#i should drabble more

[sourtomatola]

Vampire Equinox drabble for the Eclipse SIMP's

Based off this pic I drew

Your back hit the silk red sheets, almost knocking the wind out of you. You would have tired to get up if you weren’t currently gawking at the towering behemoth that is an Animatronic Vampire staring down at you. He effortlessly held one of your hands against the sheet, your entire hand fitting in his upper palm, large fingers stretching like a spider sitting comfortably.

"Well well, breakfast in bed? How delightful~" He grinned down at you. His glowing yellow eyes washed over you as his free hand reached for the clasp on his cloak. His starry cape slipped into his free hand as he set it elegantly aside and placed a knee on the bed.

You were frozen in fear, but upon feeling the bed being weighed down near your legs, you began to squirm and look away for an escape. You grabbed his wrist and pulled at it, determined to get away from this creature with glistening yellow fangs. You scooted your legs away from him, thinking you could possibly twist yourself away. Your desperation growing as you felt more and more trapped under this creature.

“Hmm?” He watched you for a second in amusement, simply keeping your hand held in place. It was only when you tried to roll into a sitting up position that he suddenly leaned in, his face suddenly so close to yours. The glow of his yellow eyes made you feel like a deer in the headlights. You slowly backed away, but your heart jumped into your throat at the realization that he followed you perfectly, making it near impossibly to make space between you two.

Pressing into the sheets now, you could only quiver in place under the Vampire Lord’s sights.

 “P…please…” The single word escaped your breathless lips.

“No need to be shy Little Robin, I am not making any judgements on you.” He assured, as if that was really on your mind right now!

He started to lean closer, but you pressed into the mattress harder, hoping it would swallow you up and save you. His knee nudged between yours, making you feel vulnerable for but a moment before you realized you could use it. You put your knee against his thigh and used it to scoot yourself farther away from his face. You slid easily on the silk sheets, but not far.

“Your amount of fighting is admirable, but unneeded. The game is over.” He said with frustrating patience. Frustrating to you, since now you’re starting to reach the point where you wished he would just get it over with and stop playing with you! He was always like this though, seemed to love to play with his food.

His knees now fully supported himself on the bed, and his free hand placed next to your head. You saw him come closer and tried to press away again, but his free hand slid under your neck and pulled your head upwards to him. Your eyes forced to look into his, but there was no hypnotism, no mercy. He wanted you conscious as he took what he wanted.

His eyes then glanced down to your neck before leaning down. You struggled in one last ditch effort to get away, to convince him not to hurt you again. His larger body kept you from being able to kick or fight much farther than weak struggles and whimpering.

You felt his fangs ghost over your skin, as if trying to find the most ample spot to bite. He was teasing you. Still, after all of it, he was teasing you again!

Finally, his four fangs plunged into your flesh, making you cry out and tense up under the pain. You knew your fighting was just making your blood rush faster, and make it easier for him to drink, but there was not much more you could do under this animatronic horror. You were powerless against this supernatural machine.

You felt your head starting to get light, still cradled in his metal fingers. “Too…too much!!” You gasped, realizing your vision was trying to grow dark from blood loss.

He shushed you softly and left a gentle kiss to your neck before going back to your seeping wound. Your free hand reached around him, grasping desperately at his back in an attempt to hit or pull him off of you. He continued to drain you, unbothered.

As your vison started to close in faster, you could hear his softly chuckle. “Tenacious little darling…I shall savor you.”

Vampire Equinox Eclipse by @miwachan2

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

🌿🌹 Garden Inspection 🌹🌿

i was deadheading my roses this morning and this happened. a small 1k drabble about married gallavich inspecting their plants after vacation and being cute. for the good vibes. [ now on archive of our own ]

The Chicago sun is shining nice and bright when Mickey steps down into their backyard, a pair of scissors in hand. 

It took them half a day since coming back home from California - Ian insisting they unpack and throw a load of laundry in during a jet lag nap - but they’ve finally made it to the much-anticipated event. 

Garden inspection.

And while Mickey is reasonably invested in all the rest of it - the veggies, the sunflowers, the strawberries that he’s pretty sure are gonna take over their yard, despite his husband’s further insistence - there’s one spot in particular that he’s keen on. The overseer.

“Alright you little fuckers, lets see the damage.”

Mickey plants his ass in the grass and pulls the small pot of miniature roses in front of himself, their blooms bouncing on healthy stalks. 

And before you go casting aspersions like some kind of freak, Mickey knows it’s a sight to see. He knows he’s not a rose guy. Or at least, he wasn’t. Until a few months ago, when he woke up one morning after an absolutely shit night and walked into them sitting on their kitchen table, a stickynote with Ian’s handwriting laying next to it.

I’m happy you ~rose~ to greet the day today Mick. ~Leaf~ your troubles behind and come have coffee with me in the back ♡

And when he had opened the cabinets to grab a mug from the cupboard? Another note.

~water~ you doing baby I already have a cup ready for you outside

And he did. The sappy fucker.

So yeah. Call him soft all you want, but Mickey is gonna keep these little assholes alive, even if it kills him. Which seems to be the first task on their agenda today, judging from one look at the handful of dying flowerheads before him.

“How’s she lookin’...?”

Mickey makes a little grumble of a noise, Ian’s shadow passing over him for a second as he joins him out back, on track to the veggies. He tugs at one of the wilting flowers. Dramatic bitch. “Couldn’t wait to cause a scene, huh?”

“Mm. Kinda like someone I know.”

Mickey chooses to ignore that sentiment. He was actually very well-behaved on this trip. No scenes. (Even though that toddler on the beach was asking for it.) “Gotta do damage control.”

Further out in the garden, Ian inspects the bed where the tomatoes are, seemingly unphased by this. “Two weeks is a long time, Mick. Even with Gloria.”

And that’s…true. He guesses he can’t expect everything to be the same as when they left, even with Ian enlisting their old-ass neighbor’s help to come water while they were away. (She was thrilled to do this, to be clear. Way too excited.)

But still. 

God damn.

Mickey grabs the scissors, starting in on the process of trimming all the dead, wilted stuff so the plant can use its energy on the stuff that’s still alive.

‘Deadhead’, apparently. Which he thinks is probably the most metal shit he’s ever heard, considering he’s got a face full of roses right now.

He carefully snags a crusty looking flower, its once soft red petals now dark purple and saggy. 

Snip!

Another one, very close to the first. Dried out completely and shedding like goddamn Beauty and the Beast as Mickey pinches it between his fingers and gets the scissors in close.

Snip!

“Looks good over here,” comes his husband’s voice, just as he moves on to the next. 

A small bud. Dead before it got to bloom.

There’s something poetic about that, ain’t there?

“Oh! We got a pepper!” 

Snip! 

Fuck, he got pricked.

“Mick, you hear me?” Ian’s turning his head toward him now, his voice clearer from where he’s sticking up out of the garden like one of the sunflowers, one eye squinted into the sun. “Pepper - jalapeño, I think.”

“Yeah that’s real great, man…” Stupid fucking thorns… “Toss it into some-a that guac you stole the recipe for.”

A beat. Probably rolling his eyes. “I didn’t steal it.”

“Damn near-”

“I asked her. Nicely-”

“Yeah, three fuckin’ times.” Mickey’s never seen his husband as unrelenting as his constant badgering of their server that second night. Using all his best manners. Buttering her up. “Good thing she was so sweet on your puppy dog ass.” Had her calling him mijo and shit.

“Hey, I got us free tequila shots, did I not?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smirk that dances across his face at the memory. 

That was the start of one criminally sexy night, god damn…

Snip!

“Fuck…” 

Mickey’s smirk falls with the perfectly good rose that got caught in the way during his daydream, now landing in the palm of his hand. Damn it…

But just as quickly, his disappointment is washing away, Ian’s voice joining right in front of him.

“Can I help…?”

Mickey glances up at him. Eyes over the sunburn that’s left his cheeks and the tops of his shoulders nice and rosy.

“No,” he says. But when Ian squats to come eye-level with him, he goes with the flow, taking the perfect bloom and plopping it on top of his husband’s head.

“How do I look?”

Cute. “Gay.”

But it leaves his chest warm. His lungs light. Has his smile blooming when Ian says it, “Love you…” just as sweet. 

And it’s like Mickey didn’t just spend two uninterrupted weeks with him, falling for his goofy ass all over again and in every single way, “Love you too…” because the need to touch is insane.

And the feeling must be mutual, because Ian’s grinning slyly, the flower falling from his head as he sneakily pulls the rose pot out from between them and then closes in on his knees - presses a kiss to Mickey’s lips - keeps pressing, until Mickey’s back hits the grass and he’s made himself comfortable over him.

The rest of the trimming can wait. 

Time for a different kind of head.

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[petrichorium]

the first time you give in and let shanks into your bed—after months and months of very persistent dashing grins and cloying sweet-talk—you don’t realize until he has you pressed against your bedroom door, with his singular hand tucked beneath your skirts to grasp the back of your knee and hook your leg around him, that the vest you’ve chosen today is held together by a row of small buttons at the front.

it’s an issue it seems he’s only just realized too, as he pulls away from your lips and stares down at your bust.

“buttons,” he says with a pout, thumb tapping pensively against the side of your knee. “is this a test?”

“an accident,” you laugh. “i’ll help—“

“no.” shanks nips at your finger playfully before you can touch your neckline. “not proper to make a lady undress herself.”

it shouldn’t be a surprise, you suppose, but he’s more skilled than you anticipate. with teeth and tongue he manages to undo three before the steady unveiling of your cleavage distracts him. letting go of your leg, he reaches up to work at the fourth even as his tongue runs hot over the newly exposed skin of your chest.

then you feel him pause. he blinks; his eyes are dark and stormy, so deep red they might as well be black. though you often find it difficult to parse out what he’s thinking, it hardly takes a genius to gauge the way that big hand catches hold of the side of your vest, teeth grazing the other; preparing to forego any more delay and simply tear the damn thing apart.

“pop them,” you sigh out, somehow unwilling to speak more than a murmur, “rip it off. i won’t stop you. but—“

you pause just as shanks does the same, eyes darting up to meet yours over the heaving swell of your chest and fingers freezing where he’s gripped the fabric of your bodice.

“you won’t do much more than touching tonight,” you finish.

those eyes sharpen. a thrill goes through you, as his fingers flex for half a moment—and then he’s surging up to kiss you again, hard and heavy and biting, drawing a heady giggle from your tongue. his arm slips around your thighs, tightening to lift you from the solid wood you’ve been pressed against before he turns to take a scant few strides and deposit you onto your bed, not once parting from your lips.

only when you’ve settled does he pull back, just slightly, pressing his forehead to yours as he moves his arm to brace himself on his elbow and then giving a surprisingly chaste peck to the tip of your nose as he begins a descent.

he lingers at the edge of your neckline, sucks at your skin, then kisses down your stomach over the fabric that still covers you; his hand is eager but gentle as it slides beneath the hem of your dress again, rough calluses brushing against your foot and ankle and calf until he’s palming your knee and pushing the fabric up over your thighs.

“well.” that look in his eye is more of a glint now, accompanied by a grin and a wink that has you rolling your eyes as shanks disappears from sight. “suppose i’ll find something we can do without taking that damn thing off, eh?”

[thoughts-rambles]

Lucifer looked down at you sleeping in his arms, tracing the lines and features of your face with his eyes. Oh my stars... he couldn't believe how much he loved you.

It was a late night, he had stayed up doing paperwork, and all the meanwhile you had laid alone in his bed. The exhaustion would eventually begin to settle in, and he would drag himself off his desk to meander into his room. As he approached his bed, he'd recognize the shape of your figure under the covers and slowly curl in next to your warmth. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep, not when he had the most beautiful sight in front of him. He'd press a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back and watching you in pure adoration.

You stirred slightly in your sleep, and as Lucifer shushed you back into your deep slumber, he realized just how smitten he was. He had already been through hell- literally. He'd fought a war, and lost his sister, only to fall from a high-ranking angel to the right-hand demon of the Devildom's prince. But as you slept, unconsciously tightening your grip on him, Lucifer would hold you close and mumble his final thoughts before drifting off to sleep himself. How he'd go through it all- the pain, the heartbreak, the fear- over and over, just to be able to hold you in his arms like this for the rest of his life.

[nomazee]

"Ranpo. I'm falling asleep, man."

Your complaints are met with Ranpo's own disgruntled mumbles pressed into the damp skin of your neck. "Don't call me man. I'm trying to kiss you and that's what I get?"

"Trying to kiss me while I'm trying to sleep. Can you wait for the morning?"

Apparently, he can't, because he stays in his position on top of you. Every line of his body is pressed into yours as his arms stay wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in and keeping you locked. You don't hate this, truthfully, but you are falling asleep. The only thing keeping you awake is your annoying partner who you love but also want to kick out of the bed for the night.

Ranpo trails innocent open-mouthed kisses along the soft part beneath your jawline before moving up to the corner of your mouth. He sighs a content little hum into your skin and you have to fight back a shiver. He's awfully good at this. You know he's not trying to do any more than kissing—he never does when you're both bone tired and swaddled in bed—but his incessant gestures are inching you more and more to full consciousness and you really need to get a full seven hours of sleep tonight.

"I need it," he tells you, earnest in the way he always is when the exhaustion starts to make his clever brain fuzzy. He's always a little more mushy with you past eleven PM, words and thoughts and actions slurring into one barely cohesive jumble. "Just a little. Won’t you do it for me? 'Cause you love me 'nd all."

He needs it. Good god. He’s gonna kill you with that one day.

Whatever smart response bubbling on your tongue immediately fizzes out when he covers your lips with his own. Hot and slow breaths puff between the both of you as he moves his mouth against yours in slow, pliant motions. You're far too weak for him and far too awake now, so you let him take you apart just for a moment, just to take the edge off his spontaneous neediness.

"Yeah, sure. Love you and whatever," you manage to squeeze out between his perpetual line of kisses, now spanning across your lips and to your cheek and the spot right beneath your eye, close enough to let you feel the way his soft breaths flutter against your eyelashes.

"One more," he tells you—but it's more like he's telling himself. Like a goal, a promise, a self-fulfilled prophecy. "Just one. M'kay? Then you can fall asleep all early like you're a senior citizen."

"This senior citizen is letting you kiss them, baby. Don't complain."

And, oh, isn't it such a delight, hearing the way his breaths turn shaky for just a second after the nickname leaves your mouth. Every time you call him baby he goes shaky and bashful, too embarrassed to say anything smart. It’s his weak point and you’re too addicted to be good about it.

“If you wake me up early,” you tell him, finally able to pry his face away from yours with the help of a firm hand cupping his cheek, “I’ll make you breakfast. And you can kiss me again. I’ll even walk to the store and get that good jam that you like.”

“You’re a good bargainer.”

“Comes with the job. Will you let me go to bed now?”

He makes a contemplative noise, a hum that buzzes through your fingertips from where you hold his face. “I said one more, right?”

Indeed he did. With a sigh, you let him press a big stupid kiss on your lips, complete with an obnoxiously loud mwah! sound effect from him that you roll your eyes at. What a man-child.

(You still walk to the store for him in the morning. You’re weak at heart, really.)

[flamingtoads]

We shouldn't have watched that movie before bed, was the thought that popped into Karen's mind as she followed closely behind her wife out of their bedroom. The floor boards creak as Hen and Karen stops at the end of the hallway. They pause as a large lumpish shadow cast from the kitchen light rushes out of view, followed with what sounded like a clatter of dishes falling together. Karen leaned closer into Hen, "Did you see that?" Hen's hands gripped tightly around the baseball bat, preparing herself for what might be waiting for her in the kitchen. "Sure did."

[teddybeartoji]

office au! with coworker!gojo

he's the type to always be a little late. by a little, i of course mean a lot. he always bursts in the door with the biggest smile on his lips and four coffees in his hand. he winks at his coworkers, who then always blush and giggle out a hi, satoru! and you always roll your eyes at that. satoru nods his male coworkers, who always try to dap him up and start a conversation but he doesn't have time for that. he has things to do. (as if he isn't literally Late smh)

he answers the guys' question while he's walking – his eyes set on his favourite coworker. you. sitting in your cubicle, you're trying to ignore him and his dramatic enterance. that he does every single day. how annoying can he be? before you can roll your eyes again, a cup of coffee has landed on your table, making you glance over your shoulder.

he's blinding you, his grin is stretched so wide it's almost a bit creepy. he's standing right behind you, leaning his hand on your table right next to where he just placed the coffee. he's way too close for a co-worker and you gulp.

ugh.

"aren't you gonna thank your favourite coworker for bringing you coffee? whew, tough crowd, huh." his smile doesn't falter and he just leans in closer, his cologne clouding your senses.

UGH.

and he really does do it every single fucking day. he brings you coffee and he annoys you and he makes your eyes roll so hard you almost go blind and you hate to admit that he's kinda cute... it's whatever.

back to the coffees. so one of them is for you – he knows your order because he dug out the receipt from your bag when you weren't looking on his second day there. he almost got caught, too. but he only did that because you didn't wanna tell him your order!! and he was so insistent on bringing you coffee that he just had to find another way. he loved the way your eyes widened and how you tried to mask your surprised expression but nothing gets past his keen eyes. when you asked how he did it, he just told you that he guessed it. yeah, right....

the second coffee is for him. it's an insanely sweet latte. how do you know? he made you try it. more liked begged for you to try it. you also hate to admit that his puppy-dog eyes worked on you... he only drinks the special latte from the corner coffee shop and he refuses to drink the office "coffee". he's fancy like that.

the third coffee is for his second favourite coworker – kento nanami! they sure make an interesting pair. kento is the main reason why satoru even got the job. the latter begged him to pitch for him to the boss; he was so excited by the concept of Office Work and just had to try it out. he, of course, passed the interview with flying colors and kento regrets his decision to "help" him out in the first place. satoru yaps his ears off whenever he isn't doing the same to you and he's constantly leaving little notes for the man. you once saw one and it just had a miniature penis drawn on it. very mature.

and the fourth coffee is for your boss. satoru isn't sucking up like you originally thought he was. you think he just wants to bring her coffee? your boss is cool – she's in her forties and she has a strong voice, everybody always listens to her and she really does make for a very good boss. your guess is that satoru has a crush on her. (you're wrong. he also just thinks she's super fucking cool. literally nothing else to it.)

he's always wearing a fancy white button-up with a black tie loosely hanging around his neck and a pair of matching black slacks that hug his thighs so nicely that the women and the men of the office are always finding it hard to not stare at them. he gets an obnoxious ego boost from this.

he's constantly leaning on other people's desks, pushing his hips out and it really is hard to concentrate whenever he does it. the pose and the smug smirk he sends you when he catches you looking is making you feel hot. he always catches you too, it's so annoying. why can't he just continue doing whatever he's doing so you can admire him in peace?

he's loud, he's annoying and he's so fucking good at his job that firing him couldn't even be a passing thought. he actually does his paperwork rather fast; often finishing before you and that gives him the time to tease you for being slow. he does that way less than you expected though. only a few times in a day – enough to annoy you but never enough to actually make you upset or angry. he actually helps you sometimes. he can tell you don't wanna ask and he doesn't wanna make you feel bad - he'd rather watch you roll your pretty eyes at his stupid jokes with a small hidden smile than roll them with a deep frustrated sigh. he learned that the hard way.

he loves your smile. more often than not you can't keep the straight face you try to put up with him, making your loud laughter resonate throughout the whole office. oh, how his eyes shine at that.

long story short. he's infuriating. he's funny. he's way too good at his job. he's way too handsome. you loathe working with him and yet, you can't stop smothering him in kisses whenever you two "happen" to meet in the printer room.

[yayll]

Hi!! It’s my first time requesting something so I dont know how that works.. um I was thinking of some mission like some kind of ball that dazai and y/n has to go and y/n has to seduce someone to get information out of them. You know those masquerade balls? Yeah I think that really goood!! And dazai gets sooooooooo jealous and after she got the information dazai kiss her infront of that person to show him that she’s his😭😭😭😭😭😭omg

HIII angel sorry this took me a while, but i hope you like it :') i tweaked your idea a lil and fingers crossed this is what you so graciously asked for. i tried to put my best jealous goofy ass dazai in there along with the absolute MUSH his brain turns into when he has you to himself mixed with a lil........ fucked in the headness. i love requests! this was soooo fun to write i love youuuuuu <3

~ a little something about Dazai and his uncharacteristic jealousy ~

"Osamu, come on... You're my only sweetheart, you know that."

You call out half sweetly and half out of breath as you follow him down the hallway of the lavish event you were currently attending, dressed to the nines and trying to remain undercover. You were coming to realize why people didn't date within the workplace as he walked ahead, grumbling to himself. He's trying to remain unfazed, pretending to still be upset as he shrugs with his back turned to you.

"Hmph. I dunno, I don't feel like I'm your 'sweet' anything..."

This causes you to roll your eyes affectionately and pick up the pace, placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to finally stop him in his tracks. You flash him a sincere smile, and speak softly.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that. I didn't know that asshole was going to kiss me after he let me go. I also didn't think you'd ever get jealous..."

You say that last part with a more playful tone, treading dangerous waters of your unpredictable lover's emotions. As expected, he sighs dramatically, casting you a look of disgust.

"Ugh, of course I'm not... That's honestly sooo lame and pathetic. I can entertain jealousy as much as I can entertain one of Kunikida's little speeches on morals, or whatever."

"You mean his 'ideals'?"

You chide, stifling a laugh. He glares at you, his eyes narrowing as he scans you for a moment.

He can't find a single flaw on that precious face, not a single stray hair or stain on your exquisite outfit. He should change that by the end of the night.

"... You're always so negative, correcting me and whatnot. Isn't it tiring being so irritatingly superior in every way?"

This one gets a laugh out of you, You can tell he's slowly lightening up his mood by the way you both begin walking side by side once again.

"Yeah well, if it weren't for that little kiss earlier, we'd both still be all tied up in the wine cellar of this wonderful party."

He flashes you a pout, and shrugs dismissively.

"And here I thought you of all people would like the idea of being tied up with me. Hmph, wrong partner, I suppose."

Now he was starting to pick back at you, though it was cute. Jealousy looked cute on him, it was something you didn't think he was capable of. It was a pity it had to be during a mission where your main asset was your seduction skills and his was mental instability. You hated every second of it, but you also wanted to make sure you both made it out with the secret intel alive.

You make your way into the grand ballroom, the gala is in full swing, and your eyes dart around to find a proper escape route. Just as you see an exit, a handsome and well dressed young man blocks your view, sticking his hand out.

"Hi. You're gorgeous. Care for a dance?"

You stare down at his hand and then back up at the stranger, your face flushing as you're caught off guard.

"Me? No, no I-"

Dazai immediately interjects, sloppily holding a glass of champagne that somehow manifested in his hand and pretends to be drunk. He loved his theatrics, especially when he was desperate.

He bumps harshly into the young man's shoulder, the alcohol sloshing out of the cup as he slurs, but not before he flashes you a wink to tell you to play along.

"Sooo sorry, pardon me. This indeed beautiful angel is quite busy you see... Taking care of me that is. Ooh, I'm a wreck! I'm nothing but a sad and lonely dog.. In this sad and lonely world-"

The man looks at Dazai skeptically, and huffs into a chuckle. He shoves him away, and turns his attention back to you. Your eyes dart nervously between the two, wondering what Dazai will do next.

"Shut it, clown.. Anyway, I think this further proves you should be in the company of a gentleman like me tonight rather than this wet mop-"

The sound of a champagne flute soaring through the air and connecting to the man's skull is suddenly heard, interrupting him and sending him falling to the ground along with broken glass and liquid everywhere. In one swift motion, Dazai is at your side with a premature victorious smirk, but before you can both be on your way, the man regains his posture and spins him around, punching him square in the face. Dazai's not scrawny or weak, but he isn't the most skilled fighter, relying mostly on his special ability and intelligence to get him out of things.

You gasp, instinctively grabbing Dazai by the collar of his suit and dragging him away to get lost in the crowd of concerned people. You finally make it outside and you both collapse onto the soft grass just outside the venue. It's decorated with all kinds of flowers and fragrant rose bushes, it almost looks like you're at the garden of Versailles. You look over at Dazai, his nose bleeding all over the place, but he looks completely unbothered by it. As you reach over to touch the bridge of his nose, he grabs your wrist and holds it away gently. He waves a finger at you.

"No touchy, I've got it."

He does not, in fact, got it. He looks around until he plucks a rose petal and uses it to wipe his nostrils. You frown, getting all up in his space within an instant.

"What on earth are you doing, Osamu? Let me help, you goofball. Your nose is a mess thanks to that stunt you pulled."

You tear off a bit of fabric from your outfit and dab his skin tenderly, holding his head on your lap now. You can see some blood has trailed down his neck, staining the bandages there along with the collar of his crisp white dress shirt you picked out for him this morning. Dazai perks up, his voice slightly strained but full of lightheartedness.

"How does it feel to work with the agency's most tactical and covert operative? Eh?~"

You bite back a smile, and shake your head. You murmur.

"Feels like he's asking for a death wish a little more than usual."

Your lips soon become a thin line, realizing your statement hurts a little more in the context of the situation than it usually would. He notices your mood shift as his eyes flicker from your concerned eyes down to your lips and back up again. He knows it hurts you when he's like this, reckless and acting out on the impulses of his own plans. He wants to sit up and close the gap between you, kiss you until you drop down those brave walls you're putting up for the sake of the mission. For the sake of your feelings for him. He knows he's careless with it all.

He hums, eyes trained on you as if burning the image of your heavenly self into his mind, where you always deserve to be. In the distance, a bulky sketchy looking man runs out of the venue frantically, looking around wildly and you both get the impression it's the guy from the cellar earlier who kissed you in exchange for your freedom.

Shit! You could have sworn you knocked him out cold. Dazai sits up from your lap and you two scoot more into the bush, trying to hide from him as he makes a call. You mutter under your breath, turning to Dazai as you begin to type something out on your communicator.

"Now's the perfect time to let the others know we're ready for extraction."

He's already looking at you, or gazing admiringly more like. He knows he can fuck up everything, pay any consequence, but the thing he needs to get right for the selfishness of his wretched little heart is you. He scoots a bit closer, hearing the sounds of both your shallow breaths harmonizing. He mutters, softly.

"It would also be the perfect time for you to kiss my face better. You know, for my wellness and all that. Besides, that guy wasn't very nice to us earlier and we need to get rid of any traces of him from those lips. Yuck."

You roll your eyes yet again, despite the fluttering that won't let your stomach rest.

"Who cares about that, we have a case to close first."

He smirks, voice dropping low and provocative.

"I care."

He leans in even further, practically caging you with both arms on either side of you. He can feel your breathing become more erratic, his own filled with a pathetic sense of need he always has when he's with you. Dazai's hand reaches out and grabs your chin, turning it up slightly to face him, making sure you drop this silly act once and for all. His voice comes out gentle, firm.

"I need you to physically push me away, or I swear I'm going to kiss you right now, cutie."

Your eyes widen as you let a shaky breath escape your plush lips, murmuring in return.

"I'll.. punch you in the nose again, you know..."

His hand moves from your chin to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as he takes another breath, his body aching to be as close to yours as possible. His eyes are fixed on you, tearing you apart right then and there, but not before putting you back together so nicely. In that moment, he knows you don't mean that, and he knows he can't resist anymore.

He then whispers with a finality, the anticipation torturing him like you do on a daily basis.

"I don't think I'm going to listen to that..."

You break into a faint smile as you perceive him back.

"You've still got a little blood on your-"

Without another word, Dazai closes the remaining distance between you and him, kissing you with fervor as his soft whines reverberate against your lips. You taste sweetness and then... metallic as your lips mesh together for a heavenly moment. He feels alive, this was what he needed, the soothing balm for his soul and any other wound only you could provide. He's like a vampire, a parasite leeching off of your very essence so he could be himself around you. Cowardly burrowing into the safety of your heart. You squirm just a tad, your fingers carding through his brown hair as you try to keep up. He pulls back after his nose can't push more air through and keeps his lips hovering over yours, feeling the heat from your mouth mingle with his as he sees your lips stained red with his blood. Just as he's going to comment on how disgustingly erotic it is to see you like that, he pushes away the indecent thoughts, using the bandage on his wrist to wipe your mouth instead.

"Okay, I'll be good for now. You can call for extraction.~"

It was a dumb thing to do and could be seen as him being territorial or jealous, but the reality of it was that it was the natural order of things when it came to the way he processed his affections. Someone gets in between the two of you in any way?

An uglier and more dangerous past version of himself would have called for an immediate execution, there was a reason he held the titles that he did. He did his very best to keep that mentality at bay, rebuking it every time he felt a dark urge that he felt needed to be dealt with, mostly for your sake and for the sake of the promise he made to a friend once. Though he can't lie and say that's not who he is anymore, he can always find a better way to get his point across... even if a wishful bullet to the head comes out in the form of a kiss on your precious lips. He'll try for you. He'll wear the fastidious label proudly and be Dazai, a jealous man.

[sublimetragedychopshop]

TW: self-deprecating??, harrassment, stalker, yandere struggles, (I think that’s it?)

I can’t imagine the hell that it would be of having a yandere that is 100x out of your league. Like just imagine being a normal ass joe, nothing going on in life, no big group of friends, no exciting qualities, nothing to offer ANYONE. And here comes this god like figure- waltzing or barging into your shameful life and going “I am entranced by you, so deeply and utterly enraptured that you haunt every aspect of my existence. I have killed and maimed for you… allowing me to be yours is the only thing I wish for. The only thing I desire. Please, please just allow me to bask in your presence for the rest of my life..”

I’m getting mad just thinking about it, like how would someone even respond to that!? They let themselves into your shitty apartment (with a spare key they finessed from your landlord) they have the GALL to sit on your bed after being caught shamelessly snuggling under the covers, all model like?? Telling them that you’ll call the cops so that they leave but knowing in your heart that the police would arrest YOU before they accuse someone as godly as THEM! of course this doesn’t faze them. Though the sadness on their face is evident. Somehow you get them to leave and think that will be it for forever…

Until now you can see them clearly, everywhere you go. If you go to a coffee shop they’ll arrive 2 minutes after you and just sit across from you as long as your there. Your best bet is ignoring them because if you tell a worker of this person “harassing” you then you’ll just get a “really bitch??” Look and told to not disturb THEM! They even walk right next to you on the sidewalk, other people simply stopping to stare at their beauty and aura while you just grit your teeth and try to walk faster. Some brave ones stop them to ask for their number or if their single, only for them to wrap an arm around your own and tell them that their dating you. They are OBVIOUSLY with YOU. So why the FUCK is this trash asking dumb questions?? It gives you second hand embarrassment and your self esteem goes in the shitter when others just give that disbelief look and reluctantly leave it at that. If you try and buy anything they will just whip out their black card and pay for it instead nor matter your protests. If you say something like “hey don’t spend money! I can buy my own things!” They look you straight in the face with zero hesitation and just go “I know you can, but I want to spend money on you. All my money is YOURS. You are still using YOUR money.” Bro at this point I’ll make them take me to the Gucci store or sum.

Someone that is the EPITOME of peak human desire. An irresistible face and body, black cards in their pockets, mansions, sports cars, high paying job and famous people for “friends”. They are what hustle culture people DREAM to be, so why would they be interested in you? Why do they act like you’re the one doing THEM a favor by just existing? Why do they look at you so lovingly when masses stare at them with the same look? Why get so jealous and overprotective when you show basic human decency to others? As if you were some Hot shot movie star!

And the worst part is, when they do creepy gross stalker shit it doesn’t even seem like they are the one being weird. If you bother entertaining them at a cafe and leave for the bathroom, you’ll most likely come back to them with your used spoon in they mouth.

———————————————————

Btw no one is how I portray reader in this lil scenario. EVERYONE is exceptional and wonderful and beautiful In their own way! Just cuz u can’t see doesn’t mean others don’t either. This was more of something I wrote when I was going through it.

[steddieas-shegoes]

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Eddie’s voice rang out through Steve’s bedroom.

Steve jumped because, well, he was completely alone in his house less than a minute ago, and now Eddie Munson was standing in his doorway staring at him.

In a skirt.

Not like, a short one. Just one of Robin’s that she let him borrow with no explanation.

She kind of gave him a knowing look, but she didn’t say anything. She probably didn’t want to scare him or make him second guess himself or feel any of the shame he finally buried deep enough to even ask her for it.

It’s just when he first saw it in her closet, he fell in love with it. The way it flowed in just the right spots, how it hit above the hips (or he thought it would if he ever was brave enough to try it on), how the color was the exact shade of blue he always preferred.

And Robin never even wore it.

It was shoved in the back of her closet like a forgotten thing, never to see the light of day because then Robin would have to acknowledge something other than jeans or stupid pleated pants that were apparently “all the rage for lesbians, Steve!”

So he spent months picturing himself in it, touching the soft fabric any time he had to grab something from her closet, practicing asking to borrow it “for a girlfriend.” Practiced telling himself that skirts were only gendered because of society, or whatever bullshit spiel Robin had gone into when they saw a guy getting teased for wearing a dress in Indy.

And he believed it just fine when it came to others. Doesn’t make any man who is a man less of a man and all that.

But for him?

It’s just not allowed.

Until it was.

He was staying the night at Robin’s because they had to close and then open the next morning. She was showing him her new sweater she’d bought for her first date with Nancy that she refused to actually ask Nancy out on. When she opened the closet, he saw the edge of it.

“Can I borrow that?”

Robin looked at him like he’d gained ten heads.

“Borrow what? The sweater? No. This sweater cost more than most of my closet combined. It’s gonna be my magical confidence booster.”

“Not the sweater.” Steve took a deep breath. “The skirt.”

“Uh.”

“I mean. Not for me. Obviously. For someone else.”

Robin raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“Uh. Do I know her?”

“Nope.”

“Does she need clothes or something? I can do a closet clean out to help.”

Steve loved Robin. She wasn’t exactly well-off, but she’d literally give the shirt off her back if it meant someone else would have clothes who needed them.

He only felt a little guilty about lying to her.

“No, no. Uh. Just the skirt. She saw one like it the other day and loved it so much. She couldn’t get that one so I think if she can just wear this one once she’ll get it out of her system, ya know?”

If he was talking about himself, that was only for him to know.

But he saw the way Robin was looking at him. She knew. No amount of coverup was going to make her not know. He could only hope she wouldn’t ask questions.

“Sure. She can try it and see if it gets out of her system. She could also keep it if it doesn’t though.”

Steve gulped.

“Really?”

Robin gave him a small smile, encouraging when he felt like he was going to throw up all over her ugly bedroom carpet.

“Yeah. God knows I won’t ever wear it unless I’m being forced to.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled and walked over to the closet. “I…she’s gonna be really excited about this. Thanks, Robs.”

“Anytime Dingus.”

He turned to look at Eddie standing in his doorway, face flush with embarrassment and shame. He didn’t want this to be the end of whatever was going on between him and Eddie.

They were dancing around each other according to Robin and Will and Dustin and Max.

They were being ridiculous according to Nancy and Jonathan and Wayne.

They were being cautious according to Eddie.

They were just taking it slow.

Steve hated it.

But he knew why Eddie wanted to be cautious; Rushing into a relationship built on shared trauma is probably worth taking a little time on.

And even if they have been basically dating for months, it’s totally fine that they haven’t even kissed.

And now they probably never will because Eddie just walked in while he was wearing the skirt.

He loved this skirt. He felt pretty. He loved that when he turned in a circle, it fluttered out just enough to look cute, but not enough to show a bunch of skin. He loved the way the color made his tanned skin just a bit lighter, and he glowed a little in the mirror.

But now he would always think of Eddie leaving him in the dust because of it.

“I just. I. Sorry.”

Steve looked down at his feet, trying to feel for the zipper along the side of the skirt to take it off before he made things worse. His hands were shaking, adrenaline pouring through him so quickly he couldn’t find where the zipper began.

He felt a hand on top of his, holding it firmly to keep it from moving anymore.

“Stevie. Look at me.”

As hard as it was to do it, Steve looked up at Eddie, tears already forming in his eyes.

“You look beautiful. Keep it on, let me see you.”

And even though the words were so kind and made Steve feel so much better, he let the tears fall from his eyes.

Hearing Eddie say it out loud, that he was beautiful and allowed to wear this if it made him feel beautiful, was almost too much for him to handle. His last set of scars had really done a number on his self-confidence, but this skirt had given him hope for the first time in almost a year that he’d feel good in his skin again. Eddie had the power to tear him back down, but of course he hadn’t. He made it better, like he always did.

Eddie pulled his hand away from the skirt, holding it up and twirling him in a circle.

Steve giggled.

When was the last time he did that?

Never, maybe.

Eddie’s smile was contagious as they looked at each other with matching beaming smiles. He was staring at Steve’s face now.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy, sweetheart.” Eddie reached his unoccupied hand out to touch the waistline of the skirt. “I don’t think you know how incredible you look when you’re happy.”

What does a person even do with a compliment like that?

Pass out? Kiss? Die?

Steve settled on kissing Eddie.

It was time to move beyond whatever they’d been doing. Steve couldn’t wait any more.

If Eddie was going to not only accept this part of Steve that Steve had barely even accepted of himself, but also encourage him to feel beautiful, then Steve was going headfirst into this.

Their lips met harshly at first, Steve being a bit overzealous and misjudging how close they already were.

But within seconds, Eddie was slowing it down, placing both hands on Steve’s cheeks to control the pace better. He was licking along Steve’s bottom lip, silently asking for entrance, but not moving and faster or demanding anything more than what Steve wanted.

When they parted for air, Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s, eyes blinking open slowly.

“You like the skirt?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“I love the person in it. I like whatever he feels best in.”

Steve sat with that for a moment, but recovered quickly.

“You love me?”

“Can’t imagine how you didn’t know, sweetheart.”

“Just didn’t know it was like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like the real kind. The kind where you love someone enough to love the things they love even if you aren’t sure what to do with it.”

“I love you the real kind.”

Eddie was smiling at him when he pulled away and left a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I love you the most kind.”

“I love you the best kind.”

Steve laughed.

“Can we dance?”

“If you want.”

“I wanna take the skirt for a test drive.”

Eddie settled his hands on Steve’s hips and started humming a song that was definitely not usually for a slow dance, but sounded nice enough for them.

When Eddie spun Steve out and twirled him back into his arms, and his skirt moved in just the right ways, he felt more like himself than he ever had before.

And when Eddie bought him his own skirt from a store in Indy the next time they had a date night, he let himself feel pretty in a way he didn’t think was possible.

[sendpseuds]

[Hope you’re still having fun playing fuck, marry, kill, because I have no self control]

“You really think anyone could wake up to Anakin Skywalker in their bed and not want to fuck you?”

It’s overwhelming.

Dizzying.

The hand in his hair, the words in his ears, the hot hungry look in the dark dangerous eyes of a man who has never been anything but pure and dazzling light.

Then there’s the simple fact that Anakin has woken up in Obi-Wan’s bed — that no matter how old he gets, his master has always been willing to take the barest corner of his bedroll and let Anakin pull himself in close when his dreams grow dark and the nights between battles grow cold.

“Do you have your answer now, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice low and soft in a way his grip in untamed curls isn’t, his breathing shallow and his beautiful face just inches away, “Or do you still not know.”

It takes several long moments for Anakin to understand what he means, every nerve ending in his body flaring and focused on Obi-Wan’s firm grip in his hair, but once it registers, the simple truth tumbles from his lips like a declaration.

“You.”

It’s the only answer.

It always has been.

It’s you.

It’s all always you.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I learned what my cock was for,” Anakin bites out, the confession sweet on his tongue even as his cheeks heat at the terrifying truth of them and there are a million reason he should stop there, “But I want so much more .”

Anakin wants things he shouldn’t. Things no Jedi should.

Beyond love.

Beyond passion.

Beyond anything he could ever justify.

Beyond anything Obi-Wan could ever forgive.

“I don’t think marrying you would be enough,” he continues despite the danger, unable to hold his tongue, every sinful certainty coating his lips like saliva and he knows he won’t be able to stop until he’s free of it, “I want to bind our souls together. Possess you in every way. I want to make you mine.”

Despite every expectation, Obi-Wan does not pull away. He does not grimace. He does not lecture. He does not even flinch.

He also does not come any closer.

“And now,” Anakin breathes, his voice rough and strained, so close to everything he’s ever wanted he’s not sure he can stand another moment of distance, “if you don’t give me what I want, I—“

It feels impossible.

But somewhere, deep down, he knows it’s true.

“I think I might kill you.”

[1][2][3][4]

[woobiedoovo]

I saw someone post about the stanwich but instead of Stan and Ford competing over Fiddleford it’s Fiddleford and Ford competing over Stan and it’s making me feral.

There’s just so many possibilities with this.

Like with the Mystery Trio AU-

Imagine Ford contacts Stan to help him and Fiddleford dismantle the portal. Stan comes, obviously, and is greeted by his brother and a random southern man? Ford introduces him as his ‘lab partner’ but Stan is skeptical.

A lab partner who you live with in the middle of the woods, with no one else around for miles? Yeah, Stanford. Totally.

(In reality they’re really not together, at least not romantically. I honestly see Fiddauthor as more in a queer platonic relationship more than anything.)

He starts to help the two dismantle the portal, but he can’t really do a lot besides move around heavy pieces (he never even graduated Highschool, what did they expect?) but dammit, he does his one job and he does it well. The entire time he’s oblivious to the two pairs of eyes hungrily watching him as he grunts and groans under the heavy pieces of metal. How he wipes the sweat off his brow with his shirt, revealing his soft stomach. How his muscles flex as he once again moves some random machinery that didn’t actually need to be moved, they just wanted to watch Stan do it.

I need these two needs thirsting over this absolute disaster of a man.

[iridescent-solstice]

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ 🕷 ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You shriek as a tight pull on your hair forces you to lift your head. Your puffy eyes finally greeting his golden sunset like eyes. "Now darling was that so hard?" He droned out bored, caging his arms around you. He speaks to you in a tone dripped with scorn, before he sharply inhales to relax himself. You should have kept yourself in check. It's his fault really, how can he leave you alone for that long and not expect what was essentially a temper tantrum.

Yet you can't stop your heart from fluttering at the extra attention. Yes, you were acting like a brat, but really all you wanted was his attention... Despite his anger, the velvety texture of his voice was soothing to you.

Lulling you into a false sense of tranquillity. Seeing your lack of a response, his eyes only got that much sterner. Afterall, if you can't behave yourself in public... Perhaps he should lend a hand.

What good is an unruly pet?

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ 🕷 ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[yupthisisshe]

Affections Revealed and Answered - Mattheo Riddle x gn! Reader

A/N: reader could be of any house; language warning (Mattheo says the f-word once); they are making out (that’s most of the plot but I swear it's supposed to be kinda cute); no nudity or sex; very close friends to lovers; the kind of Mattheo that’s nice to his friends and people he cares about but absolutely will get into fights if he thinks the other person deserves it; also I wrote and edited this in once sitting - so yay me! <3

You were sat in Mattheo’s lap, straddling him as you both sat on the couch in your common room. If it were anyone else, they would get weird looks or teasing comments, but people knew better than to disrespect Mattheo, and even more so they knew better than to disrespect you lest Mattheo find out. This intimate position wasn’t unusual for the two of you. I mean, what else were friends for if not comfort? But you wanted more this time. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his shoulder and neck, as per usual, but instead of just laying there innocently like you normally would, you began to kiss at it.

“[Y/n]…” Mattheo questioned, not completely sure of what was happening at the moment, but sure of where it would be going if you continued. You could tell his tone was supposed to come out with a bit of a warning undertone, but all that really came out were questions unasked, but soon to be answered.

“Do you want this?” you asked.

“Fuck yes,” he replied, and you sensed longing in his tone that suggested he’s wanted this more than you know for longer than you know. Rather than go back to his neck, you went straight to his face. You grabbed his face and your lips smashed together. Soon, you were licking at his bottom lip, asking for entrance into the caverns of his mouth, and he couldn’t have been happier to oblige. He opened his mouth and your velvety tongues danced in a composition of longing and affection. Matthew gripped you gently but strongly, one hand against the back of your head and the other arm circling your waist. Your hands had both moved to the back of his head, trying to pull him impossibly close. The light moans and groans you both let out were enough to tell you that maybe you were close enough, but your hearts and bodies couldn't help but want more. You ended up pushing him to lie down across the couch in the process of your affections. You laid across him as he refused to let go. You kissed for minutes, disconnecting for breaths and reconnecting like you couldn't bear to be apart once you caught your breath. After so long, you stopped to speak what felt like the most important sentence in your life.

“I love you, Mattheo.”

He smiled and you both let out a light, breathy giggle.

“I love you too, [Y/n].” He had the softest smile on his face, like it was proof of his words.

You smiled lovingly and proceeded to rest your head on his shoulder. Perfectly positioned for you to apply kisses to his jawline or chin, and for him to apply kisses to your forehead, or nose if he tilted your chin up a bit. He held you in his arms, one arm holding you securely, and the other rubbing you softly and lovingly. You lay there together, comfortable in your new relationship, and already knowing somehow that you would love each other for life.

[ugly-pickle]

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ thinking about tartaglia wrapping his arms around you possessively when teucer claims that hes gonna marry you when he grows up… tartaglia ajax mumbles “mine” while burying his head at the crook of you neck <3