#just a quick drabble

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes

Yandere!Aventurine who pampers and dotes on you like no other. All of your outfits ooze luxury, matching his color palette and aesthetic to a T. Whenever he takes you on extravagant shopping trips, he always returns home with at least five bags hanging off his arms, insisting on carrying them for you. If he makes reservations for dinner, best believe there will be the most showstopping, mouthwatering foods you have ever seen, smelled, or tasted. He'll take care of it all.

Yandere!Aventurine who likes taking you to casinos, even if you don't particularly care for gambling. He'll have you sit next to him as he plays poker, flashing you a mischievous smile as he goes all in. Of course, he wins.

Yandere!Aventurine who tells you his past in hushed conversations at night, memories merely whispered between trembling lips. His hands reach for yours, grasping them like if he lets go, he'll fall into a dark, unescapable abyss.

Yandere!Aventurine who needs you like a fish needs water or a bird needs to fly. He says nonchalantly with a casual smirk that you're his "good luck charm", but you are so much more than that to him. You soothe the scars in his heart and blanket his sleep in sweet dreams. All this superficial glamor and wealth he flaunts don't even hold a candle to your value.

Yandere!Aventurine who can't stand the idea of you leaving. He'll clutch you tightly at night and keep an eye on you in the day, making sure you're safe and protected. He'll buy you anything, give you whatever you ask for. The one thing he isn't willing to give you is your freedom. After all, he'll take care of it all.

[bubbless-s]

➳ ♡︎ How deep is your love? ׂׂૢ

Context: ‘The type of boyfriend..’ with Jiyan.

Masterlist

- ʚɞ genre: fluff

- ʚɞ warnings: none

• The type of boyfriend to always get you flowers and go on a date with you when he isn’t busy.

• The type of boyfriend to notice the smallest details about you.

• The type of boyfriend who will pick you up to kiss you.

• The type of boyfriend who will let you play or mess up his hair and even let you style his hair into ridiculous hairstyles.

• The type of boyfriend who gets calmer and calmer when you touch him.

• The type of boyfriend to get easily flustered if you give him cheesy nicknames.

• The type of boyfriend who will admire you from afar.

• The type of boyfriend to let you sit on his back while he does push-ups.

• The type of boyfriend who spoils you everyday and every night,because he feels bad that he gets super busy.

• The type of boyfriend who would let you kiss his tacet mark.

• The type of boyfriend to give you surprises kisses.

• The type of boyfriend to listen to everything you say, even tho your info dumping about your interests and he doesn’t understand anything.

• The type of boyfriend to never get mad at you.

• The type of boyfriend who will love you forever.

[pauking5]

Song of the Sea

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: Changing the register for a short drabble of my favorite mosshead. This just came to me as I was listening to hymn to the sea and I couldn't hold back from writing something. I've been planning my first entry for Zoro for a while now but this one just felt right. This won't be the last one and that's all I'm gonna say for now ;)

A joyous sea shanty echoed around the ship, from the galley to the prow and the deck above. The seasonal employed bard played his flute on a rhythm of his own, just about managing to drown out the sailors singing out of tune with their rigid voices.

The dirty beer bottle in your hand was half empty, the brown liquid swirling around in the hard green glass moving in a swirl with the gentle waves that rocked the ship. The late afternoon sun, warm and brighter than its been all day, coloured the sky in orange pastels, one reflection brighter than the other as another day was slowly coming to meet its end.

You and your rented crew just finished a long quest for a chest of pearls belonging to an old maiden that ruled a part of the southern seas. You found the pearls and the dusted skeleton of the maiden hugging it tight to her bosom. She didn't put much of a fight now, but the sword left at her side told you her previous visitors weren't as lucky as you. The sailors, though atrociously bad at singing, helped you sail and retrieve the chest. All done in exchange for a part of the winnings and a round of booze barrels they already sifted through. They were a comforting enough company, even though they were really loud and liked cauaing ruckus unprovoked most of the time. But you were glad that for one peaceful moment they were filling in the quiet of the late afternoon.

"They say there's a green light at the end of sunset," spoke a voice from your right. Unknown, not one that your ears recognized, you turned to its owner with a wary hand on the hilt of your sword.

You came face to face with a pair of round brown eyes, deeper than the shade of your liquor, and mossy green hair, making their way to your side. His hand grabbed the edge of the railing, leaning forward, looking out in the direction of the sun that was now halfway down to the horizon line.

Your senses must've been dulled by the booze, not at all troubled that a stranger you haven't seen before found his way on your boat. Well, rented boat. But for some reason his presence didn't perk your defense up at all. Not even a little bit. So you let go of your sword and leaned back on the wooden edge, directing your attention to his words.

"That's a myth."

Doubt coated your tongue for good reason. You've heard of countless stories surrounding the famous green light, from sailors lost at sea finding their way back home or spirits from the world beyond coming to the surface to wickedly haunt their murderes, but none of them made any sense.

"There's a little truth in every legend," he pushed.

"And what's the truth in this one?" you ask, eyes moving from the mast to lay on him only to find him already looking right at you.

"I guess you'll just have to trust me."

You chuckled in disbelief.

This random, annoyingly beautiful, man just showed up out of thin air on your ship, trying to convince you to seek creed in a myth that was never proven true. He was asking you to believe in a fable. Hearsay. You've been at sea for most of your life and you have never seen the supposed green light.

"The green light is a mirage," you argued. "It's not real. If it was real, you wouldn't hear about it from drunken sailors," you add, taking a long swig of your beer to chase down the odd feeling crawling up your nape that there was some little truth in his words.

His deep brown eyes gave you a long look, as if aware of the fact that you gave his words another thought despite your earlier conviction that he was talking of ghosts.

"Are you one of them?"

"No..." you say. But you broke into a giggle as you pointed at your bottle. "Not a regular one anyway."

He chuckled at your reply, smile stretching wide like a tide, eyes turning into crescents of daylight.

"Then wait for it and see for yourself," he says, smiling at you.

In that moment, between a wave hitting the lower deck and your eyes landing on him again, you swore you could see the tiniest speck of a weird light reflecting in his eyes, slowly moving to illuminate the rest of his face. That same light entered your peripheral vision, making you turn back to the horizon. A gasp burst from your throat, fingers tightening on your bottle to not drop it.

There it is.

Shining brightly with the middle body of the sun sunken below sea, shimmering in specks of a lively green, dancing across the skyline.

I'll be damned.

The green light is real.

He spoke the truth.

A shaky hand made its way to your mouth to cover the new gasp of surprise that left you. Goosebumps raised on your arms as you watched the rare phenomenon happen right before your very own eyes with the man on your right. The crew was too far gone to notice either the fable before you or the very invisble, noticeable only to your eyes. As if he himself was a figment ripped from a tale dedicated to non-believers.

"Maybe the sea sings back to us," he says. "All we need to do is just listen closely and hear her call."

You let your eyes linger on the green light a moment more, then spun around to say something only to find the mystery green-haired man all but gone.

Like he was never here.

Stumbling over your legs that suddenly weighed heavier than lead, you walked to each member of the crew and shook them sober, desperately asking about the green-haired man's whereabouts. If anyone else saw him and you didn't just imagine him from all but two gulpd of cheap beer. But all you got in response were confused stares and whispers that you were indeed seeing things.

"There's no green-haired man on this ship," said the bard. He was the only person that wasn't heavily intoxicated at the moment. He's been with the crew the longest and knew each one by mother and middle name.

There was no record of a green-haired man in the crew, or any man that might have matched his description. The man was a ghost.

Frantic and bewildered, heart thundering louder than the glassy thud your bottle made hitting the almost dull disposal barrel, you ran and searched the kitchen, the sleeping quarters and the gallows below. You turned each makeshift bedding hanging from the ceiling, rearranged the gunpowder crated, flipped the cannons inside out. Breathing lost, caving under your rapid search, you stopped and glanced into the darkness swallowing the last of the light shining through the cannon room.

You found absolutely nothing that could belong to the mysterious man. There was no trace of him anywhere on the ship.

Like he was never here.

You ran back to the deck, returning to your earlier spot to see the remaining rays of green drowned in the grey dusk of the clouds.

There was no way you could tell if both the green light and the man were real or a concoction of the beer you were drinking. Not like you drank a lot or couldn't handle it to lose your mind so fast.

But there was one thing you were sure of. They felt real. Way more real than that chest of pearls.

And you would wait tomorrow, the day after that and so on until you would see both of them again. Even if you had to sail to the end of the world and back. You would listen to the sea speak through its current until you found the right frequency.

Until it would sing back to you of the green light and the green-haired man.

Thank you for reading :)

[adelha-mathilde]

Stealing a Good Dragon (Obey Me!) fanfic

Lucifer watched as his hostess moved about her greenhouse. His eyes fixated on the Fae woman as she watered her flowers and plants. Adelha was a sight to behold. Hair like silken moonlight that cascaded down her shoulders in silver waves of elegance. A face of sculpted porcelain with eyes the color of the sea during a winter storm. Her long green dress from a long ago Renaissance era. Which was all the more captivating to Lucifer. Watching as this dragon slash vampire maiden gently hummed to her flora.

It felt like Lucifer was part of a fairy tale moment. So he decided to indulge himself a little. Walking silently to soon stand behind the lady and hug her close with a chuckle. The lady gives a hum of amusement for Lucifer to lean in and whisper against her ear, "Lady Margaret Joanna Adelha Mathilde. You seem to be all alone this fine evening. Pray tell, where might your little ones be?" Adelha sighed to set the watering can down. Her words hinting at sadness. "Off to Germany for a visit with my cousins. At least the energetic puppies are gone. Aqua wanted nothing to do with travel or me. So she is currently hiding away in one of my kitchen cabinets. So I'm currently lacking in company."

Lucifer gave a sigh all his own to bring his lips to Adelha's neck and trace a breath against her pulse. Making her shiver in his hold as he spoke. "That sounds like a sinful waste of a perfect evening. Especially when I am finally free of work to indulge in more personal delights. Margaret. My sublime beauty. Would you do me the honor of joining me for a night at the opera?"

Adelha gives a hum of pure delight before she turns so Lucifer might kiss her proper. The taste of honey and tea apparent as Lucifer nipped Adelha's lower lip at the end of the kiss. Soon placing his lips to hers once more and hold her tight. Making the dragon give a low rumbled purr like a tigress. So he took that as consent to end their kissing and smile down at the Fae lady. "Excellent. I am glad you are free to join me for the evening. Mind you. Satan and Asmodeus will collect Aqua to give her some much needed pampering. So we may take all night and all tomorrow morning if we wish it. So. Shall we?"

The lady chuckled to let the Avatar of Pride lead her out of the greenhouse and onto the patio. His wings unfolding to just outright sweep Adelha up and into the air with him. Making her grin in pure elation as he flew them towards the opera house and towards a night of revelry.

[cherryywrites]

happy lny ficlet

Dexter walks into his laboratory, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and finds himself face-to-face with a hot pink tiger.

He freezes in his tracks.

The tiger stares him down with an air of nonchalance, perched atop his keyboard as if it owns the place. Meanwhile, a continuous stream of  'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA' is scrolling rapidly across the monitor behind it, echoing the internal scream that Dexter's struggling to suppress.

Then the predator gives a great big yawn, displaying a very large, very sharp set of teeth.

"Heh heh...nice...kitty..." Dexter coos. He starts backing away, being very careful not to spill his coffee, even though his hand is starting to tremble.

Its large, glassy eyes blink slowly at him, ear twitching. Dexter gulps. In the back of his mind, much like the ceaseless stream of vowels rolling across his monitor, his brilliant brain helpfully supplies him with a barrage of tiger facts, narrated by a suspiciously Attenborough-esque voiceover. Tigers have been observed pouncing at speeds of up to 10 to 15 meters per second in short bursts. A tiger's bite force ranges from about 500 to 1000 pounds per square inch. This is strong enough to crush the skulls and bones of their prey in a matter of seconds...

"HI DEXTER!" DeeDee shouts from behind him. Dexter jumps, and coffee splashes out of his mug and right onto his lab coat. The hot liquid spills all over the floor.

"DEEDEE, RUN!" He shrieks, but his panic is soon dispersed when DeeDee starts laughing at him.

"Awwww, did Princess Floofy scare you?" DeeDee walks on over to the tiger, neatly stepping around the remnants of Dexter's morning breakfast. To his utter horror, she reaches up to the tiger's jaw and starts giving it scritches on the chin.

"Who's a good girl? Yes you are, yes you are-" The tiger closes its eyes and a deep, rumbling purr emits from its throat as DeeDee continues her ministrations.

"DeeDee, stop that." Dexter says, recovering himself. "That's a dangerous predator, not a housecat!"

"Actually, housecats are dangerous predators as well." A familiar nasally voice interrupts him. "Well, to the wrong people, of course."

Turning around, he realizes that behind him is none other than Mandark, who is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose smugly. (The glasses immediately fall back down afterwards, though, which diminishes the evil genius effect quite soundly). He's wearing his all-red cape today rather than his black and red one, but the rest of his dorky outfit is the same.

"Mandark!! What are you doing here?!" Dexter scowls, brandishing his nearly-empty mug of coffee at him. A little bit spills out from the top, which Mandark eyes warily.

"I came by to borrow your BioGenesis Engine for a bit."

"Why?!"

"So I could give you your New Year's present." Mandark replies.

"New Year's was a month and 10 days ago."

"The solar one, yes. But not the lunar new year." Mandark grins. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"It will be a happy new year when you get this fuchsia feline out of my laboratory! Why on earth would you think I'd ever want this? I'm a DOG person -"

Mandark snickers.

"-you'd better get this wretched cat out of my lab right now, or I'm gonna lose it!"

Mandark holds up a hand. "To clarify, my dear Dexter, the tiger is not your present."

"...It's not?" Dexter asks, a little dumbfounded.

His rival shakes his head. "Of course not. The tiger isn't your zodiac animal."

"Oh," Dexter frowns. "Wait...It's not DeeDee's either."

"...Yeah, but she didn't like the ox." Mandark shrugs. 

"They're not as cute!" DeeDee says. 

"Speaking of which, I have some good news and bad news..." Mandark gives a sheepish grin. "Which do you want first?" 

Oh no. "What did you do?"

"So the bad news is, the ox broke your BioGenesis Engine during its rampage." Mandark says. "Bit of a bull in a China Shop situation." 

"For Einstein's sake..." Dexter pinches the bridge of his nose. "And the good news?"

"The good news is, before it broke it, I managed to make both of our zodiac animals!" Mandark beams, taking Dexter by the shoulders and spinning him round. "See?"

Across the room is crimson red goat with burnished gold horns that narrows its eyes at him. It gives a low, menacing bleat and paws the ground with its hoof. It looks like it's ready to charge. 

Dread sinks into the pit of Dexter's coffee-less stomach. 

"Mandark..." He says slowly. "...Remind me what your zodiac animal is again?"

He's answered by a loud, guttural roar from the back of his laboratory. 

[seumyo]

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?” He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

-

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

-

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

-

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

unashamed

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, tit play, protected (woo!) sex, mentions of semi public sex

you flop down on the sunbed next to rafe, propping your head on your hand as you stare at him. 

you start at his chest before dropping lower to the swimsuit that's tantalizingly low on his hips. it's a chore to drag your eyes away, up to his face.

you admire his cheekbones first, slightly shining in the bright sun before you move to his lips, pink and pouty, the bottom one just waiting to be kissed.

you follow the slope of his nose up to where sunglasses cover his eyes, reflecting the gentle lapping of the water.

“you know im not asleep under these shades right?” rafe says.

“oh, ive grown long past being ashamed of admiring you.” you giggle, sitting up in your lounge chair, pressing your breasts together with your arms, knowing it'll entice rafe away from his relaxation. 

“don't you think you need to get out of the sun for a bit? you're looking hot.” 

“you drive me crazy.” rafe removes his sunglasses and tossed them to the sand, a smirk stretching across his face.

“come on.” he stands up swiftly, like he can't wait a moment longer, extending his hand down to yours, which you eagerly take.

rafe practically pulls you inside and up to his bedroom, your bodies immediately melding into one the moment the door locks shut.

“i want you so bad.” you whimper against rafes lip, not giving him time to respond as you kiss and suck at his bottom lip, running your tongue across it, desperate to taste more of him.

“yeah, baby.” rafe chuckles, pushing your hips back, forcing you away from him. “you make it real obvious.”

you just smile as you lie back on the bed. none of rafes quips affect you anymore, and the combination of the perfect weather outside and rafe climbing onto the bed on top of you makes a smile stretch to your cheeks. nothing could ruin this moment.

rafe kisses your lips, but pulls away before you can deepen it, mouth coming to your neck, gliding down your chest to the swell of your breast.

you know rafe likes to do it himself, but you have no patience, arching your back and pulling the ties of your swimsuit apart so the cups fall away from your chest.

rafe tsks, his displeasure only evident for a second as he mouth latches around your nipple.

you let out a moan, hands coming to his hair, needing the physical connection to him as he tongues and plays with your chest before switching to the other nipple, long strokes of his tongue coaxing it to peak hardness.

rafe moves back up to your lips, letting you kiss him and hold his face as he rearranges your body so his hips can slot in-between yours.

you instantly begin to grind against him, feeling the hard length concealed beneath his swimsuit bottoms.

“just insatiable.” rafe laughs, moving away from you only for a moment to grab a condom from where a whole pack is thrown on the nightstand, ready to use. 

you loosen your legs around rafes hips, allowing him to tug down his swimsuits, cock rising to stand tall and ready. he slips the condom out of the foil and wraps it down his length while you undo the ties on your bikini bottoms to get them off too.

“after this…” rafe trails off, losing his train of thought as you wrap your legs around his hips and tug him closer again, no clothing interrupting your grinding this time.

“after this what?” you giggle when rafe gives you a look, one that's slightly sheepish and won't admit that he completely forgot where he was going with the sentence.

“hm?” you goad him on as the head of his cock rubs between your thighs, teasing at your clit before running over it as well.

“boat.” rafe finally says. “we should go out on the boat.”

“you just wanna see me in a bikini for longer.” you laugh, the noise making rafes eyes shine in admiration. he never thought he'd like a sound so much until he heard your laugh.

“yes.” rafe nods, and as he sees you open your mouth for another quip back, he sinks his cock into you. “ive grown past being ashamed of admiring you.”

you let out a moan, head falling back against the pillows as he echoes your words from earlier back to you.

rafe wastes no time in building up a fast rhythm. despite the little foreplay, you're both desperate for each other. your bodies calling out constantly for the others touch.

you let rafe continue thrusting into you until you can't help it any longer, wanting to show him pleasure back, so you put all your weight and strength into flipping over so you're on top, his cock not leaving you the entire time.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe grunts out, his hands coming to cup your tits as you begin to bounce on his cock, hips swirling and pumping as fast as your legs will allow.

“im- shit.” rafe tries to grab at your hips, to hold you tight and get you to slow down, but you overpower him, wanting to make him cum now.

“come on, baby.” you moan out. “give it to me, i want it.”

rafe gives up on trying to last, pumping his hips up into you as he lets out a moan, your name tumbling out of his lips as he cums.

you bend forward, hips gyrating slowly as he works through his orgasm. your chests press together as you watch rafes face, his mouth ajar and wet from kisses, his blue eyes glazed over in pleasure.

you can tell in his expression when he snaps back to reality.

“fuck.” he chuckles as you climb off, running his hands through his hair as he blinks rapidly, before looking for you.

“wait-” rafe grabs your wrist, trying to stop you from getting your swimsuit back on.

“hm?” you ask, shaking his loose grip off to continue tying the strings back together.

“what about you?” 

you just smile and toss rafes swim trunks at him. “you can finish me off on the boat.”

you've never seen rafe move faster.

[hanafubukki]

Thinking about Malleus who has a lawyer or a politician for His Queen.

You have experience with law. You are well read when it comes to breaking apart passages of rules and regulations. But most importantly, you know how to deal with people and you know how to debate.

Malleus is the least temperamental Draconia, but that was fine. When you got ate determined and fierce, it was as if you were part of the Draconia bloodline and not Malleus from the way you held yourself and the fire in your eyes even with the lack of horns. (Sometimes, with the way you regarded some of the Senate or council, the implied, unspoken “fools/imbeciles” was clearly expressed through your body language alone.)

You had the ability to charm people and perceive what they want which helps you as a fellow ruler with Malleus. This is what led to more of the fae accepting you. You would know when someone would try to passively insult you and you would return it back at them. Malleus and Lilia especially enjoyed watching this.

You didn’t reform the kingdom in your lifetime, no, there’s only so much you can do after all. But, you expanded the foundations that were placed through the centuries.

Through your connections, the kingdom was able thrive and usher in change. It was at dial-up speed at times but change came forth nonetheless.

Briar Valley gradually opened to others, but it took time and effort. After all, the scars of the past was deeply ingrained in its’ soil.

You would go down in history as the one who brought change to the country. Not a dragon by blood or traits, but one by determination and ferocity.

[onlyymir]

katsuki knew he fucked up.

Shouldn't have talked to you on the first day of your first anniversary opening an agency, shouldn't have looked at you. Whenever you ask him out to go to the new cafe, he quickly agrees without even thinking. You are the only one in his mind.

Spacing out looking at your gorgeous face laughing, he felt his heart beating so fast. He hated it. He hates the way you always call his name gently. He doesn't know how to control these feelings. He hates everything about you.

He couldn't believe himself when is the last time he piled up all his emotions. The fact that you confessed to him one day made his whole life stop. Your blushy face, your cute lips and those eyes. He can't stop staring at it. "I fuckin like you too dumbass. " He was hooked.

Now here he is, walking you down the aisle. Long white carpet for the wedding. "Katsuki Bakugou do you take y/n as your wife?" the father said.

"I do." katsuki remembered back when he was still a toddler saying that he won't ever cry at his wedding mocking his dad. well that went wrong. That was the very first moment you've seen katsuki cry.

katsuki realised that he actually hadn't fucked up anything.

[ilium-ilia]

He always says that—someday—he’ll get you without the cameras. 

It’s a vow he whispers to you between gritted teeth one day on set when he’s got your legs tossed over his shoulders. Your feet play peek-a-boo behind Kyle’s head, wiggling with each thrust he makes deep into your cunt, relentlessly forcing himself inside as the crew records the debauched imagery, burning it into film for it to be viewed by thousands of strangers online. 

But Kyle likes it better this way—up close. Having you all to himself; almost. Every millimeter that your lip parts, the very creasing of your brows as he pushes deeper and deeper, the unobstructed symphony of your moans falling across his ears, soaking into his psyche, burning, burrowing, growing. Shockwaves ripple throughout your body, forcing your hands to grip his shoulders, holding on lest you deliquesce into the bed. 

That’s exactly what he wants—for you to melt beneath his touch. For you to let go of the synthetic lights in your face and the pounds of makeup smudged on your cheeks—for you to stop the nervous glances in the corner of your eyes as you follow prying footsteps and a bored crew as they twiddle their thumbs and scroll on their phones. 

“Gaz…” Your voice breaks in a gasp, a pathetic moan separated by the sharp thrusts of his hips against yours, breath stolen away before it could properly expel. 

But this isn’t his real name. Just the facade he wears for the videos. For the fans. For everyone. 

Everyone but you. 

“That’s it, doll,” he croons, hips rolling, tenebrous eyes boring through you like a stake. 

He witnesses you—eyes unblinking—but you’re not looking at him. No, you’re staring just over his shoulder. In the distance. Eyes caught up in the lens as you make faces—forced faces, something for show, something that’s fake, faux, disgusting. It’s not real. All a performance. So caught up in your own head and thoughts that he no longer feels the fluttering of your cunt as strongly as it was just a moment before. Distracted. Severed. 

“Hey-” 

His voice is strong, but not sharp. Firm fingers dig into either side of your jaw as Kyle forces your head to turn, for your eyes to focus on what’s important—him. Your pleasure. Not the hulking camera behind his toned shoulders, but the way his cock bullies deep into you, each kiss of skin against skin the backtrack to the melody of your gasps. 

“Did you hear me, doll?” he whispers. You see the way his grin pulls at his lips, ever soft like velvet against your neck. “I’m gonna get you without these cameras someday. I promise you.” 

Then—it snaps. Fractures. Uncoils so deliciously, licking down the back of your legs and through your core until your stomach and cunt are both left fluttering. This time when your eyes leave him, it’s not to focus on some malevolent camera, but to roll into the back of your head with shaky legs and nails digging into his deltoids. Head falling into the side of your neck, he smothers his grin and mirth into your skin. He lets it bleed. Lets it fester. 

“There we go, just like that, doll. Just like that,” he murmurs. 

As the roll of his hips slow, allowing you to ride your orgasm out without burning your synapses too much for the next round, he repeats his mantra. This promise to himself. This oath to you. This will fade. There will be no microphones, or equipment—just you, him, and the melding of your skin. 

One day, anyway.

[storiesoflilies]

t.w: mentions of violence. if a gifted artist would like to bless us all with fanart inspired by this drabble, just know you will have saved my life.

thinking about knight!toji fushiguro who has gone completely rogue. he does not care for oaths or honor or justice, not anymore. he takes whatever he wants from whoever has it, with determined grit and merciless steel. who wears armor blacker than the night and rides atop a midnight stallion, its hooves striking the ground like thunder so you knew who was coming for you.

he was a god, a herald of death.

so they say.

but here you are, in his clutches atop his steed, and oh, how you believe everything you’ve ever heard about him.

“so pliant for me,” he hummed, his hand around your throat, bringing the back of your head to rest against his chest. “what a sweet little thing you are.”

you knew better than to try and fight him.

his lips ghosted over your neck, the tip of a fang lightly grazing your skin, and you felt his chest rumble. you shivered, even though his cloak was warm against your shoulders. it sounded like he was pleased, and his strong grip around you tightened. you couldn’t help but glance down at the ground, at the trampled bodies of the men who had tried to corner you, and toji tutted softly. his calloused fingers tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze away from the sight, arching your back against him. his green eyes peered into your very soul, and you had never felt more alive.

“sorry for all that,” he breathed out, chuckling, and you knew he wasn’t sorry at all. “i tend to get carried away.”

you don’t know why you said it, but you did. “it’s okay.”

toji barked out a laugh, burying his face into your neck, messy strands of his hair tickling you. his thighs pressed into yours, like he was trying to meld himself into you. his horse snorted loudly beneath you, impatient, its powerful muscles rippling.

“yes,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “i think i’ll just have to take you with me, keep you safe.”

and with that, toji sharply spurred his stallion onward, and the both of you disappeared into the shadows of the night.

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes

Yandere!Wriothesley who meets you after you get sentenced to Meropide for some obscure rule engrained in the footnotes of Fontaine's lawbooks. The only conversation you share with him in your first few weeks at Meropide is a brief chat over food at Coupon Cafeteria. Despite his seemingly aloof personality and gruff exterior, his overcast-grey eyes shine with brief moments of sunlight. You've intrigued him.

Over your stay at Meropide, you find yourself chatting with Wriothesley more and more. Whether it be after finishing a shift in the Production Zone, sitting down for a meal, or walking back to the dormitories, you keep finding yourself running into him. Whenever he sees you, there's a brief moment of levity in his expression, his eyes piercing into you with their gaze.

Before long, your sentence is almost up. Your bags are packed, good-byes to new friends have been said, and promises to write have been made.

Then you get asked to report to the Duke's office.

Your heart is pounding as you're escorted in. Wriothesley is behind the desk, arms and legs crossed, an impassive expression blanketing his face before he notices you. He gestures for you to sit down, clearing his throat after the silence in the air starts to stagnate. "Care for some tea?"

You shake your head, confused as to what this is about. "No thank you, Your Grace," you respond politely.

After a sip of tea, Wriothesley waves his hand. "Don't call me by that title. Wriothesley is fine,"

You nod, and he seems pleased. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you to come here today," he starts, interlacing his fingers and fixing his gaze onto you. Another nod from you, your eyebrows knit and face filled with confusion this time. "Well, I'm sorry to say that your sentence is being extended."

There is a quiet that rings in your ears like tinnitus after this statement is said, before words spill from your mouth. "Wh-wha...I...h-how?" You ask, truly dumbfounded.

Wriothesley crosses his arms again, tilting his head. "Destruction of the prison's property is a punishable offense. When guards went to check your room today as part of your release, they found multiple items, damaged. So, your sentence is being extended for the next six months."

When you open your mouth to protest, knowing it couldn't have been you, Wriothesley is quick to interrupt you. "Furthermore, in addition to your sentence being extended, I'll be personally monitoring your actions to ensure another...mishap like this doesn't occur."

You feel tears threatening to peak out of the corners of your eyes, shaky breaths escaping your lips. Everything that you've worked for above the surface, your job, your home, your friends and family, all of them are slipping away like sand in your hands.

Wriothesley sees this disconsolate expression, and his stern eyes soften. "I know how difficult this must be," he says, sliding a grey handkerchief across his desk, allowing you several moments to compose yourself. "I wish I didn't have punish you for this. I don't believe you'd do something like this, but it seems impossible for anyone else to have done it," he explains, sighing.

Another silent moment passes, before Wriothesley continues speaking. "A guard will escort your to your new room assignment. I'll come visit you after you've settled in. You may leave."

After the door is shut and Wriothesley is alone in his office, the corners of his lips quirk up. You had no idea. No idea how he was instantly hypnotized by you. No idea how he knew your schedule inside and out. No idea how much he wanted to love you, and how much he wanted you to love him.

This was only a necessary step. After he had ripped you from your roots and transplanted you into a better pot, once you had shed away the life you lived on the surface and embraced his love and affection, it would all be better. He would make sure of it.

[stellamarielu]

can’t stop thinking about charlie reid saying “give in, it’ll feel good” so i had to do something about it….

smut ahead mdni!!

“You gonna come already? That’s pathetic.” Charlie’s voice spits out from his position standing between your legs.

He has you sitting on the edge of his desk with two fingers pushed into you, working you open through slow steady strokes.

You were alone in his office. Staying later than usual, with the intent of having Charlie sign some documents, but you both knew where you’d end up.

Ass on his desk, skirt bunched at your waist, with the rasp of his sinful words melting against your ear.

“Oh c’mon sugar, I know you wanna let go.”

His words coax you closer toward release, but you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d only just pushed his fingers into you.

“Can feel the way you’re squeezin’, so desperate.” He keeps murmuring above you, ignoring your stubborn attempt to disobey his orders.

“Just give in.” He leans down, his breath fanning across your face, and his fingers sliding in and out of you with a gentle bend.

“It’ll feel good.”

He braces a hand on the back of your neck, holding you firm, and looking down to watch his hands disappearing between your legs.

“I’ll give you another, don’t worry.”

He says it like he’s being generous; like he’s not going to make you come so many times your trembling and pleading with him to stop, overstimulating you like it’s some sort of punishment. Twisting your pleasure into exhaustion, making you walk a fine line between complete bliss and utter ruin.

That’s why you hold back. Choosing not to give in to the first wave of release that threatens to wash over you, because you know what’s ahead of you.

You know Charlie will use every last inch of you for his own pleasure, making you cry out and beg for him in a voice you don’t even recognize.

But with the way his fingers stop plunging into you, coming to a halt deep inside, pushed in to the knuckle and curling repeatedly, you have no choice but to give in.

You clutch at his forearms, his back— anything to help stabilize you while your body tenses, trying to hold back the needy whimpers forming on your lips.

“Atta girl.”

His voice is far from gentle as he keeps his digits buried in you. Fingertips continuing to rub that same spot deep inside, with no sign of stopping.

[eyesforfuma]

thinking about self absorbed K who enjoys watching himself in the mirror while he fucks a bit more than fucking you sometimes

while he does enjoy fucking you (why wouldn't he? you are his little precious pleasure toy) he just loves to fuck you on all fours right in front of the mirror, making sure he has a clear view of both your pretty face and his, he loves when you moan his name and praise him on how good he is at filling you up

"why don’t you tell me how much you enjoy how I fuck you, huh? say it, use your words, tell K how much you love it when i pound into you and fill you up" he says as he pushes his hair back with his hand, never taking his eyes off the mirror

he would groan when you call him handsome or pretty and he uses that as a motivation to pound you even faster and rougher, becoming sloppy and messy which is not usual for him but something about the words "you look so handsome while you make me yours" coming out of your sweet mouth makes him dizzy

he knows how good he looks, he loves watching his muscles flex and even takes pictures sometimes of how good you both look, all sweaty from hours of pleasure

"come here" he would say as he gently pulls you by your hair, pulling you close to him, pressing his chest against your back while he is still inside of you, one arm holds you tightly while his other hand cups your cheeks forcing you to look straight into the mirror "don't you think you look pretty being used like this? flushy cheeks, can't even hold yourself together, mumbling nonsense, coming all over my cock over and over again, being so good for K" while he whispers that into your ear you know he is not even looking at you, both your eyes and his are always focused on his face, on his pretty lips saying all those nasty things and his veiny arms that hold you in place

[wonuwonder]

“baby where did you put my headphones?” wonwoo asks, his head popping through the kitchen door.

“did you just call me baby?” you say cutely, and wonwoo blushes instantly, you’ve been officially dating for two weeks, so terms of endearment were still something new, but always lovely to hear.

“i might’ve” he says shyly, squinting his nose and eyes. you go over to where he’s standing and hug him by the tummy, looking up at him propping your chin on his chest, he hugs you back by the shoulders, you tiptoe and give him a quick kiss.

“i like it” you say, and he smiles, “i like it too” he says back and hugs you tightly.

[thatrandomlittlegirl]

When you type Gaster's name into the game, the game shuts down and resets.

What would happen when you type his name elsewhere...?