#ripped pages // drabble

[lastborne]

Tell me about if/when Maheen learns what happened to Alloran, how she reacts. What does she do about the hive mind?

Headcanon - @crookedtouch - Spoilers for the end of Act 3.

Magic infuses the land of Faerûn, people who were once dead can be brought back to life, and if not wholly, than as a ghoul or skeleton. Telepathically able to send messages with Sending. Because of that, the fabled 'twinepathy' of our world exists in theirs.

That being said, she absolutely knew something was going on with him when he started to block that bond. She had tried to warn their parents, their siblings. But everyone claimed it was just a part of growing up. She knew different, knew something was wrong when the bond went completely silent before coming back fuzzy. She could no longer tell where he was in the vague sense she could before. It was like he was in multiple places at once.

Finding the hive mind when going to destroy the Steel Watch had her break in a way that finally let her understand on some level what her elder sister went through. Even more so the dark corners of her mind whispered. Alloran and her had been attached at the hip since that very first day. 'She remembers sideway glances with him before bursting into giggles and their mama's experated exhaling chuckle when they spoke in 'twin-speak.' before running off to play in the backyard.

Remembers finally accepting she didn't carry the innate magic of their bloodline and remembers him stealing a book and giving it to her, whispered words of encouragement, that if anyone could study magic and learn, so could she, she wasn't going to be left behind.

Alloran who just wanted to help people, who curved and trained his magic to heal rather than hurt was now hurting people outside his control. When her mind touched his, there was a feeling of confusion followed by panicked fear as he was able to push through the tadpole control before being smothered again, a faint pleading for release before nothing.

It took everything in her to destroy that jar that was what was left of him, but she did so in an empty sense, eyes hazed with trying to control her tears. Her brother was gone, so why did she feel his blood on her hands? She didn't seem to hear her friends as she continued on to destroy the foundry, when they left and all they had to do was hunt down Gortash for the final stone. Her head was silent in a way she loathed. The little static feeling in the back of her head was gone, and even though it meant that something was wrong, at least he was still there. Now there was nothing, and she was alone.

The irony, only hit her until later in that, when she passed the bodies of her parents in the hall that she felt her magic react in a way it had never before, and used all her training to keep it from exploding out of her. Rage was building, felt like it was burning her from the inside, not only had Gortash taken her brother, but her parents too? Were her older siblings okay? Did she lose them too?

Seeing that man, hearing his mocking tone had her yelling in rage alongside Karlach, her magic bursting out of her and wildly snapping at anything close by. She wasn't strong, never thought about using a weapon once she started her studies, but she didn't need to be physically strong when her magic lashed out and was strong enough that the only reason she swung her mace was for cathartic revenge at the sound of bone crunching under metal. She may not be able to hurt him emotionally, but she could make damn sure no other family would have to go through what she did.

[helreginn]

🕯️

send me 🕯️to hear my character’s inner thoughts about your character.

Hel had always been able to speak into the minds of others. Since a child. Something to do with faring forth; To have one's soul leave their body is no easy feat. Having learned that? Projecting a voice came easy.

Too easy, sometimes. To the point of unconsciousness. Like talking to one's self, sometimes you don't realize you're doing it even in company.

The first time it happened, they were in Helheimr. He'd come just as she'd finished mentally sorting out her plans for the week. And her inner monologue never quieted.

Him again. He cannot let well enough alone.

Quiet filled both the space and her thoughts as she turned away just in time to miss the incredulous expression on his face as Lucifer tried to grapple with what he was experiencing.

I hope he never does.

The voices in our heads are not meant to have volume. A scream or a murmur, all the same. But it came as a whisper in his mind. An unsure thought that flittered from her mind as readily as it's wings brushed along his ears.

I wish I could just.. let him stay. Go with him. I wish I were not cursed. This is torturous. I should tell him he'll rot if we sleep together again. No.. Death didn't scare him. He'll see right through that.

She turned back on a sigh and her expression was entirely blank. Like a woman carved from marble; Still and flawless. A unique gift she possessed. To slow the worlds and her pace enough that she appeared as pretty as a rested corpse.

The words kept rolling in her mind.

Please. She tried to will him with her eyes alone. Go. I don't have the heart to force you away. But that is the only way we can both exist."

He let it slip fairly quickly. Confusion bursting forth in words that made her hate her own magics. Her instincts were to run but how could he not pursue as it slowly clicked into place that she wanted him with her?

Hel, tragically, was smaller and faster. She slipped away before he was able to pursue.

~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

Far later, after many such incidents, Hel came to be a little less timid about it. Aside from the very rare impulsive thought that would and did make even the devil blush.. she had nothing to hide or feel ashamed of. Even before her mind's filter kicked in.

The goddess breathed shallowly as she lay nestled against his side, her head on his breast as she dozed and daydreamed. Her arm lazily slumped over him.

Don't sleep, Hela. It's a trap. You'll never wake up again. He's so cozy. And he'd let me. I bet he wouldn't move if I slept fifteen hours. He knows he's cozy. If he puts his wing over me, I'm done for.

Hel begrudgingly opened her eyes but couldn't bring herself to move.

Ugh. Five hours wouldn't hurt. And the heavens knew she needed it. Lucifer too.

When he started running his fingers up and down the length of her forearm and every so carefully laid his wing over her back, Hel let out a loud sigh, "Youuu bastard." She sleepily admonished, a giggle to follow, "You heard that, didn't you?"

[animamii]

lockedup!toji lovessss receiving letters from you. 💌

"Fushiguro, you got mail," one of the corrections officers would knock on his open cell door. Toji always had this smirk tugging at his lips when the guard said those words. Although it was only a mask for the thrum he felt in his heart. He would always be handed a nice little stack of letters, all from you. The envelopes would be different colors, pinks and reds and purples. You'd really put a lot of effort into these [mostly love] letters. Even going as far as buying the cutest stamps you could find. He would never admit it out loud—he'd rather choke— but Toji loves when you put those cute little Hello Kitty stamps on the letters. Toji didn’t seem like the type to care for stuff like that, but those letters? Oh, they meant everything.

His name would be written in your cute handwriting, Toji Fushiguro with a little heart next to it. Flipping over the letter, you'd alway put a cute sticker over the seal. Or a heart if you couldn't find a sticker you'd like. He never rushed to open them, though; instead, he’d take his time, flipping through the envelopes, savoring the sight of your adorable scribbles. Toji loved the scent of them, always smelling like the spritz of perfume you'd put on the paper (thank you for the idea, Grease). He loved it just as much as the lipstick kisses you'd put on every blank space of the envelope and letter. Even if you weren't much of a lipstick user, you made sure to keep some different shades in stock so you can send Toji kisses through the mail.

It was the highlight of his day, pulling open the envelope with a rare softness in his usually rough hands. Always being ever so careful not to rip the envelope or the sticker you so thoughtfully sealed it with. He’d sit on the edge of his cot, back resting against the cold cement wall, eyes scanning over your handwriting. Every curve of your letters, every word you wrote, he soaked in every little thing. You wrote about every little thing; what you ate, what you listened to, what you watched. Your little girlish gossip. Toji preferred to read multiple pages of you rambling on about whatever came to your pretty little head. Made him feel like he was with you again, sitting there babbling to him like you always did.

After reading through one of your letters for the first time, Toji would lean back, holding the paper loosely in his hand, a rare softness washing over his sharp features. His lips would curl faintly at the edges, almost like he could hear your voice through the words on the page. He’d trace over your little doodles in the corners—the hearts, the smiley faces, even the exaggerated stick figure versions of you and him. Toji wasn’t a sentimental man by nature, but these small things? They clawed their way into the part of his chest he thought was hardened long ago. Sometimes, the other inmates would glance his way, curious about what kept the infamous Fushiguro so quiet. He’d shoot them a glare that said, Mind your own damn business. No one dared ask questions.

Toji had a little ritual for your letters. After reading through them, he’d carefully fold them, put it back in its respective envelope, and tuck them into his pillowcase. It wasn’t much, but it kept them close to him, right where he could feel that connection even when he wasn’t holding the paper. Later, when the lights dimmed and the prison settled into its eerie quiet, he’d pull one out again, holding it under the faint glow of the moonlight seeping through the bars. It didn’t matter if it was the same letter he read last week or one you’d just sent—it still carried that same warmth.

"Y’know," he muttered to himself one night, voice low enough not to carry. "You’re making me soft, sweetheart." But he didn’t really mind. Those letters gave him something to look forward to, something worth counting down the days for.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

y'all I wanna write more drabbles like thiss. Also I'm thinking... maybe some letters from Toji himself? Or from reader? both?? o.O lemme know bebecitas I wanna write what y'all wanna read!! xoxo

taglist ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy (aka my favee)

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Anger - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E (is there anything else with him?????) Truly this is the least crazy thing I've written in days. Unprotected p in v. Word Count: 1155 a/n: Sometimes I spend all afternoon trying to write Joel and get nothing and other times I write 1000 words in less than 30 minutes. There is no in-between. Written for TLOU Sundays!

"You've really gotta do something about him," Ellie tells you from where she's sitting at the kitchen table.

You're barely through the door, coat still covered in a layer of snow from outside. "Well hello to you, too, Ellie," you respond, pulling off your boots before you track any more water into the house. It's strange, how something like keeping the floors dry didn't matter for twenty years and now suddenly again it does. "You're the fourth person to say that to me today though, so I assume you also are talking about Joel?"

She's flipping through the pages of a comic, barely paying you any attention. "Yes, Joel," she emphasizes, not that you need any further confirmation. Maria had cornered you at the saloon, the other half of your patrol had been on your case, and you had a run-in with Jackson's resident grandma first thing in the morning, who gave you an earful about how you needed to learn how to satisfy your man so he would stop torturing the entire town with his bad mood.

You sigh, shucking your coat and flexing your toes in your thick socks as you make your way into the kitchen. "Any idea what's wrong with him? He seemed fine this morning."

Ellie shrugs, still engrossed in the pages in front of her. "I don't know, Dina just told me he was being a real fucking asshole. You know how he gets."

That you do. You're well aware of the way Joel Miller can make or break an entire day based on his mood, especially since you've been at his side to witness it longer than anyone else.

Before you can contemplate further, the man in question storms through the door, a grumble on his lips before it's even closed behind him. Ellie meets your gaze, glancing over at him before turning back to you and then quickly rising. "I've gotta get going," she says quickly, sneaking past Joel to grab her jacket.

She's out the door before he can even say a word.

"Where the fuck is she going?" he questions, ignoring the way his boots squeak on the floorboards as he makes his way to the couch, collapsing into it. A part of you wants to scold him for the wet spots now littered all over the floor, but based on the furrow in his brow, there's no use, and you simply follow him instead, swinging a leg over his thigh to climb into his lap and settle there.

Only he has the audacity to grumble. Again.

"Joel," you say sternly, "don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he fires back, and now you know exactly what everyone had been warning you about. "I didn't do anything."

"What's up with you today?" It's a simple question, an inquiry that he should have no problem answering, but he doesn't, so you continue with a follow-up request, "Just tell me why I had four separate people tell me that I needed to figure out who you're so angry today."

"I'm not angry."

You frown. "Bullshit, Miller. Tell me what the fuck is wrong."

His answer is to seal his lips to yours, his rough grip dragging your hips against his so you can feel the hard press of him between your thighs. This felt familiar, especially since he'd been in an equally shit mood the day you first met, something you'd promptly fucked out of him later that night. And usually, that did the trick, but there was always something else lingering beneath the surface.

Not that you have time to contemplate what it might be because he pushes any thought of his mental well-being from your head when he rips your shirt from your body and latches onto one of your breasts. Likewise, any train of thought is gone just as quickly as the remainder of your clothing.

It's a good thing Ellie left quickly, because within minutes he has you spread out on the couch beneath him, one of your legs hitched around his hip as he pounds into you. There's little space left between you, the moment feeling intimate even with the intensity of the way he's pressing you down, grunting with each thrust until he has you clenching around him.

His fingers are on your clit before you come down from your climax, already drawing you higher a second time. "Joel, fuck, I can't," you whine, gripping at his hand.

"You can," he emphasizes, "you're gonna take every fucking inch of me."

And then you can see it. The rage behind his gaze, the emotion that has his eyes glassed over. The anger he has to unleash somehow. It scared you when you first met him, the first time he had you like this back in Boston, pressed up against the door, the first time you watched his fist collide with a FEDRA officer who tried to touch you, and the first time you saw him have to kill someone who definitely wasn't infected.

But now, you know better. You know that he won't hurt you, but he still needs a way to release the pent-up emotion that boils beneath the surface. You don't know what happened to get him here today, but you do know how to fix it.

Joel groans when you shift to wrap your legs fully around his waist, pulling him down so the soft expanse of his stomach presses against your own, increasing the pressure of your walls wrapped around him. It's all he can do to rut into you, your back slowly snaking up the arm of the couch as he fucks you. The angle changes the higher you move, guiding his lips to yours so he can catch the scream that rips from your throat when you clench around him a second time.

He follows you into the abyss, pulling out seconds before he spills against your center, jerking himself off until the last drops drip down onto the fabric.

When he regains his breath he stands, cock softening as he moves to grab a cloth to wipe his spend from your core. And then he's pressing you into the couch again, settled in the safety of your thighs as his head rests on your chest.

"Do you wanna know what Mrs. Davis told me today?" you ask softly, fingers curling through his hair.

Joel rests his chin on your breast as he looks at you, eyes softer now, more playful. "Fuck, what did she say?"

You smile. "She saw me at the store and pulled me into the corner to tell me that I needed to get you home and ride your cock because she was sick of your shit."

His laugh is rough, but he says nothing else as he settles back against you.

"Was she right?" you ask, your own laughter threatening to bubble up.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't deny it either.

[iid-smile]

content — shidou ryusei x gn!reader, fluff, not much dialogue, shidou drawing!!!

wc — 0.5k

a/n — this was supposed to be a short drabble after finding out one of his favourite subjects is art... got a little carried away

shidou has been awfully quiet the entire school day. you're surprised he's still allowed to even come to school, but that's not the point.

there's no rumours spreading about topics you wish not to discuss, no random yelling outside of your classroom, and no fights. you're actually proud of him for that, but it's still concerning.

as you step out for your break, you decide to wander to the back of the classroom where he had his last class before lunch. the hallway is quiet, with the echoes of laughter and chatter fading into the background. when you enter, you notice that the room is empty, a stark contrast to the buzz of students just a short while ago.

in his usual spot at the back, away from the hustle and bustle, sits one person — shidou lost in thought. he’s slouched slightly in his chair, gazing intently at the single notebook resting on the desk in front of him. no textbooks, no other supplies, except for the pencil in his hand, mindlessly sketching away.

"ryusei?" seeing him now, he appears to be oddly peaceful. he didn't even respond as you called his name, which only invited you to come closer.

as you watched him, his pencil danced across the page in a way that felt almost careless, as if he were merely passing the time. you half expected him to be doodling something weird as always, but this time was different. to your surprise, the paper revealed a series of drawings — each one consisting of only one model: you.

he appeared to have created a portrait of you from every angle. you had different hairstyles and outfits, some more experimental and different from your usual appearance, yet one thing remained constant — you were smiling in all of them.

at first, you were surprised by how good the drawings were, especially since you had never actually seen his art before. but then again, he has mentioned that he liked art before. who knew he was this good at it?

"ryu—" you're cut off by the sudden movement of him holding the book up to your face, gaze shifting from the pages, to your face, and back again. you've never seen him look so focused before...

after a good minute, he rips the page out and scrunches it up into a ball, a frustrated groan coming from him as he flips over onto a fresh page. "not good enough..." he mumbles to himself, though it was very much audible to you. you couldn't even get a word in before he was right back to focusing on his drawings sketches.

you gently pull over a chair to sit next to him, being careful not to disrupt his workspace. you don’t mean to be rude about it, but you can’t help but notice that he looked so much cuter when he wasn't making all of those... unusual faces. watching him relax like this makes your heart race; it’s a sweet reminder of just how... normal he is. shidou's just a normal human being, though many consider him not to be.

you could get used to this. you could get used to watching him for the entire lunch break, enjoying the silence together in an isolated classroom.

[moonstruckme]

poly!marauders drabbles (2/3)

page 3

☁︎ = headcanon ✩ = 18+, mdni ♡ = mae's favs

Poly!marauders x stage actress!reader ☁︎

The boys' with a reader who's always cold ☁︎

They support your acting career ☁︎

The marauders x an introverted party girl ☁︎

They react to you crying over a movie ☁︎

Poly!marauders x reader who wasn't in primary school ☁︎

Your emt boyfriends come get you after an accident

You want your boyfriends to take charge

You have chronic pain, and they know how to take care of you ♡

Slytherin!reader is soft only for the marauders ♡

Whimsical!reader totally knows Remus' secret

Your boyfriends worry about your clumsiness

They wrangle you after getting your wisdom teeth out ♡

You have health anxiety, and your emt boyfriends reassure you

You take care of emt!marauders, for a change

Poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader

The boys comfort you after you leave home

They deal with a drunk and horny you ♡

Your emt boyfriends fret when you faint

Remus and James put sun lotion on you and Sirius

The marauders comfort you when you're dealing with insomnia

Emt!marauders are comforting when you injure your neck

They fret when you come home with a bruise

The boys best your poor appetite

They comfort you when you're grieving

Nb!reader gets top surgery (they're obsessed)

The boys talk you through a nosebleed incident

Your emt boyfriends discover you in A&E

Emt!marauders comfort you through a fear of throwing up

Your emt boyfriends bring you home from surgery

You hide a small injury from emt!marauders

They're supportive when you quit smoking

Your boyfriends worry when you lose your voice

They respect your boundaries ♡

The marauders calm you down when you're feeling anxious

The boys poke fun at you and James for being sleepy

Your emt boyfriends talk you through getting stitches

They take care of you with a concussion ♡

Your boyfriends fret over your aching back

You and Sirius get home after a rough night

The marauders are protective when you're assaulted at work

Your emt boyfriends come to your rescue when you overheat

They're infatuated with their goth gf

You and James cry during a film

It's your first sleepover with the boys

They fret when you have a cold

Your emt boyfriends comfort you in the hospital

Your cramps aren't cramps, but luckily you have emt boyfriends

You're nervous about moving in

You're jumpy during a scary movie, and they're the worst

The boys comfort you over the phone

Your messy eating habits lead to...shenanigains

They argue that visually impaired!reader is more than enough

You have a migraine, and your emt boyfriends are dying to help

Your emt boyfriends comfort you when you're terrified of needles

Your emt boyfriends are soft and concerned when you're feverish

You try to avoid emt!marauders when you're hurt

You pick emt!Sirius up after he gets hurt at work

Your emt boyfriends learn you're nursing a concussion

Emt!marauders take care of visually impaired!reader

Your emt boyfriends comfort you when you're injured and anxious

Emt!marauders check on you when you're struggling with your mental health

They're protective when you look hot(ter than usual)

You all miss James ♡

Emt!marauders come when you get in a bad car crash

You have POTS, and your emt boyfriends worry about you

A tipsy you gets cuteness aggression

The boys support you when you're depressed

Your emt boyfriends patch you up when you scrape your knees

Sirius rips your tights

They help when you're stressed about school

You're newly diabetic, and your emt boyfriends help

The marauders comfort you after a nightmare

You hide from your boyfriends to study

You ask emt!marauders to go to A&E during a flare up

Your emt boyfriends take care of you when you faint

You and the boys watch slasher movies

They find you baking when you can't sleep ♡

Emt!marauders feel bad when you're more sick than they thought

The boys help you manage your OCD compulsions ♡

Whimsical!reader comforts Remus after a full moon

You inadvertently scare emt!Remus with your costume

Your friend gets hurt, and emt!marauders are spellbound by you

Emt!marauders nurse you back to health after a bad blood draw

Your boyfriends fret over you while they think you're sleeping

Poly!marauders and dirty talk ✩♡

They teach you to use your mouth ✩

You fall too deep into subspace ✩

Your boyfriends delight in your torment ✩

The marauders x inexperienced reader ✩

Coquette!reader gives rockstar!marauders a show ✩

[nymphomatique]

special affair

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

art credit: _insomniac_red_ on ig. pictures are for mood setting, reader has no specific race or physical descriptions.

cw: a lil angsty, this is just shameless smut im sorry guys i don’t know what came over me, daddy kink, dbf!miguel <3, unspecified age gap but reader is legal, rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex, miguel is not a good man, conflicted reader, creampie, lowkey breeding kink, degrading language, choking/breath play, face slapping, spitting, mentions of oral (m), overstimulation, crying/dacryphillia, pubic hair grinding? lmao idk, reader is alluded to being in sub space. not proofread lol. 18+ only.

wc: ~1.5k

❤︎ an: hi my loves!! this is a sorta part two to this drabble, but can be read as a stand alone one shot. tbh i wrote this w my pussy.. i’m ovulating rn i’m so ashamed of myself 😔 nevertheless, enjoy! if you guys want more don’t hesitate to lmk!!

from that first night he fucked you from behind, you knew you strayed too far from the status quo in your life, you’re at the point of no return. that night, when he finished pounding you from behind and defiling you further with his seed all over your back and ass, you had laid in that position— spent and on your stomach- for the rest of the night, silently sobbing. you had betrayed your father, that much you were aware of the day you started rubbing at yourself meekly in the dead of the night thinking about his best friend.

you had long come to terms with that guilt, accepting whatever image of a burning inferno there is in the afterlife. what you cannot come to terms with, is the fact that he- miguel- had actually fucked you, indulged in what you considered your own taboo thoughts, ripping them from page and making your crude thoughts a sick reality. the worst part of this all is that amidst it all, the mental beratement, the nights you spent crying, the sick feeling the memories of miguel’s cock stretching you absolutely thin, showing you a climax like no other— you want to hate yourself for it, for being weak. for being such a bad girl. but you didn’t know why your body decided to betray your brain, the physical craving for the older man’s body possessing you whole. you can’t bear this feeling, holding it up inside you and trying to keep it at bay. fuck- you needed to talk to someone, you had to, even if it’s the last person you want to speak to.

nevertheless, you end up two houses down, sniffling and heaving in the dead of the night, knocking the door as hard as your trembling hands would let you. the door swings open and at the sight of him you keen, your body aching at the sight of the burly muscles covered in sun kissed skin. dark brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. a slight five o’clock shadow, he must not have shaved this morning. and then you look into those eyes, swallowing you up whole and you begin to tear up again. miguel is silent, leaning against the door with messy hair, glazed eyes and clad in boxers, and boxers only. fuck, you shouldn’t have come here.

“I-.. Miguel, it hurts,” you sob quietly, aflame with shame and embarrassment at how little resolve you had. He grabs your face with his warm hands and you’re trembling now, ready for him. your lips ghost for a moment before he breathes out. “i’m not a good man, sweetheart. if you don’t say no, i’m gonna break you.” he sounds sincere with his words and his eyes go stern. you wish you had some self of self control, or maybe having better discernment. but the only thing you say to him only confirms what you already knew about yourself; you’re a terrible fucking person. 

“violate me.”

your lips are smashed against each other, tongues dancing and it feels so good to be in his embrace again. your tears fall down your cheeks, meeting at the junction of your mouths in a pool of saliva. miguel groans and you know why, remembering what he had said to you the last time.

“i like when you cry.”

you’re grabbed up at the hips, legs wrapped around a thick torso, pressed up against a firm chest and a heavy cock. the moments up to the bedroom are cloudy, drunk off his lips against yours. you come to slightly when cold plush sheets hit your back and a pair of lips leave yours. you whine, yearning for his touch again. he looks down at you, bringing your right foot to his mouth, he licks lightly up the sole- kissing the ball of your foot before he leans down, caging your between his elbows, face to face.

“you gonna be good for your daddy?” he asks softly, kissing between the bridge of your nose once. 

“y-yes,” you breathe out with a slow nod. 

“mmm. gonna let me violate this tight little body too?” he asks, still soft in tone and you think you’re gonna go crazy by the end of the night. “yes, daddy,” you murmur, lost in his eyes. 

“sick fucking little girl. but that’s how i like it,” he chuckles, kissing you softly before getting up stripping you bare.

“letting your daddy undress you like a good girl. so obedient f’me,” he coos at you, touching you softly and you’re almost in tears. you need him. and you let it be known. a lone tear falls down your cheek and you mewl, “n-need you to make it better down there, daddy.”

his large hand engulfs you cheek, thumb wiping your tear softly before squishing your face, putting his tear stained thumb in your mouth. “you think you’re a big girl now, hmm? telling your daddy what to do?” you look up at him teary eyed, suckling his thick finger.

“you take what i give you, when i give it to you.” he squeezes you cheek a little harder before softly slapping your cheek and you squeak at the contact. a rough laugh leaves miguel’s mouth at your reaction. “you have no idea how bad i’m gonna treat you, baby.”

you’re non verbal at this point, mouth agape and leaking saliva down your jaw seeping into the sheets and the junction of your neck and chest. a hand slaps your cheek again, you’ve lost how many that is now. “i fucked you stupid already?” miguel laughs, hard thrusts sending you flying up the bed. his hands on your hips bring you down back to him each time, poking you right in that sweet spot in your pussy. you’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve head, body wracked and numb with pleasure. throat hoarse from the near-violent throat fuck he gave you.

a glob of spit hits your forehead and you groan a bit. the one thing you’re sure of is that you look a goddamned mess. a crude picture of the activity you’ve been partaking in for the past two hours. a hand leaves your hip to wrap around your neck and squeeze roughly, making you gasp for air, your body finally moving.

“there we go, got you moving now. thought i fucked you to sleep for a second.” 

your eyes are glossy, at the lack of air and building pressure. your hand meekly wraps around his wrist as he fucks into you. you know you shouldn’t like the way he toys with you like this, waking the line of torment and pleasure with no care in the world. but you do. and you can’t deny it anymore.

“you’re tightening up on me again. you gonna cum for me again?” miguel asks you, and he laughs after knowing you can’t even answer him. “sick little girl. you like it when i choke you? make you feel weak? worthless?” 

it’s barely audible, but the moan you let out vibrates in your neck and miguel can feel it with the hand pressed against your throat. he throws his head back with a groan. “nasty, naughty girl. fuck baby, gonna cum in that little pussy.”

you’re almost there, and quite frankly impressed that you haven’t fully passed out yet. your head feels light, and you begin to tremble violently, gushing out spurts of liquid as your head falls to the side. if this is hell, you’re not so sure you could give this up for heaven. your eyes close and you feel so close to falling asleep when he removes his hand from your neck, grabbing your head by the nape of your neck, craning you up to where you can see his thick cock slip and slide between your thighs. you groan at the image. 

“need you awake to see me cum in you, don’t i?” miguel groans. “you like watching me fuck you, like letting me dirty you.”

 his tuft of black pubic hair rubs against yours as his thrusts become increasingly sporadic and intense, and it has you trembling at the stimulation it gives your clit. you weakly squirt each time his pelvis brushes against your clit, your body letting you know you have only so much left in you before you’re drained empty.

“fuck, love it when you wet the bed. my pissy little girl. daddy loves the messes you make.” he’s nearly breathless and you pray he’s going to cum in the next minute, the ache in your neck and dull sensation in your pussy building slowly.

“c-cum in me. wanna give you a baby,” you moan, looking up from the fast thrusts and into miguel’s eyes. 

“fuck! so n-naughty, baby. gonna give me another one, huh? fucking take it, then.” with a final thrust, you feel the warmth of his cum shoot and blossom somewhere deep within you. you moan weakly, one final weak spurt of squirt coming out of you. miguel pulls out and you watch him look at the mess he made of you and your pussy, covered in spit, cum and the beginnings of handprint bruises blossoming on your hips and ass from how hard he gripped and spanked you. 

you can feel his cum slowly trickle out of you, and your body feels like it’s no longer your own. after so many orgasms, your limbs are on fire, and you can do nothing but breathe and weakly murmur a “d-daddy..” while your eyes close.

tags: @realhotgirlshitah @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @maxiethestrange

message me to be removed!

[motthe]

greetings! i’d like to ask for a drabble with (married with kids) + (Christmas morning) with (Eddie Munson) and a (fem)reader!

You were watching the coffee maker at work when a pair of inked up arms slithered around your waist. You leaned back into a sturdy chest, smiling as he went straight for your neck. Eddie practically lived there when you were cuddling.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, kissing under your ear. His voice was rough, still half asleep.

“Want some coffee?” you hummed, holding his arms. He grumbled something into your shoulder. You took it for a yes.

He stayed like that as you fixed the two mugs, sugar and creamer to taste. He finally came up for air when you brush your hand over his jaw, holding the steaming liquid up.

“Thank you.” He stepped next to you, clinking his cup against yours before taking a sip and eyeing the doorway behind you “How much longer before the stampede?”

“I’m sure we’ll hear Derek waking Page up,” you chuckled.

It was a few more sips of coffee before the thundering of footsteps and a door opening echoed. Eddie smiled into his mug as your little boy yelled for his older sister to get up.

“Like clockwork,” you said, pushing off the counter to head to the living room. Eddie trailed behind you.

He was the first on the couch, letting you sit your drink on the table before he pulled you down next to him.

“Mama, Dad!” came Derek from what sounded like your bedroom.

“Down here!” Eddie shouted, smiling at his sleepy-eyed daughter as she eased down the steps. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

She mumbled back, groggy but there was still a glimmer of excitement as she noticed the presents under the tree. She was getting into her teen years now, but she still had some Christmas spirit. Enough to tease her brother that Santa was watching when he did something bad throughout the year.

Derek flew down the stairs with all the speed of a bullet to check the cookie plate. It was nothing but crumbs thanks to your husband.

“There’s soot on the fireplace!” Derek yelled, pointing to the bootprints on the brick.

“Looks like we need to clean that chimney,” you said, nodding to your girl as she pointed towards the gifts. She liked to hand everyone’s out.

“Grab the stockings, D,” Eddie asked.

“It’s heavy!” he gasped, pulling his down first.

“You get coal?” Page snickered.

“No!” he whined, holding the opening up for her to see. “It’s full of stuff, see?”

“Pass me mine and Daddy’s?” you hummed, twiddling your fingers at your boy. He nodded, only struggling a bit with his height to unhook them.

Once Page had the gifts in neat piles, she joined you on the couch to empty her stocking with her brother. Candy and trinkets, some you’d grabbed over the course of the year to help the dent in your wallet Christmas left behind.

You watched them empty the socks, heart full as they oohed and ahed. It wasn’t until lights were flashing that you realized Eddie had pulled out the camera. You smiled for the pictures, gathering the trash as wrapping ripped. Eddie took over to give you the camera, but not before you snapped some of him.

It wasn’t until the kids were done with their gifts that either of you started on yours.

“How did you…?” Eddie flipped the record over, mouth open. “These sold out!”

“I have my ways,” you hummed, smiling at the look he gave you.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss you.

You laughed into him as your kids gagged in the background.

“Get a room,” your daughter complained.

“This house is our room!” Eddie teased, smothering your face with more kisses.

Your kids fell over the both of you to get him off, all of you laughing.

It was another beautiful Christmas at the Munson household.

[dollwrites]

Just stumbled to your page, if you dont mind i wanna see you write for kaito again😭🙏 like the fic you made about him is so shskshsks🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶‼️‼️

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. these pieces are never proof read so mistakes are probably present. < 3 enjoy your experience

thunk! thunk! thunk!

it was all you could do to keep your focus solely on the sound the desk made underneath you— the legs pounding against the solid floor in tandem with the judge’s rabid thrusting into you from behind— so that you didn’t have come to terms with what this was.

what you were.

a bribe.

the jingling of golden coins are muffled in the small purse as you grip it with one hand close to your chest, whilst the other tries desperately to hold on to the edge of his desk for some sort of stabilization. you bite your lip, in hopes to muffle the pathetic, humiliating mewling that seemed to seep out each time Gallerian bottomed out, filling you to his hilt, but it was no use.

you’d never been so roughly handled, nor had you been prepared for the judge you’d visited so late at night to bend you over, hike up your dress, and make your pussy part of the bargain.

struggling to stay balanced, pressing your balls of your feet and your toes against the floor in an attempt to plant yourself there, you can feel the harsh recoil of his hips when they snap against yours.

you would’ve simply dropped your head in shame, splayed your upper body across the desk in hapless submission but hid your pleasured expression from him if only he’d let you. if only his hands were both clasped around your neck, fingers locked at the front of your throat to keep you steady as he fucked you without remorse, or concern. the shame of being so exposed— dress pushed down around your waist to reveal your jiggling breasts and skirt tossed over your lower back, panties around your ankles, and your legs spread to accept his greedy cock barreling what felt like a hole through you— was almost too much to bear. “S—stop…”

it’s a whispered plea, one that Gallerian either didn’t hear, or didn’t care about, because his fingers tightened around your neck, and he pulled you back against him. he was derobed, and you could feel the sheet of sweat that covered his chest as it smeared against your back. “Let’s feel that sweet, little cunt tighten up, my pet.” he pants against the shell of your ear, “Show me how grateful you are for my… generosity.” he didn’t have to command it; his cock was digging into a hypersensitive bundle of nerves within your depths and sending you into a gasping, whining, squirming tizzy. “Very good, girl.” Gallerian grunts, keeping his grip on you firm and unyielding, holding you in place as he battered those nerves until your whining turned into yelping, and eventually, ragged panting. your squirming turned to twitching, then to trembling as he ripped the orgasm from your body.

you screamed out, and closed your eyes against the ferocity of the sensations, stomping your feet and bucking your body forwards, only to be pulled right back in as he forced you to ride out the unwanted pleasure, all the while he planted hot, sultry kisses against your ear and down your neck.

sometime in your erotic turmoil, Gallerian also came undone. he gripped your throat tighter, his drilling became more precise and deliberately cruel and deep, and to punctuate your climax’s conclusion, you felt warmth engulfing your insides— filling a pouch in your lower belly, and you gasped, nails scraping at the desk. “W—wait—!”

but it was much too late for that, and you knew so when Gallerian sighed and pushed you off of him, taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

you were still shaking, legs cramped and spread, with his release leaking from your thoroughly used core that still twitched and clenched, remembering the way his girth stretched your sensitive, inner walls. you took a couple of heavy breaths, feeling his gaze upon your destruction, before you finally found the strength to straighten your posture. your skirt falls down into place, and you take baby steps, a small series, to turn around and face the main that had just deflowered you so brutally.

he was smiling, his eyes drifting from your puffy, swollen eyes and your tear streaked cheeks, down to your bare breasts and the coin purse clutched in your hand. his own reaches out, fingertips tracing your breast in a soft caress, but they don’t stay there. they careen to pluck the purse from your grasp.

“All your little hovel was worth fit in such a tiny purse, not nearly the sum I usually accept.” he chuckles softly as he weighs it, bouncing it up and down in one hand, before he looks at you with the devil sparkling in his eyes, “but I suppose the feeling of your warm cunt milking my cock settles the remainder of the balance.” he takes a step closer, and runs his hand up the length of your chest, neck, and finally caresses your warm cheek, smearing a tear into it as he grins wider. “Don’t cry, silly girl. You should be overjoyed. You just saved your mother from the gallows.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired. 

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these. 

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession. 

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip. 

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping. 

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail. 

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse. 

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?” 

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void. 

He sighs. 

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock. 

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought. 

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place. 

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail. 

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away. 

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose. 

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked. 

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless. 

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head. 

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.” 

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.” 

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[the-universal-sun]

Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

[withleeknow]

hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only seconds prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.04.2024]

[lalacliffthorne]

when Azriel has a bad day and the library floor suddenly looks very comfy.

(urgh, the cuteness. these modern!batboy drabbles are really only purely self-indulgent at this point.)

Frowning at the pages of the book in my hand, I looked down at the notes on my laptop that was sitting on the floor next to me.

Well, this didn't sound right.

There was a soft chuckle, and when I raised my head, Rhys sent me a light grin.

"You good?"

I grimaced softly and looked down onto my notes. "Ask me again later."

Snorting lightly under his breath, Rhys turned back towards his laptop.

The library was quiet as usual, the golden autumn sun flooding through the windows above. I had stumbled upon the quiet corner in the archeology section about a year ago. Hidden between shelves, it was a place no one rarely ever came.

It was where Rhys had found me about two hours ago, sitting crosslegged on the ground and chewing on a pen as I stared at my laptop, books open next to me. Now, he was leaning against the shelves opposite of me, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he typed away on his laptop, the quiet rapid noises of his fingers hitting the keys the only sounds floating around us beside soft whispers coming from the work places on the other side of the aisles.

Shifting a little as I turned a page, I saw a tall, dark figure turn the corner from the corner of my eye, their footsteps nearly silent on the carpeted floors as they approached. Rhys stretched his shoulders and looked up from his laptop, and I furrowed my brows, slowly placing my finger on a sentence to mark my spot.

I was just about to raise my head when a backpack was dropped to the ground right next to me, followed by a wave of a familiar scent washing over me that smelled of pine and cedar, both comforting and addicting, and my heart missed a beat.

I looked up, and with a soft groan, Azriel plopped onto the ground, stretching out on the carpeted floor and dropping his head onto my thigh before closing his eyes.

My heart skipped and stilled as I stared down at his face, my breath hitching a little as I felt the warmth of him seep through the material of my pants, and my lips parted softly as something began to flutter quickly against my ribs.

Azriel's dark hair was tousled like he'd ran his hands through it a few times too many, his brows crunched together even with his eyes closed, a hard set to his jaw.

Rhys huffed a chuckle, and I blinked, somehow managing to quickly rip my gaze away from Azriel's face.

"What's with you?" Closing his laptop a little, Rhys leaned back against the side of the shelves, considering Azriel with a barely there smirk that made his eyes twinkle strangely.

Az gave a soft grunt, but his scowl smoothed over a little, the hint of a soft crease forming in his cheek.

Gently nudging his head by moving my leg a little, I felt my lips curve into a soft, crooked smile.

"You okay?"

Azriel breathed out, his shoulders pressing against my thigh when he shifted a little to get more comfortable. Then he arched a brow without opening his eyes, and his deep voice caused something in my chest to tip over when he mumbled: "Shit day."

Something shifted a little in my chest, and I felt my lips twitch softly as I squinted down at him.

"You sure the library is the place to change that?"

Azriel cracked open an eye to send me a glare, but there was the softest trace of a twinkle in his amber iris when he mumbled, his low voice slow and quiet: "Maybe it is for me, smart-ass."

"Maybe it's the library, maybe it's something else..." Rhys trailed off, a shit-eating smirk tugging at his lips, and Azriel turned his head to the side to stare at him, this time a lot less gentle. The look in his eyes would have probably sent quite a few people staggering, but Rhys' smirk just widened. He sent Azriel a light wink, then he threw a look at his watch and sighed.

"I'm gonna go, I need to get some stuff for dinner." Closing his laptop, he slid it into his backpack, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans as he raised his brows. "I'm making pasta, so you two better be on time."

Azriel grunted lightly, I saluted sarcastically, and Rhys huffed, nudging my foot gently before making his way past us, kicking Azriel's boot a little less soft. Without opening his eyes, Az flipped him off, and Rhys snickered softly, then he raised a hand in goodbye and disappeared around the corner.

"Shithead,", Azriel mumbled under his breath, and I giggled, shifting to lean back a little more comfortably.

For a second, I hesitated, then I looked down at him.

"Sure you okay?"

Azriel breathed out slowly at my soft question, but one corner of his lips curved just gently enough for me to see it.

"Already better."

My eyes flickered over his face for another second, the sharp line of his jaw that seemed to have lost some of its tightness, the scatter of barely there freckles on the bridge of his nose and the small crunch of his brows. Then I blinked and turned back towards my book.

Furrowing my brows at the page, I nearly grumbled under my breath.

There was a soft, amused huff.

"Sure you're okay?"

Azriel's deep voice made my heart skip softly; and my gaze flickered back down towards him, but his eyes were still closed, even though the crease in his cheek had deepend a little.

Grumbling, I turned my eyes back towards my book.

"My notes aren't right. Which doesn't make any sense, because this is literally the only part I'm sure I understood."

A soft sound left Azriel that almost sounded like a snorted chuckle. Then he shifted a little in the spot, relaxing more against the side of my thigh as he mumbled: "Explain it to me, maybe then it'll make sense."

I blinked, something hopping a little in my chest when I looked down at him.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not exactly your area of expertise."

Azriel huffed. "Ouch."

My heart dipped a little, and I was about to open my mouth hastily when I caught the way his lips curved upwards at the side.

Something skipped high against my ribs, and I quickly smacked his forehead with my book. Azriel crunched his nose and mumbled "Ow.", but the crease didn't leave his cheek.

"Shithead,", I grumbled, and a quiet chuckle left Azriel, so deep and warm, my breath hitched a little.

"I meant if you'd have to explain it, maybe you'll see where you got it twisted." Azriel's lips curved when he cracked open an eye to look up at me, and there was a twinkle in his amber iris, golden spots dancing, making something swerve under my ribs.

Slowly, my lips rose on their own accord until I had to fight a stupidly bright smile as I raised my brows.

"Fine, but if I'll bore you to death, it's on you."

Azriel closed his eyes again with an amused huff, and breathing out, I leaned back against the wall. Something rose under my ribs, and I threw him a look.

"Thanks,", I mumbled softly.

The crease in Azriel's cheek deepend.

"You're welcome." His quiet, amused voice sent a gentle tingle down my spine, and inhaling soundlessly, I turned back towards my book.

An afterthought hit me, and I blinked, raising my head. "Crap, Rhys was supposed to be my ride."

"Good thing then I got another helmet,", Azriel mumbled, and my heart skipped high against my ribs.

"Please don't tell me you're running around with double protective gear again -" I felt my lips rise into a wide beaming grin, and Az scowled lightly and reached up. My breath hitched when his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist, his scarred skin rough against mine when he gently tugged my hand with the book up from my lap.

"Just start, smart-ass."

Giggling softly under my breath, I turned my eyes towards the pages. Breathing out and feeling something flutter against my ribs, warm and quick, I started talking softly. Azriel's hand slowly slipped from my wrist, and I thought I felt him exhale, the crease between his brows softening slowly as little by little, some of the tension bled from his frame.

Stepping out into the slightly crisp air, I breathed in deeply, holding my face into the low sun.

"Any wishes for your birthday?"

Scrunching my brows, I blinked before looking over my shoulder in confusion, and my heart skipped a little.

Azriel squinted into the low sun, the light causing his eyes to glow like amber as the cool breeze brushed through his tousled hair and the doors to the library closed behind him.

"Why?" I tipped my head back to look up at him.

One corner of his lips curved into a smirk, and Azriel let the armored jacket slide off his arm, his eyes twinkling a little as he draped it over my shoulders. "Cause at some point, you'll have to get one of these that fits."

My breath hitched, and the curve of Azriel's lips deepend as his eyes dragged over my face. Then he stepped past me, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he began to easily make his way towards the parking lot. The smell of his cologne slowly rose into my nose, and my heart skipped against my ribs.

"Cass says it looks cute!", I called after him, squinting into the sun, and Azriel turned around, walking backwards leisurely as he stared at me. The sun made his eyes glow like gold as slowly, a crease appeared in his cheek. Then he called back, his deep voice vibrating through me: "You don't need the jacket for that."

Something dipped in my chest, swerving and screeching to an abrupt halt, and I felt my lips part.

Azriel's eyes moved over mine, then he huffed softly, his cheek creasing a little more, and he turned back around.

My heart rose in a flutter, and feeling a ridiculously wide smile suddenly threatening to break over my face, I started to follow after him, Azriel's too big jacket heavy on my shoulders as I squinted into the warm, golden sun, feeling something thrum firm and steady against my ribs.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate123 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds

[passionwillow]

You can't keep doing this to me lol. I'm on your page constantly for updates.

From the drabble list, 65 with Deacon. Still on my Deacon bullshit 😂

AH that makes me so happy. ☺️ I am always on my Deacon shit.

Your relationship with Deacon was tense. Not in a bad way, in the "two idiots in love" kind of way. You met him through Luca, who was one of your closest friends, and everyone around you could sense the attraction between you two.

The tension hit a peak when you were sitting in HQ one day, waiting for 20-David to come have lunch with you. Deacon came into the lunch room, apologizing profusely as he approached. "I'm sorry, we have to run out on a call. I'll be back, okay? Stick around?" You smiled and nodded, knowing how unpredictable the teams work was.

What you didn't except was Deacon to cup your cheeks, plant a lingering kiss on your lips before hurrying off.

And he never came back for lunch.

That was the most confusing part. Not the kiss, not the glance he gave you after. It was just disappearing. You went home after a few hours, skin tingling and head spinning with thoughts. Hondo and Luca had texted you, asking if everything was okay and where you disappeared to.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, too caught up in your thoughts as you blindly moved around your apartment and cleaned up. It wasn't until you heard the knock at your door it ripped you from the endless voices in your head.

You answered without looking through the peephole, figuring it had to be Luca. But instead, Deacon was on your porch.

"What?" Was all you could bring yourself to say, hand on the door and the other clenching by your side. "I came here to explain. And I'm not leaving until you listen."

His voice was firm but an undertone of shakiness hid in it. You huffed and turned away, leaving the door open if he chose to come in. "Explain what? It was a mistake? Heat of the moment?"

You heard the door close behind you and footsteps approach, but you weren't expecting the hand on your arm. His touch made your skin burn in the best way, and goosebump appeared over your skin. "No, it wasn't a mistake. I wanted to do it, but I thought I might have scared you."

You set down the shirt you were folding and sighed, turning to him and tensing at the close proximity. "You didn't scare me, Deacon, I enjoyed it. I was looking forward to doing it again until you just.. Disappeared."

"I chickened out." He admitted, voice soft and cheeks pink. "But I'm sorry, okay? Can I make it up to you?'" You eyed his featured and tried not to let your gaze linger on his lips, the memory of his beard scratching gently on your skin making you shiver. "Fine. But it better be good."

He smiled at your teasing tone and moved his hand to your hip, the other cupping your cheek as he kissed you properly this time, firm body pressed to yours.

The laundry was waiting until tomorrow.

[attapullman]

since fall is basically already here this is my official request for more cowboy!Bob

fall makes me think of cowboys, and cowboy!Bob is a dream boat i need.

I fear he may not be the exact cowboy!Bob you were thinking, but cowboy stats!Bob is here to give you all the cozy autumnal vibes with a little study date on the quad.

Drabble Day

There’s a soft rumble as students play touch football on the quad, and a leaf blower is blaring in the distance, but your attention is squarely in front of you, on the guy wearing Vans and a ripped felt cowboy hat.

Senior year is treating Bob well. There’s a suredness that surrounds him as a seasoned veteran on campus; long gone those lanky pledgling arms and the meek eagerness he brought his first days here. He’s more at ease with himself, the quiet confidence of a man.

It’s sexy.

The back of his crewneck is tucked into his too tight Wranglers as he flops over to compare your answers. It was his idea to take Introduction to Classical Mythology together this semester, but turns out you were much more inclined to the material than him. Not that you were complaining, as the added study dates and the frustrated vein in his forehead were big bonuses. 

He tips his hat back, big glossy blue eyes staring up at you in the early autumn afternoon. “It’s not fair you’re smarter than me.”

You give him a pitying frown while tracing the edge of his jaw with your thumb. He’s been running rush events all week on top of his classes with barely a moment to himself, the slightest hint of stubble forming. It’ll be gone by the time bids are out, but you’re enjoying the scratch of it while it lasts.

“You smoked me on all our Stats exams. Had to even the playing field, cowboy,” you tease. You sit back on the blanket he laid out for your quick study date, the big PKP letters peeking through the loose notebook pages and textbooks. 

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Yes, but I had to be good at Stats to make you notice me. How am I supposed to keep you if I can’t remember the difference between The Iliad and Beowulf? You’ll think me a fool!” He theatrically clutches a hand to his face.

You can’t help but laugh at that, the crisp wind blowing between you two as he lifts himself from the blanket. A laugh that abruptly fades as Bob rises up on his haunches, strong thighs straining against thick denim as he towers over you. His mouth set in an unreadable grin as he looks at you over that damn ripped brim.

“Wha-”

He launches on top of you in a split second, tackling you onto the combination of soft blanket and crackling leaves. Big hand cradling your head as he wrestles you into place. You pretend to resist, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than under your favorite frat cowboy on a sunny fall afternoon. 

Holding your hands up in surrender, your thighs fall open and Bob settles himself into place. His hat is tipped too far back, his glasses are slightly crooked, and his smile is sunshine. He won’t tell you, but he’s really glad he skipped his fluid mechanics class to study out on the quad with you.

His head dips down and he presses a kiss to both your cheeks before taking a moment too long to kiss your lips. Someone whistles in the distance and you can feel his eye roll. When he’s finally satisfied with the amount of kisses, he props himself back on his elbow. 

“Any chance I can convince you to skip the rest of your classes and head back to your dorm, cowgirl? I think I’d understand structural myth theory better with more hands on learning.” 

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Libidinosa

Matthew de Clermont x Y/N - drabble - 583 WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, female reader, sex pollen kinda fic, consent, romance, sweet Matthew

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You writhed on the bed, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You pulled at your clothes, feeling so hot you were sure you saw steam rising from your skin. 

“What is happening?” Matthew asked, demanding answers.

“It’s a curse… there’s no medical explanation for their symptoms otherwise…” Marcus stated, holding your wrist to feel your erratic pulse. 

Matthew couldn’t bear to watch you in pain, he placed a gentle hand on your chest, feeling your heart himself. You moaned at the contact, arching your back and shutting your eyes. You whimpered the second he pulled away, “No!” you spat before pulling his hand back to you. You felt his hand ghost over your chest and down your torso. Everything in you felt like it was on vibrate.

“I think… I think it's a lust curse…” Marcus said, slight confusion on his face as he watched how you reacted to Matthew.

“Libidinosa?” Matthe asked, “Nobody has used that curse in ages. Last I recall it was the witch trials. Used to lure men in so witches could harvest life power…” he said.

Marcus shrugged, “There is only one way to make it go away…” Marcus said, slowly walking backwards out of the room.

“You can’t be serious…” Matthew replied, looking to Marcus before you slid his hand between your thighs.

“As a heart attack. I’m gonna go take a walk…” Marcus said, shutting the bedroom door.

Matthew looked down at you with pity, “Unfortunately mon coeur he is right…” yet he didn’t move his hand, waiting for your consent.

“I… got myself… into this mess… help me out… please…” you begged him; you cursed yourself for trying a spell from a ripped page, not knowing it would lead to this. 

“Are you sure?” he said hesitantly.

“Yes!” you squealed, trying to rub yourself through your clothes. 

Matthew unbuttoned his shirt as he walked over to you, discarding it on the floor. As soon as he climbed on top of you he felt the heat radiating from you. Your skin was on fire as he touched you, your body lurching at the contact.

“Should I just get straight to it?” he asked, not entirely sure what you needed.

You ripped your underwear off, lifting your skirt up. “Now!” you whined. 

Matthew kissed right above your clit, teasing you before he dove in. He devoured you like a man starved, licking and sucking furiously. Your body shook as he held your hips down, your back arching off the bed. He slid his fingers into your greedy, dripping cunt. Pumping them in and out slowly before picking up speed. You could feel yourself starting to topple over; clutching his hair and pushing his face into you. Your eyes rolled back as you came hard on his face. He didn’t let a single drop of your essence go to waste, kissing over your inner thighs as you started to relax. You weakly reached out for him. 

“Thank you…” you said sleepily, feeling the spell fade away from you. 

Matthew pulled your skirt down, helping you adjust so you could sleep. “My pleasure,” he smiled cheekily. “You should sleep. It’ll help after all you’ve been through today.” 

You nodded, not putting up a fight. You did, however, pull him down with you. You snuggled into his chest appreciating his soft skin while you traced over his various scars. You both found it therapeutic. 

“Goodnight, mon coeur.” he said, kissing the top of your head. 

“Je t’aime.” you mumbled.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello all! Super short fic, hope that's ok! Feeling pretty exhausted this week. Will try to write more fics next week. Thank you for all the support and patience, I recently hit 900 followers and it legit wanted to cry. 'm so thankful for everyone who reads my stuff. XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!!