#gnomewrites

☼ - fluff

☂ - angst

☾ - smut

Individual tags and warnings are in each individual post. PLEASE heed them before proceeding. 

katsuki bakugou: 

☾ - quiet time 

Bakugou sees you’re looking stressed at the family Christmas party. He takes it upon himself to give you a little dose of quiet time to help you make it through the holiday. 😉

-

☾  - for auld lang syne

It’s time for your agency’s extravagant New Years’ Eve party. But after a little sabbatical, there are some things you’re not ready to come back to. 

(drabbles)

☼ - bakugou treating your burns

☼ - teaching bakugou to embroider

-

keigo takami (hawks) 

☾ - tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet) 

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

☾ - sick day

Hawks comes home after a few days away. You’ve come down with a nasty cold in his absence.

(drabbles) 

☾ - je vous ai manqué (hawks)

☾  - hawks fucking you into the headboard

☾ - you are

-

dabi

☾ - these violent delights (westworld AU)

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

one  two  three

-

mirio togata

☾ - with autumn closing in (mirio togata x reader)

You’ve had Mirio beside you for as long as you can remember. Since before you ever knew who you were, you had him. Even when the line between friend and more was blurred, you’d transitioned so smoothly into romance. It was like you’d always known that you were it for each other.

i. ii. 

hitoshi shinsou

(oneshots) 

☾ - mindfuck

Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.

-

eijirou kirishima

☾ - meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

(drabbles)

☾ - soft smut with kirishima

koutarou bokuto 

☾ - you turn me on (i’m a radio) 

bokuto comes over one night midweek while you’ve got the apartment to yourself. after a mishap with his favourite volleyball shorts, you take advantage of the privacy.

(drabbles)

☾ - soft domestic hcs

erwin smith

☾ - someday

You and the Commander are safe, but trapped as the snow piles up around you. As you wait out the storm, you let fantasy get the best of you.

My long-term girlfriend, Sally, and I had decided to break up two months prior. I say ‘decided’… I proposed and she said ‘no’. I wasn’t a ‘stable enough commitment’ for her to make. My job wasn’t ‘financially stable’ for us to raise a family and I didn’t share her burning desire to move out of St. Francis. And you can’t go back to the way things were after someone’s proposed, so we broke up. She moved out – the house was mine to begin with – and since then things have been… quiet.

“I proposed, Sam.”

“I know, and I feel for you, really, I do. But she’s not coming back and you’re not running after her. You know it’s over.”

It was easy for Sam. He fell in love at university with Harry, someone from one of his lectures in his first year. I’d met Sally at a mutual friend’s Christmas party in London three years before our disastrous breakup. Five shots of vodka down, I saw her in a corner talking to the party’s host. I would never forget that first sight of her; her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, the drink in her left threatening to spill onto the pine floor, her eyes so concentrated on her audience as she told her story. And then the vodka had me looking down her body, openly staring at her breasts that were covered by tight red cotton and the tips of her brown hair. Adam, blunt as always, had told me to stop staring. Apparently I looked like a ‘gormless git’. To be fair, I probably did, but I wanted this woman. I wanted her enthusiasm. I wanted those eyes to look at me. I also wanted to snap the hell out of it. I’d only just seen her and I’d never actually spoken to her. I was being a creep. I’d turned back to Adam, told him to shove it and then watched as he started on the tequila.

“We dated for two years,” I tried feebly. I knew Sam wouldn’t let me off that easy.

“Look,” he began, his voice carrying a no-nonsense undertone. That was how Sam operated; he was Mr Sensitivity until his patience ran out. “I’m coming round tomorrow morning bright and early and we’re going to throw out anything of hers that she may have left behind. Your mourning period is over.” When I started to protest, he put a hand up and continued to speak. “I’m not telling you to hop on board the next single lady you see, I’m telling you to start rebuilding. I actually know someone who can help.” I quirked an eyebrow. “She just broke up with her boyfriend.”

“I’m pretty sure you just told me not to ‘hop on board the next single lady I see’.”

“I was thinking the two of you could be friends, you twat. I was thinking that you could help each other as you sort yourselves out.”

“What, are we going to start a lonely hearts club or something?”

Sam rolled his eyes and downed the remaining quarter of his pint. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a partner waiting for me at home with a nice bottle of Rioja.” He stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

-

I woke to pounding. At first I thought it was just my head so I groaned and pushed my face into my pillow. When the pounding became more erratic, I realised that it was also the front door. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table: 8am stared back at me, unblinking and a somewhat sinister crimson. I’d thought Sam had been joking about the early morning call, but apparently I was grossly mistaken.

“Stop banging! I’m coming!” I yelled, my voice gruff from waking up and cracking at the end. The banging continued. I clearly hadn’t yelled loud enough. The trek from my oh so comfortable bed to the front door via what felt like the Arctic Circle seemed to take a lifetime set to the tune of frantic knocking. With a frustrated sigh and temples that felt like they were imploding, I opened the front door. “Sam, I seriously hate you right… You’re not Sam.”

“Nope.”

There was a woman on my doorstep and it took a sickening moment for me to realise that I was standing there with hair all over the place, morning breath and wearing nothing but Pac-Man boxers that I’m pretty sure had a hole somewhere on my left bum cheek.

“Sorry about the knocking,” the woman apologised sheepishly as she pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sam said you’d probably have a hangover and I know that the only way I’d ever get up if I had one would if someone at the door wouldn’t shut up.”

“Most people with a hangover don’t get up until at least midday. Why couldn’t you come knocking at my door then?”

“Because I said bright and early.” Sam had appeared, somehow energetic for the early time on a Saturday morning and carrying a cardboard box with ‘Sally’s Shit’ scrawled across the side in black marker.

Begrudgingly, I let both of them into my home and made sure to stay behind them on the way to the kitchen in case I was correct with my assumption of the hole in my boxers. My offer of coffee was refused by Sam but gratefully accepted by the woman whose name I didn’t know and, at that point, didn’t want to know. I was tired, feeling like I could hurl at any moment, and in desperate need of ibuprofen; her name didn’t rank high enough on my list of priorities to warrant my care. Apparently, Sam didn’t agree. And he made sure to add some extra volume to his voice.

“This is Abigail.” I flinched at his voice and I swear he cracked a smirk, the bastard. “Abigail Thorne. She’s the one I was telling you about last night. Abby, this is Alex.”

“Hi,” Abigail said softly, giving a little wave and a sympathetic smile.

I nodded back at her and crossed my arms, partly because my kitchen was so cold and partly because I was half-naked in front of someone I’d just met. I don’t tend to answer the door to strangers in my boxers. In my self-conscious state, I took a second to study Abigail. She wore bootleg jeans and a thin jumper over a shirt looking all smart until I saw the battered canvas shoes on her feet covered in mud and grass stains. Her hair was brown as mud and her face was worryingly reminiscent of Sally’s; round, small blue eyes and a long nose. And, for some reason, that’s when it really hit me. Sally was gone and there was no way she was coming back. I would probably never see her again and all the moping in the world wouldn’t change that.

“I’m just going to get dressed, brush my teeth and have some ibuprofen and then I’ll be right back,” I said quietly. Sam nodded and busied himself making the coffee as I slipped away.

Just before I was out of earshot, I heard Abigail’s voice, quiet but amused, as she spoke to Sam. “I love his boxers. Shame about the hole on the butt.”