#he does a backflip/roll every time????????

[kunasthiast]

wagyu nights

you had exactly three things on your to-do-list that monday morning. yes, a monday. satan’s favorite day. the kind of monday where you wake up already annoyed, already hot, already feral. 

number 1. drink your overpriced espresso from starbucks that makes your heart do backflips and your soul exit your body. you only ordered it because that goddamn espresso song’s been living in your head rent-free for weeks. 

number 2. avoid signing another one of gojo’s illegal, morally questionable, legally actionable birthday cards. last time you did, his lawyer called you personally.

number 3. get a tattoo right above your ass crack and surprise your husband like the loving, stable wife you pretend to be in public.

because why the fuck not? 

you were thirty. rich. hot. emotionally stable (depending on the hour). married to that pink-haired demon of a man for five goddamn years – willingly and obsessively. no kids, yet. no regrets. just an unhinged, borderline feral, mutually destructive love story and an ever-growing collection of in-laws and nosy strangers asking, “so when are the babies coming?”

to which you always replied, smiling sweetly, creepily, and with too much eye contact: “we’re practicing really hard.”

and if there’s one thing sukuna adored even more than your face, your attitude, or your uncanny ability to outdrink him at every celebratory orgies of capitalism, it was –

“your fuckin’ back dimples,” he growled that morning, voice still hoarse, from where he lay starfished across your bed. shirtless. legs splayed. tattoos on full display like a fucking warning sign.

you stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirt lifted just enough to peek at your lower back, contemplating the most deranged monday decision possible: a sternum piece? an underboob tat? nah. a fucking tramp stamp.   

“what about them?” you asked absently, twisting for a better view, ass poked out, looking like a possessed girl in an exorcism movie.

his eyes raked over you like you were his personal religion (yes, you are), “they’re my favorite handles.”

“for what?”

“sin. more specifically, you bent over the bathroom counter-sin. five-star tasting menu kinda shit, babe.”

“romantic,” you deadpanned, still deciding between a cybersigilism tat, a cute hello kitty tramp stamp, or that fucking succubus design you’ve been manifesting since last month’s hormonal spiral.

but by the time your fourth sip of espresso kicked in and your third brain cell screamed YOLO – you were already texting yuki for a walk-in.  

because nothing says married life like getting a surprise ass tattoo and flashing it at dinner like a goddamn crackerjack prize. 

by noon, you were half in your sweatpants, wearing his hoodie over a crop top, sunglasses indoors, phone in one hand, car keys in the other. you looked like a rich housewife fleeing a crime scene. 

then, of course, sukuna came out of his office room, voice still scratchy from some hellish meeting (and yes, you definitely heard the phrase “who the fuck approved this?” echoed through the door). tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. he looked good. he always does. dangerously so. and he definitely came out because he sensed the chaos radiating off you like a sixth sense.

“where the fuck you going today, baby?”

you froze mid-sprint at the door.

“uhh… nowhere,” you lied, immediately. “just… errands, love.”

he stared at you.

you smiled.

he squinted harder, “… you only say ‘errands’ when you’re gonna make a dramatic and irreversible decision.”

“what?! noooo! do i look like i make bad decisions?” 

“baby. last time you said ‘errands’ you came home with a cat and a navel piercing. so yes. yes, you do.”

“well, you love both,” you shrugged, opening the door.

he cocked a brow. “i do. but if you come back with a fucking dog, a nipple ring, or another limited-edition cursed item from that thrift store you claim ain’t haunted, we’re gonna have a serious talk, baby.”

“fine,” you grinned, blowing him a kiss.

he narrowed his eyes like a man who knew his wife was about to commit arson, metaphorical or otherwise. “wait. hold up –”

ding.

his phone lit up. followed by another. and another.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, reading whatever fresh corporate nightmare just got dumped on him (his own company = his own chaos = karma’s kiss on the forehead). and just like that – fate (and capitalism) intervened.

“baby, i gotta take this. don’t do anything –”

click.

door’s already closed. too late. 

you were gone. off into the wild, espresso-fueled unknown with a dream, a credit card, and the dangerous confidence of a woman who pays her own bills and gets off on impulsive decisions. 

—

thirty-two minutes later.

yuki took one look at you from her desk and said, “okay, what are we permanently etching into your flesh today?”

“i need something that says crazily in love but also i know where the bodies are buried,” you said, peeling off your hoodie. “thinking tramp stamp. succubus, cybersigilism style. red ink.‘kuna’s initials. maybe a heart in the middle. definitely unholy.”

“hmm, classic monday,” she nodded, already grabbing her ipad to draw it on the spot. “want some glitter drips?”

“yes,” you grinned, too excited for this.

“he’s gonna lose his mind,” you grinned, high off espresso, reckless affection, and the promise of delightful spousal torment.

“in a good way or a divorce way?”

“yes.”

forty-five minutes later.

you were face down, ass-up on yuki’s table, hair in a messy bun, chewing gum like it owed you money.

“‘kay, hold real still,” yuki said, gloves snapping on. “‘bout to tattoo the most feral love note of all time on your ass.”

“god bless,” you whispered, as the buzz of the machine started.

two hours later, your phone buzzed like a possessed bee on the tray next to you. texts. missed calls. a voicemail that probably just said “baby” in ten different emotional tones.

but you ignored it, because sukuna would find out soon enough. and please, your marriage survived worse. like the time you accidentally sexted the family group chat (your side). 

or that time you thought it’d be romantic to surprise him with a homemade dinner, only to somehow set fire to the kitchen and set off the smoke detectors. sukuna waltzed in, unfazed, and ended up effortlessly whipping up a five-course meal in under an hour – leaving you sulking on the couch, watching him plate perfectly cooked dishes while you nursed a glass of wine (your only consolation being the fact that at least you hadn’t set the house on fire. this time). but then, just when you thought he was gonna give you the “i told you so” lecture, he kissed you on the cheek, gave you a hug, and murmured, “still love you, babe.”

anyway, at least the tattoo’s done. and it looks glorious as fuck.

you admired it in the mirror like it was renaissance art. well… satanic, slightly unhinged renaissance art.

a little heart with “R.S” in the middle. glowing red. framed by digital sigils and glittery hellfire drips. you looked like the cover of a cursed y2k CD and it was absolutely iconic. just what you loved.

“i’m never wearing any tops again,” you declared, pulling your sweatpants up.

“he’s either gonna fuck you into next tuesday or call a priest,” yuki said, proud of her work.

“either way, it’s a win.”

—

you didn’t go straight home after the tattoo, obviously. you were an emotionally stable adult woman with needs and responsibilities.

so after the pain and the buzz wore off a little (just for today, obvs), you stopped by paradise. ready for some retail therapy. with a necessary detour to just distract yourself from the inevitable chaos waiting for you at home.

a few hours and a few (more like 5) shopping bags later, you stopped by that place. the one with the overpriced wagyu and the mochi ice cream your husband pretends not to like but always, mysteriously, finishes. it was part guilt on not replying to his texts and calls (fine, maybe 30% avoidance), part instinct, part monday-night tradition. 

he cooks 90% of the time, but random weekdays? random weekdays like monday tonight is for takeout treaty nights.

so you picked up dinner and rolled into the driveway at exactly 9:47PM. full of caffeine, permanent ink, and deeply smug satisfaction. 

your phone buzzed with the energy of a hundred (okay, 50?) unread texts, but you had food in your hand and a hot husband waiting to yell at you (let him fucking try), so life was good.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately announced with maximum dramatic flair, “babyyy, i’m hooooome!” fully expecting to find him in his usual end-of-day poses: brooding in the kitchen, bossing someone around on the phone, or lounging on the couch with black mirror playing on the tv and whisky on hand. 

and, of course – there he was. shirtless, barefoot, and tattoos out, as usual. leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whisky on his hand and a phone in the other (probs, terrorizing his assistant). his crimson eyes, sharp as ever, were already scanning you with that knowing look. 

“you’re late,” sukuna said as he ended the phone call, voice deceptively calm.

you just grinned, kicking the door closed behind you and waltzing in too happily. “told ya i had errands, baby.”

his eyes flicked to the five shopping bags hanging off your arms like battle trophies. “did you rob a boutique or black out in dior again?”

“bit of both,” you winked, dropped the bags on the floor, placed the takeout on the counter like peace offering, and kissed him on the lips. “got us dinner, daddy.”

he stared at the takeout bag like it was a peace offering from a war criminal he loved deeply, “sweetheart, what’d you do.”

“excuse me?!” you gasped, scandalized.

“you only bring home wagyu and mochi balls together when you’ve done something insane. or need to butter me up for something worse than a felony, sweetheart,” he said, already digging into the bag like wasn’t fully planning on giving you hell for ghosting him all day. “go ahead. confess.”

you just blinked at him. smiled. took the mochi ice cream container and hugged it like it was a baby kitten. “maybe i just missed my emotionally unavailable, incredibly stressed-for-today yet very hot husband and wanted to feed him like the loving wife i am.”

“uh-huh,” he muttered as he raised a brow, unimpressed. “i texted you fifty-two times. called you over twenty.”

“and i saw every single one of ‘em,” you said sweetly, pulling out plates and chopsticks. “and ignored all. with love.”

“obviously, given your non-existent replies.”

“i was processing,” you said solemnly, handing him a plate. “like a baby giraffe. learning how to walk.”

he gave you that look – one that said i both adore and fear you – and took the plate. “tell me you didn’t crash the car.”

“pfft, the car’s fine, babe.” you said.

“tell me you didn’t sign another one of gojo’s birthday cards.”

“why would i –”

he stared. you stared back. and then, just like clockwork, he reached forward and tugged at the hem of his (your) hoodie you were wearing, “baby. what is it.”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“nope. absolutely not.”

“sweetheart.”

you bit into your mochi dramatically. chewing on it. and then very calmly turned around, lifted up your hoodie, and pulled down your sweatpants just enough to show off the new ink on the small of your back. that fucking succubus red-inked tattoo with his initials. all stylized. deadly cute. 

you didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring.

sukuna blinked. put down his chopsticks. stared like you just pulled a gun on him. well, obvs  yeah, not literally. 

“oh, fuck,” he muttered after two seconds. 

you pulled your hoodie back down and faced him, still chewing. “like it? so freaking cute, right?”

his voice dropped. low.“you got my fuckin’ initials tattooed on your ass.”

“technically, above it.”

he exhaled like he’d seen god, “baby. what the fuck. ‘course i fuckin’ love it.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, stealing a piece of his wagyu like a menace.

he stared at you for a beat… then he started laughing. not chuckles. not that fake corporate laugh he does when he’s about to buy out someone’s soul. real, head-thrown-back, unhinged maniacal laughter your husband is capable of.

and then he said, still breathless: “fuck, baby, i love you. but the only position we’re doing for the next month is backshots.”

you picked up another mochi ball, chewed slowly, and said, like a woman casually signing a soul contract, “i mean, that’s all we can do right now anyway. tattoo aftercare, duh. can’t have friction. or—y’know—fluids.”

there was a pause.

“such a sacrifice. i’m selfless like that.”

—

which is how you found yourself bent over the fucking kitchen counter.

ass up. hoodie, crop top, and bra somewhere on the floor. tramp stamp fully on display. and your hot, undeniably feral husband was shoving his thick fucking cock in your pussy like this was his last day on earth. giving you that much deserved backshot. 

“fuck, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” sukuna grunted, his teeth grazing your neck. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you from behind, his cock stretching your tight pussy with each thrust. hitting deep and hard, so perfect. 

“mm, fuck yes, more baby more,” you moaned into the marble, eyes fluttering.

and sukuna – god, he was loud. and when he moans? he fucking moans it out. loud, unfiltered, guttural sounds right in your ear. “want more, baby?”

his words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched your back, pushing your ass against him, “mmm, harder, ‘kuna,” you nodded and begged, voice already wrecked.

he didn’t need telling twice. he slammed into you harder, relentless with forceful thrusts that had your tits bouncing with every stroke and making your toes curl. 

“shit, you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” he growled, one hand found your clit, the other tightening around your hips. “gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard tonight.”

your moans grew louder as he continued to hammer your pussy, the pleasure building with each powerful stroke, and very determined to make you cum hard on his cock. your moans filled the kitchen, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“oh god yes, yes, baby, just like that!” you cried out, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. “i’m cumming, i’m –”

sukuna shoved himself deeper, thick cock buried inside as your pussy clenched around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth. you screamed his name, back aching, and body shaking. 

“fuck baby, i love you!” he groaned, hips stuttering as he came with a loud, filthy growl. his hot seed spilling deep inside you.

you both stayed like that for a moment – breathless, trembling, and fucking grinning in the aftermath of your intense and sukuna’s selfless lovemaking. 

then he smacked your ass and said, with deep reverence, “i fucking love this pussy and that fucking tattoo.” 

“now that’s what i call romance, daddy” you said as you turn your face to look at him. his cock still very much inside you. 

yeah.

that was probably the night it happened.

the one that’d changed your life in about nine months.

but that was future you’s next challenge.

tonight, there was wagyu. mochi. your menacingly feral husband. your very smug tramp stamp. and a kitchen full of bad decisions marinated in love.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n: this is me convincing myself that tramp stamps are fucking sexy and i’m getting them as my next piece of tat this year lol also fuck I need this sukuna in my fucking life – universe, gods, angels… PLEASE hear me out

[yuiiiriii]

megumi is head over heels for you. Maybe even obsessed but he’d never admit it.

There was only one problem.

You both were friends because he was too much of a coward to tell you how he felt. He told himself many times that it was okay. If you could still drag him everywhere with you, if he could still come over and do your skincare routine.

Then it was ok.

But he was selfish.

Oh how he wanted to hold you, kiss you, he couldn’t help the jealousy that filled him when another guy treated you terribly.

Megumi was never subtle with his feelings but you’re oblivious. When he’d take you out to get your favorite treats, your to busy stuffing your face that he swiftly swiped your hair out of your face, holding it with an amused smile on his face. The way he ‘complains’ about you not bringing a sweater when you said that you wouldn’t get cold. But he thinks it looks better on you anyways and now you’re happy, that pretty smile on your lips. But it’s so painfully obvious because Megumi is only soft with you.

“Come on Megumi!” Yuuji yells, throwing his arms around his shoulder. Megumi slumps, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” Nobara eyebrows raise, digging her shoulder into his side.

“Why? Only your ethereal best friend can call you that?”

Megumi wants to smile because he’s always happy when you’re mentioned or around. But he bites it back and pouts instead. He sucks his teeth as the two continue to pester him.

He lets out a sigh when he enters your room.

“Megs!” You light up and that warm smile etches back on his face.

“Hey.” He caresses your hair when you hug him.

“Come! Sit!” You pat your bed and he obliges. You begin rambling about the new skincare products you wanted to try with him.

“I got you something.” His words cut you off.

“Huh? Me?” You blink and he laughs.

“Yes you.” He pulls a small box from his pocket.

“You’ve been saying you wanted one…so I got you one.” He opens the box and your eyes twinkle, much like the diamond on the necklace.

“Megumi.” You breathe out, holding it so softly in the palms of your hands.

“Thank you.” You quip, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t the first time and Megumi hopes it isn’t the last.

“Put it on me!” You say giddily, turning around. He gently rests it in your neck, clasping it. You face him, playing with it.

“Does it look pretty?” You smile at him but he’s already looking at you, never flickering to the necklace.

“Very pretty.” He says so softly.

“So are we gonna try those products?” He tilts his head and you clasp your hands.

“Right! Come on!”

Megumi enjoys his time with you like it might be his last. He cherishes every look you give him, every word you say. He holds onto everything. He’s sat on your bed once again, as you rummage through your bag. Your hands engulf his face.

“I was gonna put a lip mask but they don’t even look dry. You have pretty lips ‘gumi.” You say staring without a shame and his heart races.

“I do?”

You hum.

“But I don’t so you need to apply some on me.” He laughs as you close your eyes, scooting closer to him.

He holds your chin between his fingers, letting the cream lather on your lips. You can feel his breath inches away from you, making your stomach do backflips. Your eyes flutter open and he blinks at you. He gulps, focusing back on your lips. However your eyes stay open, engraving his features into your memory.

“You’re very pretty Megumi.” He tries to fight the blush that covers his face.

“Pretty?” He glances at you.

“Fine. Handsome.” You cheekily say and he shakes his head in amusement.

He swipes his thumb over the bottom of your lip, cleaning it up. He holds your chin, his thumb gliding across your skin. Your big eyes blink up at him and he can’t find it in himself to hold back any longer. As soon as his lips meet yours, you deepen it, almost as if you’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

News flash, you were.

Megumi loses himself in you, the way your lips feel, your hands coming up to brush at the nape of his neck, your scent. When you pull away you break into a smile.

“My lips were kinda chapped.” He jokes, the product on his lips as well. You laugh and he does too.

“So…” You drag on and he laughs.

“Come over here you idiot.” He says as he pulls you onto his lap, kissing you once again.

Finally his problem was solved.

© yuiiiriii

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.  

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 

“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 

“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”

“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!” 

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.

“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.  

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

[jenosonlywife23]

Bf!Anton...

You don’t know when the realization hits harder—when he walks out of the bathroom shirtless, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his hair, or when he’s curled up on the couch in his hoodie, rubbing his eyes and mumbling half-asleep sentences like a literal baby.

Anton Lee.

Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Hot. Fine. Ridiculously cute. Somehow both a menace and a comfort in one perfectly built body.

And you? You just stare at him from across the room, cheeks warm, blinking like you're still trying to process the fact that this is real life. That he wants you. That he loves you.

He notices the staring, of course. He always does. And like the little smug punk he is, he smirks.

“What?” he asks, voice low and teasing as he approaches, still drying his hair with the towel. “You good, babe?”

You blink again, eyes flicking from his toned torso to his annoyingly perfect face. “I just don’t get it.”

Anton raises a brow, settling on the edge of the bed. “Don’t get what?”

“How I pulled you,” you say bluntly. “Like… look at you.”

He chuckles, cocky but affectionate, leaning forward to rest his hand on your thigh. “You’re really gonna act like you’re not hot? I should be the one asking that.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s doing little backflips in your chest. “No, but seriously. You’re like—model-tier fine. And then you smile?It’s insane. Sometimes I look at you and wonder if you fell out of a webtoon or something.”

Anton grins wide now, dimples deepening, the kind of smile that makes your knees weak even when you're sitting down.

“Babe,” he says softly, dragging his fingers along your jaw until he’s cupping your cheek. “You pulled me ‘cause you’re you. Smart, funny, sexy as hell, and a little weird—which I love. And honestly…” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “The way you look at me like I hung the stars? It makes me wanna ruin you every night.”

Your breath catches.

He pulls back just a little, eyes dark and playful. “Still confused about how you pulled me?”

“...A little less now.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips—slow and lazy like he’s got nowhere else to be but here, melting into you. “'Cause I’m yours. No confusion.”

You’re still blushing, still kind of reeling from his words when he suddenly shifts, crawling up the bed toward you with that look in his eyes.

That look that says I’m yours, but you’re mine too.

“I don’t think you really get it yet,” Anton murmurs, voice a little deeper now, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he cages you against the pillows. “You sit there looking at me like I’m some dream—but have you seen yourself?”

His hand slides up under your shirt, slow, tracing the curve of your waist like it’s his favorite thing to touch (because it is).

“Do you know what it does to me when you smile?” His thumb grazes your skin lazily. “Or when you wear my hoodie and nothing else?”

You suck in a breath, eyes locked on his as he hovers just above you. He’s close—too close—but you don’t want space. Not from him.

“I think about you all the time,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, your neck, every inch he can reach. “When I’m at practice, when I’m on stage, even when I’m tired as hell—I’m still thinking about how fast I can get back to you.”

Your fingers tighten in his shirt.

He leans in more, lips barely touching yours, but not kissing you yet.

“And you still wanna sit there acting like you don’t deserve me?” he breathes, brows raised, a teasing smile on his lips.

You swallow hard. “Maybe I just like hearing you say it.”

Anton chuckles—a low, dangerous sound that makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, baby,” he smirks, finally kissing you. Deep, slow, possessive. “Then you better listen close…”

He kisses you again, firmer this time.

“...You’re the only one I want.”

Another kiss.

“You’re the one I dream about.”

His hand slips lower, making you gasp softly.

“And you pulled me because no one’s ever made me feel like this.”

He finally settles beside you, pulling you into his chest like he can’t stand not being close, lips still brushing yours between words.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers, “I don’t ever wanna hear you question it again. You’re it for me.”

And just like that, the room is warm with his presence, your heartbeat syncing to his, and all you can do is hold on tighter—because how did you get so lucky?

Spoiler: He’s thinking the same thing.

[duvetchico]

kingston

summary late night cuddles turn into disgustingly soft confessions that’ll make you blush so hard you gotta bury your face in a pillow. karina’s dramatic, you’re down bad, and love is real unfortunately.

genre fluff / humor / pure sapphic delulu

pairing yu jimin × fem!reader

masterlist.

it’s 11:43pm and you’re deep in the trenches of your nightly tiktok scroll. you’ve been in bed for a solid hour, under the covers, screen brightness on 2%, volume dangerously loud for no reason. karina’s next to you, already in her sleep shirt, hair tied up, looking like a sleepy ethereal creature while you look like a raccoon hopped up on internet trash.

you’re laughing at some stupid video of a guy falling off a trampoline and cracking his ass on a fence when you feel karina shift beside you. she doesn’t say anything at first, just rolls over and stares at you, head propped up on her hand.

“babe,” she says, voice still raspy from just waking up, “what in the fuck are you laughing at.”

you turn your phone to show her. “he fucking died. look.”

she squints at the screen for two seconds before groaning and rolling back over. “i swear to god you’ve watched, like, 700 videos in the last ten minutes. go to sleep.”

“you’re not my mom,” you mutter, still laughing.

“no, but i am your girlfriend and i’m getting fucking ignored,” she says dramatically, flopping onto her back like a princess having a tantrum.

you snort. “you’re literally right next to me.”

“physically, yeah. spiritually? emotionally? i’m abandoned.”

you side-eye her. “babe you were literally asleep two seconds ago.”

she turns her head to glare at you. “i was trying to sleep. but your dumbass laughter keeps waking me up. and now i want cuddles.”

you glance at her, then at your phone. she sees you hesitate and immediately sits up, squinting at you like a cat about to attack.

“don’t make me do it,” she threatens.

you blink. “do what?”

she lunges, grabs your phone straight out of your hand, and tosses it on the nightstand like it personally offended her.

“HEY—”

“enough fucking phone time for tonight,” she says, dead serious, already pulling you down onto the bed and manhandling you into a spooning position.

“karina, i was watching a dog do backflips—”

“nope. shut up. you’re mine now. cuddle time. no negotiations.”

you whine but let her wrap her limbs around you like a fucking koala. she always does this. every night. like clockwork. it’s either "get off your phone" or "i missed you even though we were together all day."

you let out a dramatic sigh. “you’re so clingy.”

“and you’re so fucking addicted to your phone. seriously. how are you still entertained by people fake crying to subway surfers gameplay?”

you shrug against her chest. “it’s soothing.”

she kisses the top of your head like she feels bad for how dumb you are. “you need therapy.”

you go quiet for a minute, enjoying the warmth, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. the room’s dark, the covers are heavy, and her breathing’s starting to slow like she’s falling asleep again. you’re about to close your eyes when she whispers, dead serious:

“...but what if we scrolled together.”

you pull back just enough to look at her. “bitch.”

she grins. “we’re a team. give me your phone.”

“you just threw it across the room.”

“and now i regret it. go get it.”

you groan, roll over to grab the phone off the nightstand, and crawl back into her arms like some obedient little tiktok-addicted gremlin. she’s already smiling like she won the war.

“okay, but i get to pick the videos,” she says, unlocking your phone with her face like the nosy little shit she is.

you snort. “fine, but if you start sending me k-pop fancams like you did last time, i’m muting you.”

karina gasps. “how fucking dare you. i only send you the best fancams.”

“you sent me one where you were screaming ‘THAT’S MY WIFE’ in the background.”

“and i was right.”

you roll your eyes but let her cuddle into you again, the two of you scrolling together now, watching dumb videos and occasionally screaming over the stupidest shit. at one point she shows you a tiktok of a girl falling face-first into cake and you both lose your shit for like five solid minutes. like, actual wheezing, stomach cramps, tears in your eyes level laughter.

“why was the cake just there??” she says between laughs. “WHO LEFT THAT OUT—”

“IT’S THE WAY HER FACE BOUNCED OFF OF IT—”

and then you’re dying again.

somewhere between the chaos, she turns the phone off mid-scroll, holds you tighter, and buries her face in your neck.

“you smell good,” she mumbles. “and i like when we do this.”

“scroll tiktok and talk shit?”

“yeah. and cuddle and be dumb. it’s my favorite.”

you smile to yourself, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “same, honestly.”

she pauses for a second, then adds “but next time you ignore me for subway surfers edits again, i’m breaking your phone.”

“that’s fair.”

it gets weirdly quiet. like suspiciously quiet. and you're laying there in karina’s arms, thinking the chaos is over. but then you hear her sigh. not dramatic. not stupid. just… soft.

you peek up. she's staring at you.

“what?” you ask, already suspicious.

she blinks real slow. like some dramatic bitch in a romcom. “sometimes i think you were custom made for me.”

you immediately choke on air. “HUH—”

“like, look at you,” she says, voice suddenly all gentle and low, “you’re literally everything. you’re so fucking pretty it pisses me off. and your laugh? don’t get me started. it makes my brain feel like melted jelly.”

“karina—”

“no. i’m on a roll. let me finish before i pass out from the gay.”

you just sit there, clinging to her hoodie with your face heating up like a microwave burrito.

“and the way you always know what to say when i’m spiraling?” she continues, now whispering into your hair. “or how you always save me the last bite even when you really want it? that’s love. like real love. stupid, reckless, mushy-ass love.”

you bury your face in her chest. “i hate you.”

she grins, smug as hell. “no you don’t. you’re in love with me and it’s ruining your whole life.”

“…maybe.”

“you are. you look at me like i invented the sun.”

you groan. “you didn’t, babe.”

“but you act like i did. that’s what matters.”

you can’t even fight it anymore. you're full-blown BLUSHING. like red-eared, heart-thumping, can't-make-eye-contact blushing. and she knows it too. she’s smirking like she just won the love lottery.

then she gently grabs your hand and threads your fingers together. no teasing. no dumbass joke. just her thumb brushing over yours.

“i’d literally live in a cardboard box with you,” she says softly. “no phone. no snacks. just us. and maybe a dog.”

you blink up at her. “…you hate dogs.”

“i’d learn to love them. for you.”

you’re gonna fucking die. she’s too powerful.

“karina—”

“yeah?”

you whisper, “you’re it for me.”

and she just melts. like full body flop, head buried in your shoulder, arms around you like you’re the last fucking person on earth. and in the quiet, she murmurs

“if you ever leave me, i’m kidnapping you.”

“…that’s not how that works—”

“shhh. we’re in love.”

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Their favourite part of you (physically)…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

tw: some nsfw (mainly Art - who’s surprised)

Michael

Your face and your waist/stomach; Michael likes being able to read your every micro expression and communicate without your words as well as his own (something about him not needing any words to understand you is satisfying to him - instinct responding to instinct), often rests his head on your stomach when cuddling regardless of whether his mask is on or not, and is usually holding your waist when getting freaky with you. Likes being able to pick you up by your waist and just place you down wherever he feels inclined to, that sense of control.

Pinhead

Impossible to answer. If you ask Pinhead this question and insist he answers, he will pace back and forth before disappearing through a portal to Hell, incapable of dissecting what he believes to be the masterpiece that is your body in favour of choosing one specific part of it over the rest as his favourite. Will literally debate it in another realm for 100 years before returning to you (where approximately 3 minutes have passed in our time) to tell you he has made a choice: your heart. You roll your eyes and tell him that doesn’t count, but he already has the perfect answer prepped because he knew you’d query his response:

“Your heart is what powers the rest of you, my dear. Without your heart, you would be an empty vessel. A beautiful one, but empty. Your body is most beautiful, living, and it is your heart that ensures such a state of being. For that, your heart is my favourite part of tour body.”

Brahms

Will sulk in the walls and refuse to talk to you if you ask him to pick a part of your body and I’m so serious; he literally adores you. When you explain that he can give different answers for different reasons (such as sexually/romantically/what part of you he’s most innocently attracted to) he’s more inclined to think about it. At that point, he’s happy because he can give more than one answer - that’s more fair, Brahms thinks. So, romantically he would say your lips. Innocent attraction, he would say your eyes. Sexually?

“…Every part of you I’ve been inside.”

Art

Easiest question you’ve ever asked him. His answer is one simple gesture: 👌🏻

It’s your hole. Any hole you’ve got. That’s his favourite part. If there’s one thing Art loves more than anything else, it’s playing with something dark, wet and warm that he can stuff fingers or…other things into.

If you asked him for a more in-depth answer that sounded slightly less like you’re his own personal fleshlight, Art would pause, then go: 👉🏻😃👈🏻

Your smile, because he likes seeing you happy. He’s not exactly a romantic, but he is very playful.

Sun and Moon

Surprisingly, both Sun and Moon are in agreement that your face is their favourite part of your body, but it is for very different reasons; Sun likes holding your face, cupping your cheeks, tracing your cheekbones with mechanical thumbs; Moon likes your face because yours is the only face that gives Moon kisses. They are also both capable of reading your expressions incredibly well (they have images of your every microexpression stored as vitally important information in their systems), and they treasure doing things just to see the reaction on your face. Backflips, magic trucks - anything to see your eyes light up.

Marta

Your womb - okay, hear me out on this one, because before you jump to conclusions I’m not suggesting anything relating to hardcore fisting. Marta’s favourite place to touch you is your lower abdomen, her fingers splaying over where your womb rests in a protective gesture. To her, that is the purest part of you, that she protects from the foul seed of men. It is a sacred place in which God plants children, but your path of purity (lesbianism x) renders it an unspoilt treasure. It is rare Marta would kneel before you, but whenever she does, it is usually to place a kiss over the skin of your tummy, where your womb resides.

[steddiehyperfixation]

still into you (steddie ficlet)

Eddie wakes to the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs and fresh-made pancakes. He stretches lazily and heads to the kitchen to find Steve at the stove making breakfast, moving expertly between flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs and checking the bacon. A stupid kiss the cook apron is tied at the waist over his bare torso and sinful pajama shorts, and he looks just as delicious as the food he's cooking. The whole scene makes something warm and fluttery bloom bright in Eddie's chest. 

He sits at the counter and sighs dreamily, resting his chin in his hand as he watches him. “God, I have such a crush on you.” 

Steve looks over his shoulder with an amused expression that crinkles the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “We're literally married.” 

“I know,” Eddie gushes, so in awe of this fact you'd think it was a new development even though it very much isn't. He marvels at his husband of 34 years, admires every inch of Steve's middle-aged body, every place where his time-worn skin is creased with signs of age and a life well lived and well loved. The beauty of him still knocks the wind out of Eddie, a breathless giggle bubbling up his throat. “But that doesn't mean I don't still have a massive fucking crush on you.” 

Steve huffs out a chuckle before turning his attention back to the stove, a quick duck of his head as if to hide a blush. 

Emboldened, Eddie stands and comes up to wrap his arms around him from behind. He nuzzles into Steve's neck, breathes in his salt and pepper hair and smiles into the curve of his shoulder. “I’m serious. Even after all this time, you still give me butterflies,” Eddie says, resting his hands over Steve's stomach and pressing gently to demonstrate his words, “right here, like I’m a teenager again. My aged heart still does very youthful backflips just at the sight of you, and I feel that rush of falling in love all over again, again and again, like it's the very first time.”

Eddie remembers a conversation he'd had with his uncle once, when he was much much younger and Wayne was about the age Eddie is now.  When you get older, you don't feel that type a’ love the same way anymore, Wayne had told him. It ain't the same heart-pounding, all-encompassing, get drunk off of it sort a’ giddy head-rush you get in your teens and twenties. It loses that kind a’ thrill, gets quieter. 

Eddie had found that thoroughly depressing, despite his uncle’s insistences that this was not a bad thing. Don't mean that love and attraction ain't there or that you can't feel it anymore, Wayne reassured him, it's just different is all. He'd shrugged then, his face like leather, worn and fond and bemused by his nephew’s wild youth. Old hearts get tired, Ed, he'd said. You'll get it when you get to be my age. 

Well, Eddie has gotten to be his age and he still doesn't get it. He does feel that quieter love, the kind that comes from shared routines and easy conversation and even easier silences, made up of trust and familiarity, the kind that settles into his bones like it was always meant to be there. But the thrill is still there too, as strong as ever. Steve still makes his heart race and his head spin. Eddie's stomach still flutters at his smile; his touch still sets off fireworks beneath his skin. Even now, Eddie feels a little dizzy just holding him, heartbeat faster. 

“We may get old,” Eddie continues his declaration, “but the way I feel about you never will.” He holds Steve tighter, hooking his chin over his husband's shoulder after pressing a kiss to it. “I will never get over the thrill of you, and my heart will never get tired of it.” 

“You are a dramatic old sap,” Steve says through a suppressed smile, rolling his eyes as he plates the food and turns off the stove, but then he's turning around in Eddie's arms and pulling him into a spirited kiss.

Eddie's blood feels like it's made of champagne, bubbly and fizzy and utterly intoxicated as Steve fills his senses. They kiss with the same clumsy passion they'd had at 21, too eager clashes of teeth and bruising lips. It's messy, inelegant, perfect, broken within seconds when their smiles become uncontainable. They pull apart, pink-cheeked and laughing. 

Steve grins. His eyes shine with all the same giddiness of infatuation and warmth of love as he holds Eddie's face in his hands and tells him, “I have a massive fucking crush on you too.” 

[starscream7799]

SkyStar Headcanons:

-Starscream likes to smack Skyfire's aft in the hopes that Skyfire will smack his aft back. Skyfire never does.

-Both of them made a bet with each other 4 million years or so ago, but they forgot what it was for.

-If temperatures drop below freezing or it snows outside after a while, sometimes Skyfire will get trapped in the memories of his imprisonment in the arctic and Starscream has to bring him back to reality.

-Because of this, Starscream keeps a blanket in his subspace at all times to wrap around Skyfire if he needs it (the blanket is unfortunately Starscream sized and not Skyfire sized, but it helps anyway.)

-Despite the issues Skyfire faces with his past, this does NOT stop him from trying to explore the arctic further. Starscream tag along every. single. time.

-Starscream likes it when Skyfire holds him, whether they are sitting or lying down. It feels like a cozy weighted blanket.

-Starscream gets very jealous easily. If Skyfire is chatting with someone for a while, Starscream will come up with an excuse to drag Skyfire away and cut their conversation short.

-Skyfire accepts any and all gifts from Starscream, usually putting them on shelves in his habsuite. Even if it's just a "cool looking" piece of driftwood.

-After Skyfire's disappearance on earth, Starscream left behind a vial of his innermost energon in the snow before he returned to Cybertron. Skyfire is unaware of this.

-Starscream struggles with communication and will frequently "break up" with Skyfire if he's angry with him, only to get back with him an hour or two later.

-When the two of them are studying something in the field, Skyfire will take photographs of it and Starscream will draw it. They love showing off their work to each other afterwards.

-Skyfire likes to play with Starscream's wings since they flick like cat ears when touched. -Starscream craves violence sometimes, so Skyfire suggests that he sketch out his violent tendencies instead of acting upon them. Now Skyfire has a drawer full of Autobot and Megatron gore art that he would rather not have to explain to anyone. -Skyfire is the top, Starscream is the bottom. Starscream does NOT like to admit this. -Starscream bent his wing once trying to do a backflip in robot mode to impress Skyfire before they were dating. Skyfire was far too concerned to be impressed. -Skyfire will always take a sip of energon first if the two of them are refueling together. It helps reassure Starscream that their energon isn't poisoned (It has never been poisoned). -Skyfire likes hearing Starscream's voice, but he loves when the seeker speaks softly to him. Hearing Starscream say "I love you" in a soft, gentle tone makes Skyfire's spark swell with warmth. -Starscream's engines purr when he's relaxed or happy and the sound helps calm others too. While Starscream rarely purrs on his own, Skyfire knows how to get him to do it, and if Skyfire is having a rough day, he will make Starscream purr just so he can listen to the soothing noise and relax. -Skyfire HAS to tell Starscream "Goodnight" before they go to bed or else Starscream will refuse to lie down and will stare at Skyfire like a red-eyed demon in the dark until he says it. -Skyfire finds Starscream's fangs both fascinating and hot. Especially when the seeker is kissing him and bites down a few times. -Starscream feels nervous and insecure being affectionate around others, thinking that Skyfire might be embarrassed to have a war criminal sparkmate like him. On the other hand, Skyfire doesn't mind public affection and is actually proud to show off his high-ranking, strong, military sparkmate. He knows everyone has committed war crimes. -Starscream likes to try and be the big spoon sometimes, but after the seeker falls asleep, Skyfire will immediately roll over and cuddle Starscream as the big spoon instead.

[nqctar]

𖦹 fireworks ; anton lee

pairing. best friend!anton x f!reader. genre. fluff. childhood friends to lovers. inspired by tsitp. synopsis. in the midst of a perfect summer night’s breeze, through flashes of fireworks, your summers spent wishing for anton to give you a sign finally come true. warnings. kissing. physical touch. wc. 1,344 words.

( 🐚 ) ONE SUMMER CAN CHANGE EVERYTHING.

you were in love. you knew it the moment you took glances at anton through your embarassingly large and round eyeglasses. right down to the first brace faced smile the two of you shared, there was always an unspoken mutual pining. though it had been years since that first encounter, seeing him each summer was like the first time over and over again. almost as if anton was a dream you conjured up through fevered nights. he seemed like someone you'd make up in your head to pass time and daydream about.

he was the physical manifestation of all your daydreams. knowing that made your heart ache. every summer you spent with him, digging up seashells along the salty shorelines of cousins beach and pushing each other into the freezing cold water still wasn't enough. you needed more than summers from him. you needed his cello callused hands to run through your hair. you needed to wake up in the morning and see his big brown eyes marveling at you.

you didn't need the summer anymore, if it meant you'd bask for eternity in anton's presence. he was everything to you.

though you wished every lovesick thought you had of him could come true, you found yourself going home at the end of each summer wanting for more. wishing you'd left with a kiss instead of a secret handshake the two of you made up in his treehouse the first summer you met. you deserved more, you thought. with nine years of wishing, something's gotta give.

"i am in control of my destiny," you say through closed eyes while sitting criss-crossed in front of lit french toast scented candles and a mirror. "my fate is up to me." the meditation track booming through your noise cancelling headphones drowned out the sounds of anton's audible confusion.

deep in your own zen and thought, you feel a gentle hand reach out and touch your shoulder. the feeling makes you jump, letting out a yelp louder than you can hear over the music.

"holy shit anton! where did you come from?!" laughter ripples through him, and he clutches his stomach while trying to regain some composure. as always, your heart does backflips upon seeing his beaming smile right in front of you. crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. he looked so, so pretty. you wanted to lean in and-

not now. maybe not today, even. things were perfect between you two. ruining your friendship with a kiss wasn't a chance you wanted to take. not now, not ever.

brushing your feelings aside, you blow the candle flames out and toss your headphones onto the bed. anton had calmed down already, though giggles still shook his body. you rolled your eyes at him. "it wasn't that funny, shut up." anton wiped a tear from his face, shaking his head. "don't be lame, it was hilarious."

"we're about to light the fireworks, obviously i don't want you to miss it so," he stops to brush a strand of long hair out of your face. an action he'd done many times before. it was almost second nature to him, yet it almost made your knees buckle. "finish your weird demonic chanting and come outside with me."

you grab your hoodie, one that actually belonged to anton during his brief stint on the cousins beach rowing team, he'd given it to you two years ago. it was a size too big for you then, and still too big for you now.

"you actually still use that? stop reminding me of my dark past." anton groans.

again, you roll your eyes. “it's comfortable, deal with it. and what 'dark past?' you were on the team for like two weeks. what's the worst that could've happened?"

anton shivers as the two of you step into the surprisingly chilled july air. "i tipped over in the boat and started screaming. people recorded it. they called me the cousins beach klutz." he cringes at the memory, and in turn you laugh. "okay, maybe that does count as a dark past."

the two of you walk down to your special spot, one you both found accidentally after running along the beach back to anton's summer house thinking you'd miss the fireworks. you remember the flashes of red white and blue that lit up the sky, how your hand brushed up against anton's as you both settled on a huge rock. that was the first time you considered your feelings for anton being more than just a normal crush.

it was also the first time you realized how quickly your feelings for him grew.

the two of you both sit down somewhat comfortably on that same rock, closer together than last year. he sets his the stand of his phone down in front of you both, something he does every year to document your reactions to the fireworks. you never questioned it, though something in the back of your mind gives you hope that he's doing it as an excuse to fill his gallery up with pictures and videos of you.

neither of you talk. there's tension in the air for some reason, and anton can feel it too. he peeks down at your hand, covering it with his own.

"your hands look cold," his voice is quiet. he's coming off shy. something is different.

"i'm just... warming them for you." your heart begins to race faster than it was before. you turn to look at him just as the first fireworks begin to colour the sky.

between the illuminated flashes of colourful lights bursting in the night sky, the earth had a population of two.

just anton, and you.

to your surprise anton was staring right back at you, big brown eyes peering into yours. he brushes a lock of hair away from your face and leans in. "i really want to kiss you." he whispers. the intoxicating scent of his vanilla conditioner calms you. anton is as perfect as he's always been, your very own dream come true.

this moment was the culmination of your winters spent praying to whoever was listening for summer to arrive quicker than last year. every drive back to your house at the end of each summer you held tears back was not in vain. everything you wanted was right in front of you.

"kiss me," you utter. "just kiss me."

with the last few bursts of fireworks blooming in the starry night sky, anton's strawberry chapstick flavoured lips meet yours. he kisses you with the fervor of years spent pining and waiting. his hands run through your hair, your noses bump, he lets a thumb smooth over the side of your face. he's everywhere you want him to be.

his hands drag up and down your sitting frame. the two of you pull away for air, lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

"we just kissed." anton remarks, somewhat in shock. his hand finds yours again, lacing your fingers together with his.

"i've been waiting so long for you to make a move, y/n." he lets out a nervous laugh. "i was worried you didn't feel the same."

your face reddens. "i didn't want to ruin us. i was scared that i'd do the wrong thing and you'd leave me." you admit. sympathy flashes over anton's face. "god no, i wouldnt—" he picks your hand up and kisses the back of it. "i'm not going anywhere, y/n."

"you're stuck with me forever." he grins.

you place a soft kiss to his lips again, savouring the brief moment.

"i wouldn't have it any other way, anton." he blushes at your response, ears reddening with shyness.

an unspoken 'i love you' lingers in the air, both of you too timid to say it out loud.

maybe next summer, you think.

for now, you curl into his side, choosing to rest your head on his shoulder.

everything in this moment feels perfect.

it's just you and anton existing together. you'd spend the rest of forever this way, if only you could.

[cas-kingdom]

“Do you want me to wear a wig?”

A/N: Remember when I said '5 line fanfics'? Yeah.

(Please be kind lol, this is my first fic in a whiiiile).

“Do you want me to wear a wig?”

“No, I don’t want you to wear a wig.”

“What about heels?”

“You don’t wear heels.”

“But Karen does!”

Matt sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “Y/N, you’re not Karen,” he said, his voice sounding exactly how he felt: exhausted. This had been the first evening in longer than he could remember that he wasn’t catapulting himself across Hell’s Kitchen, and yet somehow, his aches and bruises were more prominent now than they had been when he was. He’d taken the day off—not that there was a workplace to take it from—and spent it in his pyjamas, trying not to aggravate his battered body more.

And so, it had not been his idea to stand in his living room at 2 am, feeling like the world had swallowed him and spat him right back out again. Neither had it been his idea to submit to a drama performance orchestrated by his sister. And yet, here he was.

This drama performance was entitled: Practicing Telling Karen That I’m Daredevil. In reality, Matt hadn’t given that much thought past the fact that it needed to happen. It was time. He had told Foggy, and he refused to leave Karen out any longer. But his ideas didn’t quite reach how, or when, or where. He’d figured that in any way, anytime, and anywhere, the result would be the same. There would be disbelief, and there would be accusatory remarks of betrayal and lying, and then quite possibly he would be on the receiving end of a slap. But he was okay with that, because at least it would be done.

You, ever the protector, had not been okay with that. “You have to be prepared,” you'd told him, “nothing ever goes right for us. If you don’t figure this stuff out then she’ll probably find out you’re Daredevil when you’re sitting on the toil—”

Well, he didn’t want that. So, he’d agreed. Partly because you weren't exactly wrong… mostly because he knew his sister, and he knew that every hour spent awake with him was one more you could hold onto. This was more for your benefit than it was Karen's.

“For all intents and purposes, yes,” you said, “yes, I am. I am Karen. Come on, into position.”

There was never any winning with you. Let it not be known that Matthew Murdock, fierce attorney at law, alias Daredevil, crime-fighting vigilante, could beat and punch and kick his way out of any situation except ones you had pulled him into.

Practically hearing the call of his bed, Matt picked up the bag with his mask inside. You had suggested he swing in through the window of Murdock and Nelson dressed in the suit.

Never gonna happen.

He turned his face towards you, stood across from him in your dressing gown, wet hair tied back. With a resigned sigh, he took the mask from the bag, and, the words feeling stupid on his lips, as though he was in some sort of cheesy superhero movie: “I’m Daredevil.”

There was silence. A sniff. You narrowed your eyes. Then, you snorted a laugh.

“Ha, ha. That’s hilarious.”

Matt tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Dude—no, wait, Karen wouldn’t say dude—Matt, you’re an awesome lawyer, seriously, but—you?" Incredulity dripped from your tone. "Scaling buildings and backflipping from roof to roof? That’s like… imagining Foggy in a bikini.”

“I’m trying really hard not to be insulted right now.”

“Did you forget you’re blind?”

Matt frowned, his muscles tensing a little. “I am blind. But I’m also Daredevil.”

You rolled your eyes, and Matt couldn’t help but think he should have enrolled you in acting school when you were younger.

“And did I tell you I’m Jesus Christ incarnated?”

Momentarily forgetting the feeling of his silk sheets and a cold pillow beneath his aching head, Matt drew his brows together and his jaw fell slightly open. “Are you making fun of me?”

“If you’re Daredevil, why don’t you prove it?”

“I’m not doing a backflip in the living room.”

You scrunched your nose up. “You’re so boring.”

“Okay. Then where do you think I got his mask from?”

You took a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion, tongue running across your teeth as you thought. You walked towards him and took the mask from his hands. Matt listened while you moved it about, turning it upside down, hands passing over the horns as you scrutinised every detail.

You stood on your tiptoes to peer at something. Matt was patient. When you were satisfied, you made a disgruntled nose and threw the mask onto the couch. Arms crossed once again you stared determinedly up at him, saying simply: “Stolen."

Your brother rose a brow and mirrored your position, clear he was no longer dealing with Karen Page. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll bite. Why do you reckon that?”

“Too small to fit on your fat head.”

There were about two seconds between Matt tossing his head back and laughing, and grabbing you to toss onto the couch. Quicker than you had time to register it, he was over you, one knee beside you, his hands shooting down to tickle you.

You positively screamed, your brother’s full and legal name exiting your mouth in one shrill shriek.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Matt expertly dodged the kick aimed at his chest, wincing as his body reminded him of the stunts he’d pulled over the last few nights. He flopped in the seat beside you, his mask falling to the floor, and grabbed your hand as it aimed for his nose, holding it far enough away from the both of you that you couldn’t touch him.

“Noho! Stop!”

“No, you don’t know that? Damn, I’ve been slacking in my duties as big brother, haven't I?"

“You would—” You squeezed your eyes shut, one foot planted firmly against Matt's thigh, your free hand desperately trying to shove his away—“YOU WOULDN’T DOHO THIS TO KAHAREN!”

Matt scoffed a laugh, then, with an evil chuckle, leaned over you, hands still at work—“Karen knows how not to get on my last nerve,” he growled lowly—and blew a raspberry right under your ear.

He finally backed off at the noise that produced, partly due to sympathy, mostly because you had new neighbours who probably wouldn’t appreciate a 2 am wake-up call. Settling back in his seat with a self-satisfied smirk across his lips, he let you lurch forward and attack him, playfully shoving and kicking at him, until your foot caught a particularly sensitive spot and he recoiled. Instinctively a hand went to his side and the other closed around your ankle, his head dipped a little at the pain that coursed through him.

You recovered quickly. “Sorry!” you said, your breath still coming in short bursts. “Sorry, Matty, I—are you okay?”

Matt nodded slowly. “I’m okay,” he said, then breathed a laugh through his nose. “Not sure why I ever believed I’d get an evening off being beaten up tonight.”

You giggled and lightly smacked his shoulder, managing to wrench your foot free from his hold before he could take advantage of it being in his grasp. You crossed your legs beneath you and leaned back against the pillows as you tapped your phone to check the time.

“You can go to bed now,” you said quietly.

“Huh? Thought all this practicing stuff was necessary.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours and you smiled slightly, picking at a loose thread in the sofa. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens is gonna happen no matter how you do it, right?”

“I did kinda say that.”

“You can kinda shut up.”

A comforting sort of silence enveloped the room then, one that you were happy to sit with. The bustle of Hell’s Kitchen was still loud outside, but in this apartment, in this room, it was just the two of you. That was how it was supposed to be. That was what you missed.

A gentle snore broke the quietude, and you turned your head to see your brother utterly knocked out. His entire body had fallen limp against the couch and for the first time in so long, he looked almost peaceful.

You stared at him. Subconsciously, your mind counted every visible injury, every patch of discoloured skin, everywhere that could have been the one that killed him.

You reached down to pick up his mask. It felt cold against your skin, a reminder that it had the terrifying ability to upturn your entire life. This one thing.

Your eyes lingered a bit before you tossed the mask across the floor and grasped the throw on the back of the couch. Gently leaning against your brother, careful not to wake or hurt him, you draped it across the both of you and closed your eyes. His slow breathing soothed you and in no time you were lost in your own dreams.

Daredevil Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

[raitonsfw]

Can I request Gojo with a gn/fem!s/o who secretly has a dom side, and tries to very subtly body worship him? 😂 They like, stroke his hand with their thumb, gently squeeze his thigh, rest their hand on his lower back, etc, and gojo picks up on it at some point. This man is just too beautiful to not be body worshipped imo. 😍

𝚒 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋, 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 | 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞

synopsis: the tales of clueless Gojo Satoru, blinded by the stereotypical roles of a relationship until he just... gets it. ft; your dominance.

warnings: 18+ mdni, extremely suggestive, gn!reader, dom!reader, clueless!gojo, allusion to smut, hand holding, sweet treats, protective!reader, gojo and reader are dating, body worship (gojo's).

a/n: tis a teeny tiny drabble but i swear i have loads more gojo content coming! i do hope you like it regardless! i spent half of this just fangirling over the damn man i swear, he makes me feel things frfr. 🧡🧡 wc: 900ish. m.list

now playing: i am my own muse by fall out boy

divider credit: @benkeibear

You make damn sure you take good care of Gojo Satoru, but it tends to go unnoticed by his overly animated personality. But the instances where he looks at you with a smile plastered on his face, you could push it aside. There was something about him that made you want to keel over and worship the ground he walked on. But, he didn’t need to know. 

He didn’t need to know the way your heart does backflips when his back stiffens as you place your slim hand against the small of his back, pushing him further along the path you two strided along. You’d continue talking nonchalantly and he’d peered down at you through the side of his sunglasses, a clean smile cutting through the lustful tension that wafted between you two. And your hand wouldn’t leave his lower back until you two made it safely up the stairs you had climbed upon, rubbing circles into the divet right above the swell of his ass. He thought nothing of it of course, just an intimate gesture between two lovers. 

You knew not to go too far, after all, it was for your pleasure. The indulgence of knowing only you could make him feel like this, the wanting of something more he had no idea of. He would’ve never guessed you to be such a dominant person, your demeanor only showing the basic people pleaser that highlighted their days with a marker to pass the time. You’re so grateful to just be around him, the light enraptured his best features on even the darkest of days and you have to hold back the compliments that showered your mind as you two had been in the presence of other Jujutsu High staff. 

But, in private you had no filter with the compliments that came pouring from your mouth. ‘Oh, Satoru, you look so nice today,’ paired with a slight nuzzle within his hair as he sat on the sofa watching a show. He doesn’t think anything of it, as per usual, because he’s so wrapped up in the show that he barely registered you behind him. Or when he’s off to bed and the fucker goes to sleep in only his boxers and you’re cooing at him ‘all for me, -toru?’ like you just couldn’t help yourself, he’s got you wrapped around his finger. 

He’ll respond with a snort as he slips into the sheets, his figure prominent underneath and you really can’t help yourself now as you climb on top of him. Your hands go straight to his face, holding his cheeks in your hands as you stare into his eyes, the dizzying blue staring back with slyness as his own hands grab you by your waist. You wanted to see him quiver underneath you, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth practically drooling pleas as you devote yourself to him. You wanted his pretty voice hitched up an octave as you slide your hand down his broad chest, tracing every single muscle with the tip of your finger with a dip into the crevices of his pelvic bone. And when you reach the waistband of his boxers, the fantasy’s over as he rolls you over to pin you underneath him. What a pity.

The next day you’d be standing next to a pastry stall with Gojo, licking at the sweet tooth he had. You’d buy him his sweets and he’d happily accept them from you, unaware of the reason why you even bought them for him in the first place. You watched as he would nibble at either macaroons or a small candy piece and his entire body would loosen from the taste of the treat, you loved seeing him relax from the smallest of things. He was quite easy to please. 

On the way back to the school, he’d take your hand and your tummy would fill with butterflies. You sought to protect him from anything that came his way and you stroked his hand with the pad of your thumb whilst nothing but loving thoughts filled the spaces within your mind. You’re not sure if Gojo noticed because you did it so subconsciously, but he did; he also noticed as you gripped his hand tighter amongst the crowd you two pushed your way through. 

And then when you’re both seated in front of Itadori later on in the day, his brain would short circuit as your hand reached underneath the table to rest on his thigh. In the smack dab middle of talking to the pink haired boy too, your fingers dug their way into his inner thigh and you squeezed it tenderly; you honestly didn’t expect his voice to become so high as he gripped the table to collect himself. He coughed out an apology and Itadori just tilted his head, unaware of what had happened. Gojo’s cheeks had flushed and it was so obvious with his complexion, the redness had seeped its way to his neck and all you did was cross your legs with poise, humming in satisfaction. 

You watched as the gears eventually locked into place, as the light bulbs flickered on one by one, as the missing piece of the puzzle that he so desperately wanted to finish found its way into the picture. He figured it out, the subtleness of your control and it was game over.

Or more like game on as he kneeled in front of you with his tongue out that night, begging, practically gagging for you to press up against his mouth. 

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[listofwhyyouloveher]

can you do one with the greasers with a rly sporty reader that gets injured and can play for like a year?? thank you!! 💕

Summary: The Outsiders react to Sporty!Reader getting injured! Warnings: Mentions of injuries Author's Note: None PONYBOY CURTIS Ponyboy runs track, he knows how stressful it to be a person who does sports in the first place but he also knows how stressful it is to get an injury. He was there when it happened, you pulled a muscle really bad while running, nearly collapsing when it happened. You still got up and competed in your sport but you were wiped by the end of it. He was at your side the moment he could, water bottle and ice-pack in hand. You were being assessed by a physical trainer when they said that it would heal quickly, but you needed to spend a long time in PT and out of sports. Of course that bummed you out but Ponyboy started to tell you about he would do the PT with you, make it more fun for you. Overall just being a supportive boyfriend. JOHNNY CADE Johnny is not a sporty person, he doesn't do anything for school in that regard, but he does like playing football with the Curtis brothers and Darry says that he's pretty darn good. So when he accidentally tackles you a little rougher than anticipated, it's only natural that you get a little roughed up, but nobody was expecting this level. You had somehow broken your arm.

While you were busy holding back tears and Darry was calling the ambulance, he was wrapping your arm up in a crude sling. He kept apologizing and you consoled him, telling him you wanted a break from sports anyways. SODAPOP CURTIS The only thing that Sodapop does that's 'sporty' is those damn backflips before the rumbles and, of course, the rumbles themselves. So he's never had to deal with an injury except maybe a black eye. When he watched your ankle roll in a way that no one could presume was good during your match he cringed sooo hard. He was immediately by your side, holding your hand when your coach told you it was time to take a small break from sports. Now he just plays small games of football in his yard with you, making sure to be gentle with you since your injury but still pushing you to keep up. STEVE RANDLE I can see Steve actually playing sports, especially when he was younger. Like maybe peewee baseball or field hockey, nothing too much though. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you tumble because of something wrong with your leg. He sat there a little bit, trying to assess the situation before running over to you like everybody else. He's in utter shock, holding your hand, asking if you're alright, which you nod. Once he gets confirmation that you're ok, he just shuts up. Every once and a while he'll stroke your hair especially when you get the news you can't play till a long time. TWO BIT MATHEWS Two Bit def plays baseball, just for fun on the side but he likes it a lot actually. He's sporty, just not active, so he's never been injured by a sport or anything. However, he does come to all of your games and watches with a little cheap liquor in his flask. He nearly throws up when he sees you get injured, its not pretty. He doesn't know what to do so he just stands there, waiting for the people who do know what they're doing to give him the news/what's going on. When he learns that you'll probably be out for the rest of the season he offers to play baseball with you, so you won't lose your touch while recovering. DARRY CURTIS Darry is a massive sports nerd. He played football, he was a pretty darn good player too, and he watches all the sports channels and reruns he can get his hands on. That's why he really likes coming to your game and watching you practice, it's nostalgic and also he can sometimes give you pointers. He's HORRIFIED, when you get injured. He's rushing over, already knowledgable in some physical therapy, helping you as best as he can, trying to make you comfortable. Whispering to you that he'll train you to be back on the field quicker than when the coach says you can. DALLAS WINSTON Dallas is not fit at all. Despite his skinny nature, which is really just because he can't always eat and he's so addicted to cigarettes it would scare a junkie, he's so bad at any sport. He gets out of breath really easily and can't follow a simple game like baseball. He's rather jealous of you actually, since he always wanted to be a sporty person when he was a child, although he'd never EVER say it to you. He's very nonchalant about your injury, it doesn't affect him so why should it matter? that's his mindset, but if you ask his to run drills with you so you can stay in shape, he acts like he doesn't want to but he ends up doing it anyways. (He secretly loves doing this because of his childhood dream)

[skibidisigmameow]

mm maybe a hazel x cheerleader!gf!reader where reader is a little taller than hazel and usually wears heels and that makes her taller and more intimidating, as if the majority of the school pisses themselves in fear every time she passes by except for hazel who only looks at her with heart eyes. Obviously all this if you feel comfortable!

Hazel Callahan x reader

warnings: cursing, mention of broken bones

a/n: it took sm time to write this bc i had 72817938 ideas at the same time but i love the idea

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

You were one of the popular cheerleaders who has always been told that she looks scary. When people in the school hear a characteristic noise of heels they immediately get out of the way, knowing that you are coming. Everyone feared you.. except for her.

— Morning Hazee - you hugged your girlfriend from the back in front of the girls from the fight club that she was a member of.

— O-oh good morning - she blushed at your gesture.

— Are we still up for tonight? - you pecked her cheek.

Hazel nodded slightly, her friends from the fight club looking at you both like they couldn’t believe their eyes.

You ran your hand through her hair and left to the class with a smile on your face. The only thing you could hear was Hazels friends whispering behind your back.

— I don’t know what you see in her - Britt said as she sat down on her table.

— Good, i hope no one else than me does - you winked at her.

— No but really, she’s a weirdo - said Isabel.

— You’re literally crushing on Josie, you don’t have the right to speak up - you giggled at which she just rolled her eyes.

— Anyways, are you going to train the choreography with us later? - Brittany asked.

— Isn’t the gym taken by the fight club after lessons? - you looked at your friends.

— We can just tell them that we need to practice, gyms big I’m sure we won’t be disturbing them a lot - she answered before the class started.

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

As soon as the lessons ended, you, Brittany and Isabel went straight to the gym.

Girls from the fight club had already started and you could see Hazel and PJ throwing punches at eachother.

— Hi girls! - Isabel came closer - Would you mind if we use the corner to train our choreography? - she smiled.

— No! - Josie answered immediately - I mean.. go ahead, please - she corrected herself nervously.

She’s such a simp.

You sent a smile to your girlfriend and went to the corner with your friends.

The time passed quickly and in nice atmosphere. You noticed a lot of looks in your direction, which made you smile a little bit.

You were doing the last step of the choreography - backflip. You’ve always feared it the most of all the acrobatic stuff you’ve learned.

But instead of landing on the ground, you tripped on a ball and fell down with a scream.

— Oh my god ladies i’m so sorry, it was supposed to be them! - Tim ran to you immediately.

Of course, he wanted to eliminate the club members.

— You’re pathetic Tim - Isabel said while helping you to stand up.

— Fuck! - you hissed - I swear if you broke my arm, i will end your sad little life.

— Slay girl! You tell him! - Sylvie hyped you up.

— I said that im sorry, now you’re just being dramatic - he said.

— Yeah? So im gonna tell you something - you said quieter - I’ve got videos from the last party and guess who’s the main character? - you looked at him with a smirk on your face - you. so you better leave the club alone, and be more careful next time - your smirk disappeared with the end of the sentence.

You waved him goodbye as he left without any words.

Before you could say anything you felt Hazels body crashing into yours and her messy kisses on your lips. It took you a while to turn it into a gentle yet passionate kiss.

— Thank you so much for dealing with him for us! - she wanted to hug you but you stopped her.

— Please call a doctor first.. im gonna pass out - you said as you looked at the bone sticking out of your arm.

-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-

[to-indeed-be-a-godd]

La Vie en rose

Neil sighed his head beginning to hurt from studying the words against the script, he had practically all his lines memorized except for the few spoken in french, specifically when his character was meant to hold an entire conversation in the language.

“je…sais..que-que je-“

he groaned unable to pronounce the words taking a deep breath and repeating them.

“je sais …que je t'aime..” He said the words finally able to pronounce them as the familiar blond walked into their room raising an eyebrow surprised.

“You speak french?” Todd asked shyly setting his things down on the bed as Neil sighed toss the script back on his bed.

“I wish, i have to say things in french for this play i’m doing” the blond made a small o shape with his mouth before taking the book from his desk and playing his walkman as he read, his face focused as a stray piece of hair dangled over his eyes, Neil’s fingers burned to tuck the stray strand of hair behind the others ear but held back still reciting the words over and over.

“je sais que je t'aime”

Eventually it began rolling off his tongue a bit however his accent was anything but believable as he sighed his headache getting worse each time he repeated his he phrase till finally his roommate set down his book and stood up.

“You aren’t saying it correctly.” He said bluntly looking at Neil before holding his hand out for Neil to give him the script which he handed over.

Todd read it carefully, “je sais que je t'aime, n'est-ce pas suffisant?” the words rolled off his tongue leaving Neil in a state of shock and completely flustered, as if this boy couldn’t get anymore perfect.

“i’m sorry…you speak french?!” He stumbled over his words looking at Todd a mix of excitement and shock.

“I learned a bit growing up…” He replied sheepishly handing Neil back the script.

“wait wait so how do you say it?” Neil asked because he needed to know how to pronounce the words and not because his roommate speaking french was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“je sais..” he said waiting for Neil to repeat after him the two following along with the other through each word.

“je sais que je t'aime, n'est-ce pas suffisant” Todd said again and Neil repeated in a good enough way that Todd gave him a proud smile.

“What does it mean anyways?” Neil asked curiously noticing the slight blush against the others features, god this boy had Neil’s heart doing backflips every second.

“Oh..I know i love you…isn’t that enough?” He mumbled sitting back down against his bed as Neil thought for a second.

“so i love you is?” he asked knowing how dangerous this game he was playing was but so desperate to hear the words come from the others mouth.

“Je vous aime” Todd said softly his eyes meeting Neil’s and oh god Neil’s heart might have stopped.

“je vos-“ he tried to say it knowing he was butchering the pronunciation.

“Je vous aime” The blond repeated slower as Neil stepped closer as they both fell into a rhythm of Todd repeating the words as Neil stepped closer trying to mimic it until Neil was practically standing between Todd’s legs neither breaking eye contact.

“Je vous aime” Todd’s voice was so small practically a whisper that made Neil’s heart sing, there was little Neil loved more then acting but for Todd, Neil would give the world for Todd, he’d give anything to hear him utter those words once more.

“puis-je t'embrasser?” Neil had no clue what he had said all he knew it sounded like a question and all he could do was silently nod before he felt soft lips press against his.

It was sweet and soft but desperate and affectionate, like both of them had been wishing for this for an eternity.

Neil was kissing the most beautiful boy he had ever met, and who apparently spoke french.

[dyeher]

flowers as our witness| mha

Includes: kastuki bakugo x fem! reader Warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, praise, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, praise, soft sex. Summary: first time sex with katsuki bakugo and you’re not sure if he’s being gentle for you or himself. Notes: inspired by Howl’s moving castle theme ‘merry go round of life’ by the god mc.

Katsuki makes love to you for the first time on a feather soft blanket under an orange splattered canvas of a sky. There are pinks and purples in the background and the blue skies have darkened with the receding light. Half of the sun has already disappeared into the horizon and the evening warmth is being chased by the gentlest of breeze.

It’s a slow, sloppy affair.

Katsuki devours your mouth in a mind melting kiss that turns your legs to jelly. You don’t know how he does it but as he guides you to your back on the blanket he manages to shove the remnants of your picnic off.

He consumes you; his kiss is a branding, a claiming, a fierce reminder that you are his. And as he settles between your thighs and parts his lips for your eager tongue it’s also a reminder that he is yours. With every grunt and moan and breathy sound you draw from him you’re reminded—in the recess of your mind—that you are his equal and this—your relationship—is a precarious balance of wills.

When he eases himself to his elbow so you’re pressed chest to chest, and there is so little space between your bodies that even your breaths mingle when you pull away, he smiles at you. If everything in the world were perfect then Katsuki Bakugou smiling probably wouldn’t be such a monumental event to you but, it is and you’re struck dumb—dumber actually because you’ve already been dumbed down to your baser instincts, reduced to a walking libido by one kiss—by how beautiful he is.

The waning sun casts his blonde hair in a golden halo that frames desire softened features. Even with his rough edges he’s beautiful but with the edge gone and his body at ease—a Katsuki only few have the pleasure of knowing—his beauty is almost painful. Eyes that have darkened to madder scan your face and lips—kiss swollen and soft—part enough to flash you his teeth in another, shorter smile.

If everything in the world were as breathtaking as Katsuki Bakugou’s smile, maybe there would be world peace. Alas, his smile is just as rare as world peace and when he gifts you with the bright, lopsided grin your heart does something scarily close to a backflip.

Your eyes shut as he peppers kisses across your cheekbones, soft and fleeting like the breeze. He ducks to your neck and rains those kisses along your collarbone and then lifts his head enough to press one on the top of your nose.

“You look beautiful in this light,” he mentions, almost offhandedly like it’s expected. “You look beautiful in every light,” he continues, not an ounce of surprise in his tone. Only reverence, only satisfaction, like he knew it was possible and now that it’s confirmed he’s glad he didn’t doubt himself.

His kisses get firmer. The fingers of one hand slipping between the strap of your dress and your shoulder and tugging it from your body. His lips follow the line of your shoulder to where the strap hangs loosely at your elbow before he moves his mouth to the breast he’s just exposed. He hums around the peaked bud, shifting when you prop yourself up on your elbows to admire him. His eyes are closed as he relaxes the weight of his body against you and tugs your other breast free of the dress. Warm fingers massage your nipple lazily, rolling it along the calluses on his thumb and forefinger. Your back arches, shoving your breast deeper into his mouth.

Your head falls back a grateful gasp leaving you as he switches his mouth to award your other breast the same attention. His name is a quiet plea on your lips as he pulls himself onto his knees to free himself of his shirt. You don’t have long to admire the hard planes of his abs or even the defined cut of his broad shoulders before he’s slipping further down on the blankets to bend your knees how he likes. And then he’s kissing the inside of one knee that he keeps in his hold before guiding that leg over his shoulder and turning to the other knee. By the time he’s reached the apex of your thighs you’re shaking in anticipation. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, fingers running along the clothed pussy. “Can I touch you here?”

You nod mutely, and gasp when he kisses at the dampened material before hooking his fingers in the waistband and tugging on them. You lift your hips immediately, wiggling them as he drags them down your thighs. He leaves them tangled around your ankles, tangled in your shoes. 

The first slide of his tongue through your folds has your eyes widening and your lips parting in surprise at the arousal that explodes in your stomach. Goosebumps erupt along your arms, pebbling your nipples further in the cool afternoon air. He does it again and you’re sure your heart constricts. For a moment your scattered brain cells band together long enough that you wonder if you’re having a stroke. But then he wraps his lips around your clit and hums and all thoughts of medical issues go up in smoke as all your nerve endings fire. 

Katsuki eats your pussy like it’s a delicacy. Humming his approval with every gush of your slick he draws out of you. Lapping at your folds like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Grinding his hips into the blanket under him as though just having you spread like this for his tongue makes him hard enough that he can’t bear it.

When you cum it’s with your fingers tangled in his hair as you drag him as close to you as you can manage. You think, as your body sags into the blanket that he’s done but even as he climbs your body, kissing your thighs and stomach and chest and stopping to suck each nipple into your mouth his fingers skim the inside of your thighs until they’re bumping into your sensitive clit.

He kisses you softly as he drags his fingers along your slit. You try to squirm away.

“Behave,” he growls into your mouth and you still, something about his tone has your pussy clenching embarrassingly. Your heart thuds when he makes a lazy loop of his fingers around your clit. “Good girl,” he coos, voice rough. Suddenly your mind has spiraled into a place of being called a good girl and told to behave and begging Katsuki for your orgasms or to touch you, begging him to make you feel good. 

You moan when he slips two fingers into you, distracting you from this new place he’s unlocked. Coaxing your walls apart with each experimental twist and curve of his them along your walls. Until he brushes against your g spot. You kiss him harder, hands wrapping around his shoulders as you buck into his hand. He chuckles at your frantic actions, one hand wrapped around your waist as his other hand works the spot inside of you.

You mewl when he pulls back to kiss the side of your forehead. “Cum for me, sweetheart,” he instructs near your ear. “Go on,” he urges. “Make a mess.”

And you do, gushing onto his fingers, embarrassing whimpers leave you. In your post orgasm haze you can barely help him as he rids you of your dress and untangles your legs from your panties so he can pull your shoes off. They’re discarded along with his own clothes somewhere and then he’s kissing you again.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Soft kisses litter your brow. You jolt as the head of his cock nudges your clit. You glance down between your bodies, gulping at the heavy cock bobbing between his legs. The head is flushed an angry shade of red as it leaks down the shaft. Thick and long and perfect and the biggest cock that you have ever had anywhere near your poor pussy. You huff in annoyance when your hips lift to press your entrance against him and he pulls out of reach. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, please-” 

You’re interrupted by his lips as he wraps you in his arms until not even oxygen particles can fit between your bodies and kisses you until black dots swim in your vision.

When he squeezes the head of his cock into your pussy your consciousness splinters into a million tiny pieces. They scatter across the meadow with the sounds of your high moans, your whimpered ‘yes’ on repeat as he thrusts. Deep and slow, each stroke drags his cock along a part of your body that has you seeing stars. Or maybe it’s the fact that the sun has set and the moon is just high enough that it illuminates the length of Katsuki’s back as he folds his big body over you. Or perhaps those are the actual stars above you.

“Fuck,” Katsuki rasps. His voice thick with the struggle of keeping his thrusts controlled. “So, fucking tight.” The words are muffled into your neck, breathed against your skin. You can barely respond as the control slips enough for his pace to quicken. The sudden slapping of his thighs against your ass chokes you. Leaves you breathless and giddy and now you’re positive that these stars are definitely in the sky above you because you feel as tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“Love you so much,” Katsuki slurs. His words follow a particularly artful roll of his hips that grinds his pelvis into your sensitive clit. They send you catapulting over the edge. Your orgasm surprises you both, forcing Katsuki’s thrusts to a crawl as he fucks you through it. He pulls back enough to readjust you. Guiding your thighs up and back and propping your legs on his shoulders.

“Oh- Kats-” your words cut abruptly when he folds himself back into position and kisses you. A frantic, messy kiss. He sucks your tongue into his mouth as his hips hammer into yours. This position has him reaching deep enough that you can feel the light bumping of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix. His thrusts are sloppy now, he chases orgasm with abandon and you watch, enraptured, lost enough to your own pleasure that you pay it no mind, as his eyes close, his lips part on every groan, every curse of your name as your pussy squeezes him.

“I’m gonna-” he groans, dropping his weight onto your legs entirely and squashing you closer to him, “-cum.” 

“Cum for me,” you slur. “Cum- please Kat- yes, yes, thank you-” your words devolve into a mindless babble as he cums in you. His forehead falling to yours, his muscles trembling under your fingers. He gives a few weak thrusts before he stills and then his muscles go lax.

Much later after he licks your pussy clean and marvels at how pretty you look leaking his cum, he helps you redress but stuffs your panties into the picnic basket. He tells you it’s a souvenir. Something to remind him of this night. You rest with your back against his chest as your sunset picnic turns into a stargazing date with a bottle of criminally expensive wine and grapes that he feeds you while he points out as many constellations that he can recognize. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into the night while he helps you back everything away. 

He pauses, squints at your soft smile and the way you nervously fidget with the hem of your dress. “You’re welcome,” he grunts.

“We should do this again,” you continue.

Katsuki chuckles, “The sex or sneaking onto private property?”

You frown. “Both.”

He picks up the basket and reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his body. “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

He gives you a searing kiss before he drags you after him. The flowers sway with your movements and you try your hardest not to step on any of them, not even the ones that are wilting. They’re beautiful even dying and you owe them your respect because they’ve just seen you ass naked, it’s the least you can do after potentially traumatizing them.

author's note: hello, soft katsuki with a side of fries.