#ty for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy

[gokartkid]

Chalex and 31 please!!

after a small rejection

“Do you want to—“ Charles feels oddly nervous saying it, as Alex tugs on his discarded t-shirt, upper body all lean corded muscle, “go out for dinner? Sometime?”

He hates the way his voice tilts up, plaintive, pleading, how it reveals more of himself than he wants it to. His fingers clench and spread apart in his soft linen sheets, legs tangled up and come drying sticky on his stomach; neither of them could be bothered to go and clean up properly. 

Alex pauses from where he’s adjusting his boxers, low and slung loosely across his hips. He’s facing away from Charles, the low morning light catching his jaw as he works it back and forth, chews at the words he’s about to say. His blonde hair is growing out dark at the roots, still messy from where Charles’ hands had just been tangled in it, pulling and tugging. The phantom warmth of Alex’s skin lingers under his palms. 

The silence stretches. 

A rock settles in Charles’ stomach, churned by acid and twisting his intestines into knots.

“I don’t—“ Alex pauses, still facing away, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Charles’ lips are dry, and suddenly he can’t stop thinking about it, the sour taste at the back of his mouth. He takes a few quick shallow breaths, swallows hard, adam’s apple clicking in his throat. 

He doesn’t know how to reply without feeling like he’s cutting himself open, how to stretch himself into nonchalance, cling film taut over a gaping wound.

“I mean,” Alex turns, and his eyes are kind, mouth loose and comfortable around his sentences, “you can see why, right? It’s really the better option Charlie.”

Charles doesn’t know how he can stand it, to give his affection so easily in a moment like this. 

“Mm,” he makes a noise and doesn’t know what he means by it, just knows that it’s his turn to speak in the tennis match.

“Like, this is working out really well,” Alex gestures between the two of them as he pulls up his jeans, wiggling around to work them up to his hips, “we’re friends, and we fuck. It works out.”

“Friends can have dinner together,” Charles says weakly. He means it to be joking, instead it comes out too truthful. He licks his lips, chews at dry skin.

“Charles,” Alex says, impossibly gentle, “you know what I mean.”

“Mm,” another noise, different this time but he can’t tell how.

Alex, fully dressed now, rounds the bed to come back to him.

“We really wouldn’t work out,” he says, still so casual, voice sure and steady where Charles’ would crack, “I mean, I’m me, you’re you, you know? We would be terrible together, really. This is way better, and I mean, we’re having fun, right?”

“Right,” Charles says and he tilts his head up for Alex to fit their mouths together, easy, like he’d done just a few hours prior pressing Charles down, down, down, into the soft mattress.

He lingers on the memory, lets it hurt like an old fading bruise.

Another quick kiss.

“Alright, I’ve got to go.” 

Alex picks up his phone and unplugs it from where it was charging on Charles’ dresser. Texts flash across his phone, quickly, lighting up his face. He’s already half distracted walking out the door.

“Have a good day,” he waves, calling back over his shoulder, “text me! And drink some water.”

“Bye,” Charles waves his hand and slumps back against his pillows. 

[lyricalt]

any/any, idle?

red sniper/spy - rated: g

------

Sniper finds Spy in the workshop. He peers into the room, a little curious to see Spy sitting on a stool with his head bent to an opened sapper. There’s a soldering kit by his hand, a hot cautery pen between his fingers, and a bottle of beer within reach. The shirt he wears hangs loose at his shoulders, the fabric worn and gone gray, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. One leg bounces restlessly against the floor, the other has a foot resting on the opposite knee.

Sniper thinks he shouldn’t be seeing Spy in this state. It looks too casual and unguarded, like he’s caught Spy in a private moment. He’s about to duck back into the hallway when the hot wire sparks from the sapper stops.

“Either come in, or go a hundred meters away if you want to keep staring,” Spy calls out without turning around. “Maybe go to the opposite building with your scope. There’s the window with a sightline.” He waves a hand in the general direction, smoke wafting from the soldering pen.

Sniper rolls his eyes but his feet take him inside the workshop. He stops next to Spy, parking his hip against the workbench to lean against it. The beer bottle is too irresistible to ignore so he tips it from the neck, checking the label, and snorts when he sees that it’s some kind of fancy foreign import. No pisswater hops, no matter what the occasion. He leaves it be and crosses his arms.

“Making improvements?” he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at the sapper. The paneling is open, circuits exposed, wires in a tangle. Sniper’s no good at this kind of stuff, so it’s not like he can offer any help.

“Making attempts,” Spy says absently. He takes two wires and twists them together. The needle of the sapper’s meter doesn’t move. He frowns and takes the bottle of beer for a fortifying sip. His fingers are covered in soot.

Sniper assumes Spy expected the sapper to do something other than nothing at all. He eyes Spy’s hand on the bottle, the condensation at his fingertips collecting the black ash from his nails. “Take it to Truckie?”

Spy puts down the bottle and picks the pen back up. He untwists the wires with a deft flick.

“Very occasionally I find that it behooves me to fix my own equipment,” he says. With a sly smile, he reaches over to hold Sniper’s chin, fingers curling to give Sniper’s jaw an admonishing squeeze. “I’ve been repairing my own gadgets even before I signed on to RED. Back in my day we did not have an on-call engineer at our disposal. Before your time.”

“Yeah, back when you lot were hittin’ each other with clubs and rocks,” Sniper says, not minding when Spy lets go, no doubt leaving black sooty streaks at his cheeks. Spy’s fingertips are noticeably cleaner. “Not much to fix for a stick.”

“Well, it keeps me busy in any case,” Spy says, shrugging. He gives Sniper a very amused look. “You know what they say about idle hands.”

Sniper doesn’t think he’d been that obvious, staring at Spy’s fingers, but he makes it a habit to work with sightlines that are usually straight and dead on the mark. 

“I don’t, actually,” Sniper says, setting one elbow on the workbench. He leans close, letting himself be within easy reach. His jaw still tingles from the grit Spy had left across his skin.

Spy quietly laughs, seeing right through him. He sets the pen back down so that he can have both hands free to draw Sniper in. One hand at his neck, the other at his waist.

“I’ll show you.”

[tolyys]

i can finally share the secret santa gift i made for @qhimberly !! dragon whale brothers 💕 i've missed drawing fantasy omgggg

[cruisingheightswithdragons]

skyrim prompts: 25 for the oc of your choice :]

25. Tracking animals on the plains of Whiterun

They shrunk into the amber grass, forcing their pale, thick furred tail to lay still, resisting the urge to swish it side to side. Dark brown tufted ears perked, listening for any signs of trouble, should there come any. The white diamonds that marked their ears glowed from the sunlight. Hunger knawed at their belly. Dah’ni hadn’t eaten all day, having forgotten to stock up from Carlotta’s food stall in the Whiterun market before heading out, and the sight of a plump deer was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Despite wearing armor of the Dark Brotherhood to aid in their sneaking, Dah’ni was careful in their muffled steps. Creeping closer, their whiskers brushing against a breeze told them that they were downwind. The khajiit stalked their prey, which grazed on the tall grass, unaware of its pursuer.

Dah’ni reached for their bow, and as soon as they had a firm grip on it, they vanished. It was a lucky find, this bow that could turn its wielder invisible. Taking a dwarven arrow from its quiver, the golden head vanished alongside Dah’ni as they drew back their bow.

With a held breath, Dah’ni loosed the arrow. It struck into the flank of the deer, startling it. It bellowed out a painful cry before turning tail and sprinting off.

Putting their bow away, Dah’ni reappeared before giving chase. The stag stumbled as its hooves crashed into a rock face, and it slipped onto its side, driving the arrow deeper into its flesh. With their prey downed, Dah’ni quickly ran up to it, giving it a quick death with a slice of its throat using an ebony dagger.

Before the khajiit had time to rapture in their spoils, low rumbling sounded from just behind a lone hill. Tail bristling, Dah’ni whipped around as three wolves erupted from the underbrush. They hissed and drew themself tall, intent on defending their kill.

If Dah’ni took out their bow, them disappearing would bait the wolves to their kill, which the cat did not want. However, if they drew out their ebony war axe, it would be a close quarters fight with wild animals that could carry all sorts of diseases, and Dah’ni had no potions to spare. Drawing back their lips into a snarl, they hit upon a better idea.

Dah’ni took in a breath, their mind full of concentration. Time seemed to slow as they let their dragon blood flow through them. “Fus… Ro Dah!” A thundering yowl burst from their mouth, a buffeting wind sent two wolves flying.

Dah’ni blinked. Where had the third gone? They gripped their bow tightly, vanishing in case the wolf decided to leap out and clamp its jaws around them. “Laas… Yah..!” Looking around, Dah’ni found a glowing red aura in the shape of a quadruped as it tugged at the felled deer. Drawing their bow, Dah’ni quickly took it out with one shot.

As they approached the deer and now dead wolf, they could smell rockjoint in the beast’s saliva. As well, a mangled bite mark told Dah’ni that the wolf had managed to get a blow in on the deer. It wasn’t worth the risk carving up the meat now, and the khajiit hissed in annoyance.

Stomach growling, Dah’ni looked to the sky, seeing the sun sinking over the orange horizon. Twitching their tail as hunger gripped their thoughts, they wondered if they could make it back to Whiterun in time to ask Hulda at The Bannered Mare for some venison stew.

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[hoshigray]

If u don’t wanna it’s fine but imagine

Y/N tryna take dom from toji but ain’t working 🛐

Are you kidding me!? This is a lovely idea to write out :O Kinda was flipping through different scenarios, but I felt this was what popped up the most: the reader takes Toji by surprise and tries to ride him, but he doesn't let that happen. Hope it's what you envisioned, and ty for the imagine! Cw: dom! Toji x fem!reader - Daddy kink - starts with doggy style, ends with missionary - attempted cowgirl position; the reader feels discomfort - reader tries to be dom but has no experience - pet names (angel, baby, good girl, mama, sweetie, sweetheart) - praise - cervix fucking - spanking (2x) - clitoral play (pinch 1x) - breeding if you squint haha. Wc: 832

"Mmmm! Jesus, Y/n. Can never get enough of this pussy, baby."

You reply in muffled mewls, mouth covered by the pillow under your chin.

Toji has you face down and ass up for him, towering over your bent physique as he drills his cock deep inside your soaping vulva. His hands are on your hips to properly guide your rear to his pelvis, and thrusts propel him further for his length to scrape your walls.

Gripping the sheets beneath, you try to call out to him. But choked sobs solely exit your lips when you feel a smack on your butt. The harsh impact has you clenching around him, which causes him to hiss and lean downwards. Toji quickly uses his hands to support himself from putting his entire weight on you, placing his palms beside your writhing figure.

"Ooooh shit, shit." Toji moans into your ear, his breath and husky voice tickling the nerves of your eardrums, "Can't do that to me, sweetie. Clenchin' 'round me all of a sudden."

"Ahhh! D-Daddy, please, I'm 'bout to cummm!" His baritone laugh has you shudder. "I'm cumming, gonna cum—"

"Go on, mama," Toji nips on your earlobe, and your adorable whines feed his ego. "Cum on Daddy like the good girl you are." His hips snap severely onto the surface of your ass, his tempo going absurdly fast with his girthy member brushing your cervix with every rut, and you shut your eyes as your climax builds up. It hits you hard when another slap to your rear comes down, the stinging sensation prompting your orgasm to finally come through.

Your cunt flutters on his cock beautifully, coating it full of your personal essence while your body experiences the aftershocks. Toji praises you on your release. "Did so good," he kisses your shoulder and the back of your neck while your high subsides. "Keep bein' good, and let me finish here."

He hears you chuckle silently; unbeknownst to him, you mentally prep yourself before he starts moving again.

At the count of three, Toji is pushed to the side onto his back, completely perplexed by the action. With a cheeky smile, you crawl onto him and kiss the scar on his lips. "How about you be good and let me help you finish up?"

His brows furrow, but he can't fight the excitement in the grin that creeps up. "Oh, that's what we're doin'?" Toji makes himself comfortable and rests his hands on your waist. "Give me a show, angel."

You flash a smile as you arrange yourself, your ruined pussy aligning with Toji's shaft, ready for a peak of his own. Toji enjoys your confidence, but his eyes peer down at your legs, observing them still trembling from a few moments ago.

Before he can point it out, the lips of your sex are already touching the head of his cock. He groans in pleasure, shamrock green eyes taking in the connection between you two. Yet he knows something's wrong when he hears a distressing sound leave your lips, peering up to your face to see you wince in pain as you push yourself onto him.

He frowns. "Yeah, no. Stop."

You freeze and share a look of confusion. "Huh, what? Am I doing it—Woah!!"

It takes Toji a few seconds to reverse the position with relative ease. Now you're the one with your back to the sheets with your head on the pillow facing the built man. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'll be in control."

"Did I do something wrong?" You questioned. Then a whimper takes over you when Toji positions the tip of his dick to your cunt.

"No, baby," He coaxes you while pushing his length into you, your wet slit making it easier for him to enter again. "Just don't like seeing you in pain. Don't have to do things that'll hurt you, mama."

Your brows scrunch together. Although It's a light lecture, you know he's right. "I know...I just wanted to—Hmmm...wanted to make—Hnngh!" The tip is inside, your pussy readjusting to his girth as he slowly moves inward. "Wanted to make you feel good..."

The cockhead reaches your cervix, causing you two to moan in unison. "Hmmm, fuck." He plants kisses on your chest to your cheek while his hand rubs gentle circles on your clit. "Long as I got this pussy of yours around, I'll always go crazy, sweetie."

You turn away from him, the older man finding your display of modesty adorable. "Now," a sudden plunge of his hips and a pinch to your clitoris leads a sharp gasp out from your system, his cock hurriedly brushing your smooth walls with ease. "You're gonna lay here and look pretty while I fuck the shit out of ya, yeah?"

You reach out for him, to which he obliges. Arms are secured around his neck to bring him close to you. "Please, Daddy. Fill me up." Toji sneers in satisfaction and kisses you before continuing on.

"Atta girl."

[causenessus]

HIII NESS CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K!! YOU DESERVE IT SO SO MUCH LOVELY!! 🤲🏻🤍

and if I mayy, can I pls have 💕 + 💙 with iwa if that's alright? I have this picture in my head where iwa doesn't really like touching other's hands with his cause they're pretty calloused, but I just know he's the type to kiss his lover's knuckles so he makes an exception and AHHHH soft iwa always gets me

but anyway CONGRATS AGAINNN!! ILYSM AND TY IF U DECIDE TO DO THIS<3

knuckles & callouses. | iwaizumi h.

iwaizumi x f! reader

written in 2nd person

prompts from 1k followers event: 💕 -> childhood friends &💙 -> "i like the way your hand fits in mine"

"yeah i'll do everything / just let you know / all the reasons why / i'm never gonna let you go <3" from never gonna let you go by stevie dinner

word count: 1k words

notes: fluff!! this was cute to write because i have a lot of callouses on my hands from how frequently i climb ladders (catwalk monkey things </3). iwa’s definitely one of those guys who would've fallen victim to that “my hands look like this so her’s can look like this” trend years ago <3 thank you so much for requesting frans!!! i hope you enjoy this and your idea was ADORABLE

ALSO if you like this...you should totally check out @eggyrocks... who has a kuroo smau CALLED calloused hands which i thought about the entire time i was writing this AND THEY ALSO HAVE MANY MANY BANGER IWA FICS

"the conversation between your fingers and someone else's skin... this is the most important discussion you can ever have."

hajime always has a hand on you. whether it’s an arm around your waist or shoulder keeping you close, or a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting down. he likes to always be in contact with you in some way, making sure you’re still there. but despite that, no matter what, he never lets you hold his hand. whenever you reached for it, he always subtly moved it out of the way just in time. he’d casually lift it from his side where you were moving to hold it and play it off by brushing a stray piece of your hair back, giving you an innocent smile as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

“haji,” you pout one day, fed up with his avoidant habit. “you can’t constantly remind me to put lotion on my hands to keep them from drying out and then not let me hold your hands because you think they’re rough.”

“what are you gonna do about it?” he smiles, amused by your complaint. as if just to make his point clear, he brings your hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on your knuckles. he’s always taking care of you, telling you he’s happy just loving on you and needs nothing else, but that’s not enough for you.

“this,” you retort, grabbing his hand between both of yours, kissing his own knuckles. he can act snarky towards you, you’ll just act the same way back.

out of habit, he tries to pull his hand out of your grip, but you won’t let him. “y/n–”

“no, haji,” you cut him off, looking him straight in the eyes, “i want to hold your hand. i want to love on you the same way you love on me, the way you have since we were kids. and we used to hold hands all the time back then, when your hands were still soft.”

he averts his eyes, and you see the way his jaw tightens at the mention of your shared childhood, “that’s why i don’t want you to touch them–”

“i’m not done yet,” you hush him, placing a finger to his lips, “i miss hold your hands, hajime. i don’t care if they’re rough or calloused or whatever you want to call them. as much as you and your manly little head like to believe that me touching your hands is the end of the world, it’s not. do you wanna know what i think about your calloused hands?”

he blinks for a second, as if he’s seriously considering if he wants to know. his teasing demeanor has completely given away to a nervous, embarrassed one as he mumbles out a small, “...what?”

“i think they’re beautiful just the way you are,” you say, giving him a smile as you turn his hand over in your own, running your thumbs along the hills of his knuckles before you kiss them again, the way he's kissed yours so many times. “i think they show how hard you’ve worked,” you say, holding up his right hand so that you can both see it. you point out the bump on the left side of his middle finger, “i like this callus. do you remember what you told me? you said you developed it when we wrote letters to each other while you were traveling for your internship. you were complaining so much, saying ‘i’ve never had to write this much in my life! blah blah blah, i have another callus…’ do you know what that meant to me? that you were writing so much to me that you developed a callus? i loved reading your long letters, i was so happy that you wrote so much—that you didn’t leave out any details even if it tired out your hand. as much as you may hate how it looks, i like it. it’s like i’m always with you now.” 

you kiss his hand and he presses his lips into a thin line. he’s trying to hold himself back from agreeing with you, but two can play that game. there's a reason you both have stuck around each other since you were kids. “i like the way your fingers are uneven from volleyball. they show how dedicated you were to it, that even when you tore a tendon in one of them, you kept playing because you were so bent on winning. i like the way your hand fits in mine, and the way that i can feel each and every single one of your calluses whenever i hold them. i like the stories behind each one.”

“...you’re a sappy work of art, you know that?” he says after a short pause, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“oh whatever,” you roll your eyes, intertwining your hand with his. and he lets you. “i can see your cheeks are red. did i get through to you?”

“maybe,” he mumbles, looking away.

“does this mean i get to hold your hands more often?” you tease with a smile, squeezing his hand. he squeezes it back three times, giving you a silent ‘i love you.’ 

“i guess,” he shrugs, slightly pursing his lips, “but don’t complain if they get sweaty, or rougher in the winter.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” you laugh, lowering your intertwined hands so you can step closer, standing on the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “and now you can’t complain if i won’t let go of your hands. you’ve given me permission to hold them and i have lost time to make up for, mr. macho man with the calloused hands.”

he gives you an exasperated sigh, telling you that you've won. you give him a smug smile as he lifts up your hand to kiss the top of it, “as long as your pretty hands stay the way they are, that’s all that really matters. i’ll keep working hard. and if you truly feel that way about my hands, you can do whatever you want with them. i'm all yours.”

[bones4thecats]

Hi can u write 🐇 prompt 9 for sanemi shinazugawa ty

🐇Quote-Prompt 9 w/ KnY! Sanemi

Character: Sanemi Shinazugawa Requester: 🍃Anon A/N: I'll nickname you 🍃Anon since that's the emoji I use for Sanemi. Please use that every time if you request in the future, thanks! Also there is mentions of having an adoptive child (allowing the Reader to stay GN). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Nothing ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Sanemi Shinazugawa ══════════════════════╝

🍃 Whenever your husband was sent out on a mission for a prolonged time, he would send you many letters. And when the mission was finished, he would send his crow back to give you a letter with a small object that he found in a nearby town that he figured you'd like

🍃 As he was strained from his work, he took a deep breath as he saw your shared estate come into view. The sound of little snores from your young adoptive-son laying his head on a pillow making Sanemi chuckle and pick him up to put him to bed

"You shouldn't be staying up whenever I come home, Rai."

🍃 As he tucked the young boy in his futon, pulling a blanket onto him, he heard footsteps behind him, which caused him to look up with his sword at the ready just in case

🍃 Sanemi then noticed you were standing there with a small smile, which allowed him to lower his guard back down and mess with his son's hair slightly

🍃 The Wind Hashira then stood up and walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and kissing your forehead gently. You then looked up and him and motioned for him to follow you to bed

🍃 Thankfully, your husband had bathed right before he came home, so he wasn't drenched in sweat. So, as he laid down next to you, you weren't bombarded with his stench like you were the first few times you were sharing a home with him

🍃 You laid on your right side as Sanemi held you from behind, laying his chin on your shoulder and allowing his hand to mess with yours while his other was stuffed underneath your stomach and holding your waist

"It's good to be laying beside you again, my Love."

"I agree."

🍃 You could feel his slightly rough fingers messing with your softer ones before interlocking in the same way they did when he confessed to you back when you were younger

"Y'know Y/N, I like how your hand looks in mine." He admitted, a slight coat of blush laying on his cheeks.

"I agree." You mocked his voice as you spoke, making him chuckle sleepily as you nuzzled your head into his own as he slightly moved with his voice.

🍃 Sanemi raised your hand to his mouth and gave it a loving kiss before tilting his head once more to kiss your cheek and then your lips before allowing his eyes to close fully and begin to finally rest properly after the multiple days away

"I love you, my dear."

"I love you as well, Sanemi."

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

HIII can u do the prompt number 5 for floyd pls :D (romantic)

Also i saw that you eanted ppl to put 2 backup characters and prompts so my backup characters are lilia and leona and my backup prompts are the fairytale scene and the taste of salt :D (also romantic)

Take ur time and ty ! 😍

Tandem Bike; Floyd Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established relationship

Content Warning; Swearing(?), semi-serious mortal peril /hj

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; I hope you know how to ride a bike, cuz Floyd is no help in the matter! Hope you enjoy!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Floyd,” you gulped, looking down the hill.

Floyd laughed behind you on the tandem bicycle, and you could feel the bike reverberate from it. “Ehhh, are ya scared?~” 

You dug your heels into the ground, making sure that the both of you wouldn’t end up going down the hill without knowing where you were going. The last thing you needed was to hit a pothole or a big enough rock and end up getting hurt. “Not scared,” you huffed, “just thinking.”

Floyd rolled his eyes, “We’ll just be up here all day then! Come on, Shrimpy.” He nudged your feet, but you dug your feet in further, cementing the bike into place. Floyd sighed and slumped his head on your shoulder. “You were the one that wanted to ride this thingy, but now you’re gettin’ cold feet about it?”

You took in a deep breath. Yes, it was your idea to take the cute tandem bike you found in the shed out for a spin, but your cycling partner had never ridden a bike before, and you also didn’t want to crash. “Just give me a minute, okay.” You clenched your hands on and off the brakes.

Floyd just looked at you curiously, before a wild smile took over his face. And when you eased up on the brakes again, he pushed you both forward. “Minute’s up!~”

And down the hill you went. Being angry could wait for later, as your main concern was making sure you were both staying upright and avoiding the aforementioned potholes and rocks. Floyd was cackling behind you, helping you steer a bit, but mainly just enjoying the wind wiping up his hair and watering up his eyes. And eventually, you started slowing down, coming to a more manageable pace that didn’t leave your hands clenching for dear life on the handlebars. But once you came to a complete stop you exploded in laughter; a mix of relief that you hadn’t died, of pure joy, and the infectious cackle that was coming from behind you.

“See, Shrimpy! That was fun,” Floyd poked you in the back. 

You got off the bike, legs a bit shaky from the adrenaline. “Yeah, it was a little bit fun.” Wait, I'm supposed to be mad at him! You could never stay mad at him for very long though.

Well, gravity is a thing, a thing that Floyd was not accounting for, and he wasn’t supporting the bike up, so he and the bike tumbled to the ground. And instead of sulking, he just laughed and got right back up.

“Wanna go again?~ This time I’ll steer!” He laughed, and hugged you, squeezing you gently.

You let out a long sigh, decompressing. “No, absolutely not,” you pushed against him slightly so you could put your hands on his shoulders.

Floyd pouted, “You’re no fun ya know.” There was no bite, he was just being pouty since he was planning on making you shriek as you both had no idea where you were going, but downhill, and downhill fast.

You hummed, kissing his cheek to bring him out of the dour mood. “And you’re no fun if you can’t go on little adventures with me. Can’t do that if we crash on that cursed thing,” you pointed your chin at the bike.

Floyd looked briefly at the bike before turning his attention back to you. “Okay, okay, okay, I got the memo, Shrimpy…” He placed a quick kiss and bite on your lips before pulling back with a wink, taking a look at his handy work. 

You could feel the slight sting. His bite wasn’t sharp enough to draw blood, but it was enough to make them puffy. “Are you proud of your handiwork?” 

“Mhm!~” Floyd pressed another kiss to your lips, but this time it was gentle, soothing the stinging sensation.

And you bit his lip back, deciding that you deserved some sweet vengeance.

Floyd pulled back, and the shocked look on his face turned into pure glee and he was doubled over laughing again. “Damn, Shrimpy! I should do that more often!~”

Wait, what?

~~~~~~~

Tags: @azulashengrottospiano, @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @identity-theft-101, @krenenbaker, @officialdaydreamer00, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[1ovewoo]

Hihi I'd like to request prompt 8 and 11 for Mingi please ^⁠_⁠^. Thank you 💕

tysm for submitting these prompts! sorry for taking so long to post this but i hope u enjoy regardless!

cw/tags: making out, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, bed humping lol

send me a prompt! [closed]

the sound of you and mingi’s lips smacking fills the air as you and him make out on his bed, his large frame hovering over yours and making you feel almost trapped in the best way. 

mingi’s hands glide down your body and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him.

he sits back on his heels and grips your thighs, “open your legs for me, baby. i wanna see you.”

a blush burns your cheeks as you allow mingi to guide your legs apart, sliding his body down to lay between them and planting wet kisses up the inside of your trembling thighs. 

you run your fingers through his messy blonde and black hair as his lips finally reach where you need him most, his tongue sliding up your core and swirling around your clit expertly, causing you to cry out, tossing your head back.

mingi hums and brings a hand up to slip two fingers inside you, curling them up into your sweet spot as he slurps up the arousal pouring out around his fingers.

after a few minutes, he slips another finger into you as he sucks harshly at your clit and you let out a loud, breathy moan at the intense feeling.

“that noise…keep making it,” mingi groans into your pussy, his hips rutting into the bed beneath him as his hand picks up his pace of fucking into you.

your moans increase in volume as your boyfriend brings you closer to the edge, the bed slightly shaking from the force of his movements, both his fingers inside you and his hips against the mattress.

“coming.. fuck mingi, baby please,” you gasp as you hurtle towards your climax, waves of pleasure washing over you and your vision blacking out for a moment as your jaw hangs open while mingi continues to pound into you, fucking you through your high as he reaches his own, cries spilling from his lips and his eyebrows furrowing.

after, you both lay across the bed, chests heaving as you catch your breath, until mingi climbs up your body and plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

you sigh and relax into him, exchanging sweet nothings against each other’s lips until you jolt, feeling the tip of mingi’s cock sliding through your folds.

“ready for round two?”

ty for reading! if you enjoyed this and would like to support my works please consider reblogging or checking out my masterlist!

© 1ovewoo 2023

[suengmi]

can you do where boyfriend! skz are teasing w reader but say a joke that hurts their feelings and they realize and immediately apologize and make it up to you (fluff)

hi anon!! ty for being my first ask, im excited to write! not sure if you wanted full stories/drabbles but i hope you like what i did! <3 also i'm a bit unwell and drained from work so pls be kind. took so long because i ended up writing a lot for some.... like a lot OOPS i trailed off a bit to make it more realistic but asjsdkkjasd anyways im sorry if it's not exactly what u wanted ;_; i did my best, plus i didn't want to make it all the same i guess? but yeah about .6k for each member!

warnings will be written below member names!! all under the cut~

warnings for all: not completely proof read but wanted to answer this prompt asap!! i'm half asleep it's 3am pls also all gender neutral!

┋bang chan ┋

context: grocery store is never fun, especially when your boyfriend doesn't know how hard it can be for you. new!relationship, domestic bliss grocery shopping for a night in

warnings: slight ableism??? before he knows??? idk, chan a bit spicy with his words so not complete fluff my b, some cussing, not the fluffiest pls im sorry idk what HAPPENED

word count: .6k

chan grunts at you, eyes rolling, "i told you it's the wrong one you dumb dumb. "

you look down at the japanese curry powder, trying to make sense of the words written before you. you haven't been with chan for long, but he's treated you better than anyone you've ever met. he's kind, giving and always knows how to make you feel better. he knows that you're happier when it rains, he knows that you get angry whenever you lose a game, he loves that you always defeat him at uno and enjoys how you make a week long parade about it. he already loves you but definitely doesn't know it yet.

there is one thing you're still trying to gauge about chan is how sometimes he can shoot first and ask questions later, and this is one of those moments.

chan frowns, pointing at the curry packet in your hand. "this is the spicy one."

"i'm sorry." you say in a low tone, still trying to read the packet but the font is harder to read, "they look the same."

chan snatches the packet from your hand, placing it back next to the seemingly same ones. "well maybe if you read it you properly for once. i had the runs for like 2 days last time. you know me and spicy no agree."

"i can't.... sometimes."

chan turns to you. "huh?"

you take in a deep breath and speak fast, "i have dyslexia."

"what?" he questions confused.

it's then when the penny drops after a moment of silence. realization a wave over him, all the times he told you to read properly, how many times he made tut noises at your replies not having complete context and how he would grunt when you didn't comprehend something.

"why didn't you tell me? there's nothing wrong with that...?" he prods, gaze gentle towards you.

you fumble with your hands, picking at the skin at the sides of your thumb, your mind trying to find what to say. "i dunno."

he sounds so apologetic when he eventually speaks, he wonders how he could have been stupid. it makes sense. all the times you've told him about your ex and how he called you stupid and dumb for not reading well, making fun of you and saying you just don't pay attention. "i made fun of you so much... wow i'm a dick-

"no it's okay" you interrupt him, a small smile on your lips not wanting him to be hurt.

chan purses his lips while taking your hands in his. he looks at your eyes, his own intense and apologetic. "no- it's not okay, i make fun of you so much for thinking you just didn't pay attention, shit, i'm sorry. i joke all the time about how your brain is always else where."

and with that chan knows that he definitely could have picked up the pieces earlier, that you said it to him, without words. "i'm just... fuck i'm sorry."

"i just you know with my ex they-"

chan pulls you in for a tight hug, as if hushing the words you were about to spill, your glasses pushed against your eyes but you don't mind. he smells like fresh baby powder, his own scent you love mixing in with the clothes he's wearing. you know chan's going to make up for it and that he'll do everything to make you feel better. because you love him too, you just don't know it yet either.

﹋﹋﹋

┋changbin ┋

context: changbin loves working out and you love watching him, even if you don't think he doesn't know. freshly known feelings, uni!au, living together in dorm (i know you said !boyfriend but this was too good not to write hehe)

warnings: CHANGBIN SHAMELESSLY FLIRTING ACK, implications of taking a relationship further (physically), voyeur reader lmao

word count: .5k

you turn your gaze over to your friend, housemate or whatever you two had going on was called. you'd never really thought of changbin as someone you'd like, his gentle an soft nature was a contrast to the man currently a few metres away from you. weights in hand and grunts slipping from his mouth. you lean your head back to get a better angle, the veins on his arm revealing themselves. you knew he liked you and you liked him, but neither of you would dare to open that pandoras box. well, not until tonight.

it's a moment later that changbin stops his routine, almost meeting your stare. you raise your brows, attention turning back to the laptop in front of you. what on earth was i doing? you think, pretending to type something into the computer.

"thirsty?" he asks you, pretending he didn't noticed your eyes on him every now and then for the last half hour.

you turn your attention to him "wha?"

he laughs into his chest, stretching out his arms, "you have drool on the side of your mouth."

"i do- i do not!" you say slamming the laptop down, folding your arms on your chest knowing you've been caught.

changbin laughs, sitting down on the couch next to you, "didn't know i owned a dog."

you had no idea he could be this cheeky, making fun of you for simply watching him. after all, you were perving in a sense.

"don't make fun of me! i know i was... watching."

a smile dances on his lips, knowing that you can be sensitive to these things. "i'm sorry." he almost sounds apologetic... almost. "but... it's just too good to catch you out." he says in a slow almost seemingly mocking way.

"stop it." you mumble, facing the other way. "you know i have issues with... bringing this stuff up."

changbin tugs on your ear to gain your attention, feeling bad for making you feel slightly uncomfortable. but hey, you were the one watching. he smiles and says, "i know i know, i'm just teasing. i'm really sorry."

"i know but... please don't, this is hard for me."

"okay okay," he whines, gently lacing his fingers in yours, testing the waters to see if you'd be okay with this affection. "i promise i won't make fun of you, but if you wanna watch feel free to, don't have to be shy about it."

a blush dances across your cheeks and ears, your tummy suddenly feeling a knot of embarrassment grow. "changbiiiin." you groan, planting your face into the couch cushion.

"okay maybe i lied, i'll definitely enjoy making fun of you."

﹋﹋﹋

┋hyunjin ┋

context: you hate feet. hyunjin thinks it's funny. established!relationship, living together

warnings: obvi mentions of feet?? mentions of vomit

word count: .6k

hyunjin knew you hated feet, just how they looked, how they acted and gripped on the damn floor whenever someone would walk bare foot. hyunjin loved walking around the house barefoot, and it sometimes made you feel woozy, just the image of your own feet touching the floor... imagine. you shivered at the thought, sitting down on the couch next to your boyfriend, his feet dangling off the edge of the couch.

you pat your legs, instructing him wordlessly to lay on your lap. he complies without a thought, scooching back and nestling his head into your soft legs. he let's out a gentle "mm" as he settles in. "soft" he coos, rubbing his head a few times before turning his attention back to his switch.

after another episode of your favourite show, hyunjin suddenly brings his feet up, inspecting one of them. "i think i have glass in this one."

"do you need to do that here?" you say in a tone, eyes avoiding the grippers in sight.

"nah can you just check this one?" he says with difficulty, throwing his foot back towards your face. if you weren't so grossed out you'd probably be impressed by his flexibility.

"hyunjin please--" you swat away his foot with your phone, pushing yourself back into the couch.

"nah see in the big toe right here."

"hyunjin! you know i hate feet stop!"

he struggles, folding his body further to get his left foot near you, "babe just look here near the nail."

and that's when you feel a lump in your throat, nearly retching at the sight. the rice dish you had earlier suddenly feeling not so settled.

"oh shit." hyunjin says in a shock turning his attention to you, hearing your strangled noise. "are you okay?"

"no i'm not okay, go away." you say behind your hand.

shit, he knows he did wrong. his seemingly funny joke was definitely taken too far. he feels bad, real bad. he knew you didn't like feet but not this much. it'd never really come into question the time you'd been together, but god he had no idea.

"jeez i'm sorry." he's unsure where to place his hands and fumbles, words not forming correctly.

you sit in silence for a moment before regaining your thoughts. "don't. fucking. do. that."

hyunjin's eyes are pleading, the guilt in his face almost makes you not want to get him back but then realise you can use this to your advantage. you look over at the massage oils on the table and back at him. "i have an idea."

and you know he'll do whatever it takes. he still had glass in his foot, but that wasn't important right now.

------

┋felix ┋

context: felix thinks your tummy is cute, but you're just not used to it.

warnings: mentions of weight, body issues, tight clothing, BUT ITS FLUFF I PROMISEEEE, felix just a silly soft goose

word count: .6k

"come out please." felix begs, head leaning against the door.

you're sitting in the bathroom on the floor, dressed in nothing but your boxer underwear and a tight bed shirt, felix's bed shirt. you can feel the anxiety seeping into your chest, the weight of reality hitting you. you and your boyfriend had been together for only a month, but this was the first night you were staying at his house. it was on a whim, since most of the trains and buses had stopped running. and of course, you had nothing to wear. so there you were, tight shirt and all. you've never been uncomfortable with your body, if anything you love your body. but for some reason the way that felix talked about your stomach irked you. maybe he meant it as a joke? what did he mean? either way you were upset and needed space for a moment.

"please, i didn't mean it like that." felix sighs against the door, "it's soft and i love it."

you cast a sad expression towards the door. still unwavering from your position. why do you have anxiety now about this? all he did was grab your tummy and tell you it's soft like a kitten belly, or how it reminds him of those marshmallows that fold and how much he loves it because it's you, and he loves you.

you hear nothing but the cracking of a knee, felix bending down to put his fingers through the gap of the door underneath. he splays his fingers like a cat trying to get in the bathroom, darting against the tiles.

"lemme in!" he chimes, grunting to get his fingers further in. "i'll get in either way!" he jokes, using both of his hands under door to attack. it makes you laugh. it reminds me of those videos of cats wanting to get into the bathroom, or videos of racoons grabbing food.

"am i close?" he jokes, moving his hands back and forth.

you groan, stifling a laugh as you get up to open the door. "not even." you say, being met with pleading eyes. you look down at him, his hands still pretending to search where the door once was.

but he suddenly swoops you into a hug, hands around your waist, his head pressed into your soft chest, enjoying the smell of his shirt mixing in with your scent.

you relinquish any negative thoughts you have, melting into the hug. "i know you didn't mean it like that but, i think i'm just nervous... because it's you."

he pulls back, arms still wrapped round your waist, probably a bit too tight. "it wasn't a joke, i do love it." his eye are filled with nothing but love and adoration for you, your body an your mind.

"just... choose different words, please... i'm not a roll of marshmallows."

felix pulls back suddenly before gently pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "tastes sweet." he retorts about your statement, ignoring your words before kissing you again.

"i'm-seri-ous." you say between kisses, you feel his his hands digging into your hips.

instead of stopping, he grins, love apparent in his eyes. "my marshmallow."

you roll your eyes, a bit of anxiety still in your throat but knowing he adores marshmallows, you figure it's okay for now.

﹋﹋﹋

┋jisung ┋

context: a park date is cute until you get attacked my a crow, jisung think's it's funny. established!relatonship

warnings: jisung being a weenie, swearing

word count: .5k

the ground collides with your chest, the mud clouding your vision and your new shirt you brought for the date probably ruined. yep, i definitely tripped and yes it was embarrassing. you think, shame in your chest. of all the days, why your one year anniversary?

all you hear is the cackle behind you getting louder, sharp inhales of breath echoing in your ears. jisung has no shame, actively laughing at you stacking it to the ground.

"ahaha! the crow!!" he gurgles still, bending forwards over the picnic blanket, almost choking on his spit.

"jisung!" you yell, getting to your feet, seeing the mess on the front of you. that fucking crow, why did it choose me?

"jisung!" you yell louder, stomping over to the blanket, definitely covered in mud, dripping behind you as you walk.

"i'm sorry babe i'm-" he says between breathes.

you grunt before wiping the mud from your chest, still feeling it covering half of your face. "it's not funny."

"it fucking is."

jisung's laughs come to a halt as he realised you're upset upset, not just whining like you usually do. he notices how your eyes are suddenly pooling with wells. he stands to his feet and gently holds out his hands, "baby-"

"no!" you grumble, pulling your arms away, tears rolling down your cheek. "i just bought this top. now it's ruined." your dejected tone unsettles jisung, instantly feeling bad for making fun of you.

he says nothing, confused on how to react. but he waits patiently, allowing you to let out your feelings. he's always been good at this, always been patient with you.

after a breath you look back at him, red rings dancing around your eyes.

he smirks as he walks over to the mud and plainly sits down in it as if it what he was meant to do all along. you let out a small laugh, your hands wiping the rest of the mud from your face.

"what?" he asks plainly, as if nothing is weird. he grabs a handful of the mud before pressing it to his shirt, and then another handful to his hair, rubbing it in. "what's funny?"

you laugh behind your mud covered hand walking over to him. he smiles up at you like a puppy, knowing that he's succeeded in making you feel better.

and there he is, completely covered in mud, way more than you are and in that moment you fall just a little bit more in love with him. you lean down and press a gentle but muddy kiss onto his lips.

he stares up at you with nothing else to say, just sitting in the mud. you decide to join him, plopping down next to him, hand in hand as you both just sit in silence and completely covered in mud.

with jisung you didn't always needs words, sometimes the things he did for you were enough.

﹋﹋﹋

┋lee know ┋

context: you're getting ready to go out with friends, but your hair has other ideas, established!relationship, living together.

warnings/other: kisses??? idk, cuss words

word count: .5k

"it's not working!" you huff, re-straightening the side of your bangs for the 6th time. minho was confused at first, wondering why you're so upset over something trivial and small from his point of view. but when he looks up from his phone to see you struggling, his left hand still lazily patting one of his cats. he speaks without thinking,

"it's definitely like a pigs tail." he chuckles, looking back at his phone. in his mind, he assumes that he was just making a light hearted joke, thinking it was cute the way you got so upset over something he coined as small. plus, pig tails are very cute if you think about it.

it wasn't until you made a little sob that he noticed how you were actually feeling. you stare in the mirror, realizing it in fact does look like a pigs tail.

"baby-" he let's out a small but gentle sigh, "i was joking,"

"no you weren't. it... does look like a pig tail." you say between a small dejected sob, lips curled down and hands at your side as you avoid the mirror.

"let me help?" he says so gently as he approaches the bathroom door. instead of letting him help, you just melt into his chest immediately, your sobs muffled by his shirt. "i look like shit." you say defeated.

he lets out a light laugh, kissing the top of your head a few times, "you never look like shit, you know... even with your pig tail."

you step back, immediately hitting the tight muscles of his chest with both of your fists, "fuck off i swear." you talk through your teeth, still frustrated but feeling the urge to laugh in your throat.

"there you are," he says pleased at your spice, fighting with you to place a kiss on your temple, your hand starts pushing on his jaw, his lips puckered and ready. "c'mere." he says through your fingers, still pushing his head towards you, his hands gripping at your neck. "let me-- love you."

after a few minutes of roughhouse struggle, you push him back, feeing slightly better. it's in this moment you realize that you in fact do not enjoy asking anyone for help. but you speak, dejected tone apparent. "yeah... please help."

and nothing else is said while he fixes your hair, gently pressing small kisses on your cheeks as he does so. he knows he can sometimes say things without thinking, but he also knows that you sometimes enjoy just as much as he does. it's why you love him and why you two work so well together. after a few minutes he steps back to admire his masterpiece, a triumphant smile on his lips. "hmm," he ponders, "i liked the pig tail better."

"oi, don't start again you little shit" you say as you begin chasing after him, giggles dancing in with his own as he runs down the hall, nearly slipping on the rug. "get back here! you're in for it!"

﹋﹋﹋

┋seungmin┋

context: seungmin needs to shut his mouth sometimes, even if he doesn't know it. established!relationship, living together

warnings: seungmin being a spicy bitch, some playful physical aggression, kissing

word count: .5k

seungmin has you completely pinned under him on the couch as he covers you with kisses, not relinquishing his hold. "how many times do i have to say it?"

you grunt at the fact that he's weirdly strong in these situations, and as much as you struggle against his hold he's just completely powering over you. just the other day you were the one that had to help him open a jar. but thats besides the point. here seungmin is, currently trying to wiggle his way out of the fact that he took a joke too far. you're determined not to let him get away that easy.

you struggle once more against his hold, your legs flailing underneath him but he's just too damn strong.

he lets out a struggled breath, still above you. his hair falling gently from his face, "isn't sorry enough?"

you turn your head to the side, bottom lip pouting. "no."

"baby-"

you tut at him, tone almost darted, "don't baby me! you've lost your rights."

a gentle grin finds itself to dance over seungmin's face, he likes it when you fight back. he likes it when you put him in his place but still give him enough wiggle room to feel in charge.

"okay," he says with raised brows, "you win. i apologise."

you realise this is the perfect opportunity to get him back, for him making that stupid joke about something he knew you were insecure about.

"oh, whats this? kim seungmin, apologising, what was that?" you speak sarcastically. you're still under his hold, but you'll let it slide for now. "sorry i didn't quite catch that after you made me feel like shit for an entire hour. repeat?"

"i... apologise. i took it too far and i'm sorry."

you feel your chest rise, suddenly enjoying the power that seungmin has given to you. it takes a lot for him to admit he's wrong or that he's done wrong, this is just so damn satisfying.

"actually..." he trails off, letting your hands free a second before quickly grabbing the back of your neck. the kiss he planted on you was fast, and before you knew it you were laying back down on the couch, head dizzy from the sudden kiss, "you can't just make me forgive you with kisses." you speak in a semi-daze.

seungmin presses a kiss to your cheek and then a few more to your lips, the taste sweeter everytime. "i can, actually."

yeah, he's absolutely right. wait, what were we arguing about?

﹋﹋﹋

┋jeongin┋

context: jeongin fucked up, and he wants to make it better. fresh!relationship

warnings: none? kissing maybes, TOO MUCH CUTE

word count: .5k

it only took jeongin about half an hour to attempt to make it up to you.

sometimes being with jeongin was hard, as you both communicated in very different ways, it definitely was something you needed to work on. though, the one thing you loved about him is the absolute time and effort he put into making everything just perfect for you. when it came to you, everything he did for you was worth it.

after taking a walk to calm your thoughts, you realized you were still frazzled from the way jeongin teased you and how you ended up crying, resulting in him just left behind in a confused state. sometimes it took a while for the penny to drop with him, but once he got it, he really got it.

you step through the front door of his house, gently removing your sandals to be met with the sound of jeongin jumping up from the couch, hands out in a display. "ta-da!" he yells, it startles you.

you turn to meet eyes with your boyfriend, his face with a stupid grin slapped across it.

"what is-" and that's when you notice the many items splayed across the ground. there's a few towels on the lounge table, a tub of what seems to be hot soapy water, a box of facemasks and some nail polish next to it. the lighting is low and your favourite soundtrack is playing. you notice the scent in the room, jasmine tea, your favourite.

jeongin takes a deep breath in before showcasing his wares. "salon de jeongin"

"babe i-"

he steps forward, taking your hands in his before guiding you to sit down. "cmon" he coaxes gently, his beautiful dark eyes watching your every step. you say nothing as you follow him, unsure of what's happening.

as if he knows you're going to speak, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry."

you marvel at the sight in front of you once more. the fact that he built you a whole salon in his living room within thirty minutes is mind blowing. he knows your favourite scent, your favourite songs and all the products you use. you didn't even realize he had those.

you're still at a loss for words, unsure of where to put your hands or body. jeongin just points to the chair, silly grin still plastered on his face and eyes wide.

you sit down in the chair, eyes darting to jeongin. "does it cost extra for shellac on my nails?"

jeongin pouts in thought, "just a kiss."

"i can do that." you say back at him. and that's all it takes, you know you'll talk later about this and how you can communicate better but this... this was enough for now. more than enough.

"actually," jeongin ponders before leaning so damn close to your face, "i think it's about 4 kisses."

-

DAMN THAT WAS SO LONG I SPENT LIKE AGES DOING THIS MY BAD, i know it's not exactly what u said but oh well i wanted to make them all different!!!! ty for asking!!!!!! <3

[mymegumi]

selene hihi darling, for your ask game can i request megumi and a “meet ugly” > < just some sort of frenemies thing — idk why i think megs would hate us at first glance 😭

no bc why do i feel like i’d see him in public n bully him bc i thot he was cute. i be doing that to ppl i like bc idk how to deal w my emotions 💀 ty for req pretty thing n i hope u enjoy hehe lowkey longer than i intended but is ok lul

send me a char + a prompt, n i’ll write ~100 words!

megumi thinks he could burn you to the ground with a single glance right now.

you’d just taken his coveted caramel mocha latte off of the starbucks counter—and drank from it, no less—but now, you’re trying to pawn off your stupid black coffee on him. he’s insulted to think that he even looks like the type of person to enjoy a coffee black, because he’s tired but he doesn’t hate himself.

“um, no, i want my drink.” he deadpans, watching you with a wary eye as you move his cup of coffee towards your lips again. “i paid, like, thirteen dollars for that. how much was yours?”

“okay, first of all, who the hell spends that much money on a coffee,” you scoff, handing over his drink with an indignant look, “and second of all, i paid a reasonable five dollars for mine.”

he rolls his eyes, but takes a sip from his drink and almost melts into the floor. he’d been needing his daily boost of caffeine and you had been the only thing standing in his way. “exactly. i’m not about to take your shitty black coffee and let you take my eight dollars of hard-earned cash.”

you eye his coffee, scanning up and down the cup with a quick look as you sip gingerly from your hot cup now. “well, hypothetically, if i asked you what you ordered, would you tell me?”

he rolls his eyes—just typical you’d steal his coffee, try to steal a couple bucks off of him inadvertently, and then try to ask what his coffee order was. it was like some sort of meet-cute gone wrong. “caramel mocha latte with almond milk.”

you scrunched your nose up. “almond milk? why not just drink whole milk, or oat milk.”

“i don’t know, it tastes best with almond milk.” he wants to stamp his foot on the ground in protest but he sighs, looking around at the people filtering around you, trying to sneak past the both of you as you bickered to get their own coffee orders. “if we’re gonna argue, can we at least sit down while we do it?”

you motion to a free table, putting your bags and coat over the back of one of the chairs and gesturing for him to take the other one. sitting down, he’s realized he’s argued himself into a sort of date—at least this is what gojo would consider a date, and megumi’s not sure if he’s the best model for scale.

“oh, by the way,” you tilt your head to look at him and furrow your brows, “what’s your name again? i saw heard it when the barista called our names, but i forgot it.”

“megumi,” he says idly, knowing that this won’t be the last time he sees you, and being weirdly glad that it won’t be, “what about you?”

[k0mfort]

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” with kaeya (genshin) omg ty 🫶

pairing: kaeya alberich (genshin impact) x reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

type: one-shot

prompt: “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”

word count: 1,228

author's note: i hope u enjoy anon mwah ❤️

( masterlist │ ask/request │ prev post )

You pass through Mondstadt every few moons. The caravans of people you bring with you have somehow created a bond with the Wind City. This is the one place you all consider home—Teyvat is large, and you have seen places more beautiful than whatever the mind can conjure, but nothing is more beautiful than the singing dandelions dancing around the front gate of the city walls.

You entertain the thought of settling down. You have, countless times. You thought of starting a restaurant down in Liyue—or trying to somehow attain Inazuma citizenship despite the vision hanging loosely on your neck. But the perilous ways call out to you at night, and every time you begin daydreaming of setting your life down, it pulls you back in a whirlwind.

And no matter what the Cavalry Captain says to you tonight, nothing will change the fact that you belong to the road more than you even belong to yourself.

It is your first day back after months of not stepping into Mondstadt. The people have not changed—the wine stays good. A small party gathers at Angel’s Share, and you’ve somehow left the crowd and followed Kaeya up the second floor.

Kaeya raises the glass of wine to his lips—at this point, the alcohol no longer does a thing to his system. He’ll down however many glasses that are given to him, and he will probably at some point vomit them when it’s too much for his liver to handle. But getting drunk? The concept seems foreign to Kaeya.

He rests his back on the balcony and shakes the glass in his hand to watch the red liquid swirl in his glass.

The taste? Kaeya does not particularly enjoy red wine. Why does he keep coming back to it? It’s strange.

He glances at you. His confession didn’t seem to faze you—like you have been expecting it. Or you are used to it. Kaeya assumes that a mixture of both would be the reason for your ease. He doesn't hide his affection, after all. He quickly recalls all the times he has asked you to join him for a drink or lunch; all the time he scoots his chair closer to you when you would bring your friends in the tavern. All the sleepless nights in his chamber, too, must be quite the indicator for you of his attachment.

Kaeya finds falling in love to be quite easy and falling out of love quite the opposite, especially when it comes to you.

He turns and sets the glass on the balcony. “You’re acting like you didn’t hear me.”

His retort sends a wave of laughter out your mouth, which in turn sends chills down his spine.

“I am not lover material, Captain,” you smile, swaying your body. “Teyvat is as big as you can see, and more. You’ll find whatever woman or man you actually want beyond Mondstadt’s borders.”

“But you’re the only one I want.”

“No,” you insist, as though you know better. “I am the only thing you know. Staying in one city does that to you, you see.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Kaeya chuckles, resting his elbow on the balcony and his chin on his hand. “Do you not trust me?”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head and waving your hands. “You put me in quite the spot… How do I not trust the most trustworthy man in Mondstadt?”

He scrunches his nose, the edge of his lips tugging upwards. “Oh, dear. I didn’t come here to be mocked.”

“I am not mocking you. I would never…” You let your eyes wander around for a moment, grinning softly at him. “Well, not tonight, at least.”

“How do you expect me to not fall for a smile like that?” He asks, playfully looking away, though still catching the way your gaze shifts away, your hand going to rub the skin of your neck rather brutally. “You still don’t believe me.”

You sigh. “I told you. I am not someone you just make a lover. There are so many better choices—the pretty girl by the fountain this morning. Or the Liyue man staying for the month.”

“I don’t want the pretty girl by the fountain, or the Liyue man staying for the month,” he tilts his head. “Is it that hard to understand?”

You bite the inner corner of your lips, not looking at him. Kaeya can see the gears in your head turning—he can hear all the oils squeaking and lever pulling.

“You want the person who you meet… like, I don’t know. Four times a year?”

The tone of your voice makes it seem like he is being ridiculous. But Kaeya has never felt more sure. He is sure of the longing on his chest the same way he is sure of the wine in his blood veins. The alcohol is not speaking as he had pulled any power away from it—the night and his mind has never been more clearer with your glistening eyes and trembling lips.

“That is what you are, yes,” he nods, and watches how your shoulders drop. “You are a person who I see four times a year. It has been like this for so long that I cannot remember the life I had when I wasn’t waiting for you to arrive in town.”

“Captain…” You hesitate. “You’re just going to get hurt.”

“I get hurt every time you leave the city.” Kaeya straightens his posture, leaning his side on the railing now as he faces you. “And yet it hurts less and less the more time you do it. I learned not to take it to heart because I know you’ll always return.”

Kaeya blinks as you turn to look at him.

“Do you get it? You are the one I want—no one else. Just you.”

You touch your neck again, this time braving yourself to look Kaeya in the eyes. “Me, leaving over and over again. You, not knowing when you will see me again. This is not something easy, Kaeya—”

He sucks in a deep breath at the whisper of his name in your voice.

“—and this is hard,” you blink—only then does Kaeya realise that you have been holding back the choking of your words.

“It’s not hard,” he raises his arm out, letting the palm of his hand cup your cheek. The coarse thumb rubs the skin under your eye, careful to not press down too hard. “It’s not hard waiting when getting to love you is the consequence.”

“Dear Lord,” you scoff with a small smile, closing your eyes and melting into his hand. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Kaeya hums, stepping in closer to you. “I’d like to have a taste of it,” he murmurs, leaning to press his nose on your forehead, “if I may.”

You smile, his gaze peering at you greets your sight the moment you reopens your eyes.

“Regret often comes in the form of your most wanted desire.”

He furrows his eyebrow. “Regret and I have known each other for a while. I know that you are the one thing I will not regret,” he moves to place a kiss on your cheek. “Place your bets on me. Trust me like I trust myself.”

You wrap your arms around his neck—hell, you might give it a try.

[bussyslayer333]

Hi!! Congrats on 1.5k :)) Can you write a Bob blurb with #17 on the fluff prompts? "i made a playlist for you, come sit and listen."

ahhh ofc!!! hope u enjoy :))

pairing: bob floyd x girlfriend!reader

word count: 0.5k

warnings: pure fluff hehe

Bob Floyd was the best man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The fact that you were able to hang on to him was some kind of miracle.

Every single day you were reminded of the reasons you fell in love with him. Today being one of those days.

“Darlin’!” You hear him yell from downstairs, and you’re already skipping down the steps to find your boyfriend.

It’s early still, just gone 8AM and you’re clad only in one of Bob’s large sleep tshirts and a pair of threadbare shorts. You can see the planes of Bob’s shirtless back as he stands slightly bent over the kitchen counter, he twists to see you as his ears perk up at the telltale sounds of your feet padding through the tiled kitchen.

“Morning, baby,” you hum, pressing a kiss just above his heart.

He smiles down at you, stroking at the mussed hair atop your head, reaching a finger down to flick at your chin. Bob kisses you softly, as always, like a dream. You lean against each other for a moment before he breaks the peace, by hauling you up in his arms and placing you on the counter top.

“I made you something,” he admits, looking to the floor somewhat shyly.

It makes you giggle, as he feigns aloofness whilst shuffling towards the table.

“Close your eyes,” he orders.

“Sir, yes sir.” You tease, shutting your eyes at once.

Bob chuckles at your words and you can feel him return as his warm presence takes up residence in front of you again.

“Okay… now place your hands out,” Bob declares.

“I’m excited,” you smile, offering up your hands.

A small rectangular piece of plastic is dropped into your hands, you grip at it for a moment before Bob orders you again.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You look down into your open palms and let a toothy grin spread across your face at the sight of the mixtape. Across the cover scrawled in sharpie are the words:

MY LOVE

Only Bob, could do something so cheesy and make it horrifically romantic.

“Is this what I think it is?” You gasp.

“I made a playlist for you,” he smiles bashfully, “can I play it for you?” He lets a grin spread across his face as you nod vigorously.

“What the hell are you going to- Oh my God.”

Your previous question is answered as Bob hauls a tired boombox from beneath the kitchen table.

“Don’t ask,” he teases.

“You’re everything, y’know?” You speak earnestly, holding Bob’s eyes in your own until he breaks away with a flush painting his cheeks.

“I love you.” He shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It kind of is, he thinks.

a/n: bob the sweetheart ugh

sorry guys press play took ahold of me and i had to write about a mixtape 😭😭

ty for reading and requesting!!!

pls comment or reblog and tell me what you think :))

- honey <333

[angelmichelangelo]

hi i noticed u reposted prompts yesterday and because i am literally on my hands and knees scavenging for autistic rise donnie fics i am going to request "stop looking at me like i'm damaged goods". you can make it as fluffy/angsty as you please; i trust you entirely to absolutely eat this concept

autistic donnie is. so important to me. i cradle him gently in my hands for you my friend. hope you enjoyed this :3 ty for trusting me with him lol

x

In the aftermath of Donnie’s meltdown, Leo gives him approximately fifteen and a half minutes to cool down, because in the lifetime that he has known his brother, he knows that those fifteen and a half minutes was enough time for him to clamber into bed, press his shell against the wall and take enough long, sobering breaths to dig around his hoodie pouch for his cell and for him to connect it with his bluetooth headphones and work through a good chunk of his chill playlist and settle the fuck down. Fifteen and half minutes go by. He approaches his bedroom door, knuckles rap gently against steel. Three, equally spaced taps. A pause. He doesn’t need to be welcomed in; if he wasn’t, he’d just be told to ‘go away and die’ from the other side, which he isn’t, so he allows himself to enter his room. As predicted, Don is wedged up against the wall by his bed, pillow tucked tight to his chest so he can chew the end of it between his teeth, headphones still blaring out his music loud enough to be heard in a second-hand-tinny kind of way; his eyes eventually skate upwards from his screen to watch Leo cross the room and drop himself onto the end of the bed with a sigh. It takes another two full minutes for Donnie to pause his music and paw his headphones off his head, letting them clatter to the floor without care. He says nothing, still chomping on the soggy remains of his pillowcase, giving Leo the floor to speak. “He didn’t mean it,” Leo says, eyeing his brother up with a steady look. “You know that.” Donnie’s mask wrinkles on the account of his brow quickly furrowing. He chews a little harder, grinding the material with circular motions of his jaw. Leo watches him for a second before he lounges backwards, shell hitting the wall, he’s almost trapping Donnie against the wall, but in a less-intrusive way. He sighs wearily. “He’s pretty upset,” he adds, hoping to coax something out of his brother. It does. He lets the pillow go from his jaws and shoots Leo an incredulous look, sitting up just on his elbows. “Good,” he says shortly. “So am I.” A breathy laughter bubbles up from Leo’s chest, squinting at his brother with slight askance. “Donnie, he’s twelve. He doesn’t—He doesn’t always get it.” Donnie actually hmphs and turns his head away, tongue feeling around for the wet material of the pillowcase and drawing it back between his teeth to chew. Leo does nothing but watch for a moment as his brother purposely ignores his presence. Because today’s meltdown was indeed brought to you by: Mikey making waffles. There had been a lot of noise and mess and everything happening at once when Don had come into the kitchen just to simply make himself toast. He’d snapped at their youngest, unable to bridle some of that bubbling frustration that was prone when he got rowdy and loud, and because Mikey was twelve and Donnie was thirteen, the pair of them overflowing with all of that incredible, powerful, teenage hormonal angst had caused something like a volcanic, chemical reaction the moment it breached into the others space.

“Don.” Leo says again, this time reaching out to place his hand on his shoulder, only to have it harshly shrugged off, Donnie’s head coming around to glare at him so fast it might just spin right off his shoulders. “I don’t care!” He says coldly and spitefully. His eyes are sharp and narrow, the corner of the pillow rests heavily in the corner of his mouth where he’s still begrudging to let it go. “I don’t care, he… he annoys me.” Leo frowns. “Yeah.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders, his hand retreating to rest lonely in his lap. “Little brothers tend to do that.” Donnie scoffs, now choosing to bury his head in said pillow, a long, drawn out sigh is muffled from where he’s pressing his snout against the plush. “Raph is gonna make him say sorry,” Leo tries. Donnie’s shoulder just hike upwards, like a dogs hackles rippling in self-defense. “I just wanted to make sure you were good first.”

Donnie finally peels his face away from where he was previously content with suffocating himself, face tight and angry looking. 

“That’s a surprise,” he says, voice icy and spiteful. “Raph usually lets his favorite brother get away with everything.”

Leo’s heart skips about in his chest at the accusation. “He doesn’t have favorites,” he says wearily, mouth opening to try and back his claim up when Donnie sits up suddenly, like a shaken up can of soda, he’s got all his energy back again just to fizz out over the top of him. “He so does. Mike is everyone’s favorite, making me the least favorite!”

There’s a wet glossy sheen to his eyes now that makes Leo want to press forward. He doesn’t, only because it looks like his brother might bite his hand off if he tries, so he just fixes his brother a sympathetic look and tries desperately again to calm him.

“That’s not true,” he says, then offering his brother a smile. “You’re my favorite.”

Donnie blinks at Leo, scowl still etched sharply across his features before he flops back down again. “You’re just saying that because there’s something wrong with me.”

Leo blanches. Not long ago, Don had clambered into Leo’s bed of an evening and shoved his phone under his beak and rattled off a list of symptoms and spectrums and a bunch of fancy words that didn’t quite compute with the turtle until his twin and gripped his arm with an iron bar hold and told him with a shaky breath,

“I think this is me, Nardo. I think this is what I have.”

Donnie sniffs and once again turns his head sideways, avoiding eye contact. “You can stop that.” He says, voice flat. “You can stop looking at me like I’m— I’m damaged goods.” Leo feels all the space in his chest around his heart go very tight very suddenly, all the air that occupied that space suddenly being sucked outwards, leaving him feeling somewhat hollow.

“You’re not damaged goods,” Leo tells him, as sternly as he could possibly muster, because even if he couldn’t quite catch his breath after such an accusation, he was gong to make damn good sure that his brother believed the words he spoke. Because Leo really didn’t see Donnie in that way whatsoever.

“I mean, you’re a little odd and strange but, dude,” he says, this time finding the courage to land a hand on his brother’s arm without him trying to shake him off or eat it. “It’s cool. You’ve always been cool.”

Donnie blinks at him, and the only time he moves Leo’s arm away is so that he can use the back of his wrist to scrub away at his wetted face, muffling a tiny little sob into his forearm.

“It’s okay, Dee,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “Do… do you need another fifteen minutes? Before Mike comes in to say sorry?”

Donnie says nothing, leaning into the warmth Leo offers him, but not before he’s gingerly slotting the chewed up corner of the pillowcase between his teeth, making a small laugh bubble out of Leo as he watches on.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says softly, and Donnie says nothing more – he doesn’t have to, because as long as he knows where Leo stands on his viewpoint of his brother, favorite brothers aside, Don does indeed hold a very special, irreplaceable spot in the deepest parts of his chest, where there was no air and no ache, and that, to Leo was the very opposite of damaged goods.

That was something pretty damn amazing.

[spideystevie]

hi sweet allie!! may I request 💘 with the prompt "fixing their tie" from "little romantic gestures?" ur an angel i love u happy valentines day <3 xo, @familyvideostevie

sweet sweet emma!! happy valentine’s to you, too! i love you <3 had one idea for this initially and then went a completely different way after consulting a friend. anyway, very excited about this one even though it became more of a tying the tie instead of fixing it but alas same concept! hope you enjoy - [0.9k] | join the party!

There’s an agonizing bite of nerves under Bradley’s skin this morning as he gets ready. You’d been skirting around each other all morning, hurrying to get ready in a rush after waking up late.

Your baby sister graduates college today, a huge feat that she’d told you felt almost impossible. When it came time for invitations to the ceremony, Rooster was one of the first people on her list. He nearly cried when you’d told him, something he made you promise not to mention to anyone. 

After all these years it didn’t come as much of a shock to you. He’d basically become her older brother by association when he started dating you and she looked up to him almost as much as she did you. 

Even still, Bradley was nervous. He’d been to family dinners and that one New Year’s Eve party, a Thanksgiving once too, but those all felt like something on a completely different scale than this. It feels like something more intimate, reserved specifically for blood, being one of the few invited to watch your sister walk across a stage. 

He knows it’s silly, a little bit juvenile even, to feel like he’s going to somehow mess this up or be a disruption. He can’t count the amount of times your mom has told him he was a part of the family now. She still insists each time he’s around that he drops the formalities and just calls her mom. 

His tie not cooperating with his shaky hands isn’t helping his nervous antics either. 

“Need some help?” your voice is a calming siren breaking through his anxious reverie. You’re leaning against the doorframe, halfway in the bathroom with a sweet smile on your face.

He looks at you through the mirror, his hands stilling on the fabric material of his tie. A sheepish look crosses his face as he turns around to face you. You use it as an invitation to step forward and take the two ends of the tie into your hands. 

“Thought you’d be a pro at this by now,” you tease him, a gentle probe that’s softened by your smile when you look up at him through your lashes. A flustered shade of pink rises to his cheeks. He shakes his head as he watches your hands move.

“So did I,” he says and you laugh. A small pinch forms between your brow from concentrating, eyes focused on making sure you get the knot on his tie right. This close, you wonder if he can feel your heart accelerating in the slightest over an action so inherently intimate.

Silence settles over the bathroom save for the sound of your hands on the tie and the fabric brushing against itself as you start to tighten the knot up towards the collar of his shirt.

He takes the time to just look at you, memorizing the lines and slopes of your face. He thinks you’re radiant. 

“And…done,” you nestle the top of a knot in a spot you hope is comfortable for him. One of your hands smooths down the front of the tie, adjusting it just a bit to make sure it’s perfect. Your eyes drift back up to his face to find him already staring at you. 

“What would I do without you?” It feels like there should be a teasing bite to it, but he says it with such sincerity, it makes your head spin. Because yes, you did up his tie for him but you also managed to silence any wavering thought in his brain. There’s a warm adoration coating his features, an intensity that makes your chest feel funny in the best way. 

You stare at him for a beat, enough for your gaze and his to flicker towards each other's lips. A heat rushes to your face as he lowers his face down to yours. You use the hand still resting on his chest to grab at his tie and tug him down to meet you fully.

If your usual demeanor and bright smile weren’t enough to quell his nerves before, the way you’re kissing him definitely is. His hands fall against your waist, his lips soft against yours. You kiss him like you’re not running late for a graduation ceremony, like right now in this moment time’s paused and resting in the palm of your hand.

You pull away, both of you a little dazed but full of lovestruck smiles. You take a step back and towards the door to grab your shoes. He takes a second to breathe before following after you. The two of you pull on your shoes by the door and just as he’s about to open it to leave, you stop him. 

“Wait!” you rush out and he pauses, hand wrapped around the door handle ready to pull it open. You step forward into his bubble of space again, shifting his tie that you’d caused to go askew back into place. Your hand lingers against his chest for a moment, palm against the fabric of his shirt and tie. 

You step back again, your hand falling back to your side. “Okay. Now we can go.”

Bradley can’t resist, he pulls you in by the small of your back to kiss you once more. It’s over sooner than the last but it leaves you just as doe eyed and blinking. 

You make it inside and to your seats near your parents in the nick of time and all at once his nerves seem to return. It’s different though, they mix with a swell of pride in his chest, one that grows only stronger when your sister’s name is called. She spots him in the crowd with ease, cheering loud next to you and her face lights up. 

When he sits back down with you, he feels more at home than he has in years.