#But I'm a SAP and I need the comfort....

[traumatas]

Gotta say nothing more healing to the soul than drawing your favourite guys kissing after a rough day. Thank you for your service little fictional people

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[sapsolais]

*

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[1:11 am]

Husband!Jaemin was certain he was going to love you until his dying breath. He loved you so much that being away from you for longer than a minute, and he meant it. There was a physical ache in his chest when you were both apart, or arguing, or mad at each other.

You were actually arguing now, and he should have felt that ache, but he didn't. If this were a cartoon, his pupils would be in the shape of hearts and he'd be kicking his feet back and forth.

"Do you realize how gross it is to go to the bathroom and fall into the toilet water?!" You exclaimed, running a hand over your sleep-mussed hair.

Yeah, oops. Jaemin had an unfortunate habit of leaving the toilet seat up. He was good about remembering to lower the seat after he finished his business, but could you really blame him when it was the middle of the night? He was tired, he'd reverted to his old, single guy habits and he went right back to sleep with you in his arms.

You continued to rant, your voice raising and you recounted how you'd already tripped over one of his haphazardly thrown shoes on the way to the bathroom. You told him that you didn't even want to get out of bed until the urge became too much and how you were in the middle some of the best sleep you'd had all week and the cold water on your bare backside was a horrible wake up call. "And honestly, it would have been fine if it were the daytime, but I was sleeping so well. Now, I just feel dirty and cold," you sighed, crossing your arms across your chest.

Jaemin nodded, "you're right, honey."

"You're not going to apologize?" You ask in a calm voice.

Jaemin pouted empathetically, reaching a hand out to pull you back under the covers and press his forehead to your own, "Love, I am so sorry. I will regret this misstep until the day I die and work every day to make up for it. Can you find it in that big, beautiful heart of yours to forgive me?"

You snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, "you're forgiven. I just need to go shower to get rid of this icky feeling. I want my spot warm when I get back."

He heard the water in the shower turn on as he fluffed up your pillows. He fell back against his own pillows with a sigh, he knew better than to leave the toilet seat up. It was a bad habit that you'd kindly spent many months reminding him to keep in mind. He just hated that it had ruined your sleep. You'd been tossing and turning, waking up early, and going to bed late all week except for tonight. He really did feel bad.

You reentered the room in a new pair of pajamas, smelling fresh and still looking sleepy. Jaemin held a hand out for you and clicked off the bedside lamp while you got comfortable against him once again.

Jaemin rubs your back slowly, his voice quiet and low "I'm so sorry I forgot about the toilet seat, honey. I know how poorly you've been sleeping."

"I'm not upset anymore Jaemin, I promise. I know you were probably really tired too, just try to remember, alright?" You ask while nuzzling against his chest "I'm sorry I raised my voice. I shouldn't have but I was feeling really upset."

Jaemin hums in acknowledgement, nothing the way your speech is slowing with fatigue, "I like when you yell at me."

You laugh in surprise, "w-what?!"

He keeps you in a calm state, continuing to lull you to sleep with the slow circular patterns against your back. He responds quietly, "well, no. I like your complaints and our mundane arguments. It reminds me that we don't have bigger problems to be fighting about. We have a good life together, we're lucky. I love the reminder that I'm not some stupid, single guy living alone now. I'm a husband, I'm your husband and this is our home. I love it."

"You’re such a sap at 1 in the morning," you whisper, your words slurred from sleep, "I love you though."

Jaemin feels his eyes getting heavy and can't fight the smile when he hears your breathing even out. You're fast asleep again and his heart soars, "I love you more, honey."

[itneverendshere]

the fireworks are through, here we are, me and you - r.c

pairing: rafe x bartender!pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

decided to get back into writing with something smaller and just in time for the NYE! i'm a bit late (obviously) but wanted to write a little piece for my first universe, since it's so dear to my heart! hope all of you add a good, fresh, amazing start to 2025 and if you didn't, it will get better 💘

Rafe Cameron had never cared about New Year’s Eve—never cared about anything that came with it, really.

No resolutions, no countdowns, no stupid superstitions. For years, the only thing NYE had ever been to him was an excuse to get high, shit-faced, or both. Another party, another distraction, another night to drown out the noise in his head. 

This year was different, he had you.

“Tell me if it gets too much, okay?”

“Baby, I’m fine,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his chest to calm him down.

Rafe nodded, but you could see the gears turning in his head. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye every second, quietly assessing if you were comfortable, if you were happy.

You leaned against the marble kitchen island, sipping something fizzy from a crystal flute, half-listening as he introduced you to another one of his college buddies. He had his arm slung low around you, the tips of his fingers brushing the hem of your dress like he couldn’t help himself.

“You still good?” he murmured, leaning close so that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. 

You tilted your head to look at him, catching that pretty face that never failed to make your knees weak. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, though the truth was you felt a little out of place. You still weren’t used to this crowd, their polished laughs and overpriced cologne. Maybe you’d never be.

But Rafe made it bearable, he always did.

His eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way the fairy lights strung across the patio reflected in your eyes. You didn’t notice, busy scanning the room, but to him, you were the only thing worth looking at.

“You’re lying."

Your brow furrowed as you looked back at him.

“What?”

“You’re not fine.” He moved impossibly closer, his free hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “You always do that little thing with your mouth when you’re uncomfortable.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “I’m fine, really. It’s just...not my scene.”

His hand dropped from your face to your hip again, pulling you a fraction closer, like he needed to feel you against him to believe you were really there. 

“Okay, let’s eave,” he said, his tone so earnest it made your chest ache.

“Baby,” you sighed, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from spiraling into full protective mode. “You’ve been looking forward to this. I’ll survive a few hours of rich-kid bullshit. Promise.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Don’t care about the stupid party,” he murmured against your skin. “Just wanted to spend the night with you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time it was more for show.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” The words slipped out so easily, like they’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue all night. He meant every damn syllable.

The night wore on and he stuck to your side like glue. It was endearing, in a way, as he introduced you to his university friends, always with some kind of proud little flourish—like saying your name was his favorite thing to do. 

“This is her,” he’d said more than once, his chest puffed up slightly, like just having you on his arm made him the luckiest guy in the room.

The way he looked at you made it hard to stay annoyed. Everyone was polite enough, but Rafe didn’t let any awkwardness linger, always guiding the conversation, nudging you in with a soft “Tell them about that time…” or offering a quick compliment like, “She’s way better at that than I ever was.”

And when one of his friends said something vaguely pretentious, you felt his hand tighten ever so slightly on your waist before he cut in with a sharp, “Yeah, okay, Benji, but tell them about the time you puked on your mom’s Birkin.” His grin was all teeth, but his tone was light—he was still playing nice, but only because of you.

By the time the countdown was close, the party had spilled outside.

The chilly night air nipped at your skin, but you didn’t mind—especially when Rafe shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you. It smelled like him—clean, with just a hint of that cologne you loved.

He didn’t respond, just tugged you closer, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned down to look at you. “What are you gonna wish for?”

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the question.

“At midnight. What are you gonna wish for?” His blue eyes so intense they made your stomach scream.

You laughed, trying to brush off the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Don’t know. A winning lottery ticket, maybe? Health?”

But he didn’t laugh, just kept looking at you like you were the answer to every question he’d ever had.

“What about you? Do you know what you’re gonna wish for?”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Already got everything I need.”

“Be serious."

He shrugged, the gesture almost sheepish, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on your heart.

“I, uh...might’ve wished for you last year,” he admitted, “Didn’t know it was you at the time, but...yeah. Turns out the universe actually listens sometimes.”

You stared at him, completely floored.

“You’re such a fuckin' dork.” You shook your head, trying to tamp down the stupid grin spreading across your face. “You really did the whole thing last year?”

“The whole thing,” he nodded, completely unashamed. “The grapes, the red underwear, the running around the block with a suitcase—”

“No,” you said, giggling now. “You did not.”

“Swear to God,” he shook his head. “Felt so fucking stupid at the time, but...worked, didn’t it?”

You arched a brow, fighting back a chucke. “It didn’t work. It’s all just superstitious bullshit.”

He shrugged, pulling you even closer. “You’re here in my arms, I’m pretty sure it did.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the countdown began. 

Ten seconds, then nine, then eight…By the time it hit one, his lips were on yours, the sound of fireworks and cheers fading into the background. All you could feel was him—his hands on you, his breath mingling with yours, the quiet hum of contentment settling in your chest.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the universe had been listening.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hardly audible over the cheers and music around you. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes still closed, he couldn’t pull away just yet.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice teasing. “Though I guess you’re feeling pretty smug right now, huh? Thinking you manifested all this.”

He hummed, his hands trailing up your sides. “Damn right I am. How else do you explain it?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, “Maybe it’s just dumb luck. Or—crazy idea—you charmed me all on your own.”

“Nah,” he said, beaming now. “Luck’s never been my thing. But you? You’re somethin’ else, baby. Don’t think I stood a chance once you walked into my life. If this is what I get every year, I’ll eat a whole fuckin’ vineyard’s worth of grapes next time.”

You snorted, “Don’t push your luck, Cameron. The universe might get tired of your whining.”

“Not whining,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “Just thinkin’ about how lucky I got. Don’t know what I did to deserve this, but...shit, I’m glad I did it.”

“You’re just lucky no one got that on video. Kook Prince Cameron running around like a maniac? The scandal.”

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his tone so sure it made you pause. “Would’ve done it ten times over if it meant finding you.”

He didn’t how someone could be so completely themselves and still feel like his, you were made just for him.

“Rafe…”

“I mean it. You’re everything I ever wanted, baby. I didn’t even know it until you came along. Can’t imagine my life without you.”

Your breath hitched, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around your heart and squeezing. When he kissed you again, the fireworks in the sky had nothing on the ones between you.

For once, he didn’t need the haze of a party or the numbness of a bottle to feel like he belonged, with you, he already did.

“You’re such a fucking romantic,” you whispered against his lips, your tone soft enough to take the edge off the words.

His cheshire grin returned.

“Guess you bring it out of me.”

You weren’t just someone he loved—you were it for him. His north star, the one thing that made the chaos in his head quiet. When he pulled back from another kiss, his eyes searched yours, a flicker of insecurity showing up.

“Was it dumb?” he asked suddenly, his voice hesitant.

You blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “What?”

“All that shit I said. The universe, the grapes…all of it. Was it too much?” He tried to laugh it off.

You shook your head, smiling in that way that always knocked the wind out of him. 

“Not dumb. Kind of crazy, maybe, but sweet. Really sweet.”

His lips turned into a lopsided grin, relief flooding his features. 

“Good,” he said, his voice firmer now. “’Cause I meant every word. Don’t tell anyone, though. Gotta keep up my rep.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a balm to his soul. He’d fight the whole fucking world to keep that laugh in his life. Your hands slid up to rest on his chest, your touch soft, familiar.

Safe.

“Tell me about this rep of yours.”

Rafe smiled to ear to ear, the devilish glow in his eye making your heart race.

“Y’know, bad boy, troublemaker, heartbreaker…” He trailed off, his smirk turning cocky. “And, uh, not to brag, but pretty great in bed.”

You froze for half a beat, pushing at his chest.

“Oh my God. Why would you even—ugh, you’re impossible.”

“What?” he asked innocently, though his expression betrayed him. “Just stating facts, baby.” 

The teasing in his tone enough to make you groan.

“You’re disgusting,” you shot back, biting your lip to keep from squealing like an love sick fool.

“Disgustingly good-looking,” he corrected, leaning closer. “And disgustingly in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

“Nope. I take it back. I take all my kisses back.”

“You can’t do that!” He straightened, looking mock-offended.

“I can, and I just did.” You crossed your arms, stepping back just far enough to make him frown.

He followed instantly, tugging you back by the waist. “That’s not how it works, baby,” he said, dipping his head so his lips hovered just above yours. “You give ‘em to me, they’re mine. No refunds.”

You tried to glare, but the way his voice dipped on the last two words made your entire body shudder.

“See,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another. And another. He trailed them down to your jaw, his grin widening with each one, “All mine.”

You raised a brow, trying to act unimpressed even as his voice sent shivers down your spine. “If this is your way of trying to get laid, it’s pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” he repeated, mock horror lighting up his features. “Baby, you were literally begging for it last night—”

Your jaw dropped, your cheeks flaming. “Rafe!” you hissed, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“What?” he said, all fake innocence, even as his face turned downright wolfish. “’m just being honest. You said you liked it when I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned, but he could hear the laugh bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours as his lips finally, finally captured yours. 

The kiss started slow, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you gave in, parting them for him.

The second you did, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. He tasted like whiskey and mint, your favorites. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just right as he claimed your mouth like it was his job.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into the lapels of his shirt to keep yourself standing. He took that as encouragement, biting down gently on your bottom lip before soothing the sting with a slow, wet drag of his tongue.

“Thought you were taking all your kisses back,” he muttered against your lips, his voice taunting as he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

“Still considering it,” you panted, though the way you tugged him closer said otherwise.

His lips were on yours again, it made your head spin. His teeth grazed your lip again, and when you gasped, he licked into your mouth, groaning softly as he tasted you. When he pulled back just a smidge, a thin string of spit connected your mouths, and the sight of it made your cheeks burn all over again.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice husky as he used his thumb to wipe the corner of your swollen lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we might have to skip the rest of this party.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “You think I’m that easy to distract?”

“Don’t need to think,” he mused as his hands slid lower, resting on the curve of your ass. “Pretty sure I just proved it.”

You sighed, but it wasn’t with exasperation—it was amusement, adoration.

Your your fingers brushed the collar of his shirt as you traced his cheek, “Skipping the party, huh?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his just enough to drive him crazy. “What would we even do instead?”

His hold tightened on your skin, his voice dipping into a near growl as he answered, “Baby, I can think of a few things.”

The heat in his eyes made your cheeks flush, and this time around you didn’t attempt to hide the shit-eating smile taking over your face.

“You’re not even a little subtle, are you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours again.

Happy Fucking New Year to him.

[another-random-paradise]

Your writing was adorable! I have a headcanon request for TWST. Feel free to ignore if it's not interesting, I won't mind. (￣▽￣)=3

Lilia, Leona, Azul (or whomever as long as Lilia is there)'s reaction to crush!reader sleepily telling them they want to marry them one day.

I'm a sap for mushy things. ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

A sleepy confession

Thank you so much for the request, it's adorable!! and of course, thank you for the compliments too! I'm a sucker for mushy things too, so this was so much fun to write!

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Crush!Reader sleepily telling him, they want to marry him / Part two

Characters: Lillia, Leona, Azul

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Lillia

-you probably found silver asleep somewhere comfortable and instead of waking him up like usual (cause you're a good friend) you decide to also lay down and sleep... You most likely had History with professor Trein before this.

-Lillia just happened to be nearby, or maybe he was keeping an eye on silver, yk, like a good dad :D

- If you're napping under a tree, he might just be sitting on one of the branches

-You'd sleepily look up to him on the branches, as the old fae smiles down at you, and you, probably already half a sleep and maybe even thinking it's a dream, mumble out a soft "I wanna marry you one day.." 

-poor guy almost fell out off the tree

-you can't just do that to his old heart!! You can and you did

-his expression would soften, like he'd still be smiling, but it wouldn't be his typical trickster kinda smile (please tell me you know what i mean)

-Despite his usual attitude, I feel like he was very worried about loving you. I'm a huge believer in the Idea that fae usually only fall in love once, so after Meleanor, he believed that was it, he'd never love again. And then you came into his life, like a shining star, guiding him out of the darkness.  

-While he was grateful that he got a second chance at love, especially with someone as amazing as you, it's also nerve wrecking for him. The last and only time before this, he had his heart broken and ended up raising her son. Just the thought of the same thing happening again terrified him.

-But after what you just said, he won't need to worry about that anymore, right?

-Now he just needs to come up with the best way to confess... maybe he could cook you something! 

Leona

-Due to Leona being a bit of a tsundere, I don't feel like he'd get you to cuddle/sleep with him before officially dating

-BUT, if you two got paired together for a project, especially if it's in the botanical garden, chances are very high, you are doing the project and he's napping

-and doing a project by yourself gets you tired, especially one meant for magic as a magicless student, so you eventually lie down next to him

-due to his sensitive hearing, he lazily opens eyes, and sees you, already half asleep, looking at him, confusing him at first not that he's complaining, till.. "Despite you making me do this project by myself, i somehow i still wanna marry you some day" and just like that you're asleep.

-He, on the other hand, is suddenly very wide awake. 

-what?? you didn't mean that, right?? that's just the tiredness speaking, right?? you couldn't have meant that, right? why, or rather how, could you like him of all people?....He can't imagine being anyone's, let alone your, first choice. He's so used to being second.

-For the first time in forever, he is fully awake and can't go back to sleep, just what are you doing to him, Herbivore? 

-But this means you like him back, right? alright fine, he'll put some work into confessing, just don't expect anything to grand

-He'd still be awake once you wake up again, much to your confusion, but still deliberately refuse to help. Not a word of what you said is spoken, but if you look closely enough you'll see the blush on his cheeks!

Azul

-You wanted to rest after a long day, maybe even after a long shift at the mostro lounge, and Azul was gracious enough to let you rest on one of the couches in the VIP room, while he worked. He actually wanted to appear like a gentleman in front of you and impress you.

-You can't convince me that those couches aren't comfortable. Which is why you almost immediately fall asleep the moment you lay down.

-But before you do, you make one last comment "I already want to marry you one day as is, but if it means I get to rest like this every night, I'll buy the ring tomorrow"

-If a student walked in right now, they might just confuse him with a crashed pc; or maybe with riddle, considering how red he is

-Just completely stops everything he's doing, he's in shock. he doesn't believe he can actually be loved

-It genuinely shocks him so much that you actually like him back, let alone want to marry him, but he can't say he isn't happy! So him being even more of a gentleman to you and giving you countless discounts worked! (You actually already liked him before that! but he was to busy being insecure to notice)

-Immediately starts working on a relationship contract for you two, hell, you said you want to marry him, right?? might as well start working on the marriage certificate!

-He continues to be absolutely flustered as he writes the two contracts, if either of the twins saw him right now, he'd never hear the end of it!

-Prepare to be asked to dinner at the most romantic table in the mostro lounge with Azul, where he will then ask you out and discusses your relationship as if it was a business meeting :)

Ahhhh my first request, thank you so much again for your kind words and the adorable request, I truly hope i lived up to it's greatness <3

I'm still in book 4, so i tried to write Lilia as in-character as possible based on what i saw of him during events and from other writers :)

feedback is welcomed, just be Kind! Hope you all have a lovely day/night!

[peachhcs]

plz write a cute celebrini x fem reader 🙏🙏 ur writing is beyond amazing

oooh i've never written specifically for mack before so hopefully this isn't bad 😅

after mack’s face injury, his gf is quick to look after him once the game is done

masterlist

she waited impatiently near the doors of the locker room awaiting her boyfriend's arrival. y/n's mind couldn't stop replaying the horror on her features and everyone else's when they saw the blood trickle down macklin's face after a nasty high stick hit. she knew he was okay because he was right back on the ice once the bleeding stopped, but the image wouldn't shake the girl's brain.

lingering after the game felt so long this time around and y/n wondered if it was just because she was anxious about seeing her boyfriend and properly checking up on him. she swiped through twitter and instagram continuously while video replays of the rookie's hit filled her feeds. she just shut her phone off all together for now, not being able to watch the play anymore.

finally, the players began trickling out. y/n's head popped up, searching for the eyes of macklin in the crowd. she spotted him with will near the middle of the pack and he immediately found her gaze. will sensed that they probably wanted to talk, so he split off from the boy once they got closer, giving a small nod to y/n as he passed.

"hey," macklin began, but was caught off guard when y/n jumped into his arms.

"let me see it," she grabbed ahold of his chin, turning his face to the side to examine the new scar.

"it's really not that bad now. they cleared it up really good," the brunette tried reassuring his girlfriend knowing she probably had a hundred thoughts running through her.

"you scared the shit out of me when i saw all that blood. it looked a lot worse," y/n stepped back, arms crossing over her chest.

macklin frowned at the sudden distance between them, "i'm sorry, baby. i promise i'm fine. see?" he gave his best grin hoping to further prove how he was doing.

"well, if i see wilson, i'm gonna punch him myself," y/n huffed, looking around like she would catch the older player lingering somewhere.

macklin laughed, tugging y/n into his side and kissing the side of her head, "you're so cute when you're upset. i promise i'm fine though. i mean you saw me play afterwards."

"yeah you fucking power played. i guess that was your redemption," the two exchanged a laugh and macklin enjoyed finally pulling a smile from her.

"can i come back to your place tonight?" the boy wondered as they moved themselves closer to the exit.

"i thought that was a given already," y/n chuckled.

macklin went to tell will they were leaving before rushing out of the SAP center so he wouldn't have to do any press. most days he didn't mind, but tonight the boy was itching to get out of there and spend some much needed time with his girl. they hadn't seen each other since last weekend—school and hockey keeping them way too busy.

"just so you know, i am gonna baby you the whole night," y/n informed once they were securely in her car.

"mm, i can't wait. a face mask is just calling my name," the hockey player leaned back in the passenger seat, hand falling to the girl's lap as she pulled out of the parking lot.

luckily, there was no early morning practice tomorrow, so macklin was gonna use that to his full advantage and spend the night in y/n's dorm. the couple rode in comfortable silence into santa clara university, a convenient 7 minutes away from the arena so y/n never missed a home game.

she parked her car again and the couple hurried into her building. the few students wandering around the lobby caught sight of macklin's suit he put back on, a few of them recognizing him from as a sharks player and as y/n's boyfriend because he was over so much.

they lucked out with y/n's roommate hanging out with her own boyfriend tonight, so they had the whole dorm to themselves. macklin immediately thew his backpack onto the ground and shoved his suit jacket from his shoulders.

"gonna shower. i didn't really before we left. you're welcome to join me if you want," the brunette winked at the girl who flushed.

"wow, so classy of you. i did already shower this morning, so i'll have to pass this time," y/n laughed.

"damn, i thought you'd say yes. you sure you don't wanna shower again?" he winked again. y/n groaned, pushing her boyfriend to the bathroom.

"i'll be out here with your face mask."

the rookie accepted his lonely shower fate and disappeared into the bathroom. y/n took the opportunity to tidy up the room and get all the things she needed for their face masks.

20 minutes later, macklin came back out of the bathroom freshly showered and in more comfortable clothes. y/n hung up his suit jacket on the door of her closet, instructing him to do the same with the rest of the outfit so it wouldn't wrinkle.

the boy climbed into her bed a second later, positioning himself against her pillows, "i'm readyy," he sang.

"i've never known you to be so excited for a face mask," y/n grinned.

"it really makes my skin smooth, so i like it," the boy explained.

y/n handed mack her headband so his hair wouldn't be in his face or in the mask. he didn't hesitate to slip it over his head and expose his forehead. the girl giggled at the sight.

"are you laughing at my big forehead?" the boy raised his eyebrow, hands finding places on y/n's hips as she straddled his waist.

"maybe," she hummed, leaning forward to begin rubbing the cream on his skin.

mack admired her focused expression while just really taking the time to take in every part of her as she applied the mask. this was his favorite part of face masks because he could stare at her without shame and she hardly noticed because she was too focused on the mask.

"have i told you how beautiful you are?" the brunette wondered softly. he watched the way y/n's cheeks heated up into a deep blush.

"you have," she muttered.

"well, i'm gonna say it again. you're really beautiful," mack grinned.

"you're sappy tonight," y/n flushed.

"what? can i not say how beautiful my girlfriend is?"

"no, you can. thank you," she finished spreading the mask, leaning back to admire her work.

"how's it look?"

"great. i'lll let you know when five minutes are up," the girl set a timer on her phone and then mack grabbed the mask cream from her hands before she could set it back on the dresser.

she looked at her boyfriend quizzically.

"can i do yours?" he wondered with a soft expression.

y/n blushed again, "just don't get it in my hair."

"promise, i won't," macklin agreed and y/n let him have at it.

his touch was gentle as his fingers began rubbing around her skin. his lip poked out from his lips as he focused on doing it right. y/n loved how much he wanted to do it correctly for her sake and his expression really was just to die for.

"okay, did it," macklin leaned back to admire his work the same way y/n did. she loved the proud little smile on his lips, pulling her camera up to examine how well he did.

"wow, looks great, mack. your best one yet," y/n agreed.

"what can i say? practice makes perfect," the boy hummed, placing everything back onto her dresser.

"so how's your lip doing now?" y/n wondered as mack's hands wandered across the expanse of her hips and waist.

"i can't even feel it anymore, so good. i told you i'm fine," he eyed her.

"i know, just let me be a worry wart."

the sharks player smiled at her words knowing how much she liked to worry about things, especially the things that didn't need to be worried about. he reached up to quickly peck her lips, tryng to avoid getting face mask on one another.

"i love you," the brunette said.

y/n's smile grew, the whole i love you still new to them but heartwarming to hear, "i love you, too," she kissed him again and now they didn't care about getting face mask on one another.

[sat0sugu-angst]

Well, We've Got the Rest of the Night

A continuation of "I Only Need 10 Minutes" where you come home drunk an horny

wc: 2.8k

cw: super sappy bc im a sap, fingering (f. receiving), oral (m. receiving), unprotected p in v, squirting, little bit of aftercare, subby reader, lemme know if i missed something

a/n: i'm back from the dead! this has been sitting in the drafts for agesss i've just been drabbling here and there and got it to a point where i thought yall might enjoy it too

rbs/comments let me know you liked my work! don't be shy 💓

MDNI

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You wave to your girlfriends from the front door as the Uber drives off. After fumbling with the keys a little, you eventually get the door open and stumble inside.

"Babe?!" You call out from the entryway. Even though you can't see him from the door, the light from the living room gives him away.

"Yeah, kitchen." He calls back. You work your way out of your shoes as you head deeper into the apartment, nearly falling, but you catch yourself on the corner of the counter.

Katsuki is sitting at the kitchen table, paperwork laid out before him, and his glasses hanging on the end of his nose. When he sees you, the tension in his face melts, and though he's not quite smiling at you, you can't help but grin. The way he looks at you, with a softened brow and an ease only you could give him, made you feel like you could fly. You come up behind him, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling into his neck.

At first, you just hug him, making a contented noise in the back of your throat in greeting. "You have fun tonight?" His voice was level, but you could feel his heart racing under your fingertips.

You smile a little while you nod into his neck, but then you're kissing the skin there. Your fingers glide slowly up and down his chest, lips brushing over his throat as you say, "I've been thinking about your mouth all night."

"Mm," his voice rumbles under your fingers. "Barely touched you'n you can't think about anything else, huh?" His hand rests lightly on your arm, and you feel his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. He was surprisingly affectionate, you realized early in the relationship. He never shied away from your touch, however casual or intimate, and returned your affection in kind. Katsuki may not always be able to proclaim his love in words, but the way he held you left no doubts about how he felt about you.

You shake your head in answer to his question, pulling back slowly so that your fingers brushed up his arms and shoulders. You use those same shoulders, and the chair next to him, to push yourself up onto the table, too drunk to care about sitting on his paperwork.

He was smiling at you with perfect ease, his lips quirking up as you made yourself comfortable. You lean in and clumsily press a quick kiss to his lips, barely steadying yourself with your hands on his chest. When you pull away, he's still smiling, a smug tinge in the way his eyes challenged you. You can't help but feel shy under the weight of his gaze. "Always think about how you touch me," you whisper.

There was something fond about the way he regarded you, his gaze thorough as it trailed down your body. He grabbed one of your ankles, the one closest to him, and moved your leg so that you had one on either side of him. Then his arms wrapped around your hips, grabbing at your ass just enough that he could pull you toward him, and you were right at the table's edge. Your dress bunched up at your hips, and your underwear was clearly visible.

He leaned in for another kiss, hands on either knee. He holds them wider so that he can lean right against you, and then they slide up through the insides of your thighs before settling back on your hips. His lips move from your mouth toward your jaw. "And how could I think about anything other than the way you look when I touch you? Fuck, look at you. Could barely get any work done knowing you were somewhere lookin’ so good."

His mouth moves toward your ear, stopping right beneath, breath teasing the sensitive skin there. "So fucking sexy. You dance a lot tonight?" You can't help the way you gasp as he runs his tongue up your neck, slowly and deliberately, tickling you in the best way. "You taste so fucking good." You realize he's probably tasting dried sweat from dancing all night, and feel heat between your legs.

His teeth lightly graze the skin where he'd been kissing you, and you let out a small cry in pleasure. One hand is on his chest, gripping the front of his shirt without a care about stretching the material. The other goes around his neck, running your fingers through his hair.

Kissing down your body, he unzips your dress and pulls the straps over your shoulders in a heap of fabric in your lap, leaving you in only your lacy pink bra. His hands tease your breasts, running over them briefly on their way down to your legs.

He's watching you as he lifts your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, and you bite your lip in anticipation. Before you see his hands, being blocked by the fabric of your dress, you feel his fingers glide along your slit over your underwear. "Fuck," you gasp, sensitive, hands resting on his jaw, near his chin, leaning in to press your lips to his as his fingers tease you.

You're whining for more before he eventually moves the fabric aside, and he bites your lip when he feels how wet you are. "God, you're fuckin' perfect, aren't you?" He breathes against you as he runs his thumb through your slick, spreading it up to rub right where you'd been craving him. You find yourself grinding into his hand, whimpering against his lips as you kissed him harder.

He knows your body so well by now, you barely have to give him direction; with each whimper and cry, he shifts just so until he has you shaking in his arms. You feel yourself nearing your climax, and Katsuki can feel it, too. Feel how you begin to flutter around his fingers. "Fuck, baby, are you coming right now? Go ahead and come on these fingers."

But you stopped, trying to control your muscles and keep yourself from cresting over. You pull away so you can look him in the face. "No, not yet. It's your turn. I don't wanna come again unless you're inside me."

His brow quirks up in confusion. "But I'm already inside you." As if to prove his point, he thrusts into you meanly. You gasp, but he holds eye contact with you. "You really don't wanna come?" He asks, and you shake your head. He begins pulling out of you, slowly, and you can't help the noises you make. He smiles up at you. "Don't feel like it with the way you're clenching around me for more." And he presses back into you.

You cry out, muffling your voice by tucking into the crook of his neck. You can't help your blush. "Katsuki," you whine, but it's no use, his fingers resume in that painfully delicious rhythm and his thumb rubs circles against your clit. He grabs you by the hair at the nape of your neck, gentle but unyielding as he pulls you back to look up at him.

There's something possessive in his eyes as he looks at you, but there's a softness, too. "Come on, baby, come on these fingers and I'll fuck you properly."

You clench involuntarily, wanting to look away from the weight of his gaze. Sensing you becoming self-conscious, he leans up to kiss your lips, his thumb applying just a little more pressure so he could press his tongue into your mouth when you gasp. He keeps you like that for a moment, sucking lightly on your lip before pulling back again. Most of your lipstick had smeared, ending up on his neck and mouth, but he was fascinated by the light swelling from the force of your kisses. "How you can still manage to feel embarrassed with me, I'll never understand." His voice is soft, even as he adds another finger, filling you more.

But how could someone get used to the intensity in his eyes? The way he looked at you, kissed you, touched you. It was greedy and deliberate, but oh, so gentle.

You look back from his eyes to his mouth, leaning in for more kisses. He reacts in kind, following the way your hips began to move against his fingers and slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help whining in his mouth as his fingers worked you up again, and it was only a matter of time until you could feel your climax washing over you in waves. "Katsuki, uh—" you leaned into him, tightening your arms around him and pressing your forehead against his.

"Just like that," He says, peppering kisses all over your face, anywhere he could reach, as his fingers guided you through your orgasm. "Fuck, I wanted to take you to bed, but I'm gonna hafta fuck you on this table."

He pulled away only a little once you'd come down, not enough to pull himself out of your arms, but your legs dropped down to either side of his hips. Just enough for him to work his buckle undone.

"Wait," you said, grabbing his arms and pulling them from his pants. You got down from the table now, nearly stumbling from the drink and your fresh high, but steadied yourself with your hands on his waist. You pull him in for one slow kiss, grabbing his hands and forcing him to sit in the chair behind him before you were getting on your knees. You still held his hands in yours, and you guide his hand to your face.

"I wanna taste you now." You said, hoping the way your lips brushed against the tip of his finger enticed him. You could feel your arousal coating his fingers, and you pulled his finger into your mouth and sucked on it, tasting yourself.

Fuck, He thinks, because you were such a slutty girl when you were drunk. He was excited he could come along for the ride. "You're fucking perfect."

You sucked once more on his fingers before releasing it with a pop! and continued the work of getting his pants off.

He was already hard when you pulled down his underwear, tip damp with precum. And as well as he knew your body, you knew his. You knew exactly how he liked his cock to be sucked. With each grunt, you knew you were working him up and it was only a matter of time. He tossed his head back and you grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him so that he had to look at you.

“Fuck,” He breathes, and you feel him twitch in your mouth. "I'm close."

"Mm," You hum, maintaining your pace.

"Fuck, wanna come inside you."

You have to pull off him for a moment to smile, grinning up at him sweetly. "You are inside me," you point out, echoing his words from earlier, before taking him back in your mouth.

He grins down at you, and he almost comes right there in your mouth, but Katsuki was used to getting exactly what he wanted. "Off, brat. Come sit on this cock."

Your body comes alive at the full force of his attitude, letting him pull you up. You’re trying to get your dress the rest of the way off, but with how it’s bunched, it won’t fit over your hips, and you quickly give up to work on your underwear, but Katsuki has other plans. He grabs a side with each hand and pulls, effortlessly ripping the lacy underwear in half and it falls away, leaving you bare to him.

“Katsuki!” You complain, but then his mouth is on yours, his hand in your hair, using his other hand to guide his cock as you took your place in his lap. As you lowered yourself on top of him, you pressed your lips to his for a kiss, whining into his mouth as his tip pushed into you.

You have a hard time holding yourself up in the kitchen chair, not quite enough room on either side of his legs for you to hold yourself up. You gasp as you fully settle in, how deep he presses inside you, you're certain you can feel him in your stomach. You whine, trying to use your arms to lift yourself up, but you feel his hands circle your waist, grabbing at your hips. "Don't gotta do a thing, baby." And then he thrusts. Hard.

The force of him pulling out and slamming back into you forces a breathy yell out of you. "Fuck, Katsuki!" You breathe, holding onto him for dear life.

"I know, baby," He says, as he sets a steady pace, the head of his dick bumping into that spot that has your whole body set alight. "You can take it. Just take this cock, baby." All you can do is hold onto him, trying to relax your muscles to let him in, but you feel him hit that spot over and over.

"Katsuki, please, I feel funny. Slow down or I'm gonna make a mess."

But there's no talking sense into Katsuki, not with the way you hug his dick so well. You wanna make a mess for him? He'd never turn down that kind of opportunity. "Just come, baby."

"You're not gonna wanna clean up tonight, we can't leave it til morning."

"Don't worry so much," He says, and punctuates his point by readjusting the angle of his hips so that he rocks against your g-spot again.

You only have time to let out a quiet, "fuck," before you both feel your release in his lap. You feel your muscles contract around his dick, and soon you feel the warmth of him coming inside. You're unable to stop the gentle moans falling from your mouth as he continues small thrusts as he rides out his orgasm, trying to muffle yourself in his neck.

He rubs your back gently as you both come down. For a moment, it's just the sound of you both breathing heavily against each other. You're tuckered out, exhaustion from the night hitting you as you relax in his arms.

Then he's up, holding you against him. You cry out when the shift of positions causes him to slip out of you, and you feel yourself clench around nothing. "Katsuki," you grumble, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Sorry, baby. Just wanna get you ready for bed before you pass out."

He carries you through the house and to your bathroom. You try to protest, but Katsuki is just as stubborn about cleanup as he is about how he fucks you, and after brushing your teeth and taking a shower together, he takes you back in his arms. Normally, you’d protest being carried around like a doll, but in the moment, you can't find it in you to complain, not when he smells like fresh soap and his skin is warm against yours.

When he sets you on the bed, you recline all the way back, closing your eyes. He rustles around the room, but when he goes quiet you open your eyes, finding him standing above you, now dressed, with a set of pajamas in hand. "C'mon, baby, time to put some clothes on."

You whine. "thought you liked me better without clothes," you tease, rolling over on your stomach and pretending to sleep.

You hear him scoff, and then the weight on the bed shifts as he presses in close to you. "Brat, you just wanna be babied, huh?"

You don't open your eyes, but you can't help the smile teasing your lips. “Well, I can do it myself, I just know how much you like to baby me.”

He grunts, but then you feel the bed shift, then the gentle pressure of his body laying atop yours as he holds himself up so his body rests against yours just so. “Been babyin’ you. C’mon ‘n be a good girl for me now.”

Your insides twist deliciously, and sigh dramatically. “Well I guess since you’ve been so nice,” you tease, and shift so you’re laying under him, facing up.

He snorts, pushing up to allow you to do the same. “Only for you.” You roll your eyes, but follow his lead and dress yourself. But mother hen was in a doting mood, and even after being teased, he helped you into your pajamas.

Once you were dressed, he stretches his arms over his head, yawning before crawling in beside you. He pulls you against him roughly, and you let him, tucking your head into his neck to inhale his fresh scent. “I did like that set, though.” you say, smiling against his neck.

He grunts. “Bra’s still intact.”

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight.”

He hugs you a bit tighter. “Night.”

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

a/n: tysm for reading!

taglist: @asmaechan @animexholic @justanothernpcartist @inumakicanrailme 

masterlist mha masterlist

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request for Shmilk with anger issues x Reader? Shmilk has a bad and Reader is here to calm him down and comfort him (Wether it’d be about Pure Vanilla Shadowvanilla mention? or something else up to you) If you can that, it’s ok if not, hope you have a great days!

"I can't believe him!!! HOW DID I FALL FOR IT SO EASILY?!!!"

"He's a fool to think he can just "talk" his way out of any problem, but it'll only get him so far. Next time, he won't be so lucky."

"...next time? Next time?!! THAT was the PERFECT TIME TO GET HIM ON MY SIDE!!!! AND I BLEW IT!!"

Out of blind rage, Shadow Milk Cookie threw one of his plushies with all his might at the nearest wall, but you intercepted it with your magic, keeping a protective bubble around it.

"You must be gentle and forgiving with yourself, master." You sighed, bringing it closer to you. "Expending your energy like this isn't good for you."

"What? Like you and Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie are "good" for me?!" A scowl crossed his features. "I gave you three very. Simple. Jobs! And you failed miserably!!"

"Unfortunately, we're all you have left."

"...oh, what a pesky little liar I've molded you into, [Y/n] Cookie." He snickered, floating over to your side, jabbing a clawed finger into your chest. "You think I need your help?!! My fellow colleagues who've been sealed up are running freely, ya know. And once they have their soul jams back...oh, our revenge is gonna be sweet and liberating!! Then I won't need you for much longer."

"But until then, what shall you do?" You countered, not perturbed by his threats of discarding you. "Until they're finished fighting their own battles, what then? None of you are at your full power."

".....you're making me depressed. Stop that." His face switched to a deep frown as he took his hand away, no longer having any fun. "What ever happened to those sweet praises you were singing me? Think I'm not "worthy" anymore? Because you've seen me bested by that...that stupid altruist cookie?!"

"You speak as though you lost a great battle. Beaten, humiliated, almost losing your life. But...from what I saw, he only ever offered you friendship."

You didn't think much when you said that, but you had a twinge of regret as Shadow Milk Cookie stared at you coldly--as though you were Pure Vanilla Cookie himself.

"It was a pitiful gesture, a mere attempt to get my guard down....and it made me puke." Bringing his milk cream staff to his side, dark magic began surging within the blue orb. "I hate him. That stupid...little...."

You tilted your head. "Yes, he's stupid-"

"AND A TRAITOR!!" With a swing of his arm, the magic converted into a volatile beam of energy that struck a nearby vase, shattering it into oblivion. "He MOCKS me!! Parading around MY SOUL JAM!! And he thinks that all I want is a "friend"?!! What kind of idiot does he think I am?!! I only wanted ONE thing, and he couldn't even give me that!!"

His hair tendrils whipped around wildly, their blue eyes stressed and darting all around as he attacks something else. "That's fine. It's all fine!! I just want to see him crumble before my feet!! And I'll...I'll get...my...ghh..wh-what's wrong with me...?"

Out of nowhere, he felt his strength being sapped right from his body. A dizziness overcame him as he stumbled a little, using his prized weapon to steady himself.

You calmly went over to assist, and he tried to push back against it, threats spewing from his mouth, yet you wouldn't budge.

Eventually you guided him to the bed that was in the room, taking his staff. "This is what I was trying to warn you about. You're not back to a hundred percent just yet, master. I know you crave revenge, but...it's too soon still."

His silence was unusual, and even a bit scary for the unsuspecting ordinary cookie who knew of his might.

But you knew him better. You could see that even though he didn't wanna admit it....you were right. He couldn't do anything right now--not after everything he threw at Pure Vanilla Cookie and his friends.

He's been waiting eons for this chance.

And yet...he still has to wait just a bit longer for a better opportunity.

Throwing these tantrums and having you talk to him like he was some child wasn't helping matters, nor his ego.

You didn't know what he was thinking, except that he probably wanted you to get out of his sight right about now. So you slowly began to take your leave. "Victory will be yours, master. It's very close. Soon you'll reclaim what he took from you, and reinvent the world the way it was meant to be. I'll see if the other Beasts' servants have any reports of-"

"Stay."

"...huh?"

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Shadow Milk Cookie's expression was grumpy, but not outright hostile, as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to his side. "What I said earlier? Just another little lie~ You're not as useless as those other two cookies. Don't tell them that, 'kay?"

To hear him say that was..quite endearing. You knew better than to question why he decided to retract his previous statement, considering that came from his anger, so you simply nodded. "Of course. I can always keep a secret."

"....can you keep another one?"

"Certainly, what is.....oh."

Slowly, you trailed off as he leaned his head on your shoulder--in a rare moment of vulnerability you never expected him to display. Not in a million, billion years. "Master-?"

"Just..Shadow Milk Cookie is fine." He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes. "I need quiet. All day they've been nagging at me...asking what my "next great plan" is. Those idiots need to understand it takes time."

You just hummed in understanding, finding it very peculiar that despite him bragging about having "everything" and not being "lonely"...why did he not want you to leave him?

Why was he confiding in you more?

It left you to wonder if some of Pure Vanilla Cookie's words perhaps rang true--that he's just lonely and that...maybe things would've been a lot different if he had somebody who understood him back then. All those years ago before the deceit and the lies and the gossip.

Alas, you were baked much too late to see what he used to be like. You were merely a concept and a pile of ingredients on the witches' shelf when he was the Fount of Knowledge.

In the present, your company was all you could offer. And he never admitted it out loud...but he appreciated it. He liked your maturity compared to his other two minions'; while they quarreled and bickered like children just to get a minute of his time, you remained dutiful and diligent in your work without the desire for validation.

Whenever you went around spreading comforting lies or exposing painful truths about people, he was secretly always watching and listening with delight.

You could have very well been a master of deceit yourself.

There was someone else, however, he found more worthy of that title--but he didn't want any hand in that. He wanted to stay stuck in his olden, outdated, altruistic ways, playing the "savior" and twisting his other-realm into something hideously bright and-

"Steady breaths, Shadow Milk Cookie. You're trembling again."

With a hitch of his breath, the Beast returned to his senses, realizing how much his claws were digging into the mattress beneath him. He could feel the anger welling in his chest again, but with your advice in-mind...that rage was mellowed out.

It's strange how simply breathing is enough to make such feelings retreat, at least for a little while.

"Feel any better?"

"..somewhat. It's funny."

"What is?"

"You remind me of a little cakehound. Unsuspecting, but loyal to the bitter end." He looked at you with an eerie grin. "I could just snap my fingers, and you'd lie, fight...and crumble for me, wouldn't you?"

"Well, you've helped me carve a new path for myself. Helped me see the world as it really is. So...I feel like my unwavering loyalty is a fair trade, no?"

He said nothing to that, but seemed content with your answer as he closed his eyes once more, leaning back onto you.

And you said nothing more, either, instead allowing him to rest.

[captain-huggy-bear]

michael in his gf’s tiny dorm bed?

Trying to fit this man in a normal sized twin bed? Practically impossible, but i'm sure we're all willing to try <3 Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

"Michael...this is ridiculous, you're not going to fit." You're watching him stand next to your stupidly small dorm bed. Twin sized, barely 6ft long in length and stupidly small compared to your boyfriend. 6ft 5, 217lbs and definitely not what your dorm room bed was designed for.

"I'll make it work, baby." He's sizing up the bed like he can find a way to make it bigger, a way to make it work for him when it clearly doesn't. It has you crossing your arms and shaking your head with a sigh because the last thing you want tonight is for Michael to try to shove himself into that bed, to be uncomfortable just because of you.

"Just...we can just go to your place instead, you're not going to be comfortable." Your already moving to grab your shoes, ready to just go to his place in your pjs because quite frankly it's ridiculous to expect Michael to cram himself into a bed that's 5 inches too short.

But, Michael won't have it. He's already clambering into your bed, head as far back onto the pillow as he can get, side pressed into the wall...and his legs...his feet and then some are hanging off the edge of the bed, toes exposed to the elements...to the demons.

"My place is across campus, it's like midnight and you have an exam in the morning. It'll be fine. See," The grin he sends you is light-hearted, unbothered by the possibility of monsters nibbling on his toes in the night.

"Your legs are literally hanging off the edge..."

"Baby, I'm fine, or I will be when you get over here." It's the grin combined with the grabby hands, mixed with your own exhaustion and desire to just curl up with Michael that has you accepting defeat.

Squeezing yourself in next to him, you accidentally elbow him as the two of you try to make it work. Michael turning onto his side to spoon you, tugging you back flush against his front. His toes come up onto the bed, only because his legs bend around yours, trapping you into his embrace.

But you love it. The feeling of safety, security, as he curls around you. As his breaths puff out against your neck and his cologne swirls around you. The way his hands press against your stomach to hold you near and his hair tickles your cheek.

The only reason he's over is because you've been stressed about your exams and this? God, you needed this. Michael always makes your brain quiet when he holds you, it's like he's pressed a mute button and all those worries, all those concerns just fade away until all that's left is Michael, just Michael and this moment.

"You comfy, baby?" He's softened his voice until it's sweet and low, the sort that's designed not to disturb the peace and quiet that surrounds the two of you.

"Mm, very, you?"

"Yeah, got all I need right here in my arms." Michael squeezes you tight against him, a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

"Sap."

"For you? Yeah."

[bonus-links]

Ruins pt 16 please 🥺

OUGH YEAH THIS ONE

I wanted to give Loft a chance to explain a little bit of his ideology around what being the capital H Hero means to him. Despite all his misgivings about having his life orchestrated for this purpose, he 100% would do it all again, no questions asked. He firmly believes at this point that being the Hero and wielding the master sword is still a blessing. I also think from his perspective, if it really is true that Demise is going to curse this land forever, it's imperative that there's always a Hero willing to take up the mantle. Slate doesn't want the title, but to Loft he's already doing the action, and that makes him worthy of the sword. They're, like. fundamentally disagreeing on what being "the Hero" even means.

Also, having Fi as a companion was really important to him. I think it brought him some comfort to think that future heroes would have that too. To find out that they didn't, and that one even 'rejected' her entirely really upsets him.

also, if you don't actually need the sword to defeat the great evil, the whole thing kind of falls apart, right? Remember, nearly Loft's ENTIRE journey revolved around forging the sword for this exact purpose. What did he do all that for, if you don't need it in the end?

as a sidenote, slate definitely has more than '6 hearts' worth of health lol, not that I'm taking that literally. this was just kind of visual representation of the sword sapping his strength. I think it's interesting that while this isn't the only game that locks you out of pulling the sword until you're strong enough, it is to my knowledge the only game that hurts you for trying if you're not.

Slate's first champion sighting! Whether or not Champion is trying to stop him here or finally letting the sword go is up for interpretation, but if you ask me it's kind of both. Also, for the record, only Slate saw him.

bro is fucking flabbergasted. he 100% did not expect to actually pull the sword. world view altered. Slate genuinely did try multiple times, before ultimately resorting to the nuclear option of facing Ganon without it. He went into the fight with the expectation that he would probably fail and die. To pull it now, after everything is said and done is,,,,frustrating to him. To severely understate it.

the koroks all cheering with loft 😭

i think this is my favorite slate I have ever drawn.

I think Loft had definitely hoped for a little bit more of a reunion with Fi here. This chime is the only indication she's there, and even then he's not sure.

[ch3rish-ning]

SAY YOU LOVE ME, 엔하이픈 성훈

— my heart beats , for you only.

(ƒemale ℛeader ‪‪❤︎‬. Sunghoon x reader / fluff, oneshot , kissing ‘) ── .✦ reblogs + wc. 564

A/N: I lowkey enjoyed writing this [>=<]

feedback appreciated ☆

365 days around the clock. Never skipping a beat, a love so refreshing it can never be replicated, so delicate that even the slightest interference can shatter it. You cherish the beauty of it, the thought that a man like him could ever love you so. He's seen all of you. The good, the broken, the damaged that's far beyond repair, yet he saw a girl that was worth loving and a girl that needed someone to sweep her off her feet and make her feel like the most important thing in the world.

Simply because you are, at least in his world. Lying on the bed with limbs tangled together, you caress his hair, loving the silent intimate moments like these. Nothing but soft breathing to fill the silence. Neither of you can barely remember the last time you left the comfort of your home, too wrapped up in one another. "This is nice…" you softly croak out while twirling his hair between your fingers. Looking up at you with his sleepy eyes, he answers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh in content, "we do this often, but it feels like it's the first time all over again." Soft laughter bubbles from within him. "You're such a sap, you know?" Playfully hitting his head, you roll back over on your side. "Hey! I'm not a sap...I just like being with you," you smile cheekily.

You always know how to make him flustered with the littlest things you say; that's what made him go crazy about you. You watch as his ears change color from natural to a soft crimson pink, something you've grown fond of in your relationship, making sure to say things more often just to see the change in color. He groans, burying his face in your neck. "Must you always tease me, huh?"

"I can't help it, you know it's what I do best." Grinning from ear to ear, you ruffle his hair up a bit, loving how he always keeps it fluffy. "Remind me why I love you again," he asks teasingly, mumbling under his breath. "Because you know me best, and no one has your heart like I do."

He holds those words close, letting them replay in the back of his mind, feeling a sense of tranquility pass over him; he cups your cheeks softly, pulling you into the sweetest kiss that could make you cry. Lips melting together, you savor the familiar feeling, the familiar sweetness of honey laced in this kiss. Deepening the kiss as he holds you closer, soft sighs escape from your lips.

This is a long-awaited love that you've desired and a feeling that's been imprinted on your skin and engraved in your mind. You simply cannot get enough of it and only desire more as he further opens his heart to you just as you open up yours to him. Pulling away slowly, he searches your eyes with his own low, sleepy ones. Words coming out ever so faintly but still audibly: "I love you."

Heart still skipping a beat as if it's your first time hearing those words again. You allow the words to dance across your mind, never forgetting them: "I love you more." You respond, smiling softly at him. This love is delicate and meant to be cherished always. And you wouldn't have it any other way because your heart beats for him only.

©CH3RISH-NING 2025

[cloudzoro]

Aftercare | One Piece ♡

part of my 2k followers alphabet event: here

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

characters: franky, ace, jinbe

cw: smut, fluff, fem!reader

one piece masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Franky

Franky is an aftercare king. He is always extremely prepared for any mess and incredibly perceptive of emotions.

Franky's stamina is unparalleled; he has you beyond exhausted and sensitive to the touch by the time he pulls out of you. You shake beneath him, whimpering as his cock slips out of it.

“I got you,” he says, his voice clear and strong. He keeps everything he needs in the bedside drawer so that he doesn't have to get up and leave you in the moment. “I'll clean you up, baby. Don't worry about a thing,” he says as he reaches for the wipes. He wraps his arms around you, making sure to wipe you down thoroughly.

Franky can't keep his mouth shut for longer than five minutes, so he talks to you as he cleans you up; he tells you how beautiful you are and makes it clear how much you're loved. Franky is a romantic at heart. He's a real sap about most things, and after sex is no different. He'll cradle you and tell you he loves you, refusing to leave you until you drift off safe in his arms. When you're out like a light, he'll set off running a candle-lit bath for when you wake up from your post-sex power nap.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Ace

Like Franky, Ace is also a sappy boy. Though he's much less likely to worry about the cleanup. For him, aftercare is all about the cuddles and praise.

“How're you feeling?” Ace asks, rolling onto his back and pulling you to lie on his chest. You hum and nod, feeling satisfied but tired and not very talkative. Ace chuckles. “That's good. I'm glad I made you feel good.”

He presses soft kisses all over your face, neck and shoulders. He offers to massage them for you too. He just wants to be touching you at all times. He settles for holding you and rubbing his hands up and down your back. He listens out for any whimpers or curses of pain that may indicate he's hurt you, when he finds none, he's comfortable enough to attempt a nap with you. In his opinion, a nap is the best recovery for ANYTHING

He's unbothered by the mess of cum and sweat, he'll get you in the shower after a nap if you feel like you need it though. The warmth of his body lulls you to sleep along with him.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Jinbe

Jinbe takes a more simple approach to aftercare. He simply checks in with you and gets you in the bath or shower.

Jinbe is a big man, he's fully aware of this, so when he pulls out he's quick to rub at your thighs. He eases any muscle aches you may have with his skilled hands. Every sigh of content is encouragement to keep going. He enjoys giving you a massage, though if he's not careful it will lead to round two.

Once you're all relaxed, he runs a bath for you without even being asked. When the waters how you like it, he carries you like a princess and lowers you gently into the water. He sits by the side of your tub, talking to you and washing your hair/body for you. He's ready to do anything you ask of him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you for reading! my tag list is always open, as are my ask box and dms ♡

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn @quanxifangirl @walmartmihawk

[nemisuki]

Intertwined

Dating AU | He wasn’t aware such a small insecurity could affect your relationship that much. Lucky for him, she seems to know how to ease his worries away. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, no manga spoilers, pure fluff, no smut, no angst, reverse comfort lowkey, aged up to third years, they're both whipped, two idiots in love, wholesome short oneshot, 821 word count

His brows furrow with frustration at the glistening skin - small droplets of sweat already beginning to form at the surface of his palms.

Bakugos mood immediately getting ruined at the sight of it.

He takes pride in many things in his life, one of them being his quirk, the ability to create explosions from mere sweat is truly an odd but valuable power.

One that needed proper training to get used too and eventually perfected. But there was always one problem that remained and perhaps is unavoidable.

Excessive sweating.

At first it was manageable, he simply wiped it away on his pants, not thinking much of it.

Though as time went on, it grew out of control. Perhaps it was a side effect of puberty now that their seniors in highschool, who knows?

What he did know was that it was beyond irritating.

Maybe this was his karma for being too cocky in the past. He assumed his quirk had no downsides he couldn't manage, but the gods just had to humble him.

For an over hygienic guy - this was probably his worst nightmare come true.

Especially now that he has a girlfriend.

"Cmon Katsuki, we gotta return to the dorms before curfew!"

She quickly grabs a hold of his hand, cheerful expression on her face, a bright smile that could battle the sun.

Oblivious to the swirling thoughts in his head.

Dating was a concept he never thought he would experience - til he met Y/N. As a new couple he didn't expect this personal issue to have such an effect on his relationship.

But here we are.

He flinches at her touch, swiftly extracting his hand from hers, simply praying she didn't notice his clammy hands.

Her face instantly falls, switching to one of worry and hesitation, "Katsuki? Hey what's wrong?"

The blonde didn't know what else to do but stay silent, avoiding eye contact with her as he tried to think of something to say, subtly wiping his hands on his school uniform.

Feeling embarrassed to tell her about this 'problem' he's been recently dealing with.

"It's nothing."

Noticing the clear shift in his demeanor, she tries connecting the dots and gives him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable with holding hands! I should've asked first since you hate PDA." 

His head snaps back at her, realizing the careless mistake he just made, "No no that's not what I- uh"

He sighs as irritation begins bubbling inside him, directed at himself for making her worried over something so trivial.

"It's not that dummy. My hands are..." he looks away once again. Feeling self conscious all of a sudden - opening up has never been an easy thing for him.

She notices the tip of his ears burning with a pink hue, rare shyness creeping in his voice, "My hands get sweaty a lot because of my quirk."

A moment of silence passes between them.

"It's been out of control lately so-"

His words waver as he feels her pinky finger slowly wrap around his own. Her eyes soften as she stares up at him, a look of understanding on her face.

"Ah I see. Then this is fine right?" she smiles, tilting her head to get a better view of his face.

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"...Yeah sure, whatever" he clears his throat, avoiding her gaze completely.

She giggles at his cute demeanor, not used to seeing him like this, just thinking how soft this blonde truly is under all the walls he put over his heart.

He doesn't say much as they continue their walk back towards campus. His heart doing somersaults in his chest at the contact.

"It doesn't bother me by the way" she mumbles, smiling up at him again, "I just want to be next to you."

"You're such a sap."

He pinches her puffy cheek with his other hand - making her whine in response, trying to distract the effect her words have on him.

A small laugh escapes him as he mushes her face to form pouty duck lips, rolling his eyes at her unintelligible words of plead.

"So fucking dramatic." 

Whether to shush her up or satisfy his own desires, he quickly leans down and presses a small peck to her puckered lips. Letting her face go a second after, making the poor girl flustered and silent with shock.

"What was that for?" she says, fidgeting with her sleeves like a love struck fool.

"Tch, can I not kiss my own girlfriend?"

He spins around to walk away - making her rush to catch up, a knowing look on her face.

"I know but in public? Katsuki you sly dog~" she cooes, trying to rile him up.

"Fuck off."

"Love you too!"

At her continuous laughter and teasing, all he could do was put a fake frown on his face, but only from her eyes - she could see the small smile underneath it all.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| im really sorry for not posting much u guys! i kinda lost motivation these past couple of weeks but im finally feeling better. i actually relate to this so much bc i sadly suffer from hyperhidrosis. If you don't know what hyperhidrosis is, it's "a medical condition in which a person exhibits excessive sweating". So im basically bakugo irl u guys! one side effect is that my hands are constantly clammy and it's so annoying, me and katsuki twinning fr. my apologies go out to fellow people like us, this condition sucks so bad *sighssssss* tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[arvandus]

The Beauty of Broken Things

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Content warnings: SFW; reader with (vague) mental health issues; Reader has self-deprecating thoughts and low self-esteem; hurt/comfort; lots of dialogue; romance; first kiss (cuz I'm a sap 💚)

Author's Note: Not me coming out of hiatus to drop this at 1:20am on a weekday. ANYWAY.... I was going through it a month or so ago and this was very therapeutic and self-indulgent to write. Hopefully you'll find some comfort in it as well. 💚

You creep into the RAD greenhouse under the cover of the Devildom darkness.  The warm yellow lights, usually on to allow students to observe and take notes,  are turned off for the evening, causing the devildom flora to transform from something familiar to something alien, branches reaching like arms and long, pointed leaves stretched out like grasping fingers.

But despite the sinister threat of danger that is interlaced in the native plant life, it still feels comforting.  The gnarled limbs and black leaves feel more protective than threatening, arching over your head to provide a canopy of privacy in the quiet, uninhabited space.

Usually the greenhouse is a bustle of student activity, with botany classes often perusing the aisles with their notebooks and art students lingering with their sketchbooks.  But classes had long since ended, the busy chaos of academia ushered away by the sinking of the large Devildom moon, bringing with it night within night.

You need this.  You need the silence, the privacy, the darkness.  The House of Lamentation doesn’t offer it.  The Demon Lord’s castle is also not an option as you don’t want to impose purely for the sake of self-isolation.

No, this is perfect.  It is safe, safer than losing yourself in the real forests that press against the outskirts of the Devildom.  It is a place for hiding, a place for becoming invisible.  It is a place that makes you feel small, from the tightly clustered plants around you to the vast starry sky that slowly rotates high beyond the confines of the glass ceiling.  You could almost pretend you’re a bug, an insect, or some other small life form who’s only purpose is to exist in the here and now, moment to moment. 

Maybe then you could find peace in your mind; maybe that voice of sickness and lies that whispered louder than any demon would fall silent.

Not all days were this bad.  But the added stress, the fatigue.... you knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself dangerously close to that pitch black rock bottom. You felt it encroaching, a shadow teasing the edges of your mind, and you knew... you knew you had to find somewhere to gather yourself, to work through it without interruption or curious eyes.

This helps.  A place of quiet, of privacy, of nature, even if the nature isn’t your own.  In its own alien way, it’s perfect.

Perfect, but also lonely. You both love and hate it, glad to be unnoticed for once but vulnerable against the rare isolation.  Rare, but not unfamiliar.  You sit with it; let it soak into your bones.  Like putting on old shoes that still fit, worn soles perfectly conformed to your feet, your mind eases into accepting that familiar ache, a feeling not often experienced anymore, but still deeply rooted in old memories and dreams.  The old loneliness hollows you out, slows the blood rushing through your veins as your mind eventually quiets to a low hum of white noise.  It brings its own twisted kind of peace; not the healthy kind that heals and rejuvenates, but the broken kind that separates you from yourself, an act of cutting rather than mending.

If you could turn to stone in this moment, you would.

But not even this will last forever, your quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of the door to the greenhouse opening and closing.  The sound of the click and the creak of the hinge is startling against the endless quiet, and it makes you jolt.  You fight the irrational urge to hide within the surrounding shrubbery, as if such an act would truly hide you at all, and instead curl in on yourself with arms and legs crossed on the stone bench where you sit.

Whoever it is, is as silent as a ghost; you hear no footsteps, nor sounds of breath.  Whoever it is does not speak, so you know instantly it is not any of the brothers or even Diavolo.  But you feel their presence, and you know they feel yours.  There is an awareness in the air that wasn’t present before, the atmosphere going from one of empty quiet, to buzzing consciousness.

A moment later, a familiar pair of polished black shoes come into your field of view, attached to a familiar set of legs that stand formally in a way that only a royal butler could accomplish.

You look up and your eyes meet Barbatos, who stares down at you with a calm, curious expression and a slight tilt of his head.  He’s still dressed in his RAD uniform, but his white gloves are removed, likely tucked into the interior chest pocket of his tailcoat.

“MC,” he says gently.  “I did not expect you to be here. You do know that the RAD campus is closed, yes?”

“I know,” you reply. 

Even so, you make no motion to move, your body still curled within itself protectively.  It isn’t so much to protect against him, but to hold onto that feeling of smallness that helps to separate you from the ache in your chest and the cacophony of your mind. 

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Some of the flora require care after school hours, so I tend to them prior to locking up for the evening.”

“Ah.” Your sour mood strips you of your warmth, your words fading away as you retreat back into yourself.

Barbatos stares at you for a moment longer, before gesturing to the bench. “May I?”

You return his stare with your own before moving over just enough to make room for him.  The bench is small, comfortable for one, a slight squeeze for two, but he sits nonetheless, seemingly unbothered.  The proximity of him is a brand and a blessing, the heat of him surprisingly comforting while your heart thuds harder in your chest.  You’re rarely ever this close to him, any prior instances of physical contact occurring out of necessity rather than choice.

You both sit in silence for a long time.  You aren’t sure if he is expecting an explanation from you, but you couldn’t give one even if you wanted to, the struggles within yourself too tangled to fully unravel, especially with how weathered you feel.

Finally, after a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence, the smooth richness of his voice breaking the quiet that sits like a bridge between you.

“I often find the Devildom flora more beautiful in the dark.”

It is an olive branch, and you take it, a small smile curling the corners of your lips.

“Me too,” you reply.  “It feels more natural this way. When the lights are on, it feels like we’re trying to force the plants and flowers to be something they’re not.”

Barbatos stares at you for a long, quiet moment before returning his gaze ahead of him.  “Indeed. Things are more beautiful when they are allowed to be themselves.”

A sentiment you share, and yet it isn’t one you can extend to yourself, and it cuts you.

“I wish that were always true...” you mutter.

It’s a thought whispered past private lips, and you regret them instantly when his keen, green eyes, nearly black in the darkness, flick back to you.

“Why would it not be?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably and swallow the lump that suddenly manifests where your voice is supposed to be.

“I don’t know...” you finally mutter evasively.

You feel his eyes lingering on you, and it feels as if he can read the dark thoughts that live there, shadow where sunlight should be.  But if he can read your mind, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t pry further.

Instead, Barbatos does something that you do not expect.  His hand covers yours, untangling your fingers from your tightly clasped palms that sit in your lap.  His touch is warm, warmer than you thought it’d be, and you can’t help but wonder how different his body really is from yours when it feels so human.

You watch as Barbatos twines his fingers with yours, a simple but shockingly intimate action.  It’s surprisingly comforting, fulfilling a longing within you that you didn’t even realize you carried so heavily until just now; an anchor of companionship, unwavering in its simplicity, gentle in its unassuming nature.  There’s a lack of expectation in Barbatos’s touch, a quiet acceptance of the here and now, of the you of this moment, rather than the ‘you’ that you always present to others, or the ‘you’ that others expect of you.

It makes something within you surrender.  It forces the dissociation from your mind, pulling you instantly back into reality, into your body. Barbatos’s tenderness, given freely without price, carves a space for itself within your chest, and it hurts, the sudden sharpness of vulnerability an open wound.  That vulnerability is unfamiliar, raw, terrifying. It calls forth your fears, makes the voices of wrongness sing louder than ever, listing all of the ways you are undeserving of this moment.  And you’re angry, angry at their presence, and their ability to ruin even this for you, to taint something peaceful and beautiful with something so ugly.

The tears finally come, blurring your vision and spilling over silently onto your cheeks.  More come immediately after, and you sniff, your nose starting to run as you wipe at your face.  A handkerchief appears within your view, and you take it, your heart too shy and embarrassed to look at Barbatos properly or even offer him a mumbled thank you.  But he shows no discomfort or disdain for your tears or lack of manners. Instead, he sits quietly with you, waiting patiently as he holds your hand securely within his own, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes on the soft skin between your thumb and index finger.

Quietly you cry, and quietly he waits.  Each second longer that you cry is a confession of your imperfection, your brokenness, and each second longer that Barbatos stays by your side is an acceptance, a forgiveness.  And so, without even speaking to one another, the very act of this shared moment provides a cleansing of your heart that you’d never felt before.  Each drop of salty water is a purge, a release.  There’s an amusing irony to it; an exorcism of sorts in a place where God isn’t welcome, supported by a creature who’s existence came from darkness.

The catharsis brings release, and the release brings fatigue.  The rigidness of your spine gives way to something more pliable, and you lean your head against his shoulder as you continue to weep, albeit gentler now that the worst of it has passed.  Barbatos lets you, his thumb barely missing a beat in its strokes against your hand.  He makes no effort to increase his physical reassurance; no arm around your shoulder, no leaning of his head against the crown of yours.  You’re grateful for it, not quite ready to be touched so completely.  Maybe soon... after all, the thought does entice you... but not yet. Not when your heart is still raw and tender.

No, this is perfect. It’s just enough.

Finally, the floodwaters of your heart recede, and you wipe away the last traces of wetness from your cheeks with his silk handkerchief. It’s damp with tears and snot now, and you know you’ll have to wash it before returning it to him.  You fiddle with it with your free hand, your thumb tracing along the cursive B that is sewn into its corner with dark thread, the color muted to black in the dark.

Your hands are still intertwined with each other, your head still resting against his shoulder, and you’re grateful for it as you find the courage to finally speak, your eyes still trained on that cursive B.

Your voice is quiet, hushed by hesitancy.  “Barbatos...I have a question...”

“Hm?”

“When I die, and my soul leaves my body.... does.... does that mean that the mental illness won’t be there anymore?  Does that part get left behind?”

“Ah,” Barbatos says softly, his voice rich with understanding. “I see.”

You sit up, although his hand still holds yours; after all, you haven’t pulled away yet.  But your eyes... your eyes are downcast, the shame of your breakdown too heavy regardless of Barbatos’s tenderness.

Now that you’ve finally confessed your fear it becomes easier to speak, and the words come more freely.  “I’m just... I’m tired of being this way.  Feeling this way, thinking this way.  It’s always there, like this big, lurking monster that I can’t escape from. Except it’s a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And I’m—” tears choke your words, but you force yourself to continue even as your eyes once again brim and sting.  “I’m just so afraid that it’ll never go away. Even when I die, and my soul is separated from this broken fucking body—”

A long, slender finger covers your lips, halting your impending tirade of self-loathing.  It forces you to finally look at him, and you’re surprised to see how deep the concern goes within his dark gaze.

“Shh,” he says.  “Don’t say such things.  It does the richness of all that you are a disservice.”

His words stun you into silence, and you stare at him wide-eyed.  He holds your gaze for a moment longer before taking the handkerchief from your clenched fist.  You start to protest, embarrassed at the state of it, but he ignores your concerns and uses a relatively clean spot to wipe away your new tears.

You fall silent as he cares for you, and in that silence, he begins to speak.

“You humans so often like to label and categorize things, an attempt at making sense of the world around you when you’re forever doomed to know so little. Lines of comparison drawn on a beach, not realizing that in the end, it’s all made of sand.”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“What you’re speaking of is a sickness of the mind, correct?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it...”

Barbatos takes your palm in his hand and turns it face up.  “I’ve heard you humans often use the term ‘mind, body, and soul’ as if they are all separate.  Back when I spent time in the human realm, humans treated the soul as synonymous with the heart and the mind as synonymous with the brain, both housed within the body.”  With his finger, he draws one large circle, and within it, places two dots vertically spaced from each other.

You stare at your palm as you ponder his words.  “Yes,” you say, “that idea still lingers... sort of...”

 You take his hand in yours, and draw your own circles – a small, a medium, and a large, all inset within each other like a target.

“I think... I see the soul and mind as synonymous of each other, in way, that they depend on each other. Or...”

 You hesitate, your fears surfacing again as you stare at Barbatos’s open palm.

 “I think...” you continue slowly, “I think I’m afraid that they’re the same thing. That the soul only exists because of the mind. If that’s true, then if my mind is broken, then so is my soul, and I’ll be carrying that brokenness with me forever.  It’s like... trying to forge something using a metal riddled with impurities.  The integrity will always be compromised, no matter how beautiful the shape in the end.”

Barbatos’s open hand closes around yours, cradling your fingertips that still rest against his skin. He turns your hand over palm up again.

“Imagine this” – he draws a large circle – “is your body. And this” – he draws a smaller circle within it – “is your mind.”

You wait for the third circle, but it never comes.  You frown.

“Where is the soul?”

“Everywhere,” he says.

Your gaze lifts from your open hand to his eyes.  He smiles back at you in quiet mirth, then drops his gaze back to your hand.  His fingers retrace over the larger circle he’d first drawn into your palm.

“Your soul,” he repeats, “is everywhere.”

Confusion once again surfaces in the contours of your face. Barbatos stares at you for a moment as he searches for the words in a way that you can understand.  His eyes sink deep beneath the surface of you, and it makes you shift beneath his gaze.  After a moment he blinks, his amusement returning.

“Perhaps it is my choice of words that is unclear,” he says. “Allow me to try again.” 

He pokes your forehead with his index finger.  “Your mind is not the same as your soul the way you fear.  It is simply consciousness, self-awareness provided you by your biology,” he explains.

“You mean my brain.”

“Yes.”

“So my mind is just another part of my body.”

“Precisely.  Your body is merely the medium through which you experience this life, whether it’s through your senses, such as sight and touch, or through your consciousness.”

He returns to your hand, his fingers tracing the invisible large circle for a third time.

“Your soul, on the other hand, is a different thing entirely.  It isn’t something that can be contained to one organ within you.  Not your heart, not your brain.  It’s deeper than that, richer,” he says quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His touch travels, his fingertips gliding feather-light across your palm, up your wrist, following the tendons and veins to your forearm where goosebumps begin to awaken across your sensitive skin.

“It’s energy.  It’s life,” he continues. “It’s eternal, and it’s woven into every fiber of your being, a golden thread holding you together like the universe’s most exquisite tapestry.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers curve around your forearm until he holds it within his hand, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin where your veins rest beneath. His words enrapture you, his touch enthralls you. If there was ever a moment in your life you could stay trapped in forever, it would be this one.

But the moment is short-lived.  Barbatos’s soothing touch halts mid-motion, his expression turning blank, as if he suddenly remembers himself and realizes the growing intimacy of the exchange.  He withdraws his hand, and it leaves a cold emptiness where his warmth had been.

You ponder his words, but it only leads to more questions.

“My soul is everywhere...” you mutter.  “But Barbatos... if it’s woven into my body, then how...?”

“How does your soul pass on after you die?”

You nod.

Barbatos holds his chin in his fingers thoughtfully.  “You are thinking too literally.  Perhaps it is my own failure to find the right words.  Human speech doesn’t offer enough nuance to fully describe something your kind still struggles to understand.”

He ponders a moment longer, his brow knit together in concentration.  Finally his head lifts and his gaze meets yours.  “Ah.  Perhaps we can describe it as such.  Your body is made of matter, correct? And if you look deep enough, you know that all matter is made up of atoms.  But not even atoms ever completely touch.” He takes your hand in one of his and holds it up, your palm facing him, as he brings his other hand within a hair’s breadth; close enough to feel the heat emanating off of him, but not actually touching.  “There’s a negative space, ever present yet so infinitesimal that you’d never know it’s there.”  His hand finally touches yours, his fingers aligned with yours as he splays them out.  “It is this space that your soul exists, interwoven, encapsulating every atom of what you are.”

You’re staring at your touching hands, wide-eyed now, as you take in what he’s told you.  The scope of it feels nearly too vast to properly comprehend, despite how hard you try.

“It’s all very... complicated...” you mutter as you finally lower your hand back to your lap.

“Hm, is it?” Barbatos replies with a curious tilt of his head.  “Here then, another example, but simpler.  If you were to lose a limb, would it damage your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re separate.”

And finally, it clicks for you. 

Barbatos smiles.  “Precisely.  So, if a lost limb will not damage your soul, then why should a damaged mind?”

The weightlessness of relief begins to spread from the center of your chest, and you release a long, deep breath.

“I see,” you say.  “So when I die...”

“When you die, your soul continues on, transformed, as your body decays.”

The balloon of relief breaks and you do a doubletake.  “...transformed?”

Barbatos nods.  “Yes, by your experiences and choices in this life.”

Once again that despair rears, the dark void opening beneath your feet as you cling to your dwindling hope. You once again wrap your arms around yourself protectively, as if you are the only one who can keep yourself from falling, despite the presence of the demon directly in front of you.

“But... Barbatos,” you protest, “sometimes mental illnesses can cause people to make bad choices.  Wrong choices.  Hurtful choices.  If those can impact the soul, then wouldn’t that mean the soul does get damaged? Or tainted?”

Barbatos falls silent for a long moment, and you avoid looking into his eyes, your gaze downcast.  His hand reaches out and covers your forearm reassuringly, but your arms remain crossed.

“As a demon, I cannot attest to how just the Celestial Realm’s rules are.  I, for one, find them to be rather suffocating and arbitrary, lacking in nuance.  But even I would be shocked if such things weren’t taken into consideration when it is time for a soul to be set upon the scales of judgment.”

Scales of judgment... the idea makes you nauseous.

Barbatos’s touch to your forearm is replaced by both of his hands on your arms just below the shoulders.  You can tell from the way he moves that he is ducking his head lower in an attempt to catch your avoiding eyes, but you keep  yourself hidden lest your tears return.

“MC....” he says softly,  “are you worried that you will be judged unfairly when your time comes?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, and when you do it’s thicker, heavy under the weight of emotions.  “Maybe... or maybe I’m worried I’ll be judged fairly.”

“If you do not go to heaven when your time comes, then the Celestial Realm truly is run by fools.”

His words surprise you, and you finally catch his gaze, amusement beneath a raised, sarcastic brow.  Your skin grows hot and you avert your eyes for a different reason, your shoulders lifting slightly in subtle retreat.

“Well,” you continue, “you said yourself that the soul gets transformed during this life.  I’ve made some not-so-great choices, so far.  I’ve done things I regret; hurt people I’ve loved and even people I didn’t.  What if my soul is not as good as I hope?”

Barbatos gives a soft scoff of amusement, his brows pinching up in the center as he stares at you in wry amusement.  “My dear, the very idea that your soul is anything but good is quite literally an impossibility.”

Your tension loosens slightly. “How do you know?”

The corner of one side of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Well, to start, I am a demon. And as one of the oldest demons, I have devoured countless souls across my lifetime.  If anyone is to be an expert on the quality of a soul it would be me.”

Something about the way he talks so simply about his violence, combined with his intimate kindness, makes you feel lightheaded.

It takes an extra heartbeat for you to find enough air in your lungs to speak.  “And, uh...what does a demon such as yourself consider high quality?”

Barbatos stares distantly, and for a moment he feels ancient.  When he speaks, his voice seems almost otherworldly, holding a resonance to it that wasn’t there before.  “It varies from demon to demon.  Some enjoy the flavor of corruption upon a soul, some prefer the sweet, crisp freshness of innocence and purity... but all human souls possess something that ours lack, something that makes us crave.  We’re drawn to it, in the way your human realm plants are drawn to sunlight.” He pauses and shakes his head.  “No, perhaps that analogy is too mild.  It is more how the Devildom’s Succubus’s Kiss lures its victims into its choking vines with the sweet promise of fruit.”

You swallow for a moment, your throat suddenly dry as you stare at your now empty palms where your longing for him sits abandoned.

“You make it sound as if humans are the dangerous ones,” you chide.

A half-hearted attempt at a joke, but Barbatos chuckles nonetheless.

“Yes; perhaps you are.”

You can’t tell in this moment if he’s referring to ‘you’ as in humanity, or ‘you’ as in something far more personal.  It only makes the curiosity sharper, honed on the whetstone of your pining.

“And my soul...” you continue, “what do you sense, Barbatos?”

Dread immediately follows your bold and vulnerable question, fearing what he must inevitably see in you.  Is Barbatos the type to enjoy the flavor of corruption, to find value in broken things?  Or is he more of a purist, always a keen eye for perfection?  You fear you already know the answer as you take in his crisp RAD uniform, his perfectly smooth features.  Your gaze falls downward, an attempt to hide what you’re sure he already knows.

One heartbeat, two.  Then your chin is being tilted up by his thumb and forefinger until your eyes are forced to meet his.  There’s a hint of luminescence in them, the green noticeable now where it wasn’t before, pushing against the dark monotone of night that previously washed his irises in near-black. His eyes are searching, seeking, finding, and you can feel the magic, the power that unravels every defense, every barrier.  Finally, his gaze settles, the green quiets to a deep, sleeping forest of pine in winter.  It’s peaceful; soothing.

If Barbatos’s earlier release of your arm was to provide distance from the growing intimacy between you, then the attempt was in vain.  Because now the affection in his gaze is unmistakable, the deep shadowy green cradling you the way his fingers cradle your chin. It weakens you, makes you feel like putty in his touch.

“You glow,” Barbatos whispers, “like sunlight trapped in ripples. It’s blinding, and yet so beautiful I find it impossible to look away.  I can feel it in you, emanating like heat from a hearth, and it makes me long for a home I’ve never had.”

The hum of his voice makes you shiver, goosebumps forming across your skin.  The adoration in his eyes falters briefly, the lingering green fading to black, giving way to a dark, ancient sorrow.

“I think,” he continues, “it’s a glimpse of what heaven must feel like.  A small piece of divinity passed down to you from your ancestor.”

His fingers release your chin, but the vulnerability remains, if not slightly muted due to the distance imposed by the lack of physical contact.

“I am different from Lucifer and his brothers in that I was never an angel.  I came into existence exactly as I am, and as such I’ve never known divinity.  And yet... despite never knowing it, there is still a strange... hunger for it.  It is a peculiar thing to miss something you’ve never known.”

“You... long for Heaven?” you ask him.

Barbatos tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze absent somewhere past your shoulder. “Not so much Heaven the place. It’s more so the purity, the grace, to feel that sense of wholeness that the divine offers. It’s why we are drawn to human souls.  Angels, you see, are far too potent. Too much divinity hurts a demon; it can even kill them.  But you... you humans have just enough of both worlds within you to allow us a taste.  It can be rather addictive, especially for younger demons who have not yet had enough millennia to control their hunger.”

His pupils dilate in the dark as he refocuses his gaze.  His eyes meet yours and linger for a moment before slowly drawing down to your parted lips.  “You are a rare case indeed.  More potent in your divinity than the average human, but not enough to hurt.”

You quirk a smile at him.  “Barbatos, are you saying I’m irresistible?”

It is a joke, one you feel comfortable making because of its ridiculousness.  But then he gives you a smile you’ve never seen before that makes your stomach drop and your body awash with heat.  There’s a directness in it, a challenge presented in a wry upward turn of the lips and the glint of teeth in the faint starlight.

“Perhaps,” he says.

You try to brush him off with a scoff and break eye contact, feigning interest in the shape of the black leaves that arch over the both of you in the darkness.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” you mutter.

“Oh? You don’t believe me,” he comments. “Perhaps there is more I can do to convince you then.”

Your heartbeat falters, tripped by hope, and you keep your eyes above and around lest you combust right in front of him. 

“Convince me?” you question.

You’re attempting to feign indifference, to protect yourself from the inevitable rejection you know is coming, because surely he’s not... he doesn’t mean.... he wouldn’t... that look in his eyes earlier... affection yes, but that can mean anything...

Barbatos takes your chin in his fingers and pulls gently until you have nowhere else to look but directly at him. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, into him.  There’s a flicker there, a glow of swirling green, like nebulae trapped within his vastness.

“Indeed,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath upon your parted lips.  You realize he’s closer than you anticipated, closer than ever before.

 Your lightheadedness is returning, and your genuinely afraid you’ll faint, so you force yourself to keep speaking.

“What kind of convincing?” you ask.

He smiles that smile again, the one that turns your insides molten.  “The kind that doesn’t require words, since you seem to doubt them so fervently.” 

His thumb draws gently across your lower lip, his half-lidded gaze transfixed.  “Would you like to be convinced?” he mutters.

You swallow and answer honestly. 

“Yes.”

Barbatos’s eyes return to yours and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile.  He closes what’s left of the distance, his warm lips capturing yours as his fingers release your chin in favor of gently cupping your jawline.

You close your eyes and reciprocate, your hand resting against his chest.

It’s gentle, soft, and for all of his heavy flirting just a moment ago, it is as unassuming as when he’d first held your hand.  It washes away the last dredges of worry, calms the ever-present unease that always lingers.  The clouds of your mind finally part, even if just for this moment, and for the first time in a long while, you feel feather-light as a peaceful warmth spreads from head to toe to the tips of your fingers.

When your lips part, Barbatos keeps his hand on your cheek and plants a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Now, believe me when I say you are beautiful.  Believe me when I say that you are good.  And most importantly, believe me when I say that I am always here for you.”

Your choked by emotion, your eyes once again burning, but this time for a different reason entirely.

“Even when I’m being sad and pathetic?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

Barbatos  puts his forehead against yours as his lips curve into a tender smile.

“Especially then.”

[copilot-crashout]

Could i request some general fluff x reader relationship headcanons for curly, both pre and post crash/recovered? Just pre-crash is okay too if you’re not comfortable writing for him post crash :)

Pairing: Pre-crash Captain Curly x gn!reader ; Post-crash Curly x gn!reader

Content Warning: None! [except Jimmy... Does he need a warning? (ᐡ๐ ·̫ ๐)〣 ] Post-crash Curly is slightly angsty, I hope that's okay! ♡

[A/N]: I'm hoping for more requests soon! I like writing for you all! More importantly, I hope you enjoy reading! ( ⩌⩊⩌)✧ I truly hope my love for these characters shines through my writing...

(PRE-CRASH) CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> #1 wife guy. He'd go giddy if you got him a mug about how much he loves you (or anything of the sort). He would love to match with you. He'd have a pair of matching pyjamas at home and a set of matching keychains attached to his keys. Has a picture of you both from a date you went on before working on the Tulpar in his leather wallet. He keeps it on him at all times and stares at it when he feels especially bad.

-> Jimmy rolls his eyes and sinks back into his chair when he watches Curly look at the picture like a man who's been at war for a decade.

-> Anya can only giggle when she glances at the two of you in the kitchen before your shifts start, voices hushed as Curly presses a soft kiss to your forehead before the day starts.

-> Swansea grumbles whenever he sees you two getting overly affectionate, you leaning against Curly during a heated game night aboard the ship. His demeanor changes when he notices the familiar glimmer of adoration in Curly's eyes, reminding him of how he felt about his wife back on Earth. At least you two didn't have to deal with long-distance dating.

-> Daisuke hopes to have a relationship like yours! He playfully banters with Curly, asking how he pulled someone like you. Wants to hear everything about your relationship. Treats you two like his pseudo-parents, giving you a sneaky wink whenever he steals another sweetener packet, a shared promise not to tell Curly.

-> Much more affectionate in private. He still needs to play captain, after all. Professionalism is important in the workplace! He's the type to play soft music in the background while you both relax, holding each other under thin blankets as he places gentle kisses on any part of you he can reach, stubble tickling your skin. He loves to hold your hand in any way but enjoys more subtle touches (like locking pinkies together). When walking with you in the dim halls, he places a gentle hand on the small of your back to let you know he's there.

-> However, his idea of love causes him to be more reserved when it comes to his problems. He does trust you! He just doesn't want to sag you down with his issues. He's the Captain. He should be strong enough to handle his burdens. You'd have to comfort him and remind him that it's okay to talk it through. Your willingness to help him only makes his love deeper.

-> A huge sap for the cheesy and romantic. Surprise him with breakfast in bed, and he's pondering whether to marry you now or after he finishes eating. Dreams of your future together, too. A small family in a quaint, little home with friendly neighbours. Don't want kids? How about some pets to keep you company?

-> Loves to tease you. He wants to see you smile, especially because of him. Expect feather-light touches on your waist that make you shiver, followed by a deep chuckle at your reaction. He leaves his post early (relying on his co-pilot and Tulpar's autopilot system to pick up his slack) to visit you, ensuring you're "doing your tasks correctly." Not to see you jump at his voice or when he places his large hand on your shoulder. Not at all!

(POST-CRASH) CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> He's sorry. He's so, so, sorry.

-> Initially, the pain of his injuries causes him to cry. Eventually, the thoughts of you burn more than the searing pain that reminds him of his consciousness. He weeps as if he has truly lost you, for how could someone love a man so misguided?

-> If you ever visit him, he feels sick. How could you still want to see him after all this? He was a failure of a man, yet here you were with a kind smile as if nothing happened.

-> He'd love to hear your voice. It was more pleasant than the silence of the Medical Bay or from Jimmy's ramblings. How were the crew? How were you? He'd feel especially guilty if you talked about your relationship and what you hoped they could do before the crash. The date plans, the simple times spent together. He could dream of it, still.

-> Read him a story. It'll help him sleep easier. It reminds him of those nights when the two of you chatted about nothing, dozy and delirious off each other's presence, lulling yourselves into a comfortable sleep when Pony Express couldn't care enough to provide a good sleeping quarter.

-> His heart breaks at the sight of you dishevelled, tired of surviving on the Tulpar. He wished he had his hands back to gently trace the curves of your face and hold you close to him as you forgot about the world. He still tries to comfort you, a garbled noise here, or a small movement of his arm to try and show his support.

-> As he recovers back on Earth, he'd be ecstatic to have you by his side. Having you by his side was the quickest way for him to recover.

-> If he recovers his voice, the first thing he says is a quiet thank you and a simple "I love you." The apologies came later. He just needed to make sure you knew how lucky he was to have someone so perfect.

-> Likely during recovery, I'd imagine him needing some kind of service animal. It may not be the kids he was hoping for, but having you and a pet was something he only dreamt about while staring into the fake sunset.

-> He becomes much more open about his emotions. The pain of not being able to vocalise them is one he never wants to face again. Tender nights and open communication become commonplace in your relationship.

-> He's still the #1 wife guy, only cranked up to 1000. If you thought he was bad before, you haven't seen the man now. If he ever gets drunk, he sobs about how much he loves you to anyone in his vicinity. He could do it sober but doesn't want to embarrass you (too much). He takes the time to learn your favourite recipes, making them when he can and makes sure to compliment you at least once a day. He just wants you to love yourself the way he loves you!

-> Your time together is peaceful and he wouldn't want it any other way.