#absolute room-temperature brain moments

[heliosunny]

Hi hi, I read your lucky egg yuan x reader and thought a bond system was super creative!! So I have a request!!

Can I request a streamer/general Jing yuan playing an otome game where you/the reader are one of the love interests? And he was absolutely obsessed with character!reader that he’d literally drop so much money on the game, but one day, after maybe a poisoning incident, he ends up isekai’d into said otome game. Reader has a favoribility bar and everything and he does all the quests to raise your bar 🤭🤭. And and! If a love interest hits 100% favoribility in the game, they go yandere so maybe a bit of soft yan y/n?

It would also be super interesting to see yuan scheme everything cuz of his big brain 😌😌

I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated!!!

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

[𝙇𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙣] Chat: — "Jing Yuan, you’re literally broke because of this game." — "BRO JUST DATE A REAL PERSON." — "He’s already too far gone… let him be." — "Who’s your bias again? (Not that we don’t know lol)." — "Watch him go straight to Y/N and ignore all the others."

The chat scrolled at breakneck speed, but Jing Yuan barely paid attention, his fingers already navigating past the main menu. His voice was smooth, teasing, as he leaned closer to the mic.

“Come now, you all know the answer to that” his lips curling into a smirk. His stream setup was pristine—dual monitors casting a cool glow over his silver hair, the dim lighting making his golden eyes gleam.

The title screen of Astral Regnum shimmered before him, revealing the stunning artwork of the heroes of the kingdom. But his gaze, as always, honed in on the one he cared about most. You.

Chat: — "Damn, he didn’t even LOOK at them LMAO." — "He’s speedrunning a 2D romance with Y/N." — "NPCs crying in the corner."

Jing Yuan chuckled, skipping past the banners of the other love interests like they were mere background noise. “Why waste time?” His voice dipped lower, fond. “Y/N is the only one that matters.”

A swordmaster. A warrior feared on the battlefield, but with a heart that only opened to those they deemed worthy. In the game’s lore, [Y/N] was the blade of the Astral Regnum heroes—a relentless force of nature, cutting down enemies with precision. And yet, their favorability system was notoriously difficult.

That only made it more satisfying when he raised it.

He knew what you liked. What you hated. Every hidden event, every dialogue choice that made your heart skip.

And he had spent—How much money again? He didn’t care.

Tonight, he was going to hit the final 100%.

With a flick of his wrist, he loaded his save file—the one where his favorability with you was already in the high 90s.

The screen faded to black.

…A sharp knock at the door.

Jing Yuan blinked, momentarily snapping out of his immersion. Who the hell—?

His chat reacted instantly.

Chat: — "Uh oh, debt collectors?" — "Jing Yuan’s about to get isekai’d, watch." — "Bet it’s his manager coming to stop his spending spree."

With a lazy sigh, he muted the mic and pushed his chair back. He had just reached for the door when a strange, sharp scent flooded his senses.

His vision blurred.

The last thing he saw was the game screen still glowing on his monitor, your character’s sprite standing there, waiting.

𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝…

The first thing he felt was the cold, the way it bit into his skin—so vivid, so unlike the temperature-controlled room he had been in just moments ago. His ears rang with the echo of distant battle cries, the clash of steel, the unmistakable scent of blood.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes. His smirk returned instantly.

He knew exactly where he was.

Above him, the skies of Astral Regnum stretched endlessly, clouds tinged red by the fires of war.

“…I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to see you- covered in blood, battle-worn eyes feral with focus. Your sword pointed straight at him.

Jing Yuan had always admired you— your presence, your unwavering strength. But seeing you in the flesh, drenched in blood with the weight of battle in your stance?

It was exhilarating.

The tip of your sword hovered just inches from his throat, gleaming under the eerie glow of magic-infused flames.

“Identify yourself.”

Jing Yuan barely resisted the urge to grin. Even in the game, you never trusted strangers easily—it was one of the many things that had made raising your favorability so difficult.

But unlike his first playthrough, he didn’t need to fumble through dialogue choices or waste time figuring out what worked.

He already knew exactly what to do.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, keeping his posture relaxed despite the threat at his throat. “Ah, forgive me. I seem to have found myself in the middle of a battlefield, and I’d rather not lose my head before I’ve even introduced myself.”

Your eyes narrowed, scanning him like a predator sizing up prey. He knew you were analyzing everything—his stance, his expression, any hint of deception.

Chat would’ve gone wild seeing this. Too bad they weren’t here.

“…You’re not dressed like a soldier” you noted, your grip on the hilt still firm.

He wasn’t. The clothes he wore were a mix of modern and fantasy—game mechanics at work, likely adjusting his form to fit the world. He still had his signature robes, but now they looked more battle-worn, reforged in Astral Regnum’s style.

“Observant, as expected” he mused. “I’m not part of any faction. Just a traveler who seems to have ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your expression remained unreadable, but the fact that you hadn’t killed him on the spot meant he had already passed the first test.

“Captain!” A voice called from the distance. A scout.

Jing Yuan watched as your gaze flickered between him and the approaching soldier. You had a decision to make—cut him down now, or deal with him later?

The game’s mechanics dictated that you wouldn’t kill someone outright if they weren’t confirmed as a threat. That much, he remembered.

“Tie him up” you ordered.

Jing Yuan barely bit back a chuckle as rough hands grabbed his arms, binding his wrists.

Oh we're doing this route? How fun.

“Smart choice” he murmured as your men hauled him up. “But I do wonder… how long will you be able to keep me restrained?”

You didn’t answer. You only turned your back on him, leading the way toward your war camp.

He didn’t mind starting as a prisoner.

After all— He was still going to reach 100%.

----

Jing Yuan sat calmly, bound at the wrists, as the flickering glow of firelight cast shifting shadows across the war tent. Soldiers bustled outside, sharpening blades, murmuring strategies, unaware that the man they had just captured knew more about their war than they did.

It was strange watching everything unfold in real-time.

Even stranger was seeing you like this—not through a screen, but right in front of him. The real you, expression unreadable as you stood by a large map, analyzing war strategies.

A part of him wanted to watch forever.

But that wasn’t the plan.

You finally turned your gaze to him, those sharp eyes glinting under the lantern light. “You don’t seem particularly concerned about your situation.”

Jing Yuan gave a lazy smile. “Should I be?”

Your soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but you merely crossed your arms. “You’re suspicious. You’re too well-groomed for a lost traveler, and you don’t have the look of a mercenary. Are you a spy?”

“No,... But I might be useful to you.”

One of your officers scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I expect your Captain to consider it.” His gaze remained on you. “You wouldn’t have kept me alive if you didn’t at least think there was value in hearing me out.”

You didn’t deny it. You're still the same, that calculative and careful one. And yet strangely soft toward those who prove their worth.

He could work with that.

“…Fine” you finally said, tone measured. “You’ll stay here under guard. Prove your worth, or you’ll regret it.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, flexing his fingers slightly. “I thought you weren't the type to threat-”

“Don't test me.”

The chains around Jing Yuan’s wrists weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were a firm reminder—he was not trusted.

But that was fine.

Because trust could be built.

He watched as you dismissed your soldiers one by one, your fingers ghosting over the map on the table. The battlefield was shifting, and you were at the center of it.

Jing Yuan had watched countless cutscenes of you strategizing like this, studying every small movement, every sharp-eyed decision. But seeing it in person was entirely different.

“You’re staring” you muttered without looking up.

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Nothing, I was just thinking.”

Finally, you glanced at him, arms crossed. “About what?”

“That I can help you win.”

“Oh? And why would a ‘lost traveler’ know anything about war?”

Jing Yuan leaned forward slightly, “Because I know your enemies better than they know themselves.”

That caught your attention.

“Go on”

“Your next battle is in three days. Your enemies will try to flank from the west, but their supplies are running thin. If you push them into a defensive position before they can regroup, you’ll win with minimal casualties.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “Does it matter?”

“Fine, I'll test your theory.”

If you followed his strategy, he’d prove his worth.

And when you won?

You’d start to trust him.

The war camp was quieter than usual. Outside, soldiers murmured in low voices, preparing for the upcoming battle.

Jing Yuan stood a few feet away, his hands still bound, watching you with a patient smile.

Just as he was about to speak, the tent flap rustled.

"You're still awake?"

Jing Yuan's smile faltered for the briefest second as another figure stepped inside—one of your close friends. They walked in casually, eyes flickering to Jing Yuan before turning back to you.

Jing Yuan had seen them before, an important side character, someone who frequently appeared in your storyline. But now that he was here, living in this world, they felt like a nuisance.

"I'm reviewing the battle plans again" you replied, rubbing your temples. Your friend sighed, stepping beside you.

"You should rest. You've been at this all day."

Jing Yuan watched as they reached forward, lightly flicking your forehead in a playful manner.

He had never liked this character, even when he played the game. They always lingered too close, always made you smile in ways that should have been reserved for him.

But now?

Now, he was right here, watching them steal your attention.

He could see the way you relaxed around them, how comfortable you were. He knew it was natural—you had a long history together in the game. But that didn’t stop the quiet frustration from simmering beneath his skin.

That should be him.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “for someone so concerned about their commander’s well-being, you don’t seem too worried about distracting them.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “An observer.” He let his gaze linger on your friend a little too long before shifting back to you. “Besides, I don’t think they need to be reminded to rest. They know their limits.”

You let out an amused exhale. “You talk as if you’ve known me for a long time.”

“I just have good instincts.”

Your friend didn’t seem convinced, but they let it slide, instead turning back to you.

Jing Yuan barely heard what they said next. His focus was elsewhere—on the small details.

The way they leaned in when they spoke. The way you didn’t pull away. The way your voice softened, just slightly, in response.

He didn't like it.

But he wouldn’t show it.

----

Jing Yuan was a strategist. Whether in the real world or in this one, he always played to win. Now, you were real. And he would ensure that he was the only one who mattered to you.

The game had always emphasized that actions mattered more than words.

So he made sure every move he made left an impression.

He cooked for you when you were too exhausted after training.

He tended to the wounded, proving he wasn’t just a fighter but someone who cared.

He trained with your soldiers, earning their respect.

He always stayed one step behind you, never overstepping—but never too far away.

And every time you hesitated, every time you looked at him as more than just an outsider, his favorability bar climbed.

[ +15 Favorability ] [ +5 Favorability ] [ +20 Favorability ]

It was slow, steady, but inevitable.

Sure he had made mistakes. Like that one moment where he didn't take your concerns seriously.

"Something’s off about this place" you had murmured, scanning the area. "Maybe, but worrying too much causes wrinkles."

You shot him a look. "Remind me why I even talk to you?"

He laughed. "Because you like me."

At that moment? Not so much. [-15 Favorability]

Or that other time when he was overconfident.

"You should fall back. I’ll handle the rest."

You had scoffed, annoyed. "I don’t need you to protect me."

He shrugged. "Still, wouldn’t want you to get hurt—"

You ignored him and struck the final blow yourself. [-20 Favorability]

Still, everything was carefully choreographed—down to the smallest details. And every time you acknowledged him, every time your gaze lingered just a second longer than before, he knew—

Your favorability bar ticked up.

[ +5 Favorability ] [ +10 Favorability ]

Jing Yuan was patient. But patience had its limits.

When another comrade slung an arm over your shoulder, laughing too freely—his grip on his sword tightened.

When someone dared to flirt with you, his golden eyes flickered with an emotion no one caught.

When you smiled at someone else with the same warmth you gave him, a quiet hum left his lips.

For now, he could hold back.

Because soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Because soon, you wouldn’t even look at anyone else.

----

Jing Yuan never gambled. Because every move has its purpose.

And right now—

Your favorability stood at 75%

It was a beautiful number. But it wasn’t enough.

So, he prepared.

𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠...

The system had always been a passive observer. A tool meant to track your feelings, your reactions, your downfall into love.

But today, it would be more than that.

Today, it would be his weapon.

—— Favorability Shop Opened. Current Balance: [Unlimited] Recommended Purchases:

1️⃣ [Memory Trigger Perfume] – A fragrance designed to evoke past emotions and subconscious attachments. [50,000 pts] 2️⃣ [Heroic Crisis Event] – An orchestrated situation where the player can prove their devotion to the target. [100,000 pts] 3️⃣ [Lingerie Set??? ] – Also a valid strategy.... [25,000 pts] ——

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, amusement flickering in his gaze as he scrolled past the last item.

I'll save that for later.

For now—he bought the first two.

The memory trigger

The next time you saw him, the scent was already on him.

It wasn’t overwhelming. Just a faint trace. Familiar.

You frowned slightly. “What is that smell?”

Jing Yuan feigned confusion. “Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just…” You hesitated. Something nagged at you. Something you couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded you of safety. A feeling you had lost.

And deep down, your heart tightened.

“Maybe you’ve smelled it before” he mused, watching you struggle. “Maybe… it’s something important to you.”

You didn’t respond.

But later that night—long after he had left—you found yourself missing it.

And just like that, your favorability rose to 80%

The Heroic Crisis

Jing Yuan knew you were strong. You didn’t need a savior. You could protect yourself. But even strong people had moments of weakness.

And he was going to be there when it happened.

So, when the system triggered the attack, everything was perfect.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. You dodged, countered, struck back.

But the moment you faltered—

Jing Yuan was there.

His blade met theirs. His body shielded yours.

Blood dripped from his arm, but he barely noticed. His eyes stayed on you.

And then, as if in a trance, your lips parted.

“Jing Yuan…”

Your favorability skyrocketed.

90%.

95%.

----

The fire crackled softly, flickering between the two of you. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this. No battles. Just peace.

And strangely—you didn’t mind his presence.

Jing Yuan sat across from you, his white hair slightly tousled from the night breeze.

“Is there something on my face?”

“N-No..Nothing”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I'm not!”

He chuckled. “Not that I mind.”

You scoffed and looked away, but you didn’t deny it. Truth was.. this felt nice.

Jing Yuan stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a content sigh. “You know, this is rare.”

You glanced at him. “What is?”

He smiled lazily. “Seeing you relaxed.”

“I like it.” His voice was quieter this time. “I like seeing you like this.”

Jing Yuan had always been playful, unpredictable. But tonight—his gaze was softer.

And something inside you stirred.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s... nice.”

“Then let’s have more nights like this.”

Your heart skipped. That's not a bad idea.

----

Jing Yuan knew, step by step, you were falling.

Not yet—not completely. But you were softening.

And tonight, he was going to make sure you fell just a little bit more.

The town was lively even in the late hours. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm golden hues over the bustling streets. You walked beside Jing Yuan, carrying a small pouch of supplies for your next journey.

It had been his idea to take a detour here. A little break from the usual battles, something about “enjoying the little things.”

But just as you passed by a fruit stall—

“Hey—!”

You barely registered the blur of motion before your pouch was yanked from your grasp.

A small, ragged figure darted through the crowd, slipping between merchants and customers like a shadow.

Jing Yuan reacted immediately.

“Stay close.”

Then he moved.

You both weaved through the market, dodging carts and startled pedestrians. The thief was fast, but you were faster.

“Persistent little one, aren’t they?”

You didn’t waste breath responding—just focused on cutting off the escape.

And then—a dead end.

The thief skidded to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, chest heaving.

A boy, no older than ten. Grimy, thin and desperate.

Your pouch dangled from his shaking grip.

Behind him, three younger kids peeked out from behind broken crates, their eyes wide with fear.

He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was trying to feed them.

You felt something in your chest tighten.

Jing Yuan stepped forward—not in anger, but with a sigh.

“Stealing is a bad habit, you know?” His voice was light, almost teasing. “But... I suppose sometimes, there’s no other choice.”

The boy flinched, hugging the pouch close.

“Please...” he whispered. “I—It’s for them.”

Then, to your surprise, he pulled out his own pouch and tossed it to the ground. The coins inside jingled.

“Go buy food” he said simply. “Real food. Not stolen.”

The boy’s eyes darted between the pouch and Jing Yuan, as if expecting some cruel trick.

“You... you mean it?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, ruffling his own hair. “I’m not heartless, you know.”

You stared at him.

The boy hesitated before dropping your pouch and taking Jing Yuan’s instead. Then, with a quick bow, he grabbed the younger kids’ hands and ran.

Silence stretched between you two as you picked up your pouch.

Jing Yuan smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. “Well, that was fun.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “Handsome too, right?”

You rolled your eyes—but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because for all his teasing and laziness—Jing Yuan was... kind.

And when he turned to you, golden eyes glinting under the lantern lights—

98%

Almost there.

100%

A quiet chime echoed in the back of Jing Yuan’s mind.

It's done.

You belong to me now.

The favorability bar had maxed out, but he wasn’t foolish enough to expect an immediate, dramatic change. No, your obsession was something that would seep in—gentle, like ink bleeding through parchment.

And oh... he couldn’t wait to see it unfold.

----

The battlefield was long behind you. The mission had gone well, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet hum of victory. Now, beneath the vast night sky, a small fire flickered between you and Jing Yuan.

For once, the silence between you was... comfortable.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you.

Watching you watch him.

There was a difference in the way you looked at him now. Before, your gaze was wary—guarded, even when amused.

But now?

Now, your eyes lingered.

His lips curved. “Something on your mind?”

You blinked, but instead of denying it, you simply tilted your head. “You’re... a good person.”

His amusement deepened as he sat up slightly, propping his chin on his hand. “Is that so?”

You hummed in response, shifting closer—not much, just enough that the warmth of the fire wasn’t the only heat between you.

And then—you touched him.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, tracing the faint scars that lined his skin.

“Y/N...”

Your fingers paused, but your gaze didn’t waver. “I was just thinking.”

“How long do you plan to stay with me?”

His smirk faltered for a brief second.

Then—he chuckled.

“Forever.”

He expected a laugh. A scoff. A shake of the head at his dramatic words.

But instead— You smiled.

“I like that answer” you murmured. “You’d better keep it.”

Something in your tone sent a shiver down his spine.

I like that.

I like that a lot.

He had reached 100%. And he couldn't wait to see how far you both would go.

[covenofagatha]

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)

The first attempt

Based on this ask that has made me completely feral and taken over my brain in the best way

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: premature ejaculation, teasing, g!p Agatha, mommy kink, bratty reader, desperate!agatha, super slight temperature play

When you wake up on Saturday morning a bit later than you usually do, you roll over and reach out your fingers, seeking the warmth of your wife’s body. All you find is an empty half of the bed, the sheets already cool. 

You frown. How long has she been awake for? You were really hoping that the two of you could spend some quality time together. 

Agatha’s been stuck grading papers in the evenings lately; it’s almost the end of the semester and all of her students have been rushing to turn in missing assignments before they took the final exam yesterday. 

Meanwhile, you’ve also had to work long hours lately, so you’ve been absolutely exhausted by the time you get home. 

And as a result of this, it’s been almost a week since the two of you have had sex, and you are dying. Almost every night you’ve woken up, a molten heat between your legs and a burning in your stomach, and you’ve been so tempted to roll over and wake your wife up to satiate the hunger, but each time, you see how stress free she looks, the usual lines of worry across her forehead gone, and you decide to go back to sleep. You’d touch yourself if you could, but that’s against your rules and you just know she would wake up at the right moment and catch you.  

But you are determined to get her cock inside you today. You’re going to find her, fuck her wherever in the house she is, and then drag her back to the bedroom for the rest of the day. 

So you get out of bed, brush your teeth, and walk downstairs in nothing but Agatha’s purple flannel, the comfy one that she loves that always seems to end up on your body, especially when sleeping. You expect to find her in the kitchen, maybe making breakfast like she usually does for you on the weekends, but she’s not there. 

You make your way through the living room and imagine sinking down to your knees the second you see her, crawling to her across the floor to unbutton her pants and take her cock in your mouth. Your cunt throbs. 

The door to her study is left ajar and you can hear the soft sound of pen on paper, so you peek your head in to find Agatha sitting at her desk, dressed in a tight, white T-shirt and nicely-fitted black pants, her hair curly and loose and falling over her face, and she has her favorite pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses on. 

Fuck. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. 

She is so focused, scribbling something with her left hand — why is that so hot? — and her brows are slightly furrowed. It’s a stern look of sorts and it goes straight to your pussy. If you were wearing underwear, it would be soaked right now, and instead you can feel your slick on your inner thigh. 

“If you were my teacher,” you say, and she startles before smiling when she sees that it’s just you. “I would be so fucking distracted all the time. I think I’d fail everything on purpose just so I’d need some tutoring. Think I could get some extra credit, Professor Harkness?” Your voice drops to a seductive octave and you see her lips slightly part and her gaze darken. 

“Good morning, baby,” Agatha says and appreciatively checks you out as you slowly walk over to her, swaying your hips to tease her. You walk behind her chair and wrap your arms around her, breathing in the perfume that has become your favorite scent.

You hum and look over her shoulder at what she’s working on. She’s grading an exam and the student did not do well. “How long have you been up? Want to take a break?” you ask, nuzzling your nose against her hair and licking up her earlobe. 

Your wife stiffens beneath you. If it’s been torture for you this week, you can’t even imagine how she’s feeling. You nibble and then kiss down the side of her face before dragging your tongue up her neck. 

Agatha’s hand clenches the pen so hard you think it might snap in half and you smirk to yourself. You’re going to have what you want in no time. There’s another gush of wetness from your pussy and you feel so fucking empty and you’re about to pull her chair back and straddle her—

“Honey,” she says levelly. “I really need to get this work done today. Maybe later?” 

You pull back, absolutely stunned. You can see her erection starting to grow through her pants and you know that she’s affected. “But mommy,” you whine and she tilts her head to look up at you, eyebrow raised. “Please? I need you so bad.” 

For a second, it looks like she might break. You wait with bated breath, arousal skirting through your veins, but she shakes her head. “Sorry, baby. Be a good girl for mommy and wait.” 

“Fine,” you huff and nip at the juncture of her shoulder and neck before walking to the door to the study. “Maybe I’ll just go take care of it myself.”

“Don’t be a brat,” she calls after you, before lowering her voice threateningly. “And don’t even think about touching yourself.” 

You turn at the door to toss a wink at her before going into the kitchen. You won’t break her rule, but you are going to break her. You’re going to get her so wound up that she has no choice but to fuck you. 

You scroll on your phone for about fifteen minutes, which is more than enough time to get Agatha’s suspicions up, and you open a container of vanilla yogurt and spoon it into a bowl before walking back to the office. She looks up when you enter, tension etched on her face, and you know she’s wondering what you’ve been up to. 

But then she takes you in, realizes that you unbuttoned her flannel so now she can see most of your boobs — nipples hidden just barely — and your stomach and your cunt, and her jaw drops. 

“Hey,” you say, not giving anything away, and you make your way back over to her side of the desk to perch on the edge. Her eyes dart all over the place wildly, like she’s trying not to look at your bare chest on display but failing miserably. 

You’re absolutely delighted to see the outline of her cock through the fabric of her pants — either she is still affected by your teasing earlier, which was practically nothing, or she got half-hard just looking at you now. 

Agatha sees you looking and shifts uncomfortably, crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing?” she asks thickly. 

Getting a glob of yogurt on your spoon, you shrug and raise it to your mouth before lasciviously licking it off, never breaking eye contact. “Eating breakfast.” 

Her eyes narrow through her glasses and your heart starts to pound harder. How is it possible for someone to look this sexy? 

She raises her pen to her mouth and takes the tip between her teeth, just watching you. You do the same thing a few more times, slowly running your tongue up the surface of the spoon, and her right hand grips onto the armrest. The air is charged between you, electricity cackling, and you feel like you are so close to getting what you want. 

You just have to bring it home. 

When you go to take your next spoonful, the silverware catches on the edge of the bowl and knocks it out of your grasp, splattering yogurt all over your bare cleavage. 

Agatha actually gasps and you are so fucking happy that it actually worked. 

“Oops,” you say innocently and swipe through the mess on your skin, collecting some of the yogurt with two fingers before enveloping them into your mouth and sucking. You even let out a moan for dramatic effect. 

It’s obvious that Agatha realizes it was a stunt based on the lethal look in her eyes but that doesn’t make it have any less impact on her. She swallows hard, her cheeks pinking slightly, and she can’t stop looking at your tits. 

You push your fingers a little deeper down into your mouth the next time and you gag slightly and Agatha lets out a whimper. When you glance down at her lap, she has a full erection now and her breathing starts to deepen. She leans back in her chair and her hips rise almost indiscernibly to try and get some friction. 

“Want some help with that, mommy?” you ask and shift back on her desk so you’re able to widen your own legs more and show her the glistening wetness between them. 

Her fingers on the armrest flex and then relax and she bites her lip. It would be so easy to hop down and take out her cock for her — you don’t even think she’d object. 

But you want to make her so desperate that she breaks. 

Agatha’s eyes are dark through her glasses and you can tell that she’s absolutely aching too. You know she’s thinking about all the times she’s cum on your tits with a grunt and made you clean it off, just like that. The only difference between the picture you’re painting now and that one is you’re not on your knees in front of her. 

Although, you’d change that in a heartbeat if she asked. 

There’s a heated moment in which neither of you says anything, before she chews on the inside of her cheek and opens her mouth. “Later, honey,” she rasps, but instead of feeling rejected and frustrated, you feel even more challenged. 

With one last drag of your fingers across your chest to get the rest of the yogurt before cleaning them off in your mouth with a wet pop, you tap your sticky fingers under her chin and get off the desk. “I like the taste of you better,” you decide and laugh as her jaw clenches. 

And then, just because you’re you and you love to tease, you bend down, putting a hand atop hers on the armrest, and press a quick kiss to her cock through her pants and you feel it jump against your lips. Agatha lets out a strangled gasp, sounding like a wounded animal, but you don’t do anything more. 

You can feel her stare burning into you as you leave the study again, mind already spinning with more ways to tease her. 

The next idea comes to you shortly and you quickly run upstairs to shrug off Agatha’s flannel and put on a purple, skimpy, two-piece bathing suit — her favorite one. You stand in front of the floor-length mirror and snap a picture, pushing your arms together slightly so your boobs perk up, and then text it to your wife. 

Think I’ll go for a swim. Care to join me?  

You watch attentively as bubbles pop up on the screen and then go away. She starts typing again, and then stops as well, and it feels like you’re watching her brain short-circuit in real life. She can’t keep her hands off you when you wear this suit and you imagine her palming her dick in her office right now and trying to get any sense of relief that she can. 

Finally, she sends a response. Fuck. 

Short and to the point. You catch a glimpse of your wide grin in the mirror before typing back, That’s the point, mommy. 

You don’t get an answer — you didn’t think you would, but you know that she must be going crazy right now, and you walk downstairs and hope that she calls you into her study. The ache inside you is growing and you’re not sure how much longer you can take. But it’s like you’ve started a battle of the wills between the two of you, and you refuse to give in. 

The sun feels great on your skin as you lay on the lounge chairs in your backyard. You toy with the idea of getting in the pool and then parading around Agatha’s office all wet like that, but decide to do something a little more daring. 

Grabbing your phone, you open the camera and flip it away from you and slide just your fingertips under the elastic waistband and snap a picture. 

This time, you get a text back immediately. Come here right now. 

A thrill runs through you and you quickly run inside and grab something from the freezer, tearing off the wrapper, and going to nonchalantly lean against the doorway of the study, where Agatha is already staring at you, the vein in her head throbbing. 

And she only gets more flustered when you run your tongue up the side of the popsicle you’re now holding. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snarls and you smirk before sauntering over to the couch and plopping down on it, putting a leg up over the side so she can see how dark the crotch of your suit bottoms have become. Agatha looks like she might pass out. 

It’s dizzying, to have this much power over her. To be able to reduce her to a feral woman, one whose eyes are completely swallowed up with desire and whose cheeks are flushed. You haven’t even been in the room in about twenty minutes, and you bet she’s still hard, if not harder. 

“Eating a popsicle. Do you want one?” you ask, pure and generous, like it’s common sense that you’re just being her thoughtful, good girl. 

But there’s nothing pure about the way you open your mouth and take the entire popsicle down your throat, bobbing your head up and down for good measure while you give her your best blow-job eyes. You know how absolutely crazy she gets when you look at her like that and right now is no exception — her cheek twitches and she gulps, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out on her face. 

“You need to stop,” she says dangerously. “Mommy needs to get her work done and can’t fucking concentrate because of you.” 

You hollow out your cheeks and suck on the popsicle hard. 

And then it’s your turn to whimper because she pushes out of her chair and stands up and as she’s walking over to you, you can see her cock straining against her pants and you wonder if she’s about to fuck you on the couch. 

Wouldn’t be the first time. 

But she yanks the popsicle out of your mouth by the stick and drags it across your chest, making you hiss at the cold, before she leans down and sucks up the flavoring and ice. 

“You are driving me fucking crazy,” she groans before pulling you off the couch and reaching behind you and untying your top. She tears it off over your head before trailing the popsicle, melting now from your body heat, down to circle your nipple. It hardens and goosebumps erupt all over your chest and it tears a short moan from your mouth. 

And then just like before, her mouth follows, licking the same path around your nipple before sucking it into her mouth and making you keen. Your entire body is engulfed in heat and you press a thigh against her cock, making her shudder. She’s hard, so fucking hard, and you need to feel her inside you. 

“Agatha — mommy, fuck, I need you,” you whine and grab onto her hair but she yanks herself back, her chest rising and falling fast before grabbing your throat. 

Your body stiffens and your brain goes foggy. “Listen to me very closely, babygirl,” she whispers and it just goes to your head and your cunt even more. “You are going to go back upstairs and put on some decent clothes. And then you’re going to come down here and sit your ass on the couch so I can watch you and make sure you’re not getting into any more trouble. And if you can behave—” her eyebrows raise like she doesn’t think you can, “—then maybe, you’ll get a reward.” 

You are fucking soaked and all you can go is nod, but just to get the last word in somehow, you angle your leg just a little more, rubbing against her cock, and she almost buckles, a low groan coming from her mouth. She pulses in her pants and she grunts and her hips jerk forward. 

“Mommy, please,” you beg in desperation, seeing the look on her face. You think she might be even more turned on than you. 

But your wife is resisting for the principle now, and she steps back from you and points to the hallway. You roll your eyes and huff before stomping up and finding the shortest skirt and the smallest white crop-top you own, forgoing a bra entirely and putting on your skimpiest pair of underwear that barely covers anything. If you’re lucky, she’ll get so mad at you for being a brat that she’ll bend you over her leg and spank you. 

You strut back into the study and up to her desk, and the pen in Agatha’s fingers falls onto the table. “Do you call those decent clothes?” she rasps and you shrug teasingly before picking up a pencil and spinning it around your fingers, sending it flying to the middle of the room. 

“Whoops,” you say, and when you turn around to bend down and pick it up, showing Agatha your soaked panties and your pussy lips peeking out around the edges, she takes too sharp of a breath and it sends her into a coughing fit. 

It’s hard not to laugh and you put the pencil down before telling her you’ll be right back and quickly walking to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. You get a second one just for yourself, determined that you’re closer than ever to making her break. 

She’s still coughing a little when you get back to the room and she gratefully accepts the cup you offer to her before gulping down half of the water. Now that you’re standing on her side of the desk, you can still see the prominent bulge in her pants and it makes arousal rush through you. Agatha must have been turned on all fucking day, you’re not sure how she hasn’t given in yet. 

As much as you need your release, you want her to get some even more, so you raise your glass to your lips and tip it too much, sending the entire, overflowed cup of water pouring down your front and onto the floor. 

Agatha swears and jumps back in her chair to avoid getting wet and you immediately drop to your knees, your shirt now clinging to your body and showing your pebbled nipples, almost as hard as your wife’s cock. She makes a muffled noise and when you look up, you realize that she has a perfect vantage point right down your shirt. 

At this point, her hands are claws digging into her thighs and her hips buck involuntarily, and you have a brilliant idea for how to clean up the spilled water. 

You take off your wet shirt, your chest glistening, and Agatha lurches forward uncontrollably, letting out a gasp. You smirk sweetly before mopping up the puddle, looking up at her through your lashes with your bottom lip between your teeth and her jaw clenches. 

Heat is practically radiating off her. 

The floor is now for the most part dry, and you crawl closer on your knees to put your hands on her thighs to push yourself up, “accidentally” brushing the tip of her cock, and her arm shoots out to grab your wrist. 

She looks livid. 

Agatha stands up, yanking you with her, and turns you over to bend you over her desk and she spanks you hard. 

You moan and push back against her cock and she whimpers before leaning over you. “You want to act like a fucking slut? Then you’re going to sit on my cock until I’m done working and if you move an inch, I won’t touch you for a week, got it?” she hisses in your ear, tugging on your hair, and it’s all you can do to nod your head. 

She spins you around, unzips her pants, and reaches inside to pull out her cock and fuck — she’s so stiff that she’s standing up completely straight, her tip twitching and oozing precum, and the veins along her length are prominent and almost purple. 

You want to taste her so fucking bad, but you also just need her inside you. You can feel how wet you are, how wet you’ve been this entire day, and you know it’s going to be absolute torture to cockwarm her. 

Agatha hikes up your skirt and groans when she slides a hand between your legs to feel your underwear and you lick a hot stripe up your palm and fingers with your tongue before reaching down and giving her cock a quick stroke while she starts peel your panties off and — 

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck — no, fuck,” she chants and then lets out a guttural cry as her hips jolt and her cock pulses in your hand and then throbs, and she slumps forward onto you as she cums. 

Her seed spurts out while her body jerks against yours pathetically while she grunts in frustration and rides it out. You are in complete shock that all it took was one touch from you to have her absolutely fall apart like this; maybe your teasing worked a little too well. Her cum is hot as it drips down your hand and down to the base of her cock and the sounds coming from her mouth are downright pornographic. 

You can feel yourself getting even wetter though, the power you have over her coursing through your body and settling right in your cunt, making your head spin with how it feels. She’s never had this happen before, and you’re not sure if it's because of the dry spell or your teasing or both. 

When her cock finally starts to soften in your hand, she steps back and her face is bright red and she’s looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“Mommy, you just—” you start to say in awe, but she drops her head into her hands, her glasses being pushed up on her forehead. 

“Don’t,” she says, but it comes out muffled and she drops down into her chair, still refusing to look at you. 

It’s taking all your ability to not laugh because you know she’s already humiliated enough. Instead, you slowly get to your knees in front of her and, even though she’s not watching, you lick all of her cum off your hand, moaning at the salty taste, and then pushing her legs open so you can get between them. 

She jumps when your tongue darts out to clean the cooling cum off the base of her cock and with one hand still covering her face, the other comes down to rest on your head while you continue gently lapping at her. Her cock twitches every now and then with your mouth on it, and you know she’ll be hard again in no time. 

When you’re done and sit back on your heels, she finally looks at you, her face no longer scarlett. 

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” she asks, her voice still a little shaky. 

You smirk. “Do you know how fucking hot that was, mommy? But maybe you should’ve just fucked me the first time I asked, though.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes and stands up, motioning for you to get off the ground. “We’re going to go up to our room and I’m going to make you pay for that.” 

“Pay for what, mommy?” you simper, and you know you’re on thin ice, you know you should stop and pretend like it didn’t happen, but you’re a brat at heart. “You’re the one who used cockwarming as a punishment but couldn’t even get said cock inside me.” 

Your wife fucking growls and grabs you by the arm to pull you out of the study and up the stairs, your giggles following the sounds of her angry footsteps. 

“Maybe next time,” you add wistfully and if looks could kill, you’d be dead with the glare she shoots you over her shoulder. 

You cannot wait to make her do that again. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

[glamourscat]

Hello ma'am! I have a good idea (I think). It's low key based on a visual novel but imagine tim just assuming that reader knows he has a big fat crush while reader is convinced tim has no clue about her own crush. they both think it's unrequited until one day tim just casually mentions his own crush and they both bluescreen because "What do you mean you LIKE ME–" "what do you mean YOU DIDN'T KNOW??" Have a nice day and either drink water or exercise, you choose 🫶

-tda (tim drake anon)

sorry for the wait tim drake anon <3 but here it is!! i hope u like it :))

it happened on a tuesday.

You're both sat on the floor of tim's apartment, surrounded by case files and empty take out containers, when he casually says, "can you pass me that file, love?"

you freeze. your brain makes the windows shutdown noise.

"what did you just call me?"

tim doesn't even look up from his laptop. "love. like i always do?" now he does look up, because you're making a strange choking sound. "are you okay?"

"since when do you call me that?!"

"uh, since we started dating?" tim's typing slows. "three months ago?"

the room temperature drops about twenty degrees. Or maybe that's just your brain short-circuiting.

"we're WHAT?"

now tim's fully stopped typing. "we're... dating?" his confidence wavers. "right? we go out for tea every morning. We have dinner dates twice a week. You literally wore my clothes to the manor yesterday after sleeping over in my bed with me."

"i thought those were friend things!" your voice hits a high pitch note that Ariana Grande was shaking in her boots. "like friend-dates!"

"i bought you flowers!"

"you were being nice!"

"i kissed you goodnight last week!"

"ON THE CHEEK!"

tim puts his head in his hands. "oh my god. i thought... when i told you i liked you at the carnival..."

"YOU WERE DROWNING IN POPCORNS AND TALKING ABOUT COLD CASES!"

"it was romantic!"

"it was a MURDER INVESTIGATION!"

A slow, moment of silence passes by while Tim looks like he's contemplating jumping out the window. "I... have a massive crush on you, you absolute idiot! I LIKE YOU." he says looking at you, hair sticking up in different places.

there's another moment of silence. Tim's face goes through about seventeen different emotions.

"so... you like me?" you say quietly, to double check.

"YES!"

"and i like you."

"You do-? I mean-- yes, I hope so?" He cringes at his anxiety.

Both of you stare at each other speechless unable to understand what the hell happened. And then Tim starts laughing. Actually laughing, the kind that makes his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle. "we're idiots," he manages between breaths.

you collapse next to him on the floor, feeling giddy and ridiculous and so, so happy. You two are truly two idiots indeed.

"do it" you murmur after a few moments.

"do what?" he says breathless, pulling you closer, his voice soft. That glint you like so much still present in his eyes.

"kiss me properly this time, dumbass."

And so he does.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[nereidprinc3ss]

Ok but I think you hit on something in “in the dead of night” about how Spencer leans into his mammalian instincts. Imagine him angry and tense after a rough day and needing that and then talking you through the motions of it and why it makes him feel better because of the science and chemicals behind it all

i absolutely love this!! thank you for requesting:)

also experimenting with a new short and sweet format for blurbs/request! feedback is always appreciated<3

wc 800

warnings: fem!reader, very suggestive, d/s dynamics

“I don’t—Spencer—”

Something in your mouth keeps you from finishing the sentence. Namely: your boyfriend’s tongue. You gasp into him as he tugs your jacket off, arching your back against the wall he’s pressed you to so that the fabric can hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Spence, please,” you manage, barely, as his hand cups your jaw and his thumb presses under your chin, encouraging you to angle your head up and make room for his lips. It’s not that you don’t want this—you told him he could be rough with you and you meant it—but you’re slightly overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic display of nearing aggressive passion.

“What, baby?” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands snake under your shirt. Focused on the feeling of his hand pressed against your waist, you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“You’re acting… different.”

A pause—his head drops against your shoulder as he reigns himself in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—you don’t need to stop, I just… it might make me feel better if I knew what this was about.”

He sucks in a breath.

“You want to hear about my day?”

The way his fingers trail downward over your skin is so gentle it feels almost dangerous.

“… Yeah.” But you don’t at all sound sure of yourself. A hum from him seems to rattle your skull as he drags his lips up your neck and over your jaw, kissing you with a softness that is almost certainly deceptive.

“You know what, angel? I don’t actually really feel like talking about that right now. Does that tell you—” he bites your lip, and it doesn’t really hurt, but you whine anyway, “what kind of day I had?”

No words are forming for you anymore, so you make do with an airy “mhm.”

The first button at the bottom of your shirt is undone before you even realize he was unbuttoning it.

“Have you ever heard of the ventrolateral ventromedial hypothalamus?” Spencer murmurs, undoing the buttons on your shirt with a practiced expertise that is hard to keep up with—especially when he keeps teasing your lips with his like this. It doesn’t even matter if you’ve heard of that or not; all the information you’ve ever retained is gone from the stores of your brain. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer, it feels deeply unimportant. You shake your head no. “The hypothalamus does a lot. It regulates our appetites, our body temperatures, hormones…”

Why is this so sexy.

“It also has a lot to do with how we express our emotions. And that tiny part of the hypothalamus—the one I just mentioned—it’s where we process two really big feelings.” He undoes the last button, gently pushing your open shirt from your shoulders. “Anger.” Hands creep around your hips, blindly unzipping your skirt. “And arousal.”

Oh!

“In a disregulated brain, that can be a dangerous combination. But,” he tugs the straps of your bra down, “if you understand it, you can use it to your advantage.”

Your breath is bated as you do the work of kicking off your shoes, and he unclasps your bra.

“The human brain is fallible in so many ways. At the end of the day, we’re delicate, and vulnerable, and convoluted—but we’re also pretty simple creatures, motivated by a few basic instincts. Anger and sex are intrinsic to who we are as animals. For most of history, they’ve defined us. And they’re so closely related. Do you follow?”

Your response comes as a gasp when you realize you haven’t been breathing for a long moment now.

“Yes.” Does it matter if you understand? You just want him to touch you.

“Good.” His lowered voice gets even quieter as he continues, brushing hair behind your ear carefully. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

“I know.”

You don’t remember how all your clothes ended up on the kitchen floor, but they’re certainly not on you anymore as he presses flush against your bare skin.

“I will always take care of you and keep you safe. That being said—sometimes the best thing you can do when you’re having a really big feeling is to follow that basic animal instinct. It’s why sprinting can help when you’re having a panic attack. Your body is in fight or flight and it will relax if you follow the instinct to run.”

Spencer’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ve been having some of those really big feelings today. Do you know what’s going to make me feel better?”

You whimper. Fabric slips past your hips and falls to the ground as Spencer begins closing the small distance between your mouths—but not before uttering a word that has your heart racing.

“You.”

[eminemily05]

Well, I did it. I finally cracked and wrote for Ratchet. And an inspired fic, no less

I wanted to give one of my pieces (Kissy Times ) a way that was more open to any readers/viewers. While also having fun building around the moment itself.

I hope I was able to capture the grumpy guy's personality well enough, and I do hope you all enjoy. And it gets a bit more suggestive towards the end, just a warning

This work is 2.2k words and roughly proofread...I may have issues.

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

It’s a damn good thing the kids aren’t at base to witness this.

That’s the only thought on your mind as a metal servo slips under your shirt. The touch is gentle, hesitant even. Yet, its owner seems anything but at the moment. As mesh lips slot against yours, the faint rumble of an engine reverberates off the metal surfaces of the Autobot base. Steam slips through the seams of alloy plating, nearly unnoticeable biolights flickering beneath armor plates.

Of course, the feeling isn’t nearly as incredible as the fact of just whose servo is wandering your heated skin. 

Ratchet, mass displaced, yet still towering, had cornered you off to a section of the medbay. His back turned towards the main room so he could keep you from any prying optics that did manage to sneak in. Not that he was even focused on sensing whether any of the team witnessed this moment. All his attention diverted to the melting putty of human against his frame. To which he quickly responded with a supporting servo along the nape of your neck. Taking care to not pinch any skin between the seams of his digits as he cupped it with practiced precision.

Your hands found purchase along the seams of his warm plating. One settling on his shoulder pauldron. The other, gently cupping his audial–which wiggled happily–and pulling him closer into the embrace. Soft puffs of steam warming your fingers from beneath his frame. 

Internally, his scanner was pinging off repeatedly with warning signals for your current state. Easily, it picked up the shift of your breath, the uptick of your bodily temperature, and the steady increase of your heart rate as he practically stole the air from your lungs. His frame pressed flush to your trembling form and heated form. Yet, the feeling from your miniscule and weak EM field told him it was nothing to worry about.

Well, aside from the obvious–and very much annoying–human limits compared to his own alien species. Curse the universe for doing this to you.

Setting a shaking hand against his chassis, you gave a firm–yet gentle–push. It took him a moment to pick up on your silent plea, and he pulled back with a hiss of his pistons. Engine rattling unhappily at the separation. But, your comfort always came first.

Immediately, he was checking you over. A worried click of his vocalizer settling between you. “I…wasn’t too much, was I..?” His bright blue optics dimmed slightly and his finials perked. His sensors hadn’t picked up any physical discomfort, but mentality was always a fickle thing. 

Maybe he read your field wrong? He contemplated, It’s not like it’s his fault it was so fragging hard to pick up on.

Struggling to even get your brain to boot back up, you didn’t even notice the fact that the bot in front of you was having a mini crisis. Scared that scrap, he broke the human. How was he supposed to explain this to the team?

You were absolutely starstruck, your brain sailing high in the clouds on the wings of pure euphoria. When was the last time you had even felt something that good? That kiss had been so far out of this world–pun intended–that your mind was having a bit of a hard time coming back out of the stars. I’m sorry, but too much? You thought silently as his words finally floated into the mush of your hazy thoughts. This man cannot be serious. 

A repeated firm pat against your cheek brought you back. Crash landing your shuttle of daydreams right back down to the hard, serious surface of reality. You blinked a couple times before finally looking up at him. Him and his–very clearly–annoyed expression.

“It would be helpful if you could actually answer me, I do hope you know,” His finals twitched in slight, harmless, agitation. He wasn’t actually mad, just worried. Maybe he wasn’t always able to show it in the best way, but you had known him long enough to learn his tells.

Malleable metal creased slightly under his optical ridges in silent concern. Dimmed optics diligently scanned over your body for any sign of discomfort. Servos drifting over your skin for anything out of place. He cared through actions best, not words.

You couldn’t help the teasing tone that left your mouth, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, then maybe you shouldn’t take my breath away so easily,” You gave the antenna of his back kibble a slight flick, drawing a stutter from his engine, before wrapping your arms up and around his helm. Messing him was child’s play.

Panic flickered across his features for just a moment. Plating hissing as it rose in stress, his digits gripping as his optics zeroed in on your chest. While generally perverted, you could tell he was checking whether your lungs had actually collapsed.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you probably wouldn’t be talking if they had.

“Take your breath away?!” His tone turned frantic, engine roaring loud and causing his frame to vibrate against you, “I didn’t mean to deprive you of air, oh I am a fo–” 

Fortunately, his concerned ranting was cut short when he saw the amused look on your features. Suddenly, his plating drooped with a click and hiss of steam as he gave you a clearly un-amused glare in return. 

“You were using one of your incredibly annoying Earth idioms, weren’t you. Need I remind you to not use those sort of phrases with a Doctor. I would feel this is obvious.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you dragged a finger along one of his seams. Watching his finals perk slightly at the touch. He seemed to relax…albeit slightly. But hey! Slightly with Ratchet, in any capacity, was a celebration of its own!

“Loosen up Doc–” His wheels spun with displeasure at the nickname, finials flicking down, “You really need to stop thinking so much about it. Oh, and learn a bit more about human culture and phrases. They get so much worse from there.” Ratchet hearing the phrase ‘shit fire and save matches’ would probably send him into a spark-attack and a tirade you didn’t even want to imagine explaining to him…

…Although, the idea did seem quite amusing.

“And fill my processor with useless, and primitive, information? Puh-lease. I’d rather build a space bridge from scrap, than even attempt to understand you humans.” He grumbles, looking at you over. Clearly, still apprehensive about your physical wellbeing 

“You still never answered my question, you know.”

He really was worried about you, wasn’t he? The old softie…

Sighing, you gently rubbed along one of his finials. His helm shifted to follow the touch as you answered, “Ratchet, that was probably the best damn kiss I’ve ever had. Too good, in fact.” You hummed, smirking at him. Mirth sparkled in your eyes. “Have any more experiences you’d like to ‘share’ with me?”

The question was supposed to be playful, a simple teasing jab at his age and probably lack of experience. 

….Apparently, that was not the case.

“Not that you could handle.” He scoffed, the corners of his dermas twitching in a hidden smirk. Plates shifted as steam rolled through them. Your eyes widened like saucers at a sudden peak at his very much tucked away personality. Like a tiger eyeing its next meal through the chain-link of its enclosure.

This fucker! You thought, suddenly feeling like a kid who just watched the last of their favorite treat get swallowed up. How dare he keep sexy secrets from me. 

You sent him a deadly glare, an unappealing whine slipping from your throat. “That’s not fair, Ratch!”

The servo under your shirt shifted upwards slightly, digits caressing the curve of your spine. A breathy keen replaced your quick forming tirade and you couldn’t help leaning into the touch. His expression said it all for you. The medic knew exactly what he was doing.

Then again, he was a quick learner.

“What’s the phrase again? Life’s not fair?”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. The digits dancing along your back didn’t seem to want to help your stuttering mind from its predicament.

“Nevermind, no more human phrases for you.” You grumbled, recovering quickly. Knowledge was power, and human knowledge in Ratchet’s servos was like playing with fire. His knowledge of you–your ins and outs–was like dancing through hellflame, though.

Breath suddenly hitching as he leaned in close, he gently bumped his helm against your brow bone. Taking care to shift his chevrons out of the way, lest he accidentally stab you. He moved to speak–which was probably more stupid snark from his stupid (handsome) face in that stupid (attractive) tone–and you instantly took the opportunity to jolt forward. Slotting your lips against his, stalling his engine and actually drawing a surprised whoop of his sirens. The small snort of amusement you gave was incredibly short lived, as his servo gave a gentle tug of your hair.

 Your gasp, with the following undercurrent of a soft moan, gave him just enough of a chance to slip his glossa past your lips. The taste of iron and static charge sat against your tongue, and your eyes fluttered closed. Any sane person surely wouldn’t find enjoyment in such a strange mix of taste. But at this point, sane wasn’t even part of the equation. Not when you got a chance at riding with (on) the party ambulance. The grouchy, moody, but incredibly skilled and fine wine, agedly handsome party ambulance.

Imagining a younger, college age version of this bot sent blood pumping straight between your legs. Fuck, Cybertron had been lucky to witness the glory of prime-time Ratchet. Young, Fast, Energetic, and definitely a great–

The ever learning and observing medic settled his servos down along your hips now. Applying skillful and perfect pressure that pulled soft whines and moans from your mouth, and took you from your fantastical thoughts. You’d revisit those later…in the safety of your room, with the comfort of your…toys.

A quick learner who knew–and catalogued–just where to touch to mold your mind into such hazy thoughts. As if he knew just what you were thinking. Like he was silently saying to you, ‘I may not be young, but don’t think I’ve lost the energy and spunk to break your brains.’ Or something like that. Though, that may have just been your own mind saying that to you. Then again…with magic hands McGee over here, your brain even struggled to make its silent snide comments.

It clung desperately to any rationale it still held, not that any of it would last long enough. Not with eons old, intelligent as fuck, alien medic man pressed right up against you. Rumbling frame and hissing joints steadily working to clog your brain and untense your body. Biolights flashing a very alluring, tantalizing, pattern beneath the cracks of his armor plating. 

Just relax. They almost spoke to you. And damnit if you didn’t want to listen. Because you really really wanted to. You’d need to ask Ratchet about that later…when thinking wasn’t so hard…let alone speaking.

It probably would help if you didn’t have metal, and shockingly soft, lips moving so expertly against yours. Glossa slipping against your lips and pushing your own tongue down. Static sparkling deliciously against the roof of your mouth. A pleasant little buzz.

Ratchet pulled back just slightly, enough to look at your blissed out expression with a soft chuckle. He hasn’t seen that sort of effect since he was back in Medical School as a charged-up, naive mech. But by the gods, he still had it. And with a human, no less.

It made his wheels spin in pure excitement.

Thinking about it, the team wouldn't be back for a couple more groons. Having gone out on a scavenging mission for energon. And the old bot had needed a break for a good while. Optimus would certainly agree…

So, just this once, he supposed he’ll take what he deserves.

Settled in his reasoning, the aged mech slid his servos under your thighs and easily lifted you right up against the metal wall. Your back sat flush against it as his grip held you securely. The show of strength only caused your face to heat up significantly. Obviously, a human was like holding a bag of grapes compared to the metal these bots flung around regularly. But fuck if it wasn’t hot seeing how effortlessly Ratchet could fling you around.

Though you wished he'd just fling you into the nearest bed, this would do fine.

Locking his lips back up against yours, his engine rumbled loudly. Vibrating his entire frame against your body and sending pleasurable sensations down to the aching between your legs that so desperately needed some touch.

His vents and fans whirred at a deafening pace as his servos found purchase along your waist. Digits sunk gently into the plush skin as he held you pinned against the wall with his hips. Your legs settled along the runners of his hip guards and you just barely registered his antenna wagging at the movement. Like some overgrown, metal puppy. How adorable.

You silently thanked the gods that the kids weren’t here to witness this. 

Unfortunately, that was the last sensible thought your brain could make before Ratchet’s skillful touch dipped into your shorts. Completely shattering any rational idea from that moment on. At that moment all you could think was,

Thank you Primus for crafting this hunk of a wonderfully handsome, and incredibly skilled man. But please…just don’t let him break me.

[rhyrhy]

reader being shy and telling abby she loves her for the first time

AHH this is soo cute! We love you Abby!💐 Ty for request

“I love you abs”

You loved Abby, absolutely adored her. You wanted to tell her; you did! But god, it was harder than just blurting it out. It felt like the words would choke you before they left your lips

Mind still running rampant, you found yourself low-key avoiding her until your thoughts settled.

You sighed, leaning against the wall, staring out the window as your thoughts spiraled. The murmur of voices from the next room barely registered until a particular line broke through the haze.

“I wish…someone loved me enough to make me a stocking ,” she sighed.

Wait, what did she say? You peeked into the doorframe next to you. There she was, holding it up half-jokingly, half-serious. Owen’s , ‘You don’t deserve one’ comment, made you roll your eyes. Of course she did. Yes, you were originally trying to stay away, but now... you have something else in mind.

Your hands were covered in glue and red glitter, but it was perfect. Now you just prayed you didn’t bump into her on your way to hang it up. Once the coast was clear, you pinned it up next to the others.

‘Abby’ the stocking read. It didn’t have anything in it yet; you weren’t even sure what to fill it with. Old world traditions were hard to remember when you have infected running rampant where people used to.

It was fuzzy, a little lopsided from being empty but perfect.

You loved her enough to make her a stocking.

You lingered around for her to notice, and it felt so sweet when she did. She did a double take reading the letters. A-b-b-y…yeah, that’s her. You couldn’t help but giggle under your breath at her reaction, her face light up. A hesitant hand brushed along the letters, almost like she was re-reading them.

“Wasnt sure what to put in it..” you said a little awkwardly. But a smile on your face.

She liked it. She liked it!

“Did you..?..You made this?” she asked softly, stepping closer. She asked a mixture of amusement and disbelief on her face as she turned to face you. Nose still a little red from the temperature dropping.

“Mhm..” you looked away for a moment to collect yourself.

“Yeah. I heard what you said about… you know. Wanting someone to love you enough to make you one.”

“I… Abby, I love you.” You swallowed hard, every ounce of courage you’d mustered rushing to the surface.

She froze, her brain needing to catch up with what she just heard. A nervous huffed laugh came first.

“Yeah?…you- you mean that?” She managed to get out.

“I do,” you said, more confident this time. “I’ve wanted to tell you for days, but I didn’t know how. And then… the stocking.”

Abby laughed under her breath, shaking her head as She stepped closer, her gloved hand finding yours, fingers brushing yours lightly. “You made me a stocking just to say you love me?”

“Yeah, you like it don’t you?” You laced your fingers with hers. Then glanced back up to her face.

“I do…thank you.” She pulled you into a hug then, the warmth of her arms engulfing you. “And..I love you, too,” she murmured against your hair.

[deikshen]

Shen Qingqiu decides that in order to avoid becoming a human stick... He should just become a woman and take a wife plot!! There are HUNDREDS of wife plots in PIDW, and well, Shen Qingqiu can become a woman and fall into one, become Luo Binghe's wife after the regulatory papapa, and be forgotten in the harem. It's not a bad idea.

(Shang Qinghua keeps his comments to himself, extremely amused by Cucumber-bro's mental gymnastics. Heaven save him.)

So, Shen Qingqiu bites the bullet and gets himself a rare flower that transforms his body into a woman body, with tits and... bottoms. He makes it look like an accident, which, combined with the effect of Without-A-Cure, has no immediate solution. Mu Qingfang is jaded but not skeptical, so they just let it be. Shen Qingqiu is still Shen Qingqiu, Peak Lord and resting bitch face™, only now he must wear robes that do not squeeze his grown chest so much and a belt that fits tighter around his waist.

Shen Qingqiu still thinks of himself as a man, the other Peak Lords and disciples still refer to him as Shixiong and Shizun, as the immortal master that he is, and more than that there is not much to say. Shang Qinghua occasionally makes a comment about him having nice tits and earns a couple of fan blows to the head, but it's not really too different from before.

He hasn't decided yet what wife plot he will use. Maybe the flower that sex-pollen-poisons him but makes him irresistible to any demon around him? It would tempt Binghe's demonic side a bit, and secure him the papapa. Or the water from that spring that would make the typical fuck or die plot only solvable with the Heavenly Pillar? Shen Qingqiu believes that he has time to think about it further; after all, there are still years to The Moment, right?

The plague of Jinlan City and Luo Binghe's unexpected and early return throw him into absolute chaos. Fuck! He still has nothing ready! Not even a flower of pollen on him that would make Binghe spare his life!

Well, Shen Qingqiu will have to cope with only the experience of trashy romance novels, improvisation and his arduous desire to survive.

...

When Luo Binghe arrives at his room, demanding answers from the elusive Shizun who hasn't even shown himself to him... Shizun only has inner robes. There's... Blush on his cheeks? Wet lips and bitten? The tunics open at the subtle curve of... Breasts? A tiny waist - even tinier than before, Luo Binghe is confident he can hold his hands around it without any problems - and wide hips where the fabric of his inner tunics almost seems transparent. Luo Binghe falls silent, his brain boiling in five different temperatures.

"Binghe?" asks his Shizun, who somehow seems to have been... cursed with this form? He looks vulnerable, a sweet fawn with huge eyes, a blushed face, and a sweet half-open mouth. "Is it really you?"

His Shizun looks big eyes on the verge of tears. He approaches, not caring about the ill-fitting tunics, not caring that one of his shoulders slides, revealing white skin, a stretch of cleavage. And his Shizun holds his face, hands cold and almost trembling, as if he were seeing a dream come true in front of him.

Luo Binghe... wonders if Shizun ever dreamed of that. If his Shizun ever dreamed of seeing him come back to now react in that way. Because now tears are streaming down Shen Qingqiu's face, and he is holding Binghe's face so lovingly in his hands that Luo Binghe can only melt into his touch.

"Shizun," he says, because it's all he wants to say, it's all he can say. His anger is a chaos that spirals out in all directions, but how can he let it out there? In front of the vulnerable Shizun who cries for him? There must be an explanation, Luo Binghe tells himself. He needs to hear that.

But he also needs Shen Qingqiu not to cry.

"My Binghe" his Shen Qingqiu says, his own heart racing. Luo Binghe lets Shen Qingqiu move him, pulling him, wrapping him in a hug. Luo Binghe must lean down to be hugged tightly by his Shizun, but there... There is a stretch of white throat exposed. There is so much soft skin exposed in every direction. He can see the pronounced curve of his cleavage, but he can feel almost beneath his mouth the throbbing in his throat, the scent of his hair, the perfume of his skin...

And Shen Qingqiu squeezes him tighter, almost making him bend over him, holding him as if he never wants to let go. And Luo Binghe can feel every curve of his body pressed against him, he can lose himself in the scent of his skin, in the strong grip of his arms. His own body is awakening irrationally and embarrassingly, but if Shen Qingqiu notices it, he doesn't say anything...

No, in fact, Shen Qingqiu is getting closer to him?

Is Shizun poisoned? Or something? Some pollen? Some flower? What's going on?

"My sweet disciple," Shen Qingqiu says, and as much as Binghe wants to pull away to see his face, Shen Qingqiu holds him against him. Luo Binghe believes it is because, despite everything, his Shizun's face is still so thin... "This... This Shizun has missed his good boy Binghe so much..."

Luo Binghe feels his own rational brain shutting down. Oh well. He'll figure out what needs to be figured out later. His cock will be taking control of all the blood in his body now.

(When Shen Qingqiu is pushed against a wall and roughly kissed, he restrains himself from pumping a fist in the air in celebration. YEAH!!! HE DID IT!! HE'S GOING TO SURVIVE THAT AND WITHOUT BECOMING A HUMAN STICK!!)

...

(Papapa - about five to six rounds, Shen Qingqiu lost count at some point - later, Shen Qingqiu is not too sure that he will actually survive. His little blackened lotus has a lot to learn. Ah, where did he learn to be so rough? Those kisses seemed more like bites than kisses. Lots of teeth, lots of teeth. And his touch is rough and not gentle at all, and Shen Qingqiu is more in pain from his clumsy fingers than from the Heavenly Pillar. Did the demon jiejie in the Abyss they hadn't taught him anything? At this point in the plot Luo Binghe should know at least something on how to be a good lover!!

Or was Airplane's poor writing now reflecting on the Protagonist!? Oh, Shen Qingqiu hoped not, because otherwise Airplane was going to pay for it with his blood.

Ah well. Once a Shizun, always a Shizun. Shen Qingqiu is going to have to teach his cute Binghe a little about this too. And sleepy after a some orgasms, the truth is that he doesn't object at all.)

[annarobszombies]

hii idk if u take request but i love ur thoughts on drstone so i was thinking a fem reader (if possible) that is stanxeno adopted daughter and she is like outgoing but shares interests with her parents (she's raised right) and she is part of the american colony . Senku x reader if possible ty

I ABSOLUTELY TAKE REQUESTS

This took way too long and I'm not the most happy with it but I'm a little rusty please forgive me

Senku x Reader: Beginnings (776 words)

Living in the stone world with your fathers was hard enough, but having very few others you could relate to made it even harder. Especially when one of those people was Luna, who was definitely a little into both of your parents, which could be mildly uncomfortable. So when you caught wind of a fledgling Kingdom of Science filled with people who were around your age, you practically threw yourself at the opportunity to get closer to them.

Stanley was going to have an aneurism when he found out you’d left home without permission, but you'd deal with that later.

The mechanical insides running the so-called science vessel Perseus were absolutely amazing. These people had oil! Gasoline! Your colony was stuck with wood and charcoal, you had nothing on all this!

"Pretty exciting, yeah?" Your guide, a young man who'd introduced himself as Senku asks, grinning over his shoulder at you. He seemed to be one of the few who actually spoke English, and you were awfully grateful for that.

"It's amazing! I'm really super impressed," You say, grinning just as wide. Senku nods, arms crossing over his chest as a look of pure pride covers his face for a moment, before you catch the way it twists into something else. 

“So,” He says, voice dropping to a more serious, and vaguely wicked tone. “Now that you’ve seen our ship, what’s say you and me have a nice long conversation, hm?” 

“A conversation?” You tilt your head to the side, still smiling. “Weren’t we just having one?” 

“Sure, but I’ve got questions, and it seems only fair that you take the time to answer them for me,” Senku snipes back, mimicking your action. 

If your fathers found out how quickly you folded just because a boy your age looked at you like that, you’d be locked in your room for the next six to ten years. 

-

You were an enigma to him. You’d come all the way to the Perseus by yourself, with no apparent motivation other than scientific inquiry. Senku hadn’t even needed to use any kind of underhanded tactics to get you to talk. You were freely open, and appeared to be fairly honest in your responses to his questions, claiming that there was no point in your lying to him. 

You told him that Doctor Xeno was your father, but that you hadn’t told him you were coming all this way, and had gone into far more detail than expected when Stanley Snyder’s machine gun had been brought up, rambling about its specifications for a solid five minutes before he has to reign you back in.

You were a miniature scientist yourself, though you claimed to leave all the real thinking to your dad. 

He liked you more and more the longer you two talked, letting himself go off on scientific tangents more than once while you nodded along, and made well educated comments of your own. By the time someone else finally comes to check on the two of you, he’s almost ten billion percent sure he’s a little in love with you. 

Or, at the very least, your brain. Falling in love that quickly was more illogical than falling in love in general, but it would be a complete lie if he said he didn’t want to keep you around for more selfish reasons than to turn you over to their side. 

It didn’t help that you gave him your entire attention, leaning forward with bright eyes glittering with genuine excitement whenever he got started on one of his mini science lectures. It made him feel like Taiju whenever Yuzuriha was around, his heart beating far too hard than should be normal, his body temperature rising. 

“I should go back soon,” Your sighed words have a frown pulling on his lips. 

“Not sure we can let you do that,” He says, dissatisfaction pooling in his chest. He wasn’t ready for you to leave just yet, he had more information he wanted, more things he wanted to talk to you about. 

“Because I might be a spy? That’s understandable,” You say, letting out another soft sigh.

“But my absence has probably already been noticed, and I’d rather not watch my other dad shoot you in the head just because I decided to come out here.” 

“Your other dad?” He has a feeling he already knows what you’re about to say next, based on your wording alone. 

“Mhm, Stanley.” 

Hah, so you had a genius scientist and a military expert as parents? No wonder you were so damn smart. How exhilarating, he couldn’t help but feel at least a little excited about that.

[heavenlybodies333]

Sibling War - Riddle Family Affair

The Riddle Manor had seen many battles—duels of power, wars of ideology, the clash of darkness and light.

But nothing—nothing—was as violent as the rivalry between Delphini and Mattheo Riddle.

"You absolute dumbass! You took my broom without asking, and now it's snapped in half!" Delphini shrieked, brandishing the broken remnants of her prized Nimbus 2001 like a murder weapon.

Mattheo, sprawled lazily across the velvet couch, didn't even look up from flipping his dagger between his fingers. "Relax, Del. I’ll get you a new one. That thing was ancient anyway."

"Ancient? Ancient?" Her voice climbed an octave, dangerously close to shattering the chandelier above. "That was a collector’s edition, you half-brained, ego-inflated, insufferable—"

"Oh, here we go." Mattheo groaned, rolling his eyes. "Merlin’s balls, you’re such a drama queen. Maybe if you weren’t so busy obsessing over a stupid broom, you’d actually have a life."

Delphini launched herself at him.

Mattheo barely dodged, leaping over the back of the couch as she swung the broken broom at his head. He laughed, dodging her second strike. "You really think you can take me, little sister?"

"You absolute prick—"

Marvolo sighed from his seat by the fireplace, flipping a page in his book. "You know Father is going to kill you both if you destroy the sitting room again."

Delphini hurled a hex. Mattheo dodged, and the spell obliterated a marble bust of Salazar Slytherin.

Marvolo just sighed louder. "And there it is."

"YOU’RE PAYING FOR THAT," Delphini screeched.

Mattheo smirked. "Make me, baby sister."

The house shook as another hex exploded against the walls. The family tapestry burst into flames. An entire bookshelf rattled, and somewhere, a window shattered.

And then—

The temperature dropped.

A sharp, suffocating chill filled the room, and the lights flickered out. Every candle in the manor snuffed out at once. The only sound was the heavy, deliberate click of polished shoes against the marble floor.

The hairs on the back of Marvolo’s neck stood up.

Mattheo and Delphini froze mid-duel.

From the darkness, Tom Riddle emerged.

His robes billowed behind him as if he were some ancient shadow made flesh. His gaze was slow and deliberate as it raked over the ruined room—the broken bust, the smoldering tapestry, the shattered window.

Neither Mattheo nor Delphini moved.

"Would one of you," Tom’s voice was silk stretched over steel, "like to explain to me why my home currently resembles the aftermath of a war zone?"

Silence.

A pause.

Then—

"Delphini started it," Mattheo said immediately.

"You unhinged, gaslighting bastard—"

"Enough." Tom didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

The air thickened, pressing down on all three of them like gravity itself had turned against them.

Delphini swallowed. Mattheo shut his mouth.

Marvolo, wisely, stayed out of it.

Tom folded his hands behind his back. "You will clean this entire room before dinner. You will repair every inch of damage done to this house." His voice lowered to something far more dangerous. "And you will do so in absolute silence."

Delphini opened her mouth.

Tom’s gaze flickered to her.

She snapped it shut.

"Good." Tom turned, his robes sweeping behind him as he left the room, leaving nothing but cold fear in his wake.

The moment he was gone, Mattheo exhaled, rubbing his face. "You’re so lucky he didn’t Crucio us."

Delphini shoved him. "You’re so lucky I didn’t Crucio you."

Marvolo just flipped another page. "Idiots."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: I changed my font guys, IDKKK I liked the old one it just made me copy and paste my writing into a font changer and then have to paste it onto here and it just took me forever to get anything done. also I found it a lot harder to read bc the font is bolded so im gonna try this out, maybe I’ll go back but idk 😭 I like this font so far it’s easier on the eyes

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Hiii! I absolutely love your writing its so amazing! I was wondering if you could do a imagine where elvis writes the song "burning love" for y/n and the first time he plays it for her is at one of his shows, and at the end she gets emotional because she loves it, and he finds her at the end of the show in a quiet hallway (cause she's trying to calm herself) and he comforts her in a cute way and she tells him it's a great song. Hopefully that made sense love your work!

A/N: Hi anon! Sorry this has taken me a while. I tweaked it a little as Elvis didn't write tend to write his own songs and I don't like to go insanely off-script with things (don't all laugh at once), but hopefully it still works.

Burning Love

Pairing: Elvis x reader

Word count: 1K

TWs: Barely any. Crying, angst. Mostly fluffy.

Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature risin', mmm

Higher, higher, it's burning through to my soul

Girl, girl, girl, girl, you're gonna set me on fire

My brain is flamin', I don't know which way to go, yeah

You sit in one of the private boxes with a couple of the guys, as the music fills the room. Elvis had told you that he was going to dedicate a song to you this evening. He hadn’t written it exactly but he’d arranged it and when he’d heard the lyrics he’d thought they were the perfect way to describe how he felt about you. He hadn’t given you any other clues, only that he’d play it for the first time that evening and he’d tell everyone it was for his beautiful wife. A few moments ago he’d made the announcement and got you to stand up for everyone to see. You turned and waved awkwardly to the audience. Not one to make a fuss, or even really like big groups of people that much, standing up in the middle of the room had made you a little uncomfortable, but you like to make him happy. And you know he likes showing you off, whenever he has the opportunity, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. 

Your kisses lift me higher

Like a sweet song of a choir

You light my mornin' sky with burning love, mmm

You blush at the lyrics, thinking of all the times he’d kissed you, all the places he’d kissed you. But you’re still smiling. This is so sweet. 

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, I feel my temperature risin', mm

Help me, I'm flamin', I must be 109, mmm

Burnin', burnin', burnin' and nothing can cool me, yeah

I just might turn into smoke, but I feel fine

'Cause your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir

And you light my mornin' sky with burning love

Your blush deepens. The song is sounding a little dirty now, especially with the way he’s singing it, but as you watch him move around the stage your heart soars. Just look at him. And he’d chosen you to marry and dedicate this song to. 

It's comin' closer, the flames are now lickin' my body, mm

Won't you help me? I feel like I'm slippin' away

It's hard to breathe, and my chest is a-heavin', mmm, hmm

Lord, have mercy, I'm burning a hole where I lay, yeah

Somehow, even though the song is a little dirty and almost joky in the way the lyrics are describing the love affair, it’s bringing a lump to your throat and tears to your eyes. His vocal range is just incredible and he looks so gorgeous in the dark blue suit you can’t believe how lucky you are. You savour the feeling as he starts the final bridge. 

Your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir

You light my morning sky with burning love

With burning love (a hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah)

I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love (ah)

I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah (ah)

A hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah (ah)

A hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah (ah)

A hunk, a hunk of burning love (ah)

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah (ah)

A hunk, a hunk of burning love, ah, ah (ah)

I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Somewhere around the last chorus your emotions overtake you and you end up actually crying, tears running down your face. You make it through the last couple of songs and then ask Joe to let you pass. He gives you a worried look, but doesn’t say anything, figuring you probably want to be on your own. You’re not much for spending time with the guys, or being comforted either. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you cry, but any time you’re sad or overwhelmed you tend to want to be alone. You walk out of the hall and down a few corridors until you can find somewhere quiet to think. It’s so loud out there, amongst all those people, it’s a blessed relief to be in a place where you can hear your own thoughts. 

You and Elvis have been on quite the journey, from childhood friends to eventual lovers, but with a big gap in between. You’d never thought he’d go for someone like you, but actually you’re just what he needs, grounding and sensible, and you remind him of home. Thinking of your past together, you rub your arms with your hands, trying to self-soothe. It’s not that you’re actually sad, if anything you’re happier than you’ve ever been, but the feelings are overwhelming and you find them hard to process. You stand there for a while, rubbing and taking deep, slow breaths, and then you hear his deep voice. 

“Hey there, sugar lump. Y’ok?”

Turning towards him, you smile and he walks the few extra steps it takes to close the gap between you, taking you into his arms. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, gazing up at him. 

“Y’sure? Yer all on yer lonesome.”

You nod, solemnly. “I just needed to be somewhere quiet.”

He smiles gently, understanding, and strokes your cheek. When his fingers come back wet he frowns and looks at you questioningly. “Y’been cryin’ sugar?”

You smile. “Yeah, but it’s not bad.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s… I just got overwhelmed.”

“Aw. What by, honey? All the people?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just…” you look up at him shyly, through your lashes. “I loved it, El. The song. It was so powerful and you looked and sounded so good… and I just loved that you dedicated it to me.”

“A course I did, sugar. Yer my wife.”

Your smile grows at his words. “I thought about a lot of things I guess. About us. And I just felt so lucky… and the feelings were so strong I cried a little. So I came here to calm down.”

His hand cups your face as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m the lucky one, sugar. I love ya s’much.”

“I love you too El. Forever.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters @elvisbdoll

[captainpetebradshaw]

so i watched 2x22 "the wire" for the first time today and it was a near religious experience so you're getting my thoughts on it under the cut

I love how comfortable they've gotten with each other; talking books? disagreeing about books? garak asking if julian can't just use his status as a doctor to get them to skip the line?

"perfect health, huh??" julian is so offended by garak lying to him about his condition lol

"i'm a doctor, not a botanist" is this some kind of star trek tradition?

"why can't he just tell me what's going on?" "it sounds like you're taking this personally" "i suppose I am... It's just that garak and I have been having lunch together once a week for more than a year now" once a week?! for more than a year?!

and then julian angrily stabbing dax's plant in frustration. let it out.

unsure if quark called julian to come get the absolutely hammered garak from his bar because he's the doctor or because julian is literally the only social contact quark could think of for garak???

"i prefer to drink somewhere quiet" "quiet? excellent idea... we'll go to my quarters" "whatever you want. but first i must make a stop at the infirmary" guess garak wasn't drunk enough for that little trick

but he was drunk enough to not notice the bottle hand-off to quark

"make it stop, make it stop..." aww no, poor baby!

julian using his doctor credentials to basically break into garak's. guess they ended up in his quarters after all

"if i was ever tortured, [the implant] was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins" i gotta say, that has some freaky fucked up potential for fanfics and i can't wait to see how often it has been appropriated in the last 30 years

"living on this station is torture for me, doctor. the temperature is always too cold. the lights are always too bright. every bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt" ah yes, the autism experience

"why don't you just shut the damn thing off?" julian, do they teach nothing about addiction in med school?

i had to rewind this scene a couple times because i was chanting "kiss! kiss! kiss!" in my living room and didn't listen to a word they said. the 4:3 aspect ratio is also doing its thing

"has it ever occured to you that i might be getting exactly what i deserve?" "no one deserves this" julian going from all that taunting and appealing to garak's pride to this???? unexpected softness incoming

garak telling this story about how he is responsible for so many people dying and julian just saying right now he's just concerned for his health and won't let him die??? "you need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, i promise i'll help you through them" like this is insane. i assumed people shipped them for a reason (and lower decks made them "canon" for a reason) but i was LIVING watching this.

it also has to be said that andrew robinson is acting the ever living shit out of these scenes - fantastic

even odo can't get past protector mode chief medical officer doctor bashir

staying by his bedside? for hours???

shoulder touch denied!!!

it's wild, garak must be suffering so much in that moment but he's still spinning up some new potential backstory. maybe this time it's not a lie but we just don't know.

"and so they exiled you" "that's right! and left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." "i'm sorry you feel that way. i thought you enjoyed my company." "oh i did! and that's the worst part. i can't belive that i actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into your smug sanctimonious face. i hate this place and i hate you." "ok, garak." addicts do get just absolutely hateful so this sounds pretty spot on to me.

on a side note, i don't think i could have done lunch every week with julian. he is smug and he has a big ego and i relate to the other senior officers who were sometimes a little condescending in their reactions when he was boasting about something or other. but that's ok, i don't have to. garak enjoyed it, it seems.

garak: you still have to learn the truth julian: heart eyes motherfucker

"why are you telling me this, garak?" "so that you can forgive me. why else? i need to know that someone forgives me"

"i forgive you. for whatever it is you did" "thank you, doctor. that's most kind"

so julian goes and finds the guy who's kind of responsible for garak having that implant in the first place. it's also i think the first time julian acknowledges they are friends?

"how sick is garak?" "he's dying" "and you're trying to save him?" "that's right" "strange... i thought you were his friend?" "i suppose i am" "then you should let him die. after all, for garak, a life in exile is no life at all"

"thank you" "don't thank me. i'm not doing garak any favors. he doesn't deserve a quick death. on the contrary. i want him to live a long, miserable life. i want him to grow old on that station surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again. "what a lovely sentiment" "and it's from the heart, i assure you" <- that made me laugh

we learn garak's first name!

he's well again! back to the regularly scheduled lunch date!

and he's got a new book recommendation for julian, how nice

"what i want to know out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't" "my dear doctor, they were all true" "even the lies?"

"especially the lies"

smiley boys!

this ended up being more of a collection of my favorite quotes from the episode but that's fine with me. it's my post.

[aventurineswife]

You’ve probably gotten plenty of asks starting with “Hear me out,” but like, hear me out. 😆

Reader and one (or more) of the Stellaron Hunters trying to give Sesame Cake a bath.

As you can imagine, it probably goes very poorly. 🤣

(Also, I think I saw a post while scrolling calling Sesame Cake one of those orange cats. At the very least, Sesame certainly looks like he has the brain cell of an orange! Absolutely nothing behind those eyes. 😂)

A Cake-Cat’s Revolution

Summary: You and Kafka engage in a light-hearted experiment with an eccentric creature known as Shader Cat, a hybrid of a cat and a cake. After attempting to bathe the creature, it escapes and causes a bit of chaos, eventually settling in Kafka's lap.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Humor, Whimsy, Mischief, Absurdity, Lighthearted, Surreal, Creature Interaction, Unpredictability.

The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the plush sofa where Kafka lounged, looking every bit the epitome of cool detachment and calculated elegance. She leaned back against a set of cushions, arms crossed, the dark pince-nez perched playfully atop her head, her hair cascading into a messy ponytail. Meanwhile, you stood before her, holding the enigmatic purple creature known as Shader Cat — a whimsical combination of a cat and a cake, with its spider-web patterns and sunglasses.

"Why are we doing this, again?" Kafka inquired, a slight air of bemusement tinging her otherwise smooth voice.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep the situation under control. "I thought it might be… fun?" you said, though the conviction in your voice sounded more like a question than a statement.

Kafka raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes scanning the bundle of confusion in your arms. "Fun," she echoed, and you noticed the slight curl of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I suppose it might be an interesting test of patience."

With a deep breath, you gently set Shader Cat down in the bathtub. The creature blinked lazily, large eyes staring blankly up at the overhead showerhead. Its tail flicked once, then settled back into an inert state.

"Alright," you said, adopting a tone of forced optimism, "Let’s start with some warm water. A bath always does wonders for the stress."

Kafka leaned back further, crossing one ankle over the other. "I’m intrigued," she said, "Let’s see how long it takes before it starts plotting a rebellion against us."

You turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature of the water. Meanwhile, Kafka watched with detached interest, sipping an invisible drink that existed only in the aura of her calm demeanor. You carefully stepped aside to grab some soap and shampoo, leaving Shader Cat to its own devices — or, so you thought.

It was just as you reached for the shampoo that you heard a soft rustle behind you. When you turned back, the air seemed to shift, and you found yourself facing a small, purple blur. Shader Cat had apparently decided to make a break for it, its striped tail whipping wildly as it hopped out of the tub in a clumsy rush.

"Oh, no," you said, half-amused and half-worried, as the creature skittered towards the living room, narrowly avoiding the coffee table.

Kafka watched in bemusement, the glassy look in her eyes shifting slightly. "I believe it’s… escaping," she observed.

"I noticed," you said, as Shader Cat continued its flight, careening into the couch, then under a nearby armchair.

You scrambled to catch it, but it was surprisingly fast for a cake-cat hybrid. "Come back, Shader Cat," you pleaded, but it seemed intent on proving just how little interest it had in the bath.

"Remarkable," Kafka said dryly, watching with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "It seems quite… defiant for a dessert-like creature."

"Yeah, it really does," you said, a slight tinge of frustration creeping into your voice. "I didn’t know they could move that fast!"

Suddenly, the creature paused for a moment, as if considering its next move. With a sudden leap, it pounced onto the couch — right onto Kafka’s lap.

Kafka’s face remained a mask of calm, but you could detect the slightest twitch of surprise in her eyes. The Shader Cat settled down, curling up in her lap, the sunglasses slightly askew, as if it was making a statement.

"Well," Kafka said, looking down at the cat, "It seems to have found its new resting place."

You could only nod, a mixture of amusement and disbelief settling in. "I… I think that’s probably the best it’s going to get," you said, still holding back a chuckle.

Kafka reached out to pet Shader Cat’s top, and the creature gave a small, nonchalant purr — or, rather, an effort to emit a sound that might be construed as a purr.

"It’s… oddly charming," Kafka said, half-rolling her eyes. "Almost like it has no idea of what’s happening in the universe — or, perhaps, it just doesn’t care."

You nodded, finally able to accept the situation. "Yeah," you said, letting out a soft laugh, "That’s probably a good way to put it."

Kafka leaned back into the couch, Shader Cat still comfortably nestled in her lap. "I must say," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, "You were right. This was certainly… interesting."

"I’ll take that as a win," you replied, relieved that the mishap was finally over.

As the two of you sat there, watching the peculiar creature bask in its unexpected triumph, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps, in the most Kafkaesque way, everything had turned out perfectly after all.

[dreamsinmoonlight]

Angel Cocoon

(Blame the brain rot. I watched Hazbin and had a dream about pathetic Adam and found myself deeply in love with this asshole. I did not expect it and I feel if I don't write I will explode so have this. Probably not my best work but it was stuck in my head all day at work; I have ideas for other stuff, including a more indepth fic (might be x reader, might be x oc, haven't decided yet). Hopefully this isn't too bad though

Update: Now with a sequel, whaaaaa? Angel Massages up and running

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Adam (damned pathetic man), angel!Reader

Pairing: Adam x Reader

Genre: Comfort, fluff (not smutty? For Adam? I'm impressed by myself sometimes)

Summary: Every morning this happens. You do not mind.)

Every morning you were thankful that heaven's temperature was always perfect. Because every morning you woke up in a state that could best be described as the Cocoon.

When you first started dating the egotistical, loud mouthed, foul mouthed, perverted asshole known as the leader of the exterminators, aka Adam the first man or “Dick Master” if he could ever get his way, you had expected a lot of things. Getting your ear talked off on a regular basis, all sorts of pet names running the gambit from honestly a bit sweet (what, you liked being called sugartits) to you're-lucky-i-don't-take-you-seriously-Adam (who calls their significant other a slut, really), being expected to go to most if not all of his music gigs, occasionally having your back blown out because damn could that man fuck, learning to find some of the stupidest things funny because he managed to make it so; these were things you expected or at least got better used to. It was sort of like dating a hyperactive teenager but nine feet tall and with the strength enough to swing around a guitar-axe like it was a pool noodle. You had not had a normal day since the moment you agreed to this and you had quickly realized that that was fine by you.

But this. This you did not expect. Every morning, every single morning because God forbid you be allowed to sleep alone, you woke up not to your room, not to the ceiling or the sunlight filtering through the window or even your blankets. No, instead you woke up to the first man, first of the human angels, curled around you like you were going to disappear if he didn't hold you as tight and completely as possible. To call what he did a koala hug would be a disservice and did nothing to describe this phenomena, which upon the first morning after you had fallen asleep in bed with him you had freaked out a little over. You still were startled every time you woke up to it since. It was more like what you coined it as: a cocoon, created by the combination of two factors.

One: Adam. He was of course much bigger than you, a giant among angels and that was how you liked it. After all who didn't daydream of climbing a tree once in a while? Except this tree loved to talk and could make you feel things you were pretty sure was very much not pure. You were a good, solid four feet shorter than him, almost half his size; this worked in your favor when you wanted to hide behind him because of some stupid prank or when you again decided to climb onto him or honestly generally being picked up by the troublemaking angel which he certainly liked to do. The other side was that when he curled up his body enough it could surround you with little effort at all. Those arms of his wrapped easily around you and you could feel the fraction of true strength with which he held you, still more than enough to hold you where you were. His legs were folded up just enough to cut off escape from below, leaving you cradled against his body. His head tucked down, buried in your hair, he was warm and hairy in multiple places, and if you were absolutely honest a little overweight for someone who lived in heaven of all places. But none of these things bothered you and in the position you were in, your head pressed against his bare chest, you could hear the ever surprising existence of a heartbeat within a long dead man's chest. You felt your own calm hearing it; you couldn't help but love it.

Two: his wings. Oh those beautiful golden appendages, almost as beautiful as those golden eyes of your idiot boyfriend's. The feathers shimmered and shone near enough to rival the sun and you could see them past your prison of Adam flesh. How he could sleep so peacefully with them wrapped around you both was a mystery you spend every morning contemplating; it could not possibly be comfortable. Your own shuddered lightly on your back in sympathy but trying to stretch yours only brushed them against his and his, as they always did when this happened, quaked but did not open. He slept with them wrapped around you two like an eggshell, encasing you both and leaving no escape all around.

You reached out by instinct, running your fingers lightly along the feathers. They too were warm and soft as down yet you knew how strong they truly were, how strong his wings were like all other parts of him.

Save maybe his psyche. You felt the feathers shiver under your touch and he made a noise in his sleep, nuzzling his face further into your hair, his arms holding tighter to you. You woke like this every morning, since the first time you'd fallen into bed with him, and at first it was a mystery why, like so many things about him. How could he be so loud, how could he be so crude, how could he be so rude. But bit by bit you'd learned and you had come to understand.

He held onto you like you might disappear. Somewhere deep down that's exactly what he feared would happen. You knew about Lilith, you knew about Eve, and you knew how to read subconscious messages. He encased you like he was afraid otherwise you'd slip away, that you'd leave, that you'd go too. You woke to your head against his chest; how often had he fallen asleep with his on yours? Adam was many things, and truthful about what was really going on in his head and heart was definitely not one of them, but it didn't take a genius to know why he hated letting you out of his sight. Why he always held you like this in his sleep. Why he got enraged whenever the idea of you ever meeting Lucifer Morningstar came up.

Could you blame him? You couldn't and nor could you resist a smile as you wrapped your arms around him, closing your eyes and snuggling close to your ever-so-troublesome lover.

Sure you probably should get up soon but honestly it was hard to want to when you felt comfy right where you were. Besides it wasn't like you really minded all that much what would happen next after you both woke; he'd whine and you'd massage his sore wings. But you'd long since stopped trying to convince him to not sleep like that.

It was hard not to love being loved so deeply after all.

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

William Afton with a reader who has sensory issues specifically surrounding touch, Usually, things are fine, they know what to do to be comfortable, and everything is great. However, sometimes late at night, being more tired makes the sensory things worse, which makes it hard to sleep, which…. You see the problem.

How does he handle it the first time, when their sobbing catches him completely off-guard, and what does he do to prepare in the future?

(I love your work sososo much)

At first, William isn’t… prepared for this. He’s an observant man, absolutely. But for someone whose own life has been ruled by control, precision, and shielding emotion behind charisma or intellect, raw sensory overload-induced distress feels like unfamiliar terrain.

The First Time:

It probably happens late—close to 1AM. The room is still. He’s focused on scribbling in a notebook or rechecking some prototype data while you’re curled up in bed nearby, and then… a sound.

It’s quiet at first. A shuddered breath. Maybe he thinks you’re just sighing from a dream—until it repeats. Shakier. Wetter. Sobbing.

His body stills like he’s been shot.

Not because he’s cold or unsure how to comfort—no, but because he wasn’t expecting this from you. You, the one who always tries so hard to seem in control. The one who manages your sensitivity so well.

He turns slowly, and there you are. Curled inward like you’re trying to hide from your own skin. Maybe you’re rocking a little, or your hands are twitching from having rubbed them too much, or you’ve tucked yourself under too many blankets that now feel too heavy—too loud.

He doesn't speak right away. He knows better than to crowd you with words.

Instead… he kneels beside the bed. Doesn’t touch. Just sets his hand, palm up, beside yours on the mattress. An offering. A bridge, not a demand.

When you whisper that everything feels too much, that you’re so tired but can’t sleep, that the air feels like static—he listens.

And he does not pity you.

He understands it like a system he will learn to decode, not because you owe him that, but because he wants to be better for you.

What He Does After:

William creates a small sensory-safe drawer beside your shared bed: noise-canceling headphones, soft-textured fabric swatches, a dim red light bulb, a note with soothing breathing patterns (handwritten, of course), and a small rabbit plush he modified to include a gentle white-noise hum when squeezed.

He adjusts the lab's lighting or room temperature before you even ask. He tracks how your body reacts better in dimmer lighting or specific fabrics and silently adapts—switching his shirt to something softer if he wants to be near you.

He never, ever gets frustrated if you flinch. If you need to roll away. If his hand is too much. If tonight just isn’t the night.

He simply stays close. He becomes a constant in your storm, even when the storm is silent, internal, and invisible. And he always, always, waits for you to initiate touch first.

🕯️ Bonus Scenario (First Time – a midnight moment):

You didn’t mean to wake him.

You thought you were quiet. Just a few trembling exhales, a press of your fingers to your temple, trying to press out the electric weight crawling beneath your skin. The sheets were too loud. The air was too sharp. And you couldn’t even cry properly—not without it stinging.

And then—

“...darling?”

William’s voice, sleep-rough, velvet and unsure, from just behind you. You hadn’t realized he’d turned toward you until his hand lifted from the blanket, hovering midair.

“I can’t sleep,” you croaked, “It feels wrong, all of it. My skin—my brain won’t—won’t stop—”

You didn’t mean to sob, but it broke through anyway.

William’s brows furrowed, not in irritation, but in something unreadable—concern veiled behind calculation.

He said nothing.

Instead, he sat up slowly. Switched off the bedside lamp with a quiet click. The room went to soft darkness.

Then came the gentlest thing you never expected:

A cool, neatly folded handkerchief brushed the space beside your pillow, followed by a small, clean-glass jar placed beside it. Inside: calming balm with a scent you once said grounded you.

You turned slightly, still teary, and found him sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Not touching. Just watching. Quiet. Still. Safe.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice as soft as you’d ever heard it. “But I do now. And I’ll remember.”

He doesn’t say “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t coo or overreact. He simply makes a promise with his presence:

He’s staying.

[crguang]

now i bend like a willow thinking of you

You don’t do sleepless nights. But tonight, Kafka’s absence feels heavier than usual.

fem!reader, 1.2K words of fluff really

A/N: can’t believe kafka of all people got me writing… i thought of this cute scenario and it wouldn’t leave my mind until i wrote it. curse you, sexy woman!!!!

Thermostat set to just below room temperature and unable to see a foot in front of you due to the room’s absolute darkness, it won’t be long before you surrender to your body’s fatigue. You stayed up later than usual, your mind restlessly running circles around a certain woman. You’ve willed it to shut up and let you sleep for almost an hour now, to no avail. Your limbs are heavy, your cheek is comfortably buried in your pillow and still you think of her. Honestly, how pathetic can you be— unable to sleep because her presence leaves behind a substantial silence whenever she leaves your sight. It’s strange, it’s the first time quiet has made you uneasy. You’ve built your life in the deep of it and found a home in solitude, yet…

In the past few years you’ve known her, you’ve learned that Kafka leaves an impression in any room she steps into, purposefully or not. She’s elusive and her thoughts even more so, but impossible to overlook. Maybe it’s the obvious disinterest in almost everything that reflects through her eyes. Maybe it’s the fixed curl of her lips into her signature enigmatic smile, leaving you with the sensation that she has something up her sleeve. Perhaps it’s her unusual hair color. You don’t know. Despite her infuriating ways and the amusement she finds in toying with people, you’ve always noticed her; the subtle perfume she wears, the twitch of her mouth when something catches her eye, her ridiculous attention to detail when it comes to coats. You feel you could notice everything about her and still not know who she is. Or rather, still have things to discover like she’s an entire universe compacted into one person. Could you be content learning her if that was the only thing you dedicated your years to?

You bring a palm to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up, and groan in disgust. No way the thought of her was flustering you so. How deplorable. It’s only been four days since she offered you a wink as goodbye and left to complete part of Elio’s Script with Silver Wolf in tow. You’re stuck with Blade and Sam, the brooding ones, and it would be fine if the quiet wasn’t making your skin crawl. Such an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. You pat your cheek a couple times and shake your head. You shift into the bed, adjusting the comforter over your body. You will not let Kafka take up any more space in your mind when you should be peacefully asleep, enough is enough.

You’re drowsy and minutes away from finally passing out when the door creaks open. You hear it shut softly seconds later. Your muddled mind only allows your muscles to tense up in the face of a potential threat before the realization hits you when the sound of heels clacking across the floor registers in your brain. You sit up in a flash, reach for the lamp on your bedside table to flick the light open, then turn towards your supposed assailant with narrowed eyes.

Kafka blinks at you when you meet her gaze, and her fingers stop fiddling with the button of her shirt as she stands in the middle of the room without her favourite coat. You stare at each other for a moment before her eyelids lower perceptibly and her lips stretch into that usual smile.

“…Ugh.” You ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at seeing her in the dim yellow light and turn the lamp back off. You can feel her amusement as you settle back into a comfortable position on your side, an arm under the pillow.

You’re still sleepy, but now that she’s actually here your traitorous mind has been lit up again. You hear the rustling of her clothes as she unclasps the various straps and buckles of her outfit. Without saying a word, she fills the silence around you in a way that brings relief to your soul. It’s stupid, you think, how easily she reduces you to a lovestruck fool. You hate the power she holds over you, yet crave its soothing effect.

“How was the mission?” You mutter, eyes still shut.

You hear her clothes hit the floor when she replies with a drawl, “Boring. Long.”

You catch the notes of exasperation in her voice. “At least you got to stretch your legs.”

She hums. You guess she’s rummaging through your closet for something to sleep in when she pauses, presumably finds what she’s looking for, then closes the door.

“Don’t worry,” she says, her tone undoubtedly teasing, “we’ll find a use for you yet.”

“Fuck you,” you utter without a bite, fatigue slurring your words a little.

Her following chuckle makes you smile. There are muted footsteps on the wooden floor as Kafka approaches the bed, tugging on the tie in her hair to set it loose from her ponytail. She runs a hand through the freed locks.

“Move,” she orders simply.

You grumble, brows furrowing in offense even as you comply and make space for her on the left side of the bed. “You’re so bossy. It’s literally my bed.”

She makes a noise of agreement while slipping under the covers. Her chest presses against your back and a hand sneaks under your shirt to slither across your stomach to the valley of your breasts where it rests comfortably. Her thigh lodges itself between yours. You hear the faintest breath of satisfaction as the tip of her nose brushes your exposed nape. Kafka is warm and secure against you, two things you feel a bit silly to associate with her. They best describe her in this moment, however, and you’re too tired to fight how relaxed she makes you feel.

“…You’re wearing my shampoo,” she says suddenly. You feel her breath on your skin.

“No.”

Embarrassment washes over you. You forgot that you washed your hair with her shampoo that morning because you always liked the scent and you missed her. You didn’t think she would be back in at least a couple more days and thought that the smell would have time to fade away before she could notice. Ugh.

You can almost see her teasing, growing smile in your mind’s eye as she makes a show of inhaling your hair more deeply, burying her nose in it and taking a long audible breath.

“That is definitely my shampoo.”

“I ran out of mine and yours was right there,” you reply dismissively.

Kafka smiles. She sees through your charade, of course, she always has. Her index finger traces inconsequential shapes into the skin of your chest.

“You missed me.”

You don’t contradict her. “Whatever.”

Your hand moves under your shirt to lace your fingers with hers and she hums contently behind you. Kafka leaves many statements unsaid, masterfully navigates a conversation to only reveal what she wants you to know, but you know her enough for these words to not get lost in the sensations she gives you. It’s the middle of the night and she came to your room fully dressed in her everyday clothes. She only had the idea to discard her coat before seeking you out moments after coming back from her mission, and now she’s curled around you like a satisfied cat, breathing in the shampoo in your hair. She’s missed you too.

With Kafka’s heartbeat against your back and her controlled breaths on the back of your neck, sleep comes ridiculously easy. You doze off, the sound of her alike a lullaby meant for your ears only.

[k2ntoss]

hi hi it's me again, back from the void

so like i've been so absolutely sick these past few days, it's horrid, but I've not been able to stop thinking about Jason bc y'know, total brain rot over here

anyway, i just need a jason in my life to give me cuddles and read to me while I'm sick and make me soup and gimme kisses and ugh i wish he was real so baddd 😭

- the very sickly lil 🦊

POOKIE????? first of all, how are you feeling now? i do understand your brain rot, i've been thinking a lot about jason while at work and i get too lost on it sometimes heh now let me get you something that can make you feel better 🫡 listen to this when you read, check on the trad bc the song is so sweet ): HOPE THIS HELPS TO CHEER YOU UP, 🦊

jason takes his vigilante shifts as serious as it's possible, after all that's his life and there's nothing more important than that or it was like that before you. there's no way he finds something else to get his mind busy when you're all he can think of and believe me when i say, he makes everything he can for you to always get the princess treatment you deserve and he couldn't help it, from the first time he laid his eyes on you he was totally in love and even when things weren't easy at first you both worked them through and that had gotten you here.

now jason can't see himself just going out on patrol when you're sick, that's the case now, it's a cold but a strong one and he's worried "grayson, i'm not joking- yeah, just one night i swear i'll owe you a big one" you can hear his voice as he speaks with dick, you had tried to convince him that you could rest on your bed and you would be fine but he wouldn't leave you when you weren't feeling good. his heavy steps let you know he's walking back into the room and jason smiles softly when you look at him from under the blankets "how are you feeling now, baby?" he asks as he sits next to you, his hand reaching to touch your forehead so he can check your temperature.

"i guess that there's no point on telling you i'm feeling good, right?" you asks with a soft chuckle, his touch is so gentle that it makes you feel fuzzy inside as he shakes his head before lying next to you "i'm not going on patrol, dick is going to cover me with bruce" jason tells you when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer so you nuzzle your head against his side "so i'll stay here to make sure you really take care of yourself"

he makes sure you're comfortable next to him and when you look up at him jason smiles brightly, is something so usual of him to you, even when there are bad and rough days or fights between you two there's also good moments like this and you both have made sure they are what matters the most because there's been enough shit that happened to you and him to cling into more of it. jason picks up the book he's currently reading, once again pride and prejudice because he knows you like it when he reads to you, jason would lean in to whisper some lines into your ear before he kisses your temple while his other hand plays with your hair.

"are we feeling better, princess?" he asks in a whisper, a chaste kiss to your cheek and one more in your lips because jason really doesn't mind if he gets sick too because that means you'll take care of him too "i feel better now... but i'm a little hungry" you say, voice gruffy and eyes a little sleepy thanks to your boyfriend's soothing presence and cuddles, he nods and sits straight on the bed with a thoughtful expression before letting out a hum "want some soup?" and as soon as you nod jason is walking to the kitchen because it's what has to be done if it gets his love to feel better and happy.