#sometimes you just needs to cry and that's alright

[revelboo]

Hey darlin’, I hope you’re doing well!!! Congrats on the 1k!!! Thank you for sharing all your wonderful work!!! If it’s not too big an ask, have you ever considered doing any writing for Swerve??? I’m afraid that lil mech makes me melt and I see a lot of myself in him haha

He’s definitely fun to write

Hangman

IDW Swindle x Reader

• There’s an art to deceiving someone. It’s not in his voice or tone, it’s in finding what they need to believe and taking full advantage. Verbal sleight of hand. And it pays to know what everyone needs, because while he can and will find a buyer anything they desire, it’s information he deals in. Rumors, secrets, and gossip. A lot of it never pans out, but some of it? Sometimes he’s caught completely off guard, like now. Staring at the impossible little human that just blipped into what seems be very painful existence with a choked cry almost in his hands as he’s sorting through inventory. Because apparently that big moron with Krok’s rambling had been true not just his flavor of crazy. Who’d have guessed?

• Eyes streaming as your whole body burns without flames, you’re only dimly aware of falling and hitting something warm. Just curling into yourself, there’s a feeling of pins and needles running through you as you struggle to suck in a breath. What was that? Head lifting slightly, you stare uncomprehendingly at four big cylinders inches from your face, making a noise when they curl toward you and you crane your neck. Because those are hands. And they belong to a monster staring down at you in surprise. There’s no thought beyond getting away, trying to fling yourself out of this thing’s hand. Falling headfirst into a slightly musty smelling mountain of clothes.

• For a tiny thing, you’re surprisingly fast and hard to hold onto. Trying to burrow into his inventory to avoid him, but finally he catches you by a leg and drags you out. Braces for the screaming, but your expression is pure calculation as you twist and try to wiggle free. “Alright, Squishy. Spill. How’d you get on my ship?” Because that’s what he needs. Intel.

• Ship as in space ship? Because this thing gripping you by a leg is definitely not from your planet. You can’t be on his ship. You’d been at work, right? This is definitely not where you’d been only minutes before, though. If big and scary didn’t beam you up, how’d you get here? There’s no time to puzzle it out, because he’s hauling you up by a leg. “Put me down or I’ll lay eggs in you,” you blurt out, feeling like an absolute idiot, because this thing obviously knows about humans. It was human clothes you were rooting through, after all. And that’s what you’d gone with?

• You’re lying to a liar? Lips twitching he vents in amusement. “That so, human? You’re really going to try to con me?” So maybe he doesn’t know that much about actual humans aside from the general squishiness, but he can tell a liar when he sees one. And you’re bad at this. “Try again.”

• Dangling there feeling the blood rushing to your head, you just give up and flip him off with both hands, because if you’re going to die anyway it might as well be with one last petty bit of rebelliousness. And he laughs, nearly dropping you back in the clothes. “You know what? I think we might be able to work together to make a profit,” he says, optics narrowing as his grin widens. Not sure what to make of him or any of this craziness. Then he does drop you into the pile, still laughing as you yelp.

[ilovepapahet]

James Hetfield HeadCanons

lord 1999 is so beautiful and beefy I love him oh so much, like guys it’s actually insane

anywho my headcanons for S&M/99

————————————————————————

SFW

he’s comfortable to lay on (I don’t even know if this counts as a headcanon) ether on his arm or chest sometimes his thighs

he’s quite literally your personal bodyguard always standing behind you making sure no one’s in your way (or no one flirts with you)

lots and lots of kisses I don’t know why but he always has to kiss you like before going on stage before you leave for work before he leaves for tour/the studio always you don’t mind it though

Staying on topic with physical affection he needs his arms around you at all times always holding on to you

Literally on your shoulder on your hip/waist (and if your at an event and you’re sitting down his hand is on your thigh)

If you at a show or event with him he always makes sure your not a uncomfortable is anyway asking if your alright or if your overwhelmed and if you need to leave

He wants what’s best for his girl he also loves cooking for you especially your favourite meals (although this can go with any era) even if it might not be the best you still appreciate it

NSFW

He’s a fucking beast in bed (totally not a reference to those pair of underwear he had) he’s folding you in half literally fucking you into the mattress than going into missionary

it’s like he’s bipolar he doesn’t know if he wants to fuck you rough or not

(I read this somewhere but I don’t remember where) Jame is the kind of person to call you a good girl and a dumb slut in the same sentence (especially this era)

he’s also such a tease he’ll fuck you bring you so close to orgasm before just stopping leaving you a sobbing mess

he love to edge you literally making you cry and beg to cum before he kisses you sweetly and fucks you like a animal (NIN reference)

but after all that sex he’s bathing you with kisses and compliments and that you did so well for him before he wraps you in his arms and falls asleep

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sorry this took so long still trying to find the he time and motivation

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

caldre smut fic

includes spanking, praise, degradation, daddy kink, andre being overly worried, etc.

note: this came from a post and then my boyfriend found the full video, so i decided to write this….enjoy your slop/j

calvin was situated over andres lap while he sat on his bed, jeans pulled down to his knees to show his grey boxers.

cal had wanted to try something different this time around, but andre was hesitant.

it was weird to put it simply and he didnt want to hurt his boyfriend. although, theyve done a lot worse - even before they established they were dating.

so, nonetheless he still tries.

“just do it, ‘dre. itll be fine,” cal reassures him, looking back at him “im *asking* you to do it, arent i?”

andre slowly nodded “well, yeah, but i dont want to - you know, hurt you.”

the blonde smiled, enjoying all of the others worry and care “thats the point though, andre. its supposed to hurt.”

hes not wrong, it was supposed to hurt. he just didnt want to get too carried away and hurt him *too* badly.

calvin seems to know what hes thinking, so he adds “i trust you. i know you wont make it too bad.”

with that andre lets out a sigh, flexing his hands to let his knuckles crack “if it hurts too bad youll tell me, yeah?”

calvin quickly nodded, too eager to worry about that sort of thing. he liked how much andre cared, but sometimes it would get in the way of things.

however, the brunette finally gets on with it, trusting that cal will tell him if it becomes too much for him.

andre lays his hand flat over calvins ass, lifting it before bringing it right back down. it wasnt anything too hard at first, but it wasnt too soft either.

cal lets out a short squeak, burying his face into the bedsheets. it felt good although it wasnt exactly the roughness he was looking for.

he brings his hand up again and then back down, taking note of the way the others body seemed to jolt.

he does it a third time and then a forth, now being able to feel cals erection hard against his thigh.

“do it - a little harder, please, andre.” he begged, voice muffled from the bed sheets. he *needed* it to be as hard and rough as possible.

andre hesitated again though, but ultimately obliged - he brought his hand down harder this time which pulls a whiny moan out of his boyfriend.

“was that alright?” he asked, wanting to make sure he was doing it how he wanted him to.

“yeah - god, yeah, ‘dre. keep doing it like that *please.*” his eagerness and begging seemed to take a toll on him. it was always one of the things that got to him.

andre hits him even harder, reveling in the cry he gets in return. its beautiful, really, he thought all the noises cal made were gorgeous.

he gets ready to do it again, but is interrupted by feeling the other grind down against his thigh. it makes his breath hitch and he gets an idea - an idea he has no clue if calvin will like or not, but he does it anyway.

andre slams down his hand twice as hard, getting an even louder cry from cal “dont fucking grind against me unless i tell you otherwise, alright?”

the blonde is ecstatic as soon as he says that - he loves when andre is dominant and can use his naturally commanding tone for something like this.

“yeah - yes, sir - daddy, ah, fuck,” it comes out in a string of nonsense, but hes able to catch onto what he says and it makes his erection strain against his pants.

he doesnt reply though and just lays another slap down, listening to the moaning and whining.

he decides though that he wants to change this up a little bit.

he takes a moment to pull down calvins grey boxers, exposing him fully now. he doesnt seem to mind it - only letting out a whimper from the lack of touch.

andre gives him what he wants again though, flattening out his hand once more and hitting him.

it hurts more now without the barrier and cal lets it show, pressing his hips down as if to move away from the other.

the brunette takes notice and lays down an even harsher hit “i thought you wanted this, calvin? did you change your mind?”

cal cant get over the way he says his name, whimpering again as he shook his head, but that wasnt good enough. he lets out a yelp as hes hit once again.

“yeah - i do, i want it, sir,” it comes out, almost stuttery “please - im sorry.”

andre hummed, letting his hand rest over his ass as he rubbed at the mark already starting to form “tell me how much you want it, cal.”

the blonde swallowed hard, but does his best to answer “so, so bad, ‘dre. i - i wanna feel your hands on me,” he yelped as he was cut off by another slap, but he continued “please, daddy - shit, it feels so good.”

andre wasnt sure if he was dreaming or not. this was too good to be true and he couldnt get enough of it.

he then grabbed a fistful of his silky blonde hair, yanking his head up to look at him.

there were *tears* streaking down his face and there was spit covering his mouth and chin.

he hadnt even realized he started crying and he wants to ask if hes okay - if this was getting to be too much for him, but his boyfriend already knew what he was going to say, so he gives him a short, subtle nod for him to continue.

thats all he needed.

“are you sure thats what you want?,” he questioned, yanking his head back a little further “you want me to keep hurting you like youre some *slut?*”

the blonde nodded eagerly, sniffling “please, please daddy. i need it so fucking bad - you have no idea.”

he lets go of his hair and gets ready to continue, but the other is confused when he doesnt get right back to it.

however, his confusion turns to excitement when he hears andre unbuckling his belt and sliding it out of the loops on his pants.

andre holds both ends and doesnt hesitate to smack it right down against him, hearing the string of sounds and sobs it earns.

he does it again and again - continuing to do it over and over again while he watched the area turn a pretty shade of pink and red.

it was beautiful. he thought calvin looked like an angel no matter what they were doing - even if it something as dirty as this.

“oh, oh ‘dre,” he moaned, digging his nails into the bed sheets “you gotta let - let me do it, daddy. oh, you have to.” its obvious what he means and he figured it wouldnt hurt to let him.

“only if you can behave - dont hump me like some damn dog.” before he can even finish his sentence, he was already grinding down against him like earlier. it felt good to finally relieve the pain.

at this point the blonde was panting like a dog, grinding down against andres thigh so hard that his jeans were starting to irritate his cock, but he makes no effort to stop him.

“oh, fuck, fuck - you, you gotta let me cum, daddy, please-“ it comes out in a sob - so desperate and needy to get himself off no matter what.

andre doesnt have a reason not to let him, so he agreed “yeah, go ahead, cal.” he says it all soft, contrasting from his earlier tone.

calvin takes that and grinds his hips down just about as hard as he could while andre takes the opportunity to lay another hit or two on him.

it was only a moment later that he was cumming all over his thigh with a high pitched moan - moaning andres name as loud as he could, just for him to hear.

its music to his ears, he thinks. all of this was perfect.

calvin is exhausted by the time hes finished, letting himself lay on andres lap while he comes down from his high.

the brunette sets the belt down and placed his hand back over the marks, rubbing over them gently again “that was really good.” he says it, sounding embarrassed for even being into it.

calvin lets out a breathless laugh, finding it cute how embarrassed he seemed to be.

he managed to sit up after a moment, trying to get over the stinging pain in his body “you did good too, ‘dre. youre the best at this,” he compliments him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before pulling away “im so lucky to have you.”

the contrast between his words and what they did was amusing, but andre didnt care. he just smiled as his face warmed up.

although before he can comment, cals already looking down at his pants.

“oh, andre, your pants,” he tries to hold back his laughter “youre too easy.”

he gives him a confused look, but when he looks down he becomes about a hundred times more embarrassed. there was a wet spot right over his front, obviously from cumming himself.

“goddamnit,” he hissed under his breath “ruined my damn jeans.”

“they were already ruined anyway,” he gestured to the more obvious white spot that was from cal rather then himself “you can just borrow mine, i dont care.”

cal could say he was lucky all he wanted, but at the end of the day andre was even luckier then him.

“thanks, man,” he sighed “do you need me to do anything for you? you know - because…” he was still worried he had hurt him too much, but his boyfriend was quick to reassure him again.

“im fine, andre. dont worry so much,” he smiled as he wiped away the remaining tears in his eyes, face now tacky and dry “you did great.”

he finds it hard to believe him, but he forces himself to anyway.

“im allowed to worry, cal. youre my - uh, shit…” his voice trails off, not being able to say the word. it was all still so new so he didnt want to mess up and say the wrong thing.

“just because im your *boyfriend* now doesnt change anything,” he says it for him “im still the same person.”

he placed his hand on the side of his face, kissing him again. the other quickly reciprocated and leaned into it.

“i love you, ‘dre.”

“i love you too, cal.”

[the-universal-sun]

i had the idea that stan had been regressing even before being kicked out to cope with fillbrick - could you write a fic expanding on it? (im dyslexic my ass CANNOT do it myself 😭) like teenage stan regressing and ford taking care of him ykwim

Ooo I’ve never thought about a teen stan regressing. Thank you for the ask! Please let me know if it lives up to your expectations! TW for implied child abuse

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Stan sniffled, pulling his blanket tighter around his head. His head started started feeling fuzzy again after another fight with Filbrick. He thinks there’s something wrong with him, maybe all the fights he’s gotten into has messed up his head or something. When he gets all fuzzy headed like this, he finds it really hard to talk, and he’s not interested in any of that teenage stuff. He just wants to hold on to this cheap stuffed monkey he won from the fair a few years ago. Sometimes he has the urge to make sand castles, but he can’t bear the thought of someone seeing him like that outside of his room; his sanctuary where no body comes in. Nobody but Ford, that is. Ford’s the only one who knows about this thing that happens to Stan sometimes. He found his clutching his monkey and sobbing one day, and while Stan couldn’t explain what happened until after he stopped feeling fuzzy, Ford just sat with him until he felt better. He’s such a good brother. But Ford doesn’t know what this is either, why Stan goes fuzzy headed sometimes. Maybe he’s just a stupid freak-

“Stanley?” He flinches as he hears Ford’s voice, he didn’t hear the door open. He must be really out of it. Stan doesn’t come out from under his blanket, curling up tighter when he hears Ford walk over to his bunk.

“Stanley, are you alright? I heard you had another fight with dad. What happened this time-“ He doesn’t fight it as Ford pulls the blanket off his head, but he hides his face in the sheets when Ford stops mid-sentence. He’s going to be mad, isn’t he. Mad at Stan for being stupid and crying over nothing. He pulls away when his brother goes to touch his face, it hurts and he doesn’t want anybody touching it.

“Wh-what? Did dad…? Stanley, I-“ If Stan wasn’t feeling so bad, he might’ve giggled. He’s never heard his brother, who knows like a billion words, to be so speechless. But he doesn’t feel like laughing, his mouth is quivering because he’s trying to hold back his tears. He’s a man, not a big baby, and men don’t cry. No matter if he is feeling like a big baby sometimes, like right now. Stan clenches his eyes shut as Ford gets up from his bed with a sigh. He knew it. Ford’s mad at him, too. Mad at Stan for being a big baby who couldn’t dodge a simple right hook.

Ford comes back though, he comes back holding the cheap purple monkey Stan had named “Mookie”, a stupid name but he couldn’t think of anything else. He reaches out, needing to hold on to his Monkey toy and get comfort from it. “Here you go, Stanley, here’s your Mookie,” Stan still blushes whenever Ford speaks to him in that soft voice and uses his toys name, “scoot over. I’m getting in your bed with you. I need some Stanley time.” His brother explains when Stan looks at his, wondering why he didn’t want to go to his own bed with his own stiff sheets. Stan’s not going to argue against cuddling with Ford, that’s his favorite thing to do.

Stan sighs against Ford, snuggling his face into his chest and resisting the urge to chew on his shirt; he didn’t think Ford would appreciate that. He does wipe his remaining tears off on it, though. He feels Ford’s answering sigh ruffle his hair, his arms wrapping tight around Stan. He likes the pressure and warmth of Ford’s arms, he gets cold easily. Ford kisses his head before he starts talking. Stan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, probably wouldn’t even if he were right in the head, he thinks it’s about some research into a math problem. He doesn’t know, he just likes listening to Ford talk, it soothes him.

He still finches when Ford brushes his hand against his cheek, but he’s not as scared of Ford’s reaction anymore, it was silly of him to think Ford would be mad about this, not when he’s always had Stan’s back! He’s the best big brother Stan could ever ask for. He’ll tell Ford that when he’s feeling better. He just content to lay here with his and listen to his voice. He hopes he’ll always have Ford there with him.

[fairydrowning]

"But I wasn't crying because I was sad. I guess I was crying because we had nowhere else to go, no choice but to go on living in this world. Crying because we had no other world to choose, and crying at everything before us, everything around us."

– Mieko Kawakami, "Heaven"

[jimmyspades]

James talking about E. Edward Grey. This is one of the most beautiful reflections I’ve heard from an actor about a character they’ve played

[flowerakatsuka]

kept on thinking about some of the more emotional beats of the kurokara lore while i was trying to fall asleep last night and i just... i need to explode...

[titan-god-helios]

fuck, audhd burnout is a bitch.

[loadsofcats]

Have a feeling that, if more of you read Riders of the purple sage by Zane Grey, you’d be going mad over Lassiter

[seventh-district]

CW: mention of gun violence (in a nightmare. not IRL)

i know for a fact that my period makes me more apt to cry over things because i can have a vivid nightmare about getting randomly gunned down while waiting in line to pick up a pizza then wake up and not shed a tear but when i’m on my period i can have one (1) bad dream about my father yelling at me and i wake up and promptly begin full-on sobbing into my pillow

[empresskylo]

simon ‘ghost’ riley is a light sleeper. he’s so well trained to be on high alert that even when he’s not on duty he wakes at the smallest sound.

sometimes you’ll get up in the middle of the night and he immediately sits up. “you alright?” he slurs.

you make a small sound of discomfort or wiggle a little too much and his head is turning on the pillow, his eyes on you. and he always asks if you’re okay. you’ve told him he’s being silly and sometimes you just have to get up to go to the bathroom, but you gave up on telling him that—he’s adamant on checking on you.

and anytime he wakes up, no matter where the disturbance comes from, he’s looking over to your side of the bed to make sure you’re okay first.

and if you ever do need him in the middle of the night, all you have to do is whisper his name. he opens his eyes almost immediately and instinctively tightens his arm around you. “everythin’ alright?”

and one time you couldn’t sleep. your face was buried in his chest as he clung to you, the soft rumble of his snores letting you know he was knocked out. you didn’t want to wake him, but you were crying. you barely even moved as you teared up into his chest. suddenly, his hands squeezed you tighter. “whats’a matter?” he coos softly.

you tilt your head up to him teary eyed. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”

he clicks his tongue. “tell me what’s wrong, baby.” his hand gently caressing your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.

and he’s so protective. if you roll over and out of his hands he’s quick to pull you back into his grip. he likes having his hands on you while he’s sleeping. it makes him feel more secure knowing you’re okay.

when you fall asleep together on the sofa, your body pressed to his, his arms are wrapped around your waist, clutching you closely against him. it doesn’t even matter if he’s too warm, he wants you touching him at all times whenever he’s asleep.

it’s gotten to the point where he can barely sleep when he’s not with you. without you safely in his arms, without being able to physically feel you under his fingertips, it continuously wakes him up. he’s lucky to get two hours in a row without waking.

post that inspired this | my cod masterlist

[meiieiri]

when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

…

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

[rafey-baby]

bf!rafe making his girl feel better after a particularly long day...

18+ mdni!

c/w: rafe being big and comforting, cockwarming, use of daddy

wc: 480

- - - - - - - - - - - -

She's been particularly emotional and sensitive for the entire day because life is so hard and sometimes she just feels so hopeless; feels like a complete failure who can't do anything right.  

“Rafe, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel so fucking miserable sometimes. And I’m just so tired all the time,” she sniffles into his chest.

“Shh, there’s nothing wrong with you, alright? Just feeling a little overwhelmed, yeah?” He’s murmuring softly in her hair as she sobs, crocodile tears soaking his shirt.

“You’re all good. I’m here, Sweetheart. It’s just me, Rafe, alright?" His gentle voice reassures her, making her nuzzle her face into the crease of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

"There you go, just let it out, I’ve got you,” he settles a warm palm on her back, drawing lazy circles and smoothing a warm hand over her thigh. Big strong arms cage her to his body and he just holds her as she weeps, all exhausted and forlorn.

“I know, Sweetheart, I know. Just needed a cry, hm?” His steady heartbeat and breathing is starting to calm her down some as she rests her head on his chest, listening. And when she stops crying for a bit he mumbles tenderly. “There we go, just needed your Daddy, yeah?” 

“Rafe…” she whines out, still so restless he’s not sure how to pacify her until he feels her rocking in his lap, mindlessly rutting against the bulge in his pants. Soon enough he’s hard because how is he meant to help it when she’s gazing up at him with tear soaked eyes and swollen lips?

She just looks so pretty that he gets a desperate itch to squeeze her weakened form in his solid hands all over until she’s squealing, begging for him to stop with hearty giggles bubbling out of her throat.

"Don't worry that little head of yours so much, alright? Breaks m'heart. But I'll make it better for you," he mutters as he takes himself out; tucking his cock in her needy cunt, making her despondent crying come to a halt. He's always such a snug fit between her gummy walls and now he just stays there, stretching her out and making her feel so full.

And it works.

Her eyes cloud over some, erratic breathing evening out as she turns into something mellow, placid in his firm hold, making him smile. “That’s what you needed, huh? Just needed Daddy to stuff his cock in you, yeah?”

And she’s humming, whining, brain mushy as she wraps her hands around his sturdy abdomen and rests her head on his chest; his measured respiration and the steady beating of his heart soothing her, making her sleepy.

“There you go, Sweetheart. You’re all good. I’m right here, not going anywhere, alright?” he placates her as her eyes finally flutter shut.

[nereidprinc3ss]

in the dead of night

in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH

When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you. 

Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid. 

God, he loves you. 

It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear. 

“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping. 

“Hm?” 

His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch. 

“Is this okay?”

You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest. 

“I need yes or no, angel.”

“Yes, please.”

The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience. 

“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand. 

“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”

Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion. 

“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath. 

He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them. 

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine. 

“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”

He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual. 

“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”

The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”

“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”

He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours. 

“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine. 

“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”

That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back. 

“‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation. 

“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”

“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”

“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak. 

“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”

You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape. 

“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back. 

“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”

“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”

“Why not?”

You huff.

“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”

“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”

You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening. 

“No! I take it back.”

“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”

The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”

“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”

“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”

That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.

“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”

A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago. 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”

“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”

You laugh. 

Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response. 

He loves it when you do that. 

[woodlandscab1n]

Losing my shit at people not understanding Shadow The Hedgehog and SONIC the hedgehog I'll maul you I'll do it!!!

[daisymbin]

[10:47] - choi seungcheol

warnings: reader referred to as "mommy", this is fluff please lets not be perverted 🙄😹

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

“appa!” your 4 year old called in a small voice.

“yeah, sweetheart?” seungcheol glanced up from his phone, his attention fully on her now.

“who do you love more? me or mommy?” she asked, her tone curious but a little serious, as if this was a big question.

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smile. “what kind of question is that?” he teased, holding his arms out to her. "you know i love the both of you very much!"

“but who do you love more?” she asked again, her voice insistent, as if she really needed to know the answer.

he thought for a moment, looking down at her tiny face. "well," he said as he picked her up & settled her on his lap, "i love you so, so much, my little sunshine, but mommy... i think i love her just a tiny bit more."

her eyes widened as she processed this, her little lip jutting out into a slight pout as an immediate reaction. oh, she's definitely his daughter, alright. "why? why do you love mommy more?"

"because," he said, leaning down and pulling his 4 year old onto his lap, "mommy’s my partner, my best friend. we’ve been through so much together, and i love her in a special grown-up way. we've been together for years! without mommy, we wouldn't be here."

"we?" she asked.

"yes baby, you wouldnt be here if mommy hadn't been my best friend & partner, & I wouldn't be happy like i am today! can you imagine your loving, handsome daddy being sad, crying and alone?"

she sat there for a moment, clearly deep in thought. then, her frown softened, and she gave him a big smile. “but you still love me a lot, right?”

“of course i do,” he replied, ruffling her hair. “i love you more than anything, you’re my sweet little girl.”

she nodded eagerly, her pout completely gone now. “okay, daddy, i love you too!”

seungcheol grinned playfully, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "really? who do you love more? me or mommy?"

she paused, giving him a serious look before bursting out laughing as she looked up at you as you stepped in, "mommy!!!" she screamed

seungcheol laughed along with her, squeezing her a little tighter as he realised 2 things.

1: he can't tell if his daughter was answering his question or greeting his wife, but seungcheol tells himself, sometimes, it's better not to know.

& 2: he can't lie, even to his own daughter. he just loves you so much.