER AND THE MENACING WILD COYOTE HYBRID MAN

You honestly were (and still kinda are) terrified of him :( His loud yowls and howls during the night were awful to you but to him it was literally a mating call😭

He's definitely a menace; comes at night and steals your veggies and fruit, even sometimes one of your poor hens fall victim to the coyote hybrid but on the other hand you keep finding more and more...strange things on your doorstep. At first it were small simple things like a pretty rock or a forest flower but gradually they became more...extravagant? At one point you found a large hand woven wicker basket and a thick, fluffy fur in it which you were at first very reluctant to take but ultimately decided to accept the present and you laid the lucious fur in front of your fireplace. However, to Graves, who was watching you take the basket from the shadows, it was you accepting his mating proposal and his howls were so much louder than ever that night :((

You even started to see more of him around your garden but it was a bit like in a horror setting; you usually saw him during evenings where the sun was setting already, the sky getting overtaken by darkness and the thing you saw were two glowing eyes and a vague, burly figure of the coyote man standing far on the edge of the forest.

But he started coming gradually closer and closer, needing to be close to his future mate, future mother of his puppies :(( Eventually it came to the point where he would stand just outside the wooden fance of your home and he would call out to you and talk with you with that nasty, toothy smirk and ominous glowing eyes :(

[educatedsimps]

— “what would you do if we broke up” tiktok trend w the hq men

≪ back to fics masterlist

hq character x gn!reader

a/n: came across another tiktok and thought "hey let's do this for hq" so here's anther short one while i churn out the longer written reqs HAHA love y'all pls enjoyy

cw: “girl” used to refer to reader as in like “girl what?” or “girl please” kinda context, some swearing, humour??

The trend:

“Ask me what I’d do if we broke up,” you perched on the edge of the sofa where he sat, innocently scrolling on his phone.

With confusion written all over his face, he looked between you and the camera several times before asking, “Wha... why would we break up?”

Hearing the hint of sadness in his voice, you clarified, “Nonono I’m not breaking up with you, babe, it’s just a tiktok trend. Go on, ask me!”

With one more nudge of encouragement, he relented. Sighing, he asked, “What would you do if we broke up?”

And without a second of hesitation, you answered with a shit-eating grin on your face, “I’d get back with my ex.”

The reaction:

“same lmao” ↳ SUNA AND KUROO 😭😭

the most offended ones - hand to chest with a dramatic gasp, then screams “BABE WTF?!” then gets all petty and pouty saying “i’d do the same thing” ↳ atsumu, oikawa

replica of iwa's face when oikawa asked him “iwa-chan, are you my mom?” ↳ IWA LMAO, suga, yaku, all the chaotic hq moms tbh like can u imagine

gives you the most disappointed dad look ever as if he’s saying “girl pls” then continues w his shit but is a lil hurt ngl like u better apologise later 😭 ↳ daichi, kita

will cry in a corner. u better give him a hug and apologise 🤧 ↳ hinata, noya, bokuto, asahi, yamaguchi, lev, goshiki

will glare at you then turn his nose up with a "tch" (he's just jealous tbh) ↳ tsukki, futakuchi, kenma, shirabu

confused, a lil offended, dumbfounded, then even more confused. The Man Was Too Stunned To Speak like how dare you do this to him 😀 ↳ kags, ushi, osamu, probably asahi before he starts tearing up, kenma before he gets petty

“WHAT” and jumps like three feet into the air like a cartoon character ↳ tanaka, tendo

*sighs* “i understand” ↳ akaashi (he's too tired to think so he just takes it at face level ahjdjdhjv), aone 😭💔

"with me, right?" ↳ sakusa cuz he's prolly seen the trend before (yves has a hc that he’s secretly chronically online), also kita after giving it a bit of thought HAHA

The aftermath:

“You’d be my ex, dumbass,” you giggled.

mentally facepalms himself, probably blushing and laughing to himself then hugs you and gives u kisses all while agreeing with u wholeheartedly 🥰 ↳ suga, yaku, daichi AND AKAASHI BC I DEF DIDNT FORGET ABOUT HIM

“pfft i knew that lmao” these mfs are too proud to admit that they were fooled ↳ atsumu, oikawa, suna, futakuchi

grumpy "i knew that..." man ↳ osamu, iwa, tsukki, kenma, shirabu

“OH YEAHHHHH” and they’re overjoyed. ↳ bokuto, hinata, tanaka, noya, tendo, goshiki, lev

"oh yeah that's right..." moment of clarity kinda thing ↳ asahi, aone, ushi, kags, yams

“u owe me kisses for emotional damage” + pouty + clingy ↳ kuroo, atsumu and oikawa after they stop pouting and whining n shit

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarise any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[softshuji]

𝟏:𝟑𝟖𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐉𝐈

Title: Mrs and Mrs Hanma

Summary: Just a lil smn about all the ways shuji loves and knows you. Happy fathers day to daddy.

cw: fem!reader, reader has stretch marks and is a little insecure, hanma's really in love i'm ngl and they're married, loads of pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, princess) some suggestive content, reader's pregnant, some mentions of violence, this is so soft and self indulgent I would eat the sun for him. Reblogs appreciated!

Hanma Shuji knows you in his sleep. He knows you instinctively, every ridge and crevice of your body, the faint thunderstorm of zigzagging stretch marks on the underside of your breasts, your thighs, the cuts and grazes that have faded to a muted pink on knees and elbows and palms, scratches and freckles and other things you take great pains to hide. It amazes you sometimes, the subtle frown and turn of his perfect eyebrows as he presses his lips to every one of them, muttering a faint word of praise that comes too easily to him as he moves down your body.

Hanma Shuji knows you in every waking moment, by your breath, by the click of your patent shoes on the marble floor, the edge of your skirt swished around a corner, the underlying scent of your honeyed perfume, the single breath before you speak.

He wonders if you know, that he knows every one of the habits you try so hard to hide. The scrunch of your eyebrows in thought, the twitch of your smile when you’re mad and he’ll giggle because he thinks he likes you just like that.

Mad and happy and alive and with him, tucked into his side where he can see and feel you best, your arm around the small of his back and your warm breath fanning the exposed juncture of his neck. 

He’s in love with you, this many years later, when the novelty of both dating and marriage is no longer new, and the love he feels for you is just as strong as it always has been and it knocks the air from his lungs when he rolls over to find you sleeping with a hand supporting your head, and the other reaching for him and meeting the soft bronzed swell of his shoulders, flexing and tensing under your soft touch, a sigh of contentment spilling past your lips when your cheek finds the cushion of his chest.

There are nights when sleep is further away, and no amount of alcohol, drugs or any other narcotics can make his eyelids heavy enough to slip into slumber and it aggravates him to toss and turn and groan under his breath at the ache pulsing behind his eyelids, the intense thrum of pain lashing against his temples. He likes to watch you on those days, your hair fanned and spread across the pillow, obscuring your face and lifting with your warm breath. He’ll smooth it back and his hand will linger on your cheek for a slim second, and it burns how fiercely he loves you in those moments, how the bump in his throat will slip and slide and his tongue will come out to lick his dry lips and press a soft kiss to your bottom lip and your chin. 

He hopes this never changes, the thrill of having you, novelty and newness, the intense lust and desire that devours him entirely when you press your body to his, skin hot to the touch, a wondrous love that makes him dizzy. 

Hanma Shuji could know you blind, by the lemon scented soap you use, the lingering press of it into the pillows, into his collars that you fix in the mornings before he leaves, biting the corner of your mouth in concentration as you smooth and trail your hands along the broad swell of his chest, desire and love tightening your stomach in need on instinct. Because it comes so easily to you with him, because you think he was made to fit you entirely, just yours and your mouth was made to be on his, and his on yours and it makes your heart crash against your ribs even after so long, when you know him so well and have seen both the worst and best of him, and he you. 

‘See something you like, Pretty Girl?’ he says when your hands linger for a touch too long on the fading marks on his neck, a blooming garden of pinks and purples that he’s never failed to wear with a passionate pride. You’d call him perverted but you know he likes that too, the insatiability of you, eager to drink him entirely, as much as he is you. 

‘Shut up,’ you grumble, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his smirking mouth, your hands now firmly on his chest as he flexes it under your touch, as responsive to you as you are to him. 

‘If you like me, you can just say that, it’s flattering Sweetheart.’ He catches your wrist in his palms, the same he’ll use later to beat a man black and blue, his blood crusted under his fingernails, coating his knuckles, the ridges of his fingers. He touches you with such a softness, such a precision, his inked hands pressing into the veins in your wrist, stroking over them achingly slow, and it has your throat drying in anticipation and you almost feel embarrassed at how quickly he coaxes it from you, the heat that flies straight to your cheeks.

‘I literally hate you,’ you say and roll your eyes, biting your lip and suppressing the same smile that you are always so eager to give him, pouting and frowning and he has the sudden urge to kiss you breathless, drink the air in your lungs, have you quivering beneath him again and again, put his hands around your throat and suck every starved breath from your pretty mouth.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says. ‘Seen the way you look at me, can’t get enough of me can you?’

‘You think very highly of yourself don’t you?’ 

‘Only because you’re so obvious. Nothing to be ashamed about if you find me so sexy.’ 

‘I do, what are you going to do about it?’  You quirk an eyebrow and tilt your head, grinning outright at him now, standing so tall and proud in your shared living room, with the weight of your love sitting as an audience with you as he bends to kiss you again and curl his arm around your back. When his lips find yours, and his nose nudges against the slope of your neck, your hands resting on his shoulders shifting under the fine linen shirt, pressed and wrinkle-free, you wonder if you will ever not marvel at the fit of him against you. Big and beautiful and proud beyond belief and belonging entirely to you, his skin a canvas for your eager and waiting mouth.

You like this, the flirtatious nature of the both of you,  the cat and mouse game, the tit-for-tat, the excitement that remains even now, five months pregnant and feeling the weight of it, years after having met, experiencing the highs and lows of your lives. 

You know there were women before you, he knows there were men before him, you’ve never shied away from the kind of embarrassments and secrets you might have had to had you been anyone else. Maybe that’s what love is, maybe he is easy to love to you, so arrogant and cocky and grinning and boyish and it aches somewhere when you think of anyone having him but you, and you’re glad for the both of you being selfish enough to grasp at each other, for him holding you every time and tucking you safe into his side, as if he could mould you to him how he sees fit. 

‘Not sure, guess you’ll have to find out when I come back won’t you?’ he says and pinches your side. ‘Right after I punish you for giving me attitude Princess.’

Your breath holds in your throat, the crash in your chest so dizzying, exciting and thrilling and you hold a little tighter onto his curls when your hand snakes into his hair in anticipation. 

There have been times neither of you have spoken about again, times when he’s come close enough to death that it haunts you to even think about, nights left by the phone for the phone call that never came, the red right hand that he was so quick to deal others that you were sure it was coming eventually for him, the reaper that had run out of luck. Times in which he’d stumbled through the door with wounds so deep, delirious and hazy with pain that it had his skin tinged blue, cold and clammy to the touch, golden eyes dimmed and unresponsive and you taste it for the slimmest of moments, the concept of being without him, that terrifying world where you’re adrift and alone and bare. 

Other times when you’re alone and he holds you together wordlessly, a little fearful in fact when you sag against his chest and he can only rub your back in response. A common occurrence now that you’re pregnant and he’s used to the idea of holding your hair back as you wretch over the toilet.

So when you say, ‘be safe, come home okay?’, he knows it’s with the memory of all of those unspoken moments on your sofa, bleeding out and holding a towel between his teeth, groaning and keening in pain, muttering your name and holding it on his tongue as he slips between here and there, his curls flattened and matted with sweat on his forehead, nails crusted with blood that you can’t be sure isn’t his.

‘Mhm.’ And he bends down on one knee, holding your stomach between his hands before pressing a kiss to the swell of it, the baby bump that’s only just beginning to show. ‘Be good for Mama.’ 

It never fails to fill him with a lightness, a pride even, when he sees the roundness of your tummy, or puts his cheek to it to hear your baby kick and he thinks every single injury, every dance and brush with death has been worth it to get him here, to get him to hear the soft thud of his baby’s small foot moving inside your stomach, the both of you alive and healthy and his. 

You kiss him again at the door, holding onto his tie, and it’s cliche when you pull him back against you for more, smiling against his mouth, your hands cradling the sharp descent of his jaw, the honeyed bronze of his eyes soaking you up, devouring you, as if you could sustain him alone. 

'Go on now Daddy, you'll be late otherwise,' you say, lightly tapping his cheek, your wrist now encircled in his palm- a wide grin curling at his lips. 

'Daddy huh? We'll see if you push your luck this much later Pretty Girl.' A final kiss to your soft lips before he turns and leaves. And maybe the others make fun of him for it, for how much he’s softened in the last few years, singular moments that happen frequently, in which he catches himself daydreaming of you, finds his hands fidgeting, reaching for a cigarette and his phone to bother you, annoy you, hear you grumble about distractions, your lilting laughter that makes his head swim.

He doesn’t remember, and you’ve never spoken about it, the things he lets slip during those moments when he’s wading between life and death. He says sorry, murmuring your name with the towel between his grinding teeth, his abs and chest flexing and spasming under your touch as you thread the needle through the punctured and torn flaps of skin, your hands shaking and his blood under your nails, the smell of it so pungent, metallic, coating your teeth and tongue. 

The nausea of it makes you wretch once he’s sleeping, a hand over your mouth in your bathroom, the other on your stomach, tears lost in soft cotton of his old shirts that hang on your shoulders. You never want him to feel like he has anything to be sorry for,  or any apology to give when you’d have him in all his arrogance, all his confidence, all his boldness, then not at all. You look at him, with his legs too long for the sofa, a blanket that only reaches his chest, his arm touching the floor and his mouth partially open, ragged and shallow breaths pulled between his dry lips. You want to hold him so fiercely it crushes you, his head on your chest, his curls wound tight between your fingers, as if you could protect him, could ward off the hurt and the pain that is only ever a moment away from him.

He knows, everyone knows.

Maybe you make him feel a little more than he is. A little more than just the Reaper, a little more than a God of Death. He likes that, likes that you make him more, want more, crave more, feel more. 

He likes that he bears the tell-tale signs of your presence at all times. A hair, or many, caught in the woven threads of his suits, tangled within his own curls, the marks fresh on his neck and collarbones for the others to see and leer at, as if he’s parading you on his arm at the same time, his prized possession. Post-it notes, trinkets, sweets left in his pockets that keep him closer to you, the kiss of you in your absence against his clothes, in his heart, a reminder of the vastness of your love that he holds in the palms of his calloused hands.

And to you, he is so big, so him, unapologetically, proudly cocky and arrogant and handsome and it would make you angry if you loved him any less, if he did not crawl into into your embrace and cradle your face in his big hands and kiss you with a hunger and softness that has your heart beating against your ribs. 

Hanma Shuji knows you by the way you breathe in your sleep, the slightly stuffy short shallow breaths that tell him you’re getting sick, the tight scrunch of your eyes as you roll over onto his chest and find a much needed solace in the safety of his warm neck, your arms coming around him to hold you there, as if he is your beacon, as if he could save you from wading out to shore. 

‘You’re getting sick?’ he’ll say when you wake, and press a kiss to your temple as you burrow further against him, your warm breath tickling the fine hairs that curl around his ears, matted and sticking to the nape of his neck. You think he looks best like this right here, marooned and safe behind the brocade curtains, the thin silken drapes of your bed, on the sheets that you’ve made love on for a part of the night, with you cushioned on the broad swell of his chest and it makes you ache inside with a desire for him that’s never-ending when you think of being the only one who gets to enjoy him in this way, and he you.

‘I think so, why?’ 

‘I can tell.' And he puts a hand to your forehead, unceremoniously and yet genuinely at once and his brows crease behind the soft curl of blond-brown hair that frames the honeyed gold of his eyes now catching the sunlight that leaks through the gap in the curtain. 'Is it the baby?' And his hand finds itself over your tummy, a slow and deliberate circle smoothed against the shirt pressed over the swell of it. 

‘No, not the baby. Just, a little off. You're going to look after me?’

‘Obviously.’ And he holds you tighter still, swallows you in his big frame. ‘You’re staying here, Doctor’s orders.’ 

‘Oh, you’re a Doctor now?’

‘Yes, let me take care of my good girl.’ 

‘Yours?’

‘Mine. All fuckin’ mine.’ And he can’t help it, he pulls you onto his lap and latches his lips to your skin and your fingers pull at his hair, scratch at his scalp in the way you know he likes as he pulls you apart and puts you together again as the sun drips past the curtains.

You think you’ve moulded him to you and you to him in turn like that, made him yours, even though he’s certain you don’t need him in any way that matters. He’s wrong, he’s always been wrong about that. 

And maybe he’s used to it, the quick thrill that comes from causing storms and leaving, the ache that comes from being used and using others and maybe before you it hadn’t mattered, hadn’t meant anything.

‘You don’t need me, you’re a big girl, My Princess, you’re doing just fine,’ he says, between bouts of pain and delirious with the blood loss, slipping here and there in those moments on the sofa, holding onto the edge of your shirt as his stomach flexes under your touch. 

It’s true and he’s never been under any illusions about his own place in your life, that you could have anyone you wanted and have chosen him, with all the danger he comes with and all the grief he knows he brings and is bound to extend to you, the chaos he knows he’ll bring to your door unwillingly one day.

‘No, no I do, you’re my Shuji, my hero, you have to stay with me,’ you say, through tears, with your lips to his cheek, his dry lips, his forehead, the inked backs of his hands, as if you can pull the pain from him, swallow it whole and spit it at his feet to tread on and crush like you want him to.

And so when you tell him you need him, it is with that in mind. Whether you’re rocking against his hips with your arms around his neck, whining his name or clutching at the sheets as you come undone beneath him, or hearing the lilting baritone of his rich velvety voice on the other end of the line while he’s away. You have always wanted him to know your heart is in the palms of his tattooed hands.

Safe and content, where it belongs.

a/n: I need to give him kids i am so srs, I think i'm gonna die if I don't. happy father's day to my fav daddy, my heart and soul <333

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

how do you think Nikto would react if his lover (who is usually a very chill and simple guy) brought him Zakhaev's head as a gift

the bf found out what was done to Nikto and by whom and his first response was "i gotta kill that guy i got no other option". reader turns into john wick and baba yaga's into Zakhaev's place to get his ass and bring Nikto a lil gift

Ngl I would too if I had Nikto baby.

"You fucking what?"

The man asked, not believing his ears. Almost feigning it as another one of his hallucinations if you, wonderful sweet and stupidly simple you. His fucking lover. His maybe now soulmate, didn't bring him a present box.

And claiming that one his enemies. A nationwide terrorist. The one that fucking ruined his life. Got hunted by one. One simple. Man. Okay maybe he did have a good conscious when he agreed to be yours.

Warily he walked over. Absentmindedly and feeling that first strand of brain matter fizzing out in his mind, picked up the box. And continued his dinner. It's a conversation he could deal with tomorrow.

Though by the way blood was dripping everywhere from the edges of a box to all over the now bloody floors he just cleaned maybe he didn't have to wait till tomorrow.

Opening it cautiously as if it could disappear any moment. He peered into it. He swore his dick twitched from excitement. Oh yeah, you were in for a long, relaxing, praising night.

He could tell from the scratches and stitches on the side of the bastard's face that you had taken it slow and steady. Torturing him. Fuck. He had to ask you for the tape. And maybe fuck you to it.

Oh and using a blunt tool to decapitate Zakhaev? He should buy you that dream build you keep talking about.

He was going to fucking spoil you rotten and more. Drool already dripping down from behind his mask at how grateful he was to have you as a boyfriend. And maybe, have you forever.

It's not once in a lifetime you get such a good hunting dog.

With a snap of his neck and one big step he wall all over you quickly. Peppering kisses like a big fucking mutt, sloppy and messy. Partially bending you over the dinner table as he bombarded you.

"Lyubov'?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you want me to get down on my knees?"

"...what?"

"Or do you want to get down on yours?"

"..."

"Anything's on the table Tonight, sweetheart. Anything."

"Oh."

Canon nikto would probably do the same but with less words and more action honestly.