#feeling a little self indulgent so have this

[strwbrychffoncke]

"baby ,i care for you,, 2.6k words synopsis: caleb nurses you back to health contains: fluff! lads caleb x f!reader (caleb calls you "good girl" + "silly girl" x1) ,established relationship! ,just some self-indulgent fluffy sick comfort ,chef!caleb ,kind of stern!caleb (he's just worried) ,caleb makes u take medicine ,two suggestive jokes (cause its caleb) ,like one second of angst ,one single use of "gege" ,he carries you to the couch ,he pats your head/gives u a massage ,lulls you to sleep ,one head kiss ,i think thats it note: not proofread! its 5 in the morning when i post this so forgive any mistakes i just needed this out of my system i need him to take care of me so baaad :x enjoy

-

for some reason, you woke early for someone who didn't sleep till the late hours into the morning last night.

what you'd gotten couldn't even be considered proper sleep, more like just a nap, but somehow your body wasn't too keen on slipping back into the grips of slumber that easily.

and somehow, you woke up feeling even worse than you had for the past two days.

even if your sore throat was mostly gone, you heaved out a couple of dry coughs as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, shivering in the cold that surrounded the room (courtesy of your comfort, unable to sleep comfortably otherwise even if it worsened your current condition), and on top of that your head was softly throbbing. not wanting to deal with it, you decided to lay back completely to soothe the pain.

your nose was stuffy and runny at the same time, reaching for some tissues on the bedside table to wipe away at it, not before sneezing a couple of times and sniffling afterwards— it was so sensitive today for some reason.

you let out a deep sigh, soft breaths escaping from your mouth as you couldn't breathe comfortably from your nose.

how did it get worse? sure, you only took medicine once yesterday instead of every couple of hours like you were supposed to, but seriously, it was just a sore throat and a small fever!

you sighed, irritated that you were still sick. weren't you supposed to be the one with a good immune system? you and caleb often argued about it, and if he were here, he would surely use this as a point that his was better.

the yearning for his presence bit into the silence of the room as you laid comfortably on your back, shutting your eyes once again as your shallow breaths evened out.

you thought about getting up, washing your face and then making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and then something to eat so that you could take your medicine and then proceed to rest- something caleb would already be doing for you the moment he'd realize you were sick.

but he wasn't here right now, and even though you'd seen his moments posts about being out with friends, you had no plan to worry him when this was just a little cold.

you thought about it- you were hungry after all, and you wanted something warm to soothe your throat, but just the idea of going all the way down and doing all of that at the moment in your state was tiring.

but, you had taken care of yourself for the past two days like this. what was another?

you opened your eyes, pulled yourself up with a groan, swung your legs over the edge of the bed to slip on your slippers, slipped on the closest sweater and slowly padded your way to the bathroom, leaning against the wall for balance as your headache and sick haze had you dizzy and unsteady on your feet.

you washed up without much of a hitch, and when you exited the bathroom, you thought you heard a door close.

huh?

you thought it might be your mind playing tricks on you. after all, you were at home by yourself and weren't expecting anyone (even if you yearned for someone, the stray thought of him being here leaving you as soon as it came), and you couldn't think of anyone that would stop by on a random wednesday who also happened to have a key to your place.

you shook your head, pocketing your phone as you padded down the way towards the living room, pausing at the faint sound of the television being on- had you left it on?- before proceeding towards the kitchen.

you froze at the sound of light humming coming from your kitchen, feet subconsciously carrying your slightly swaying body closer at the pleasant smell of food wafting towards your nose, completely disregarding a certain bag laying at the end of the empty sofa.

your footsteps must've been heavier than you thought because before you could fully enter the kitchen, the person in question turned around, staring straight at you, spatula in his hand and smile stretching across his face.

"morning, sleepyhead."

you tilted your head.

"caleb?" you whispered.

"surprised?"

you took a few steps closer, heart pounding with excitement but managing to keep your distance due to your illness.

"what are you-"

"hey."

his playful smile quickly morphs into a look of concern as he studies your face, noticing your shallow breaths, quiet voice and slightly-swaying body.

"pipsqueak, are you sick?"

you jolt, looking off to the side.

"not really, its just—"

you startle at his free hand brushing your bangs from your head and resting on your forehead.

"hey! i don't have a fever, i'm fine—"

"your voice is mostly gone," he deadpans.

"that's—"

"how long have you been sick??" his look is full of concern, voice laced with worry.

"just the past two days.."

"two days? and you didn't think to tell me?"

"it was just a sore throat at first!"

"and you're telling me this is still just that?"

before you can answer you're interrupted, bringing up your sleeved arm up to cover the lower half of your face to sneeze twice into it before sniffling.

you put your sleeved arm down and sigh.

"bless you," he says, taking a once over if your state before placing a hand on your lower back.

"here, i made you breakfast, just- sit down, i'll get you everything."

"that's okay, i wanted to—"

"i have water ready for tea if that's what you're after, just sit down, i'll bring it to you."

he says it in a way that almost feels like he's scolding you, and you can't help but to obey and trudge over to the closest seat at the dining table, secretly grateful since your head was hurting more now.

you momentarily rest your head on the cool surface, missing the frown that adorns caleb's face at seeing you in such a weakened state.

he knew how prideful you were when it came to your wellbeing, and he also knew how, for as little as it happened, sick you got when you did succumb to illness.

luckily, from a surface level it didn't look too bad, and the duration wasn't anywhere near severe-level yet. he was sure it was something plenty of rest and medicine would help with.

which is when he vowed, while filling your plate and pouring the steaming water into your favorite mug with a green tea bag resting inside, that he would be the one to nurse you back to health himself.

just like he used to.

-

"that's way too many, caleb!"

"i'm not letting you leave until you take em' all."

"is this really necessary??"

"lingering sore throat, mild fever, headache, stuffy and runny nose, sneezing, dry cough. did i miss anything?"

"no.."

"then yes, this is all necessary. it's not even that much!"

"caleb, there's five different pills sitting in front of me. i am not swallowing all of that!"

"haven't you swallowed more than just this before?"

"caleb!"

you smack his arm and he lets out a hearty laugh— one that you're grateful to see (despite it being at your expense), given he's mostly been overcome with concern— before looking over the medicines again.

"fine, fine, here."

one hand drags an orange pill away towards him.

"how about now?"

you deadpan.

"you're joking, right?" you sniffle.

"that's the best i can do, pipsqueak. now hurry up and take them."

you let out a groan, but reach for the largest pill first.

"do i really—"

"yes," he crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "i won't say it again."

you sigh, taking a small sip of tea before slipping the pill between your lips, tipping your head back before taking multiple large gulps of your tea to help its descent.

caleb nods, uncurling his hands and reaching for his utensil to grab some rice.

"good girl, now eat some more and take the rest," he instructs, shoving the rice into his mouth.

you're about to speak but are interrupted by a small sneeze.

"bless you."

you pout at him.

he points to your plate with his chopsticks.

"eat."

"you're lucky your food is so good..." you trail off, shoveling some eggs into your mouth, delight quickly filling you at the flavor of such a simple food item.

the cycle repeats: caleb watching you take sips of your tea and shoveling small bites of food into your mouth before pushing the next pill towards you until they're all gone.

in no time at all, both of your plates are empty. he takes yours from in front of you as you sip on the remainder of your tea, nodding when he asks if you're finished before taking them away to the sink.

you watch as he rolls up his sleeves and makes quick work to wash the plates, utensils, and the kitchenware he'd used, mesmerized by the familiar movements but willing to watch again and again all the same.

once he was finished and the dishes were properly put away, he dries his hands, walking back over to you and feeling your forehead again.

"hmm.. not too warm. how are you feeling right now? are you cold?"

you nod your head, and he gently pats the top of it. you close your eyes in response, the gesture soothing to you.

he grins.

always so cute...

"we should get you back to bed," he murmurs, bending down to your level. "want gege to carry you?"

you crack your eyes open and shake your head, prompting him to tilt his in question.

"i don't want you tripping on the way to your room if you're still dizzy, pipsqueak—"

"i don't wanna go to my room," you cut him off.

"can't i rest near you?" you peer up at him, hope filled in your droopy eyes, and something about that hits him.

you'd been on your own feeling like crap the past two days (now onto the third) and, knowing you, haven't been taking proper care of yourself, prompting the sickness to become what it is now.

no one could guarantee that you'd been eating properly, taking the proper medicine and on time, and most of all, not trying to work while in this state.

his heart feels heavy at the thought, but at his prolonged silence and hard stare, you shift your gaze behind him, embarrassed, and speak up again.

"or— i've already caused you enough trouble, right? this is supposed to be your time off and i've worried you enough... so i'll go back to my room! i wouldn't want to get you si—"

"no, no, no," he quickly cuts you off, swiftly shaking his head before grabbing onto your shoulders.

"pipsqueak, when have i ever denied you of your wishes?"

you sniffle. he did have a point...

"and besides, it's my job to worry about you, ya know?"

"so come on, let me carry you to the couch, yeah? we can put on whatever you like until you fall asleep."

you smile, ever so grateful at how caleb loved to spoil you.

you move to stand up and barely feel your feet hit the ground for half a second before you're easily scooped into caleb's arms, laughing at the sudden gesture before he walks towards the living room with you.

"caleb! i could've—"

"nope, you really couldn't have. i saw the way you trudged through the kitchen earlier, pipsqueak. you looked like you'd fall over if i so much as blew on you."

you look away, small pout adorning your lips, sniffling again.

"s' not my fault... don't even know how i got sick this time."

"maybe cause you missed me so much?

"yeah, maybe."

his heart throbs at your honesty, plopping down on the couch with you before smiling.

"so i guess this means i've got the better immune system, huh?"

"ugh, i knew you'd bring that up..."

he chuckles, letting you adjust in his hold as you use his lap as a pillow.

"whaddya wanna watch, pipsqueak?"

"dunno," you yawn. "just see what's on right now."

you watch as he looks around for the remote, pointing at it being just out of reach on the coffee table. you're about to offer to grab it before you see the strings of his evol grip onto it, bringing it into his hand before he catches it with ease and begins flipping through the channels.

"cheater," you tease quietly, letting out a small laugh at his use of his evol.

"hm?" he catches your words, humming thoughtfully in response, eyes glued to the television.

"you say that, but i remember a certain hunter practically crying under my evol while begging me to—"

"c-caleb!"

he laughs at the way you try to swat at him as you're laying down, settling for a small thwap! on his thigh instead.

"sorry, sorry," he says nonchalantly, loving how easily riled up he could get you at the mention your bedroom activities.

"here," he says, free hand finding its way to your head, softly massaging at your scalp.

"this a good enough apology?" he asks, only earning pleased mewls from you in response.

he smiles fondly in response, pleased at your little noises and the way you nuzzle into him further, resembling a satisfied cat that just filled its belly and was ready for its afternoon nap.

he eventually lands on a channel with a classic favorite movie for the both of you, setting the remote down and using his now-free hand to rub soothing circles into your back.

"you know, wearing my clothes while you're sick is a little selfish, don't you think?"

"s' warm," you mumble, slowly being lulled to sleep by his ministrations.

"and comfy. smells like you..."

even though he teased you, he always felt his heart grow fuller at the sight of you in his clothes, and he felt some amount of pride that it was the first thing you'd reached for even in your current state.

"yeah? i guess i can forgive you," he whispers, evol reaching for the nearest blanket to drape it over your lower half.

in the edges of slumber, you can feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, but you don't have the energy to reprimand him for doing such a thing and risk himself getting sick.

he sits back up, watching you fondly as he continues his comforting ministrations.

"get well soon, okay? ill be right here when you wake up."

even after he was sure you were sleeping, he continued his gentle caresses, comforted by the fact that you were there with him, and that he could keep a close eye on you.

-

extra:

half-paying attention to the movie on screen, he was already planning a soup to make you when his phone buzzed beside him.

it was a message from a friend of his.

wanna grab a bite later? my treat! some others will be joining too.

grateful for the offer, he messaged back quickly.

can't, playing nurse for my cute girlfriend tonight~

aw, next time, then!

he placed his phone back down, looking back at you and brushing stray hair out of your face as he thought back to your words.

"can't i rest near you?"

you'd looked so helpless, almost like you were expecting him to refuse you and make you rest by yourself, but eyes holding a lingering hope anyway as they peered into his soul.

his heart is full, his eyes are full of mirth, lips curling lovingly.

silly girl...

there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, right beside you—

whether you were ill or perfectly healthy.

always.

and he would make sure you never felt the burden of illness by yourself so long as he could help it.

-

a/n: i'm sick and couldn't help but imagine the l&ds men taking care of me ,and namely imagined caleb nursing me back to health so here we are. caleb come home!

[orphicmusings]

this is so self indulgent but i love the idea of modern!viktor with reader who is more artistic/humanities inclined rather than stem…museum dates are a staple, obviously, whether they’re art or history, you walk hand in hand and sit on the little benches when you need a break and talk about your favorite parts (he loves seeing artifacts and antiques!!!) and he loves that he gets to hear you gush about each subject you come across and watch your eyes flicker with absolute light as you learn more and more, the passion for it being the best thing the two of you share other than your love for each other.

and then he’ll take you to one of those science discovery places, and he loves to freak you out with gnarly facts and will spend an hour in the planetarium with you if they let you, mapping out the constellations in the dim light in your own little journals, pretending you’re ancient astrologers. one time, on a particularly slow day, due to the relaxing music and general ambience, you both had fallen asleep in there— your head on his shoulder, his head on top of yours, and a staff member found you about a half hour before closing.

spoiling your partner with fine things such as designer clothes and jewelry is great, and he would if you wanted it, but to him? the most fun he’ll ever have spoiling you is watching you go absolutely ham in a bookstore. following behind you through the shelves with a basket to collect your pile, and you making sure you’re picking out a few you can read together (you reading aloud to him to get his mind to quiet down enough for him for fall asleep—he loves jane austen). seeing you geek out over limited edition covers of classics, dracula, frankenstein (which you affectionately call him, viktor frankenstein, when he is particularly too stubborn to leave his lab), greek myths, shakespeare, even if you already have a copy, he’ll buy you this one simply because it looks better on your joint bookshelf.

and if you ever doubt your intelligence in comparison to his? after trying to figure out something mathematical and handing it to him and him getting it done within seconds? even muttering a “right, sorry, i’m stupid” as a kneejerk reaction to existing in a lifetime of academic settings where stem is prioritized as The Smart People Subject and the humanities are only there as frivolous endeavors— will earn you the most disappointed look. “do not talk about yourself like that, my darling. i mean it.” he tells you firmly, getting more annoyed at you putting yourself down than he ever would with you asking him for help. oh, and if you were feeling particularly self deprecating and decided to go back at him?

god have mercy on you as he has you reading and retaining information from dense texts to him as he’s buried between your thighs, just to prove you can do what he couldn’t.

“mhm, and what have we learned?”

“that…” you caught your breath. “orpheus actually proved he loved eurydice by-“

“no.” he chided gently with a breathy smirk of his own. “that my love is entirely capable, and skilled, the most clever little darling i know…yes?”

you can’t stop the bashful smile that pulls at your lips and the heat that dusts your cheeks when you answer in affirmation.

[natsuminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ WHITE LIES -> michael kaiser !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ILYSB - STRIPPED by lany.

synopsis; in which you wonder when and what made kaiser want to propose to you, his darling partner cw: fluff, mentions of marriage/engagement, unproofread + lowercase, slight spoilers for his backstory, implied f!reader but can be interpreted as gn!, self-indulgent, perhaps ooc kaiser (lmk if i forget something!!!)

"ain't never felt this way . can't get enough so stay with me"

silence had fallen beneath your shared bedroom as you found yourself staring at the glinting sapphire on your ring finger, a sign of his devotion. had he been staring at you instead of the book he was reading, he'd see the gears turning in your head as you spoke:

"micha, why did you propose?"

"what?" kaiser turned to face you, the book forgotten as he placed it on the bedside table. when he processed your question, he scoffed.

"that's a stupid question. because you love me and i love you, obviously."

"No, duh! I meant like…what made you want to propose now?"

"oh, you should've worded it properly then, schatzi."

"don't be a prick, micha. well? the answer?"

a cocky grin graced his lips when he heard your snappy retort. he was silent for a while as he reminisced, his fingers sneakily trailing downwards to wrap around yours.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

the reason he proposed wasn't something exceptional, he thought.

it was on a random night, where the both of you were sitting in a comfortable darkness in the living room. his eyes trailed to your adorably scrunched up face as you tried to figure out how to share the screen of your phone to the tv so you could watch the show you had picked for movie night.

"this is stupid," you muttered under your breath "why does this site ask for so much…."

then you reached out for him, tapping on his shoulder and begrudgingly asking for his help. he recalled how badly he had wanted to release such a snarky remark, but held it back in the form of a nasty smirk. he didn't want to ruin movie night before it even started.

you had looped your arm around his without so much as a warning, as he messed with the buttons on your phone so he could get it connected. finally, he succeeded, bristling proudly as he set your phone down the table and turned his attention to the sappy romance movie you picked.

safe to say, he quickly got bored of it. so instead, he trailed his eyes downwards to you.

you, who was oh so engrossed in the movie, didn't even notice the intense gaze he inflicted on you. his gaze flickered to the lack of space between them, noticing the way your arms had interlocked with one another.

"wait...when did she..?"

he wasn't one to be unaware of what was touching his skin. he was an alert man, any single piece of physical contact never flew past his head. 'to hurt or be hurt,' he's learned at least that much from his scumbag of a father.

then it dawned on him.

he didn't notice because he didn't have the sinking feeling of nausea that always made itself known whenever someone touched him. your innocent caresses no longer triggered his fight-or-flight.

Instead, he felt...normal? Normal as in the way a whipped lover would feel when his partner flustered him. he felt his heart racing, but not from anxiety. it was from embarassment that a simple touch from the person he loved had him this riled up. He felt.....

...comfortable.

At that moment, kaiser made up his mind. he was going to put a pretty little ring on your finger, something that highlighted how precious you were to him (perhaps a blue stone...yes, he'd love to see his favorite color on you every single day), and marry you for good.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

he would never tell you that.

he didn't realize how badly he spaced out when you snapped your fingers in front of him.

"yo, kaiser. cat got your tongue?"

he clicked said tongue with irritation at your casual tone, wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his nose between the crook of your neck.

"don't call me that. you know that's going to be your last name too, right?"

"please quit trying to change the subject, love. "

"fine, but only because you asked so nicely, schatzi." he murmured softly against your skin as he began recounting about some random date you had at the beach; blabbing about how the sun hit your hair perfectly, he got jealous of all the other couples proposing, its about time anyway, the view was pretty and so were you, all that cheesy stuff. he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth, but he'd like to keep his sweet little revelation all to himself.

Besides, a little white lie never hurt sometimes.

"oh, my heart hurts so good . I love you, babe, so bad"

a/n: aaaaaaa first fic ?! thank uu so so much for reading! honestly, don't think so much of this lol, i wrote it at 3am while i was 'studying for finals.' i hope someone noticed in the middle of the fic but this was heavily based on brooklyn99 when peraltiago got engaged AHHH also i feel the title white lie was so fitting because....white = marriage usually...heh...get it...

[aventurineswife]

Hihihihihi! May I request reader x Dan Heng? Growing up, reader has always been a "Friend to all is a friend to none" type of person. They technically have a lot of friends, but none of them are close to reader as they have more closer friends, and it's just always been like that. Reader has gotten used to it and just thinks that maybe they're the type of person that no one wants.

Cut to reader and Dan Heng having a relationship and in one moment where they were just hanging out, reader suddenly sheds tears because they just can not fathom the thought that someone would actually dedicate themselves, pour all their heart and soul to a relationship with reader, and just reader. Reader still couldn't believe all the love they're getting from Dan Heng and just cries.

This is just totally self-indulgent, thank you!!!!

Never Meant to Be Forgotten

Summary: You struggle with feelings of unworthiness, believing that you're the type of person who will never experience deep, lasting love. However, when you're in a relationship with Dan Heng, you begin to question everything you've believed about yourself. After a quiet moment together, you're overcome with emotion and burst into tears, unable to fathom the love Dan Heng offers you. Dan Heng reassures you with unwavering support and affection, helping you realize that you are deserving of love and that he will always be there for you.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Emotional Overload, Slow Burn, Romance, Fluff, Self-Doubt, Love Confession.

Warnings: Minor Angst, Tearjerking, Mild Emotional Themes, Self-Worth Struggles.

A/N: I'm so sorry if you're going through something like this 😕, I wish I could help somehow but I hope this fic cheers you up, only if it's a little! Remember, you're not alone and are always loved! 🫂💖

The Astral Express hummed quietly in the background as you and Dan Heng sat near the observation deck, overlooking the vast, starry expanse of space. The air was calm, and the stars glittered like tiny fragments of light scattered across the infinite darkness. It was moments like these that felt like the world was at peace.

Dan Heng, as usual, was quiet. He often preferred the silence, the serenity, to the noise of social interaction. You admired his ability to sit in stillness without feeling the need to fill the air with words. It was something you wished you could do, something that had always felt just out of reach for you.

Growing up, you'd been the kind of person who had many acquaintances but no one who truly understood you. You were always the "friend to all, friend to none" type, moving through groups without ever forming the deeper, meaningful connections others seemed to build so effortlessly. People liked you, sure, but no one ever stayed. You had convinced yourself that maybe that was just the way it was—that you weren't meant for those kinds of connections, that perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, no one really wanted to get too close.

But with Dan Heng, things felt different. At first, you had kept your distance, wary of letting someone get too close to your heart. He, too, had his own walls, and you both seemed to dance around each other in cautious curiosity. Slowly, though, something deeper began to form. The walls that both of you had carefully built up began to erode, bit by bit. He had started showing you sides of himself, not the stoic, distant façade that most people saw, but the subtle warmth that lay beneath.

And you? You had opened up to him in ways that felt... natural. It felt like you didn't have to hide your feelings anymore, like he saw you—not just as another person in his life, but as someone he genuinely cared about.

But even now, despite all the time that had passed, you couldn't quite wrap your mind around the love he gave you. How could he, a man who carried so much weight on his shoulders, want to devote himself to someone like you?

You were lost in thought, staring out at the stars when you felt a soft touch on your shoulder. Dan Heng’s voice broke through the silence, calm and steady, as usual.

"Are you alright?"

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto your face, but it faltered almost immediately. Dan Heng’s gaze softened, his eyes searching yours, as if he could see right through the mask you tried so hard to wear. You had always been good at hiding your emotions, but with him, it was different. His presence, his care, it made everything feel so real.

And in that moment, it hit you—he actually loved you. Not just the version of you that you showed to the world, not the facade you had put up all these years. He loved you—you, the person you had convinced yourself was never meant to be loved. The one who was never worthy of that kind of devotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your face. The sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed you, and you found yourself unable to hold back the sobs.

Dan Heng didn’t say a word. Instead, he immediately pulled you closer, his arms enveloping you in the quietest, most reassuring embrace. The action spoke louder than any words could. His touch was gentle, as if he knew how fragile you felt in that moment, as if he understood the storm raging inside of you.

“You don’t have to explain,” he whispered, his voice soothing, a soft rumble against your ear. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his words broke something inside you, and you cried even harder, your heart aching with a mix of joy and disbelief. You had never felt so seen, so cherished.

“I don’t... I don’t deserve this,” you whispered through your tears, shaking your head as if to convince yourself of the words. “I’ve never had anyone care about me this much. Not like this... Not just for me.”

Dan Heng’s fingers gently cupped your chin, lifting your face so that your eyes met his. His gaze was unwavering, his expression soft yet firm.

“You deserve every ounce of it,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “You’ve always deserved to be loved. And I—” He paused, his voice dipping with the weight of something unspoken, something deep. “I will always choose you, no matter what.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to process the truth in his words. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and for the first time in your life, you understood what it meant to be truly, unconditionally loved.

The thought was overwhelming, humbling, and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe it.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dan Heng didn’t need to respond with grand gestures or flowery words. He simply kissed your forehead, his arms tightening around you in a silent promise that this, the love between you, was real and unbreakable.

And for once, you believed it, too.

[hauntedbydreams]

imagine Vi with a gf that will do drastic things to their appearance and not mention it- like reader just shows up with new piercings, haircut, nail set etc and just plays it off to mess w/ her

"I've always had those wym?" "It was just a trim idk what you're saying"

Ok I’m obsessed w this idea bc it’s literally me, I shave and dye my hair every month and don’t realize ppl can’t recognize me when they don’t see me every few weeks, oopsi. This also ended up being very self indulgent BECAUSE I GOT A TATTOO OF VI’s NAME ON MY LOWER NAVEL 😌 I’m so down bad for her it’s not even funny (this IS a photo of MY tattoo so plz just lmk if ur gonna use it for anything)

Anyway hope u like this! (And thank u for my first Vi ask!!) requests/asks are always open!

Lil suggestive at the end but nothing too crazy I’d say…

Vi loves that you’re so all over the place, it makes her feel like you’re always changing and it’s kinda why she fell for you in the first place.

But she was not prepared for the amount of drastic appearance changes you bombard her with on a monthly basis.

You’ll show up with a random new hair color one day, walking into the gym she works at to drop off her lunch. Just strutting into the place, so nonchalantly, like there’s absolutely nothing new when in fact your hair went from brown to black with bright green highlights.

Vi’s at the reception about to head to the back with a new client when she sees you. She doesn’t even register that it’s you at first and her jaw only drops when she does a double take.

“Hey honey” you say in your regular loving tone.

“Uhh… Hi.. uh- hi baby?” Vi’s so confused but you just look at her innocently and bat your lashes. “I brought you lunch!”

“I see that” Vi looks down at the bag you dropped on the counter and leans over to kiss you on the cheek quickly. “I also see you’ve got a new hairstyle?”

You look at her surprised, “oh this?” you’re picking up strands of hair twisting them around your fingers absentmindedly “yeah I guess…”

“You guess?!?” she stares at you incredulously “it’s quite a big change cupcake!”

You fake being hurt and pretend dramatically, placing a hand your heart “So you don’t like it?”

“No, no, no! I didn’t say that! I just meant it’s so different!” Vi’s reaching over to run her fingers through your hair “I really like it”

“It’s really not that different Vi, just added the green” you brush it off, messing with her a little.

Vi swears your hair was brown and not black but she just shrugs, “as long as you’re happy!”

Then one day you’re off work early and you walk by this piercing shop every day on your way home. You’ve got a few piercings on your ears and that one on your belly button that Vi adores, but you’ve been wanting a septum for a while.

So before you can convince yourself otherwise you’re walking out of the piercing studio with a fresh silver ring in your nose.

You walk into your apartment met with the sound of Vi playing video games on the couch. Swooping down you attempt to give her a peck on the lips while she moves her head around your figure trying to see the screen “Hi Angel… one sec I just have to pass this level, then I promise I’m all yours”

You let her be and go to quickly clean your brand new piercing before she’s done with her gaming.

Later you guys are making dinner together and Violet can’t help but notice the silver ring glittering above your top lip when it catches the light. To be fair, Vi is always staring at your lips anyway, so it’s not like she really wasn’t gonna notice a piercing right above them.

“Uhhh hey babe?”

“Yeah Vi?”

“Did you always have that septum piercing?”

“Mhm” you’re humming absentmindedly as you stir something on the stove.

Violet can’t think straight, cause is she that distracted and so down bad that she didn’t notice her beautiful girlfriend had a septum piercing?!? Or is this another one of your “what do you mean I didn’t change anything!” moments like when you showed up with dyed hair and pretended it was the exact same or when you got new nails done and told her you’d been wearing them for weeks…

She swears you messing with her like this is gonna be the death of her, but… she’d never complain.

Nothing prepares Vi for your next drastic move though, cause she goes absolutely feral when u show her the tattoo u got of her name on ur lower navel.

Oh no. You’re done for. Cause she’s almost quite literally on her knees drooling, staring up at you with big blue eyes and you know she’s about to jump your bones and never let you go.

Vi knew you were going in for a tattoo appointment that day. But what she didn’t know is that you decided to surprise her with a little “VI”, the same one she has on her face, but in ink the color of her hair. The deep fuchsia pink you love.

So when you come home from your tattoo appointment, Vi thinks you just went for the bigger piece you got on your leg. So she jumps from the couch as soon as she hears you entering your apartment “Hey! you’re back!” and she’s running down the hall kneeling at your legs, lifting your trousers to see the new piece with an excited “Lemme see!!!”

You’re just as excited and giggle while she admires the work. But you keep ur mouth shut and don’t say a word about the little surprise tattoo you have of her name just above your panty line.

“It’s so cool! I love the colors and it’s so much bigger than I thought you’d go for! I love it!” Vi’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Did it hurt? You were at the studio for a while…”

“Nah it wasn’t too bad, plus the artist was so gentle and it’s not like it’s my first rodeo Vi.” You’re rolling your eyes at her concern and she’s standing back up pulling you in for a long kiss.

“I’m gonna go unwrap the tattoo foil and wash the new ink, are you ok to start dinner hon?” You yell into the kitchen as you walk toward the bathroom. “Yeah! In a minute!”

Before you’ve even finished undressing to hop in the shower, Vi’s bursting into the bathroom claiming she needs to wash her hands before cooking. (but you both know there’s a perfectly good sink in the kitchen and she just loves barging in on you in the shower).

She’s smirking as she leans on the side of the sink “Cute panties”

You look down and immediately cover your face in embarrassment realizing you’re wearing high waisted flower-patterned cottons. It’s not your usual choice and they’re kinda reserved for shark week cause you don’t think they’re cute, but it was your best option for getting a lower navel tattoo and making sure it didn’t get irritated. “Stahppp Vi, I had to wea-“ you catch yourself before you can tell Vi about the tattoo.

She’s already sauntering over to you her hands finding their place on your bare waist making you shiver. “I don’t know… I still think they’re kinda cute..” Vi trails off as her fingers dig under the band and slowly lower it.

You’re waiting in anticipation for her to notice the tattoo at any moment, and then she does.

Her eyes go wide the second she sees it. You swear you can see her brain reset to factory settings and her mind go blank.

She doesn’t know what to say or do. Sliding down to the ground, shes now on her knees in front of you, hands on your hips holding the band of your panties down with her thumbs as she just stares at the little fuchsia pink “VI” on your lower navel.

“Vi?” You try gently, dragging the word out like a question.

“Hmm?” She’s not looking at you, just staring at the tattoo of her name on your body as she swallows hard. “Fuck Angel, fuck… is that… is that my name, sweetheart?” She’s biting her lip inhaling and ur nodding a happy “mhm” down at her.

Something short circuits in her then. The way her name is permanently on your skin. The way her name on you marks you as hers. She’s breathing heavy.

She thinks she’s drooling but she doesn’t care. She’s focusing her pretty blue eyes up on you now. You cup her face and try to play it off like you usually do, teasing her with your big appearance changes, teasing her “Oh, I’ve totally always had thi-“

Before you can finish she’s up, kissing you hungrily, her hands on your waist and the side of your neck, crowding you against the sink. Your breath hitches as you notice the glimmer in her eye and you can barely contain a little gasp when Vi’s thigh slides between yours.

“Don’t bullshit me Angel, we both know you haven’t always had a tattoo of MY name-“ she’s brushing her fingers across the fresh lettering, making you wince “-especially not here of all places.”

She’s kissing your neck, sucking on the soft skin leaving marks everywhere, slowly making her way down your body. Your hands are in her hair as she reaches your navel. She’s kissing everywhere but the tattoo, stopping to say a few words in between light pecks and little kitten licks “Fuck sweetheart… mmh, I can’t believe… you, fuck… got my… name tatted… ugh.. fuck” her voice trails off sounding so thick and needy. She’s looking up at you through her lashes and you know you’re done for.

You whimper and Vi’s vision goes fuzzy. Forget the shower, forget dinner, she’s carrying you to the nearest bed… so she can look at her name on your skin while she makes you scream it.

[mountaesan]

of pomegranates and love stained fingers ; p. sungho 

pairing. idol!park sungho x reader genre. fluff , est. relationship , lots n lots of domesticity ! synopsis. in which sungho shows you that love could be found at an ordinary kitchen table , amidst a mess of pomegranate peels and love stained fingers word count. 1.9k warnings. nudity and bathing in a non-sexual context , a lot of inner dialogue , sungho is… such a gentleman i actually might have fallen in love with him while writing this (yes this is a warning) playlist. the way that i am by abby powledge  notes. this is. so. so. so. self indulgent. but oh to be loved and to be seen by park sungho (◞‸◟)

Pomegranates are a contradiction wrapped in a tough, leather-like skin. 

On the outside, they’re unassuming. Their ruby-red hue is muted by a dull, almost dusty sheen, like they’ve been brushed by centuries of history. But break one open, and it’s utter chaos. Vivid, gleaming seeds spilling out in clusters, their translucent walls catching the light like small, blood-red jewels.

The juice is relentless. It stains fingers, clothes, and countertops with a color so intense that it almost feels alive, impossible to tame. 

And it doesn’t simply mark, it claims. Eating one is an exercise in both patience and surrender. Each seed is a burst of a tart sweetness that’s worth the mess, but it leaves you wondering how something so beautiful can also be so unruly.

That was exactly why you loved pomegranates. They were a little wild, a little untamed. It was in the way the juice stained your fingers, leaving behind traces of something alive and uncontainable. It’s how every seed is a burst of flavor: tangy, sweet, and unapologetically bold. For you, pomegranates were a reminder that the best things in life aren’t always neat or simple; they’re messy, vivid, and unforgettable.

Back in your adolescence, when you were still a hopeless romantic and believed in fate and soulmates and such, you had a theory: that anyone willing to peel a pomegranate for you was to be the one. The one the universe had assigned you—your soulmate. The person you’re meant to share the messiness and beauty of life with, because, let’s be honest, peeling a pomegranate isn’t just an act, it’s a labor. 

It’s tedious, requiring patience and precision to carefully break apart the tough skin without crushing the delicate seeds. The juice inevitably smears, the tiny ruby jewels scatter, and by the end, it looks like a small battlefield in the kitchen. 

You thought of it as a test of devotion. Who else would endure the sticky fingers, the risk of stains, and the painstaking effort, all for the sole purpose of handing over a bowl of gleaming seeds? Your theory wasn’t about the pomegranate itself, it was about what it represented: the willingness to take on something cumbersome and time-consuming just to bring joy to someone else.

In your teenage mind, peeling a pomegranate was love distilled into action. A quiet, unspoken declaration that said, ‘I see the things you cherish, even the messy, difficult ones, and I want to be a part of them.’

So you used to wait, watching the people in your life with a careful eye, jokingly tossing your theory at dinner tables and gatherings but secretly hoping and wondering if someone might one day sit down, pick up a pomegranate, and show you that love can be as simple, and as profound, as peeling fruit. 

But as you grew older, your pomegranate theory began to feel like a relic of a softer, more naive version of yourself. You used to imagine someone peeling away the tough, leathery rind, their hands stained red with love and effort, and thought to yourself, ‘that’s love.’ But with time, the weight of practicality started to take hold. 

Your theory about pomegranates, something you once held close with a spark of whimsical belief, soon became just another one of those silly little things that poets and hopeless romantics dreamed up.

So, you tucked your silly theory away in a dusty corner of your mind, dismissing it as an innocent fantasy of your youth. You searched for love that was grounded, sensible, and serious about the practicalities of life. You looked for someone who could handle the demands of life without the weight of romantic idealism like yours clouding their judgement. 

There was no room for mess or chaos anymore, certainly not for the kind of love that required peeling pomegranates, both literally and metaphorically.

A loud slam of your front door made your ears perk up and you heard the familiar rustling of your boyfriend’s clothes as he shuffled through the living room. You could almost envision the way he shrugged off his outer coat before neatly hanging it on the coat hanger by the entryway.

“Baby? I’m home!” 

“In here!” you called out. The bathwater lapped at your knees, forming small waves that crashed and fell against the porcelain wall of your bathtub. Sungho knocked on the bathroom door, but only out of courtesy, before he pushed it open and greeted you with a bright smile.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he knelt by the side of the bathtub to press a warm kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re home early.” you pointed out. A hand reached out to stroke your boyfriend’s cheek, a single droplet of water running down the slope of your arm and landing back in the bathtub with a small plop. 

“Mastered the choreography first so I could come home to you,” he replied, ever so gently leaning into the warmth of your palm. “Did you just start your bath?”

You nodded, the corners of your lips lifting at his sweet words. “Just a few minutes ago. You don’t have to keep kneeling like that, you know. Your knees are going to hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he said with a chuckle. His gaze softened as he noticed the way the water cradled your form, the steam rising in delicate swirls around you. “Want some help?”

You tilted your head, teasing. “Are you volunteering to join me?”

Sungho laughed softly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, but I can still take care of you from here.”

Before you could respond, he reached for the loofah sitting on the edge of the tub and dipped it into the warm water before lathering it up with your favorite body wash. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second of this small, intimate moment. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” you murmured as he started gently running the loofah along your shoulder. His featherlight touch sent a slight shiver down your spine.

“I know,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “But let me.”

His voice was so soft, so filled with love, that you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. You let out a small sigh of defeat and leaned back against the tub as he started gently running the loofah over your arms. 

Sungho’s touch was delicate, as though he was handling the most fragile thing in the world. The loofah glided over your arms, his hand following to rinse away the bubbles.

“You work so hard,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he moved to your legs. “You deserve this.”

The words made your chest tighten with emotion. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

“No such thing,” he said with a soft chuckle, his hand brushing the back of your calf. “Taking care of my partner is the easiest thing in the world.”

You let your head rest against the edge of the tub, closing your eyes as his hands continued their tender work. The care and love infused into every motion, the way he poured his entire being into making sure you felt safe, cherished, and adored made your heart squeeze tightly.

As he finished, Sungho pressed a soft kiss to your damp shoulder, his lips lingering for a moment. “All done,” he whispered, and you noticed a hint of pride in his voice.

“Thank you,” you said, meeting his gaze. 

Sungho smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anything for you, gorgeous. Always.”

He stood up and grabbed the big, fluffy towel from the nearby rack, shaking it out to fluff it up. “Alright, come on, let me help you out.”

You shifted in the tub, the water sloshing as you moved to stand. Sungho reached out instinctively, steadying you with his strong, gentle hands. His fingers pressed lightly against your arm and waist as he guided you to step out of the tub.

“Careful,” he murmured, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

The moment your feet touched the bath mat, he draped the towel around you, cocooning you in its warmth. You couldn’t help but giggle as he adjusted the plush fabric, tucking the edges around your shoulders like a protective shield.

“There we go. Let’s go get you dried up, and then we can go see the present I got you.”

The kitchen table was a mess—juice stains spreading across its surface, pomegranate seeds scattered among paper towels and discarded bits of rind. Sungho sat across from you, elbows resting on the table as he carefully pried apart another piece of fruit. His fingers were stained a deep crimson, the juice clinging to his skin and pooling in the small creases of his knuckles. 

“You’re making such a mess,” you teased, watching as he plucked a cluster of seeds free and placed them in a bowl.

He grinned, unfazed. “Worth it.”

He picked up a few seeds between his stained fingers, flicking away the stubborn bits of membrane, and brought them to your lips. “Here.” 

You let him feed you, the tart sweetness bursting on your tongue as he watched you with unspoken fondness. It wasn’t until you noticed the way his brows furrowed in concentration, focusing on getting a particular seed unstuck from the membrane, that it struck you how absurdly thoughtful this was.

“When did I even mention that I like pomegranates?” you asked, your voice softened with wonder and adoration.

Sungho glanced up briefly, his lips quirking up into a sheepish grin. “You told me once, when we first started dating. You were talking about how much you loved them as a kid. Said they were your favorite fruit, even though they’re a pain to eat.” 

You blinked, stunned. The memory was hazy even to you—just a passing remark in some forgetful conversation. But he’d remembered.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you murmured, feeling your chest tighten with an unfamiliar mix of emotions.

Sungho shrugged, returning his attention to the pomegranate in his crimson stained hands. “It’s no trouble. Besides, I like seeing you happy.”

You looked down at the table and took in the chaos of it all: the stains, the mess, his juice-streaked hands, and something deep inside you shifted.

Suddenly, you were seventeen again with your heart wrapped in whimsical theories about soulmates and love.

This was it. This was what you had been searching for back then but had long stopped believing in. This was the kind of love you’d once dreamed of but had dismissed as a silly, adolescent fantasy. Yet, here it was, sitting across from you with juice-stained hands and a soft smile, proving you wrong in the most beautiful way.

Your teenage self had been right: peeling a pomegranate wasn’t just about the fruit. It was a quiet act of devotion, a willingness to embrace the mess and the effort for the sake of someone else’s joy.

Sungho broke your reverie by holding up another handful of seeds, his smile so effortlessly warm that it sent a pang through your chest.

“You don’t have to feed me,” you said with a small laugh, though your voice wavered slightly.

“I know,” he replied. His tone was gentle but resolute. “But let me.”

And as you opened your mouth for the next bite, you realized that love didn’t have to be a grand, sweeping gesture.

Sometimes, it was sitting at a messy kitchen table with stained hands and sticky fingers, peeling pomegranates because someone mentioned, just once, that they liked them.

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[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. a very indulgent soft!blitzø fic for @clovrplayz. when he finds you locked away in your apartment overwhelmed by all your work, blitzø takes it upon himself to try and help you relax for a little while.

featuring: general fluff, reader is gender neutral (only descriptor of body involves them having hair), people-pleasing stress.

You barely manage to look up for more than a cursor second when you hear the door to the apartment open, your elbows planted on the kitchen counter in front of you so you can press the heels of your hands into your temples. You’ve been staring at the paperwork in front of you for so long that your eyes have unfocused, and you blink hard to try and get them working properly again.

“Well, howdy-doody, peachy-babe,” Blitzø sing-songs as he kicks the door closed behind him, shrugging off his coat and tossing it towards the coatrack beside him. He misses; you hear it crumple on the carpet instead. The imp seems not to notice as he makes his way over to you. “You are gonna looooove me; I’ve got—”

Blitzø trails off as he realises you’re not actually listening, and his tone drops to something more subdued. “Hey. You okay?”

You jerk upright as you suddenly feel the touch of his hand on the small of your back; the move knocks the papers further askew on the countertop.

“Hey!” you give him a brief, distracted smile, pushing hair away from your face self-consciously. You usually put a little more effort into your appearance when you know he’s coming over; at the very least you make sure you’ve showered in the last… twenty-four hours. You’re suddenly aware of how tight your face feels around your eyes from a lack of sleep, of the beginnings of grease clinging to the roots of your hair telling you that you really needed to wash it. “Hey! Sorry, did we… were we supposed to have… plans?”

Blitzø raises a brow. “Nooope. I’m just doin’ that thing you totally love where I barge in unannounced and make you do whatever I want to – what’s wrong with you?”

“That sounds like the set up of a joke I’m too tired to make,” you sigh, then wave a hand dismissively as you turn your attention back to the counter. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It’s Hell,” you point out dryly. “They tend to make most of us work weekends.”

He shrugs, moving to lean against the counter beside you, forcing himself into your line of sight. He stands with his back to it, elbows resting carelessly on top of your work. Blitzø studies your face for a moment before he tries for a smirk. “Wouldn’t have to if you came and worked for I.M.P.”

You give him a tired smile. “You just get your rocks off to the idea of me calling you ‘sir’.”

He grins. “It makes me all tingly.”

You shake your head in amusement. “I appreciate the offer – again – but I told you, B. I can’t leave where I am. They need me.”

“They’re assholes,” he replies. He says it simply, like he’s telling you the day of the week, despite never having met anyone you work with. You tried not to complain in front of him, didn’t you? And anyway, they weren’t assholes, they were just…

“They’re not so bad,” you grimace, trying the tug the papers out from under his elbow carefully.

“They’re manky-ass crotch-jockeys, peach.”

You choke on a laugh despite yourself. “Okay, so they’re not… great, but they’re maybe not… that. And they need me there; I can’t just leave them with all this work still needing to be done.”

A soft, affectionate smile you completely miss tugs at the corner of Blitzø’s mouth, and he rolls his eyes before finally relenting and lifting his elbow so you can rescue those pages. “Aaannnd… are you gettin’ much work done?”

You hesitate to respond, and apparently, that’s all the answer the imp needs. Winding his tail around the leg of your stool, he drags it back from the counter, stepping between you and your work. You make to protest, but his expression is this mix of soft amusement and what you’re surprised to see as genuine concern, and your complaint dies before it can escape you. Blitzø’s hands come up to rest on your thighs, and while the touch still manages to send a blush into your cheeks, his touch doesn’t wander any higher than just above your knee, his palms warming you through the worn fabric of your sweats.

“You need a break.”

You sigh, “I can’t—”

“You’re takin’ a break if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you,” Blitzø says, his voice matter-of-fact and bright. You feel his tail brush against your ankle. “So, if you want me to get all grabby on that sweet lil bod of yours, keep arguin’. Otherwise, follow me.”

Blitzø surprises you by leading you into your bathroom – a cramped little room of cold tiles and a bath and shower combination that is a little too small for you to really use the former part of it. Before you can ask what exactly he has planned, he turns and plants his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently down to sit on the mat with your back against the edge of the tub.

You want to ask what the hell he’s doing, but he starts humming to himself as he ransacks the cabinet under the sink, hips and tail swaying cattishly back and forth in time with whatever tune he’s got in his brain. He looks so strangely at home, and it isn’t until he straightens with the cheap detachable shower head hose you had buried at the back of the cupboard that you find words again.

“What exactly do you have that for?”

“Pretty sure it’s not what you usually use it for,” he shoots back, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You snort a laugh, the sound catching as he surprises you by tossing a towel on your head. “Wrap that around your shoulders, perv.”

Confused, you do as he asks, watching him hook the shower head’s nozzle to the bath’s tap. He runs the water, rocking the spray over his fingers a few times until he’s satisfied with the temperature. As the same time his tail collects your shampoo and conditioner from the caddy above him, and your face warms as you realise his intentions.

“Blitz, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up and be pampered, bitch,” he eye-rolls, but his smirk is soft as he moves to kneel beside you. He reaches up to untuck your hair from where it’s hooked under the towel, and you’re not sure if it’s the cooling droplets of water or the graze of his claws against the nape of your neck that makes you shiver. “’Cause if I gotta look at your greasy-ass head much longer you’re gonna put me off pizza for life.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What’s this warm and fuzzy feeling in my—”

“Just tilt your head back, would ya?”

You laugh at his exasperation but do as he asks, closing your eyes as the towel around your neck cradles you comfortably against the edge of the ceramic. You’re immediately rewarded with a smile and the sensation of warm water against your scalp. Blitzø’s smile lingers as his hand comes up to carefully smooth your hair away from your face, claws ghosting over your forehead in a way that completely belays his joke about grease. Almost immediately you feel the tension in your shoulders ease, and Blitzø chuckles quietly to himself as he notices.

“That’s it, peach. Jus’ relax, alright?” he says soothingly as he soaks your hair, moving the showerhead slowly over your scalp. “I got you.”

Your tail slips over your lap and you curl your fingers around it, the spade swaying back and forth by your hip. “’Kay.”

You notice Blitzø is humming again when you feel the cold squirt of shampoo against the crown of your head, and you hold back a happy moan as his claws slide through your soaking hair to massage it into the locks. He seems to know just how much pressure to use, kneading his fingertips carefully into the skin behind your ears, into your temples. Your lips part with a soft sigh as he lingers there, working away the tension headache that has been brewing there for the last few hours.

“That’s my good baby,” he croons softly, the warmth of voice curling into your chest the way the steam caresses the bare skin of your arms and neck. He lifts your head slightly to press his fingers into the nape of your neck and your own hands tighten on your tail, the soft scent of night jasmine and bergamot teasing at your senses. You still can’t recognize the song he’s chosen as he continues humming, but it’s soft and sweet and slow… something like a lullaby that makes you want to melt right there into the bathmat.

Blitzø takes his time rubbing the shampoo through your hair, lingering around the bases of your horns where he knows stress can settle. When the water returns to wash away the bubbles you shudder, and the steam clings to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. You want to open your eyes, to see what kind of expression he might be wearing as he does this, but you don’t want to risk ruining the moment.

He conditions your hair with the same care, his fingers returning to your temples and your horns as he gives it time to settle. In any other circumstance you would probably make a joke about how someone who’s been bald for as long as you’d known him knew so much about how to properly wash hair, but right now… Satan, you really didn’t care.

All too soon the water shuts off and Blitzø takes your hand to help you sit up properly again, one hand tucking up under your back to support you. It isn’t really necessary, but you smile at the attentiveness. You find yourself flushing now that the moment is over, and busy yourself with obscuring your face with the towel as you dry your hair so he doesn’t notice.

“Alright, baby, up you get,” he hauls you to your feel, hands wrapped around yours. That warmth lingers in your cheeks, and you try not to let your mind linger on the pet-name he’s just used. “Time for bed.”

“Wh-?” your brow creases in confusion. “It’s like… three in the afternoon! And I’ve still got work to—”

“Right.” You yelp in surprise as Blitzø sighs, nods once, then scoops you up into his arms. He grins at you as your arms go automatically to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck for stability. His hands clutch at your thighs, the small of your back, and you swear you feel his tail curl around yours for a moment before retreating again. “I warned you.”

“Blitz—!”

He ignores your protests as  he carries you into the bedroom, his tail hooking under the edge of the comforter and drawing it back before he drops you onto the middle of the mattress. He clambers onto the bed after you, tugging you back against his chest before you can climb back up off the bed. He tucks his chin over your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the side of your neck, unbothered by your still-damp hair. “Just shut up and nap with me, alright?”

Blitzø is wonderfully warm against your back, and the soft lilt to his voice is enough to convince you to do as he asks. His breath tickles against the side of your neck, his breathing slowing and becoming more measured as the two of you settle. His tail tugs the covers up over you, and you let your legs tangle with his as you settle against him.

Your breath catches slightly as his fingers curl in the hem of your shirt, his touch barely more than a whisper against the soft flesh of your stomach. Maybe that’s why your voice comes unsteadily when you speak, volume barely more than a murmur. “I do need to get back to work, Blitz…”

He shakes his head against your back, bumps his forehead against the space between your shoulders. “Nooooope… sleep now. Work later. Those assholes will just have to wait.”

“Blitz…”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he sits up. He grabs at your shoulder, pushing you onto your back. He straddles your hips, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders. It makes your breath catch, and you press your lips together against the flood of butterflies that suddenly swirl up through your middle.

“You gotta take a break, baby.” he tells you gently. He reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, claws grazing along the line of your neck. “Okay?”

You exhale, give him a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

He smiles, bending down and brushing a kiss over your forehead. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before he pulls away again, and then he lets himself flop down on top of you.

You cough out a laugh as he knocks the air out of you, and he smiles lazily, his chin cradled against your sternum. You roll your eyes and he sticks his forked tongue out at you, but you still reach up to smooth your fingers over his forehead, scratching at the base of one of the spikes between his horns. A purr rumbles through him at the touch.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

His smile twitches wider, his eyes closed blissfully. “Welcome, baby.”

[pinkaditty]

Starstruck Coral (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

okay so uh. i don’t really know how to explain this one. like truly i don’t. i feel like it came 2 me in a vision from a higher power or something bc this doesn’t feel like it was my own idea, much less self-indulgent, but regardless??? i actually like it!!!!

a/n: what i can say is that this was directly inspired by me buying this lip plumper tint called "Starstruck Coral" and how literally everyone around me once i put it on was like "ITS SO PRETTY!!" so yea. that's what this is. also. yea. been writing a lot of porn-free fics lately. don’t worry, im not uninspired. rather, i just wanna focus on budding feelings 4 a little while. then it’ll be back 2 porn i promise. im too insane 2 be kept from porn 4 very long i fear. 

maybe part 2? maybe? idk yet i dunno. i might. i might not. we’ll see what my brain says…

summary: romeo cannot stand your visage so he styles it to his liking. why are you suddenly the belle of the ball? (leo, rui, haru, ed, and lyca make guest appearances here lol)

cw: some sexual comments. minors dni as per usual. no smut i fear!

“...Why are we doing this, again?”

“Shut up.” Romeo’s voice is practically seething with barely restrained anger as you interrupt his focus for the umpteenth time. He holds up one finger in the air towards you, not even turning to look at you. He slowly puts his finger down, and his hands twitch, clearly resisting the urge to ball into fists. “Just shut up. Let me handle this.”

Romeo continues perusing the available colors. Pearlescent White, Modest Matte Mauve, Cherry Pop Red, Hot Tease Pink, Starstruck Coral, and Raven’s Wing Black. He narrows his eyes and whips his head around to your face, studying your features intensely. His eyes pause on your lips, and he frowns as you roll them between your teeth nervously. 

“Would you stop-! Urgh, nevermind.” He starts before abruptly stopping, turning fully towards you and grabbing your face, directing it in different angles in the light. He pays strong attention to your lips, noting the thickness, color, and shape of them. He grumbles to himself, looking back at the colors on the shelf. Only one seems to be a perfect match.

Starstruck Coral. That’s the one.

He plucks it off the shelf and places it in the basket before stalking off to the cash register. He knows you know to follow him, and you do, meekly following his steps, still unsure of the purpose of this outing. You shift idly from one foot to the other as he pays at the cash register, listening to the general ambiance of the store. People chattering, items being scanned, wheels of carts rolling along the tile floor. You’re idly reading the label of a pop culture magazine when Romeo appears at your side, sour expression etched into his face. It makes you jump, and he looks at you with an even sourer expression. “Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice loud and demanding, leaving little room for argument. He walks off again, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure you’re following him, which you are, confused expression still stuck on your face. 

The two of you return to the Darkwick train station through a door labeled “Employees Only”, careful not to get caught. Once you board the train, Romeo unceremoniously tosses the bag of products towards you and sits across from you. His expression is enough to broadcast that he’s more than over this, despite having spent hours meticulously scanning the available products to find the ones that best matched your skin. He studies you again as you take your seat and the train begins to move. His eyes rove over your face again, as though picking apart your appearance in search of flaws. He hardly flinches when you look up and catch his gaze, though when you nervously turn away, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go on. Ask what you want to ask.” His voice comes out exactly as exasperated as he’d meant it to be. He would hope this would discourage you from asking any questions, but he knew better than that.

He watches you shift nervously before speaking up, looking down at your fingers fidgeting with the bag instead of making eye contact with him. “...What is all of this for?”

He exhales, already sick of answering your questions even though he hadn’t answered any. “That anomalous cloak does not do your makeup for you.” Part of him assumes this would be enough explanation, but at your still confused expression, he rolls his eyes and continues explaining. “I am tired of going on missions with someone as basic and unappealing as you. If you are going to be a constant, I insist you at least know how to do your makeup to fit in when we go on high-class missions.” He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Instead, he leans back in his seat again, deciding this was a job well done. He hears the crinkling of the bag and pops one eye open, watching you as you study the products in the bag. You pull out the Starstruck Coral lip tint and suddenly you have his full attention. He opens both eyes and tries to discreetly lean forward, watching as you turn the box around in your hands. He was awful proud of that choice. It was the perfect ombre blend of coral and pink, not too warm and not too cool. It would match your undertone perfectly and it even had a shimmering quality to it. So long as you wore it right, he was sure it’d refine your appearance an exceptional amount. 

After finishing praising himself for his genius internally, he leans his head back onto his seat, content to just get this over with. As long as you didn’t look as constantly unappealing as you usually did on missions, it would be fine. He couldn’t get why, but it irritated him. Granted, your skin was okay at best. There were some acne scars here and there, blackheads all over your nose, and slightly puffy undereye, which he suspected was from not getting enough sleep on this accursed campus. Other than those faults, your skin was okay. No visible outbreaks or dryness. He had to applaud you for at least taking his advice to heart and moisturizing a little bit. It had done noticeable wonders, at least to him. 

He hears the unmistakable sound of plastic wrap being torn, and he perks up again, noticing you unwrapping the Starstruck Coral lip tint. He leans forward again, curiosity suddenly bubbling within him. “Put it on.” He says before he can think about it, his eyes focused on the small unwrapped box in your hands.

“...Huh?” You give him a puzzled look, tilting your head. His eyes flick towards you in annoyance and he gestures towards the box, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“Don’t be dense, put it on!” 

You nod hurriedly, and he can tell from the way your eyes glimmer that you’d wanted to try it. He has to resist the urge to smile, your subtle but affirming reaction filling him with pride. He watches as you open the box and pull out the lip tint, turning it over in your hands before unscrewing it open. Romeo can already feel himself growing impatient, idly tapping his foot as he waits for you to start. “It may be a little messy because I don’t have a mirror, but I’ll do my best.” You warn him, finally unscrewing the tint, admiring the pretty ombre color. He sits up when you speak, and unbeknownst to you, a scowl crosses his face momentarily. You hear his footsteps before you see him, crossing the short distance across the train in record speed and snatching the tint away from you before you could apply it with shaky hands. 

When you look up at him questioningly, he shakes his head, holding the tint and applicator brush in his hand. “Just hold still.” 

With that, he leans over you, placing the thin tube of tint in your hands and firmly holding your chin, his eyes seemingly glued to your lips. “Open.” When you do as he says, he gently applies the tint to your bottom lip, pursing his own lightly glossed lips as he focuses. He exhales, and fails to notice the way you shiver, his breath fanning over your neck. His knuckles gently press into the soft skin of your cheek and chin as he carefully follows the border of your lips, watching as the plush skin yields to the pressure before plumping up again. Somewhat caught between a haze of his intense focus applying the tint and unexpected fascination with the buoyancy of your lips, Romeo accidentally smudges some of the tint. Despite his bubbling annoyance at his own blunder, for a moment, it’s an almost charming imperfection. The lip tint glitters against your skin, smudged just off the corner of your parted lips. If he were any more brazen, he would have given in to the odd temptation unfurling in his stomach to simply kiss it away. Fortunately for him and his own reputation, he’s far more proper than that. With a pointed glare at the corner of your lips, he wipes away the smudge with his gloved thumb. He glances at the sparkling residue left on his glove before wiping it away onto your top lip. When you flinch in response, he has to suppress a shiver down his spine. This action was inexplicably intimate, yet he didn’t understand where his flusteredness was coming from. There was no reason to act nor feel like this.

He applies the tint to your top lip in a more rushed fashion, suddenly wanting to replace the earlier distance between you two. He frowns when he finishes, nitpicking any slight smudges or missed spots, before stepping away, admiring his work. “There.” He plucks the tint from your grasp, screwing the applicator back on and tossing it into the bag. “...This might be good enough,” he says, feigning confidence, but he can hear the way his voice wavers with uncertainty, a part of him itching to do more. His gaze flickers upwards to meet yours and an idea pops into his head. He could do your lashes. They were long by itself, but some of the mascara he’d bought couldn’t hurt. Despite himself, he finds himself sitting back down in front of you, reaching for and holding your chin firmly again. He turns your head every which way, determining what else he could do to refine your appearance some. Unfortunately, he’s aware this train ride ends soon, and he feels himself getting nauseous at the idea of spending more time with you than he has to, despite the anticipation crawling up his spine. He reaches for the bag again, pulling out the mascara he’d bought earlier. When you reach out your hand to apply it yourself, he gently swats your hand away. “No. Hold still.”

He doesn’t give you much choice, still holding your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He purses his lips again, telling you not to blink as he applies your mascara. He finds himself staring at your eye color, noting the color of the mascara in comparison. Perhaps next time he ought to choose something that made your eyes stand out more, or maybe that’d be easier done with some eyeshadow in the correct shade. He decides to halt his thoughts there, scowling. He had to focus, and he was damn well sure there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. He internally recoils at the thought of having to peruse the shelves with you over his shoulder again, constantly shifting your expressions, making it harder for him to focus. The slight furrow in your brow even now was distracting, and all he could think about was how he wanted to remind you that frowning causes wrinkles, and you would be especially susceptible to them if you didn’t keep up your skincare regime. Instead, he lets go of your chin and flicks you between your brows, frowning at you himself. When you get the message and relax your expression, he nods appreciatively and continues his task, moving to your other eye. 

Finally, the task was complete. His eyes flick back and forth between your eyes, watching as you blink at him dubiously. When satisfied, he pulls away, screwing the applicator back into the mascara and observing your face. Your eyes seemed wider and brighter, and the added mascara helped your lashes appear longer. Your lips were bright and shimmering, still covered in that Starstruck Coral color. Romeo smiles to himself, proud with how he managed to turn around your appearance with so little. He reaches for your face again, holding your cheeks with considerable tenderness, as though scared one wrong move would smudge and ruin the perfect portrait of you. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath as he gazes at you, checking your entire face for imperfections, glazing over the negligible or unnoticeable imperfections that couldn’t be immediately cleared. He exhales, feeling himself gleam with pride as a reluctant smile digs into his cheeks yet again. He sits down beside you, still holding your face. “Non c'è male…” He mutters to himself, finding his gaze lingering again on the pretty ombre mesh of pink and orange and red on your lips. Truly, Starstruck Coral had been the right choice. 

He’s basking in his pride more when he hears the shutter click of a camera, and a whistle in a familiar voice. “Now this will do numbers on WickHive.” The same familiar voice cackles and Romeo already knows he hadn’t moved away quickly enough to avoid the picture. One glance up and there he is, Leo, staring down smugly at his phone, where the incriminating image is probably being held. Surprisingly, hunched over Leo’s shoulder is Rui, inspecting the picture with a crease in his brow. Romeo cannot believe his lack of luck. 

Romeo catches it when Rui makes eye contact with you, and it doesn’t escape him how Rui’s eyes flicker with an emboldened interest. Stepping past Leo, Rui heads to you with an extra skip in his step, wide smile already spreading across his face. His voice is higher than usual, and Romeo wonders if mere makeup was enough to trip up the ladykiller himself. “Woooow, MC!” He stops a short distance away from you, his eyes flickering across your face as he takes in your makeup. “You look cuter than usual today. What’s brought this on, huh?” Rui’s tone is filled with mirth as he pokes your nose playfully. Romeo stiffens and has to bite back the urge to swat his hand away from your face. 

Romeo carefully watches your reaction, and is almost relieved when you don’t smile immediately. “You like it? I haven’t seen how it looks yet.” You reply to Rui, a little hesitant but clearly glad for the praise. 

Rui sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Awww, you should! You look so cute!” His face breaks out into a wide smile again, and it’s almost crushingly obvious that Rui’s a flirtier version of Kaito at this point. “I’m assuming we have you to thank for this, hm?” Romeo looks up to notice Rui’s gaze on him as Rui vaguely gestures in your direction. 

Romeo doesn’t resist the urge to puff his chest out a bit, folding his arms indignantly. “Indeed.” His terse answer doesn’t hide his swelling pride, he’s aware, but brevity is the soul of wit, which he likes to claim to possess.

“He picked out some makeup items for me.” You chime in, holding up the bag with a relaxed smile. It seems you’ve finally taken to Rui’s compliments. 

Rui shakes his head with a complicated look in his eyes, clearly picking up on the message behind the gift, but happy for you nonetheless. “Well, leave it to Romeo to pick out such a pretty color. It suits you.” Rui winks at you before finally finding a seat on the train, just across from you, taking Romeo’s former seat.

Leo, who’s clearly been either editing the picture or waiting his turn to soak up all the attention, saunters up to you, smug smile still on his face. Romeo doesn’t miss how your earlier smile seems to fade all at once. He would laugh, but it’s not that funny. 

“Gotta say, I agree with Rui. Who knew…” Leo trails off, his fingers reaching for your chin and holding it with uncharacteristic tenderness, tilting your face upwards towards him. Romeo notices how you stiffen at the contact. “...That the honor student could be—” Leo suddenly snaps his lips shut, and Romeo can tell from the way his lips purse despite being in a smug smirk that he had to bite back a compliment. Leo only falters slightly, brow creasing minutely before quickly straightening again, lips quirking back up into a teasing smile, more words as demeaning as they were saccharine sweet on the tip of his tongue. “Well, it suits you. You might even be unrecognizable enough to pass as a beauty in this picture.” Leo smirks, waving his phone in his hand. 

Romeo finds himself intervening before he can really think about it. He swats Leo’s hand away from your chin. “Stop that. You’ll smudge her foundation.” A blatant lie, but it would be sound enough to get him to back off, Romeo hopes. Something about this was fraying at his nerves. 

Leo raises a crooked brow at Romeo, a slow, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, Romeo. The blackheads on her nose account for a lack of any foundation at all. Nice try, though.” Romeo should be thankful Leo lets it go, but all he can do is turn away indignantly, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hears a chuckle before light footsteps padding away, and gently exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. By god, of all people to board the train at that moment… 

Rui walks at a much faster pace than you and Romeo, strained expression on his face. He’d left Lyca and Ed in charge of the bar while he was off on a short mission, as he explained earlier, and could only hope that they hadn’t mistakenly set the bar on fire. 

Romeo was headed to the bar for drinks, and as far as he was concerned, you were coming with him. The earlier incident with Leo convinced him he cannot let you out of his sight for today. Leo had cited some excuse for not coming to the bar, but Romeo could tell from the grin Leo flashed his way that he can expect that picture to be all over WickHive by evening. A drink to forget it, even temporarily, would be enough for Romeo. 

Rui heaves a sigh of relief as he steps into the bar, glad to find nothing on fire nor destroyed, but Lyca doing the work while Ed sits perched at the bar. A red shock of hair buried in a white sleeve also denotes another guest. Romeo has to grit his teeth, remembering how Haru went on and on about you after first meeting you. He can only imagine the endless waterfall of praise he’ll surely come up with on the spot seeing you even remotely dolled up. He makes a mental note to bring painkillers for the inevitable headaches he gets when he comes here and Haru happens to arrive. 

Clearly, Romeo needs to be more forthright about how he’s trying to protect his ears, because when you plop yourself down in the seat right next to Haru, all he feels is dread. He quickly slips into the seat on your other side, despite there being no remaining danger. 

Rui, finally behind the bar, gently nudges Haru. He immediately raises his head, and Romeo can’t tell if he woke up that quickly or was already awake and out of it so soon. The faint blush on his face indicates the latter. As Haru reorients himself, Romeo notices Lyca peering at you oddly. He’d never so much as heard this boy speak, but something tells him he’s going to be as much as, if not more of, a headache than Haru. 

“Oh, hi MC-! …Wait. Something’s different about you.” Haru’s voice had its classic drawl it always had when he’s getting close to being hammered. Romeo’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard from Obscuary’s entrance. He watches, jaw clenched tight as Haru inspects you. Boldly, and probably not realizing how drunk he is, Haru reaches out, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin above your eyebrows. Romeo notices you don’t recoil at this touch, but he doesn’t know if it’s because you know he’s drunk or if you happen to not dislike Haru. Both options are less than ideal.

Puzzled expression still stuck on his face, Haru traces his fingers downwards, caressing your cheek. “Yea…” He mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the path of his fingers. “Something’s…” his fingers reach the corner of your lips, “...Different…Oh!” His eyes widen like it’s finally occurred to him, and his gaze remains transfixed on your lips, shimmering coral color still bright and undisturbed on them. “You’re wearing makeup!” 

“Is that what that is?” Lyca cuts in, suddenly appearing behind you, craning his neck to get a good look at your face. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing your appearance before leaning away, satisfied. He crosses his arms, a light blush dusting his face as he tries to ignore the staring he just did. “Hmph. It’s pretty.” His compliment is short and terse, but Romeo can tell from your relieved sigh that you’re happy to receive it nonetheless. However, said compliment is quickly followed up by: “...You reek of the damn blond gigolo, though.”

Rui stiffens behind the bar, cleaning a glass. “Come on, my cologne isn’t that potent.” He looks up from his task to find all five of you avoiding his gaze. 

Ignoring Rui’s distressed cry of shock, Haru turns to you again. “Lyca’s right. It is pretty. Though…” Haru leans towards you, his chin propped up in his hands, “I always thought you were quite the looker, you know.” His smile is disarmingly handsome, even to Romeo. His flushed cheeks and lovestruck gaze probably only add to it. Romeo suppresses a gag, turning away. 

Rui, having partially recovered from the prior shock, also leans towards you, resting his cheek in his palm, partially hiding a cheeky smile. He hums in agreement with Haru, nodding. “Can’t disagree with that. You’re an attractive gal.”

Romeo shivers, ready to pull you away from Haru and Rui’s gazes. When Lyca cranes his neck to gaze at you again, Romeo snaps. 

“Will you horny dogs keep your dicks in your pants and your lascivious gazes off of her?!” He knows he’s one to talk considering the way your lips simply shimmering was enough to disarm him on the train, but still. This was ridiculous. 

“Really, now…” A soft, low, velvety voice echoes through the silence following Romeo’s outburst. Ed appears behind you, gently placing his hands over your ears. He mockingly frowns disapprovingly at Romeo. “Using such vulgar language in front of a lady…” He shakes his head and tuts a few times, a smile crawling onto his face. “Surely you know your manners?”

Rui chimes in, teasing grin all over his face. “He may need a refresher on them.”

With that, Haru, Rui, and Ed dissolve into snickers, just as Romeo bursts into a blush. Lyca, off to the side, looks a little confused. 

“I don’t get it. Why not use words like that in front of her?”

Romeo’s walking you home. He insisted on it. He wasn’t about to let a repeat of him being humiliated yet again by your side, nor was he going to let some other ghoul or normal human lay his eyes on you, at that. Maybe this makeup was a bad idea. But then, he turns to sneak a quick glance at you. Your expression appears quite pleased, and your shimmering lips are curled into a small smile. 

Well. Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea. 

“Thank you.” Romeo’s surprised to hear you pipe up, and turns towards you questioningly. 

“For what?”

“For the makeup.” You gaze at him kindly, giving him a small smile. He’s taken aback by it. “Can’t say you were kind about it, but I appreciate it regardless.” 

Romeo hardly stiffens at the comment. He knows he wasn’t particularly kind about it, but that’s the point. How else is someone who can hardly remove their blackheads going to take proper care of their skin? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, letting his thoughts run around his head. Part of him wondered if he had another reason for buying you makeup in the first place, and why this entire gift felt like it was only going to bite him in the ass later. Maybe it already was, what with how you’d managed to catch the attention of every single ghoul they’d encountered today. But that didn’t make sense. Why would you gaining attention bite him in the ass? He shakes his head, a blush forming on his face as though he already knows the answer. 

“Shut up. Just use it on missions.” Romeo’s response is as terse as ever, quick and to the point. He watches as you roll your eyes, and something in him twinges, partially wishing he could’ve given a nicer comment. 

When you arrive at the chapel, he watches you bound up the steps, sticking around despite himself. He musters up an obligatory “Good Night,” right before you close the door on him, and he watches as your shimmering Starstruck Coral lips pull into a grin. 

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

He turns away as you close the door, ready to fill the rest of his walk back to Sinostra with more pondering. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupts his peace, however, and he turns it on only to find an innumerable amount of notifications from WickHive. 

“Kurosagi…” He curses his name under his breath. “When I get you…”

a/n: yippee!!!!!!! im surprised i managed to finish this. i honestly like it a lot, i think it's really cute and i like the way i wrote it. i genuinely hope you guys like it too!!!!!

shameless note that, as usual, i love likes, comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!! please feel free to let me know in any way you like just how much you loved my writing! it's what keeps me going!

until next time!!!

EDIT BC I SOMEHOW FORGOT?: a few hc's im adding 4 relevance's sake:

rui wears strong cologne and douses himself in it

haru has grey eyes

that's all yippee!!

[solivagant242]

late night drives ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

pairing: dean x childhood friend!reader

warnings: alluded childhood abuse/neglect, blood, mild angst, sickness

this is an entirely self-indulgent drabble since i haven't been able to get the fluff/soft memory/comfort trope out of my head- this is based on an aesthetic that i can't quite name.

comment if you want dean's pov!

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you didn’t know when it had become a tradition, something just for the two of you. maybe it was when you’d both been fourteen, stuck in the middle of nowhere, each with fathers that didn’t want to come home. 

maybe it was when you had begun hunting and taken the impala on the road. when the stress of all the blood and sweat and death started getting to you.

either way. it didn’t matter.

the air is so warm it feels almost like bathwater. that doesn’t stop you from shivering, though, wrapping your arms around yourself. your hair is still wet from the burning shower you’d taken, the shower that had left blood swirling down the drain and the fresh slices and stabs on your skin stinging and twining. 

you’re in the passenger seat, the one where sam normally is. you’re not sure if his towering height is responsible for why the seat feels so huge, too low to the ground, as if his weight has pressed it down.

dean is driving.

you don’t normally look at him during these drives. or even pay attention to him, for that matter; times like these are spent in a wordless appreciation of the other’s silence, each of you battling whatever demons have clawed their way from the depths of your minds this time. 

but this time you do, through half-closed eyelids. 

his face looks more relaxed than it did half an hour ago, jaw soft instead of clenched. the shadows under those green eyes haven’t dissipated, though. 

you doubt they ever will. 

drowsily you rest your head on the side of the impala, the soft turns and pauses at stoplights lulling you into a doze. 

you used to be scared of falling asleep. nightmares would flock behind your eyes, black shards of ice stabbing into your skull and leaving you screaming in the dead of night. before you went on the road with the winchesters, you’d spend hours lying on the slant of your bedroom roof, silent tears trickling coldly into your ears till you couldn’t cry anymore. 

even after you’d formed your own messy little broken family with sam and dean, you’d been scared to fall asleep. you still remember how your mom had left in the dead of night when you were eight. you had heard the door open and close, a tiny little dismissive sound audible through the chirping of the frogs outside. 

she hadn’t ever come back, and you knew you wouldn’t be seeing her again.

the cigarette burns on your hand tingle in relief at the thought.

you don’t know when you became okay with sleeping with the winchesters around. somewhere in between the falling and flying of delirium, of a hunt gone wrong and more medicine than you thought possible pumping through your veins.

dean had stayed up with you for two nights in a row. his calloused fingers had been gentle as they carded through your hair, pushing it back from your sweaty forehead, even when you thrashed around and nearly fell off the bed.

he’d caught you and deposited you back under the covers. 

“it’s okay, sweetheart. sleep. please sleep.”

you had slept soundly ever since then. 

a brighter light blinks across your eyelids and you stir a bit, letting your eyes blur into focus. 

the sky is a rich shade of blue, deepening to midnight at its peak and broadening to pale gold nearer the horizon. a few creamy stars are scattered across its expanse.

stoplights and gas station signs flicker past. more lights- cherry-red, neon green, and bright yellow. 

it’s all a blur, a soft, sleepy blur cloaked in the light hum of the impala. dean shifts and mumbles something that you can’t quite catch, and somehow his voice and the smell of the cheap ivory soap he always uses is soothing.

you close your eyes and drift off into another vaguely remembered dream.

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[chanranghaeys]

🐸 “come here, hold my hand.”

request from my og @tusswrites! "come here, hold my hand.” “you’re washing the dishes.” “…i can do both…” with minghao? please i love this man and I’ll crumble if he says this to me 😭

pairing: minghao x gn!reader word count: 1k+ genre: fluff, slice of life (HELLO IT'S ME) rating: pg tags: pure fluff, physical touch as the love language, mundane stuff, household chores, request prompted washing the dishes so you will have washing the dishes, i try to make up a song warnings: none

a/n: finally found the random inspiration for this drabble that ended up with more than 1k words. purely self-indulgent. bear with me. as someone who always washes the dishes, i want this. bow.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Minghao is a strong believer in physical touch as a love language.

Popular media doesn’t showcase this all too well because of the image and concept that has been formed around him. Still, physical touch is the love language that remains superior in his opinion. This means being able to reach out to the other person and hold them in any manner, being in proximity to them to express how you feel, and being in the same room with each other regardless of what you are doing.

He says it’s about having something tangible to hold—tactile in his hand and palpable on his body—and how he appreciates having the people around him to physically ground his thoughts and dreams that can soar as high as the heavens allow. It reminds him that he doesn’t just have his rational mind anchoring him down but also something and someone to help make sense of things.

Minghao, contrary to popular belief then, is actually a very clingy person.

Words are not and will never be his strong suit. Yes, he can write. Yes, his words are like poetry, like water flowing through the rough in cascades of emotion, but they only come out when the cup is full. On a day-to-day basis, Minghao expresses his love which can be felt even through the slightest brush of hands.

This is a fact that you learned almost immediately.

He comes home, wordless, whether to his place or your place, and the first thing he does is go in for a hug. No matter where you are or what you are doing, he forces you to stop so he can hug you for who knows how long, deeply, fully, and wholeheartedly—not that half-assed wraparound from the side that people excuse for a hug.

It’s a habit he started during a particularly trying time in his life. He would pull you closer and engulf you in his arms, burying you in his scent as he buries himself in the crook of your neck or the crown of your head.

Naturally, during a particularly trying time in your life this time, you picked up his habit easily and did the same to him.

Scientific studies show that a 20-second hug is enough to release oxytocin that can lower stress levels and improve quality of life. Whatever the research says, you and Minghao do agree that this little practice has made your lives easier and more bearable than they used to be.

Recently though, you always end up missing each other at home. He would come home late nights and early mornings after schedules to find you sound asleep in your bed, while you would wake up a few hours later to his sleeping form recovering from the previous day’s demands. You’d come home one too many days to a space devoid of his comforting presence, and the same could be said for him.

It happens, you think. It’s absolutely normal. Being this busy just means that both your lives are taking a turn for the better, right?

But still, you miss him, despite coming home to each other every day. You miss the simple act of sharing your silence together and you miss the way his touches would simultaneously calm you down but also keep you on your toes.

Today, you couldn’t help but feel lonelier than usual as you set your jacket and bag down to be greeted by a dark apartment room. Based on his last message a few hours ago, Minghao was still in the studio practicing. He sent a selca with the other performance unit boys and you don’t deny how you stared at his sweaty hair and bare smiling face for a minute longer than you thought you did.

But you had a good day at work, where everything just worked out the way you wish every day would, and you absolutely will not let anything rain on your small moment of happiness. No, not even the mess of a room you left this morning and not the pile of dishes you didn't realize remained unwashed this morning.

So you turn on the speakers and press play on a song that has Minghao’s voice fill the empty space. It was one of his unreleased demos for his recent solo EP. It was a shame because this was your favorite from his endless roster of songs—a song where the lyrics talked about how the most mundane of moments could be the most special if you had your love’s hand to hold.

You started on the dishes and got lost in the process almost meditatively in the menial task. It was enough to startle you when you heard your name from behind you. You see him in fresh clothes and slightly damp hair, a clean scent emanating from his presence.

“When did you get home?” You asked in reply to your most favorite voice in the world.

“Just now,” Minghao instinctively reached out to latch onto your waist, easily letting your gravity pull him to you in your natural ritual of finding purchase in each other's nooks and crannies. As if you were two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, he molds his body against yours with his chest flush to your back and his hands folding on the flat of your stomach.

He breathed in your scent and you felt his smile against your temple. Instantaneously, you relax against his touch as he says against your ear, “I missed you.”

You turn to find his lips, softly pressing yours against them and repeating his words to him. With a smile, you continue your reply with a melody to your voice. “Come here, hold my hand.”

You feel his chuckles with his cheek pressed on yours when he says, “But you’re washing the dishes.”

“I can do both.”

So he does, intertwining one of his hands with yours—albeit awkwardly—and helping you finish the chore in front of you. His soft giggles mingle with yours as you two find a rhythm to washing the dishes among four working hands.

You two stay in this position for a while with the song still playing in the background, the lyrics resounding as you sway in time with the rhythm.

“Come here, hold my hand, pull me in, and let me orbit around your gravity…”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: still from my little drabble request game and still accepting requests! all you gotta do is shoot an ask <3

[blackcathjp]

blackcathjp's drarry fic rec masterlist

UPDATED: jan 7, 2025 | total fics: 50

collection of my recommended fics with my short reviews/summaries. sorted by word count. most fics are dmhp and explicit unless noted otherwise. feel free to send me recs or if you want to discuss fics!

❤️ = favorites

🌟 = all-time favorites

SHORT FICS (under 10k)

all hues in his controlling by wolfpants (1k) ❤️

harry de-ages himself for kinky birthday sex with draco. morally grey and hot indulgence of age difference and virginity kink.

the banned pasta by hoko_onchi (1k, G)

i love when draco does obscure pureblood courting traditions that don't make sense.

aching with want by nv-md (2k)

draco takes care of harry in the middle of the night, with praise kink and some gentle dirty talk. first person pov.

the best treasure is up harry’s arse by bafflinghaze (2k)

bratty harry feat. draco’s dirty mouth and obsession with his arse.

tense by faithwood (2k)

dmhp, mentions of hpdm; hot hot hot. did i mention hot? their spicy banter and draco's nervous confidence and harry's confidence-turned-begging is so hot.

50 reasons to have sex series: for revenge / because it's raining / because you're in a hotel by gracerene (2k)

dmhp + hpdm; series of one-shots inspired by a tv show. the ones above are my favorites!

a little less than civil by froggy-o (3k, G)

professors drarry where nobody knows... their little secret! but they're kinda obvious... when flirting meets animosity.

an unconventional intervention by phdmama (3k) ❤️

super hot and tender fic where draco helps harry get out of his head. let him oral fixate! let draco indulge in his seemingly out-of-reach fantasy!

arms and elbows by iota_after_dark (3k)

hpdm but dmhp-coded; harry is desperate to please draco, which means trying something new - fisting. draco is so bossy and hot here. also they’re weirdo roommates w/ zero boundaries lol.

automatic joy by leontina (3k)

funny scenario where the wand has search history. harry transfigures objects into dildos with draco’s wand.

the black cat of good fortune by kitty_fic (3k, T)

look at my username like... i need more cat harry. tender and comforting, self-healing vibes!

imperio by tenthousandyears (3k)

consensual non-con with dom/sub. they have filthy, humiliating, degrading sex and fall in love.

smart brevity by lucifergraced (3k)

draco malfoy is an arse man. he likes what he sees, he will take what he wants. uniform kink and fingers in mouth. that’s it.

effervescence by thecouchsofa (4k)

drarry have sex while using veritaserum, feat. daddy kink, praise kink, light dom/sub.

dinner and diatribes by hephaestiions (5k) 🌟

legilimency sex is SO UNDERRATED. altered my brain chemistry. established loving relationship, with draco knowing how to help and ruin harry. be his peace of mind and make him crackle with sexual need and wild magic. filthy, intimate, and comforting. “to forever and a day” is such a devastating declaration of love.

dirty fucking dangles by p1013 (5k)

hockey players who get the hots for e/o’s impressive athleticism and some impact play!

the way you say my name by innerlilith (5k) 🌟

transformed my brain chemistry, the reason for my obsession with sweet pet names. their relationship develops in such a real way, the banter is so drarry, the tension is perfect! also really love draco’s “unhinged flirt” characterization. harry getting so hot under the collar is just *chef’s kiss*.

snug by moonflower_rose (6k)

touch-starved harry has a strange habit of touching his dick in a non-sexual way and draco becomes extremely fixated and can't stop looking at him.

sweet like candy in my veins by shahwrites (7k)

magical theorist harry is intelligent and cool, and vampire draco wants to help him fight evil! they are in love, your honor!

color, love? by chou_latte (7k)

just straight up pwp.

friends at last by lettered (8k)

a simple handjobs and grinding fic filled with soul-crushingly sweet dirty talk. it’s so vulnerable and tender and how i imagine super in love drarry to be - full of lust and gentle care.

service bell by shiftylinguini (8k)

werewolf (slight service top vibes) draco x vampire harry. cottage in the woods vibe + fwb + getting back together again.

all i have to do by fluxweed (9k) ❤️

draco expects a hyper-realistic sexual fantasy and unknowingly ends up w/ the real deal. harry ditches hermione to indulge in this sudden dreams-come-true sexcapade. oops.

just a trial run by tenthousandyears (9k) ❤️

dmhp, one hpdm scene; d/s fic that blew my mind. plays with alcohol kink, praise kink, “sex worker” kink, consensual dub-con, and more. discovering their love by doing lots of debauchery!

MEDIUM FICS (10k-30k)

the complete idiot’s guide to losing your entire mind by oknowkiss (10k)

hpdm, with mentions of switching; utterly depraved no nut november concept with a big full-on humiliation kink. greedy dom draco and sex-dumb sub harry!

fantastic flip fuck by hoko_onchi (10k)

switching; pornstars drarry who have to film a scene together, but they never expected to be REALLY into each other. deliciously hot and super funny.

stamina spells pleasure by lettered (10k)

bonkers multiple orgasms fic with dom draco and magical spells for sexy times! when i say harry deserves to be RAILED and reduced into a needy little mess, i mean this!

bedroom hymns by writcraft (11k)

kink exploration fic. quite slytherin of harry to ask draco out on a date to find out more about draco’s rumored sexual preferences and activities. very not demure, very not mindful.

on target by milkandhoney and the_sinking_ship (13k) ❤️

a favorite! flirting through charity donations and a dunk tank challenge, resulting in a steamy locker room session.

the earth from a distance by spqr (15k)

genius and competent draco and action-oriented, need-to-be-useful harry! masterful world-building about 16th century hogwarts, lovely speculative twist on life in the past. survival-based co-dependent relationship turned into intimate & loving romance.

paragraph twelve, clause four by innerlilith (15k) 🌟

lust, tension, longing, gentleness. quidditch player harry + sexy bodyguard draco, with a silly premise of hearing your love/hate crush wank loudly next door. the push and pull, the burning need, you just have to be there, the build up is so worth it.

as per request by thecouchsofa (17k)

virgin harry ridiculously propositions a very incredulous draco. love the banter, love the heat between them.

solemates by shiftylinguini (17k)

silly workplace step/walking competition turned into fwb turned into falling in love. they’re so annoyingly cute in this.

two weeks by shiftylinguini (21k) 🌟

overprotective possessive veela harry, who is emotionally sick until he “meaningfully connects” w/ his important person… aka, draco! the sexual tension and pining is portrayed so well, and creatively manifests in harry’s new veela body. i love this wry humor, no-nonsense draco so much.

knot your average coworkers by thecouchsofa (22k) ❤️

werewolf draco and oblivious harry! subtle praise kink, great feisty banter. sweet and hot fic about harry’s desire to care for draco, and draco being baffled by that. also, harry’s obsessed with his knot 😏

lusimeles by orphan_account (23k) 🌟

devastatingly tender. harry is self-destructive in dealing w/ his trauma, but Mr. Draco Malfoy wrecks his plans. draco just knows what needy harry wants and needs, which is to be taken care of, loved, and kept. i love this line from harry: “how nice it was to be understood without words.” 🥹

the superfluous man by peu_a_peu (24k)

funny dialogue and a silly premise like wdym harry got pregnant through draco's magical come-cocktion?? draco is such a disastrous mean loser (perfect characterization imo) who just wants to be around harry and make him laugh.

back where we began by cassiara (25k)

oh. my. god. slightly teacher/student dynamics but not really, combined with accidental bonding and sorta legilimency because harry is impulsive and curious and obsessed with draco’s voice in his head.

LONG FICS (30k+)

in the dark, in the light by phrynne (32k)

threesome with omc; very intense bdsm fic with sub harry and dom draco. the tension is PALATABLE.

you send me (honest you do) by firethesound (37k)

aurors drarry! harry is accidentally de-aged (physically), which unlocks draco’s buried feelings. great writing on intimacy, love, comfort, humor, pining (draco’s pining HURTS SO GOOD).

see me and live by dodgerkedavra (37k)

harry has such a huge (and quite hilarious) crush on draco that it can feel so overwhelming for him (along with all the other thoughts in his head). draco is so brilliant with magic and so incredibly patient, kind, and warm with harry. makes me SICK just how sweet and caring they both are with each other in recognizing what the other needs.

eternally consistent by kitsunealyc (44k)

mystery time travel fic where the ending adds a whole new perspective. delicious drarry development in this one.

sealed with a kiss by faithwood (46k) ❤️

switching; god i love this fic so much. the epitome of "i don't want him... but i want him". jumping through all these hoops and tricks while being in denial of your true feelings... THE DELUSION!

perpetual motion, perpetual sound by dodgerkedavra (51k)

dodger has a way of delivering sexy scenes, only to devastate you several pages later with heartbreaking scenes. fascinating exploration of magical theory, mental health, dealing with trauma, and being in love.

only for october by dodgerkedavra (58k, wip)

dmhp + hpdm; lovely fic disguised as an unassuming “fwb have a kinky month of sex” story. drarry deal with inner demons by taking care of e/o through sex to ground themselves in reality. they fall in love in the process AND there’s an intriguing mystery plot. it’s so good.

whisky-tango-foxtrot by vukovich (58k) 🌟

transformed my life. unrelentingly absurd and over-the-top funny with refreshing characterization and humor. drarry’s animagus traits seep into their human behavior - adrenaline junkie, horny trashy slut harry x inexperienced, dramatic, mate-for-life draco. it’s a hot wild ride.

dwelling by aideomai (83k)

changed my life fr, i thought about this for WEEKS and was so heartbroken. so much melancholy and heartache. idk if i can read it again knowing what happens... it's very bittersweet.

azoth by zeitgeistic (88k) 🌟

hpdm, mentions of switching; need more competent, determined, "fuck you i'm gonna prove you wrong!" genius harry! love this take on harry who sets his mind to something and discovers he is quite (book)smart. i love that draco guides and tutors him throughout it. so much love and research from the author, it's such a genius fic. also love the years-long pining and angst.

hothouse flowers and hot hot showers by azalea_larae, with art by boshspice (101k) ❤️

harry has very obsessive grand fantasies in this fic. the sexual tension is so intense. roommates don’t ACT like this… harry puts himself through intense pining and (imaginary) heartache. there is one crazy massage scene... you just have to be there!!!

far from the tree by aideomai (112k) 🌟

dmhp, one hpdm scene; a favorite! draco can’t believe harry wants him, yet he’s posessive and can’t let him go. harry’s obsessed and will do anything to protect him. throw in some angst, mystery, kinky times, next gen kids, draco calling harry “darling” (and subsequently changing the trajectory of my life), and voila! a masterpiece.

[sun-kissy]

sanctuary | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x reader — ★ — wc 1.1k

summary: bucky is worried about you when you’re overworking yourself

cw: fluff, reader is a newly recruited avenger, reader is exhausted, please don’t read too much into this — definitely not self indulgent!!

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you call back shakily, not slowing. Punch after punch after punch gets thrown at the poor bag hung from the ceiling.

Bucky observes quietly as he leans against the wall of the training room. You’re dripping in sweat, though it looks like some kind of elixir in the moonlight. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”

“So should you.”

He quirks a lip upward. You’re stubborn, just like him. “I don’t have to work a 9 to 5 tomorrow.”

You cast him a glaring glance. “Working a 9 to 5 has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh yeah?” he pushes himself off the wall, crossed arms falling to his sides as he steps towards you. “So staying up late and training, waking up in the wee hours of the morning to study — none of this has anything to do with the fact that you’re working eight hours tomorrow?”

You don’t reply.

Bucky was worried about you, though he hated to admit it.

He saw you even when you didn’t think he did. You’re gone all morning for school or work, and come back to training sessions with the Avengers. Then you spend whatever time you have left studying, exercising, or whatever else it is you’re doing with the lights in your room turned on all night. Not that he was checking.

Being a new recruit on the team did mean that you had to work hard, but Bucky was sure what you were doing had to have been way past the threshold of hard work; probably on the edge of burnout.

He keeps his gaze locked on you, watching the sweat flicking off with each fist you slam against the bag. It’s robotic, almost, except for how your punches get harsher with each passing second.

“You know you’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep at this?” Bucky tries again.

“I’m fine.” There’s a sharpness to your tone. It pinches his heart in all the wrong ways.

He comes closer until he’s right in front of you, until just a centimetre off would result in the punching bag slamming him in the guts. But he knows you wouldn’t do it.

“Y/n,” he starts again, softer.

Your punches start to slow. Less and less aggressive, till you’re glaring down at your gloves and the punching bag is left bobbing with the momentum.

“I said I’m fine.”

Bucky’s heart squeezes at how defeated you sound. Dead, almost.

He steps closer yet, and he can see it. The bags under your eyes, chapped lips and droopy eyelids. You’re exhausted. “You’re not fine, doll. You’re overworking yourself.”

Your eyebrows bunch up at his words. You continue to stare downwards, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He has to resist the urge to cup your cheek and gently pull it free. Instead, he settles on resting his hand on your arm.

“I…” you mutter, tensing up for a moment before relaxing into his touch. “I’m not overworking myself. I’m doing what I have to do.”

You hardly look like you believe it yourself. Bucky sighs.

“You’re doing much more than that, doll. You’re always working. Do you ever rest?”

You frown. “But I can handle it.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Look at yourself.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m ugly?”

Bucky snorts. “You’re far from ugly, you little minx. You know what I mean — you look dead tired, and I’m sure you feel it too.” He squeezes your elbow, not unkindly. “Do you even sleep?”

You shrug, and that’s all the response he needs.

Bucky exhales exasperatedly, moving his hand down to take your fingers in his. You make a noise of protest as he starts to drag you out the training room.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re taking me?”

He sighs when you claw your fingers into his arm, trying to gain friction and come to a stop.

“I —“ he wraps his metal arm around your waist, hoisting you up and ignoring your yelp, “— am taking you to bed; where you would’ve already been if you took proper care of yourself.”

You squawk, patting his back in a hopeless attempt to be released. “Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“Bucky!”

“Yes?”

“Put. Me. Down.”

“No. If you’re not going to rest, I’m going to make you.”

You groan.

His lips curve into a small smile when you finally stop protesting, your head coming down defeatedly to rest on his shoulder. He carries you up the stairs and into your room.

Bucky lays you down with all the gentility he can muster, which is surprisingly a lot. You mutter a begrudging thanks and instinctively crawl under the covers.

He immediately spots your phone on the nightstand. He takes it before you can, holding it up to your face to unlock it.

You grimace. “What are you doing?”

He squints at the tiny screen, fingers poking here and there. “Turning off all your alarms.”

“I have work tomorrow!”

“You also have off-days,” he mutters, waving you off and putting the device where you can’t reach.

You sigh for what must’ve been the hundredth time that day, rubbing your forehead frustratedly. Bucky softens.

He comes to sit on the edge of the bed, smiling at the petulant look you were giving him. Something in him stirred at the sight; you looked so childlike, so innocent. The need to protect you was strong.

“Listen,” he starts gently. “Like I said before, you need rest, okay? Just — try not to think about work, or school, or anything tonight. Relax.”

You exhale, some tension slowly leaving your features. You seem to be contemplating what to say, maybe whether to ask him if he could reschedule your shift for you, talk to your professors about your absence. Bucky was ready to say yes, yes I’ll do anything you want me to. Yes, I’ll do it because it’s you.

You look up at him nervously. “Am I gonna be okay?”

Bucky opens his mouth. He blinks and shuts it.

He rakes his fingers through his hair with a soft sigh and nods slowly. “Yeah, doll. Yeah, you’re gonna be okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You stay quiet for a moment before nodding, letting yourself sink fully into the mattress. He smiles at the sight.

“Goodnight.” Bucky stands up.

“Goodnight,” you mumble back. He watches as you tug the covers up to your chin, eyes fluttering shut.

He makes his way across the room.

“Bucky?”

He hums in response, turning back around.

“Thank you.”

He feels his heart do a little jump. He can’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. “You’re welcome, doll. Now get some sleep, yeah?”

You nod, already starting to drift off.

Bucky closes the door as he steps outside. The lights in your room are turned off for the first time in a long, long time.

[numinousmysteries]

The Baying of the Six-Pound Hound

For the @twocakesficfest (several months too late) prompt:

immortal / invincible queeqeg who likes to show up and mess up a case or two (probably by eating the victim - e.g. Mulder: the victim walked away, cut to a tiny dog dragging a leg away)

A very special thank you to @leiascully for catching all my nauseating tense changes, ensuring I didn't accidentally summon any evil spirits, and making me work a tiny bit more to get them smooching.

[on Ao3]

1. 

He'd been in an uncharacteristically deep sleep when the yapping woke him up, which made it all the more annoying. It was rare for him to be so fully disconnected from the waking world. Typically, he'd float just below the surface of consciousness, the smallest noise enough to rouse him. But on this night, in a narrow, single-story motor lodge wedged up in the Colorado mountains, Fox Mulder had been completely, deeply, aslumber.

He'd been dreaming, too. Not his usual fretful nightmare but a rather sweet dream that featured his partner. It wasn't the first time he dreamt about her, although those dreams were typically of a more erotic nature and would leave him waking up feeling filthy with guilt—and more often than not, rock hard. He'd dream of bending her over the desk in their basement office, burying himself in her, and hearing her soft little moans as he gripped the curves of her hips. Or they'd be on the couch in his apartment and she'd be in his lap, riding him as he watched the smooth undulation of her breasts. These dreams would send him to the shower full of shame. He'd shut his eyes and take himself in his fist, gripping his cock with a firmness that bordered on pain to break the mounting tension with enough self-punishment that he could face Scully in the morning.

But this most recent dream left nothing to be ashamed of. They were walking hand-in-hand, fully-clothed, down a Georgetown street near her apartment. The sun warmed his face and Scully's small hand fit perfectly in his. They weren't in pursuit of a suspect or off to meet an informant, just strolling aimlessly like two people in love. In a way, this mundane dream felt more illicit than his most perverse fantasies because it seemed like more than anything he deserved. He could better imagine a tense moment, even an argument between them, dissolving into frenzied sex than allow himself to indulge the idea of a happy, out-in-the-open relationship with Scully. Which was why this dream was so lovely—and why it had been so frustrating when the yapping shocked him awake.

It sounded like Queequeg. But Scully didn't bring the dog with her on cases, not since– Shit , he remembered. Scully's annoying little furball of a dog, whom she inexplicably loved (which, he considered fleetingly, might bode well for her capacity to love other irritating beings), had died on the shore of Heuvelmans Lake, eaten by an alligator, or Big Blue, depending on who you asked.

The barking must have been coming from one of the neighboring rooms. But Scully was in the room to his left and the room to his right had appeared to be unoccupied when they arrived. 

By the time he showered, dressed, and made it outside to meet Scully at the rental car, she was already waiting for him with a cup of bitter coffee from the urn in the motel lobby. 

"That dog wake you up, too?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she sipped from her styrofoam cup. "What dog?"

"Nevermind," he said, unlocking the car door.

They snaked around the mountain to the ranger station where they'd planned to meet the park ranger who’d supposedly spotted the Slide Rock Bolter. The Bolter, according to legend, was a giant landfish with a forked tail that could pick up a lumberjack and split him in two. It also had the jaw of a whale, the teeth of a shark, and the power to cause avalanche-like rock slides, hence the name. The ranger who contacted Mulder claimed that his partner, who’d gone missing the previous week, had been swallowed whole by the Bolter.

Their interview proved to be less than illuminating and they spent the rest of the afternoon hiking the mountain on their own searching for the creature. The high altitude left them both breathless so they were slower than usual as they ascended. Mulder was annoyed that they couldn't cover more ground before the sun started to set. Their descent was even slower as neither had brought the right shoes and they found themselves stumbling down the rocks and grasping onto each other for support.

Then, he saw it. A flash of auburn darting between a row of skeletal aspen trees. He gasped. 

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him. 

"I saw something," he said. 

"The Slide Rock Bolter?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Probably just a fox. Maybe a coyote.” Although, if he were being honest,  it kind of looked like a small dog.

Scully shrugged, turned away from him, and started heading back down the mountain. 

2.

He didn’t want to say anything, but Scully's apartment smelled bad. It normally smelled nice. Like the candles she lights or even freshly baked bread, even though he knows she doesn't bake bread. But now, it smelled like wet dog. He specifically wouldn't bring that up because she hadn't owned a dog in nearly a year now. For reasons that might have been, depending on who you asked, his fault.

He tried to hide his disgust as he spread open a file of photographs on her kitchen table, but the odor was truly overpowering. It was as if Queequeg—or let's say any anonymous dog who had not been eaten by, depending on who was telling the story, Big Blue or an alligator—had been mucking around in sewer water after not bathing for several weeks.

"Sorry, Scully, but what's that smell?" he asked finally. He felt his stomach contents rising to his throat, and it wasn’t because of the gruesome crime scene photos on the table.

She paused and tilted her chin up to the ceiling. He watched as she sniffed the air in sharp, short inhales through her perfectly proportioned nose.

"I don't smell anything," she said. 

"Really?" he asked, stunned. "It smells like—and I don't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories—wet dog in here."

She sniffed again, then shrugged. "I really don't smell it," she said, shaking her head. "But I can open a window if you want."

"Nah, it's okay."

He tried to run through his explanation of the case as quickly as possible. Three victims found without tongues, but no evidence of any procedure or act that would've resulted in the loss of said tongues which, their friends and family members insisted, were surely present before their deaths.

"The killer could be a surgeon and have access to fine tools or even lasers for seamless cuttage," she said, examining the autopsy photos.

"Mmmhmm, mmhmm," he nodded, trying to open his mouth as little as possible to keep the scent out. "But there's no sign of cutting or scarring. Which there surely would be if the procedure was performed so recently? None of the victims were missing for more than 24 hours—and all had been seen, with tongue no less, within a day. No wound could heal that fast, right?"

"So, what's your theory?" she asked. "Cat got their tongue?"

She was pleased with her little joke and gave him a rare, precious Scully grin. He wanted to at least humor her with a laugh but the mention of a cat—so close to a dog that smelled like crap—made his stomach gurgle yet again and he had to swallow sharply to keep the acidic bile down.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it's just...that smell. It's nauseating."

She shook her head again, that long neck taunting him. "I'm a little concerned," she said. "Are you feeling alright? A sinus infection could cause phantosmia. Or a head injury. Although you weren't banged up much on our last case."

"I'm fine," he said. "Anyway, it's not a cat I'm thinking of, but a cannibalistic spirit documented by Algonquian-speaking Native American tribes in the Northern US and Canadian wilderness.” 

"A wendigo?" she asked, eyebrow arched and ready to fire.

“Very impressive, Scully,” he grinned. “Although you should know that merely saying the spirit’s name is considered taboo. Some believe doing so could summon it into being.” 

She rolled her eyes.

He swallowed hard, and continued. “The spirit possesses a man, who then becomes unable to resist the temptation to eat human flesh. Specifically, the delicacy of the tongue."

"So you think a possessed person ate the victims' tongues?"

"Perhaps," he says. "And the legend goes that because it's actually the spirit feasting on human flesh—not the killer himself—there are no wounds where the tongue is removed. It also explains how these victims lost more than half their blood volume with no signs of trauma."

"It could be severe gastrointestinal bleeding," she said, ignoring his theory. "Perhaps as the result of a communicable illness which would explain why three members of the same community died in the same manner."

"So you think they shat out all their blood?"

"It's not unheard of," she shrugged. “Have any of the victims traveled to a region where ebola is endemic?” 

It was all making him nauseous now. He thought he'd gotten used to it after being in the room for a few minutes but the smell, if anything, was getting worse.

He felt vomit rising into his mouth and cupped  his hand over his lips. "Sorry, Scully. I gotta--" he started before bolting to her bathroom and puking into the toilet. 

"Are you okay?" she asked when he re-entered the room, eyes bloodshot.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he said. "Listen, why don't you take a look at those photos and we'll discuss more in the office tomorrow. I better get going."

"Jeez, Mulder, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were pregnant, between the heightened sense of smell and the vomiting. But that sounds like one of your theories, not mine."

"Very funny, Scully," he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and heading to the door.

In the hallway, he gasped a sigh of relief. Whatever disgusting dog odor permeated Scully's apartment fortunately hadn't made its way out here. 

3.

At first, he thought the sharp prick at his heel was Scully's toenails. He was about to tease her about trimming them when he realized she was sitting beside him on her couch with her feet tucked underneath her. They were back at her apartment a week later debriefing their previous case. He hadn’t been able to prove the existence of a cannibalistic spirit and she hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible scientific explanation so they were left in their typical stalemate. Although the animal smell had dissipated, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. 

He was listening to her recount her autopsy findings when— fuck , there was that sharp biting sensation again. He involuntarily kicked out his foot as if fending off an invisible ankle-height assailant. 

"What's wrong?" Her eyes popped open. 

"Shit, sorry Scully," he said, trying to settle back down. "I could've sworn something was biting my ankle.”

"Biting?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he trailed off, folding in half to examine the carpet underneath the sofa. "Almost like a little dog."

"Like Queequeg?" She smirked. 

"Actually, yeah, I think that's exactly what it was like. Like that fur ball was nibbling at my heels.” 

“I don’t have to tell you that’s impossible.” He detected a hint of sadness in her voice and his heart sank, not for the first time, for all that their work had taken from her.

He opened his mouth to tell her about the other recent events—the barking sound, the flash of auburn in the Colorado wilderness, the wet fur smell of her apartment—but he knew she’d just dismiss it all.

“What?” she asked, sensing he was on the verge of revealing something. As if they were on a case and he was holding back a vital piece of information. Something he had been guilty of doing in the past, he knew, but he usually had a valid reason. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Mulder….” She dipped her chin down as her eyes bore into his.

Powerless against her, he told her everything. "Maybe he's haunting you," he concluded.

"Oh, no, Mulder," she said definitively. "I don't think it's me he's haunting."

4.

They decided to hold a seance the next day. Scully sneered at first but ultimately went along with it without needing too much convincing. She still had Queequeg’s leash and collar, so they set up a small shrine on her coffee table. She gathered a mismatched array of candles from the bathroom and living room and put them around Queequeg's memorabilia.

"How does this work?" she asked. 

He considered reminding her that she'd demonstrated the ability to transcend the boundary between the living and the dead in the past, but that would have required bringing up her father, which would have put a damper on this otherwise delightful evening. Scully felt warm next to him and they were essentially hanging out without the pretense of a case. Sure, they were having a seance for a dead dog, but how else would the two of them bond after hours?

"Let's just close our eyes, hold hands, and try to summon his spirit."

"Is this just an excuse to hold hands, Mulder?"

"Any excuse I can get," he said, as he reached out to take her hand in his. He hoped it came off as a joke, but he really did mean it. It felt so good to hold her hand when neither of them were near death. 

"Mary Todd Lincoln used to host the nation's most renowned spiritualists at the White House for seances to speak with her late son," Mulder said, trying to lend an air of legitimacy to their makeshift session. "Even honest Abe would sometimes make an appearance."

"Don't we need a medium?" Scully asked, keeping a firm hold on his hand. 

"I figure you could play the role, Madame Scully," he said, tipping his chin in her direction. She smiled. He liked making her smile. Her smile always had the effect of flicking a switch deep in his belly that felt like the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"I think Melissa and I had a Ouija board back in the day."

"Pfft," he snorted. "The Ouija board is a purely commercial invention. I don't think anything made in the same factory as Chutes and Ladders can be trusted to commune with the dead."

Scully smirked. "I assumed Ouijia boards would fit right in with the Fox Mulder cosmology."

"Then, Scully," he said, shaking his head, "I don't think you know me at all."

He grinned at her and she smiled back. 

"So, how do we start this thing?" she asked.

"First, we have to close the circle." He extended his free hand to hers and she squeezed tightly onto it.

They stood silently for a beat, facing each other, holding hands. He wasn't actually sure if there was a spiritualist reason for creating the closed circle, but it had to have roots in ancient concepts of energy channeling. He'd done silly little seances in college, typically led by witchy girls with dyed black hair and crystal jewelry, and they always stressed the importance of not breaking the circle. Once he had taken the time to dive into the occult and 19th century spiritualism—the heyday of the modern seance—he couldn't find anything on the importance of maintaining a circle. But then again, if holding one of Scully's hands was nice, holding both of them was even better.

He closed his eyes and, without saying anything, sensed that she'd closed hers, too. He relished the trust she placed in him, listening as her breathing slowed and deepened. He inhaled the heady mix of candles they'd gathered from around the apartment. Vanilla and eucalyptus mingled in the air with musk and gardenia and he suspected these weren't all supposed to be lit at once, but somehow it worked. 

"Do you want me to say something?" she asked, her soft voice drifting over to him in the dark.

"Um, if you want," he said.

She paused, then began. "Queequeg, we welcome your spirit into our circle. If you're near us, please make your presence known."

"Not bad, Scully," he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

"Melissa used to do this crap all the time."

"Hey, don't rain on my parade over here."

"Sorry," she said with a giggle that set his soul aflame.

"We miss you, Queequeg, you were a good dog," she went on. "You didn't always smell the best, especially when you were flatulent, which seemed to be more often than not—"

"What were you feeding that dog?" Mulder interrupted.

"Shut up," she said. "But no matter how poorly you smelled at times, I loved you very much and truly enjoyed the time we spent together. If you've come back because you're angry at Mulder for leading you to your demise at the hands of an alligator—"

"Or Big Blue," he piped up.

She tugged on his hands and ignored him. "If you're angry at Mulder, he'd like to take this chance to apologize and request your forgiveness so you can transition on to the next plane in peace."

"Scully, this isn't half bad," he said, genuinely impressed. 

"It's your turn now—go on, apologize."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you want him to stop haunting you or not?"

Mulder smiled and tried to convey his happiness through their grasped hands.

"Queequeg, this is Mulder speaking. I want to apologize for calling you names and dragging you out to Heuvelmans Lake where you met your untimely demise. I wish we could have spent more time together with Scully—” 

She cut him off with an adorable snort of a laugh.

"—listening to Scully talk. And have Scully check us for fleas and ticks."

Her giggle was a full-blown laugh now. He was desperate to open his eyes and see her face light up. but he’d bought into this seance, so he wasn’t about to break it now.

"I checked you for ticks once , Mulder," she said. "And that was because we'd just spent the night in the woods."

"Well, you're welcome to check again any time."

"I think we're getting off topic," she said, collecting herself. "Keep talking to Queequeg."

5.

There was no gust of wind, flickering light, or even jingling collar bells ringing through the room after he finished speaking, but they both sensed a change. It was as if a six-pound weight had been lifted. 

"I think his spirit is free," Scully whispered to him, solemnly. 

"Run free, Queequeg," he said. He gently opened his eyes and found that hers were open too, and she was looking at him warmly. Despite her reputation for being cold and closed off, he knew that Scully emanated warmth. Once she let someone into her life, she’d hold them in her warmth and protect them with her loyalty. He was only slightly peeved that she had opened herself up to Queequeg before him.

She loved with a fierceness and dedication outsized for her tiny frame. Then again, everything about Scully was larger than her small size would suggest. Her brilliance, her strength, and yes, her love, all seemed like they should overwhelm someone so tiny, but Scully managed to contain it all in just a few inches over five feet.

In that way, she was  like Queequeg. An outsized force stuffed into a small package, with a tuft of auburn hair, who would bite if necessary. He wouldn't dare compare her to Queequeg out loud, though.

Instead, he said, "He was a good dog."

"I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I don't know if we ever saw eye to eye, per se, although that might've been more of a height issue." He gave her a crooked smile. "But I know you liked him, that he kept you company."

"That makes me sound pretty pathetic," she sighed. 

"I didn't mean that. Just that—" he paused to choose his words carefully—"it's nice to come home to someone. I know fish aren't really the same as dogs, but sometimes it's soothing to see them after a long day of the shit we deal with. It just helps me put things in perspective—I'm dealing with lies and gaslighting and conspiracies, and they're just obliviously swimming along and enjoying their lives. A dog must be similar, I imagine."

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was like that with Queequeg. Whenever I'd get frustrated with work or with you"— he gasped in mock outrage and she just smiled and continued—"he'd always be here and look so excited to go for a walk or get his dinner. The consistency was comforting. And he was good at cuddling. He'd get so warm, like a little ball of heat."

"You know, Scully," he started, "I'm available for cuddling if you're ever feeling cold."

“I’ll keep that under consideration.” She smiled. “For now, want to stick around for a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” he said, and she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and glasses. 

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to speak with Queequeg's spirit," he said when she returned,  accepting a glass of red wine from her. 

Settled into the opposite corner of the couch, Scully sat with her legs scrunched up underneath herself with her own glass of wine. He couldn't deal with how precious she looked—nor with how far away she sat.

"Get over here, Scully," he said, patting the cushion next to him.

She smiled, untucked her legs, and moved to scoot over next to him. He transferred his wine glass to his left hand so he could drape his right arm over her shoulder. 

"Maybe Queequeg just has to realize that I'm not a threat to you," he said. Emboldened by her lack of response to his arm over hers, he started lazily tracing circles on her tricep. "Then he'll stop haunting me."

"You're not a threat to me," she said, seriously.

"Come on, Scully." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I'm responsible for so much shit that's happened to you over the years. If I were a little Pomeranian in love with you, I'd do everything in my six-pound power to make this Mulder guy's life a living hell."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think Queequeg was in love with me?"

"How could he not be?" he spit out without even thinking. "I mean—" he tried to recover—"you took good care of him."

Scully just gave him a Cheshire cat grin. She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You think that's all it takes to fall in love with me? If I take care of you?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons a guy—or a dog—could fall in love with you. You're loyal, kind, and caring. You're fucking brilliant. And you're not half-bad to look at either."

"’Not half-bad,’” she repeated, frowning. “I’m flattered, really.” 

“Give me a break. I’m trying to play it cool here,” he admitted. 

She blushed and took a sip of her wine. He did, too, as if trying to use the alcohol to mask his sudden confession. Although it was his first sip and he'd been drunk in love with her for longer than he cared to admit.

"Oh, fuck it," he said. He leaned forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table and pivoted to face her. Bravely, he delved into uncharted territory. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Scully. I'm not about to speculate on what got Queequeg's gears going, but if he's anything like me, he wouldn't be able to resist you. Frankly, I'm jealous of how many nights he got to spend in your bed."

"I didn't allow him in the bed."

He smiled wide. “Of course you didn't," he said. "Because you know about things like pet dander and how sleeping with a dog in your bed can interrupt your REM cycle and that's another reason why you're so lovable.”

“You’re making me sound more anal-retentive than lovable.” She looked up at him with sad eyes before quickly glancing down again. 

“Oh, Scully, you know that’s now what I mean.” He leaned forward to nudge her shoulder with his. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes still downcast. 

“Just that—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You’re so you , Scully. You’re so fully realized, so completely yourself, but not in a way that makes you predictable or boring. It just makes it all the more thrilling when I learn something new about you that somehow both surprises me and fits into the puzzle of what makes you you.”

“And that fact that I didn’t let a dog sleep in my bed somehow makes me more lovable?” 

“It does to me.” He brought the tip of his pointer finger to her chin, softly encouraging her to look back toward him. “What I’m trying, and apparently failing, to say is that I love everything about you. I love that you’re particular and exacting. I love that you force me to be honest and vigorous in our work, and I love that you’re part of my life outside of work, too. And while there’s nothing I value more than our friendship, I hope I’m not being too presumptive to say that I’m getting the feeling we’d both like to be more than friends.”

Terrified, he searched her eyes for confirmation, any sign that his feelings were reciprocated. But she simply stared back at him, her chin wrinkling as she considered his words.

“Although, I suppose, sharing your bed with a creature a lot larger than a Pomeranian might be much more disruptive to your sleep cycle,” he added. 

“I might not mind the interruption,” she said finally, her voice low and breathy, her eyes still locked on his.  

“Even from your defiant, alien-chasing, nutjob of a partner?” 

“Do you mean my incredibly tenacious, intelligent, and loyal partner for whom I might just harbor similar feelings?” 

"Do you think Queequeg would approve?" he asked.

"Let's find out," she said. Before he could question her, Scully's lips were pressed against his. She tasted like tannin-rich wine but also something deeper and more Scully-like: warm and tangy with other unidentifiable undertones that he could drink from his whole life and never get enough of.

He took her wine glass from her and placed it next to his on the coffee table. With both hands free, she felt her way up his arms to frame his face. His own hands wandered wildly, up her back, through her hair, on her soft and tender cheeks. She opened her mouth to him and he tasted her tongue with his. He felt his body responding to her kiss—and judging on how she was squirming and shifting her hips towards him, he knew she was responding as well.

Just as he was about to slip a hand up and underneath her feather-soft sweater to caress the even softer skin underneath, he heard a low, deep growl off in the distance.

He pulled away and faced Scully, puzzled.

“That couldn’t be—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I heard it, too. I think my neighbors down the hall got an English bulldog. It’s not a ghost.” 

“Good enough for me.”

“I should kiss you more often if it gets you to agree so easily.” She smiled at him, inching even closer on the couch.

“I think you should test that theory, Agent Scully.” 

She leaned in again. This time, there were no howls or growls interrupting them.

[prettyboykatsuki]

https://www.tumblr.com/prettyboykatsuki/772075315170344960/what-self-indulgent-idea-is-this-time-twin

Not self indulgent if I want to hear what you have to have to say so fucking bad… You’re indulging ME now bestie

linky link

its just so .. like LISTEN.

like. walk with me. but you're basically like. isagis childhood neighbor right. he's a few years older than you by then you too. like you're in elementary and he's in middle school. one of these days you're in a fight with other older kids (and they're kicking your ass) and isagi gets in the way and pulls his whole like tsk tsk what r u doing bullying a kid younger than u shtick and the kids then run away

and from that he tries to walk u home and u basically idolize him and he just. figures you're a little boy. like u have a gender neutral ish nickname and u dress in boardhosrts and big shirts and its hard to tell and plus you always rough house with isagi. you just have a Rough personality in general and u call him aniki which he finds funny.

and for the few years ur in the same neighborhood ur basically always with him and he never figures it out. ur in his room and he teaches u to play soccer (u prefer baseball at that point) and u spend all of ur time in his room even when he's in exams etc.

i think u move like,, just as he gets into highschool. far enough away that he doesnt see u again for years and years.

and then when he's in his mid twenties he comes back to his hometown and subsequently So Do You.

you've been moved in for a while and his mom had told him that before once in passing but isagis spent a long time playing in germany so he hadnt thought about it until he comes back and his mom is like. oh u should go visit them and say hi and isagi is fondly like aw yeah i wonder how that kid grew up.

and so . u know. he goes over. plans to say to your mom. is curious about how u grew up cause he hasnt kept in touch at all. yk.

and then. he goes over and a woman answers the door. and hes like ....?

but before he even gets to ask, you positively light up. like BEAMING. and you go "aniki? is that you?"

?!. isagi is in shock. he literally is like. What. Huh. but like. that voice. that face. like you look the same but the years have softened you out, made your features more... idk... he feels wrong saying girly but ? maybe thats it.

and the way you talk is EXACTLY the same. rife with slang, kind of rude, clearly picked up some gyaru slang while u were away but you're not exactly dressed that. u have boobs now and isagi is . short circuiting. and he says your name and FUCKKK your smile is exactly the same. like the same toothy almost silly vibe about you.

you invite him in like nothings changed and for u it probably hasnt. but he's literally malfunctioning trying to keep up. bc its YOU. like it is. you're the same kid he remembers messing with his soccer ball in his room and frowning at the stuff he studied for his highschool entrance exams. and those few years between u then felt like so much but youre both adults now.

its so disorienting. isagi really loved you even when you were kids. obviously it wasnt like That then. more like u were a fond, distant memory of his childhood that he can appreciate looking back. u have siblings but isagi didnt so it was less lonely with u around since he was an only child.

and he was looking forward to reconnecting, really!! he had all these plans about going to play soccer with you and asking if you had a girlfriend. but . But . what !!!!!!!!

he doesnt say anything i think. but you do insist he takes you down to the 7/11 to get snacks like when you were kid, and you make the same cheeky comment about making him pay since he's older and he's rich now and isagi gets the most doki-doki lovesick as feeling and almost passes away because no!!!!!!! why is he feeling that for you!!!!!!

internally he's yelling at himself but he does do it anyway bc he still likes making u happy. its familiar and warm and you end with your legs stretched out in a loose hoodie sharing chips and a drink and you're like,, smiling so familiar about old memories and the feeling just keeps Being there persistently. and he's like stop that rn!!!! he cannot!!!! for many reasons!!!!!!!

bc it feels weird since he rmbs u as kids but also bc it feels unfair to only be thinking of u this way now that he knows. and after he spends all evening with you he Resolves himself to not pursue anything while he stays with his parents.

(but how well does that resolve hold up when he begins to Notice your rather obvious feelings for him?)

[fxndxm-axg]

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Arthur Morgan Sex Headcanon’s

(High-Mid!Honor, Fem!POV)

I've been writing some up in these past few days. I will admit, some are more self-indulgent than others, but I also incorporated some of his confirmed characterizations in order to justify some of my HC's.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Arthur Morgan is versatile, with High Honor being a service top. He doesn’t believe he deserves sexual gratification, but finds it in giving pleasure to his partner. His whole life he’s been ordered around by people he loved, only knowing how to please others and not himself, which could manifest within intimacy in this way. Thus, if his partner is unsure, nervous, or bratty in their encounter, he’ll be a soft dom (thanks @rdr2enjoyer for reminding me of this term), but if his partner is a power bottom, he will be more submissive to adhere to their wants and desires- hence my description as him being versatile. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Definitely a pussy guy, hence his proclivity to eating out and fingering. Loves breasts and ass but can’t help a preference in feeling thighs squeezed around his head while burying his face inbetween his lovers legs. This preference only drives Arthur further to celibacy, knowing that he can’t always hold back the urge of wanting to fuck and spill all inside a sweet cunt. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Ever since the death of Eliza and Issac, as mentioned, Arthur chose to stay relatively celibate. But in the very few times he found himself intimate with a female partner, due to his fear of getting them pregnant, he opts for little to no penetration with his partner.  This results in often putting himself between their legs, his tongue sucking at their clit whilst curling his fingers to hit the spot they like, savoring their taste until inevitably they’ve came all over his tongue and drenched his chin. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Loves the idea of exhibitionism, but often has a hard time living out that desire. He wants nothing more than to fuck in front of a mirror, convincing his lover of just how beautiful he found their naked body, how beautiful they look taking his cock. Especially with a self-conscious partner; but, as we know, he is as well. Those small glimpses in the mirror convinces Arthur that he’s ravaging his lovers body, even if he’s being gentle, seeing his being so unclean from the blood spilled upon it and the scars from his winning-battles… He powers through the sex to get them to cum, but no longer feel the need to get off himself. He doesn’t deserve to, after all.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

His nipples are sensitive, but doesn’t like them being teased as it’s too ‘womanly' (this is still 1899, after all). Arthur is quick to still any purposeful ministrations upon them, only relenting if his partner is domineering and practically not giving him a choice, wincing and looking away all flushed as they’re rubbed and sucked. 

Some of these are a bit more on the... weirdly emotional side, aha, but I think Arthur is an emotional fucker- literally 😭 Definitely going to do more of these, they're so fun! Low Honor next for sure, even if it's not my favorite. Just have so many ideas brewing in my head! But I hope y'all enjoy these, sorry for the obvious preference in... his, Lol.

I hope the formatting isn't weird because I'm uploading this from my laptop and not my phone aha

[buildoblivion]

A Fallen Crow