#drabbles ༻

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 || 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 ||

A/n: Annnd another one

You’ve always said danger was relative. Clark says you’re ridiculous.

The first time he saves you, it’s from a fire escape. You were trying to get the perfect aerial shot of a Metropolis street market from above, balancing on one foot, one hand gripping your camera and the other fumbling with your lens cap. You remember tilting a little too far forward.

You also remember the warm wind rushing past your face.

Then his arms—strong and impossibly fast—looping around your waist, gently pulling you to safety. You looked up into those eyes, framed by those annoyingly attractive glasses.

“You fell again,” he said, brow furrowed.

You grinned. “Got the shot, though.”

⸻

The second time, it’s raining. You’re kneeling on the edge of a construction site, photographing the sunrise bouncing off a freshly built skyscraper, when your foot slips on wet concrete. A scream barely leaves your lips before you’re airborne.

Clark’s just there, like he always is. One arm under your knees, the other braced around your back.

“Are you actually trying to die for your art?” he mutters, voice low and dry.

You grin again. “It’s a dramatic skyline. It deserved a dramatic angle.”

He doesn’t smile, but his thumb brushes the side of your face. You feel it anyway.

⸻

Then there was the rooftop incident. Yes, that one.

You’d convinced Jimmy to help you up onto the Daily Planet’s roof so you could photograph the rally three blocks down. Clark told you explicitly not to climb anything. You told him you were “just going up for a sec...I swear."

Cue a gust of wind and a very wobbly tripod. You nearly go over the edge, heart slamming in your chest.

Except Clark catches you. Again.

This time, he’s clearly not amused.

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.”

You just wink. “Well, if you keep catching me, how am I supposed to stop?"

There’s a pause.

And then he kisses you. Not softly, not cautiously—just like he catches you. With everything he has.

“You’re impossible,” he murmurs against your lips.

“And you’re invincible,” you reply breathlessly. “Seems fair.”

⸻

You don’t stop climbing. You don’t stop leaning a little too far. You don’t stop chasing light and color like it’s oxygen.

And Clark doesn’t stop catching you.

Because he knows you’ll never stop chasing the perfect shot.

And he’ll never stop chasing you.

[luvs4haechan]

maybe something with i love my gf final boss haechan? i read something like that and it never left me…

#ilovemygf

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: haechan x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: established relationship, no use of y/n (i think), no warnings

𝘸𝘤: 1k

masterlist

donghyuck wasn’t the kind of guy who made grand speeches or posted long captions. his love didn’t announce itself in glitter or fireworks. it showed up quietly—in the spaces between things. in the silence of a room where nothing needed to be said. in the slow, careful way he memorized what made your coffee just right.

his love definitely showed more so through actions, but his words never disappointed either. donghyuck showed his love quietly, always simmering below the surface but always visable to you. he would get up before you, and have your morning coffee already on the night stand when you opened your eyes. he would take care of your apartment, cleaning or buying groceries when you ran out. never bragging, never complaining - just quietly loving you.

donghyuck never needed your validation either, he knew you saw, you appreciated and you loved him every step of the way. one day donghyuck was doing laundry at your apartment. not unusual but nevertheless amazing on his part. hanging it up to dry, he realised your hoodie had shrunk. without batting an eye, he tracked down the same one and ordered it on the spot. he didn’t even tell you, he didn't need to.

"does my hoodie look different to you?" you said one afternoon, lounging on the couch while reading a new book.

"it is different," he replied casually, "yours shrunk in the wash, so i got you a new one."

your eyebrows shot up momentarily, before reminding yourself this is donghyuck. of course he would do this, especially without feeling the need to tell you. you swore your smile couldn't be wider, as you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, muttering a 'thank you'. donghyuck simply smiled in return, not needing the acknowledgement but reveling in it neverthless.

you got sick in october. not bad, just that annoying kind of sick where your whole body feels wrong and everything tastes like cardboard.

donghyuck saw your nose turn red, your body evidently ache from exhaustion, and heard your coughing from the next room over. your boyfriend was never a great cook. alright at the basics, always struggling with the advanced recipes. despite his minimal skills, donghyuck chopped the garlic, and cut the onion that made him cry. he made you soup, soup that you didn't ask for but he saw you needed it. the small smile of appreciation was reward enough for his efforts.

every once in a while, you would tell him just how much you see and appreciate.

"i think," you said "you're secretly the most romantic person alive."

"i think you just really like soup," donghyuck retorted, holding you tighter as the two of you laid on the couch.

“no, really. you… you love like a lighthouse. just steady. you don’t crash over people, you just stay, and wait, and keep the light on.” your eyes shone like stars in a night sky, looking slightly up at your loving boyfriend. donghyuck didn't reply. he didn’t need to, his rosy cheeks and ghost of a smile said enough.

"do you want more tea?"

you laughed softly at his words, clinging onto him, "god, yes."

it wasn't like you were on the recieving end of all the affection and love in your relationship. your acts of love were more direct, louder, and noticable to the naked eye. always the planer, the 'type a' in the relationship, you kept things grounded. your love was all bright colours and fast thoughts; expressing it came differently to you. where donghyuck lacked, you picked up. keeping dates, making meals, choosing what to watch in the evenings. it was safe to say, you weren't the romantic one. but that was okay, because donghyuck created enough romance for the two of you.

you once told him that when you were younger, you thought love had to be loud to be real. screaming matches and dramatic kisses in the rain. but now you knew that love could also be someone remembering how you take your eggs. someone who learns the shape of your silence.

donghyuck never wrote you a poem. never serenaded you. never held up a boombox outside your window.

but one day, you came home to find he’d rearranged all your books by color. you didn’t even realize he knew the difference between dark academia and cottagecore romance. there was a cup of chai on your desk, still warm. a candle burning that smelled like vanilla and woods.

and on donghyuck's laptop screen, a word doc titled:

never forget, always keep close

it was a list. dozens of lines.

• the way she snorts when she laughs too hard.

• her terrible taste in romcoms.

• the fact that she keeps a tiny plush frog on her bookshelf named Stu.

• the way she curls up when she reads, like a comma.

• the way she looks at me like I’m not just safe, but home.

you read it twice before you even noticed the last line:

• ask her to move in. soon.

you stood there, eyes wide, hand over your mouth. donghyuck walked in behind you, holding your hoodie in one hand and two takeout boxes in the other.

“i didn’t mean for you to see that yet,” he said.

you turned to him, smile trembling. there were no words to describe how you felt. every time you thought your whole heart was donghyuck's, he managed to steal another piece and keep it to himself. you threw your arms around him. and he held you. quietly. steadily. like he always did.

"i'd love to move in with you, hyuck."

you moved in together that winter. the snow coating the pavements as the two of you dragged the last of donghyuck's boxes up the stairs of your apartment building. it made sense. he was always at your apartment anyway. yours was bigger. it was a mutual decision - like every other in your relationship. but it was easy. like riding a bike - once you learn how, it never fades.

donghyuck still made you coffee in the mornings. you still placed books on every viable surface in your now shared home. you still lost things. but you did it all together.

and every so often, you would look at him across the room—watching you with soft eyes and a quiet kind of awe—and you'd think just how lucky you were. and donghyuck was thinking the same.

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

anon im so sorry 😭😭 this took so long, it's a bit different from what i usually write but i wanted to try something new lmk what you all think 🙏🏻🙏🏻 also not proofread and so short 😣😣 i have a few more requests to get to but keep sending them i love seeing what you want me to write next and your opinions 🫶🏻🫶🏻 luvs4haechan out

[heatwritten]

At an extravagant black tie fundraiser. Bruce is nursing a drink at the bar. Clark, as per the usual, is in a suit that’s extremely tight at the shoulders. After giving himself a moment to calm down, giving himself a mental pep talk, he walks up to the billionaire, trying to go for sauve.

“So… come here often?”

Bruce turns, giving the reporter a blank stare. “This is my building.”

Clark scratches the back of his neck, cheeks tinting pink. “Right. Yeah. I knew that.” His eyes shut tight. “I meant, uh, emotionally.”

Bruce raises a dark brow. “… Emotionally?”

Clark’s face reddens. “You know like… are you emotionally here often?” Clark’s eyes widen, realizing how terrible that sounds, and sputters - absolutely flounders - to correct himself. “I mean - no - wait - I meant, like, do you enjoy your own fundraiser?”

“Only when the guests are entertaining.” Bruce says, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re doing… something.” Bruce sounds uncertain, but also thoroughly amused.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Depends.” Bruce leans in. “Are you flirting or having a stroke?”

Clark ducks his head, embarrassed. “Honestly, at this point? I can’t tell anymore.”

A beat passes where Bruce simply stares, waiting. Clark curls in on himself, making his frame smaller, utterly mortified. Bruce decides to give him a break.

“Well, that was fun.” Bruce sighs, dragging Clark to sit beside him. “Painful, but fun.”

Clark ducks his head, mutters, “I’m never doing that again.”

“Really not your strong suit.” Bruce agrees, laughing. The sound trilling, causing heads to turn their way. Clark’s face becomes impossibly even more red. “Should’ve never taken the dare, Kent.” Bruce teases.

“Ugh,” Clark groans.

Bruce pats his shoulder, before giving the flustered reporter a small kiss on the cheek. A reward for at least trying.

[mint-yooxgi]

hello!! for the drabble request, maybe yan! vampire! seonghwa & yan! werewolf! lee know with the same fated mate? ( or with same group members if you don’t want to mix the groups! )🫶🏻🫶🏻

If there's one thing you regret in this life, it's what you said on that fateful night.

You never expected them to agree to such a thing. Not with all of their fighting and rivalry. In fact, you said what you did because you thought it would put an end to all of this.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Attempting to describe Seonghwa and Minho as 'friends', if you could even call them that, would be quite simple. They're not. Whenever you would see them interact, they would always be bickering, or trying to one up one another.

At first, you honestly thought they were a couple. One with a healthy sense of competition between each other for motivation. You didn't really pay much attention to them until they started paying too much attention to you.

It all started when Seonghwa brought you flowers.

The gesture was innocent enough at the time, since you had been out with a larger friend group. Seonghwa had brought a single flower for every one of his friends. A sort of celebration for surviving another year of university. However, while most of his friends got pink tulips or daffodils, you received a red carnation. Minho, on the other hand, got a black dahlia.

If only you had realized what that meant at the time.

The next incident occurred when Minho invited you to the end of the year mixer. Seeing as you were both Finance majors, it made sense to go with your fellow kin. He presented it as nothing more than a friendly gesture, only for you to find out from Seonghwa that Minho had been going around and telling everyone he could that he was taking you as his date.

Small transgressions started becoming larger and larger, until one night, while caught in the middle of the two of them bickering, you had had enough. Your shoulders were starting to ache from being tugged from one male to the next, neither relenting their tight grip on your arms. Of course, you knew they weren't all human, so you were worried about one of them tearing off a limb.

"Guys, this is getting ridiculous!"

"You're telling me." Minho rolls his eyes, tugging you towards him once more. "Can you believe this idiot thinks he has a chance with you?"

A snarl escapes Seonghwa's lips, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of red. "Back off, Mutt. You should have known they were mine the moment I laid eyes on them."

"As if you could ever fulfill their life the way I could."

"At least they never have to worry about me smelling like wet dog."

"At least they don't have to worry about me sucking them dry!"

"At least-"

"Guy!" Your sudden loud shout draws both of their attention. "Enough! Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. My arms are about to fall off."

"See!" Seonghwa gives one final tug, pulling you towards him and out of Minho's grip. "You brute! You're hurting them!"

"Me? You're the one who wouldn't let go!" Minho reaches for you, only for Seonghwa to tug you out of the way.

"For fuck's sake!" You harshly yank your arm out of Seonghwa's grip, putting some distance between you and the two of them. "I've had enough of this! I'm not some toy for the two of you to fight over like toddlers!"

"He started it!"

It's near comical the way they both speak at the same time, pointing at the other accusingly.

"I don't care who started it! I'm ending it!" A frown mars your features as you cross your arms over your chest. "I don't care if you're both supposedly fated to me or not! Either you both have me, or neither of you do!"

With those words, you marched right out on them, leaving them stunned and frozen in their spots.

In hind sight, you should have just kept your mouth shut. Frustration be damned, at least you wouldn't be in your current situation.

Now, you attempt to control your racing heart while being held between two overly affectionate men. Minho insists on nuzzling against you every chance he gets, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Seonghwa, on the other hand, cannot stop himself from keeping you pressed right up against his chest.

"You were right." Minho hums, nosing along your neck. "Two is better than one."

"If we can't have you," Seonghwa's voice is low, right by your ear, "No one can."

[angstandhappiness]

Cute

Kisses

Where they'd usually kiss their wives (aside of the back of their hands and lips).

---

Iske Van Omerta

Cheeks, temples, eyelids, nose

I'd imagine him to be one who's fond of giving a gentle few pecks to Ruby's cheeks. A kiss to her hands or lips is plenty normal. But at times, when he finds her to be adorable or he's currently in the mood to tease her, he'd usually go for her cheeks and temple, sometimes even a light peck to the small of her nose to trigger a slight flush to her cheeks. A kiss to her eyelids was often done moments after he was awakened first in the morning as he looked for Ruby on his side, who's still deep into her sleep. He'd stay still, all quiet, as he observed her face. Sometimes smiling in fond amusement at the slight twitch on her nose or low mumbling of words as he waits for a while before begrudgingly forcing himself to leave the warmth of hers to finally attend to his duties for the day.

----

Killian Rudwick

Temple, forehead, hair, ears

A kiss to either one of the shells of his wife's ears whenever he is in the mood to tease her. Something that's akin to a newly found habit of Killian that first started right after he found out that his wife's ear is one of her (if not most) sensitive spots, before talking to her in a low, sensual voice just to get a rise out of her. Kisses on the forehead or temple, meanwhile, were usually given as an affectionate greeting from him whenever they encountered each other while attending to each of their own duties within the manor. Though the kisses on her temple were specifically, more often than not, were usually accompanied by a tight hug and tend to linger longer than the former.

---

Masterlist

[billionairebratenergy]

Pt. II because I hit the Tumblr character limit

Bucky Recommendations I

My Recs 📚

*updated as I find good reads*

───────────────────────────────

✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | 🔞 smut | ✪ g's star reads

✧.* Soft Shopping Spree | @orellazalonia ⤷ Bucky notices you never spend his money or let yourself want anything, so he plans a full day of spoiling you determined to show you what you deserve. Darling of the Devil | @orellazalonia ⤷ You accompany Bucky Barnes to a high-stakes party, where your presence turns heads, raises questions, and quietly shifts power dynamics just by existing at his side ✧.* Weakenss by @marvelstoriesepic ✪ ⤷ You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass. ✧.* let it happen | @flowersforbucky ⤷ "So that's all it takes, then? I kiss you one time and you get all possessive over me?" ⚠︎ From the Start | @byhuenii ⤷ They were best friends. She loved him quietly — from the start. But timing was never on her side. Now, between unspoken words, missed chances, and a love that lingers too long, she learns what it means to let go without ever truly doing so. 🔞 Wanna Be Yours | @daddyjackfrost ⤷ Bucky’s been in love with you for longer than he’ll admit. But when a moment of clarity after a misunderstanding on his part cracks the tension between you wide open, he finally gets to show you just how much.

[abitchandabastard]

dean winchester the type of guy to edge his underage brother until he cries and doesn’t even want to cum anymore

[silverquillsideas]

*sigh* here we go again :") cooking another self indulgent one shot, this time from chi cheng's POV 👀✍️

[lookinghalfacorpse]

Has Dream ever tried bathing alone? Like Phil is busy doing smt so he's like "oh I got this :D" only for him to not got this

Imagine if he had a seizure while in the water when Phil comes back, bad times

When Philza heard a splash from downstairs, his first assumption was that a water pipe burst again.

In the frigid winters of the arctic, pipe troubles weren't uncommon. Last winter, a pipe burst in Techno's basement and ruined a large portion of their food supply. Phil restocked it by buying from some nearby towns, which was usually a last resort for them. Bursts were almost always damaging, and a splash that loud was not a good sign.

He abandoned the dirty dishes and was already striding towards the basement stairs when he heard a strangled cry. As a chill gripped his chest, he began to sprint.

Dream didn't want to bother Philza while he was busy with the dishes. The old man spent most of his afternoon cooking a big meal and was left with a pile of plates to wash, and when Techno and Dream offered to help, he pushed them both out of the kitchen. Dream figured the least he could do was draw up his own bath and get them both to bed sooner.

Usually, seizures came with more of a warning.

As the first of the tremors took hold, Dream lifted himself from the bath and tried to scale its walls, only to have his legs give out from underneath him and the world spin as he was briefly overtaken with water. He scrambled to get his face above water, gasping with all the strength the tremors would allow him.

"Dream!"

Phil lunged to him, dropping to his knees at the foot of the bath, a puddle of water splashing beneath him. His palms wrapped firmly around either side of Dream's face, cradling him and keeping him above water.

"Relax, my boy. Relax. You're okay. I've got you."

Phil could pinpoint the moment that Dream lost consciousness, the intelligence leaving his eyes and being replaced by a terrifying mindlessness. He sputtered and coughed, spit and bath water dripping from his lips while his naked body writhed. His knees twitched and peaked above the waterline, splashing them both. Phil had to adjust his hands according to the waves of the tremors to keep from holding Dream too tightly-- he'd untangle his fingers from Dream's wet air so he could move to support the boy's neck, his shoulders, or hook his elbow under his arms, soaking his robes.

"Technoblade!" Phil cried. This would be easier if he could lift Dream out of the bath, but he would need help.

Having this fragile boy's life in his hands made him so anxious he worried he might vomit. He swallowed it down, and called for Techno again.

---

When Dream came to, he was naked and shivering in Techno's arms. Phil was wrapping towels around him, his eyes wide with lingering panic. The floor was coated in water, splashed up by his own thrashing, reflecting the orange light of the lamps he lit earlier. When he tried to speak, he broke into a violent cough, feeling uncomfortably warm water deep in his throat.

"I just wanted to help," he tried to say, but all that came out was a cough.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐲'𝐬 || Clark Kent ||

A/n: he's the best boy.

The wind whips around you as Clark sets you gently down on the icy floor of the Fortress of Solitude, a proud little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His cape flutters behind him, majestic, dramatic, exactly as you’d expect from your superhero fiancé. He watches you expectantly, eyes shining like he just brought you home to meet his parents.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude,” he says, arms spread wide like he’s unveiling the eighth wonder of the world. “It’s Kryptonian design. Advanced tech, alien crystals, voice-command architecture, memory banks that hold millennia of—”

GASP.

Clark's head never turned so fast to a sound.Your loud, breathless squeal cuts through his monologue like a bolt of lightning.

Clark blinks.

You don’t even see the towering alien archives. You don’t register the glowing control console pulsing with celestial light. No, your eyes have zeroed in on one very important thing sprinting towards you on four legs.

“Krypto!!!”

The white blur barrels into you joyfully, tail wagging at light speed, tongue out, pure delight in dog form.

“Oh my god, Clark,” you croon, dropping to your knees and immediately smothering him in kisses. “He has a little cape!”

Clark blinks again, his hands slowly lowering from their dramatic ‘ta-da’ pose. “Y-Yeah! You’ve met Krypto! He lives with us... At the apartment!"

“But you didn’t show me his cape, Clark,” you say, scandalized, holding the golden-edged red fabric between your fingers like it’s the Shroud of Turin. “And he can fly!”

It felt like it was Christmas....better than that actually now that you think about it.

Krypto barks and promptly floats three feet off the ground, tongue lolling, tail still wagging like a propeller. You gasp again like someone told you cake now contains vitamins.

“Oh, he’s a superdog! Look at him! He’s majestic. Regal. My god, he’s the hero this world truly deserves!”

Clark clears his throat, sheepish. “I mean…I also fly.”

“Mmmhmm,” you mumble, now gently placing Krypto’s paw in your hand like you’re officiating his wedding. “But does your nose boop when I touch it like this?” You gently boop Krypto’s snout. It does, in fact, boop. Gloriously.

Clark sighs, folding his arms and trying not to smile. “So…not impressed by the Fortress, huh?”

“Oh no, babe. The giant crystal space cave is very cool,” you say distractedly, as Krypto flops dramatically into your lap and rolls over for belly rubs. “But your dog has a cape. And he flies. And he’s got little teeth, look at ‘em! Look this little face." You puckered your lips smushing Krypto's face as the dogs tail wags a mile a minute.

Clark grins now, eyes warm as he watches the two of you—his fiancé completely enraptured by the world’s most powerful belly-rub beggar.

“Krypto,” he mutters under his breath with a shake of his head. “Showoff.”

Krypto barks triumphantly.

You gasp again. “He knows sarcasm.”

Clark just sighs again, quietly resigning himself to a lifetime of sharing your affection with a flying dog in a cape. And honestly?

He’s fine with that....

Later that day, as you lay sprawled out on the icy floor with Krypto napping on your chest like an overgrown, slightly radioactive marshmallow, Clark stands nearby looking only mildly betrayed.

You’ve been rubbing his belly (Krypto’s, not Clark’s… for now) for twenty minutes straight while whispering things like “I’d die for you, tiny hero” and “you’re the best boy in any multiverse.”

Clark clears his throat. “Babe, you know I saved Metropolis last week, right?”

You hum absently, fingers still working. “Mhm. And he saved my serotonin.”

Then, with perfect Kryptonian timing, the air shimmers—and Kara zips into the Fortress.

“Clark, I got your message—wait, are you—pouting?” She floats down, sees you cuddling her superdog cousin like he’s made of marshmallow fluff, and bursts into laughter so hard she nearly crashes into the memory crystals.

“Oh. My. Rao,” Kara wheezes. “She’s ignoring you for Krypto?!”

“She’s not ignoring me,” Clark mutters.

Krypto lifts his head, gives Clark a smug woof, then plants a wet lick on your cheek. You squeal and snuggle him closer.

“Oh my god,” Kara giggles, already pulling out her phone. “This is incredible. You finally bring your fiancée to the Fortress and she gets imprinted by the dog.”

“She didn’t imprint,” Clark grumbles.

You look up. “We’re soul bonded now.”

Kara cackles and almost drops her phone.

Clark just throws his head back and groans, clearly questioning every decision he’s ever made since inviting you here.

“Admit it,” Kara says, smirking. “This is so much better than when your ma saw the Fortress for the first time.”

“She cried,” Clark says proudly.

“She also didn’t immediately pick favorites,” Kara grins. “You’ve been dethroned by a dog in a cape, Kent.”

You nod solemnly from the floor. “Your dog is my hero now.”

Kara gives you a thumbs-up. “Excellent taste.”

Clark just sighs again, then walks over, flops down beside you with dramatic resignation, and mutters, “Fine. But when I wear a cape, no one scratches my belly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that��an invitation?”

Krypto barks.

Kara walks off still laughing—“I’m telling the Justice League!”—while you and Clark both groan, Krypto smugly nestled between you like the world’s fluffiest third wheel.

And the Fortress echoes with a whole new kind of warmth.

[theskirmisher]

requested drabbles. — ➴ "the seasons."

what does scaramouche think of the four seasons? requested by @truethes

Spring.

"You want to know what I think of spring?" The Balladeer scoffed, finding your question to be rather meaningless. But alas, he might as well entertain you for the time being.

"Spring is unpleasant. Bug infestations become more common, the weather is terrible and humid, and it makes daily life all the more difficult."

Judging by your face, however, he knew that this wasn’t the answer you were looking for. "It's a pretty season, though... I guess."

Summer.

"Now you want to know about summer? Ugh. Let me guess, you want to know what I think of all four seasons, right?" He knew he was right; you didn't need to tell him.

"Fine. Summer is alright. It's funny to watch people complain about the heat." He couldn't relate since he was a puppet, seemingly immune to various temperatures. "The weather remains fairly consistent during this time... so I have no complaints."

He was rather neutral on this season since it didn't affect him personally.

Autumn.

"Fall... It is probably my preferred season." He admitted with a huff. He liked crunching the fallen leaves as he walked; though, he'd never openly admit that. "The colors are pleasant to look at."

"I don't have any complaints."

Winter.

"I have grown used to winter. Snezhnaya suffers from this season year round, rarely getting a break from its biting cold." Even he would have trouble if he wasn't careful. Sure, temperatures didn't necessarily affect him... but it didn't mean he was incapable of being turned into ice.

"I dislike walking through thick layers of snow. It makes me wish I had the ability to fly over it or something."

[nanamisgirly]

your dilf doesn't need 'perfect'　ྀི　

“w-wait—” you were panting, legs wrapped around his hips where dilf!nanami straddled you on the countertop. you pull back just as his mouth dragged open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you don't remember how exactly you ended up there, how things turned from soft touches over dinner to a heavy make out session—tongue sliding between your lips, big hands pressing you against his chest. 

it's been months of holding back for both of you—resuming your relation to slow touches, soft kisses, and ‘no pressure sweetheart’ every time things started getting heavy. since you weren't experienced and kind of…scared, dilf!nanami suggested waiting til you're ready. and you've been grateful for it, even when you returned home some night aching and soaked from just making out with him.

and maybe all the courage you gathered to tug him in by his tie tonight and kiss him like you were desperate for it, had drained from your veins the moment you felt one of his hand sliding up your thigh and the other slipping under your shirt—hot, rough, calloused.

“did i go too far?” he asked, one hand still under your shirt, fingers hovering just under the band of your bra, not moving an inch. “it's okay. you don't need to explain. we can stop, sweetheart.” his lips were swollen—covered with spit. his eyes glassy and you could feel the weight of his cock pressing against your shorts.

“no—! no… i want to,” you blurted out too quickly, voice overlapping his, desperate not to be misunderstood. but even as you said it, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes, so you turn your head, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you continue, 

“it's just…” you exhaled, shame blooming fast in your chest. “i'm not confident about. . y'know.” you gesture vaguely toward your boobs. “they look nice in a bra and—uh…you've probably seen better. i know they look big in a bra, but they don't, well…stay up. they're soft, and…” your voice tightens. “i just…i've read things. about guys saying they were disappointed. or didn't want to even see them during the act, unless they were covered—” you laugh nervously, voice cracking. “it's so embarrassing. i-i didn't want you to see them and think—think they're…ugly.”

the silence that followed felt unbearable.

it only makes your anxiety grow and you feel so dumb for talking about it, maybe you should just have stopped and that's it…because nanami didn't move an inch since your little monologue, his honey eyes still trying to catch your gaze. 

your stomach drops. you start to shift trying to get off the counter, anything to escape mortification. “look, i'm sorry,” you say, heart pounding, eyes glassy. “i-i shouldn't have brought it up, i—umh—it's ok. i just thought that'd be nice to tell you before hand and huh…fuck i ruined everything didn't i?”

that's when you feel his hands coming to your hips, pinning you in place on the countertop. you gasp as he presses his cock against your core harder than ever—twitching with need.

when you looked up, his eyes had darkened. his brows were furrowed, jaw tight, emotion bleeding into every sharp line of his face. “that,” he said flatly, “is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.”

your breath hitched.

“i'm not a boy with a warped idea of what women are supposed to look like.” he leaned in, cupping your jaw to be sure your eyes stay locked onto his. “i'm a grown man. you think i'm painfully hard, grinding against you, shaking, because i'm waiting for something ‘perfect’? sweetheart, i'm here, aching because it's you. all of you that i want.”

his voice was low, frayed. barely holding together. “let me very clear, sweetheart, i'm going to lose my mind when i see them, i will drop to my knees and thank the gods for putting someone as sweet as you.”

your lips part, trying to breathe through the whirl of embarrassment and affection and…arousal.

“ken—”

“does this—” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding your trembling fingers down to the thick, pulsing shape of his cock straining in his slacks, “feel like someone who's going to be disappointed?”

you whimpered, your smaller fingers squeezing his boner. 

“f-fuck…” he shuddered. “if you want to stop,” he breathed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “i'll stop. if you want to wait, we'll wait. another month. another year. i don't care. anything you want, for you to be comfortable.”

but his voice cracked at the end—like he was hanging by a thread. you felt it too, his body coiled tight, like a beast barely leashed.

“you're too nice, ken.” you say teary-eyed, half laughing, half melting.

“well, k-keep squeezing me like that and i'm afraid i won't be nice any longer.” he groaned, lip brushing your neck.

your thighs wrapped tighter around him. “you can take it off,”

his head snapped up. “you sure?” his gaze held yours as his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again, and when you nodded, “arms up, sweets,” he said softly, and you obeyed.

when he tosses delicately your shirt to the side, skilled fingers quickly find your bra and unclip it, oh very so slowly.

when your bra hit the floor, everything held still. like the world paused long enough for nanami to lose his mind quietly. his eyes dragged up, heavy-lidded and wrecked. one big hand came up—trembling—cupping your breast with a war raging in his mind : should i worship or ruin them?

“sweets,” he breathed, thumbing over one of your nipple, “they're perfect. so fucking perfect i feel like i'm hallucinating.”

[satvrnsearth]

Imagine nanami’s face when he hears “shut up, mommy!” from your childs mouth. feel like he’d be passive aggressive idk. andddd maybeeee, possibly, a girl dad..

nanami was sitting by the couch, reading a book when he happened to overhear a conversation between his wife and his daughter.

“sweetheart, I know you want to play but I told you before that school work comes first.” you gently brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair, sensing her annoyance. You’ve been at it for a few minutes now, going back and forth. “no! I want to play!”

you sigh, crouching down to her level. “no, school work first."

nanami wanted to intervene, but he also wanted to see how you would handle this situation. that is, until—

“shut up, mommy!” she huffs, sniffling.

nanami's attention immediately turned to his daughter with a stern expression, clearly displeased with her words to you—his wife. you—though surprised at your daughter's outburst—held your composure.

nanami kneeled down in front of his daughter, his voice firm but not overly harsh, "you know better than to speak to your mother that way, young lady. It's not appropriate or respectful, and you need to apologize, right now.”

the little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she crossed her arms. nanami could see the defiance mixed with guilt in her eyes, but he remained steadfast, not budging from his position. you stood nearby, trying not to show the slight amusement on your face at your daughter's stubbornness.

nanami reached out, gently taking the little girl's hand in his own. His tone softened, slightly, as he spoke, "I understand you're upset, but there is no excuse for disrespecting your mother like that. I need you to say you're sorry, and mean it."

the little girl looked up at her father, her tough facade crumbling slightly. she squirmed in place, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. after a few seconds of silence–she finally muttered, "I'm...sorry, mommy."

nanami felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, satisfied with her response. he nodded approvingly before turning to you, who gave a small, relieved smile in return.

💭;; might I say this is one of my fav works EVER??? idk i just liked this sm idk why

credits—

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[madaqueue]

18+ MDNI - f!reader (nasty freak boy who cums too early...i love him)

virgin!satoru who thinks he’s going to die. genuinely, he thinks his heart is about to explode out of his chest and his last memory will be the way you stare down at him with those lust-blown eyes and that awe-struck smile. why else would he be shaking like this, covered in a layer of sweat and lightheaded to the point his vision is swirling?

“are you ready, satoru?” is the only thing he can make out above the ringing in his ears - how can he tell you he only has a few moments to live when your legs are spread like this and he’s so hard it fucking hurts?

virgin!satoru who is the farthest fucking thing from ‘ready’ but he’d rather die than disappoint you, so he’s at least got to try.

with an unsteady hand he swipes the tip of his cock up and down your slit, watching the way the light sparkles with how wet you are, for him.

“you can put it in, baby,” and he fucking groans, he can barely look at you when you talk to him like that, all syrupy sweet and thick and dripping.

virgin!satoru who finally, finally, pushes himself past your entrance. his eyes are locked on the way you swallow his length, the way he’s so hot he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air in because it all smells like you.

virgin!satoru who cums before he even bottoms out. he’s trembling and whining and it only gets worse when your hands find his shoulders and pull him into you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, fuck-”

“it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s so fucking warm, and he’s grateful he can’t see the smile on your face because he thinks it might actually make his heart stop.

virgin!satoru who straightens his back, slowly pulls his cock out of you and watches in awe as his cum leaks down your thighs, who can’t stop himself from smearing it through your folds with his thumb, who doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches as he does.

virgin!satoru who’s already hard again, who no longer cares if he’s dying because this must be heaven, who stares back at you with wild, unfocused eyes as he says, “i think…i think i’m ready now.”

a/n: i think i blacked out from lust writing this

[v1x3n]

nanamis whose been working overtime loads recently, trying to save enough money for a beautiful wedding. he often comes home tired and dazed, you know how the schedule goes.

you run a soft hand down his clothed chest, feeling the tired, tight muscles underneath. you murmur a softer, "missed you."

to which he grumbles something under his breath then smiles smally, "missed you too.." he lets a silence pass, a comfortable one, as your hands roam his chest and his hands roam your hips. "help me undress?" he suggests.

youve never gotten him out of his clothes faster, showing off his damp muscles, his large thighs, just his entire body was gorgeous to you. he guides you towarss the bed lazily, pushing you into the sheets, letting then swarm you. his eyes droop as he collapses ontop of you, "fuck, you smell good."

you breathe out a laugh as he picks himself up to undress you. he trails his fingers down your body, his mouth does the same. kissing along your skin, right over your stomach pudge then down to your thighs.

hastily dipping his fingers into the hems of your underaeae and throwing them aside. you gasp at the air hitting your glistening pussy. your eyebrows knitting together as you let out a deep breath. "can i?" he mumbles, kissing a small peck to your inner thigh. using his large hands to part your legs and get comfortable lent to press a smaller peck to your needy lips.

you nod once. "words, pretty."

"yes, please." you beg politely. his lips connect to your small bud, instant pleasure jolts through you and escapes with a loud gasp, "oh!"

kento sloppily kisses your clit, the small thing shining pink and hard. she twitches as he presses his tongue against you. he groans in your whines and whimpers, your hand burries itself in his hair - growing more soft groans from him. gently pulling on the strands, you moan out as his tongue travles downwards, past your sloppy folds and through to your juicy hole.

he slurps your wetness in a loud sound, salivating over the taste. you mewl loudly, your eyes rolling back in an instant.

god.

he tugs his nose into your clit as he licks your hole, stimulating both at the same time. he loves the way your legs twitch. fuck. he loves the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you look - fucking all five senses! then his licks grow faster and he dips the tip of his tongue into your tightness.

your orgasm is right on the brink, you can feel it. the coil twisting - about to explode. just a little more...

"oh, fuck, ken!" you breathe, teeth holding onto your bottom lip, scoring blood. then his tongue haults. "...ken?" you mumble, your body twitches in anticipation.

after a second of silence, orgasm vanished and you peak down to see him almost drooling onto the sheets. dead asleep.

his hair messy, naked, sleeping in between your legs. your hole tightens in the slightest. tou run a hand over his hair and let out a sharp breath. he looked perfect, his parted lips, his sloped nose, his sculptured face.

you wish you could be mad at the lack of orgasm but hin sleeping was far too cute. youll let him off with a warning.