#I really need to stop staring at this and just post it

[plethorawrites]

How would the vampire Batboys react if their GN human partner/reader offers them their blood? Maybe reader offers because the boys aren’t lookin’ good/aren’t drinking enough as they should, or maybe reader offers as a way to show them their trust, or build intimacy? :3c

Yes!! I did something similar with Dick previously, but I can totally see this concept with the others as well. (TW: Mention of blood)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

Bruce: Deep down, I think he'd always imagined feeding from you one day. Maybe as some fantasy or maybe a part of him just knew you well enough to know you'd offer. It wouldn't phase him much, but he'd be elated internally. Still tender, though. He'd make sure you had a glass of wine or tea or something beforehand and sit you in his lap, having you lean your head against his shoulder to expose your neck and he'd definitely hold it firmly the entire time, even when you started to squirm in pain.

Dick: Like in a previous post, I think he'd limit his use of drinking from his partner because he's worried about losing control/getting addicted. It's a treat or a desperate measure and he has to really focus on your heartbeat and how hard you're gripping his arm to make sure you're not starting to panic or lose too much blood. Afterwards, it would just be continuous praise, thanking you over and over and muttering how much he loves you and how he promises to never take too much from you.

Jason: Is terrified when you suggest it. He's spent his whole life being viewed as a monster, even in his own eyes and once finding someone who doesn't immediately fear him, he doesn't want to ever risk making you change your mind. But he's lethargic, out of blood bags in the fridge, and too tired to go find a fresh source. You're right there; of course it makes sense. He's still apprehensive the entire time, physically in pain when he keeps himself from indulging but refuses to let himself. Instead, every single sharp inhale or slight whimper of pain makes him stop, even if it hurts, to check on you.

Tim: Has to do a double take, making sure he'd heard you correctly. But when you nod a second time, his open jaw closes, turning into a grin. He wouldn't pounce right away, not wanting to seem too eager, even if he was. But a few days later, when you're over, cuddling in his bed, he'd be tracing your neck like he often did, imagining how it would taste. His breath would be warm when he whispers in your ear, asking you if you would let him have a snack. Of course you would nod. And of course he would take your hand, letting you squeeze it as tightly as you needed to when he sunk his fangs into your neck, humming in content, just leaving them there for a moment. He adored the puncture marks that lingered for a week.

Damian: Would be confused, at first. He'd stop in the middle of whatever he was doing— training, getting ready for bed, etc. and just stare. You were his partner, not his blood bag. Why would he put you in a position where he could hurt you when he was meant to protect you? It takes some explaining from you, telling him how you want to know what it feels like and for him to know you trust him, that he even entertains the thought. He's still hesitant, but at your request and his own hunger, he tries. He has to pause when you make a sound of pain, but doesn't stop until he's satisfied and you're dizzy. Then, he just wraps his arms around you, kissing the puncture marks to erase the remaining blood.

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY UPCOMING POST.

COCKY.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself.

Preview under the cut!

...

Chris Bang is a name everyone in the company knows. As a product manager, he’s known for his reliability, innovative ideas, and ability to bring projects to life. He’s respected, well-liked, and a natural leader. A social butterfly who effortlessly navigates through the office, friendly to everyone he meets.

You, on the other hand, have only ever interacted with him in passing—polite nods, brief greetings when you cross paths in the hallway. So when you receive an invitation to meet him in his office, you can’t help but wonder why he suddenly wants to talk to you.

A few minutes before four, you find yourself lingering outside Chris’s office, nervously shifting on your feet. You check your watch, heart thumping. A little after four, Chris finally appears, offering an apologetic smile.

"My apologies for the delay," he says. "Please, come in."

You follow him inside, settling into the chair across from his desk as he takes his seat. He folds his hands on the desk, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss something regarding your research."

You nod, trying to keep your curiosity at bay. "Of course. How can I assist you?"

Chris watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The slight shift in his posture draws your attention—just enough to make you hyper-aware of the space between you.

“What specific criteria are you looking for in a participant for your product test?” His voice is even, measured, but there’s something in the way he asks that makes your breath hitch for just a second.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “The main requirement is that participants need to have a genital size above average.”

His lips quirk up slightly, though his expression remains composed. “And what qualifies as above average?”

You’re certain he already knows the answer, but you respond anyway, keeping your tone professional. “Anything more than 5.5 inches when fully erect is considered above average.”

A beat of silence stretches between you. Chris doesn’t say anything immediately, just sits there, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes the air feel heavier.

Then, finally, he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “I may have a solution to your participant problem,” he says, his voice lower now. “I would like to volunteer.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “You… what?”

“I want to be a participant for your product test.”

You blink, your mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. Your grip on your pen tightens as you try to process what he just said.

He nods. "I see potential in your product, and I believe in its success. More importantly, I want to contribute to the company’s innovation."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. "How exactly are you going to be a participant?"

Chris leans back slightly. "I ask that my involvement remains anonymous."

Your throat feels dry as you nod. "Alright. But how are we going to conduct the test if you want to remain anonymous?"

He watches you carefully before answering. "We can arrange to do it outside of the office, in secret."

Without another word, Chris pushes himself up from his chair and moves around the desk. He stops right in front of you, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you, waiting.

And that’s when it happens.

For the first time, you really look at him—not just as a well-respected product manager but as a man. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his fitted white dress shirt does absolutely nothing to hide the definition underneath. How had you never noticed before?

Your eyes trail lower before you can stop yourself, a fleeting glance—until you realize exactly where you’re looking. The bulge against his dark slacks.

Heat floods your face as you snap your gaze back up, praying he didn’t catch that momentary lapse in professionalism.

Chris doesn’t comment on it, but there’s something almost amused in the way he tilts his head. He extends a hand toward you, expectant.

“So? Do you agree to this arrangement?” he prompts.

“Yes,” you regret for answering too quickly, making you sound way too eager. When in fact, you're just glad to finally solve the problem but also, yeah, okay, you can’t lie, you're a bit curious about something, about Chris.

Your fingers wrap around his, and as you shake hands, you feel it. The shift. The undercurrent of something you can’t quite name just yet.

...

COCKY full fics will be released this Friday, March 7.

Or you can read it early on my Patreon page!

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel pt.2

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst, some fluff (maybe, hopefully!) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide. A/N: I hope this doesn't feel too rushed! I'm still trying to figure out a good pacing of how I should break these up without them being too long or too short. Posted too quickly or not quick enough, so any advice would be very welcomed and appreciated! I hope I did Sylus justice with his responses, I just took what I would want to hear essentially. But, Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album is so Sylus coded. I got so many ideas for other fics, so stay tuned! And again, please please please take sweet care of yourselves! 💗

Prev

The chime echoes through the apartment, and for a moment there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shuffle of movement inside. Sylus exhales, fingers softly tapping on the doorframe while he waits. He already knows. He had known the moment communication stopped, when his calls went to voicemail, when even the short, tired texts faded into silence. At first, he assumed you were just busy, needing space. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—if it were up to you, you wouldn’t come back at all. He began doing his own investigation, looking up the traits you portrayed usually compared to these moments of time and he found his answer. So, he started paying attention. Comparing your usual habits to these stretches of absence. Watching for the patterns. Having Mephisto follow you to your therapist’s office had only confirmed what he already suspected.

As advised, he gave you time—three days, exactly. Then the calls began, gentle and steady, each one a quiet pull back to him. Each time, he waited for you to let him in, to say something. But instead, he got excuses. Busy with work. Out with friends. His personal favorite: just sleeping. It’s almost amusing, how you seem to forget he has your location. He always knows where you are. 

Sylus toys with the key in his hand, should he, or shouldn’t he? Would this cross a line? You had given this to him for an emergency, wouldn’t this be considered one? It has been a full week without hearing from you. He never lets it go this long but work held him up so he couldn’t do his usual routine. He continued to ponder the ethics of his decision until he heard it, movement. A sign of life behind the door that still won’t open up for him. That’s it, he decides and inserts the key. 

As the door swings open, a gust of stale air hits him, thick with stillness. His eyes immediately scan the space, searching for the life he just heard. But as he steps inside, it’s clear- the main rooms haven’t been touched in days, especially the kitchen. He moves toward the bedroom when the bathroom door suddenly swings open. 

Both of you freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking in the hollowed eyes, the tangled hair, the way your clothes sit wrong on you—looser in some places, clinging in others— like they were meant to fit differently but now just hang, like an afterthought. His chest tightens—not in disgust, never that— but in a quiet, constrained ache. He swallows it down, he knows letting you see that pain won’t help. Instead, he inhales, careful, and controlled. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears it. 

Get out 

The words reach him, but his mind trips over them, grasping for meaning. 

For a second, all Sylus processes is the sound of your voice—hoarse, unsteady, faint, as if it took all your energy to speak at all. His mind is still trying to catch up, to piece everything together. But that’s when he really sees you. The way you stand there stiffly, eyes shining with unshed tears, flickering to anything that isn't him. As if meeting his gaze would break your resolve. The tension in your jaw, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders hunched forward, as if you’re shielding yourself from him. And then he sees it—fear. Shame. They were there all along, laced with the exhaustion and neglect. Deeply settled, lingering long before he walked in the door. He had been so focused on finding you, making sure you were safe, that he hadn’t realized—you didn’t want to be found. Not like this. 

The tightness in his chest twisting further, a quiet reminder of his mistake. Instead, he exhales in that same rehearsed way.

"Sweetie," he tries again. His voice was low, full of gentleness. Less of a greeting, more of a reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. 

You just shake your head, a silent refusal, as if willing for him to disappear. Your stance is firm, guarded. But Sylus isn't someone who retreats at the first sign of a challenge. Especially not when it's you. 

"I know kitten, I know you don't want me to see you like this. And I know you think that pushing me away will make everything easier for you, for me. But it won't, it hasn't. You don't have to do this alone." 

He sees the tears start to fall, a quiet surrender that he takes as a response. Without hesitation, he continues, his voice softer but unwavering.

Taking a small step forward, slow yet deliberate as he speaks, "Just focus on me for a second, okay? Forget about everything else, it's just us. Can you breathe with me, my love?" As he demonstrates with measured, even breaths. Never forcing, just offering, hoping it will bring your attention back to the present instead of whatever thoughts you're trapped in.

He notices the way your hunched shoulders drop, relaxing slightly, and how your clenched arms finally loosen their grip on your body. He continues to encourage you, taking slow, careful steps closer. 

"You don’t have to do anything big. I’m not here with any expectations. Why don’t we just sit down? We don’t have to talk, I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay." His voice is soft, low, coaxing. 

Sylus notices the immediate shift in your demeanor as you register his close proximity-the shield coming back as your body goes rigid once again. You close back in on yourself and take a step back. 

You should go. I stink and I'm sure I look horrific; you mutter as your hand comes up to your face to shield it. His heart pangs, but he doesn't let his expression falter. He can't afford to let you see how much it hurts him that you're hiding from him like this. He takes another small step closer, never pushing, just allowing the space between the both of you to remain as it is. He doesn't want to make you feel trapped, but he wants to show you, prove to you, that he's not leaving.

"Kitten," his voice steady and carrying a weight of reassurance deeper than words can convey. "I'm not leaving. If I wanted to, I would. You know I don't do things I don't want to. But I'm here, for however long you want me around. I'm yours." 

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" you ask, voice cracking. "Look at me, smell me, Sylus. Jesus Christ I'm disgusting. Why would you want to stay? Are you nuts?" 

"It's been suggested," he cuts in, his tone remaining gentle yet firm. Finally, you look up at him, and the anger in your gaze takes him by surprise but he holds his ground. 

"You just don't get it," you emphasize, your words sharp and full of frustration. "What's there to get?" he wonders but doesn't dare to speak it. "Sweetie," he says tenderly, "if this is you at your worst, then I've suffered far worse than this. You think I haven't smelled, or hit rock bottom before? When I did-or if I do sometime in the future, would you leave me? Would you push me away" 

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation. His lips quirk into a soft smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispers, watching you closely, waiting for your response. You hesitate, then barely nod, just enough for him to catch it. He takes your hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your face scrunches up, a grimace of discomfort, but the smile on his lips remains warm and unwavering. 

"How about this," he continues, his voice calm and coaxing, "I'll make you something small to eat. You don't have to finish it. Just one bite. No pressure."  

You pause, your mind working through his offer. Until, after a moment, your shoulders sag in defeat, and with a sigh, you agree. Your hand still secured in his, he leads you to the kitchen, placing another kiss on the top of your head before turning to the fridge to pull out what little food there is. 

"After we eat, can you shower with me?" The words barely escape your lips, so faint that for a moment he's unsure he heard them. He looks at you, hoping his love for you radiates in his gaze.

"Of course," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever you want, my dove." He watches as the faintest of smiles flicker across your face, the kind of smile he's willing to wait for, no matter how long it takes. 

Tag list: @withering-dream @madam8 @t4naiis @sunhooniez

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired Stalker AU

AKA "Tim Drake is a little obsessive, possessive, and really, really likes his new boyfriend (Danny)" prompt idea!! No non-con, violence, or dead doves. Brief reference to human experimentation.

Inspired by this one post where Tim kept a methodical journal of Danny's resting pulse, body temperature, weaknesses, tracked him literally all the time, and Danny was like *heart-eyes* (I can't find the post now but please, I need it-)

I like the idea of Tim's idea of love being completely a bit skewed. He was neglected as a kid and craved attention, affection, being wanted; so, understandably, he assumes that's what other people want, too. He'd only had one boyfriend before. Kon was sarcastic, funny, and sweet, but even he couldn't handle Tim's... staring. The unblinking intensity in those eyes, the hundreds of pictures of himself on Tim's phone, somehow Tim knowing about Kon's conversations and experiences without having been there.

Needless to say, Tim and Kon's relationship ended with a harsh reiteration that most people need boundaries.

So, when Tim meets this very cute messy-haired boy at Gotham-U, he shoves down the instinctive urge to know everything. Mentally captures moments, memorizes them, instead of taking pictures. Shoves earbuds in to avoid listening in on Danny's conversations (oh, his name's Danny, which he overheard when the boy was speaking with the TA).

It's so hard not to obsess, though. Danny is... well, he's haunting. His crystalline eyes make Tim's heart stutter in his chest, chills rising along his arms; he swears there's this aura around Danny that's just utterly compelling. (Stop it, Tim, you'll scare him off.) But Tim can actually be a person sometimes, so he just asks, "Do you want to go out for coffee with me sometime?" And he's psyched when Danny says yes!! (He tries really, really hard not to memorize the fact that Danny likes hot oatmilk chai lattes, uses his left hand to hold his drink, and prefers not to use a coffee sleeve. Does Danny always hold his cups by the lid? Does he prefer- Tim stops himself.)

And Tim is a great boyfriend!! They go on dates (he doesn't avidly stare at the way Danny's eyes sparkle while at Gotham-U's planetarium). Tim learns Danny's favorite music the normal way (he doesn't hack into Danny's Spotify... although he's suddenly found himself listening to an artist named Ember). And Tim has a totally normal album of pictures of his boyfriend on his phone (his burner phone is a different matter entirely, but not even Batman himself could get it unlocked. Tim's got that phone sealed up tighter than the Fortress of Solitude).

Except Tim notices Danny becoming more withdrawn. More tired, dark bags under his eyes and stealing Tim's double espresso (he never does that, it's too bitter for him, why isn't he drinking his oatmilk latte?). Leaning his head on Tim's shoulder during lectures to take naps. And Tim's becoming more frantic the more lethargic Danny becomes.

Maybe he's more like Bruce "Contingency Plan" Wayne than he's willing to admit. Tim sets a hard boundary for himself: I'm just going to Google his symptoms. That's it.

He spends the next 42 hours obsessively researching Danny: hacks into his phone, downloads all his previous location history, texts, calls, background checks everybody Danny's been in contact with. Re-traces his steps down to the minute, finds all his Google searches, activates Danny's laptop webcam. He's determined to find out what's wrong with his boyfriend.

And because Tim is Red Robin, who literally became part of the Batfam because of his stalking tendencies and is one of the greatest detectives since Batman, he finds out. He finds out that Danny Fenton is one Phantom, a vigilante from Amity; finds obscure clips of newspapers mentioning a young boy's tragic death, discovers the GIW, uncovers classified information containing metahuman experimentation (let's say he doesn't quite know about Ghosts, but Metas are close enough).

Somehow, he makes a connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus Pit (maybe not necessarily the right connection, but something-adjacent). After all, Jason was resurrected via "Evil Baja Blast" and Ra's al Ghul used it to make himself immortal. It would make sense that the GIW could sample Lazarus Pit water and use it to experiment on metahumans. So... Does Danny just need more Lazarus Pit water?

Cue Tim making use of the Drake and Wayne family wealth to literally overnight mason jars full of Lazarus water. Ra's al Ghul has no idea how it happened. He tests the reaction of Danny's DNA and the Lazarus water only to realize he was right. (Lazarus Pit waters are just excessively concentrated ambient ectoplasm, I guess?)

Tim does what any good boyfriend would do and spikes Danny's oatmilk lattes with Lazarus Pit water. And it helps. Danny is suddenly so much more energetic, there's that glittering shine to his eyes, and he looks so much healthier. Happier. Tim can't stop staring at him. If anything, he stares more, tries to memorize every angle of his boyfriend's face; he collects more candid pictures than before, always catching the gentle curl of Danny's lips when he's distracted; doesn't disengage the tracking apps or phone mirroring software.

He's just happy that his boyfriend is feeling better, more like himself. It's just a perk that Danny doesn't know about Tim's minor stalking tendencies.

(Danny absolutely knows.)

[gf2bellamy]

hi, angel! your writing is beautiful and i hope it’s okay that i ask for a request. i was wondering if i could get some hurt/comfort of ANY FORM but i would particularly enjoy reader comforting spencer. maybe they find him high as a kite in his apartment and they help him sober up and they take care of him (s2) or maybe he has a terrible nightmare involving reader and they calm him down (s12 post-prison). who knows! it’s all up to you. thank you again!

nightmares — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer has nightmares , also mention of spencer not sleeping a/n: hiii !!<333 i hope you like this :)

You weren’t really paying attention to whatever science fiction show was playing—just a random episode of something Spencer had put on earlier.

It had been a nice evening. Garcia and Luke had stopped by, the four of you laughing over takeout containers and easy conversation in Spencer’s apartment. Hours had slipped away without notice, and by the time Garcia and Luke decided to head home, it was very late.

Now, it was just you and Spencer. Well, Spencer was fast asleep.

You sat curled up in his armchair, your legs tucked beneath you, watching him from across the room. His head rested against a pillow on the couch, his breath steady and slow. Loose curls fell over his face, shifting slightly every time he exhaled.

For a moment, you considered going home. You could slip out quietly, head back to your own bed and let him sleep undisturbed.

But the thought of him waking up to an empty apartment made you hesitate.

You knew how much silence could sometimes feel suffocating to him, how loneliness could creep in during the quiet hours of the night.

So, instead, you leaned back against the chair, resting your head against the plush fabric, willing yourself to stay awake just a little longer.

Just in case he stirred. Just in case he needed someone there when he did.

Some time had passed, and you were pretty sure you had dozed off for a few seconds when a sound from the couch jolted you back to awareness. Blinking away the haze of sleep, you turned your head, rubbing your eyes as you tried to focus.

Spencer shifted restlessly, his body twitching, his breath coming faster.

At first, you thought he was simply stirring, but as you watched, confusion giving way to concern, you realized—he was having a nightmare.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should wake him. Spencer didn’t talk much about his nightmares, but you knew he had them.

Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the armchair, stepping lightly toward the couch. His face was tense, brows furrowed, his lips moving as he muttered something under his breath—words you couldn’t quite catch.

“Spencer,” you said softly, reaching out to graze his arm, your fingers barely brushing against the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t wake. If anything, he tensed further, his body practically curling in on itself.

Your heart clenched.

This time, you gripped his arm a little more firmly, shaking him gently but with purpose. “Spencer,” you repeated, voice a little steadier now.

His breath hitched, his body stiffening beneath your touch. And then, all at once, his eyes flew open.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You both just stared at each other, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the shadows of whatever nightmare had gripped him still lingering in his eyes.

Spencer sat up slightly, shifting so there was space for you to sit at the edge of the couch. Hesitantly, you lowered yourself down, your fingers twitching at your sides, unsure if you should reach for him again.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, running a shaky hand through his curls, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t apologize,” you said softly, watching as his fingers trembled slightly in his hair. You hesitated before adding, “Are you okay?”

A stupid question, you realized the second it left your lips. Of course, he wasn’t. How could he be?

It had only been a few months since he got out of prison, but the weight of it still clung to him. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed at sudden noises, in the way his eyes darted around unfamiliar spaces as if searching for an escape.

And in moments like this—when sleep wasn’t an escape but a trap, forcing him to relive things he never spoke about.

He let out a slow breath, dropping his hand from his hair. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickered to yours for a moment before he looked away, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting to keep himself together.

Your chest ached. You wanted to say something that would make it better, something that would chase away whatever ghosts were haunting him. But words felt useless.

So instead, you reached for his hand.

He tensed at first—just a slight, instinctive reaction—but then, after a beat, he let you take it. His fingers were warm against yours.

“I… I couldn’t save you,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “In the dream, you were… and I couldn’t…” He trailed off, his grip tightening on your hand as if he were afraid you might disappear.

Your heart broke a little at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “Spencer,” you said softly, waiting until he opened his eyes to look at you. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to save me because I’m already safe. We’re safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice cracking.

“Stop apologizing,” you said gently.You traced his fingers lightly, barely a whisper of touch.

“I’m sorry you have them,” you murmured, your voice quiet, almost unsure. Your eyes flickered downward, focusing on the way your fingers tangled together.

Spencer followed your gaze, watching your hands with an unreadable expression. He was sitting more upright now.

He was silent for a long moment before exhaling through his nose, shaking his head. “They’re… inevitable,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “I’ve had nightmares before. But these…” He trailed off, his fingers twitching against yours.

“These are different,” you finished for him.

He swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.”

You didn’t ask for details. You didn’t press. If he wanted to tell you, he would. If he needed the space to keep it to himself, you’d give him that, too.

Still, you wanted to help—somehow.

“What do you do when you have them?” you asked softly. You were certain this wasn’t the first time he’d had nightmares about prison.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a second before he answered. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” you repeated, your heartbeat picking up as you felt his grip tighten slightly around your hand. His thumb absentmindedly traced slow, careful circles against your skin, and you had to remind yourself to focus.

“I just stay awake after having them,” he admitted, his voice quiet. His eyes flickered toward the television before settling back on your entangled hands.

You frowned. “Well, that’s not healthy.”

A ghost of a smile almost—almost—touched his lips. “I don’t think nightmares care much about health,” he murmured.

You sighed, shifting slightly so you were angled toward him more. “Still, you can’t just stay awake all night every time.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but his fingers stilled against yours, and you could tell he was thinking about it.

“I don’t think you should stay awake now,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain. “It’s not good for you. And I’m worried about you, Spence.”

You had been suppressing the urge to reach for him all night, resisting the pull of wanting to smooth his unruly curls.

But now, you let yourself give in. Gently, you brushed a few strands of hair away from his face, tucking them behind his ear.

Spencer exhaled sharply, to tell you that you didn’t need to worry about him. “You don’t have to be—”

“But I am,” you whispered, your fingertips grazing lightly against his temple before you pulled back.

An idea formed in your mind, and before you could say it, Spencer must have already guessed where your thoughts were headed.

“No, you don’t have to—” he started, already shaking his head.

“Maybe it’ll help,” you interrupted, standing up, your hand still holding his. You didn’t let go. “Unless… you don’t want to?”

Spencer hesitated for only a second before following your lead, standing as well. “No, I want to, I just—” He swallowed, his voice quieting. “What if I have another nightmare and wake you up?”

You were already gently pulling him toward his bedroom, your fingers laced with his. You looked back at him, offering the smallest smile.

“I don’t mind.”

And you meant it.

You pulled him into his bedroom, where the bedcovers were neatly tucked in. As you let go of his hand, the reality of the situation began to settle in. Nervousness bubbled up in your chest.

You quickly pulled the covers back, trying to focus on the simple task of making the bed look comfortable.

He sat on the bed first, scooting over to give you room. You followed, sliding in beside him.

Spencer laid his head back on the pillow, his eyes closing briefly. You did the same, but the silence stretched for a moment longer than usual.

Then, as if by some silent agreement, you both turned your heads at the same time.

You met his eyes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Your hair is so chaotic,” you said softly in a playful tone.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a smile too. “I know,” he replied, his voice light. “It’s like it has a mind of its own.”

You laughed quietly, the sound low and warm between you.

And without thinking, you reached over, your fingers gently pushing a few stray curls from his forehead. He didn’t pull away, letting you fix it, the touch soft and almost reverent.

“You’re lucky I like chaos,” you murmured, the smile still lingering as you brushed your fingers through his hair for a second longer than you intended.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he turned slightly toward you, the space between you now much smaller than before. His hand found yours, fingers brushing lightly, sending warmth flooding through you.

“Thanks for staying,” he said quietly.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in response. “Of course.”

After a beat, he shifted, and before you even realized it, his body had turned toward yours, his arm pulling you gently closer. You didn’t resist, your body responding instinctively, finding comfort in the warmth of him beside you.

Slowly, you both became a tangle of limbs, your head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension leave your body as Spencer’s breathing slowed beside you. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, the motion soothing.

The next morning, the soft light from the window gently woke you up. Your eyes opened slowly, still heavy with sleep, but then you realized after a moment that Spencer was already awake.

He was tracing soothing circles on your back, his gaze fixed on something in the distance, lost in thought.

You stirred slightly in his arms, and his attention shifted, his eyes landing on you. He watched you for a moment before you finally lifted your head, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice low and groggy, as his hand brushed a few strands of hair away from your face.

“Hi,” you whispered back, smiling softly but resisting the urge to just close your eyes again and fall back to sleep against his chest.

There was a brief moment of silence between you both. Spencer’s fingers continued their slow, calming motion on your back, but then he spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“I didn’t have any nightmares,” he said, his words tentative but hopeful, as if he was waiting for confirmation.

A rush of happiness flooded through you, you sat up, crossing your legs in front of you. You turned toward him with a wide, genuine smile, your heart skipping a beat.

“Really?” you asked, your eyes sparkling as you looked at him.

“Really,” Spencer nodded, his voice still soft but with an edge of relief in it.

You couldn’t help but smile even wider, the warmth in your chest spreading. “I’m so glad, Spence,” you said, your voice filled with genuine happiness.

Spencer seemed to search your face for a moment, then his hand reached out to rest gently on yours, fingers interlacing. He gave you a small but sincere smile.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You squeezed his hand gently. "Anytime," you replied softly, your eyes meeting his. "I’ll always be here."

And in that moment, Spencer realized just how much you meant to him, how much peace you’d brought into his life, even when he wasn’t asking for it.

[h8aaz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . .

❝ 𝐀��𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ ❞

pretty much the same premise as demonknife!reader, in which: a witch turns one of the winchesters' weapons into a human.

when the boys brought her back to their bunker, the blade-turned-girl immediately lunged at castiel, having to be held back by dean.

"what, you're completely against angels?" dean gruffed as his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her up as she thrashed around.

"i am an angel blade! do you think i do not want to do my job?!" she yelled angrily, kicking her legs.

"okay- OKAY! i get it, i get it, you wanna kill him but- OW! okay, stop- YOU CAN'T KILL HIM, ALRIGHT?!" dean shouted, making her halt her movements as she stared down the confused angel.

"why not?" she questioned with a slow turn of her head, looking at the older winchester, the younger one behind him.

"because he's our friend,"

"but he is an ang-"

"we need him."

his words made her huff before he spoke again, more softly this time, "and we need you."

she pouted and batted her eyelashes a few times with a stern stare. she let out a small 'hmph!' before pushing herself out of dean's muscular arms, falling to her feet from his strong hold.

"fine." she glared at castiel while dusting off the large, buttoned-up shirt dean had put onto her bare form when she first turned. "but i do not approve of this. i will kill him if he makes a wrong move." she flared her nostrils.

"i...do not understand what's happening here. she said she was an angel blade? and will kill me? dean, is this true?" castiel gave the girl an awkward glance while sam sighed.

"yeah, she is. it's, uh, gonna be a bit to explain." the young winchester pursed his lips.

"sit down, cas. it's storytime." dean told the angel with a strained, sarcastic smile while taking the human blade to a seat across from sam and castiel, choosing to sit next to her on the other side of the table to easily restraint her.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 .ᐟ

♱ facts!

more coming soon . . .

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . me when i make two new readers despite not finishing/posting the first writings for my other reader :3 the intro for this sucks compared to the other one but tbh i don't really care, i just need these ideas out there!!!

she's inspired by @daylighted's baby!reader, where baby the car gets turned into baby the girl. i absolutely love their series for her and it got me thinking about the angel blade + ruby's knife— which i have posted here!!

special tags!: @j2archives @sunsbaby @dulcescorderitas @deansbeer @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @immodestly-marina @titsout4jackles

dividers were made by me!!

© 𝐇𝟖𝐀𝐀𝐙 — don't copy or repost without MY permission!!

[ov6rheated]

worst behavior

summary: billie had a surprise for you before you went out.

warnings: oral r!receiving, strap-on, fingering, teasing, masturbation, mommy kink (lmk if i missed some)

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD!! sorry for taking so long to post, i’ve been really unmotivated. also, ive seen your requests and i’ll write them soon.

it was a friday night, and you had got home from a long day just a few hours ago. whenever you got home, you facetimed billie, but she never answered. it was bothering you but you just assumed she was busy.

after waking up from a small nap, she texted you. “busy rn baby. i’ll ttyl”

you hearted the message before getting ready to go out with some friends. after scanning your closet for thirty minutes, you picked a skin tight dress to wear. the dress made you think of billie because you knew that she loved this dress so much.

you did simple makeup and left your hair down, curling it. your friend was coming to pick you up and you check the time. you notice that you got ready too early. she was going to arrive at your place at nine o'clock, and it was still only eight o'clock.

after debating on how to kill time, you chose to catch up on a show. you constantly check your phone to see if billie texted you, but nothing. you check her location and see that she's driving. you had no idea where she was going, but you knew she'd text you after she reached her destination.

after 30 minutes, you heard your front door open, and you become startled. you thought someone was breaking in, and you stay quiet. you get up slowly and walk down the stairs, seeing Billie in the hallway. she's always had a key to your house just in case anything happens.

you stare at her and push her playfully before turning around and rolling your eyes at her. "gosh, billie. you didn't even tell me if you were coming over."

she was silent as she walked behind you. once you reached the bedroom, she closed the door, and you had no idea what was happening. you could feel her eyes on you, not sure how to react.

you gulp when you feel her body pressed against your back. she started kissing your neck and pulling your dress up your thighs. "b-billie..." you mutter. "hmm, baby?" her voice was like butter, and you knew exactly what this tone meant.

"you know i'm going out tonight. we can't." she chuckled once she heard you and shook her head.

"you're gonna have to text them and tell them you can't make it, mama. you're mine tonight. and gosh, this dress. it's stunning, but i wanna see what you look like without it." the longer she spoke, the wetter you got.

she kept kissing your neck and you reached for your phone, texting your friend. you told her that there was an emergency and you couldn't make it. you hated lying, but billie always came first.

she watched you text and she wouldn't stop smirking as you did. when you finally put the phone down, she smiled and said, "good girl."

she kept raising up your dress, swiping it off of you. she was teasing you, her movement soooo slow. “billie.”

she chuckles once she hears you and finally removed your dress, leaving you in your lace bra and thong. she lifted you up effortlessly and placed you on the bed, turning your body over.

billie just started scanning over your body, imagining how it would look in the next few minutes; all marked up and loved on.

she assaulted your neck first, moving her way down. eventually there was a trail of hickies down your stomach.

the entire time, you kept whimpering softly, and it only encouraged her more. you kept arching your back off of the mattress and kept craving more.

“beg.”

she could tell you needed more, but was nervous to ask. you became annoyed, and luckily, she couldn’t see your face as you laid back. you rolled your eyes and bit your lip, looking down at her. she looked back at you, tilting her head and smirking, trying to see how bad you wanted it.

“please, mommy.” she shook her head and chuckled.

“you can do better than that, mamas.” she mumbled.

you whined and threw your head back, biting your lip. “pleaseee, baby. i’ll be so good for you.”

“hmmm, that’s my girl.” you melted at her words, and you even nearly moaned.

she pressed her middle and ring finger against your clit through your thong, pulling a whimper out of you. she bit her lip as she searched for your expression, but you were laying back as she was on her knees. "look at me, mama."

you lift your head up, biting your lip as she looks at you. she finally pulls off your thong and sees how wet you are. she could smell your arousal, and it only turned her on more.

“fucks sake, y/n,” she says as she dips a finger in your heat.

your legs jump a little whenever you feel her finger effortlessly slide in. she was still teasing though, just keeping her finger there and looking.

“bills…” you whimper.

“nuh-uh. what do you call me, baby?”

“mommy… please.”

she leans forward and captures your clit in her mouth and sucks. her eyes roll back as you try to look down at her, and she makes eye contact with you. she added another finger inside of you and massaged you g-spot.

“b-baby. please, don’t stop.”

it was like she could read your body better than you could. she knew exactly how to bring you over the edge and make you see stars.

as she kept going, you swear that you were starting to see white. she was humming against your clit, stimulating you more and more.

you were moaning and whimpering so loud and you didn’t even notice that she was touching herself. you looked down and seen her eyes roll back. it only turned you on more and made you closer to your orgasm.

“mommy, i’m close,” you mutter.

she stops and looks up at you. “how bad do you want to cum, princess?”

“so bad baby.”

she leans down to kiss you and caresses your face before reaching under the bed to grab her strap-on. “don’t cum until i tell you to, okay?”

you nod, and she aligns her cock with your pussy. she moves slowly, teasing you. she knows you want it fast, but she couldn’t help but tease a little more. “tell me what you want, princess.”

“faster, please.”

she finally speeds up, and she watches your breasts bounce as she keeps going. you felt your orgasm coming already, clenching down on her cock to hold it in.

she could tell by how loud you were moaning that you were close. a smirk appeared on her face as she watched your face contort in pleasure. “billie, please. let me cum.”

she thrusts a few more times before letting you cum. “go ahead, princess.”

she loved when you were like this. she loved when you were on your worst behavior.

she watches you orgasm and smile at how pretty you looked. “my sweet girl,” she murmurs.

whenever you finally came down from your high, she took off her strap and cuddled next to you. she placed her hand on your waist, caressing your skin with her thumb.

the two of you sat there in silence as you both caught you both caught your breath. she finally broke the silence after a few minutes, checking up on you. “baby? you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum.

“you’re so pretty, baby.”

“thank you.” she could tell by your short answers that you were tired. she looked over at the time, noticing that it was 11 o’clock.

“go to sleep, princess.” she kisses your cheek before tucking you in and turning off the light.

“okay, baby.”

[lovelylittlegrim]

@steddiemicrofic - March 2025

Ride | Words: 453 | rating: Gen | CW: mentions of panic attack | post season 4 |

~~~~~~~~

It’s really late, or very early, Eddie doesn’t know which to use, all he knows is that it’s a ridiculous hour for anyone to be awake. It’s a ridiculous hour for anyone to be on the road, driving around just because Eddie had a nightmare and felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet…

The Beamer lights bounce off the rusting metal of the screen door and the rickety stairs Eddie is sitting on.

He’d called Steve less than twenty minutes ago, hoping to talk out his panic attack, work through the rushed breaths and the rapid pounding of his heart. Steve had listened, murmured quiet assurances through the line until Eddie didn’t feel like he was going to shake out of his skin anymore. When the panic had subsided and the exhaustion had settled in, Eddie had thanked Steve, fully planning to hang up. He’d expected to quietly deal with the rest of his night staring up at the ceiling and imagining the gateway to another dimension there. Steve hadn’t let him, stopping Eddie before he could say goodbye and asking if he wanted to go on a car ride.

“It’s really late,” Eddie had said.

“It’s early,” Steve had countered, like that made it better. “I’m on my way.”

And here he is.

Eddie stubbs his cigarette out, hands shaking even now, and steps off the porch, gravel crunching beneath his boots. “Hey.”

Steve smiles. “Let's get out of here.”

They do, pulling out of the trailer park, car pointed south to the outskirts of town where it’s all trees and open roads. The moon is bright above them, the sky full of stars. It’s just Eddie and Steve and the endless possibility of escape.

Head tipping back, Eddie enjoys the early summer breeze coming through the open windows. The smell of mulch and heat, nothing at all like the upside down. This feels real and good.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “I really needed to get out of there.”

“Anytime,” Steve says, soft and earnest. “I’m here anytime you need me.”

Eddie looks over, heart leaping. “Me too,” he murmurs, “anytime.”

He sees the soft smile when it graces Steve’s face, uncharacteristically shy. It makes Eddie want to protect him too, from monsters and shadows and his own mind when it gets too mean.

Something touches Eddie’s hand and he startles, looking down to where his hand is gripping to his knee. Steve’s hand is there too, hesitantly touching, a silent question.

Oh.

Eddie's heart stutters, nothing at all like panic, just surprise and affection. He twists his hand over, threads it with Steve’s, an answer.

They ride around until morning; until they’re both sleepy eyed and giddy with exhaustion. Eddie breathes easy.

[ohsc]

₊˚⊹♡ crybaby | sam winchester x reader

inspired by the song crybaby by searows

a/n - soooo i know i said my first fic back would be a smut fic but i’m a big fat liar and i’m posting this instead. i don’t think it’s amazing but it’s super self indulgent and after feeling shitty all week this is the result but the main thing is this is my first fic since november so whoop whoop!!

cws - fem!reader, 1.7k, established relationship, hurt/comfort, post-argument, crying, insecurity, unedited

other fics can be found on my masterlist

The pillow was cold and wet beneath her cheek from her tears. It was oddly comforting against the flush of her cheek. She’d always had obvious tells when she cried, it was something she hated. Her face would go red and her eyes would go puffy and there was simply no hiding it. People either asked what was wrong or pretended not to notice. She struggled to know whether people who didn’t ask did it out of sympathy or something much less kind.

Her red face and her puffy eyes and the glaring neon sign above her head that read crybaby was why she hadn’t left the safety of the bed, curled up under one of the blankets. The thought of Dean or Castiel seeing her so upset made her embarrassed to even think about, made her curl up tighter under the blanket as she blinked through some more tears.

Most of her crying had passed, no longer was she sobbing or shuddering through breaths that didn’t feel deep enough. Just some stray tears that slipped out of the corner of her eye, over the slope of her nose until it either fell on the pillow or it tickled against her skin too much and she wiped it away. Part of her wondered if it looked cinematic enough, that one stray tear. Did it make her look pretty? Movies had a knack of making pain look like art.

Sam knew she’d been crying, of course he did. He was the reason why she was curled up in her tears and misery in the first place. It really wasn’t often that they fought, neither of them could bear it. But she’d been struggling all week, a cloud over her head and a weight in her chest that wouldn’t shift, and Sam really had just been trying to help. But she’d felt smothered and snapped, and he’d gotten defensive, which turned into an argument that ended with him leaving to get some air and her sobbing into her pillow.

Sad didn’t seem like an apt enough word after the culmination of how she’d felt that week and the fight on top of it. It was a wonder she’d managed to stop crying at all.

The door creaked open behind her and she didn’t move, just stared at the wall she was facing as she blinked through another film of tears over her eyes. Sam didn’t like leaving her alone after they fought, how much he cared even when angry with her felt honestly undeserving. It made her want to break down again.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, almost nervous. She didn’t need to look to know he hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Are you asleep honey?”

She debated on pretending to be asleep just to wallow in her own misery for a little more, but she missed his touch and was selfish when it came to his comfort so she breathed out a soft, “No.”

“Can I come in? Or do you want to be left alone for a little while longer?”

The way she sniffled miserably felt like answer enough but she responded anyways. “No, no I don’t. Please come here.”

Embarrassed, she hadn’t turned to face him. Her cheek smushed into the pillow she fought with her trembling lip and watery eyes, hating the way just his presence was enough to set her off again. All of the anger had simmered away and just left guilt behind. It hadn't been his fault that she felt so awful.

“Alright, sweetheart,” his voice was so soft as he spoke. She heard the door click shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind her, the familiar weight of him settling on it behind her. “You’ve got me, I’m here.” His arm curled around her waist and he pressed himself up against her back. The contact was so soothing that she just sighed as he got settled, flush against her until all she could feel was the comfort of him wrapped around her much more efficiently than her blanket. His hand crept underneath her shirt until his large palm cupped her ribs, rubbing over the skin that was only for his eyes with the pad of his thumb.

The contact was so soothing that tears were building again almost straight away. After a long miserable week the last thing she’d wanted to do was fight with her soulmate, it felt like a blessing that he’d come back to her so quickly. It was such a relief that she supposed that was where the tears had come from. Her hand reached for the one he had against her chest as he held her, and squeezing tightly she breathed out all shuddery. Patient as ever he didn’t say anything, just gave her the room to breathe through her tears, comforting her in silence. What a skill it was for him to know her so dearly.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually murmured into the comfortable silence that they’d built for themselves. “I just… I’ve had such an off week and I shouldn’t have shouted at you I’m really sorry, it’s— the last thing I wanted to do was—”

Her voice started wavering again and he shushed her gently, planting a kiss against the back of her head. “You were overwhelmed,” he murmured softly. “You were overwhelmed and I was smothering you, right?”

She hesitated before nodding, a second wave of relief at just how well he knew her head and how her brain worked. It was often the case that Sam managed to rationalise her thoughts before even she could. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he murmured, a hand lifting to tuck her hair out of the way before he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. She swore her spine tingled as it travelled through to the bone. “But I also know that you didn’t mean to shout at me, you were just stressed.”

She sniffled again and nodded, rubbing at her eyes before giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Sam.”

“I know,” he cooed, voice so soft it felt like a caress against the back of her neck. “I know, honey. I love you, okay? We’re perfectly fine.”

“I love you too.” She whispered, lifting his hand up to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles, sealing her devotion with the press of her lips.

“There’s my girl,” Sam hummed, a few more kisses pressed to the back of her neck. “Can you turn over for me honey? I miss your pretty face.”

She huffed a breath into the pillow where she leaned a little more into, not moving. “I don’t look pretty right now I look like a crybaby.”

“Hey,” she didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he was frowning, she could hear it dripping off of his tone. “Don’t say that, you always look pretty, you look like my girl.”

Something about the sentiment made her heart flip in her chest and it warmed her enough to give in, sighing as she shuffled enough in his arms to roll over, blinking through any remaining tears to look up at him.

She watched in real time as he took it all in. The puffiness of her eyes, the flush on her skin, the wetness that still cling to her cheeks. Predictably, it didn’t deter him. He just sighed, a large palm cupped the side of her face as he stared. “Oh sweetheart,” he sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead as she nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. “My pretty girl. Can I kiss you?”

Her nod was automatic as she fought more tears. Something about the gentleness and adoration in his tone even when she was like that stirred up a feeling that lodged itself in her throat and made her eyes sting. She wasn’t sure it was possible that anybody had ever been loved as strongly and dearly as Sam loved her.

His thumb swept under her eye and caught some lingering wetness as he leaned in, and the press of his lips to hers was so delicate that it made her breathing shake as she exhaled against his mouth. The kiss was soft, as loving and careful as Sam was in his entirety. There was no lust or desperation lingering beneath the surface, it was simply sweet.

“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled back with one last final peck to her mouth. “You have no idea how dear you are to me.”

“Think I have some idea.” She smiled, earning one in return. She could’ve studied the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as his lashes kissed for hours.

He simply hummed as he stole another kiss. “We’ll go and get something to eat in a little while, okay?” He murmured softly. “But I thought it’d be nice if we read for a while.”

Nothing sounded better than being curled up in his arms and read to so she smiled as she nodded her head. “Sounds perfect to me.” She planted a kiss to the side of his neck just to seal the words in.

“Perfect.” Still smiling, Sam reached for his tattered copy of Frankenstein on his bedside table. It had been their reading pick for the last few days though they’d read it a few times together before, it had actually been the first book he’d read to her so it held a certain amount of sentimentality to it. She got settled against his chest and watched as he opened the book, one hand in her hair and one hand free to hold it up as he started reading. His chest rumbled beneath her ear with every word spoken, his voice and touch so soothing that she had to smile as she settled against him and listened to the story. She wasn’t sure that she could think of a better heaven.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list pls send me an ask letting me know what fics you’d like to be tagged for <3

@samsblades @angelicjackles

[serenityluvz]

𝗘𝗻𝗵𝘆𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗛𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗙𝗮𝗻 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

Heeseung – “Wait… This username looks familiar.”

Heeseung is scrolling through Twitter one night when he stumbles across a tweet that sounds a little too specific. "HEESEUNG BREATHING IS A RELIGION. I WILL PASS AWAY." – @luvseungie99

He tilts his head. Wait. He clicks on the account, scrolling through hundreds of posts dedicated to… him. The fan edits. The thirst tweets. The “Heeseung is my emotional support man” memes. And then he notices the way you always use the same emojis when texting him. His eyes widen. No way. "Y/N…?" The moment he shows you your own tweet, you scream, snatching his phone away. "DON’T LOOK AT THAT—" But it’s too late. Heeseung is already wheezing, gripping his stomach from laughing too hard. "So you really have a whole fan account dedicated to me?" he teases. You groan, hiding your face. "I HATE YOU."

"Nah," he grins, wrapping an arm around you. "You love me. You literally have a whole page about it."

Jay – “I KNEW IT.”

Jay suspected something was up when he saw you giggling over your phone. But he didn’t think much of it—until one day, he randomly clicks on a TikTok edit… and his face pops up. The caption? "POV: You're in love with Jay from Enhypen, and he doesn’t know you exist." The username? @jayzwife4ever

Jay chokes. His heart stops. The profile picture looks way too familiar. When he turns to you, his eyes are wide. "Baby… please tell me this isn’t your account." You freeze. "Haha… what? No way… that would be crazy, right?" Jay stares. You stare back. Silence. Then he lunges for your phone, and you scream, running away. "DON’T LOOK AT MY DRAFTS—"

Jake – “OMG YOU’RE MY MOOT??”

Jake follows you on his stan account. He’s been mutuals with you for months, interacting with your tweets about him without ever realizing you’re actually his girlfriend. Then one day, you’re chilling on the couch when you accidentally open your Twitter, and Jake sees it. Your username. The layout. The pinned tweet that says: "Jake Sim is my reason for breathing." His jaw drops. "WAIT A DAMN MINUTE." You blink. "What?"

"YOU’RE @simsmylife101??" Your soul leaves your body. "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT—" Jake pulls out his phone, showing you his own account. The one that always replied to yours. The one that flirted with you as a fan. Your eyes widen. "YOU’RE @simspuppy??" Jake screams. You scream. And then you both die laughing.

Sunghoon – “I FEEL SO BETRAYED.”

Sunghoon is casually scrolling on TikTok when he finds a very familiar username. @hoonznumber1simp

The account is filled with edits of him. And the captions? "Sunghoon needs to stop being hot. It’s ruining my life."

"Imagine being married to Park Sunghoon. The power." His eyebrows furrow. The username looks… weirdly familiar. Then it hits him. "Y/N??" You freeze. He whips around, holding up his phone. "You’ve been fangirling over me in SECRET??" You try to run. He grabs you. "OH NO, YOU’RE NOT ESCAPING THIS—" For the next week, he does not let it go. "So when you called me ‘hot’ last night, was that you or @hoonznumber1simp talking?" You throw a pillow at him.

Jungwon – “I don’t know whether to be flattered or scared.”

Jungwon accidentally finds your fan account while searching for memes of himself. He stares at the screen, horrified as he reads your latest post. "If Jungwon ever looked me in the eyes, I’d simply pass away. No thoughts, just instant death." His ears turn red. Then he clicks on another post. "Jungwon could slap me with a fish, and I’d say thank you." …What. He slowly looks up at you. You’re sitting across from him, sipping your drink, completely unaware. "Y/N," he says carefully. You blink. "Yeah?" He holds up his phone, showing your own very unhinged tweet. "Do you… need help?" Your face turns bright red. "GIVE ME THAT—"

Sunoo – “LMAOOO, YOU’RE SO EMBARRASSING.”

Sunoo finds your fan account in the worst way possible. During a live broadcast. A comment pops up: "Sunoo, did you know Y/N has a fan account for you???" He pauses. "Huh? No way." He clicks on the username in the comments, finds the account, and screams. "WAIT—THIS IS Y/N’S??" The chat goes crazy. You, watching from your phone, scream in horror. Next thing you know, Sunoo is cackling, reading your posts out loud. "‘Sunoo could run me over with a truck, and I’d thank him’—Y/N, EXPLAIN??" You turn off your phone and hide under a blanket for a week.

Ni-ki – “I knew you were a fan, but DAMN.”

Ni-ki always suspected you were secretly a huge Enhypen fan before dating him, but he never had proof. Until one day, he snatches your phone and sees it. @nikify4ever

His eyes go wide. He scrolls through the posts, reading your very dramatic captions: "Ni-ki’s hands are so pretty. I want to hold them forever."

"Imagine marrying Nishimura Riki… I’d be the happiest person alive." His lips twitch. He slowly looks at you. "So… you’ve been down bad for me this whole time, huh?" You grab a pillow and scream into it. Ni-ki just grins. "Don’t worry, baby. Your secret’s safe with me… or is it?" And just like that, your entire relationship becomes one big teasing session.

[dailynnt]

Hey guys. What's up? Are you waiting for the last chapter of "Friends within touching distance?"

I'm going to post it tonight. Will you wait? 🥹

Let me give you a little spoiler to spark your interest 😊🤭

⊹ 📋Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi , @someoneelse0109, @medstudentlifestyle, @mskookie, @kooccult, @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @curse-of-art2 @wintaemoonjen, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @someonegoood, @kooko007, @indigomoonchild09, @zeytiable

"Oh, I'm in no hurry..." - He grabbed your buttocks and literally pressed you into him against you, making you feel how ready he was. "I want you to beg for it." -You broke into a playful smile, running your tongue over your lower lip.

"And what will my begging get you?" - You asked out of curiosity. But you wanted him to fuck you already, because you thought begging Jungkook to do it might be one of your favorite things to do.

"That depends on how good you are at it." - His lips pressed against your ear, his voice almost a whisper. "Because I intend to take you apart tonight." - Your heart skipped a beat. You felt yourself burning again from the intimacy between you. Between the passion that is still there. You looked down at his crotch and then pushed him away slightly. Jungkook raised his eyebrows, not realizing what you did.

"Do I really need to beg you?" - You protested slightly. Jungkook's eyes darkened and he smiled predatory. He wanted to take a step toward you, but you stopped him by resting your foot on his abs. Jungkook looked away in surprise. He stared at you, and you only smiled wider.

"Don’t come any closer." - You said playfully. Jungkook was breathing heavily. And his cock twitched in his pants when he heard your hot tone. Fuck, when you forbid him, he gets horny to the max.

He grabbed your ankle, squeezed it with his fingers, but you pressed your fingertips against his abs, adding strength. 

"Maybe I should make you beg? Do you want to? Can I make you beg so you can fuck my pussy?" - You asked seductively. Jungkook gave a low laugh. You're so bold today. He swears you'll drive him crazy. He could have told you no, taken you and punished you for disobeying him. Usually Jungkook dominates your sex, but not tonight. You also want to show him that you have power over him.

Jungkook runs his tongue along the inside of own cheek, greedily looking at your face, which is seductive and beautiful. He lowers his eyes to your naked breasts, which attract him, then his gaze slides lower, wanting to see his favorite pussy, but your raised leg does not allow him to see it. You look so damn sexy and he already wants to fuck you, but he wonders how you'll make him beg.

Jungkook takes a step back, releasing your leg. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. His dark eyes glittered with hunger, and the piercing on his lip disappeared between his teeth, a habit that always drove you crazy.

"You really think you can do this, baby?" - His voice sounded dangerously low, but you just stretched your lips into an even wider smile.

"Think?" - You tilted your head, looking at him seductively from under your lashes. "No, Kook. I know I'm going to do it."

[rosa-tulipano]

yeah! surfing anon (such a cute nickname). is it cool if i change it to 🌺 or 🌊 anon to make it easier? (you can choose the emoji btw!!!)

omg i am also thinking about being lu’s lovergirl but having an evil side that comes out unexpectedly teasing him all the time!! LMAFO

like for example on your matcha mornings when lu comes to your side and asks you to make a cup of matcha for him, you tap your finger to your chin and pretend for a moment. “i don’t know if i can.” and he all but asks in a small voice, “baby, please. i am really craving one,” with puppy eyes. with a growing smirk, fluttering lashes, your body to turn to his, you whisper a, “no. make it yourself.” he catches on immediately cause as soon as you walk away to sit down at the kitchen table he offers a plate of food that he made for you and you gently pushing it away, standing up and flashing him a smile. “i might just sit in the sunroom lu. thank you, but i already ate something.” and you giggle off, starting to walk a bit faster because you know you just played this man. you hear luigi muttered a low “brat,” somewhere in the kitchen along with quick steps and you full on laugh, running through the house while he’s chasing you, his boyish giggles everywhere. and oh my gosh once he’s got you, he’ll haul you over his shoulder and bring you back to the kitchen to playfully pat your bum, and motion for you to eat. “you’re being a brat right now but you still gotta eat. please.” and he’ll press the softest kiss to your cheek.

or when he’s giving you instruction on an assignment and you completely disregard him because you also have your own rules and the game to play. your mind is completely focused on you, and that’s how it’s always been. but it changes when he gently pushes you up against an wall, and grabs your chin with a steady hand to make sure your pretty eyes are focused on him and you’re not escaping his presence. “sweetheart, i need you to listen to me. you are not doing this by yourself. you will burn yourself out and that is way too much responsibility for one person. i am not saying that you’re not capable or not smart. but can you imagine if i did all the work? now would that be fair?” and you’ve never seen this side of him, so u simply nod staring at his gorgeous features. “that’s right pretty. that’s why we’re doing this together. not by ourselves.”

i love the wave!! lets do that heheh :D

and omg stop i am living for this because i loooove have a fake attitude in relationships LMAOOO him whispering brat under his breath has me screaminggg i'd be so fake offended if he called me a brat i'd start fake slapping his chest HAH

the last part omg.....im peaking through my fingers EEP I HOPE YOU'RE POSTING STUFF TO TUMBLR BC YOURE SUCH A GOOD WRITER HOLY CRAP luigi would be physically gently but verbally stern until you really don't listen then then he's gotta take matters into his own hands *wink wink*

i would love to get into a fake debate with him: ask him something to do with computer science and when he explains it just go "uh no its not" and literally just keep saying that until his gets annoyed and tackles you kekeke

[eyrieofsynapses]

so uh, I am brand-new to Star Trek (as in not even finished with the third TOS season), so I don't have much background here, but I have thoughts? I am also not a biologist, mind you, just researching online and using what I remember from gen-ed classes. I may have lost myself down the rabbit hole for… er. a while. a long while.

For the record, this is me trying to apply Earth biology and logic, which I know is not actually applicable to literal aliens or fiction. The joy of writing is being able to say "fuck it, this is fiction, I make the rules now."

But. Science is fun. So here's me trying to Science it.

First: points of consideration! Vulcan is a desert planet. It's close to its star with a thinner atmosphere, and notably hotter than Earth. A thinner atmosphere makes it harder for a planet to regulate temperature and may block less solar radiation. We also know, thanks to Amok Time, that humans can't breathe as easily there, probably due to lower oxygen. So, this means: 1) The temperature difference between day and night is probably more significant than Earth's (because desert and thinner atmosphere). 2) Less oxygen is available.

(For the record, I don't think humanoids would develop on a purely desert planet, but my tangent on this got so long that I'm cutting it. Also sci-fi hand-wavey suspension of disbelief.)

Second: what we already know! …or what I know from the first and second seasons of TOS, what y'all pointed out in the thread, and what I looked up via wikis. The links on episode titles go to transcripts.

Copper blood: Vulcan hemoglobin (the protein used to carry oxygen around) is copper-based, not iron-based (TOS "Obsession"), hence the green blood.

Blood pressure and heartrate: They have significantly lower blood pressure than humans, but a much, much higher heartrate—assuming Sarek's stats during surgery in "Journey to Babel" are applicable, anyway. (Again, I am very new to Star Trek, so that definitely could contradict something newer.)

Cool blood (and low metabolism): Their blood is cooler than humans', possibly implying a lower body temperature. McCoy also comments on Spock's nigh-unmeasurably low metabolism (TOS "The Paradise Syndrome").

Temperature tolerance: They have a considerably wider range of temperature tolerance than humans. (This is implied by their planet's natural temperature range, and by the fact that Spock is usually okay at human temperatures, but, when he can't regulate his temperature so well, apparently finds 125 degrees (presumably Fahrenheit) "tolerable" in "The Deadly Years").

(…also. According to Memory Alpha, a fan-made medical reference text provides some stats. But it's not considered canon, doesn't reference Earth science, and I spent way too long researching this to end it at that.)

SO. Let's go through those "what we already know" points.

Green blood and copper-based hemoglobin: This is a real thing! Some animals DO use copper instead of iron to carry oxygen around! Except they're invertebrates (ex. octopuses, some spiders), the blood is blue, it's not called hemoglobin, it's in an open circulatory system, and it's not like vertebrate blood. It's called hemocyanin, and it free-floats in the invertebrate equivalent to blood (hemolymph) rather than being shipped around by red blood cells.

(For the record, there are other types of blood that are green, but they don't use copper. But blood color varies for other reasons too. I'm handwaving this one.)

Vulcans clearly have closed circulatory systems (closed = blood pumps through vessels, open = sloshes around organs freeform), so they'd need cells to carry oxygen around, so they probably don't use hemolymph.

If you're wondering "but we evolved from invertebrates, so why don't we use copper?" like I was, it's because COPPER SUCKS AT CARRYING OXYGEN. At least in comparison to iron. (Unless you're in deep sea environments, which the desert is not.) So presumably, Earth vertebrates started using iron somewhere along the line. Vulcans did not.

My conclusion: Vulcan biology uses copper in a way that's analogous to how humans use iron, but somehow finds a way to make it efficient enough to match said iron's oxygen capcity. Also, considering that Vulcan seems to have less oxygen in its atmosphere, I'd guess their systems use oxygen more efficiently overall, or they just don't require as much. So maybe it doesn't even need to be quite as efficient. (Coming back later: to my gratification, Memory Alpha also notes the oxygen issue, although in this case it notes that Vulcans have more efficient respiratory systems to get the oxygen needed.)

Lower blood pressure, higher heart rate: I think beastlyanachronism is right about this one. However, circulatory systems are extremely complex and I know nothing about them (I'm a communications person, not a doctor, Jim!), so I'm not really the person to ask. I did some reading to try to educate myself for the sake of this question, though. Anyway: lower blood pressure implies that the Vulcan heart doesn't beat very hard, but it seems to beat faster to make up for the lower pressure. This clicks with the idea that Vulcans use oxygen more efficiently/need less oxygen than humans, since the heart doesn't have to do so much work.

Finally! Body temperature. I'm combining "cold blood" and "wide temperature tolerance range." And I did Much Research. I'm going to explain some biology stuff that some folks probably already know, but for those like me who don't remember the nitpick bits of biology class, I figure this might be useful.

Generally speaking, there are two types of animal when it comes to regulating body temperature: ectothermic (i.e., primarily relies on environmental heat sources and produces little internal heat; e.g. reptiles, amphibians, fish), and endothermic (i.e., generates internal heat and maintains a more-or-less constant body temperature; e.g. mammals and birds). It's way more nuanced than that, but we're talking broad strokes. (More reading: 1, 2, 3)

(Side note, the ducks kedreeva mentioned are maybe using regional heterothermy.)

Colloquially, you would hear these referred to as "cold-blooded" and "warm-blooded" respectively, but science doesn't use those terms anymore because it's not how they technically work; e.g., lots of active ectotherms keep their body temperature in mammal-range. There are others that conform to their surrounding environments, like fish, but as far as I can tell, they need a fairly consistent environmental temperature range. Endotherms, meanwhile, rely on their internal heat source: the excess heat energy from their internal functions.

Heat's important to animals for… well, multiple reasons, but a big one is chemical processes, because they're fiddly and need specific temperatures. Life itself is basically just a bunch of chemical processes.

The problem with ectotherms is that they're reliant on their environment. Their activity is tied to temperature, and the colder it is, the more they slow down. If it gets too hot, they overheat. Also, they have slower metabolisms, and don't necessarily store energy the way endotherms do. Long, extended periods of high activity are harder—if not impossible—for them to maintain, and they can't support big, energy-hoarding brains like endotherms can. (More on intelligence and endo vs ectotherms here.)

Overall, I find it hard to match this with Vulcans, because they seem to perform consistently across a wide variety of temperatures, their brains are very complex and probably need a huge amount of energy, and they're a lot like mammals (hair/fur, similar physical build, etc.), which are exclusively endothermic. Plus, I'm not sure an ectotherm system would be fully compatible with an endotherm, and humans are endotherms, so… I'm not sure Vulcan/human hybrids would work.

The one exception is metabolism, because McCoy does say specifically that Spock's "Vulcan metabolism" is low. (Unfortunately I overlooked that part until after I'd written most of this post.) And, well, Vulcans are aliens, so they COULD be ectothermic-like and just have other things going on that make hybridization possible. And the boundary between ectotherms and endotherms isn't firm; there's plenty of crossover. Or they might be something totally different! So YMMV.

Meanwhile, endotherms—mammals and birds, basically—maintain a stable internal temperature. This comes with trade-offs: we have a higher metabolism (part of what generates our internal heat) and therefore require more food, and we have to be much more intentional with our temperature regulation. 

But. Because endotherms have a consistent internal temperature, we're actually MORE resilient to temperature changes: we can maintain the same activities at warmer and colder temperatures. We can also support bigger and more energy-intensive brains. (Well, mostly; it's more complex than that, but this post is too long already.) I'd argue that Vulcans kind of have to be endotherms, or at least endotherm-like, in order to function across the vast variety of environments we see them in.

…exceeept there's the matter of the cold blood, and their temperature range is still giant (not to mention the accidentally overlooked metabolism issue). BUT. I have a THEORY.

CAMELS.

Camels let their body temperature range between around 34°C (93 Fahrenheit) to over 40°C (104 Fahrenheit). As desert-dwellers, they'll let their body temperature rise over the course of the day and drop during the night. That also helps them conserve water. They have a multitude of other useful adaptations, of course, but what I'm saying here is: they're desert endotherms that change their body temperature according to their environment. So I figure: why not Vulcans, too?

My pet theory: Vulcans are endotherms (or whatever passes for their evolutionary equivalent), but their internal temperature range varies dependent upon their environment. In human-comfortable room temperature, their body temperature might be several degrees below normal human body temperature, thus sparking Dr. McCoy's "ice water" comment. But once you start getting well over a hundred degrees, their body temperatures may come close to a human's, or even go much higher.

(This still doesn't address the metabolism part, but this is what I get for not reading the transcript line thoroughly until I've written a whole post. Bleh. Maybe I'll figure it out later and add a note.)

I also like to think that, assuming evolution already optimized their systems for less oxygen and somehow got copper to be an actually viable oxygen-carrier for vertebrates, maybe the various temperature-dependent chemical reactions in their bodies are more flexible or have other methods of temperature regulation.

…ANYWAY. there's six hours of my life I'll never get back! biologists, my deepest apologies for anything I got wrong, please feel free to yell at me.

Plus one last fun fact: when we look at climate trends on Earth, animals tend to become bigger when Earth cools (ex. mammoths during the latest Ice Age) and smaller when it warms (ex. early horses became teeeeeeny when our climate rapidly warmed back in the Eocene, and then got bigger when things cooled down). This phenomenon is known as Bergmann's rule. Basically, the bigger an animal is, the better it retains heat, and vice versa.

These are Earth rules, of course, and probably there's large Vulcan fauna that evolved to deal with extreme heat, but. look. I find the idea of Vulcans being giants in a world of miniaturized critters amusing, okay?

Okay, I'm all over the place with my physiological grasp of Vulcans. Are they hotter or colder than humans? Why? Does that make them feel the heat more or less than humans? Is their heartbeat faster or slower?

Also if you have a strong opinion or an explanation or anything to say please tell me! I wanna get a grasp on this one

[jula483]

(x)

[silverselfshippingchaos]

I was rewatching the r.ed r.ain earlier and goodness he's so handsome