#sorry this one is a little stilted!

[prowerprojects]

I was thinking maybe a weird mix of both?Between his older friends, where he feels he has to pull his weight harder in order to keep up and his younger ones where he, not necessarily needs to "set an example" but knowing when to stand up and lead when there's a problem or a sense of danger ahead. Especially for those who look up to HIM; as he does Sonic. (Allows for him to have some flexibility, and just more tastes of his progression and what he could be in the future.)

(Nah, I get ya. Although it could make for interesting dynamics, just because certain characters have similar ages or traits does not mean they have to hang out with each other only. Nor should it be the SOLE reason.)

In some aspects, yes. "Wanting to be cool and stronger" has been a goal since his debut. He's made progress, it's the independence that's a struggle. (Sa1 was him making the epiphany. Frontiers is like him, reaffirming his goal or him making it 'clearer' after looking back a bit. But again, it's just words until we see results. Who knows what we'll be saying by 2032.)

Yeah, just a few tweaks and maybe some accessories. But nothing to throw off most fans. (Although I don't see them changing Sonic's iconic shoes, I know some really like his SOAP ones. It'd be cool if they did some happy medium between the two.)

Heh, if he got his own game again, Tails would probably have a more gadgeteer look to him there. (Also, I like the idea of him slowly upgrading his friends' gear as his skills [and confidence] grow.)

There's a lot of confusion during that time, I remember some being concerned that Sticks would replace Cream; or just Modern in generally. (But yeah, gotta be careful with redesigns. I don't think anything will top how Movie Sonic first went.)

Heh, it seems like it was a small experiment they were testing the waters with. Now that they have a flow and the series has been received positively so far, they might churn out more at a quicker pace. (No rush though. I suspect we'll get one more before the year ends.)

Oh yeah, I probably misunderstood what you were talking about last time a bit. I'm just gonna say that I hope we get more of Tails character focus.

Personally I love what they did with Sonic's shoes in sa1, they look like classic shoes but modernized, but the ones he wears nowadays just look kinda weird and metallic.

Oh yeah, they would probably be allowed to spice up the look in a spinoff. Hehehe. (You're making me waaay too hopeful about it)

You know what could be cool about upgrading the gear? If you could get upgrades for other characters in future games, and they would canonically come from Tails.

Oh I hope ^-^

[lleclerc]

iceman + his concern for maverick post-hop 31

[boygirlctommy]

watching ark: tas and <3 the animation is so bad even my dad can tell

[beloveds-embrace]

noona. noon. any angsty thoughts to share for the duke au? 👁️ (i’m craving angst sorry)

Original post

I DO!! Angst version of the au would be if you weren’t welcomed at all. Sure, no one is being flat out rude to you, no one is actively sabotaging you and John doesn’t hit or force you into anything.

But it’s lonely.

The maids barely touch you, as if disgusted they have to help and tend to the woman their Duke needed to and not wanted to marry, and the butlers are the same. Especially the head butler Garrick. You still don’t know his first name and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell you.

During the dinner… nights with John, you’ve started noticing that your food isn’t quite as well done as his? Less decorated, occasionally burnt or not cooked well, but you don’t want to cause any trouble so you remain silent and John never asks why you seem to eat so little.

You do also meet Duke Riley, the man that John is said to have an incredibly close friendship with, something born during his time servicing the kingdom. You’ve heard so much about him, from bad to good, and you wonder how he actually is.

In the end, you wish you hadn’t met him, too. The humiliation of being flat-out ignored in your own home while he speaks amicably with John…

So yes. Life as Duchess Price isn’t a happy one, but you are just glad you aren’t physically hurting.

But you do find solace in the only kindness your parents had bothered to show you before they gave you away; your personal knight, König. He is the only one to not treat you as such. He is the only one you can confide in, feel just a little bit of happiness and friendship with even if you haven’t even seen his face yet.

“I’m so tired,” you whisper to him one night, under the blanket of the night sky. You’d thrown a simple shawl over your shoulders, and hadn’t questioned it when he fell in steps behind you, always a protective shadow. Today had been hard. You had also decided to no longer dine with John, not too excited about the lackluster food and the stilted conversations. Cold maids, lonely night… you ached for something more.

You take in a shuddering breath, wrapping the shawl tighter around yourself. Konig stands right beside the bench you are sitting on, a familiar and comforting sight and presence. But tonight, it’s not enough. “I’m so tired, König.” You repeat, your voice cracking.

König simply stares at you for a while; you are used to it, used to everything about him. The mask, the accent, the unyielding body that is always keeping you safe. The quiet congestions you have had, during the days you lock yourself away in your office to ignore the loneliness and sadness plaguing you.

You aren’t used to seeing König bend down in front of you, holding his hands out until you place them in his. Familiar pale eyes peer up at you. Proper etiquette doesn’t matter to you in this moment; who will chastise you for the lack of it when this entire duchy holds only the most basic form of respect for you?

Even if they did, you would not let go of König, your confidant. Your knight.

“…What do you need, mylady?”

After a silent moment, you take in a deep breath and look back at him. “…I want… someone who loves me enough to be kind towards me. I want someone who loves me.”

König nods his head. With bated breath, you watch silently as he brings your hands forward, under his mask, to kiss each knuckle on your hands.

“I am your knight, mylady. I am your sword, and your shield. I, too, can be your lover if that is what you want, mylady. Whatever you desire, it is my duty to provide.” König breathes out against your skin, eyes not once flicking away, words not once breaking. He is fully devoted in his decision. “Will you allow me, mylady? The decision is your, always has been. I cannot take you away from this horrible place-“ not yet. “-but I can give you my love and devotion, just as I’ve always done. Will you allow me, mylady?”

And after everything you’ve been through, all the pain and loneliness and exclusion- you can’t say no.

“…Yes, König.”

(By the time John begins to realize that he may have misjudged you, once you find out the truth, it is already far too late for mending any bridges. There is no particular feeling when you look at him, or any of his men. You only ask that no one bothers your time alone with your shadow, your knight. It’s far too late for anything.)

Part 2 + dukedom au masterlist

[casdeans-pie]

---- AO3 link post

---- Part 1

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

Cas makes his way into the kitchen after Dean hears him apologise and make an excuse to leave the table. His gaze flicks to Dean’s shoulder as he walks into the room, in a familiar gesture that’s so quick Dean’s sure he’s seen him do that before and just dismissed it.

“Dean?” Cas says with concern, eyebrows scrunching together endearingly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but you mind telling me what’s up with this?” Dean gestures at where the handprint should be – which to him still looks like normal skin.

For a moment Cas says nothing. His eyebrows scrunch impossibly closer. He takes a longer look at Dean’s shoulder, then straightens up, clears his throat and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” in a stilted monotone that would fool absolutely nobody.

“Oh come on! You’re a terrible liar, I know that you can see there’s a handprint.”

Cas sighs. “Yes. There is.”

“What the hell, Cas? When were you going to tell me about the friggin’ mood ring on my shoulder?”

“Mood ring?”

“Patience said it was glowing brighter than ever and I guess I was feeling really happy and uh-”

The corners of Cas’s lips twitch up into a smile. “It was glowing that brightly?”

“Hey, nope, not the important thing right now,” Dean says, heat crawling up the back of his neck remembering why he’d been so happy. He gestures back at his incredibly normal looking skin. “Who else can see this?”

“Psychics like Patience…” Cas begins, a little hesitantly, “and other Angels.”

“Okay, this is starting to make sense ‘cause they’ve always looked at my shoulder funny.”

“And Demons,” Cas continues quietly.

“Wait, are you kidding?”

“And probably ghosts. Though I’ve never asked one.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay. That’s great. Everyone but me can see my sparkly my little pony cutie mark-”

“I don’t understand what ponies have to do with any of this.”

Dean smiles before he can help it and Cas’s eyes flick back to his shoulder. Dean grabs at the skin there, but he still can’t see anything different. “Seriously? Just from you doing your,” he lowers his voice when he mimics, “‘I don’t understand that reference’ bit?”

Cas turns his head away, but Dean can see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes from the smile he’s trying to hide.

Dean sighs, knowing the warmth in his chest will only be making the mark glow even brighter. Damn it. “And it's always been like this?”

Cas turns back to him, the smile gone. “I healed the physical scar as soon as I could, but that mark was made on your soul. The glowing print it left behind can’t be healed away,” he says softly, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Figures.”

“When I made it… it was the only way I could bring your soul back with me.” Cas’s shoulders tense in that way that means there’s more, he just doesn’t want to say it.

Dean catches on. “Wait… it means something, doesn’t it? What does it mean?”

Cas holds his gaze but says nothing, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Cas? C’mon man, what does it mean?”

Cas closes the short distance between them (Dean hadn’t even noticed they’d been standing so close) and gently lays a hand onto the skin of his shoulder, over where the handprint would be if Dean could see it. He gasps when a hot jolt of something electric shoots straight through him and leaves his entire body tingling.

Cas finally says, “It means you’re mine.”

[lipglossanon]

Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone. 

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment. 

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice. 

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.  

[matthewtkachuk]

somehow still stuck on you

navigating the realities of your post break up friendship with quinn is exacerbated by how much you’re not over him

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

warnings: a bit of exes to lovers angst

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hi @boqvistsbabe i’m your fic exchange writer, i’m sorry for the wait but i hope you enjoy!! i was feeling mad regret over not signing up for the fic exchange so when @wyattjohnston asked if i wanted to step in as a pinch hitter i said duhhhhh. this is as much a love letter to vancouver in late july as it is a quinn fic

Quinn’s back in Vancouver. 

It’s not exactly revolutionary given the millions of dollars and the capital C handed to him by the Vancouver Canucks, but it is noteworthy given the timing.  

Training camp doesn’t start for another month, which makes it highly strange for Quinn to be back in the city already. Last you heard he was having a Brat Summer in Michigan. 

Not that you were keeping tabs on your ex-boyfriend-turned-just-friend, of course. It’s not a crime to click through the first five Insta stories when you open the app, even when it showcases how much fun he’s having without you. 

Although it might have felt like it when you were dating, the sun and moon didn’t rise and fall at the behest of Quinn Hughes. It was just easier to remember that fact when you weren’t faced with him—quite literally faced with a giant banner of his likeness leaving the Stadium-Chinatown SkyTrain station. The start of the regular season would be bad enough with his name on every one of your coworkers' lips. 

All this to say you thought you had more time before he re-entered a position at the center of your universe. 

Summer had been kind to you, giving you the time and space needed to move on and heal. Even with the colder than usual June, you’d managed to sneak away to Osoyoos a couple weekends with the girls. Your skin? Glowing. Your hair? Shining. Your thoughts? Totally devoid of one Quinn Hughes. 

Until you’d been swiping through the aforementioned stories and spotted one of your favorite walking spots in his story. Very much downtown Vancouver and very much not Michigan. 

It wasn’t a terrible break up and you’d been friends long before ever getting together, so it’s not unreasonable to receive an invitation to get the gang together for drinks and dinner in Gastown to celebrate the return of Quinn and others in your friend group to your city. 

The time and place all but guarantees you have no way of getting out of it, and truly you are happy to get together with everyone, so you have no choice but to react to the “thumbs up if you’re coming” message. 

All the healing and the positive thinking in the world can’t  stop you from dressing a little better than you ordinarily would for a casual hang or spending a little more time on your hair. 

You’re glad for the extra effort when you stroll in right on time. Everyone is loitering around the entrance, clearly waiting on an open table. It kind of foils your plan to slip into an empty chair, thereby avoiding the initial how are you hug train. Before you can even think of another way out of it, you find yourself being passed along from one friend to another until you reach Quinn, fumbling into a quick and stilted hug. 

“Awkward,” Sienna hisses but all you can do is shrug pathetically. 

You’re saved from much more embarrassment by the hostess informing your group the table is ready and you’re so grateful you could almost kiss her. The long table means you’re not sat immediately beside Quinn which is a blessing because you’re not sure you could take any more close contact. Conversation flows easily around you, the usual topics of work, families, and shitty roommates. 

Everything is going well until the conversation turns to Quinn’s summer in Michigan. The distance between the two of you isn’t large enough for you to miss the way Quinn’s eyes flicker over to you when someone asks him if he’s seeing anyone. 

It’s not fair the way your vision briefly turns to black, your heart constricting in your chest. The feeling of almost betrayal that floods your veins isn’t fair either—it’s been months since you broke up and you’ve been on your own fair share of dates. Failed dates to be fair, but dates all the same. 

Sienna is your saving grace in the form of a clenched hand around your forearm, hauling you to the bathroom with some fake excuse you don’t hear. 

“Are you okay?” she asks outside of the table’s listening distance 

You can only shrug pathetically, all words failing you now. 

She waits a solid three minutes before leading you back. 

“Crisis averted!” she declares when you both return, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

The conversation has turned away from romantic endeavors, circling back to someone’s work drama. 

You get the sense that Quinn is trying to meet your eyes, but you don’t dare look in that direction until it’s time to leave. Your exit is hasty, the excuse of needing to catch the sky train in the next eight minutes excusing you from any further contact. In the sea of goodbyes, Quinn’s is the clearest. 

-

It’s not technically avoiding if your workload has you so busy you barely see your roommate, let alone your friend group, right? 

There’s a major deadline coming at work and it feels as though you’re wasting money on rent when all of your time is spent at the office. Wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. 

It’s easier to just mute the group chat, rather than be bothered by the buzzing of your phone. 

Easier until Sienna ends up bursting through your door after work using the key you’d given her for emergencies only. 

“This is an emergency,” she says before you can speak—caught red handed knee deep in an episode of Love Island UK and a tub of ice cream. 

Neither of you speak as she grabs a spoon from your drawer and burrows into the couch beside your pathetic cocoon. It’s born of burnout rather than heartbreak, but you’re aware of the optics of it all. 

“You’ve been avoiding us,” she says while some hot blonde cries in the confessional on TV. 

“Have not,” you rebut, unceremoniously pulling the tub of ice cream away from her so that she scoops up air instead. “I’ve just been so busy with work. I haven’t even had the time or energy to go grocery shopping, hence the ice cream for dinner.”

Her eyes flicker down to the tub in your hands but she doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. That there’s more to the unconventional supper than just laziness. 

“Come to fireworks this weekend,” she says instead, her motives for the impromptu visit finally becoming clear. “You missed last weekend and yesterday. I’m asking in person so you can’t ignore the group chat message like the last two times.”

“If I say yes will you be quiet and let me watch my show?” you ask. She nods emphatically, apparently proving that she can in fact be silent. Truthfully the festival of lights is a highlight of your summer, and watching the last two shows through other people’s stories isn’t your favorite way to view them. 

“Fine.”

She squeals and throws her arms around you. You want to ask if Quinn will be there, and the look on her face says she’s waiting for you to, but you don’t. 

At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if he’s going to be there or not. Exes or not, he was one of your best friends and will always be a major part of your friend group. There’s no separating the two and the sooner you get over it and everything returns to the way it was before you started dating the better. 

She doesn’t push any further, content to sit alongside you and soak in someone else’s love drama on screen rather than your own. 

“Remember a sweater!” are her parting words to you, notorious for always neglecting one. 

-

You forgot a sweater. 

It’s not until you’re sitting down on the 99 beside an old lady that you realize. You’re already running a little behind schedule and it would double your transit time to head back, so you settle into your seat and hope it doesn’t get too cold later. 

By the time you reach the beach the group is already together, sitting on a couple beach blankets lined up end to end. You spot Quinn’s unruly dark hair before you even realize you’re looking for him. 

“Look who finally showed!” someone says, and you roll your eyes as you drop down on the only spot available, right next to Quinn. 

“I’m at the mercy of Vancouver transit, we all know this.” You’d rather rake your naked body over hot coals and then confess your lingering feelings for the boy beside you in front of everyone you know than waste time in traffic and pay the outrageous inflated parking price on a night of fireworks. 

Quinn doesn’t tease you like the rest of your friends, and you wonder if he’s thinking about how the last time you saw fireworks together he’d driven. Or how he kissed you for the first time after driving you home from a different fireworks show. 

The late afternoon passes by with an impromptu game of frisbee that you don’t partake in—there’s way too many people at the beach for it to be enjoyable and you’re more content to people watch and gossip while picking at the charcuterie spread someone else brought. The active rest of the group seems to reach the same conclusion you had and someone breaks out Uno. 

By the time the sun sets, you’ve considered murdering both your friend to your left and your ex-boyfriend to your right. It’s bad enough you’re walking around with a still broken heart, now they’re ganging up on you with draw four cards and Uno reverses. The group is spared by the darkness making it too hard to play. 

If circumstances were different, Quinn likely would be teasing you about being a sore loser, offering to kiss it better until someone inevitably fake gagged and told you to get a room. 

Instead he’s silent as you turn your back to him in order to face the direction of the show about to start. The sea breeze hits and you can’t hold back your shudder. 

“Did you seriously forget a sweater?” Sienna asks. “I told you.” 

You spin around. “Yeah yeah yeah.”

Quinn is quick to pull off his hoodie, offering it to you with an outstretched hand. “Here.”

It feels too personal, too heavy, too full of implications and so you start to shake your head. “Oh, that’s okay.” 

“You’re literally shivering,” he says. “Take it.” 

It’s warm and soft and smells just like him. As you pull it over your head you’re taken back by just how right it feels. Like if you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend things were different. 

The train of thought is broken by the first firework, and you spin back to watch. 

The fireworks are beautiful and you sit in awe, ‘ooh’ing and ‘ahh’ing along with the crowd around you. 

Someone up ahead stands up to take a photo and Sienna has no problem heckling him. “Sit down!”

They do and you just shake your head at her antics. 

It turns out that sitting on the sand on a blanket isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. Mid way through the show, you find yourself shifting and leaning back to find a better way to situate yourself. In the process you brush your hand against Quinn’s, quickly pulling it back like you’d been burned. 

“Sorry,” you murmur over your shoulder, unsure if the blush coating his cheeks is just your imagination. 

When it’s over, you help everyone pack up and follow the group through the beach, quietly bitching about the sand getting into your sandals. 

Everyone starts splitting up when the sand gives way to pavement. Sienna lives close, within walking distance and she gives you a tight hug and heads off in the direction of her house. 

You’re turning away to start towards the bus stop when Quinn grabs your arm. 

Thinking he wants his sweater back, you begin to pull at the hem but his words have you freezing in place. 

“Do you want a ride home?”

Your place isn’t the exact opposite of his, but it’s also certainly not on his way home. Call it masochism, call it a desire to return to the way things were before you loved and lost, you agree with a quiet ‘yes.’

The walk to his car is quiet, and you resist the urge to ask him how much he paid for parking tonight, not sure you want to break the silence first. 

That silence continues in his car, at least between the two of you. Something soft and acoustic plays through the car speaker as the lights of Kits turn into downtown. 

When you get home, he offers to walk you to your door. Once, it was his way of making sure you got in safe. Then, it was his way of trying to prevent the night from ending. 

Now, you’re not sure of his reasoning. 

You get to the door, and he doesn’t say much more as you unlock it and step in. 

“Do you want to come in?” you find yourself asking despite yourself. 

He hesitates, hands in the pocket of his shorts. It kind of looks like he’s contemplating between stepping inside and running away. 

It makes you angry, that bitter edge of hurt you haven’t quite gotten over yet surfacing. 

“What do you want? You need to use your words, Quinn. Because your actions are confusing me!”

You have a very formulated argument prepared, full of evidence and conflicting actions—the result of hundreds of mini one sided arguments playing in your head since he’s been gone and since he’s been back. Arguments that don’t come to fruition because the look on his face is dangerous. 

He cups your face in his hands and presses his lips solidly to yours. You don’t even have enough time to fall into the kiss before he’s pulling apart. “How’s that for confusing?”

There’s no answer from you, not verbally at least. Just the momentum of you throwing yourself at him, crushing your lips to his. 

Words can wait. 

[pseudowho]

Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #3, Bite

Hiromi suffered from cute aggression. But, only for you.

He simply couldn't help himself. After a terrible, awful, no-good day at work, full of trials and tribulations, to come home and see you, in all your comfy glory...well. He simply couldn't help himself.

Stepping through the doorway, and leaning back to shut the door with an incoherent huff that might have been 'I'm home', Hiromi locked onto his target. He didn't even stop as he kicked his shoes off. Instead, he yeeted them off mid-step, one at a time, in two practiced, fluid flings.

You hadn't managed to spin round by the time his arms looped around you, pressing you into the wall from behind with more incoherent groans into the back of your shoulder. You felt his hooked nose, nuzzling hard, his whole face rubbed with some force, as he squeezed you, shook you from side to side with minimal self-restraint, pushing against you, as if he'd climb straight into your skin if he could.

You laughed, squirming against him, which only made his grumbling ministrations worse.

And then-- the bite. You yipped to feel his sharp canines sink into you, and his biting reproach.

"Stop squirming," Hiromi chastised, muffled, "and I wouldn't have to bite."

"It hurts, you're so strong--"

"--shut up and take it, there's a good girl--"

"--you're so rude to me--"

"--gosh, I'm sorry, I meant shut up sweetheart--"

By this point, you had turned in his arms, still pinned to the wall, play fighting. Hiromi laughed as you tried to get away, pinning you harder, wedging you to the wall with his hips, until--

Bite.

Hiromi moaned, raw and pornographic, as your teeth pressed into his throat. You short circuited, pulling away and looking up at him in surprise.

Oh. The way his eyes glimmered down at you, feverish, little lit coals in the dark. The way his cock pulsed, thickening against your belly. The way he wordlessly begged you to do it again.

You reached up, sinking your teeth into his neck once more. Hiromi moaned again, ragged and stilted. His hips fucked involuntarily against you.

"--haaah shit-- don't stop-- harder--"

You did as you were told. By the time he was done with you, splayed and full of cum beneath him, Hiromi was peppered with bite-marks, panting, hardening again against your thigh and grazing his teeth around your nipples.

He simply couldn't help himself.

[moonstruckme]

Hey! Unsure what happened but I copy+pasted a request into my doc and now it's gone :( Anyway to whoever sent this, thank you!

Request: can i request hurt/comofort with high!reader x buzzed!sirius (or poly!mar whatever you’d like) where reader smokes a little more then she can handle and he takes care of her but he’s like still a little high himself, if that makes sense TT just nice and lovey and dovey!!!!

cw: weed, greening out, mention of vomit/nausea

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Sirius is trying to be comforting, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of your back underneath his hand. The muscles of your shoulders are tight, your breathing stilted and your skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Sirius can’t stop thinking about how he’d like to rest his face in between your shoulder blades and kiss an adoring line down your spine. He worries it wouldn’t be very helpful. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quieter than breath, a soft sigh drooping your shoulders as you let your head loll forward. 

Your body starts to list forward with it. Sirius weaves his arm under yours, settling down more comfortably on the bathroom floor and pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I should have warned you about this. I need to remember to be careful with you.” 

Caution isn’t really in Sirius’ nature, but however unwisely, you put a lot of trust in him. The weed you’d smoked tonight was a different strain than the one he’s shared with you before, but he’d forgotten to clue you in. You’d matched him hit for hit, and with your lower tolerance it hadn’t ended well. You’ve been sick more than once. 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper. Your voice sounds tight. Sirius’ chest contracts, worrying you’re starting to get teary. “You don’t have to take care of me, but you are. You’re so, so nice.” Definitely teary now. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night.” 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your face with something akin to desperation. He already feels like his heart is going to spill right out of his ribcage, and your upset makes it about ten times worse. “You’re not ruining anything. Of course I have to take care of you, you’re my girl, you know? I want to.” 

He peers around you, trying to see your face. You’ve got that same, slightly spaced-out look you’ve had for the past hour, a sad little line between your brows. Sirius reaches up to smooth it out with his finger, and you turn toward him like you’d forgotten he was there. He wonders if this much affection can actually crush his bones to dust. It feels plausible.

“I love you,” he says. 

You sigh, fitting your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It’s not a happy sound, but he knows it’s not meant for him. “You, too.” 

You take his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines in his skin. Your touch is so light it tickles. He has a small scar from a failed attempt at cooking with James when he first moved out, and when you get to it you raise his palm to your lips, resting them there purposefully. 

“Can I have a hug?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Fuck yeah, always.” 

Sirius does the work of turning you around, your own coordination not spectacular at the moment, and your arms curl under his arms, wrists crossing between his shoulder blades. He thinks your hands might be making fists. For his part, he rubs up and down your spine slowly, squeezing intermittently, unsure how much you want. Sirius has always been shit at comfort. He’ll keep trying as long as you let him.

“I don’t like this,” you admit. Your face feels warm where it’s pressing into his shoulder, and Sirius realizes you might be crying again. He hugs you harder. “I can’t think.” 

He feels, very acutely, his heart fracturing. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s awful.” 

“I’m scared,” you whimper. 

“I know, sweet girl.” He may well be crushing you now. If your ribs are breaking, you don’t seem inclined to say anything about it. “You’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve got you. Just try to relax, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?” You don’t respond, sniffling. Sirius rubs your back again. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick any more, darling?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Alright, my lovely. Let’s go to bed, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.” 

You hug him tighter. “Thank you for being so nice to me.” 

“Wrong again,” he says, tucking a kiss into your hair. “I’m not nice to you, I just love you too much.” 

[ellie-writes-games]

Lucanis Lunchboxes: Shoelace Bolognese

What if Lucanis packed Rook lunchboxes with little notes in them throughout the main story?

On the map, a "!" icon appears in the hallway just outside Rook's room in the Lighthouse. A temporary chest here holds a one-of-a-kind Valuable and a letter from Lucanis that is added to the Codex. Triggers after the Act 1 pantry scene, Lucanis romance only.

[SPOILERS] Read the letter from Spite (& Lucanis) below the line:

Something fun I've been playing with is comparing the different versions of Spite we meet in Veilguard:

There's the chaotic, petulant Spite we see talking to Lucanis.

And the stilted, impulsive outbursts we hear when Spite takes him over.

And the ruminative beat poetry Spite leaves behind in Lucanis' logbooks.

Like Lucanis, Spite has distinctive facets to how he talks depending on the subject and audience. Neither of them write quite like they speak, and I found these styles to be too consistent to consider it an accident. So I think it's a neat quirk and a worthy challenge to play with. Because it should sound like him, but not at the cost to losing those traits he leaves in his writing. Sorry, I ramble. Words are neat.

***Also, Spite has some markers in his canonical writing that can be misread as grammatical or spelling mistakes. For the love of the Maker -- it's done on purpose. :P

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Part of an on-going series of fan-writings. See the full Masterlist here.

This is fanfiction written by me, @ellie-writes-games. These are NOT actual screenshots from the game. Peace, love, and mad props to the DA writers.

[arathain]

Seams

Stone walls screeched in song as the light parted open, metallic footsteps softened by the contents of the reservoir. The roiling shadow stood directly beneath the Great Charter Stone, waiting. Expectant. As the figure approached the centre, the facade of the their discontent melted away, to give in to a pointed, relaxed smile.

'You have misbehaved much, haven't you?' happily said the figure, admiring the frankly unacceptable state of their surroundings.

Mouthpiece snarled. 'I know what you're here for. Get on with it.'

The figure's eyes snapped to them, while their head remained perfectly still, stilted at an awkward angle.

'And what would that be?'

The ghost's eyes narrowed.

'You fucking know what it is, you-'

Their throat froze in place, as the figure continued to examine them. Snapping their head to face Mouthpiece, they walked up to stand immediately before them, the clothed being towering over Mouthpiece as still as a statue.

Mouthpiece dropped to their knees, their body straining in flickers as they attempted to move. A soft whimper escaped their lips, a strange, dissonant sound.

'*Please*'

Piercing, burning eyes snapped down to the kneeling ghost.

'You still haven't voiced your wish, though.'

The creature reeled.

'END THIS' they spoke, the timbre of their tone splitting into disconnected things. Voices.

'FREE US- ME- FROM THIS. FROM EVERYONE. LET ME GO AWAY.'

'Oh, that.' the figure mused. 'I can do that.'

The Augur descended in an instant, water splashing as the two figures fell to the reservoir floor. Sharpened claws tore into spectral insides, all of a sudden growing less and less ephemeral. The ghost screeched in pain, voices separating, straining to break free.

Faces broke through the inky mist, only to sink into oblivion again; a half-mask, a square head, a rat mask, yellow glasses. Having ripped the rib-cage open, the Augur began gorging on the entrails, blood splattering as they savoured the flesh. Fat, muscle, and bone unravelled in stringy pieces, as the figure continued to scream in agony, limbs and joints splitting, contorting, and merging; orange and black skin, woolen hands, blue shirt, red sweater, and ink - so, so much black, bitter ink. Remnants of the Mason oozed in taloned hands for brief moments before being consumed - countless, immeasurable, spiteful voices. The Augur's smile grew a little, gazing lovingly at the flailing soon-to-be corpse.

'I get it, I really get it. The brightest light hurts when all you know is darkness. But it was not your choice, and I'm rather sad I could not witness them before the fall myself. You were far too selfish, my beloved - all too fitting, so consider this your reward.'

Mouthpiece's vision grew hazy, as their parts were chewed and swallowed one by one. Ugly; so, so ugly. The Augur's tongue wrapped around Mouthpiece's head as they bit down, mist crumbling into golden ichor. It hurts, hurts to see yourself; always, everywhere. Sensing the hurt, the pain, the Augur smiled in exultation. Two bodies intertwined, a lone, gleeful fire consumed the hateful, bitter remnants of everyone, everything. Sorry. I couldn't take us all down together.

No time at all later, the Augur stood up, licking their teeth and lips clean with their forked tongue. Looking around, they wrapped their arms around themselves to contain the sheer ecstasy of all that they now witnessed, all the hatred and pain now swallowed and digested. Standing up, the Augur's wide, wild grin calmed down into a controlled, innocent smile.

'Well' the Augur mused to themselves, looking up at the uncut aqueduct walls 'I believe there is work to do.'

They say the misfortune of others tastes like honey; but that is not the whole story. It is the struggle, the potential for happiness, that sweetens the pain - for the utmost showcase of power, the greatest mastery of the flame, is to smother it.

[5iyoomi]

How The Haikyuu Boys Kiss You ━ Part 2

characters: Sugawara, Shirabu, Semi, Akaashi

warnings: all fluff with a touch of hurt/comfort in Sugawara's 🙏 gender neutral reader here as well

A/N: I'm totally not procrastinating making my masterlists (I don't have much on here yet so it's fine right? right.) but anyways I've had so many ideas lately which is crazy cuz almost all of what I usually write is like mlm x characters. I barely touch x readers myself but I love reading em'. Making a blog in the middle of a deep hyperfixation will do wonders like that cuz I've been writing smth practically every day LOL.... sorry if this one's shorter/sorta all over the place

Part 1 | Word Count: 1,170

‎

Sugawara Koushi

His kisses are definitely short and sweet (like Hinata) but they're passionate

He's probably the most experienced of the boys or at least comes off that way, he knows what to do and how to do it

He's pretty feather-light with his touches, so much so that you don't even register they're there half the time

But you like how they ground you in the moment

Sugawara's also the kind of guy to kiss your tears away, relishing in how your eyelashes flutter while he flashes you a comforting smile that he saves for you in your more vulnerable moments

"Everything's gonna be alright, okay? I'm here for you"

He'll usually kiss you when you least expect it, rambling on about something you're interested in or something before he leans in

Your words get caught in your throat when he does, but he doesn't let it linger, so you're just left blinking in surprise with a visible question mark floating over the top of your head

He must be able to tell cuz he laughs a little

It leaves you wanting more, so he never complains if you ask for another or take the initiative and give him one right back

He has a tendency to place his hand atop yours or on your knee/thigh when you kiss

He also likes when you kiss his cheek, right where his birthmark is. It tickles since it's by his eye, but it makes him feel closer to you

Sweet but super shameless, if somebody sees you and you get fidgety he'll tell you there's nothing to be embarrassed about

"So? It's fine if people talk. We're dating, aren't we?"

Needless to say you stopped caring so much after that

Shirabu Kenjirou

ANOTHER UNDERRATED KING

"He's mean/annoying" DON'T EVEN JOKE LAD

Anyways....

He's not allergic to PDA but he won't entertain it at first

Like at all

It's not cuz he doesn't want to, but he gets really shy about it

As his first partner, you're naturally his first kiss too, so he has no idea what he's doing

He's scared you'll make fun of him, so when the perfect moment arises and he turns his head at the last second, you have to face him and tell him that his inexperience doesn't matter to you

You won't laugh or poke fun at him, you respect his feelings and always will

He's less apprehensive if it's also your first, but it's still a hurdle you have to overcome

He's probably a little blunt especially when it comes to affection, he says the exact opposite of what he means 80% of the time

"I can do it myself" = he wants help but doesn't know how to ask for it

"I know that, idiot" = he's silently thankful you didn't brush him aside, that you looked past that composed facade he puts on sometimes and brought him out of it

Once that's out of the way and he feels like he can be more open with what he wants, he recloses the distance between you

It's messy and stilted, but neither of you mind. He just wants to be near you

He's so touch starved it's insane, you'll hold his hand or touch his face and he literally freezes up

If you didn't know any better, you'd think it was because he didn't like it, but you know he wants to, he's just really awkward. He has a lot of difficulty with asking for physical touch

Did I mention touch starved?

He pushes away from you if somebody sees, even if you guys aren't kissing

"You didn't see anything" he says to whoever it is, and you chuckle, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead

You can see his brain short-circuit in real time when you do :>

Semi Eita

Tendou would absolutely tease him for it but he has the biggest soft spot for you

You'd be at one of their games holding up a sign with his name on it or cheering the loudest for him and Tendou makes a mental note to mess with Semi later (much to the shorter boy's dismay)

Tendou's a MENACE

But anyway

His kisses are pretty similar to Sugawara's, but they last for longer

Light, passionate kisses with his hands on your lower back or two fingers gently tilting your chin up if you're shorter than him

They might get deeper, they might not. It just depends on how you react and how he's feeling (he never wants to accidentally push you into anything)

But once he's got you, he doesn't wanna let you go

He gives them out sparingly, more of a words of affirmation person, but he likes how much you smile against him when he does

He's surprisingly pretty doting on his partner, so if you grab his wrist when he moves to catch his breath, 9 times out of 10 he'll yield to your touch

"Not yet..." oh BOY he's whipped. He'd only say no if you both actually had to be somewhere or he starts to get sick of the stares thrown his way that are mostly from Tendou and Shirabu

He has you wrapped around his finger just as much as you've got him wrapped around yours

If he isn't kissing you on your lips, then he'll bring your hand to his mouth and kiss your knuckles/fingers

It reminds you of a prince from one of those old fairy tales <3

Akaashi Keiji

When it comes down to initiation with him, it's kinda 50/50

Akaashi's the kind of person to get explicit consent before doing anything and on top of that he can read people pretty easily, especially people he knows well

So if he senses any apprehension he'll stop or give you a quick peck on your cheek instead

But if you lean into him, lips puckered and a wordless plea in your eyes, he doesn't have any reason to refuse

(On the flip side, I don't think he minds random kisses or hugs from you, but he appreciates if you ask too)

His kisses are soft and loving, the kind that leave you feeling warm and floaty for a few minutes afterwards

They're always purposeful too, kisses after an accomplishment or during one of your dates

But sometimes he does just wanna kiss you cuz you look pretty/handsome

Your lips curl up, eyes lightly squinted in a display of happiness as you look at him like he's as beautiful as the stars

And it's then that he gets that urge

He's more embarrassed about being seen or walked in on. He probably wouldn't wanna keep going, so most of your kisses in public are short (but still equally sweet)

He keeps his hands above your shoulders, or he holds your own, giving them the occasional gentle squeeze

He swipes a thumb across your cheek and presses a parting kiss to the corner of your mouth, bright eyes saying more than he ever could

He loves you, he really does

[jaegerbby]

➳ tomura shigaraki x female! reader

╰┈➤ word count; 1423

╰┈➤ drabble; noncon undertones, season one shigaraki (not buff lol), cervix fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia kink, creampie, unprotected sex, manhandling, yn has an immune quirk.

shigaraki has your hands pressed to the small of your back.

where your skin is warm, his is so cold.

his quirk does not turn you to dust. no! you are different from all the others. you are special.

maybe too special for your own good because that is the reason you wound up here.

he is panting, sweat lined along his hairline. you are crying so much but he cannot help that it only makes him fuck you harder.

he does not have one bit of restraint.

he does not like that you seem so miserable, he swears he is doing this out of love. he wants to make you feel good. really! he just gets a little rough.

he just gets so caught up in how tight your cunt is, how wet you are, how your gooey walls clamp down on him.

he pounds into your leaking slit until he is bruising you. he does not prep you despite the agonising stretch he subjects your pussy to.

shigaraki is sorry, truly he is!

he hunches over you, his bony chest meeting your back. his balls are squished between your bodies as he presses on the small of your back and ruts into you. it is borderline painful.

he puffs heated breaths, "don't cry s'much." he slurs. he leans down to cover your swollen lips in a messy kiss. he licks into your drool filled mouth, silencing your sobs and a few kisses are all it takes to have you fawning for him again.

you take any and every thing that he is willing to give you.

"don't like it like this." you whine when he pulls away, the strand of saliva sticking to your chin as you mush your face to the sheets.

you say that yet you are pushing your ass back on him. you say that but your cunt is tightly gripping his cock like you need it to survive.

he sneers, nails digging into your flesh, the jagged edges nicking the skin. his cock slips out halfway, covered in slick, so much that it drips between your thighs.

everything is sticky and your eyes squeeze at the feeling. he shoves back in roughly making you jolt.

"but your pussy likes it. your little cunt likes being filled with cock, she's soaking for it." your fingers flex under his hold, you can feel his eyes burning into you, can feel his body against your skin, you wish you could hide.

you cannot at all, not when he is pressing down on your back and has you at his whim. has you in a position where he can fuck you as hard and fast as he wants.

"i want to see your face." you brokenly speak, his spit slick tongue comes out to lave over your cheek, licking up your tears as he pounds his cock into you.

"you are so fucking spoilt." shigaraki's gravelly voice fills you ear, his free hand slips under you, rolling your stilted bundle of nerves.

the pert of his nipples grazes on your back with every sharp movement that has his cock prodding at your cervix. has it dipping deep in your slurping cunt and stretching your hole until it fits perfectly around him.

"fuckkk." he drawls, your body is so soft, so comfortable. you whine, your ass pushing more into him, your body moving with his thrusts. he is putting all his weight onto you, forcing you into the bed completely.

his hand squeezing your neck so tightly you gasp. his jaw hangs, spit trailing down the side of his mouth as his eyes roll back. he is not focused on you, he is focused on how good your slick cunt feels.

how your insides seem to suck him in and grip his cock. it feels like you are milking him dry, like you are squeezing his release out of him and into your pussy.

shigaraki's movements grow sloppy, his strokes are no longer full. his body shakes, humping you shallowly but somehow it hits every spot inside of you.

he is fucking into you with desperation, loud paps and squelches fill the room as your cunt tugs him in.

the swollen walls of your warm insides make it difficult for him to function. he feels like he is short circuiting.

"shouldn't feel this good!" he whimpers. you turn him into a mindless freak who only cares about sticking his cock in your warm, soaking hole.

he hates that you have that power over him.

your ass feels bruised at this point, his pelvic bones colliding with your skin so often you wince.

he is forceful and uncaring, vigorously fucking you with everything in him and his hips stutter before he is releasing heavy drops of his load into you.

you grit your teeth, not able to move with how he forces you down onto the sheets. his hips rock, head leaning back and his lips parted.

it is so hot and thick, it feels like your stomach is bulging from the amount. he is still humping you whilst his cock spurts streams of his load along your walls.

the milky cream coating your cunt and leaking its way into your puckered cervix. he collapses onto your back, your clit rubbed raw although you have not came once.

shigaraki pants, still grinding into the swell of your ass to fuck his seed back into you. the excess spews past the perimeter of his length, making your cunt messier.

he covers you, using all of his weight to keep you pinned to the mattress and only focused on him.

despite your squirming, he is unmoved.

"stop your fucking whining." he pinches your nipple. "your pussy feels good." he says it like it is the most renowned compliment in the world. like it does not reduce you to one thing alone. he nuzzles your cheek like he was not awful just a moment before.

you eyes are still teary, "nothing else?" you mumble. he shakes his head but it is only to get you angry. to see your lips tremble and tears fill your eyes. to see how hard you try not to cry but fail.

he knows you want to move but you cannot in this position.

not when he has you trapped beneath him, your cunt filled to the brim with his cock and his cum.

"get off!" shigaraki does not like when you talk to him like that. his teeth nip at your throat.

"be nice to me." he rasps. you want to but when has he ever been nice to you?

you can still feel his cum dripping inside you while his heavy body is flushed to you. you can barely breathe when he has you secured under him by lean muscle.

you are not sure how long he keeps you in the puddle of his semen before he pulls out.

his cock bobs between your legs as he sits up, you are wincing at the feeling. the slick mess of his cum leaks out of you.

you feel dirty.

he does not bother asking, his rough fingers tug you to face him but you slump further into the sheets.

you hear him huff at your resistance and then he is forcing you unto your back.

he hovers over you, thick strands of hair hanging down and framing his features.

"i thought you wanted to see my face." you did. you wanted to more than anything else. in a way you like to pretend that he is yours as much as he says you are his.

your eyes trail over his pretty red eyes and his blushed skin. his swollen lips and his sunken cheeks. you want him closer.

he should be the last person you find comforting but you cannot help that you do.

your hand strokes his aching cock, thumb massaging the prominent vein on the underside.

he lurches forward his stiffening erection meeting your slit. you mutely cry as he shoves it inside all at once.

he groans lowly, rocking his hips before his lips meet yours. he sloppily kisses you as he fucks his cum back inside of your cunt.

your hands greedily find purchase in his skin, trying to convince yourself that you mean something to him.

he takes and takes with no consideration. perhaps this is your purpose. to give without a care.

to give shigaraki every bit of you.

it only made sense for someone with a quirk like yours.

love my scrawny mannn

[glorious-spoon]

been broken one too many times [9-1-1 | Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

1K words | Teen arguments | angst | feelings realization | minor buck/tommy | pre-relationship buck/eddie | post-ep for 8x05: Masks

been broken one too many times [on Ao3]

"You need to stop picking at those," Eddie says without glancing up from his phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Buck drop his hand. "I wasn't."

"You were."

"Fine," Buck snaps. He shoves his chair back and stands, stiff jerky motions that grate on Eddie's already frayed nerves. "I'll stop picking. You know I'm not a toddler, right? I'm a grown man. I have an EMT certification. You don't have to talk to me like I'm five."

Irritation flares. It's never very far beneath the surface these days. "Okay, fine, pick at your scabs, fuck up your face, see if I care. Since you're a grown man and all."

Buck breathes out hard through his nose. Eddie glances up from the article he hasn't actually been reading this whole time and takes in the look on his face, the very clear fuck you behind his teeth.

Just say it, Eddie thinks, something ugly and eager surging up the back of his throat. Just say it. Pick a fucking fight for once. Maybe that's why he's even here, sitting in Buck's kitchen when he knows damn well he's not good company for anyone right now, including himself. Maybe he's just got to break one last thing, since that's all he seems to do these days.

Buck doesn't say it, of course, because he never gives Eddie the satisfaction of a fight when he really wants one. It makes Eddie want to be mean, makes him think of all the things he could say, all the insecurities he could throw in Buck's face that would make him flinch and recoil and maybe finally think better of letting Eddie hang around. It's not like either of them is exactly having a good time right now.

He doesn't speak. Buck scoffs again, then moves back into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. It was already more than half-full, so Eddie knows he's just doing it so he doesn't say something he'll regret.

"You want more?" he asks, without turning. It's not exactly a peace offering, but it's close.

"No. Thanks."

Buck nods. Eddie watches him pour coffee and switch the pot off. He pulls the fridge open for a container of creamer—it's a different brand than he used to use, and Eddie wonders if that's Tommy's influence. One of many stupid little details that gets under his skin the way that everything seems to get under his skin these days. Eddie watches as he stirs it into his cup and puts it back in the fridge. He braces his palms on the edge of the counter; his shoulders shift as he breathes in, and then slowly out, and then finally turns back around.

"Sorry," he says, disarmingly rueful. "Tommy's been on me about that too. I'm a little sick of hearing it."

Eddie shrugs, strangling down his own anger. It burns beneath his skin, but that's nothing new. He doesn't need to take it out on Buck, especially not over something this stupid. He'll go home after this, and beat the shit out of the heavy bag in his garage until his knuckles hurt and his chest finally has space to breathe. He'll call his son and endure ten minutes of stilted Facetime conversation while Chris plays on his Switch and refuses to look at him. He'll cope, just like he always does. "Like you said. You're a grown man."

"Yeah, and my face itches," Buck groans, and that's a peace offering, Eddie knows, that wry little note of self-deprecation in his voice.

"It's getting better," Eddie says, and it is: after Billy Boils' makeshift funeral Buck finally went and got a prescription for prednisone like he should have in the first place, and the giant painful-looking cysts have shrunk down until they don't look much worse than a bad breakout of acne. Still not pretty, but not nearly as gruesome as they were a week ago.

"Says you. My own boyfriend still won't kiss me."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't kiss you either with those things on your face. No offense."

"Um, offense absolutely taken," Buck says, but he's smiling a little now as he moves back to the table with his coffee cup. "Besides, that doesn't count. You don't want to kiss me the rest of the time anyway."

"That's—" Eddie stops. His fingers twitch around his coffee cup; he thinks with a sudden vague sort of panic that it's a good thing it's resting on the table right now, because if he was holding it, he'd probably drop it. Broken shards of porcelain and coffee spreading out across the tiles and the words that's not true resting as easily on his tongue as if they've always been there.

"Eddie?" Buck asks, and he becomes aware that he's just been staring fixedly at his half-drunk coffee, that his breathing is coming faster than it should. Jello, he thinks. You're jello, you're jello, you didn't say anything, you're fine, just breathe. It doesn't help. He still feels like his heart and his lungs and maybe a few other internal organs are about to crawl up the back of his throat and spew out red and bloody across the floor.

That's not true, he thinks again, with an incredulity that borders on hysterical. He wants to start laughing, suddenly.

He has to get out of here.

"Yeah," he says, and this time he's the one pushing his chair back, standing jerkily. Buck takes a step back, wary.

"You good?" he asks. His face still does look pretty bad—lumpy and swollen, blotchy red in spots. It's not even a simple straightforward attraction, which would be bad enough. Because Eddie was lying just now, wasn't he—he'd still kiss Buck, even looking like this. He'd still want to, because he's always wanted to.

Fuck.

"Yeah," Eddie says. He grabs his phone, shoves it in his pocket. "I just realized, I have to—" he has no plausible excuse on hand. Chris is in Texas. His grocery shopping is done. His house is clean. His empty life is empty of any good reason to get him out of here, but he needs to get out of here, now. "I have to go."

Buck looks like he wants to keep pushing, but Eddie doesn't give him the chance. He scoops up his keys, moves quickly toward the door, pulls it open.

"I'll see you around, Buck," he says, halfway over his shoulder, and pulls it shut behind him before Buck can answer.

He doesn't feel he starts breathing again all the way down the stairs.

[after-witch]

Scaramouche + “I regret to inform you, my Lord, but I believe I may have fallen ill while you where away.”

The words you put so neatly to paper were done on a whim. You were bored and restless, maybe a little bitter, that someone who refused to let you access the greater wide world would feel justified in leaving you alone--not literally, though you hardly call a handmaiden and guards who won't converse with you outside of stilted repetition of their orders much better--for weeks at a time. Even if it was on some important business, something he couldn't get away from, and so on, as he told you.

So you wrote them down in a flourish,. To worry him, to bother him, maybe that was one and the same. You expected to get a vexed letter back... maybe even new orders to the guards to bring in a physician to examine you

What you didn't expect was to be woken in the dead of night by the sound of furious footsteps and snapping words, by the clang of guards' armors as they sprang to attention on what would have been an otherwise boring night watch.

What you didn't expect was your bedroom door to fling open, revealing Scaramouche, eyes wide and pupils large, breath puffing out in a furious huff.

But that is exactly what has happened, and now you're sitting up in bed, hair askew, your own eyes wide with fright. You cling to the luxurious blanket covering you in your thin night clothes.

"M-My lord!" Because what else is there to say, when your Harbringer husband storms in when he isn't supposed to return for another 4 weeks?

He's standing next to the bed before you can think or blink, face pink with exertion and perhaps anger.

"What's wrong? Have those idiots I left in charged called for a physician yet? Do you have a fever? Have you thrown up? You were the only one who bothered to write of your illness. I should have their heads."

The barrage of words leaves you at a loss. You didn't think he would be this upset.

"I... I..."

He grabs at you, clutches at your wrist, fingers pressing on your pulse, fast and frightened from your unexpected awakening.

"Spit it out," he says, but rather than pure irritation there's something woven into his words that gives you pause.

Fear?

Perhaps it's this realization that gives you the courage to push forward. You swallow and speak slowly, giving your voice some much needed hoarseness for good measure.

"I'm... feeling better now," you say, voice tiny and unsure. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worried you. I had a terrible headache and stomach pains, but it passed a few hours after I wrote my letter, and I didn't think to change it."

His lips curl into a frown. He looks you over, perhaps taking in whether or not the sweat on your forehead is from heat or nervousness or the aftermath of illness.

And then his hand goes to your forehead, and your stomach clenches--it reminds you of your mother.

He tsks.

"You're still warm," he says, after some consideration.

Are you? Or is it a lie he's telling to make you feel better? Or to make himself feel better, for having come all this way in such a state?

"Lie down. I'll have a servant bring you something cool."

There's nothing to do but ease yourself back down on your pillows, watching the Harbringer that has made yourself your husband, and wait to see what comes next.

[overtake]

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night 👀

49 for this prompt list

All things considered, Daniel has a very healthy sleep schedule for a guy that jets off to a new country almost every single week. Someone advised him years ago to implement the same wind-down ritual before bed no matter where he was in the world. Daniel hasn’t always been great about routine — he needs 3 reminders on his phone just to remember his vitamins every morning — but he has this shit down to a science.

He’s three steps in when his night gets thrown for a loop.

He’s carefully moisturized his chronically dry elbows. The corners of his eyes are shiny with wrinkle cream so expensive that even he winces at the price. He’s spritzed the pillow he brings on every trip with a lavender spray. He’s just getting ready to slip under the sheets, throw one leg over a hotel pillow, and drift off to a new episode of his favourite UFC podcast when the little hotel room doorbell rings.

He pauses for a second, then continues to pull back the sheets. Surely someone just has the wrong room.

The stupid doorbell rings again, and he’s pretty sure he audibly groans. He throws his phone on the spot where his body should already be lying and stuffs his feet into the little hotel-provided slippers. He has no one to blame but himself — he forgot to turn on the stupid privacy setting in the room to stop the doorbell from chiming.

He puts on a neutral face, lest it be some poor hotel or team employee forced to deliver him an urgent message, and opens the door.

“Hi, Daniel.”

Max barrels inside. In the 2.5 years they’ve been teammates, his shoulders have slightly widened. He’s still lean, but Daniel can see his body taking on a broader, more adult form, and he uses the slight size advantage to push past Daniel.

“Hello?” Daniel says, confused. Max is a man on a mission. He heads straight to the balcony door, pushes aside the thick blackout curtain and the gauzy ones underneath to unlock the handle and patter onto the small space.

“Can I help you with something?” Daniel asks. He wanders over and peeks his head out, but keeps his nice, clean slippers safely inside. There’s a slight breeze in the night air, and Daniel pulls back inside with a slight shiver.

Max is bent over, picking something up. He’s in a very wrinkled shirt and a pair of shorts that look far too small for him — not size wise, but length wise. Daniel doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much of Max’s pale, white thighs on display, matching the crescent moon in the sky above them.

Max stands up, an object wrapped securely in his hand, and shakes his head violently. If Daniel could see him better, he might hazard a guess that Max is blushing. It makes him want to poke and prod, but he knows Max and knows when he’s open for teasing. Right now, his plush lips are pressed tightly together, arms curled against his chest protectively. Nows not the time to be a dick, even if Max is disrupting his night.

Max walks past him again, not bothering to close the balcony door, when he finally seems to register that this whole interaction is incredibly whack, even for the two of them.

He pauses long enough to examine the room, Daniel’s little slippers, and the tantalizingly untucked sheets.

“Sorry,” he says. The words sound stilted from his mouth, usually reserved for awkward speeches to factory post-crashes. “I’m in the room above yours, and we — I dropped something off the balcony onto yours.”

Daniel drops his gaze to the object in Max’s hands. As fast as Max’s hands successfully move to cover it, Daniel’s seen enough bottles of lube in his time to know what he’s looking at.

“It’s alright.” He gets why Max is blushy and intense right now. He eats up Daniel’s sexapade stories, makes all kinds of lewd jokes, isn’t afraid to jokingly flirt with Daniel and put his hands places he shouldn’t. He’s certainly not a prude. Still, he’s pretty tight-lipped about his own sex life. Daniel doesn’t push where he’s not welcomed, so he leaves well enough alone, but his stomach does a funny little pang at remembering that Max does have a sex life of his own.

There’s some hot girl above them right now, who was probably joking with Max on the balcony and play-wrestling for some lube, letting the joke run so long that the lube went on a whole vacation to Daniel’s balcony. Daniel is usually the only one who lets a bit get so far and so immersive with Max that it causes actual consequences.

“Okay. Well. Goodnight,” Max says. The lube is now secured half under his shirt sleeve, half into the crook of his elbow now, with the label imprinting itself onto his skin.

He pauses again, this time by Daniel’s bedside table, and picks up the pillow spray. He reads the label, all focused and serious, and then spritzes a tiny bit onto his wrist. The droplets are still drying over his blue veins when he brings it to his nose and sniffs.

“That’s nice.” He holds his wrist there for a second, takes a second whiff.

“It’s lavender,” Daniel informs him, for lack of anything else to say in this incredibly bizarre interaction. “Night, Max.”

Max does an awkward little half-wave and closes the door behind him and the tiny shorts that surely can’t belong to him. Daniel would’ve noticed if he wore something like that before.

He lets the interaction sit for a second, then shakes his body loose and turns on the do not disturb button on the doorbell.

Night routine, 2.0, no distractions. He rubs lotion into his elbows. He dots wrinkle cream around his eyes. He puts his finger over the same little nozzle that Max pressed and coats his pillow again.

It’s only after a small breeze ruffles the curtains that he realizes the balcony door is still wide open. He pauses for a half-second by the door when he hears Max’s voice above him, talking to whoever his companion for the night is.

“Can I get you another drink?” Max asks. He sounds — suave, almost. Daniel can only see speckled concrete above him, but he can picture Max standing on it in. He probably has this girl leaned up against the railing, a hand on her hip.

This is definitely intrusive, but Daniel pauses with his hand wrapped around the skinny door handle just long enough to hear the response.

“No, I’m all good. Let’s go inside,” the other voice says. It’s deeper than Daniel expected, almost masculine.

Daniel shuts the door harder than he planned, and a bit of the thin white curtain gets caught in the frame. He leaves it be. He’s not interested in opening up that door again.

He settles into the sterile white sheets, puts his cancelling earbuds in, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

It takes him longer than usual to fall asleep that night. He’s surrounded by too much pillow spray and the pulsing thought that Max is above him right now, smelling traces of lavender while he fucks someone else.