Did You Hear That?
minors, ageless and blank blogs do not interact.
pairing: Matsukawa Issei x reader (x Iwaizumi Hajime)
summary: Matsukawa is just the kind of person to accept a call during sex. and turns out, maybe both you and best friend Iwaizumi kinda likes it.
warnings/tags: AFAB!reader, established relationship, kind of voyeurism, kind of exhibitionism, v/ V/ soft dom tendencies, hair pulling, vaginal penetration, kind of phone sex (if you can even call it that).
word count: 1k
A/N: For some reason this appeared in my head at work, and I just had to write it. I literally just finished it and i’m straight on to posting. you’re welcome.
His phone buzzed on the bed beside you. With half a mind, you glance at the screen as it lights up in your face to see the caller-id reading “Iwaizumi”. It wasn’t new that he’d be calling Matsukawa at any time of day. But yet, your muscles tensed when you saw Matsukawa’s hand reaching for the phone.
“Issei–” Your voice came out strained and your own hands fisted in the sheets underneath you. Matsukawa simply laughed that low rumbling laugh as he picked the phone from the bed, the other hand still firmly holding your hips in place. “Please–”
“Hey,” Matsukawa cut you off, as he spoke into the phone. Angling his hips, a deep thrust into your cunt had you biting down hard to keep the moan in your throat from slipping past your lips. “What’s up?”
Matsukawa moved his hand to your ass, squeezing the fat of your cheeks. Rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, he slowly pumped his thick cock into you. In the dim light, you saw your knuckles turning white against the fabric, as you tried to steady yourself. Brace yourself against his pelvis, repeatedly rocking against you.
“I don’t think so, why?” Had you been at your senses full might, you probably would’ve wondered how he managed to sound so composed. His labored breathing suddenly steady as he spoke to one of your shared best friends. Maybe it did cross your mind. Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked at him. The bastard even had the nerve to smirk at you, when your eyes locked. As if testing how far he could go, Matsukawa snaked his hand around your thighs, fingers pressing against your swollen clit. Your mouth slacked and you didn’t manage to catch the gasp that tore through you. Matsukawa’s smirk grew even wider as he spoke into the phone, managing to sound only a tiny bit smug as he did so.
“Yeah, I think we could do tha–'' clenching down hard around his cock, you cut him off as he had to fight a groan that battled furiously to escape the prison of his throat. Leveling a glare at you, you smiled your most innocent smile. But maybe you shouldn’t have. Matsukawa swiftly grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you down against the bed, pounding into you at full force, and for a moment you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying that Iwaizumi would hear the wet slaps of Matsukawa’s balls against your pussy through the phone. But then you didn’t, when Matsukawa spoke again.
“No she’s right here, why don’t you ask her yourself?” He said and your eyes widened. “A’right, hang on. I’ll put you on speaker.” A moment later, Matsukawa’s phone landed on the bed next to your head, as his pace let up, only just enough for you to be able to speak. Matsukawa pulled your head to the side enough for you to face him as he pointedly nodded at the phone. You swallowed hard as your eyes threatened to roll back.
“H-hello?” you managed.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s voice came through the speakers. “I was just asking Mattsun, if you guys had any plans next saturday,” he explained.
“Makki and I were going to see Oikawa’s game. You wanna come?” Your mind was spinning and you found yourself nodding under Matsukawa’s hold. His free hand pinched at your asscheek and you almost yelped out at the sudden stinging sensations. Then you managed to look at him and saw that same pointed look on his face. You’d forgotten to actually reply.
“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out against the linen pressed to your cheek. “I’d– I’d like that.”
“Cool.” You hoped that that would be it, but then Matsukawa’s finger found your clit again. “Call me when you’re done fucking so we can plan it, okay?” Matsukawa rubbed circular motions.
“Nah man, let’s just get it settled,” Matsukawa suggested, shaking you to your core with the soft rumble of his voice and the following laugh. A soft moan tumbled over your lips before you had the chance to stop it, which had your face burning even hotter than before, as Matsukawa rewarded you with a particularly harsh flick of your clit.
“You guys might be into this shit, but i’m not, so let’s just–”
“You’re not?” Matsukawa cut Iwaizumi off, challenge evident in his words.
“Really? Because I heard the way your words just cracked at the end there,” Matsukawa pressed, cock still spearing you open over and over and again. “I heard the way it trembled.”
“Piss off,” Iwaizumi mumbled, and you couldn’t help the mewl that passed through the mic of the phone at the tone of his voice. At the thought of him enjoying listening in.
“Oh,” Matsukawa’s smirk was so loud it could literally be heard in his voice. “Did you hear that? She liked that. Do you want to hear her cum?”
“Issei–” your own voice cracked. You felt a familiar heat starting to build up in your insides.
“Mattsun,” Iwaizumi warned, but he still didn’t deny further, that he might actually be into this. He on his end knew that he should’ve hung up long ago. He’d known the moment Matsukawa picked up and he should have said he’d call back later. But he hadn’t.
“That a no?” Matsukawa asked. “Pity, she seems to be really close, aren’t you baby?” He said, directing the last words at you. Nodding your head in reply had Matsukawa pulling your head back harshly. “Use your words. Tell ‘im.”
“Y-Yes,” you whined. “I’m close.”
“Good girl,” Matsukawa cooed, but didn’t get to say anymore before you braved yourself and spoke again.
“Please– Hajime–” the sound of Iwaizumi inhaling sharply came through the speakers. “Want you to hear me cum.” You never would have thought yourself into this, but now that you were in the situation, your head was spinning and the coil in the pit of your stomach wound harder than it ever had before.
“O-okay–” He was breathless through the phone when he agreed.
“Can I– Please–”
“It’s alright.” Matsukawa picked his pace up just a little, and the moans kept spilling over your lips. “Tell her she can cum,” he instructed at the phone.
“Can I?” you whined breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi swallowed audibly around the lump in his throat. “You can cum.”
And it snapped. It snapped in a blaze that had you seeing stars.
Another day, another Viktor drabble! This one suggested by a dearest friend who wishes to remain anonymous 😘
Your wish is, as ever, my command my beloved.
Lore faithful act 1 Viktor, established/newish relationship with reader, nothing but steamy sexy times let’s gooooo
Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW
Neither of you had even seen the storm coming.
Sure it had been getting darker and darker on the horizon, but nothing could drag you two out of the maths you were bent over as you sat at the fountain in the University courtyard. It was a compromise you’d worked out. You’d accept Viktor’s help in tutoring you, no small blow to your ego and boost to his, but he had to do it outside. Get some sunshine and fresh air.
Problem was, that sunshine had become in short supply as the pair of you argued relentlessly over first this equation then that theorem, checking and double checking each other’s work until nearly half your notebook was full on indecipherable hieroglyphics of higher arithmetic scribbled one over the other. About to become even less decipherable as the first fat raindrops began to fall, hitting the paper in slow succession to have you both finally look up and realize the winds had kicked up, the sky was black, and you’d both been abandoned together by everyone else who’d previously been lazing about or strolling in the courtyard too.
Lightening split the sky overhead and thunder nearly did the same for your eardrums. Viktor’s shoulders tensed for his ears as yours mirrored the motion in twinned reflexive shock, each of you staring at the other with wide eyes.
Then came the scramble to gather up books and papers and the messy headlong rush to try to get through the courtyard as sky literally opened up, drenching down buckets. The rain was freezing in comparison to how hot, heavy and humid the midsummer air had been before the storm rolled in.
You might have sprinted faster alone, but you weren’t about to leave Viktor behind, huddled beside him as the pair of you were soaked to the bone, rushing as best you could toward the building that housed the apartments for administrative staff, a lovely little perk Viktor enjoyed by whit of his assistance to the Dean, rather than slumming it in the dorms with the rest of the students. Mad rush, both of you shouting unintelligibly and laughing intermittently until at last you were safe in his little flat, door shut hard and both of you dripping on the floorboards, grinning like idiots.
Even sodden, Viktor’s hair refused to plaster flat to his head, so terribly thick it simply hung in damp and bedraggled strands, far from the smartly brushed back loose coif he so liked. Shirt and vest and silk tie all wet through and water dripping from the tip of his nose and sharp of his chin as you grinned at him, sure you yourself looked no better than a drowned rat. You plopped the ruined papers and books on the table beside the door and shook your hands, splattering water every where... and then flicked your wet digits at him, laughing as he flinched as the droplets hit him harmlessly.
“You don’t look so haughty and impressive now Mr. Assist- ah!”
He cut off your teasing, lunging forward to catch you hard up against the door with a little thud that reverberated in your shoulder blades and the back of your skull. Stopped your smart mouth with his own, licking away a drop of rain that hung from your lower lip before delving in, kiss deep and undeniably, suddenly hungry. You moaned, murmured into it in both surprise and encouragement, trying to peel hips off the door to press to his, only to have him catch you with a shove of his own and push them back, crush them in hard, one hand falling to scoop under your backside, pull your thigh up and draw it over one narrow hip.
Your own hands found their desperate busy work, yanking messily at the damp silk knot of his tie, struggling to get it loose until he released the kiss with a frustrated, breathless grunt and did it himself, flinging it down with a heat that had you grinning wickedly, reaching to undo buttons, shove his waistcoat off shoulders and yank his shirt open too.
He was making as much or more of a mess trying to blindly get your uniform off as he buried his face in a line of suckling kisses down your wet throat. Every article of clothing hanging half off, partially undone, nearly shed or still stubbornly in place as you tore in soaked, lividly aroused delight at one another, every little inch of skin bared or nearly there a tiny victory celebrated with a biting kiss or warm lick of a tongue, a drag of nails or quiet moan.
He pulled back from your collarbone to hiss breath through the clench of teeth as you dug nails into his bare hips, hands in the open part of his shirt. So deliciously exciting to watch your normally gentle boy come all undone in his hot rush, to see a hint of impatience and that slightly glazed, feral want take over where usually only sweet generosity made its home. It looked good on the shape of his mouth, had that delicious electric heat at your core drop straight down between your legs, heavy and crackling outward like the lightening streaking across the sky outside in flashes that lit the angles of Viktor’s face to a breathtaking degree.
He was terribly beautiful. Often quiet and sullen at times, sweet and kind and wickedly funny at others. So many little facets each time you turned him to a new light, each prettier than the next. This new one was the best by far.
He slid fingers in your mouth as he bit kisses at your cheek, and you opened willingly for him, tongue a soft flat he pressed index and middle finger hard against, rubbed wetly along. This was his favorite, as you well knew. Some boys couldn’t get enough of watching their lover with their cock in their mouth...and it was true enough Viktor had nearly doubled over in bliss the first time you did that to him.
But this... this was what got him hard, had his heart racing. Watching you take his fingers, suck them slow, nearly gag softly if he pressed them in hard enough. How he could drag you forward toward him if he hooked them gently to your lower teeth, how softly and needily you sucked at them while you came for him. The way he could muffle your moans around them or have you practically drooling at the right angles. All the while enjoying the wet heat of your mouth around those beautiful long digits while he watched you submit or be greedy.
You often wondered which he preferred more; that demure way you would keep eyes shut or at least cast down and damn near closed under the dark of your lashes... or the defiant pride of the way you made eye contact with him while you sucked, let him press against your tongue, as you did now. Holding his gaze like a dare, like a challenge, unashamed of how badly you wanted him.
You heard his shiver in the way he sucked a breath, saw that sly smile of his grow past his clenched teeth into a smug little grin. He knew full well it turned you on just as much. Knew full well how you loved those long fingers of his, wanted them in you in any which way, craved them on your skin, slick within your pussy, teasing nipples until you cried out and arched for him and begged for his mouth instead to soothe the soft burning ache. How he could play you out for hours until you were a shivering wet mess too far gone to make the words you needed to demand he end it and just fuck you already.
Oh he’d gotten very good at that little game indeed. You had a inkling the assistant to the Dean had rather a quiet little craving for power. Nothing insidious, just a strong drive and a silent hunger to be the one in control, the one who was always right or smartest in the room. Far from that very soft spoken gentleness that was his nature, hidden deep through necessity or a lifetime of struggle just to be taken seriously.
None of that tonight though. This was as headlong a rush of a thing as your run through the rain had been. You had already pulled his pants open while he was busy watching you suck at his fingers, and slid a hand into the waistband of underwear to cup at his cock, palming messily as he ground into your grasp. He caught your mouth up again the second he pulled fingers free, cradling up your face to kiss you hard, let you sink teeth softly into his lower lip as his hands fell, spanned your ribcage under breasts and lifted you back against the door slightly with another little omph as breath left you again, all but disrupting your ability to keep stroking at the hard length of his cock.
Wet linen stuck to your skin and you wanted it off, wanted him inside you, his hands on you. The pair you crumpled as one, a slow slide against the door down onto the floor. He managed to shed both his shirt and waistcoat and you got free of waistcoat and panties under your skirt with his tugging help, kicking one leg free to let them hang about the other thigh as he buried a sucking, biting line of kisses up the inside of the freed one. Spread you with fingers to catch your clit a slow drag of his tongue that had you lifting hips, digging shoulder blades into the hard floorboards as you gasped out his name.
You’d just managed to get one bra strap down, and he came crashing over you, hands braced again on the span of your ribs as his head ducked, hair dripping across your skin to catch the one nipple you’d managed to bare in a hard little suck, teasing the stiffening nub of it with the soft tip of his tongue. Had you writhing under him, trying to hook legs over his where he knelt between your thighs. Sighing soft wordless pleading as eyes drifted shut and head rocked back against the cold floor while every sensation dialed down to that sweet blossoming tickle, joined by a lovely little spike of pain when he managed to free your other breast and finger and thumb took up a series of tiny pinches, not satisfied till both little nubs were stiff as stone and you mewling for more and working hips up against him, nails digging gentle lines down the nape of his neck.
“Ple- oh! Viktor, please... hmmn...!”
Sinking back on his heels he pulled himself free of the part of pants and shoved both them and underwear lower before grabbing hold of your hips and lifting, dragging you up the plane made by the bend of his long thighs to fit you to him, press against your entrance. No grace in this, no gentle slowness, both of you far too eager and fumbling. It felt good to have him take you hard, mouth dropping open as he spread you, stretched you. As you watched the long line of him curl over you, hands fitfully tight on your hips as he fought himself against how deliciously hot and wet you were, how tight walls clenched around him. Had him pitching forward to catch himself on the brace of one hand before he rocked toward you, pinning you to the floor, one hand caught under the bend of your knee to force it higher, wider as he thrust home. His own strangled moan a near echo to yours as he finally fitted as tight and deep as he could go.
Thank god he gave you no time to have to wait, the pair of you moving tandem as you tried your best to meet each ragged thrust, hands a constant state of movement, from the cradle of his lovely face, to the rake of nails across the back of his ribs, the sliding caress up one lean bicep and the digging push into the floor above your head to catch at the door and use it to press yourself back into him.
Somewhere in his apartment he’d left a window open in the stifling heat earlier in the day, now the pattered beating of rain and hushed howl of the wind and the distant rumble of thunder sometimes breaking into a sharp cracking boom was the only other noise that filled the space beside your sounds and his. The air of the dark apartment still sharp with the petrichor scent that had heralded the storm, and the light dim and richly blue as it washed over bared skin on bared skin. Flash of lightening a licking illumination to the shape of him cradled over you, rocking hard thrusts to soft moans of encouragement.
That sweet tension in your belly was coiling taut, legs shivering and fingers a hard tremble against their grip of him and you knew he could feel it, hear the way moans had become gasps as you lifted toward a hard tight arch in the small of your back, sweet tension strung tight as it would go as he picked up pace.
“Ahn, miláčku... do you, hn... want to come for me?” He was breathless, so close to spent himself but determined to keep that delicious pace until you followed him off this cliff. You were nodding frantically, lower lip caught between teeth as you reached up to pull him toward you, opened mouth under his own to taste his moan. That hot twitching pulse of him caught tight in little vicious thrusts your undoing. Sweet broken release clenching like a fist in the pit of you before dissolving into a thousand little fluttering spirals and a warm rush that flooded out with each delicious little buck that lifted your hips toward his stilled ones as he spilled inside you.
He held there as you rode out your release under him, his head dropped, damp hair tickling at your throat and chest before you both collapsed together, just another combined puddle on the wet floor.
Later there would be a blind fumble in the dark to find where he’d dropped his cane in the rush to pin you to the door. There’d be wet clothes to be hung in the bathroom to drip dry and warm towels to wrap up in, a soft bed to collapse upon. Later he’d be reading a book by the dim light next to the bed, head pillowed upon your bare bottom, only to roll you over, settle between the soft of your thighs and take his sweet time licking and sucking at the still sensitive little bud of your clit till he drew a second, slower release out of you, warm lapping waves that had you drifting off to sleep cuddled up against him after. Later there’s be the muffled thud of his heartbeat under your cheek.
For now though there was a wet tangle of limbs and soft laughter that picked up again as you both came down, each of you just a little delightedly embarrassed at the frantic rush and sodden mess.
Intimacy is much more than a pair of lips on any part of your body.
It's much more than a couple of fingers tugging desperately at the waistband of a pair of pants with baited breath, it's much more than a couple of thick digits buried to the hilt inside of you.
Intimacy is waking up to the sounds of his nightmares- nightly occurrences, and rocking him back to sleep until a caliginous dawn glow breaks through the crack in your curtains.
Intimacy is standing at the departing gate of an airport with saltwater brimming in the depths of your eyes. It's not knowing when- or if you'll see his face again, and leaning in to the vulnerability of that realization. It's having something important to say on the tip of your tongue but not being able to formulate it. Intimacy is watching him reach into his duffle bag to pull out his favourite shirt, and handing it over to you as if handing over a tangible piece of himself.
Intimacy is waking up to the notion that his burnt-umber orbs are already waiting for yours; it's the realization that although the sun still has yet to rise, you feel bathed in the most wondrous, warm glow.
Intimacy is recognizing that although you may feel like he is the sun, the moon and all of your stars... that he also struggles with a vast emptiness in him that you have no intention of fixing, but rather, to try to help him understand it.
Intimacy is showing each other the ugliest parts of yourselves; regrets, secrets, truths... and coming out on the other side of it, more committed to love than ever.
……… idk where tf y’all get this mindset that y/n is legit the most innocent angel BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU I WOULD’VE ROCKED THEIR SHIT FROM THE MOMENT I MET THEM‼️
PETITION TO MAKE Y/N HAVE ATTITUDE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT IF I SEE ONE MORE POST ABT READER NOT BEING ABLE TO STAND THEIR GROUND I WILL LOOSE MY MIND
and btw i’m not talking abt those wholesome posts with flower crowns and sweet stuff that’s cute af i’m talking abt people who r straight up making it so that reader is being TARGETED and DEGRADED and not being able to snap back a reply‼️
-bo agrees with this statement
Absolutely love your Moon Knight works! Do you mind doing Marc Spector with prompt #3? It would absolutely make my day!
Holding the little one for the first time.
Marceline Abigail Spector.
Your little warrior was finally here. You just couldn't believe it.
With eyes drooping from exhaustion, you managed to look up to see your husband as he stared down at the little one in your arms. He was in complete shock, it seemed. Like it was one thing to talk about her during the last nine months. But she was actually here, officially making you parents. The feelings he had were overwhelming, but in a good way.
She was just so perfect. She was redder than he anticipated, while also a bit screechy, but still a little angel.
He took his eyes off her to check on you. The labor had taken a lot out of you after being at it for several hours. He knew you were ready to sleep your ass off.
"Let me have her," he whispered, preparing his arms.
You could only hum in compliance as you mustered up enough strength to hand her over. As soon as she was lying in his arms, the overwhelming emotions he had finally got him to tear up.
"We made her..." you mumbled, can't getting enough of the sight before you even through your haziness.
"Yeah we did," his attention went back to you. "Go back to sleep, baby. We'll be here when you wake up."
You had no choice but to give in as your energy was finally draining you completely. One more sleepy smile and you were out. Smiling fondly himself, Marc gave your forehead a kiss before returning to your daughter.
Look at her...
He suddenly heard Steven's voice, soft disbelief in his tone.
What a precious little bean we made.
Jake was up now, just as content their new bundle of joy.
Marc didn't need to say anything back. They knew he loved her already.
After everything they've been through, they were finally gifted with something so precious.
riddle is a work in progress but the boys
Summary: Seems Ace and Deuce got into a spot of trouble.
(Hehehehe okay, so starting from now on, any art piece sent to me will have a drabble written for it based on the art. Hope you don’t mind me doing that. If you don’t want me to, just say the word. I just want to poke each and every one of them!)
You woke up with a start when you felt something tug off your blanket. You wiped at your mouth, finding drool on your skin, but you put that off when you saw Trey and Cater jumping up and down, waving their little arms.
You tried to blink the sleep from your eyes, but it’s kinda hard to do that when you’re still on your comfortable spot on the sofa. You couldn’t help how your words came out slurred. “Something wrong, Trey, Cater?”
With your arm hanging down, the little nymphs grabbed your sleeve, tugging on it as best as their body could manage. They really want you out of the couch for something. You hope it isn’t too serious.
“Alright, alright,” you groggily pushed yourself up, glancing at the clock on the wall, “Damn, only a twenty minute nap?”
No wonder you’re in a mood. Though, in all seriousness, how much trouble could happen in twenty minutes?
…actually you can think of many things. Ugh, you only hope it isn’t anything too bad.
Trey went on ahead to the back door, pushing past the little door you had installed so that all the pets can come in without leaving the back door open. Cater, however, took to weaving and running around your legs, as though you’ll lose interest and take off in a different direction. You did pretend that you were going to the fridge, but Cater grabbed your leg before it could turn.
To the backyard, you guess.
When you got there, it wasn’t as bad as you imagined it to be. Well, there was a mess to be sure. The grass was fine but there were large sections of bushes and tree with their flowers missing, seemingly cut off by unsteady hands. As though however did it was in a hurry.
All you had to do was look down to see what exactly happened.
Ace and Deuce were sitting on their butts, one half crossing his arms while the other had the sense ot look guilty. Right next to them was comically large pile of flowers, stems all of uneven lengths, petals a most vibrant color. Around their necks was Riddle’s signature punishment collar, a ring of thin red leaves, clamped around and puffed up in such a way that they reminded you of a jester’s neck wear.
Well it’s rather suiting.
“What did you clown do now?”
Ace kicked out his legs in anger while Deuce dipped his head down deeper.
Riddle, from up above, descended on his roots, standing as tall as his little self would allow him. He’s practically quivering in anger. Trey, ever the mediator, tapped at the writhing roots, looking up at him expectantly. Riddle took a deep breath and lowered himself to the ground. Trey patted his head and the roseling went from angry to just, pouty.
Really, you can’t take a peaceful nap nowadays.
loveloveloveloveLOVE young!silco with tattoos! could we have silcos reaction for a reader getting a tattoo?? maybe of the eye of zaun?!?!
Oh ho ho! Cue me wishing I didn't have a crippling-fear of needles for the thousandth time in my life, love to get something for Arcane 🥲 (@lemmielem has some AMAZING designs, for anyone interested out there!)
Warnings: SFW. Drabble, established-relationship, tattoos, wlight suggestive
For the first couple minutes, you said nothing. Simply hung your coat up as normal by the door, relishing in the familiar and comforting sensations of pen scratching across paper, and haze of smoke clouding thinly in the air.
"Jinx enjoyed her first round for the lineart... funnily enough, the artist managed to keep the lines mostly-straight, even though she was bouncing in the seat the entire time."
"She's been rather eager to get it done for weeks now," Silco acknowledged, not looking up from his paperwork, even as the phantom of a smile crossed over his face. "She's kept her little doodles for reference for well over a year now. It's unsurprising a child such as herself would be so enthusiastic to watch them come to life on her skin."
"Yep," You agreed, popping the end of the word as you walked over to the other side of his desk, bracing your hands on top of it before leaning slightly forward. "Totally agree, Sil." There's a pause, as the kingpin takes note of the suspicious nature in your voice, and glances up.
And than immediately finds his gaze dropping down, past your shit-eating grin, your neck, collarbone, and the low, low cut of your shirt.
"... my lovely."
"You... you seem to have done something different."
"Did I?" You ask in faux surprise, tilting your head as your fingers come up to brush some invisible hair away. Specifically trailing over the fresh ink barely peeking over the low-cut of your shirt, just above your heart, the line-symbol stark in bright neon-green just at the curve of your breast. It matches the symbol, still new, that hangs outside The Last Drop. "Funny, I haven't gotten a haircut..."
There's a short exhale, bordering a chuckle, as the pen is lowered onto the desk with a definitive click, and several more follow before you turn to meet your partner as he stands before you. Unsubtly, duo-colored eyes studies the new marking on your skin with a pleased look as you cheekily grin up at him, batting your lashes. "Aw... you like it?"
"My symbol on you? It has it's benefits... and it looks excellent. Like it was meant to be." The corners of Silco's lips curl, as his hands ghosts up along your side as you chuckle, joking lightly, "Look at you, being romantic about a little ink..."
The laughter ends in a sharp inhale as the long-fingered hand cups you, the calloused thumb shifting slightly to ghost over the marked skin. Raw as it is, the touch is ensured to be light as Silco gently traces the line of the tattoo on your skin, a pleased glint in Silco's eye as he brings his gaze back up to you.
"It looks good on you, dear."
"Sounds a bit self-serving, Silco. Of course you'd think your symbol looks good..." You counter with a small eyeroll, one that's quick to melt into a smile as the hand drops to loop around your waist, pulling you forward for Silco to press his lips to your hairline. You feel the faint smile on your skin, before he points out almost slyly, "It looks immensely better on the pretty canvas it happens to be on, my lovely."
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SELF DEPRECATING BABYYYYY
MC kissing our sad boy scars? Please? 🥺
Valar is sad- Not quite MC kissing wounds, as we got just more angst here-
That was what he was; he was utterly repulsive to look at.
All of the mirrors in the empty house were broken. He even disliked looking at himself in the bath, preferring to bathe in the darkness than in the light, or, he’d grab refuse to look at himself if there is a chance that he might see himself in a reflection.
Valar hated how he looked.
The only thing he received from his mother were the pink eyes given to him to just to see that he looks exactly like that man. That pathetic individual who abandoned him to rot alone. If that man wanted him dead, he should just kill him. What is the point of keeping him alive? Valar had no uses.
He’d rather be dead.
Valar digs his nails into his skin, scowling to himself as he hugs himself for warmth during the chilling morning. There were still scars that he had inflicted upon himself, some fresh, some old, but it still didn’t matter to him as the pain always feel the same.
Even doing this still isn’t enough to make him feel good as he is only harming himself. Marking and hurting himself isn’t going to bother that man. That man doesn’t care about Valar. He never did and he never will. Valar only makes him hate the pathetic excuse of a ‘father, but the child hates himself even more.
This flesh. This skin. This body.
He hates it.
Everything about him is like that man. He wants nothing to do with the person who had taken everything from him. A ‘prince’ that he may be, he doesn’t feel like one. The only thing that man wants is just a copy of himself, and Valar is sure that ‘emperor’ would still refuse to give up his crown to a version of himself.
A part of him wants to puke, to through out all of the nasty things inside him
Why couldn’t he be like his mother? Why couldn’t he be tall and strong like her? Why didn’t he receive her beautiful green hair that is like the grass that he takes in to fill the pit of his stomach? Why couldn’t he have her slightly tan skin that was given to her from being in the embrace of the sun?
Why couldn’t he protect her?
Valar feels so useless.
Valar closes his eyes shut and continues to tremble with the thin quilt over his body, barely being thick enough to provide him any warmth.
He opens his eyes to see a small, furred scarf in the mouth of the bird familiar who wraps it around him. Valar lets go of his arm, the pain feels numb and he ignores it; his attention is solely on the scarf the bird had given him. That’s right. He almost forgot about this.
This was something MC gave him when he first met them.
How long as it been? He doesn’t know. Valar hasn’t been counting the days. It feels longer than a few days or weeks. Months, maybe? He places the furred scarf closer to him and nestles himself against the furs.
It’s warm. And almost feels as though MC is right here next to him.
Valar furls himself into a smaller ball, smaller than he was earlier to allow himself to focus on the scarf in his hands. He holds it so close to his chest, scared that someone might snatch it away from him, even though he knows he’s alone, he refuses to loosen his grip on this.
He closes his eyes, feeling feathers wrap themselves around him, encasing him in warmth. It almost feels as though his mother his hugging him, but he knows he’s alone. Still, it’s nice. Valar hugs the furs closer to his chest and thinks of the face of that person he met during the Season of Rebirth.
He remembers their voice. The way they said their name, the why they shined and the smile on their face, the moment Valar saw them smile, he instantly thought about how much he wanted to continue seeing that person on their face, never wanting to see tears spill from those eyes of theirs.
Finally, Valar falls sleeps, clutching onto the furs in his hands and being in the loving embrace of the bird who protectively shields the child from the chilling air.
mha boys comforting you after watching a horror movie
(ft. bakugo, kirishima, denki, todoroki, midoriya)
teases you relentlessly for jumping at the “piss-poor” movie effects, even though you’re 99% sure you saw his palm spark after one of the jumpscares
critiques the characters and their choices, “damn idiot, the killer’s right there, why wouldn’t you just go the other way?”
begrudgingly turns on every light in the house for you so you’re not scared, but he absolutely won’t stay up to watch something nice and lighthearted with you, insisting that you’d both stayed up late enough
despite him being so unafraid, he’s quite startled when you creep up behind him right before bed
will wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom with you, even though he’d complain the whole time: “never watching a scary movie w’you again”/“im too tired for this shit.”
it’s all a facade, though, because he loves the way you cuddle him impossibly tighter at night after watching scary movies
your knight in shining armor—at first. give the poor guy too many jumpscares and he might be having just as many nightmares as you
said knight would never show it, though, so he’s full of bravado throughout the whole movie
offers you his arm and uses the movie as an excuse to hold you extra close
this man would do ANYTHING to accommodate you afterwards: turn on all the lights, watch happy videos/disney movies, walk into dark rooms first, check every nook and cranny of every closet, etc. but he’s terrified at the same time
definitely freaks the both of you out by pointing out a pile of clothes in the dark that just happens to resemble a humanoid figure
hardcore cuddling ensues
shrieks like a girl, screams at the characters not to turn the corner or open the door, peeks through his fingers
definitely the type to stare at one corner of the tv for the entire movie to avoid being scared
by the end of the movie, he’s usually the one asking to watch something lighthearted. doesn’t stay scared for long, but he’s still reluctant to enter any dark room without trying to flip the light switch faster than the speed of light
refuses to shower alone, which is what he claims was the tactic the entire time. aggressively checks behind the shower curtain for the next month
accidentally kicks his foot over the side of the bed and screams when he realizes it’s just dangling there.
sleeps with his head under the blanket, holding onto your waist all night
relatively unphased, sees through most of the suspense and figures out the plot ahead of time, claiming it’s predictable
drapes his arm around you once he notices you’re scared, a subtle but protective notion
he watches you more than the movie, somewhat entertained by your reactions to some admittedly poor cgi
will try to help you be more realistic about your ‘monster behind the curtain, monster in the closet’ fear, demonstrating to you how there’s nothing there
regardless, he gladly accompanies you while you shower and go through your nightly routine
would even plug in nightlights all around the house or offer to leave the light on while you slept
lets you sleep practically on top of him
startled occasionally but not necessarily scared, the two of you cling onto each other equally throughout the movie
rather than wholesome videos afterwards, he rambles on about all the things he would’ve done differently as a character in the movie, taking a more strategic route
soothed by his mindless chatter, the two of you are able to maneuver through your nightly routine rather smoothly, save for a few lighting and shadow tricks
he sleeps on the edge, letting you take the wall spot and makes sure he never faces away from you
reblogs are appreciated.
make like a sundae and split!
Initially inspired by the harringrove week prompt "stood up." Also inspired by posts of people headcanoning that Billy is loud and proud of being gay.
Steve can’t muster up the energy to feel bad about abandoning the girl he was supposed to go on a date with. He has half an ounce in the glovebox and an unrelenting need to find Billy. He wants to smoke with him, maybe shotgun a couple of beers, go hunt down a party somewhere. Really, he wants to ignore whatever has been niggling in the back of his mind for months now.
Since Billy deemed him worthy enough to know exactly how Billy feels about who. How Billy feels about guys specifically and singularly. That the girls and the flirting with Mrs. Wheeler has meant nothing, has always meant nothing.
Steve’s girls have, historically, meant a great deal. A potential to find the great love of his life, to set his heart ablaze. To mend the holes torn into it that Steve tried to fix with rainbow bandages. And this one tonight, Stacey or Lacey, or something like that was supposed to be the next one in the long line to help King Steve sleep better at night.
But as he was fixing his hair in the mirror. And tying up his sneakers, extra tight with a double knot so he doesn’t trip and make a fool of himself. His mind kept wandering. To a locker room conversation, a very different one from the ones he was used to.
“Yeah, Hagan, go cry about the fact that I’m fucking queer to literally anyone else!” Billy had snapped, shouting after Tommy whose face was bright red.
“You’re disgusting!” Tommy H had called back, but he seemed too embarrassed by it to really believe that.
Steve had been staring, towel slung around his shoulders, hair wet and frizzing up from the humidity. He was supposed to be meeting Jonathan and Nancy for a double date because his life was sad and tragic.
Billy had looked around the locker room, towel clenched tight to his side as he stared at each of the boys. “Anyone else got a fucking problem with it?”
One by one the other boys turned away, back to their lockers and bags, dropping their gazes to Billy’s split knuckles.
“No one cares, Hargrove,” Steve had drawled, picking up his towel to finish drying off his hair. Maybe it was to show Billy the long line of his torso, the way his muscles pulled when he lifted his arms.
Billy had licked over his teeth, snarled them in Steve’s direction and stalked back to finish conditioning his hair.
But what Steve said still went, so no one cared in Hawkins. Helped that Billy already had a reputation.
It’s a conversation Steve has replayed in his head a thousand times. It’s gotten to the point where he’s not even positive that was his response. Maybe he had dropped to his knees instead and asked Billy to teach him what he knew. Maybe he hadn’t said anything at all. But he wants to say something now.
The pool is dark, the only lights left on are the ones out front and the one by the locker rooms. Steve knows those locker rooms, the way they smell after a long day, how the metal lockers will get slick with heat and humidity from the showers.
He parks outside the fence, crooked and almost touching Billy’s Camaro. It’ll piss the other guy off, so Steve does it deliberately because he can. Because he’s left a girl on a date and he’s killing his reputation by doing it and it’s all for Billy so the least he can do is make sure the guy is angry about it.
Steve heads inside, towards the men’s locker room and he hopes to god Heather didn’t close tonight. Usually the girls don’t because it’s too dangerous, but Steve’s luck would probably have that.
He pushes open the door, the room is pretty quiet, but he can hear someone on the other side of the wall moving around.
“Pool’s closed!” Hargrove’s voice floats, more like barrels over.
Steve keeps walking in, ignores him.
“I said the pool’s closed, asshole, you got shit in your ears or something?” Billy demands, walking around with his jeans unbuttoned. He’s still soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and back. It’s like he forgot to use a towel.
Steve smirks at him, leans on the wall separating the toilets from the showers and lockers. “Hargrove.”
“Harrington,” Billy replies, biting his lip as he looks him over. “Heard you got a pool all your own? Decided to what? Grace us little people with your presence?”
Steve licks his own lips, drops his gaze to Billy’s mouth. Thinks about a wet dream he had. Doesn’t respond.
Billy gets irritated by that. His brow twitches and he turns to grab a shirt to pull over his head. Still soaking fucking wet. “You need something? I got plans tonight.”
“No you don’t,” Steve says, stepping into Billy’s space.
Billy looks over his shoulder, slides his eyes back, his lips part. “That so?”
Steve crowds him into the locker, skirts past him, leans against the lockers next to him with an audible bang. “It is. I canceled my plans, so you’re canceling yours.”
Billy flips his wet hair onto his clothed back with a damp thwack. He buttons his jeans, grabs a bag from the locker and tosses it on the bench. “Why should I?”
“Because I have half an ounce with your name on it,” Steve replies, tilting his head back on the lockers to stare at the concrete ceiling of the room. It’s still humid in here, smells like chlorine and chemicals.
“Okay, you’re speaking a language I’m familiar with,” Billy says, closing his locker. He twists the lock three times like it's a habit.
Steve drags his gaze over to look at Billy for a long moment. “I used to be a lifeguard, you know.”
“I heard from Holloway, what made you quit?” Billy asks, crossing his arms and leaning against his locker too.
Steve shrugs, looks away. Feels his heart constrict. Doesn’t let it show on his face. “My dad told me I had to get a less faggy job,” he mutters. “Jokes on him though because now I wear a sailor suit every day.”
Billy licks over his top teeth, stares at Steve for a long time. His eyes feel like a hot brand in the skin on the side of his face. “No one cares, Harrington,” he says slowly.
Steve looks back at Billy, boring his own eyes into Billy’s. His heartbeat picks up in his chest and he crosses his arms to keep it inside.
Billy waits him out, tries to not be the first one to say something, but he’s too damn impatient. He tilts his head against the lockers, drags his eyes along Steve’s face. “Half an ounce, you said?”
Steve nods, slow and steady to hopefully calm himself down. He takes a deep breath of the local pool’s air, breathes it out through his nose. “Half an ounce.”
Billy grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He shrugs the other strap on too and steps away from the lockers, flip-flopped feet slapping across the tile floor. “Well, come on then, not gonna smoke itself.”
Steve follows at a sedate pace, hits the lights after he walks past them. He plunges the place into darkness and suddenly he feels sixteen again, terrified of being on his own and trying not to be. He’s been trusted with this responsibility and he can handle it. Why is the dark worse than being responsible for keeping people alive?
Billy whirls on Steve when he sees how close he’s parked to the Camaro. Half an inch and their mirrors would touch. He snarls, grabs Steve by the front of his shirt, hauls him over to push him against the BMW.
Billy growls in his face, gets a finger in his chest, mimics Steve for just a moment. They’re shrouded in yellow lights that buzz in the night. There’s a faint sound of moths hitting it high above their heads and around them the world is dark. Steve knows there are stars out there somewhere.
He licks his lips, drops his gaze to Billy’s grimacing mouth. He doesn’t remember the girl he stood up. “Sorry to the plans of yours I ruined.”
Billy’s expression shifts, he makes a face, wrinkles his nose. There’s something in his eyes, but he’ll never be that vulnerable with Steve to say it. “She’ll get over it. Wasn’t gonna put out anyway.”
Steve laughs, a stupid little breathless thing. He finds it weird that he doesn’t feel like a girl. Maybe he should with the way Billy is pushing him into his car, the way he still has a finger in his chest. Steve’s heart is doing its damndest to touch it. “Didn’t take you for a prude.”
Billy’s snarl is back and he bites when he kisses. But his finger flattens out his palm and keeps Steve pressed to his car with his entire body. And the dark is so much scarier than keeping people alive, but Steve thinks he’s finally found the flashlight.
Or maybe it’s just the sun coming out after a rainstorm, a rainbow arcing in the sky above them.
Steve closes his eyes into the kiss, grips Billy’s back with bruising fingers, feels rivulets of water running over them. His nose kind of hurts from being pressed at a weird angle, but he has Billy’s lower lip between his teeth and his thigh pressed between both of Billy’s so he can’t move. He lets it go.
Maybe. He cares, Hargrove.
100 words, rated M
It’s too much and not enough, like a coffee rush after barely any sleep, running full speed on empty. I get to kiss you, great—but then you sigh, unroll out the duvet. Always with that frown. It’s the first thing I remove when I undress you, and the first you put back on the moment we’re done. I can have you on your knees, but I can’t really have you; it might kill me, anyway. Too much. I betray my every instinct by begging for more.
You hesitate, but still turn away, promise you’ll be back soon.
Soft Cherry Heartache
a little jily drabble i thought up this morning that’s too short to turn into a real something, but i liked it so 🥰
His name is Ian and he says he wants to know all the little things about me, my childhood dreams, the garden where I grew up, the places I planted roots and leaves fell and stayed and turned to earth. I say I’ve never met someone who thinks like me. All poetry and yearning and magic. We end over a cherry pie, strewn pits and juice and sugar that tastes like salt when I eat it, when we both walk away.
His name is James and he thinks nothing like me. He’s loud when I get quiet. Impulsive when I overthink. Has never read Austen or Bronte, never made a study guide in emerald ink or or sat and watched the heathers turn from purple to grey to green on the coast, like the world is still and so are you. He’s always moving.
But he learns without saying how I like my tea, what temperature I shower at, how to curl around me on the couch so I don’t get uncomfortable and move. He reads one Austen for me (I watch a football match for him) and says to me over the kitchen counter it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Why wouldn’t Darcy realize that is the worst time to confess?
I stand there, elbow deep in magic and whimsy and flour, a half-baked berry pie that smells like the sweetness of my childhood dreams, and laugh. You’ve confessed badly, too, I say and then fall asleep halfway through a match on the telly that night, half eaten slice of cherry pie on my lap. He eats three slices and slides his knee around me so I don’t move.
From thr little one numbers, 24 form the boys AMD their little princess
Playing airplane/train to get little one to open their mouth and take a bite of food
"Eat the applesauce, Marcy!"
Marc was growing frustrated with his daughter's stubbornness. You, yourself, had an idea where she could've gotten that from.
She usually isn't such a picky eater, normally having a taste for everything. There was just something about applesauce she didn't find appealing. You didn't know if it was the taste or the texture. Whatever it was, it was enough to get her to keep dodging her dad as he kept trying to feed her.
You can't force it on her mate.
Right as Marc was about to reach the end of his rope, Steven appeared. He was thankful, even if he wouldn't care to admit it. Steven always had more patience for the times Marcy was being especially difficult.
"If you think you can do better, be my guest,"
Marc relinquished control, which now had his softer alter come to the front.
"Hey sweetheart," Steven immediately began to coo at the little girl in front of him. "You sure you won't try a bit?"
He lifted the spoon back up that was still full of applesauce. As soon as it was presented to Marcy again, she shook her head and whined for the umpteenth time.
"How's about we make things interesting, yeah?"
You weren't sure what he could mean by that as you kept watching from your spot on the kitchen table. You received your answer soon enough when Steven had the spoon float over to her. What made this time different were the sounds he was making. He made himself sound like a revving engine while moving his arm around. Marcy, amused, observed the directions her papa would take and did her best to keep track of it all.
Safe to say, she was entertained.
Her little giggles were especially on display when he added narration to the silliness.
"Open up!" He announced. "Need to make an emergency landing!"
That did the trick since he was finally able to plant the applesauce into her mouth while she laughed away.
You didn't think you could love this man any more.
— king cranky ;
pairing: tsundere!jschlatt x afab!reader
summary: “he has a little trouble playing well with others.”
type of writing: headcanons.
• • •
• the first time the two of you met, it was informal and over a discord call, which, in it of itself, is already cause of at least some awkwardness since you can’t see the others involved.
- “y/n,” ted urged on the call, “this is schlatt.”
- “oh,” you quickly utter out blankly, as if unexpectedly before directing your next comment to the unknown other: “your friends have spoken greatly of you.”
- “all good things, i hope.” the brunette’s mouth quirks into a crooked, hidden smile.
- you quickly notices his almost prideful behavior, and does her best to play along, “but of course.”
• likely makes sures that you take care of yourself by giving you water.
- “catch !” [throws plastic bottle aggressively.]
• soon, the days turn into months we’re it became a regular thing where you, ted, charlie, and schlatt play games with one another, even if none of you were recording.
- it was just something to help wind down and have fun.
• over this span of time, too, did his way of showing his emotions shift, seemingly with little to no explanation.
- with this came the occasional nicknames, as well, including: toots, doll, hun, …
• he can be a bully, but he shows his feelings by means of quality time and using actions instead of words… because you can tell he sucks at words.
- for instance, when all four of you decided to play garry’s mod ‘murder,’ a game released in 2013, he begrudgingly had to help you with the controls.
- unbeknownst to the male, you had begun recording, deciding silently that this would be your video’s ‘preview’ before your introduction plays. it reminded you of times of early YouTube, when you would spend your weekends catching up or rewatching certain creators. it would be nice to revisit it, to play it with some friends rather than a different variation such as Minecraft’s take on it. nonetheless, it brought you a sense of nostalgia.
• “wait, so,” your memory became a bit fuzzy, “how do you crouch again ?”
- all while everyone’s characters, including yours, spawned in and the map fully loaded, Schlatt let out a dramatic, drawn-out exhale as he had memorized the controls with ease.
- “what ?” ted could be heard, letting out a hearty laugh at the other’s nonverbal response, “c’mon, you can’t be annoyed by something like that.”
- “you’ll have to excuse our friend here,” charlie explained lightheartedly, “he has a little trouble playing well with others.”
- “are you calling me a child right now ?”
- “if the shoe fits.”
• jschlatt is the kind to tells you that your strategy for the next round for the game sucks, that’s it’s gonna fail in five seconds and that you should just leave it to him to figure it out, when really it’s because your strategy is just you putting yourself in too much danger so then he tries to figure out one himself so you can stand a chance in ‘murder.’
- the same guy who kills you in an instant if he’s the murderer with a maniacal laugh. 🤨
• you turn a corner to find his character standing over a dead body, slowly he turns around: “beat it, toots, these streets aren’t what they used to be.”
- [insert your character backing away slowly.] “don’t get any ideas.”
- you could practically hear the smile playing onto his lips, “i still don’t like you.”
thursday, 30 june, 2022.
“she looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen from the cover of a magazine.”
Lloyd ruining short reader..
Summary: Lloyd shows you who's in charge.
Author has chosen not to include warnings.
The big man. The boss. Lloyd likes to feel in charge in every way.
Hands searching, demanding. Hips, ass, chest, throat. A squeeze to remind you of his power, the sheer strength of body and will.
The bend of his thumb against your chin as he throttles you, mattress bouncing you against him, bouncing him into you. Using you, dominating you. The world is in his hands, your world belongs to him.
You croak, a hand on his wrist, tendons bulging in your grasp, legs splayed in surrender.
He sits back and pulls you with him, guiding you mercilessly. Pelvis pounding against him as he forms the foundation of your destruction.
The vee of thumb and index move to frame your chin, pressing hard on your esophagus, a wheeze as his other hand grips your hip, tilting you until you feel him in your stomach. Breaking you from the inside.
You slap his chest, lips parted in a breathless plea. You can't take much more, snug around his intrusion, a violent invasion.
"This is what you need," he growls as his nose touches yours, "what you deserve."
You whimper and cling to him, sinking until it hurts only to be lifted until hollow and slammed back down.
"You think you're a big girl huh?" He snarls, "let me show you how small you really are."
give me queerplatonic decchan <3
I feel like in this fandom there is a lot of emphasis on proving that Izuku and Katsuki's relationship is romantically coded, as in, "there's no way [insert scene] is platonic" or "he's obviously in love because [insert dialogue]" and that's all fine and good. I happily participate in theorizing all the time because I'm rooting for the ship and at this point I genuinely think Horikoshi is planning something for them. But listen, I'm an aspec lil dude and I can't pretend it doesn't hurt my soul a little bit when the nuance of human connection is boxed up into the narrowly defined categories of "platonic" and "romantic." If we're being totally honest with ourselves, these are complicated, subjective concepts with a lot of overlap that's only differentiated by context. And if you've ever questioned your sexuality, you know how semantic it can get. What's in a glance, a handhold, a longing to have someone in your life?
Maybe you've never given it a second thought, maybe you don't really know what "queerpatonic" means. Generally speaking, it can be a lot of different configurations of not fully platonic and/or not fully romantic/sexual, or something beyond either. It is its own thing, really. It may describe an asexual romantic relationship, or the reverse, what could otherwise be called "friends with benefits." The way I like to think of it is this: there are a wide variety of ways intimacy can develop between people. Romantic and sexual attraction are just two of those ways. And even without the presence of attraction, many of the marks of intimacy we associate with it can still be present.
Izuku and Katsuki have whole lot, and I mean a LOT of potential to explore how their relationship could play out in this way. Going off and listing a bunch of headcanons is kinda self indulgent on my part, but I hope I can show some of you this potential, or at least broaden your perspective. And hey, maybe some of you are already on the same page and this will be as fun for you as it is for me :)
Ok, here we go ->
(cw: very mild vague nsfw mention)
Give me Izuku who doesn't really understand why interacting with girls is so embarrassing. It's the novelty more than anything; he doesn't... desire... things. Not like some of his classmates talk about. It's almost morbidly fascinating the way Kaminari and Min*ta go on and on. But when Izuku thinks back to moments where he was flustered and felt blood rushing to his face, it was all because of the theoretical implications, not his own emotions. Like, the theoretical implications of what a boy and a girl together could mean. Hypothetically. Izuku only dares let himself contemplate the issue in the privacy of his own room, where none but the most snoopy person with their ear pressed against the door may hear his mumbling as he asks himself what external forces could be pressuring him into embarrassment. As time goes on he gets more and more fed up with these societal connotations and resolves to drive them from his mind. He starts paying more attention to the dynamics of all his relationships, trying to pinpoint what genuine attraction might be, and he realizes something. There is one person in his life whose closeness makes his heart soar, but never race. Ever since he can remember. Is it even possible, Izuku wonders, to have a silly fumbling crush on someone you have known for almost your entire life? Apparently it is possible, common even, if all the osananajimi-themed romance stories are to be believed. This revelation is the most confusing of all. But after many sleepless mumbling nights, Izuku is left with this simple truth: he will treasure whatever he can get from Katsuki, whether they are merely rivals, friends, or the most important people in each other's lives. Whatever they are destined for, it will be more than enough.
Give me Katsuki who literally and figuratively doesn't give a fuck. Never spared a second thought for sex or romance in his life. Even if he did have the time, he doesn't care. Doesn't care what people think about that, either. Plus, to begin with, he sees getting close to people as a vulnerability, and vulnerability as weakness. I mean, we're talking about someone who couldn't even admit Shouto was his friend. It takes him a very, very long time and heaps of humble pie to start questioning that mindset. But when he does, it all comes crashing down around him. What's really important to him, if not just his own superiority? Who is really important to him? WHY. Why is Izuku always there at every turn, and why does he kinda not hate that anymore? Never mind attraction though, that's still not in the cards. This is something else. Izuku is like a fact of life, a necessity. Now that Katsuki is free from the burden of his own guilt over their past, he realizes that though he said he doesn't expect things to change between them, he wants them to. Almost dying for Izuku made him realize their lives are one and the same. With the physical reminders now on his skin to mark this fact, he feels a magnetic pull. He longs to hold Izuku, not just his hand but his whole form, solid and real and alive. He wants to never let go. But he cannot act, at least not yet. He'll keep up the guise of their rivalry, but only just, ready for the occasion when Izuku gives him a sign of wanting more. Then he will open his arms.
Give me Izuku and Katsuki who dance around each other quietly, delicately. At least, what passes for such in their terms. They're still loud and abrasive, but there's an almost imperceptible bubble. Maybe those closest to them might notice a certain hollowness and tension. How their conversations are like some zany improv skit. They’re hyperbolizing themselves, all while casting thoughtful stares when the other isn’t looking. Neither one knows how to proceed. Such a relationship as it has been is like a habit they lean into in favor of the abyss of the unknown that gets harder and harder to ignore. But they are changing. It’s invisible until suddenly it isn’t. Suddenly they come crashing together and it’s as if their intimacy has been there all along, unspoken, yet complete. They have so much to say, and a long awaited handhold to sum it up with. Horikoshi, grant them the time to put it all into words.
If there is a world beyond the war, give me Izuku and Katsuki who slow down enough to really listen. Not only do they to know each other instinctually, but deeply and utterly. And thus, they also know themselves. They have a physical language all their own built from years of fighting which grew into competition which grew into teamwork which grew into an inseparable symbiosis. But it doesn’t end there. Izuku talks to Katsuki the way only someone who has waited a lifetime for this moment can talk. Katsuki talks to Izuku like every word is a privilege he has been granted. Whether by crying or laughing or screaming or whispering, they listen in turn. Their relationship as viewed from the outside looking in is as confusing as ever, but for different reasons. Instead of wondering whether Izuku and Katsuki are friends or enemies, people wonder whether they’re dating. Friends and family swap stories in an effort to make sense of them. Shouto thinks they’ve been married for years. Mitsuki is certain a mother knows when her son is in love (No, she will not elaborate. She isn’t certain at all, actually.) Mina is running around gathering evidence for a kind of relationship gossip masters thesis. Her story changes at least once a month. Some of them may have placed bets. The media is the worst, with press constantly asking probing questions about their behaviors and shared lives. Fans ship them, obviously. As for the pair themselves, they actually get a kick out of messing with everyone. They use the term “partner” liberally, for both their personal and professional roles. Coy, barely deniable public displays of affection are teased, only to have their meaning denied. Katsuki’s shit eating grin is the bane of everyone’s existence, matched only by Izuku’s wide innocent eyes. This whole act, it’s payback for all the amatonormative* bullshit.
(*amatonormativity: the societal expectations and norms placed on people regardless of orientation to prioritize romantic relationships, inflating their importance and emotional value)
No one else would understand everything Izuku and Katsuki have shared. People would write it off as romance in denial. Or at least that’s what they believe. While playing the game in public, they explore their actual relationship in private, away from judging eyes. Every step of the way they talk through their feelings and comfort levels, which are not always aligned, but nevertheless accounted for and hashed out. There are times when they muse about language and meaning. Izuku finds he has a kind of attraction that sparks from time to time, a sudden, fleeting, burning fascination. Katsuki can’t really relate, but making Izuku happy brings out a particularly mischievous glee in him. Yes, that includes the pleasures of their bodies, but not in the usual way. It is mutual, but simultaneously separate, just another facet of their boundless familiarity. Mostly, they express themselves in subtler ways, almost subconsciously. In a rare moment of piece and quiet, they casually lounge together like a couple of cats. Drape an arm around a shoulder. Nuzzle into a chest or a neck. They figure they have a monopoly on holding hands; no two other people in the world could claim so much meaning in the gesture, nor hope to fathom it.
Bonus: Their loved ones are finally made aware of what’s going on through some dramatic scenario, barging in on a private moment probably, which has them begging for clarity. When it’s explained how the pair don’t feel comfortable defining their relationship by any traditional means, the general response is a resounding, “THAT’S IT? Why didn’t you say something earlier?!” Both Izuku and Katsuki are still loathe to give up their game with the public, though. In a way, all the ambiguity was a true expression of how they saw themselves. So as a way of reconciling, their inner circle is brought into the scheme. For example:
An interviewer sits across from Tenya on a nighttime talkshow set, shifting their weight and preparing to change the subject: “From what I can tell you’re still very close with your former classmates, correct? The whole lot of you have been causing quite a stir on social media lately. You must understand, from our perspective, one finds it hard to tell whether this is merely an inside joke.” A screen behind them flashes a series of tweets, beginning with a bold statement from Shouto. “Theory: my best friends got married for the sole purpose of making me their unsuspecting third wheel.” There’s a picture of the three of them eating dinner at a fancy restaurant. Tenya comments a stern reminder to respect their privacy. Inko shares yet another photo of her son and Katsuki sitting arm in arm on her couch with the caption “I know what you mean! They’re too cute to handle!” Ochako, Mina, and Denki are in the qrts all claiming one or the other is dating them instead.
“Perhaps you can shed some light on the subject?” the interviewer prompts. Tenya’s practiced emotionless expression hides an almost impossibly compelling urge to burst into laughter. With the glare of his glasses hiding the mirth in his eyes, he says curtly, “Ah. Deku and Dynamight? Yes, you’d be hard pressed to find partners as closely bonded as they are. Very admirable! But I can tell you with the utmost sincerity that it’s not what you think.” The interviewer visibly deflates. Well, so much for that.
Summary: Just when Azul managed to lure you into a contract for your dorm, his contracts go missing.
(Eldritch AU once more because I can. This book would have been so short with the eldritch prefect there. Most of it probably would’ve been spent in Azul’s point of view as he obsessively investigates where his precious contracts have gone.)
A far off blast shook the very foundation of the Octavinelle dorm, rousing every student sleeping within up. Whatever dreams they may have had were ripped away from them in that moment. Curiosity was what powered some their bones to get up.
Curiosity for some, dread for most others. Azul managed to keep that under his skin, but it skittered still. He stands to lose quite a bit after all. Old habits take time to cut. They have to bleed after all, leak out over time. So, Azul kept his panic at bay, driving away scenarios that threaten to consume him. For his own sake, Azul pushed himself out of bed and checked out the more important places.
But already, the scene was strange.
The lights were never this dim, never did shadows stretch out this far into the hall. But Azul ventured forward still. Past the students sleepily walking towards the source of the sound, past the ones walking the other away with quivering hunched backs, past the ones that murmured and whispered to a friend that was not present.
A thin needle of cold pierced through his tamed veins. He can hear the sound of the sea, of currents flowing in and around him in a song familiar to all folks born in the sea. But Azul was too deep into the building, surrounded by too many walls and pillars to ever properly hear that sound.
And he was right next to his most precious room. The room where power was always given to him, where letters and paper come together to become another layer on his crafted mask.
The vault was missing. It wasn’t opened, it wasn’t blown to little metal bits embedded in the shelves and seats. It was simply gone. The entire wall became a tunnel, a maw with crumbling stone and loose wires for teeth, leading directly into the sea he can hear so well.
Gone was the vault, and with it, his contracts.
Grim gritted his teeth as he leaped forward, attempting to swipe the contract with his name on it. The anemone wagged about on his head as you stepped to the side with the greatest of ease. He honestly doesn’t understand why you even bothered to come back to Leona’s room with these in your hands. You should’ve destroyed them already! What’s holding you back?
“Come on!” Grim jumped again as you leafed through the large stack, “Rip up my contract already! I want this dumb anemone thing off my head!”
Nobody will take him seriously as long as he has this sea thing on his head. Do you really want the Great Grim to continue suffering like this? Your partner?
He readied his next leap, adjusting his legs for the greatest bounce you’ll ever see, but then you lightly placed a palm over his vision. You only let him see you through the gaps. You gave a smile, a most gentle smile.
A smile one gives when you’re lowering the cold body of a most hated enemy into the gave.
“Grim,” you spoke, voice ringing clear in his ears, gripping his brain, “let me have my fun, will you?”
Oh! I know!
Prompt: Tim is shot and Jason/Damian is the only one around to help him. Bonus if they decide to save him and he dies anyways.
“bOnuS iF hE DieS aNywaYS” seek help
“I can see the headlines already; ‘Redhood to the rescue’”, Tim says, and he’s smiling - a gory sight as blood bubbles up behind his teeth and spills from the gaping hole in his stomach.
“Jesus, Tim. Shut the fuck up,” Jason snaps. He’s frantically trying to stem the blood flow using a decorative cloth he yanked off the closest podium. He quickly taps the side of his helmet to activate the earpiece before applying firm pressure to the wound. Tim barely reacts. “Guys, we have a fucking situation! I need someone, anyone. Right now. In front of the main entrance to Wayne Tower.”
Oracle responds immediately. “I’m sending Batman and Robin to your location. What’s the situation, Redhood?”
“It’s Tim, he’s been fucking shot. Came from the commercial building to the east of the entrance, 7th story and fourth room from the left.” The cloth is soaked and useless and Jason’s hands are covered in blood. He wants to gag, not because it’s blood but because it’s Tim’s blood. “Hey man,” he says to Tim, “stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”
Tim’s breathing is shallow and forced. Blood dribbles from his lips to trail down his cheeks and chin in stark contrast to his ghostly white complexion. He turns his eyes to Jason, too weak to turn his head. His voice is barely above a whisper and Jason has to lean in close to catch what he says;
“Tell everyone I died fighting a hundred ninjas by myself.”
Jason chokes out a humorless laugh. “Fuck you, you’re not dying,” he says, but they both know he’s full of shit. He can see the rise and fall of Tim’s chest stutter. “C’mon, hang on just a little bit longer. Batman’ll be here soon, okay?”
He pulls Tim partially onto his lap, keeping futile pressure on the wound even as Tim stops breathing.
“You’re gonna be okay.”
if you would like, "🙈 -‘Tickled Silly’ Laughter" with lee!Ed and ler!Stede? everything youve written for these asks has been so cute <3!
🙈 -Tickled Silly Laughter
There was a soft rap at his door, a hesitant, stilted thing. Stede glanced up from the book he'd previously been devouring; it was a classic, a set of fairytales from foreign lands that Stede had always loved as a child. He had been turning to it often while on sea, as it was one of the few constants he possessed in his life.
“Come on in then,” Stede said, closing the book on his lap as the door swung open. “I’m only reading, no need to worry about disturbing me, Lucius. I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway—oh. Ed.”
Ed leaned against the doorframe in what was clearly meant to be a casual stance. His gaze betrayed him however, darting nervously around the room, and determinedly not on Stede.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and it was possible he might have rushed out like he so clearly wanted to if Stede hadn’t asked, “Did you... need something?”
“I wouldn’t say need,” Ed amended carefully. He sighed, tilting his head back against the paneling of the ship. Stede wished he could help his frustration, but it was rather difficult to do so when he wasn’t sure what the other was asking. “You know, I was just... god, Stede, do I really have to say it?”
“I mean, no,” Stede said slowly, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “I don’t think so? I definitely wouldn’t recommend doing anything you didn’t want to do. Say what, exactly?”
Ed examined him skeptically for a moment, and when it was clear he genuinely didn’t know what he was talking about, he frowned. “Last week. When we were together. In my cabin.”
“You touched my side. I jerked away, and then you... you know.” Ed wiggled his fingers a bit, rolling his eyes at himself. “Tickled me?”
He did remember that. The discovery that Blackbeard of all people was ticklish wasn’t one Stede would soon forget. They had been curled in the corner of his bed, all smiles and hands and the sun shining in through the window. At first Stede had dismissed it as the mood, but a repeat of the action prompted a noise akin to a snort and that could not go unexplored.
He had assumed Ed had either forgotten about the ordeal or blocked it out, but evidently, that had not been the case. “Of course I do. I don’t suppose you’re upset about it? Because I never would have tried if I knew you didn’t want to—”
“I want you to do it again.”
Stede blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Ed huffed, coming over to sit on the desk beside him. If Stede didn’t know better he’d think he was blushing. “It was... nice. I haven’t been tickled in a while, and I forgot what it was like to just laugh. Carefree, y’know? Makes me feel human.”
It was surprisingly honest for the normally evasive man, and Stede was taken aback for a moment, unsure what he was supposed to say in a moment like this. So instead, he stood up, slowly approaching the other and placing his hands on his sides. Ed tensed, but didn’t move away. The room thrived with a nervous energy, and Stede felt a smile of his own tugging at his lips.
“Is this okay?”
Ed managed a nod, not looking at him.
“And this...” Stede started to move his fingers slightly, just barely brushing over the fabric of his shirt. “Is this okay?”
Ed gripped the table, his grin wobbling a bit as he instinctively fought against his own reactions. “Y-Yeah, all good here.”
“Mmm. And what about now?” Firmer now, digging into the skin and making Ed jump. “Still want me to keep going?”
Ed nodded again, unable to speak for fear of letting out a frankly embarrassing stream of giggles caught in his throat. He was crumbling against the desk, slipping down against the drawers—not that he was really getting anywhere, let alone away.
“So here is definitely okay,” Stede noted, almost to himself, tweaking and pinching Ed’s sides absently. “More than okay even. I’ll have to remember that. Now, how about here—”
“Wahait, hold on!”
Ed’s arms flew down to stop him as he moved onto his stomach, capturing his wrists before he could do any real damage. Stede paused, glancing up at the other with concern.
“Is this a bad area?”
Ed shook his head, still not letting go, but not really holding on. “Nah, it just... well I think that spot might be a bit...”
The flush from Ed’s face was spreading, curling under his ears and into the dip of his shirt. “Yeah. You can do it, just... be gentle.”
Stede’s expression softened, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Ed’s cheek. It was a quick, simple thing, and yet somehow it felt more intimate than anything they had done before than. “I always am.”
He was true to his word, but in a way, that might have been worse. Stede’s hands were slow and cautious, gliding and curling over his stomach, every once in a while brushing over bare skin when Ed’s shirt rode up due to squirming. Giggles and snorts slipped out involuntarily as Ed doubled over, still gripping Stede’s wrists for a handhold of any sort.
Each touch was electric, sending shockwaves sparking through him and making him twitch and jerk away. He didn’t know if he wanted it to end or continue forever, and the indecision held him there, squirming and whining and laughing under Stede’s touch.
“Still want me to keep going?”
Ed yelped as Stede’s hands brushed too close to his naval, leaning forward and burying his face in his shoulder.
“Ed? Do you want me to stop?”
Ed shook his head, leaning on Stede for support so he didn’t topple over. Was it possible to get drunk off sensation alone? If so, Ed planned to get wasted before he called an end to this.
Stede dug his fingers in a bit harder at that, vibrating them into his stomach and grinning at the resulting shriek. “Alright then, but just know, you asked for this.”
I’m not even going to worry about the word lengths at this point because I have no self-control. Anyway, thank you so much for indulging my love for them, and your words!! I appreciate it ^^
N°4 for L x MC? 🥺
"I didn't think you'd come."
You don't know why, out of everything you could have possibly said, those were the first words out of your mouth. By the arching of an elegant brow, you could tell that L was far from impressed by your sense of decorum.
"When I get a phone call from a hospital stating that there was an accident, I believe that a sense of haste is in order." They gracefully place their overcoat onto the back of the chair situated next to your bed, before elegantly sinking down into the aforementioned chair. "I just apologize that I wasn't able to be here sooner. It seems that my driver doesn't understand what an emergency means. It might be time for me to find another."
A smile comes unbidden to your lips at the L's characteristic annoyance-- especially since you know that it was on your behalf rather than because of you. "Don't fire, Jerry. He's a good guy. He just crumbles underneath your glare a bit."
L sniffs at that. "Another good reason to fire him, darling. I need someone who can withstand my ire if they wish to share the same area as me."
Normally you'd be concerned by L's blase attitude, but you notice the barest hints of a smile playing at the corner of their lips. They're distracting me, is the first thought that crosses your mind. So, I don't focus on the fact that I could have almost died today.
You don't exactly know what to do with that information. So, you just file it away in your mind until you could come back to it. "Don't fire him, L," you repeat, trying to keep the fondness from your tone. "He got you here. That's all that matters in the end."
They don't reply to the statement, but you notice the tension in their shoulders slowly leave before they're settling back into the chair. An action you weren't quite expecting-- you just thought, if they decided to come at all, that they'd check up on you and make a quick exit. Not once did it ever cross your mind that they'd actually stay.
"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" You can't help but ask-- the final straw that broke your silence was when they had pulled out a book to read; clearly, they weren't anticipating leaving for quite a while. "Somewhere important?"
L peers up over their book, an elegant brow arching once more.
"I'm here, aren't I?"