#is this considered a drabble?

[lovesincerely]

Mattheo Riddle, except when you guys first started dating he was so nervous to have sex. Despite his whole infamous playboy reputation, because he didn’t care about those late night stands or hookups. They didn’t mean anything to him, but you? You mean the world to him. Scratch that, you are his world. Back to the nervous part, he’d be so insecure of his scars and other blemishes he has. So when he finally does get naked, he’s oddly quiet and seems tense. However, when you start to compliment and kiss his skin? He meltssss into you. All his past worries and concerns? Gone. Out the window, like they didn’t even exist and all that’s left on his mind is you.

[minjiarchive]

“how many spanks was that?” | sua x fem!reader

back from break, tysm for the support and patience. thought a bora drabble would be a nice comeback 🥹 i was too lazy to add capitalization btw lol

warning / smut, dumbification, mommy kink, spanking, name use of puppy, and mistress for bora!

“how many spanks was that?”

you couldn't seem to recall the last number you counted to and not even a bullshit excuse would save you. the number of spanks slip past your brain and you're more so focused on the stinging pain she causes with each slap. bora's strong, her small hands proving her real strength to have you whining (and cumming).

and if she wanted to, making you cry so prettily for her which is her favorite.

“i-i don't know, mommy.”

bora feels like giving more grace today, letting some things slide and slip up but still remembering her dominance over you.

“aww, you dumb puppy...” she cooed, running her warm hands up your back until she reached your hair. bora yanks at it roughly, causing you to let out a gasp as she pulls you up.

she stops at your ear and leans in, “so ruined and spent for me that you can't even count?”

“i know my baby is smarter than that.”

you whimper at the praise, bora slowly pushing you back down onto the mattress while still having a tight grip on your hair. you aren't that ruined yet, just a little dumbfounded.

“please, it's so hard–” you protest but bora quickly silences you.

“it's not.”

she rubs one cheek to soothe the lingering pain from earlier and your eyes immediately shut, preparing yourself for another hard smack. but bora speaks, “i can be here all night spanking you.”

bora doesn't seem to budge and is very set on 20 spanks. there's no way you could get past her either, you wanted to cum so bad that you forgot to ask permission, which is the only thing bora doesn't take lightly.

“mommy's not letting you cum until you can count to 20 properly,” bora smiles when she feels your ass rubbing against her front, whimpering like a cute puppy for her.

you look back at her with as much desperation in your eyes, your silent way of saying “please.” but she doesn't pay any attention to it. bora pushes your face into the bedding, bending you over for another round, “be a good puppy, won't you?”

“yes, mistress.”

“good, now let's start from one.”

[nanamisbbygirl]

whenever you sleep over at toji's place you end up falling asleep in one of his old black t-shirts, void of the panties you entered with. it doesn't matter what you're doing the next day, if you have lectures or a shift a work, it's a very familiar routine.

you always wake up against his morning wood, subconsciously rocking back on him until he's so fed up with your slutty behavior that he has to nudge you awake.

"rise 'n shine, kiddo." he grumbles with that familiar groggy morning voice. you groan, not wanting to wake up just let, but he only continues "you slept in, you're gonna be late for class."

"i don't care," you mutter, "can you give me a ride?"

"not today, princess, got called in for a job." you groan again, wiggiling towards his dick. toji only grunts, "nope, no time for that right now. whaddya want to eat?"

"you."

"be serious, no brat talk right now." you huff at his sternness. he can see your little pout and tries making it up to you, "later, i promise. now really, should i make a bagel?"

"yes please," you hum.

"you got it," he gives your butt a smack, "now get your lazy ass up."

part two

[logicallyblind]

you don’t understand l. i need batman to be weirdly good with babies. i mean, objectively when in a group of people the one dressed in an entirely military level reinforced fighting suit with a bat cowl should objectively be the last peroson someone should hand a baby to and yet. batman was the only one in an entire unit of 17 people who could calm the hysteric infant while waiting for child services to arrive on the scene and take the responsibility off the bat.

but it keeps happening. any incident which involveds a child in any form it is sent batmans way if the means allow it. and batman just,, let’s it happen. you’re not going to see him complaining in participating an experience like that was prior, inheritely one that one would be saved for couples only but,,, idk batman just chilling with a small army of toddlers and infants who fear no god so why would they fear the man that just emits safety and care yk?

the adults in the room are both terrified and impressed by their gaul lmfaoo

[letmegrabyourcuteass]

With all the traveling Buck did, and the amount of bad luck he also has, can you imagine Buck just all of a sudden appearing in a lot of documentaries? Like surviving a wildfire, that time I saved my co-worker from being eaten by his cannibal date, being a witness to a crime, being caught in a massive tornado, and nearly flying out of his friend's car window. His small plane, while traveling in Peru, crashed, and he survived that. Just a bunch of crazy fucking shit.

So, the 118 is just sitting there, catching up on some news, when a TikTok video goes viral, which makes the news on TV. Someone had compiled a video of all Buck's interview segments, and the caption is like ???? Is this dude ok?? Or is this an actor??? And one of the top comments says that he was also in a Tsunami and saved a lot of people, including said commenter. The other top comment states that he has also been struck by lightning and survived.

Everyone just turns to Buck, who's in the kitchen shoveling food into his mouth, and blinks when he sees everyone staring at him in horror like ????

"Oh, shit, those finally came out?" he says as he spots a documentary he was on, helping a friend.

"What do you mean finally came out?" Eddie asks incredulously.

"Uhh, I remember helping friends with retelling events for documentaries and stuff. It's been a while, so I wasn't sure if those had made the green light or not. It's so weird they all came out at once," Buck says. He shrugs and goes back to his food.

"Bobby, why are you looking up how to bubble a person?" Chim says as he peeks at Bobby's phone.

"He's fixing to get his own room in our new home where he'll never get to leave," Bobby mutters.

"How much do you wanna bet we're about to get raided by the press?" Ravi says as he stares at Buck in awe.

[baskeigh-ball]

posting some mind swap doodles to prove im still alive, so have a few headcanons :D

- Leo in Mikey's body is pure chaos, he has no boundaries when it comes to modifications to "his" body in order to feel more comfortable in his own skin. For example, he gave himself his old markings to cover up Mikey's spots (only around the eyes tho, the arm and leg markings would take way more time.) He loves using Mikey's mystic powers/weapons at first, but eventually feels too weird about it and switches to his own weapons/gear to cope

- Mikey reins him in whenever he gets a little too confident in using his mystic powers though. Mikey is always hovering nearby to make sure Leo doesn't decide to go overboard, fully aware of Leo's lack of awareness when it comes to his physical limits, let alone when he's in someone else's body

- Raph is on the opposite side of the spectrum as far as modifications go, only willing to give Donnie his tech back and wear arm wraps to feel more like himself.

- The only tech he has to keep is the battle shell, especially after realizing just how fragile Donnie's body really is. He becomes refuses to take it off for days at a time, and when he does finally take it off, he's extremely paranoid and puts himself in the safest spot possible: his own room, bundled up in pillows and blankets.

- He also is woefully ignorant in how the battle shell is operated, so it goes haywire pretty often in the beginning. Donnie has to be nearby and ready to be damage control for a long time before Raph becomes confident enough to operate the battle shell's most basic functions.

[homkamiro]

HEY DID YOU KNOW YOUR ART IS EXCELLENT AND YOUR LINEWORK IS STUNNING AND YOUR EXPRESSIONS ARE PEAK

HELLO??? AM I REAL IS THIS REAL??? THETRIGGEREDHAPPY IN MY ASK???????? I💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

dude i am SUCH a fan of your works you have NO idea, like I think if I hadn't read running blind that day i wouldn't be so fixated on speeding bullet right now. I reread nearly ALL of your fanfictions and I recommend you to every one of my friends. And seeing you here praising my art is just😭💥i need a minute

In a gratitude making a small comic based on that one moment from Little Things🗣️🗣️your dialogue writing is one of the best I've seen in YEARS and ngl I do plan someday making an animatic based on one of your fics perhaps...someday....and only if you're okay with that.....

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE ★

a/n: fluff!! neuvillette being a touch starved loser (affectionate) + lots of terms of endearment. happy belated neuvillette day! may all neuvillette wanters be neuvillette havers ≧◡≦

Neuvillette can't stand coming home if not into your arms.

The deafening silence of a sleeping home drives him mad. It used to be welcomed after his terribly loud days. Now only serves to remind him of the millennium he spent alone, of the heartbreak he had to endure with no one to hold him, and of the growing emptiness within his heart long before he knew you.

It's unlike him to come home so late, but duty calls and as the Iudex of Fontaine he must go wherever summoned.

For days he has come home well into the latest hours of the night, sliding off his shoes in the darkness of the hall and allowing the silence to swallow him up whole. Five unbearably long days of missing your smile greeting him at the door, hands all over his face and squeezing his cheeks until he nudges them away in lieu of kissing you hello.

He expects tonight to be the same. It's so late that there was not a single soul wandering the streets of the city, no one awake to witness the very tired, very cranky Chief Justice.

You always find a way to defy his expectations.

The hall is quiet when he cracks open the front door. Crushing loneliness swells in his chest and sinks into the pit of his stomach when he realizes that you must have gone to bed long ago, as anyone sane would do. But then there's a click, followed by a small flame dancing in the dark.

You ignite an array of candles one by one, each additional glow illuminating your beautiful face in warm light. Neuvillette can't stop the hitching of his breath, nor the confusion knitted through his brows.

"What are you doing awake?"

You know he doesn't mean to scold you. Soft laughter fills his ears as you saunter over to him slowly. Realization crashes down on him as you approach, allowing him to see closer what has kept you up.

"Happy birthday, my love."

It's so late that midnight passed hours ago. He hadn't even realized amongst all the chaos of his work that the 17th had come and gone, making way for his birthday.

Only you would remember. It was a talent you had, memorizing every detail about him that sometimes even he lost track of.

("Neuvillette, dear, I picked up some dark roast on the way home today." He didn't even realize he had run out.

"Welcome home, I made ragout!" He wasn't aware he was craving it until you brought it up.

"Do you want this?" It's the last cookie in the bag, saved especially for him because you know it's from his favourite bakery in town.)

He leans in and blows out his candles, eyes never leaving yours as he blinks at you slowly. You look so beautiful even now, in the dimly moonlit hall. Darkness envelops your bodies again and yet he never tears his gaze away. Not even for a moment.

"Now put the cake down, please."

"Hm?" Your head tilts, clearly confused by his request.

"So I can hold you," he quickly explains, fingers itching at his sides because of how much he aches to hug you.

You gently set the cake down on the entrance table before you get scooped into a warm embrace, pressed snuggly to his chest as he memorizes the outline of your body against his once more.

"I've missed you, my dear," he says, face burrowed into the crook of your neck.

"It's only been a couple days," you laugh, and then remind him: "I see you every day at lunch."

"No, this is different." He pulls away slightly, forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. There's something in there— vulnerability and love all mixed into a beautiful purple harmony. "I miss coming home into your arms after long days," he admits.

"Oh, love," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face the way he's so used to. "Things will settle down again soon."

His eyes close as he savours your presence, soaking up all the affection you're giving him in his moment of weakness. You've always spoiled him.

"I suppose so," he agrees, a smile finally settling on his lips. Your thumb runs along it, tracing the curve of his happiness. There's a beat of silence before you open your mouth again.

"What did you wish for?" You ask curiously, voice growing quieter as you lean in to kiss him. And the answer he gives comes naturally.

Neuvillette has always wished for things he read about in novels; imaginary promises of treasure and desire and fame, sealed with the wispy smoke of blown out birthday candles. He isn't even sure if he has ever actually wanted any of those. But as he looks at you, with the slow beating of his heart and the brushing of your lips against him, he can't think of a single thing he could want more than this.

"I did not wish for anything," he tells you honestly, giving your waist a squeeze. "I already have everything I could ever want."

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[stellamarielu]

I would love if you could write something about drunk Declan coming home all horned up 🙂‍↕️ or meeting Declan in a pub on St Patrick’s day and there’s shameless flirting/ dirty mouth on this man 🍀

pls and ty 🫶🏻

you had me at drunk horny declan!!!! i’m going bezerk rn, like fully screaming a praise of hallelujah from the mountaintops.

quick smutty drabble about horny declan and his dirty mouth after one too many drinks

Declan had been out with rupert and freddie all night celebrating, and you didn’t mind one bit— you liked it when he cut loose from work and had a little fun with his friends. but tonight he’d had more than just a little fun.

You were cuddled in bed, your nose deep in a book when you heard the front door open. The rustling in the kitchen followed by heavy footsteps up the stairs revealed Declan leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, all disheveled with a love-drunk smile plastered across his face.

“There she is.” His voice held a more-than-tipsy tone as he admired you from across the room.

“Here I am.” You giggled as you closed your book setting it down on the bedside table.

Declan hastily tore his already loosened tie from his neck and shed his jacket, letting it fall on the floor as he waltzed over to the bed. He climbed up next to you, crawling over and pulling you in for a sloppy, impassioned kiss.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all night.” He let his lips wander to your jaw, sucking a spot right underneath your ear— something he knew drove you wild. A sigh fell from your lips causing him to smile in satisfaction.

“Woah there big guy,” You were using all of your strength to create space between the two of you, pushing gently on his chest.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You could smell the whiskey on his breath and hear the way his words stumbled into each other as they left his lips.

You knew drunk Declan when you saw him, and you were also well aware that if he didn't have a glass of water and a full night of sleep he would spend the following day in complete agony.

“Since when does that matter. You keepin’ tabs on me?” He sat back on his heels, a goofy smile playing on his lips as he waited for your response.

“No I just-“

“My sweet girl worried about takin’ advantage of me?” His smirk grew ten times wider as he watched you roll your eyes at his words.

“You need sleep Declan. And a shower, you smell like a distillery.”

“I’ll shower… just let me have a little fun first.” he was grabbing at your thighs and pulling them apart, moving his body between your legs.

You were writhing in his touch, attempting to push him away as his hands pulled at your pajama shorts. You were trying your best to put on a stern face, but you couldn't keep a soft chuckle from your lips at the feeling of his mustache against your stomach as he placed long sloppy kisses on your skin.

“C’mon love, need ya so bad.” His voice was gravely, full of infatuation and alcohol fueled lust.

You gave in, acting in compliance as you let your fingers lace through his curls while he pulled your shorts and panties down your legs.

“Been thinkin’ bout this perfect little cunt all night.” His voice was muffled by the flesh of your thighs as he pressed his face against them, kissing and licking your skin in his inebriated haze.

“Just let me have it baby then I’ll shower and go to bed. Swear, I’ll do whatever ya want, just wanna taste ya first.”

Hearing his words reminded you that Declan had two habits that emerged without fail every time he was drunk.

The first was an unrestrained pattern of affection. He would be all over you. It didn't matter when or where, he just wanted to be near you— touching you. After he got a few drinks in his system Declan became completely and utterly obsessed, shoving the rest of the world away to keep all your love for himself.

And second, he wouldn't shut the fuck up. The incoherent mumbles and run-on sentences that would leave Declan's whiskey-soaked mouth were damn near impressive. He would talk about everything and nothing at the same time, never letting you get a single word in.

So in moments like this; when the two drunken traits came out to play at the same time, you were always amused and a bit turned on. Being the target of his affectionate rambles was a weakness of yours and you would surrender to him every single time.

“Baby…” The word was partially a warning but held the cadence of a beg as you dug your fingertips further into his hair.

“Just wanna make you feel good, s'all I want. All I’ve thought about all goddamn day.” His breath landed right on your core as he pushed his tongue flat against your center, licking a thoughtless stripe through your folds.

You moaned at the sudden contact, your head falling back on your pillow as little hums of approval left your lips with each messy kiss he placed on your clit.

“That’s it sweetheart, just relax.” His praise was laced with feral desire as his mouth worked between your legs. He was so caught up in it— your pleasure. Getting off on the little whimpers bubbling up out of your throat and your hips softly bucking against his face.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” His voice came through in a slur as he sucked on your clit.

You peered down at Declan watching as your hands held onto his dark curls, his head buried between your thighs. It was impossible to miss the movement of his body as his hips bucked into the mattress.

He was grinding against the bed, using the friction to aid in his own release. The sight of it had the pressure in your body pounding— fighting to snap.

“Christ I just love you so much.” His mumble held an insatiable amount of devotion, as did the way his lips and tongue worked you toward your release.

“Wanna stay right ‘ere all night.”

Between filthy words and the sloppy wet sounds of Declan’s mouth against you, his hands gripped harder at your thighs pulling them further apart and giving him even more access to your body.

“Declan” It slipped past your lips in a delicate whisper and he couldn’t help the way his hips rutted against the sheets at the sound of his name, so angelic and perfect on your lips.

“Say it again.” He demanded, hips thrusting into the bed and tongue pushing at your entrance.

You obliged, his name tumbling from your mouth yet again, sending him into a state of pure primal instinct.

In a mess of dirty, muddled, carnal inclination, Declan let his mouth bring you to your release. A deep groan escaping him as felt your core soften and your back arch off the bed. He wanted to do it again and again. He didn't even let up as you came down from your high, your hands pulling at his hair and his name repeatedly whispered from your mouth in surrender.

"One more? Please sweetheart" His voice held a hint of laziness but his movements persisted, messy and desperate.

You sighed in defeat as you let the stubborn irishman below you have his way. After all who were you to deny him what he wanted when he asked so politely?

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny hurts.

That's nothing new, but he thinks he deserves to talk about it still. He hurts specifically behind his eyes, as if he's been doing nothing but stare at a screen all day, and his lungs feel shallow and stifled like he's run for a mile without stopping. There's an ache in his knees like abdominal cramps, stretching down to his calves and slightly up his thighs. His shoulder blades ache, rooting center towards his spine, snaking down to his hips.

It's bearable, but he still hurts.

It was a nightmare that brought him here, with his arms wrapped around Bruce's middle like a cobra and his ear pressed to the man's stomach. It's not a heartbeat, but he's already checked for it, and if he stops and listens, real quiet, he can hear Bruce's internal organs gurgling. So it's the next best thing, it means he's working as he should.

Bruce's curved finger draws a line down his spine, and then back up, slow and soothingly. Danny shudders involuntarily, gooseflesh popping up on his skin, and his arms tighten briefly, then loosen up. He shakes for a moment, and then tries to sigh out of his nose in a way that didn't reveal just how awful he felt.

"…Tell me about flying?" Bruce asks him after a few seconds of silence, voice quiet and low; tentative. The petting doesn't stop, and Danny blinks slowly. To think, first, and then to try and come up with a response. His jaw feels heavy and sluggish beneath the skin, the way it usually feels when he doesn't want to talk.

He cleans the cobwebs off, tightens his fingers around Bruce's shirt. Loosens it. "Incredible," he croaks, "Weird. It was— crazy. Instinctual. All I needed to do was think about it, and then not even that after I got used to it. I'd think about going up and- and I'd go up. Or down. And I'd tell myself to slow down or go faster, and- and uh, I would."

It's weird, talking about his powers to someone who isn't Sam or Tucker- or, or Jazz. Even weirder for it to be an adult. A living one, that is. And one that would just— just listen. Just like that. And ask questions with no judgement, none that Danny could pick up on anyways.

He starts drawing abstract shapes into Bruce's back with his finger, trying to think. "It was- it was so weird, and so cool. Have you ever— have you ever had one of those hyper-realistic dreams as a kid, where everything felt real? It was like that." He continues, and the tension bleeds out of him, and the grief, and the hurt, "I could go as— as high as I wanted, and since I didn't need to breathe, I didn't need to worry about choking."

Bruce keeps quiet, and it's a bit of a relief, Danny's gaining steam. "I wanted to touch the stars," he tells him, staring unfocused, "and I had this revelation one day, uh- I think the summer after my accident, that I could now. I didn't have to wait anymore. I could probably fly up and up and up, and I'd be in space." It'd been a ground-shaking revelation to him, and it'd shaken and then shattered his foundation of rules and what he could and couldn't do.

He focuses back in on the feeling of tracing the edges of Bruce's ribs, and Bruce does the same to his spine. "I- I uh, didn't. Of course. Going up- was— well— I, I'd never been that high before. I tried to, once, just to see if I could. And then I looked down, and Amity was a bunch of specks below my feet. Like an ant colony. Or a bunch pebbles." It had been amazing, and horrifying. He could see it from one end to the other, and he only knew where home was by the OPS Center on the top, sitting like a satellite.

Danny swallows the spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, "It was terrifying," he says, "I thought that if I kept going up, I'd lose Amity and never be able to find it again. I knew Earth was always rotating, I got scared that if I went up, when I went down Amity wouldn't be where I left it." He trembled the entire flight down to the ground. It'd felt like some sort of epiphany to him, or a kind of enlightenment. His mind had pushed past the borders of what it thought to be foundational, and now a bubble had popped. And he didn't like it.

"I went back down, and told myself I'd try again when I was older." And the world was less scary.

[sleepincrow]

contains: toxic behaviour, toxic!reader this was itching my brain, idk what to tell you. i like having morally ambigious reader... or idk, is it too tame? i have no idea where the line meets and ends when it comes to dark shit cus i usually stay in the other side of the line. whenever i think of dark stuff its in a comedic-ish light and everything turns fluffy in the end idfk. tell me what else i should add in the warnings 😞

edit: i made it readable, i should really start readproofing.

hear me out..

reader who doesnt do anything when their boyfriend is mean. like theyre just generally pissed off and huffing at you when youre trying to greet them with open arms and a warm smile when they come home.

reader who doesnt confront them about their horrible behavior and how it affected them. no, just stay silent, take in whatever your boyfriend had to say or do and leave him be.

ohooooh, you mightve done nothing but youre going to give them something much worse than a silent treatment.

youre not a doormat. youre not a crybaby.

i want reader to be absolutely menacing. if that man doesnt come back crawling, apologizing to you, youre gonna make him.

do you understand me? the anger, the absolute disgust that bubbles in your stomach, that claws its way up your chest like an animal looking for a fresh breath of air before it starts to hunt.

youre silent all of the sudden, giving him the driest texts known to man, leaving him on seen with texts that dont technically need a reply instead of dragging the conversation longer with a picture of a cat you saw on your way home. youre picking up more work than usual, unable to cut some time, telling him youve got things to do—things more important than having to watch some tv with him, be in bed with him.

youre clever. you know your schedule, and you know his. rearrange everything, make sure to make as much commotion in your life that doesnt include him, so when he confronts you, youre technically telling the truth when you say youre busy.

because why bother coming home early, greeting him, surprising him with dinner and a loving kiss?

then watch it all go down. technically, youre not doing anything wrong, youve got your plate full with a screenshot of your planned calendar to pair with it as sweet, sweet evidence.

youre watching him slightly deteriorate. watch him panic. he'll buy you flowers, in which you put in a vase but never take care of like before. he'll buy you jewelry you wont wear because "theyre beautiful but i like the old ones too! ill wear them on a special occassion" that wont ever come.

the frustrated, panicked look on his face is priceless. it feels so good. he cant even be mad because youre not even cheating! you have all the alibis, all the witnesses. youre perfectly happy and sweet as before! just.. not as responsive, not as present. but thats not your fault, thats your job's!

if he pays for you, slowly start paying your half of everything. shows that you are stable and everything would be perfectly fine if he went up in left. in the end, thats why he got angry with you in the first place, right? he's so okay with being angry, not telling you his problems, that he can keep it to himself, right?

he doesnt need your lap to lay his head on, not your food that you prepare for him when he comes home, not the soft touches you leave on his overworked skin and definitely not the words that you coo at him everyday before he pissed you off.

make him know what the once delicious thought of takeout tastes like once he's left to fend for himself while you go out for overtime at work! trust me, its gonna taste a hell of a lot more bland, a lot more dull. depressing, really.

dont even get me STARTED on sex. (i wont, not now)

this is all justifiable, right? after all, this is how you communicate your feelings right? this is how you can show him how you felt when he showed you a cold shoulder at your warm embrace! let him have the full experience when you felt pathetic, miserable, useless.

plus, youre not wrong, arent you? you can leave whenever you want! who is he to tell you that you cant leave? as if he owns you—is that what he thinks? is that what he thinks of you? just a not-so-significant other that he can come home to whenever he wants and project his feelings unto?

no, no youre not. youre not gonna take that bullshit. he can roll it up, pack it in a bag and beat it if thats what he's thinking. no, both of you are holding an end of a rope in this relationship. a big, thick rope which you can cut off with that large ass scissor you both have.

this is just you telling him, reminding him that you can cut it whenever you like! its not threatening, not manipulation, straight truth! you CAN leave any relationship you like! its his problem if he doesnt like it, right?

your poor little boyfriend has to get his act together! start thinking straight! unless he wants to deal with your unyielding, harsh wrath for the rest of his soon-to-be miserable life.

after all, he made the first threat to your relationship, right? its just a reminder!

[galaxy-fleur]

Thinking 'bout Leon in his 40's-50's getting his first streaks of gray hair... Need to see that badly, he'd looks so good with them! Although he strikes me as the type to have a full on crisis at the first gray hairs he sees.

He's been stuck in the bathroom for, like, 20 minutes now, so you go to check on him and catch him straight up sitting on the toilet, head in his hands like he just heard the worst news possible, his eyes clouded over... And when you anxiously try to figure out what the heck has him looking like this, he points to his gray hairs.

That's it. He's getting old. Time for the midlife crisis, it seems. It's hard not to laugh at him, but he looks so genuinely bothered you might wanna hold off on teasing for a bit.

He'll feel better if you kiss the top of his head and say he looks handsome with them though. Still a bit panicky, but better. He's a bit of a drama queen with his hair, but it's cute.

[hanafubukki]

Thinking about Baby Malleus being mad at Lilia.

Baby Malleus who has some control of his powers and uses it to find the darkest and deepest corner of the castle that’s hard to reach.

He would fit, whether it’s under a bed or in some corner of a room being covered by wardrobes or something, and he would stay there.

He’s angry at Lilia and won’t come out. Lilia is too big to reach him and his arms too short. There’s some magic at play too.

Baby Malleus would stare at him petulantly and turn away in a huff. Lilia pleading for Malleus to come out and he can’t do anything because his magic is stronger than he expected.

Lilia didn’t know what was worse.

Malleus throwing a tantrum and burning his hair or this.

Where Malleus is oddly quiet and out of reach.

[It reminds Lilia of those times when Malleus was still in his egg. When he was trying desperately to hatch him. He was just as quiet and lonely. It makes Lilia that much more desperate.]

And it’s definitely this, when he’s so far away from him. It makes his heart ache.

When Malleus calms down and he’s in Lilia’s arms once more, Lilia breaths a sigh of relief. His arms that much tighter around the little one.

He won’t loose him again.

His son.

[letmegrabyourcuteass]

Imagine they're getting intimate, exploring each other, and it's Buck's birthday. Eddie kids around, saying he had done a 'Yes' day for Christopher's birthday once. Buck perks up.

"No, you're not getting a yes day, Buck," Eddie laughs.

Buck pouts. "Then, how about giving me a yes hour? Nothing leaves this house."

Eddie hums. "Fine, what do you want, birthday boy?" He sputters when Buck plops a giant red bow on top of him and drags him into the bedroom. They strip, and Eddie doesn't know where Buck got the other red ribbon from, but he fashions it into a bow behind Eddie's back.

They're fifteen minutes into Eddie sitting on Buck's face wanting to sob when he lifts himself off cause he swears he feels like he's suffocating the man under there. It's the first time he's ever done this or even considered wanting to be done to him. The following few words he won't admit now turn him on like hell.

"Sit back down," Buck demands, fingertips bruising on Eddie's thigh.

"Buck," he whimpers.

"Sit."

[thief-of-eggs]

Thinking about an omegaverse radioapple au (still with asexual Alastor) where Alastor is always on suppressants- he hasn’t had a heat in ages (and when he does, they’re never the most pleasant, seeing as he’d rather die than take a lover to bed, even if it would ease the pain)

But having all the new inhabitants in the hotel messes with things, and then he misses a dose of his suppressants and before he knows it- he can feel a heat coming on.

Lucifer can scent it on him, no matter how much the demon tries to hide it. He picks up the particular sweetness of it one night, after Alastor had been missing all day, and with concern growing in his gut- he follows it.

He follows the scent until he’s at Alastor’s bedroom, and he knows he shouldn’t enter- they’ve been together for a little while, but their relationship is still shaky, and if Alastor chose to go to his own bedroom instead of the one they share, then he must have wanted pace- and Lucifer is just about to turn away, until he hears a pained moan, and he can’t help himself.

He pushes inside, finding Alastor laying in a ball in the corner of his room, curled up in a mound of blankets and pillows, shirts of Lucifer’s in his little nest, little pieces of his favorite person scattered around him- and he looks terrible.

His ears are flat on his head, his whole body is trembling and covered in sweat. He doesn’t even notice Lucifer come in, not until the angel is standing before him-

“Leave,” he spits, even as Lucifer’s calming scent washes over him. His whole body aches, every muscle screaming.

Lucifer pauses, his heart aching to see Alastor so pained. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

And Alastor is about to tell him to go fuck himself, when Lucifer suddenly sinks to his knees, reaching out to brush the hair from Alastor’s face- and the contact eases a bit of the fire in his skin, soothes a bit of the raging in his gut.

He doesn’t push him away. Instead, despite himself, he leans his cheek into Lucifer’s palm. Closing his eyes as he breathes in the familiar scent of his alpha.

He hates everything about the position he’s in. Hates how vulnerable, how exposed, how utterly pathetic he is. But the longer Lucifer stays beside him, his scent filling Alastor’s lungs- the more he finds he cannot bear to drive Lucifer out.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t express what he needs, doesn’t communicate his wants. He just grabs Lucifer’s wrist and pulls him closer, tugging the blonde into his little nest, where he promptly curls up in his arms.

It’s more contact than he usually allows, but for once, his skin is not prickling every place they meet. Instead, his body feels warm from Lucifer’s touch, a pleasant glow filling his whole being.

Perhaps this is how touch often feels for everyone else.

Lucifer stays with him then, until the worst of his heat is over. Fully clothed, they lay in eachother’s embrace, Alastor allowing Lucifer to scent him, allowing him to card his fingers through his hair, allowing him to run his hand up and down his back.

It’s awful. It’s humiliating.

And it’s also the first time one of his heats has ever been bearable.

(edit: i made this a fic!!! read it here!)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Consider: depressed necromancers forced to go on mental health walks by their creations

"Get up, go outside."

It was like being ordered around by a chill running down his spine. He gave a blind, swatting wave into the space around him. "Piss off."

"Ha! You sure must be regretting studying resurrections instead of banishments, hm?" the ghostly voice echoed at the edge of his hearing. "I have aaall the time in the world."

It was absolutely killing him that turning off his hearing aids didn't work against ghosts. He opened his eyes, staring blankly up at the by now familiar shape floating above him. The look in the spectral eyes was infuriatingly soft.

"Come on. One little walk. And I won't give you any grief about your meal choices tonight."

"It's still light out," he gritted, too tired to even raise his voice. "And you can't make me."

The shining eyes narrowed. "Not yet I can't, but I'll learn. And I bet I'll be able to start chucking bottles of vitamin D at your head long before I'm strong enough to move your sorry ass."

"I did you a favour, you wanted this. And this is the thanks I get?"

Somehow the chill turned warm for a second while the ghost smiled with his whole face. "Yeah. I'm paying it forward."

He pulled the couch pillow over his head. "Go haunt somewhere else."

"Or, you could leave and go for a-"

"Fine, I'll go for a damn walk."

The ghostly laughter followed him all the way to the door and for a second it felt like the grey sludge gave way—

He paused with his hand on the key in the lock. "...are you coming or what?"