#he’ll get them back later don’t worry

[guiltyasdave]

all those shadows

chapter 5 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.3k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 36), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, implied death of characters, grief, the angst is once again angsting, reader's thoughts have suicidal undertones, i'm aware that the seasons timeline doesn't align with tlou canon and that's okay <3

a/n: we are so back babies!!!!! thank you for being patient and for all the love and encouragement for this story in particular. it means more than you can imagine <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

It must be close to Christmas, you think, based on how little daylight you see on the camera footage. The fuzzy images from outside started showing snow some time ago. Everything covered in white, a thick carpet on the earthy floor, a heavy weight on empty branches. 

There had been a time when you kept track, when you cared. Dutifully crossing out days, counting down. A faint echo of the giddy anticipation from past years, but still. 

You remember the first year, creeping outside, fighting to push a tree down the narrow stairs. It had lost most of its needles on the way down, but it didn’t matter. Silently tiptoeing your way through the house, up the wooden staircase to the attic, the boxes labelled in handwriting that you hadn’t seen for months. How fresh it had all felt, back then. 

How their eyes had lit up at the sight, how you had decorated the tree together. Delicate ornaments between small fingers, gently placed on branches, careful not to let them fall. Christmas music playing from the radio in the corner. Almost, almost normal.

There had been the three of you, huddled together under a woolen blanket, a book in your lap. The stories that your Dad used to read to you on Christmas Day, now alive in your voice. You had tried not to think about how rude you had been the past few times, at fourteen, fifteen years old. Too grown up to listen to children’s stories. How desperately you longed for it now. How desperately you wanted to stop being the grown-up. 

You didn’t have any presents, but you lit a candle, making a wish for the next year. You had whispered it, together, eyes closed, all of you dreaming the same thing. 

“It must be close to Christmas,” you say out loud now. Still on the same couch, still wrapped in a woolen blanket. But it’s many years later, and you haven’t celebrated Christmas in forever. 

Joel had wrapped the blanket around you, which he’s doing almost every evening now. Like he somehow knows when you’re cold. It’s nice, and it scares you how nice it is. Nice things don’t last.

He only hums in response, and when you look at him, his brows are drawn, his lips tightly pressed together. Ellie chooses one of the movies that you can tell by now he’ll like, but he stays quiet the whole evening. When you steal glances at him, he doesn’t seem to be really watching, his eyes unseeing and far away. His hands are fists in his lap, the knuckles white. Do you look like that too when you get lost in the memories? 

When the movie’s over, he goes to bed with only a grumble of good night. You watch him go, your lip worried between your teeth.

Ellie is oblivious to it, or maybe just not as concerned about Joel’s mood as you. 

She waits in your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, propped up against the headboard, eyes wide and body fidgety with impatience and one of your favorite books in hand. 

A few days ago, a quiet evening, you had been reading it, your eyes silently tracing the words that you almost knew by heart at this point, when she asked what it was about. You had started explaining, and eventually reading it to her when she wouldn’t stop asking questions. 

Sinking down on the covers beside her, you slide it from her fingers and search the page where you left off last night. 

“What was it like, before? Christmas?” she asks timidly before you can start reading, searching your face with that unbridled curiosity of hers that makes it impossible not to answer. You can’t not let her in, the instinct to care for someone younger still ingrained deep in your whole being. 

You smile at the memory, despite the sharp sting it sends through your chest. “It was really nice,” you tell her, settling deeper into the softness of your bed, your eyelids fluttering at the images your mind conjures up, vivid as if it was only yesterday that you lived in them. “We— we always had a really big tree, and so many candles, and my mom baked all these cookies, and—”

Your voice dies down, unable to find a way around the lump that’s swelling in your throat. She shuffles closer, just a little bit, but it’s a welcome weight against your side. Something to ground you, something to hold on to. 

“Yeah, it was nice,” you finally manage, and feel the movement of her nod against your shoulder. She doesn’t ask another question, and after a beat, you start reading. 

It’s only when she’s gone to her own bed and you’re alone with your mind and its memories, that they start flowing in again. How quickly everything changed, how one day everything was fine, and then nothing was. 

You used to keep track. Of holidays, of birthdays. Determined not to lose things, to keep yourselves human. To be more than creatures trying to survive.

Staying up until midnight on New Year’s Eve, small eyelids drooping again and again, but so eager to see the clock strike twelve. Lighting sparklers than you had managed to dig from one of the boxes, the cracking and glittering reflected in wide eyes right there in the living area. It had been a terrible idea, the burnt smell not dissipating for weeks.  

Getting up at the crack of dawn, silently moving through the kitchen, whipping up something that resembled a cake. 

Carrying it into a bedroom, singing happy birthday, blowing out candles. Making the same wish, over and over. 

You haven’t celebrated your birthday in years. You don’t even know how many. 

Have you already hit forty? Are you older than your mother, now? 

When sleep takes you, your mind is still lost deeply in the past, your dreams taking you to a place where everything feels real and the present never happened. It’s not what you’re used to, not the panic of losing something, not the image of your blood-stained hands. 

But somehow, it’s worse. They’re right there with you, so close. You can feel their touch, small hands in yours. You can smell their scent again, burying your nose in their hair, pressing the warmth of their bodies against yours when you hug. They laugh, without a care in the world, like everything is right. 

You wake slowly, wandering between the here and there, between dream and reality. The dread settles in slowly, as the chasm opens further and further, until you can’t see, can’t feel them anymore. Until you remember where you are, what happened. How you’re all alone. Just let me stay with you. Please just let me stay there. Please.

The tears are already flowing when your eyes open to the familiar darkness of your room, your chest aching with the overwhelming sensation of loss. You have always tried very hard to never think of the first day you realized you were all alone, the feeling too painful to ever let it in again once it first subsided. But it’s here now, ripping you wide open until you’re gasping for breath, the pillowcase damp with tears and sticking to your cheek. 

Through the closed door, faint sounds of Ellie and Joel starting their day begin to filter in. It sends another wave of grief through you, when you remember that this short period of being together, of feeling like part of something, like you’re actually living again, will come to an end someday soon. That one day, you’ll wake up to utter silence again, to be broken by no one but yourself. 

It won’t hurt as much as the first time you ended up alone, nothing ever will. Still, you don’t know how you’re going to get through it again. 

You eventually push your door open, hoping your eyes aren’t as red and swollen as they feel, and quietly pad over into the kitchen. Joel is there, his back facing you, waiting for the coffee to be ready. His fingers drum against the counter. 

You hesitate for a moment, allow yourself to watch without him noticing for once. Commit the image to memory for when he’s gone, only to be buried deep the second it starts hurting, but no less important to have. 

He turns around as if he sensed your presence, something akin to a smile on his face, but it falls when he sees you. His brow furrows, one hand awkwardly extended to reach out to you until he thought better of it. 

“Are you okay?” 

The soft, gentle lilt of his voice brings a new wave of hot tears to your eyes, but you nod quickly, forcing the corners of your mouth upwards. 

“Y—yeah. Just didn’t sleep well.” 

He nods back, slowly bringing his hand to his side again. You kind of wish he didn’t. You kind of wish he held you, comforted you. 

“Me neither,” he mutters. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Joel never talks about his past, and neither does Ellie, but you reckon that anyone who has survived this long has had their share of loss. Sometimes you hear his voice through the two cracked doors when he talks in his sleep. You shouldn’t have brought up Christmas yesterday. 

“‘S not your fault.” 

He brushes past you on his way out of the room, the coffee in one hand, the other one ghosting against yours for just the fraction of a second. It could have been purely accidental, could mean nothing. But as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin, you like to think that it was his way of trying to comfort you without saying so. 

Sadness cloaks you with a heavy blanket all day, impossible to shake off. You hear Joel talk to Ellie in their room for a little while, their voices too low for you to make out what they’re saying. You couldn't bring yourself to care anyway. 

It helps to go through the motions of a normal day, to prepare food like you always do even when Joel protests that he can do it. It’s nice to do something with your hands, to keep at least some part of you occupied. 

It passes you by quickly, too quickly, and then it’s evening again. You’re scared to go to sleep, scared to go to that place again, and at the same time scared of never finding it again. Scared of how badly you wish that, if you find it, you won’t wake up. 

You’re already in bed, talking yourself into closing your eyes, when a small knock against wood sounds through the room. Ellie shuffles in, a quiet greeting on her lips, her voice anxious. You feel bad instantly. 

It’s an integral part of you, the urge to swallow your own pain down if it means easing the pain of someone else, someone smaller. 

“Come here,” you say softly, pulling the blanket away to make room for her. She hesitates for just a second, eyes flickering. Then she crawls into bed with you, both your breaths the only sound in the room. “Sorry I was so out of it today,” you finally murmur. 

“That’s okay,” she says, sounding so much older than she is. “Joel said you weren’t feeling good.” 

You hum. That’s one way to put it, you guess. And you’re thankful that Joel talked to her, even when he didn’t have much of an explanation to offer. 

Silence surrounds the both of you, until finally, she takes a deep breath, the sheets rustling when she fidgets a little. “I’m really glad that we found you.” 

Your exhale comes shakily, just like your fingers when you grab her hand with yours. 

“Me too, Ellie.” It’s gonna hurt like hell when you leave, but I still am. 

When she bids you a good night and slips out of your bed again, you finally feel some faint calmness and close your eyes to let the inevitability of sleep take over you. 

Until you find yourself in the forest again. There’s snow on the ground this time, littered with the red of blood. Blood on the ground, blood on your hands, coating your tongue, until all you feel and taste is death. You wildly turn around, panicked, looking, searching, desperate for… something. You had to do something, find something. Someone. Someone? 

You can’t remember. Promise you’ll keep them safe. It’s the most important promise you ever gave. But you’re lost, you can’t remember what you need to do. Who it is that you need to keep safe. 

Your own scream wakes you, dying in your throat as soon as you realize, but it’s too late. 

Joel’s voice is already in your ears, his hands on your shoulders, on your cheeks. His eyes are wide in the yellow shade of the bedside lamp, his hair a mess, and you just need to be held so fucking badly. 

His arms open instantly when you lean into him, engulf you in warmth and press you against his chest, where you sob into the fabric of his shirt. He holds you there, shushing you gently, his hand traveling up and down your back. 

“It’s okay, darlin’. You’re okay.” 

You shake your head against him, moving back a little to look up into his face. 

“I— I forgot about them. I had to save them, and then they were just— gone.” 

Another sob wracks through your body, and he holds you steady, a solid mass against your quickly crumbling form. He doesn’t ask who, just sighs and tightens his grip on you. One thumb wipes at the skin under your eyes, but it’s a lost effort with how fast the tears are streaming. 

“Do you think—” He clears his throat, searching your face. “Do you think it might help to talk about them? To help you to keep the memory?”

thank you so so much for reading! if you enjoyed it, imagine how much i would enjoy reading a reblog or a comment <3

[peachesofteal]

Tip of my Tongue - Azriel/single mom reader

His apprehension has withered into dust, a full blown garden blooming in its place.

You plague him. Every moment, every thought, he’s circling back to you. During training, at dinner, during work, he’s wondering.

Are you alright? Is Luna? How are you coping?

Your coat is threadbare.

He noticed it briefly that day in the Palace and filed it away for later, though he’s sure the cold doesn’t bother you so much considering where you’re from.

Still. You’re here now, and so is he. You don’t need to suffer.

The one he chooses is jewel toned, a perfect complement to your hair, your eyes, heavy enough to keep you plenty warm against the bitter chill, soft enough you could sleep in it.

It takes a lot for him to feel a sense of pride, but this… this does it. Easily.

He can’t bring himself to physically give it to you though. Something about it feels too intimate, too strong, too much-

And you’re skittish.

The coat is wrapped in brown paper instead, tied with a black ribbon, and left on your front step. It’s the coward’s way out, something he’s never been, but it’s all he has in this moment, unable to stomach the thought of your flat out rejection, choosing to lurk in the dark shade of nightfall until the lights in your home blink out and he can slip silently through shadow to your front door.

He wishes he could see your face when you find it in the morning. Will you be upset? Insulted? Happy?

He wants to know these things about you, see them for himself.

This will take courage. The kind he’s not sure he has, the he knows without a doubt, he will find.

For you.

“Hi.”

He inclines his head. “Hello.” He’s supposed to take you out today, show you around, help you get acclimated, but you’re holding the coat in your arms, anxiety pulling at your expression.

“Did you…”  He nods.

“Yes.”

“It’s…” you smooth your fingers over the stitching in the collar. “It’s lovely but I can’t… I can’t accept this.”

“Yours is inadequate.” You wince at his straight forward statement, and he bites his tongue. “Please, it would be for me. I… it’s very cold.”

“For you?” The skepticism in your voice is painfully obvious, leaving him no choice but to double down. Forge ahead.

“For me. I… I will worry.” Weakness is an unlikable thing, a thing trained out of him, a thing beaten down and pushed away, shoved into the darkness since he was a child. It’s uncomfortable, how the idea of you out in the cold makes him feel, how unsettled he is whenever he thinks about you on your own, here or elsewhere. How mournful he is, imagining your trek from Stoneguard to here, alone, no one to help you.

Strong, brave girl.

Something flickers in your gaze. Something confused, something haunted, ghostly enough his heart pounds, his fists clenching at his side. Whatever it is, it’s enough to wear you down, and you give him a nod.

“If you need anything… I want you to come to me.” The day was too short, and he longs for more, wishes he could stay, knows better than to push his luck.

“That’s not necessary.” Luna coos, wriggling in your arms, a chubby fist reaching out to him. You bristle. Prickly, walls slowly raising, trying to push him away.

“I know it’s not,” he appeases softly, a long finger fitting in Luna’s grasp, much to her delight, “but it doesn’t change anything.” He’s careful to hold his tongue, keep everything he truly wants to say hidden for now. “All you need to do is call for me, and I’ll come.” Your brow furrows in confusion and he gestures to the misty shadow snaking along the floor at your feet. “In case you need me.” You look… confused, that’s the best way to describe it. Not as apprehensive as he expected, just unsure, staring down at the wisp, lips quirked to the side.

He wonders how long it’s been since someone took care of you.

He’ll fix it.

“Is it… going to watch me?” Yes.

“No.” Luna still has a firm grip on his finger and he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, soaking in the way she smiles at him, gums and all.

“Azriel, really, I’m alright, we’re-”

“I know. I know you are, but Velaris is not as kind as it would have you believe, and you are… different, from them.”

“Illyrian.” Your eyes narrow, brief bravado slipping away as your shoulders slump. He takes a chance, tucks two fingers under your chin and tilts your face to his. Your breath hitches, his blood heats and your lips part, pupils expanding like an explosion of stars.

“Please.” He murmurs, and you swallow.

“Okay.”

[anotherjheastan]

This Will Be Our Year - A Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley Fanfic

CW: none (let me know if I missed any)

Chapter 1 | Chapter List

Chapter 2: Could We Be More?

August 20, 2024 

Rhea woke up, her head pounding. Her phone was ringing and Damian was knocking on her door. She groaned as she dragged herself out of bed. She unlocked the door and held it open just wide enough for him to push. She plopped back on the bed while he came in.

“We’re alone, right?” Damian asked, looking around.

“Yeah Jey wouldn’t come in,” she said. She put her hand on her forehead. Why did she say that? 

“Jey?” Damian asked, holding out her smoothie.

She took it and sipped, avoiding his eyes. “Um yeah. We chatted, he walked me to my room. That’s it.”

He took a small bottle of Aleve out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Mmm, that’s it, huh?”

She took the bottle. “That’s it.”

She put the pill in her mouth and swallowed it with some of her smoothie.

Damian watched her curiously. 

“Nothing happened, Priest. Geez.” Rhea stood up and grabbed some workout clothes from her bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, sipping his smoothie. 

“Yeah, but you’re watching me,” Rhea said, as she headed to the bathroom to change.

“I’m just trying to imagine drunk you approaching Jey cuz something is telling me you approached him.”

Rhea glared at him before closing the door. Damian laughed. 

“I knew it!” he yelled excitedly. 

Rhea smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t drunk enough to forget what she said to him or his response. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, wondering if there could be more than a fling between them. To answer that question, she realized she would have to get to know him. And the thought of that didn’t unnerve her. 

She put on her clothes and pulled her hair into a short ponytail. She studied her reflection. She looked tired. Rhea sighed as she turned to leave the bathroom. 

Rhea walked back over to the bed and checked her phone. She frowned, slightly disappointed there was no text from Jey. 

“What? Your man didn’t text you?” Damian asked. 

Rhea scowled at him. “Are we going to the gym or are you gonna wait for that smoothie to settle first?”

“Let’s go,” Damian said.

They put their smoothies in the fridge. As they headed out the door, Damian said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll text you later.”

Rhea elbowed him and Damian laughed, gently pushing her. 

They got to the gym and, of course, Jey was there. Rhea froze at the door and Damian pushed her, grinning like an idiot. Jey was working out with dumbbells with headphones on, his shirt off. His back was to them. They walked over to the treadmills and sat in front of them to stretch. Rhea’s eyes drifted over to Jey every so often, studying the tattoo on his back. When Rhea stood up to step on the treadmill, she glanced at Jey again and their eyes met. Jey smiled and Rhea smiled back. 

“Sup Damian,” Jey said, taking his eyes off Rhea. 

“What’s up, Jey?” Damian said. He stepped on the treadmill. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Rhea.”

Jey smiled. Rhea rolled her eyes and focused intensely on the treadmill dashboard. 

“No problem,” Jey said.  

Rhea set her warm up pace and looked up. Her eyes met Jey’s. He smiled at her before turning away. Rhea didn’t realize she was smiling until she looked at her phone. She played Motionless in White’s album Reincarnate and tried not to think about her and Jey together. 

***

Freshly showered and dressed, Rhea headed downstairs with her bag. She checked out and waited for Damian. She spotted Dom and Liv outside waiting for an Uber. They were grinning, talking to each other. Dom leaned in to kiss her and Rhea gagged. 

“Yeah they’re a bit much,” Jey said. 

Rhea jumped and turned, looking at him. She covered her face as her cheeks turned red. 

“My bad. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jey said. He tried to suppress his chuckle, but failed. 

“It’s okay,” Rhea said.

She glanced around for Damian, wondering where the hell he was. Her eyes met Jey’s again. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She spit out her thoughts before she changed her mind. 

“You didn’t text me,” she said, matter-of-factly. 

“Oh you were expecting a text?” Jey asked, smiling.

Rhea shrugged. “I mean…not really expecting…I just figured…”

“Well I wanted to see if you were interested in more than just a fling.”

Rhea looked away, biting her lip. She gripped the handle on her suitcase tighter.

“I wouldn’t mind getting to know you,” she said, meeting his eyes after she finished talking.

He smiled. “Cool. Be on the lookout for a text then.” 

She smiled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you even interested in me?”

“Oh that’s easy. You’re beautiful. Fearless. Strong. Loyal, probably to a fault. But I can relate. You seem to have a good sense of humor. I feel like I’m always hearing you laugh backstage. You have a beautiful laugh by the way.”

Rhea blushed and looked down, studying her beat-up platform Converse. 

“As we get to know each other better,” he started. She looked at him. “I hope you’ll find some things you like about me.”

“I can name something already,” Rhea said, gently bumping into him.

“What’s that?” 

“You’re a gentleman,” Rhea said. 

They stared into each other’s eyes for a second, both smiling. Rhea’s eyes shifted to his lips. She licked her lips. Surprised she was actually thinking about what kissing him would be like. 

“Oh look who we have here,” Damian said. Rhea rolled her eyes and was surprised to hear Kayden giggle. That’s why he was taking forever. She turned around and gave him a grimace. She smiled sweetly at Kayden. 

“Hi Kayden,” Rhea said.

“Hi Rhea,” Kayden said. “Don’t be too hard on him. I told him not to tease you.”

“I will be nice only for you, Kayden. Will you also need a ride to the airport?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it,” Kayden said.

“Yeah no problem,” Rhea said. 

“Wait, how are you getting home?” Jey asked.

“I’m driving,” Rhea said. “I’m in Orlando.”

“That’s right,” Jey said. “I’m in Orlando too.”

Jey and Rhea talked about where in Orlando they were going and realized they didn’t live too far from each other. 

“Maybe we can hang out sometime,” Jey said. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Rhea said, smiling. 

“Sorry to break this up, but we have a plane to catch,” Damian said. 

“Oh, are you also going to New York, Kayden?” Rhea asked. 

Kayden smiled and looked away shyly. “Yep.” 

“Oooooo,” Jey said. 

Kayden hit him playfully. Jey and Rhea laughed. Damian shook his head. 

“Well let’s get going,” Rhea said. 

She glanced at Jey, unsure of what she was feeling. Was it sadness? Disappointment? All she knew was that she wasn’t happy leaving him. His eyes met hers, a small smile on his face. She wondered if he felt the same way. 

“See ya, Jey,” Rhea said. 

“Hey, if you want some company on the road, give me a call,” Jey said. 

“Umm, I actually think it’s your turn to call me,” Rhea said, with a wink. “But I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Jey chuckled, nodding his head. “I got you. Drive safe.”

“You too,” Rhea said. 

Jey said goodbye to Damian and Kayden and then the three of them headed outside. 

“So…are you and Jey becoming a thing?” Kayden asked.

Rhea shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think I’m starting to like him.”

“Girl talk on your own time, please,” Damian said. 

“Why? Worried about what I’ll say about you?” Kayden asked. 

Damian’s mouth dropped and Kayden and Rhea burst out laughing. 

***

Rhea had been driving for about an hour when the phone rang. Jey’s name popped on the caller ID. She smiled. She had been thinking about him off and on.

“Hey,” Rhea answered. 

“What’s up?” he replied. “How’s your drive going?”

“Pretty good. I can’t complain. How’s your drive?”

“It’s been pretty good too,” he said. “So since you wanted me to call you, what you wanna talk about?”

Rhea laughed. “Is that what I said?” 

“That’s what I heard,” Jey said, chuckling. 

“Umm I don’t know,” Rhea said. “Why don't you tell me about the movies you like to watch?”

They talked about scary movies and action movies. They went on to talk about their pets, Rhea’s two dogs and Jey’s one dog, and all types of music.

Before she knew it, an hour and a half passed. She was almost home. 

“Wow, we've been talking for almost two hours,” Rhea said. “That’s wild.” 

“Yeah that time flew,” Jey said. “You’re fun to talk to.” 

Rhea blushed, relieved they weren’t on FaceTime.  “You’re fun to talk to too.”

Silence settled between them. Rhea gently tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, happy she was feeling something other than sad. The past couple of weeks had been rough. Damian had been there, checking on her and cheering her up. But it was nice that she had another…friend. 

“I have some running around to do this week, but we can grab some Waffle House Friday morning if you’re free,” Jey said. 

“I can do Friday morning,” Rhea said. 

“I can pick you up.”

“I’ll meet you there. Between the gym and figuring out what to wear, don’t be surprised if I’m late,” Rhea said.

“Okay,” Jey said with a chuckle. “For the record, you’ll look amazing in anything.”

“Thanks Jey,” Rhea said, blushing again. 

“I’ll talk to you later. I’m about to be home,” Jey said.

“Same. Talk to you later.”

Jey hung up the phone. Rhea sighed, turning down the volume as her metal music resumed. She pulled into her driveway, trying not to think about how much she was looking forward to breakfast Friday morning.

Previous Chapter

[the-bat-bros]

They would tease him relentlessly.

Tim drake outed as #1 nightwing fan

Text transcript:

Bart: Hey, Kon, doesn’t that guy remind you of Robin?

Kon: No way! Robin would never do something as geeky as wearing superhero merch! And aren’t him and Nightwing like siblings anyways?

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[luv-lock]

Jason Todd is a smoker .⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭

Jason who keeps a pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to a picture of you he swiped from your desk. Not that you’d ever know, because he’s carefully folded it so only he can see your smile.

Jason who refuses to share his lighter with anyone else. It’s not just because it’s his—it’s because your initials are carved into the side, along with a heart he scratched there himself. He says it’s “dumb” and “just a thing he did while bored,” but you know he’d gut anyone who tried to touch it.

Jason who keeps a special pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only for you to see. Each one has a faint, lingering trace of your perfume. He doesn’t even smoke them half the time; he just holds them between his fingers and breathes them in when he misses you too much.

Jason who pulls out a cigarette and pauses, twirling it between his fingers, staring at it with a crooked grin before muttering, “Doll wouldn’t like me smoking this.” He lights it anyway, because he knows you’ll scold him later, and he loves the way your hands curl into fists when you pretend to be mad.

Jason who has a habit of resting the cigarette between his lips while he leans against his bike, waiting for you to finish work, but doesn’t light it until you’re there to steal it from his mouth for yourself. He doesn’t even complain when you do; he just watches, smirking as your lipstick stains the filter. “You’re ruining my tough guy image, doll,” he’ll tease, but his grin says he loves it.

Jason who asks you to hand him a cigarette, just so he can watch your fingers curl around the box. He doesn’t even need one half the time. “C’mon, princess, humor me,” he drawls, leaning back like the cocky bastard he is.

Jason who presses the cigarette to his lips, then stops halfway. “Wait—kiss me first,” he says. “You know it doesn’t taste right if I don’t get one from you.”

Jason who only smokes half a cigarette before flicking it away, mumbling something about how it’s not worth finishing if it doesn’t taste like you.

Jason who hoards all the lipstick stains left behind on the filters, collecting them in a small tin in his room like a damn psychopath. When you find it, he just shrugs. “Don’t judge me. It’s art.”

Jason who lights up only after brushing his lips over yours first, muttering, “You’re the only good thing I wanna taste tonight.”

Jason who keeps your perfume on the nightstand and spritzes it on the collar of his jacket before stepping outside for a smoke. He breathes it in between drags, imagining you’re standing there, rolling your eyes at his bad habits but still staying close.

Jason who buys the most obnoxiously expensive cigars whenever he’s on a mission far from Gotham, not because he likes them, but because he knows they’ll get your attention. “Go on, princess, try it. I know you’re curious,” he’ll say, holding the cigar to your lips like it’s a dare.

Jason who never lets the ash hit the ground when you’re nearby. He stubs it out before you can complain about the smell or give him that look. God, that look���you’re worse than Alfred, but he can’t help loving it.

Jason who swears he doesn’t have an oral fixation, even though he constantly brushes his thumb over his lower lip while watching you. He murmurs, “You’re more addictive than nicotine, you know that?” right before he presses the cigarette back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Jason who grins every time you scold him for the habit, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m addicted to something much worse than nicotine.” And he doesn’t have to say it, because the way his eyes lock on you, like you’re the only thing that matters, tells you exactly what he means.

Jason who will smoke less if it makes you happy, even though it drives him insane when you ask him to. Says something like, “I’m already a dead man walking, doll. What’s the harm?” But he’ll throw the pack away when you glare at him because he knows you’re right, even if he won’t admit it.

Jason who once tried to quit because you asked him to, and lasted three days before he came back to you, shaking and desperate. "I’ll quit, baby, I swear. Just... just give me time, yeah?" You held him, kissed his temple, and told him you didn’t care as long as he was okay. He’s never loved you more than he did in that moment.

Jason who tastes like smoke and leather when he kisses you—rough and familiar, like coming home after a long day. Who always holds your face a little too long after, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his mind.

Jason who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, tells you he only started smoking again after he came back from the dead. "It reminds me I’m alive," he says, exhaling smoke into the moonlight. You lean in, press a kiss to his jaw, and tell him he doesn’t need the cigarettes to prove that.

Jason who tells himself he’ll quit someday. For you. But tonight isn’t that day. So he lights another cigarette and mutters your name like a prayer, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.

Jason who keeps one cigarette in his bedside drawer, untouched and pristine, because it’s the first one you ever kissed for him. He doesn’t smoke it. He never will. It’s a reminder that you’re his, just like every other damn thing in his life.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-and every year after that, we always had double chocolate chip cookies instead of regular chocolate chip. Made me stand out at the school bakes sales, too! And I would beg and beg and beg my mom to make them before any other sweets-”

“Got my stomach grumblin’ over here now, love.” Simon cuts off your rambling with a loving chuckle. The first winter’s snow began falling from the sky in London that morning, and you’d been eager to tell your lover about the traditions you’d had growing up around this time of year.

“Well imagine how I felt, Si!” You say with a giggle, patting his stomach in emphasis. “I swear, it’s become a true Pavlovian response, I see the first snowflakes and I instantly start craving those cookies again. Like when I was little…”

Simon sees the melancholic smile playing across your lips, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that first chance he gets, he’ll be ringing your mum to get said recipe from her.

And if you walk into your shared flat a few days later, the smell of burnt something wafting through the air, fire alarm beeping incessantly, coming upon a flustered looking 6’4” behemoth of a man swatting a flowery dish towel through the air in attempt to dissipate the smoke coming from the oven, well, the sentiment behind your lover wanting to surprise you with your favourite treat from childhood is a thousand times sweeter than the cookie itself.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ooh, look at those ones over there!” You exclaim, tightening your grip on Simon’s arm. You’re both strolling through a local farmers market on a dreary Sunday afternoon with nothing better to do. Your free hand points towards a stall selling beautifully intricate bouquets of flowers. “They’re so pretty for this late in the season.”

Simon is glancing over at the stall, minutely nodding in agreement, before his gaze shifts back to the crowd.

“Want one?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. Just thought they looked nice. We don’t need any.” You say, leading him past the stall, not noticing when he glances back over his shoulder to remember the name written at the top of the display.

Once back home, upon hearing your gasp of surprise followed by what he recognizes now as your excited squeal, he smirks to himself in the other room, knowing you’ve stumbled upon the bouquet he had delivered during your nap.

What you don’t know is that he’s already set it up so that you’ll be receiving a new fresh set of flowers every week now, delivered straight to your front steps.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Really wasn’t that bad this time around, promise.” You mumble into his firm chest, his muscular arms holding you there as you snuggle on the couch. He got back from a two week deployment last night, and you’re still catching him up on everything he missed. “I made a point of going outside everyday, for a change of scenery at least.”

“Tha’s good, lovie.” He whispers, running his digits through the strands of your hair, careful not to tug any time he runs into knot, instead gently trying to comb it out himself.

“Not like I was all alone, anyhow.” You say with a small giggle, biting your lip. He finds himself answering with his own lighthearted chuckle, sitting up straighter to glance at the table over your shoulder. “Gave me something to look forward to each day, feeding the lil’ guy.”

“Was hoping it’d be a nice surprise for ya. Not another chore…”

“Oh, Goldie’s not a chore.” You laugh, swatting at Simon’s chest. You also take the time to glance over at the goldfish in question, swimming in the small circular fish bowl that Simon had somehow snuck into the flat the day before he left. He hated the idea of leaving you alone all the time, never knowing when he’d have a chance to speak on the phone, and he didn’t want to burden you with a larger, more high maintenance animal like a dog or cat. And so, Goldie was brought home.

“Although, I’m worried maybe he’s getting lonely when I’m out of the house. Might have to get him a friend.”

Simon doesn’t even try to hide the corny grin that spreads across his face.

“Have I ever told you the joke about the two goldfish in a tank?”

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Breaking the Fourth Wall

Only, he’s not. He’s talking to the Divine Twitch Chat, but just to be a little shit, he’ll talk to them on some Dora type of nonsense. They eat it up cause they don’t know what Dora is. They’re just happy they get to interact with the stream.

A great example of this was when Billy got kidnapped by Sivana for the 50 million time. He got out of his binds, transformed into Marvel, busted through the doors and knocked out some guards. He was then met with a decision. He could either go left or right. Right lead somewhere unknown, and left lead to an exit. Time to consult the chat!

Marvel: *talking in Dora/Amanda the Adventure voice* “Hmm… What do you think?” *Turns to a random direction as if he’s talking to someone* “Should we go left or right?”

Solomon: “I believe it would be wise to go left, Billy-”

Heracles and Achilles: “RIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”

Atlas: “No, stupidheads. That’s probably gonna lead him to robots.”

Mercury: “That’s exactly why we should go.”

Zeus: “I agree with Hermes.” *just wants to spite Atlas*

Marvel: “The votes are in! It looks like we’re going… right!” *starts walking right*

He in fact did run into a bunch of robots. But hey, at least he found Sivana. Back to jail he goes.

Also, someone recovered this footage from a security camera and they saw Marvel ask the question and just stand still in complete silence for a solid minute before saying the thing about the votes. They posted this online and he got called a schizo like twenty times over. Marvel was later brought in so Black Canary could have a little session with him.

Marvel: “Ms. Canary, I’m not crazy I swear.”

Black Canary: “Cap, I’m not saying that, but well, this footage suggests that you might have some… problems.”

Marvel: “But I don’t. Pinky promise. I was just talking to the gods in my head. That’s it.”

Black Canary: “Mhm. Mhm. I see. I see.” *scribbles down on notepad*

Marvel: *concerned* “What’re you writing down?”

Then, there was another incident where some guy tried robbing an old, homeless man that Billy knew. Marvel took him up to a building and let him dangle by his leg off the side of it. What could he say, the old man gave him a buck anytime he could. Billy’s loyal like that.

Marvel: *does the Dora/Amanda voice again* “Hmm… It seems we’re stuck with a decision.”

Heracles: “He’s doing the voice! He’s doing the voice!”

Marvel: “What do you think we should do?” *turns to no one again* “Should we drop him?”

Robber: “WHAT?” *stops flailing around*

Marvel: “Or should we turn him into the police?”

Zeus: “DROP HIM.”

Solomon: “Do NOT do that, Billy.”

Atlas: “I agree, drop him.”

Achilles: “Drop.”

Mercury: “Ooh! Ooh! Drop him, then catch him just when he’s about to hit the ground.”

Heracles: “I second that.”

Marvel: “Just kidding! This isn’t up for vote. Alley-oop!” *slings robber over his shoulder and flies to a police station*

Gods: “BOOOOOOOOOO”

The police report for this got leaked and now the residents of Fawcett got to know their lovable teddy bear hero dangled a man off the side of a building. Also, this is a recent thing by the way. Billy only started doing this about a couple weeks ago so all of the Fawcett citizens are so concerned because he never used to do this before. They’re all like, oh my God, is Cap going crazy? Point is, they’re worried.

One of their ways of showing they care that’s still fresh on Billy’s mind is when he was taking a dealer to the police station and the man offered him some of his stash because and he quotes:

Dealer: “Hey, man, you saved my kid brother from getting kidnapped. You’re good in my book. You gotta help people out especially if they help you.”

This stunned Billy a little if he was honest. He didn’t know if he should’ve been touched or offended. He was offered drugs, but I was as a token of appreciation. He’ll go with a little bit of both instead.

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?

[anxiousbabybird]

Love and Deepspace men x fem!reader slightly unhinged HCs

I started Love and Deepspace yesterday so please have my slightly unhinged HCs for the men so far. And minors don’t you dare interact

Part 2

Rafayel

He’s a biter. Leaves you covered in marks from your neck all the way down your thighs.

Plans a date where he’s laid out a huge canvas on the floor of his studio, puts your fave color paint on your hands and his favorite color on his hands, plus several globs of the two colors across the canvas, and then proceeds to have the wildest three rounds of sex on that canvas as it gets progressively more covered in paint. Sells the painting for 6 figures a few weeks later and uses it as an excuse that you need to make more of them.

Tells you his best masterpiece is painting your body with his cum—got really into it once and dipped the paint brush into your cunt to collect his cum and then painted it across your breasts

Has a secret sketch book that’s nothing but pictures of you. Lots of them are of you sleeping when he can study your features but there’s still quite a few he drew from memory.

Made you lay down naked with your legs spread and be still so he could draw the most detailed image of your pussy you could possibly imagine. It’s his personal fave that no one besides him will ever see.

Sees shibari as a beautiful art form and likes to practice with you—has a whole album in his phone just of pics of you tied up all pretty for him

Rarely gets soft in a serious way, he much prefers the teasing back and forth you two usually have.

Xavier

He’s definitely broken into your room Edward Cullen style and watched you sleep

His favorite dates are taking you into the forest at night to watch the stars and moon together. Bonus points if you come across a wanderer and get to fight together.

Clingy after you become his, always wants to be touching you and doesn’t let you out of his sight (and yes that means sometimes he’s following you but it’s just because you’re brave and reckless and he worries)

When he eats you out, he holds both your hands in his for you to hold on to and does it with no hands—makes you cum more times on his tongue than you could fathom (and yes, he’s eating you for his pleasure)

Downloaded a tracker into your watch so he can know where you are at all times

Gets horny when he watches you fight and has def pulled you aside during a mission for a quickie in which you end up having your cunt stuffed with cum for the remainder of the mission

Such a cuddler but like a cat where he only wants to cuddle if he wants to—falls asleep nearly instantly in your arms like the cute sleepyhead he is

Zayne

Finds it so cute the first time he comes to your apartment and sees all the little snow creatures he’d made you sitting in a windowsill together. Makes you so many more after that. Sends you a bouquet of flowers made from his ice too (#Elsa)

Has food delivered to you at lunch on days he knows you’re super busy so you don’t forget to eat since you often forget to take care of yourself (he doesn’t mind too much since he likes that you let him take care of you)

Prefers kisses over hugs, except when he’s sad because of a patient (then he likes the warm comfort of your hugs)

Moves his glasses to the top of his head and rubs the bridge of his nose when he gets really stressed

Brings you a mild painkiller after blowing your back out, a smug but tiny smile on his lips, and tells you, “I was a bit rough so humor me and take this medicine. I don’t want you in excess pain because of me.”

Loves when you want to lay on his chest when he’s reading through cases and medical journals at night. He’ll read them out loud until you fall asleep and then finish them quietly as you snore softly into his chest

Calls you before a difficult surgery because your voice instantly calms him down

Into bondage—specifically he likes to tie you up so you can’t escape when he starts to overstimulate you. He really can’t help it, you just make such pretty noises for him when he gets you to that point that he has to keep going

Tags: @adaurielle @luffysprincess @seraphofthesimps

[yanderenightmare]

does bakugos protectiveness mean he won’t get intimate with reader? like does he see them more as like …. a fragile pet/person to look after?

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, immobilization, yandere, captive reader, quirkless reader, grief, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, hypochondriasis adjacet, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Despite all his lingering stares, the way he washes you in the bath and holds you at night, and the bulge you feel press against your ass—he hadn’t taken it further, and you’d started thinking he never would. His worries for your health might be so restricting he believes an act such as sex would be too exhausting and harmful for you. Sometimes, on his more rigid days, he doesn’t even allow you to walk on your own. So you wouldn’t put it beyond him.

But then, one night four months in, it comes. Creeping in slowly. You’re left wondering about it for a moment, lying there in anticipation as his large hands roam more than usual—over the plush of your thighs, up the small of your waist. The bed shifts as he slots himself closer—you think you might feel his heart thunk at your back. His breath comes with wet heat against your ear, his words even more so, drenched in arousal, yet oddly restrained, “Can I… touch you?”

He's so hesitant about it. Something in his voice, something so careful, makes you feel you can take it as an actual question and not one of his usual orders in disguise. Even so, you hesitate in return. But after a minute of contemplation, you decide to take advantage of the offered choice. Whispering back a firm and trying “No.”

You await his reaction warily—the possibility of him ignoring you is still very much plausible despite his caution.

But then… his touches recede to their designated places—to their normal hold, to the one of a simple dragon guarding treasure and nothing more. He releases a pent-up breath, then takes another deep one before settling.

“Okay.”

It seems somewhat anticlimactic. You’re not entirely sure you believe it. But as you wait for him to go against his own word, he doesn’t do anything but hold you like any other night, and then, a while later, you hear him snore.

You suppose it was expected. If your theory is correct and he doesn’t want to put you through the strain, it would only make sense he definitely wouldn’t do it if you were going to fight back on top of it. And as he doesn’t use the sedatives without deeming it utterly necessary, you can’t see him regard his horniness as a need that would justify its means.

Which can only then mean he wouldn’t touch you like that without consent. Perhaps the only saving grace in it all.

Or at least that was what you thought…

You’re both in the tub. You’d since allowed his thorough bath rituals without fighting back. Those times you’d bothered in the beginning, he’d used a sedative each time and left you as limp as a puppet. And even though you didn’t enjoy having any part of it, going through with it consciously was better than the alternative. And so you sit there, letting him lather and rub—trying to ignore the fact that his callused hands are twice your size and that he’s entirely naked, paired with the occasional feeling of his cock bumping into your lower back.

“There’s a lot’a health benefits to it…”

There he goes again. Health this, health that—constantly. He’ll most likely never let up on convincing you, no matter how much you declare you don’t need any of this inane insanity he calls protection.

“Sex, I mean…”

Your ears draw back at that. What… what did he just say? Your skin tightens around you, crawling with shivers even in the hot water. Health benefits… Sex…

You don’t like the sound of that. You thought he’d decided the means outweighed the need—his need, which is, in fact, not a need at all but a selfish desire. Similar to your desire to drink coffee or eat cake—both things you’re no longer allowed to do since it’s not compatible with your health regimen. Sex, as was decided, is also not compatible with your health regimen.

“It improves the immune system, lowers the risk of heart disease, decreases depression, makes you sleep better…” he mutters behind you. “Also… it’ll help you settle.”

“What are you talking abou—” Your outcry is cut off by the needle deep in your arm. The liquid enters you quickly and taints your bloodstream shortly thereafter. You watch him pull it out and place it gently on the neatly folded stack of towels beside the tub. Your breath is forcibly subdued before it has the chance to flare with the panic rioting your chest. The only protest leaving is a wasted “No…”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, wrapping his thick arms around your softened body before it could collapse forward, pulling you close while pressing his forehead between your slumped shoulder blades. “But this is for your own good.”

You don’t know whether he’s trying to convince you or himself. When he subjects you to all his other methods, he does so with impenetrable justification—as though religiously, sanctioned, with a rigid belief of what he’s doing. But now he seems more torn—as if he’s sullying himself with dubious intent, not entirely able to hide from his own ulterior motives.

He carries your limp body out of the bath in a fluffy towel. Your eyes are half-mast and blurry at times, but still, you can see it, written plainly on his face—guilt. No, not of the tiny needle hole he’d made in your arm—that shame is more fleeting, more of a grit-teethed all’s fair in love and war. This look on his face was different from that—weighted with a burden he still isn’t sure if’s worth it.

He lays you down softly on the bed, then takes a step back, swallowing thickly.

His shoulders look braced from what you can tell when looking down at where he stands at the foot end—overall uncomfortable in his stance, looking as though he doesn’t want to be there, as though he shouldn’t be there. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe the guilt has fostered regret? Maybe he won’t go through with it after all?

The bed sinks to accommodate his weight. You feel it swallow you from beneath as if you’re drowning in the sheets. You feel heavy enough for it to be true—heavy like lead, unmovable. And yet, Bakugou moves you all too easily. Parting your thighs as if they didn’t have any gravity to them whatsoever, placing them atop his own as he shuffles in close.

You want to scream, but you can only cry silently. You feel so betrayed—that’s what gets you most. Familiarity in what you’d always known about how to live had been stripped away, leaving you to Bakugou’s rules and regulations—which weren’t much to find comfort in. Still, you had felt you could in the least trust in them, in his mania, in this unshakable need of his to keep you safe and healthy. But now he was breaking that trust.

“You aren’t comfortable with me yet. That’s the issue,” he says—insists on it. And it’s very clear now—he doesn’t even have himself assured. You can see it on his face, behind his eyes, racking his brain, grasping at straws.

Your skin ignites with goosebumps as he trails up both your thighs—his red stare rimmed with unease, brows cinched, looking at the place between you. His mouth hangs slightly open—you hear the shallow breaths seeping in and out, thicker and thicker with heat.

“We need this.”

That’s different. We have never been a part of it before. It’s always been you first and foremost and then him as an afterthought. Your chest churns again with the same sensation of back-stabbing—this isn’t right—he’s breaking all the rules! He said he wouldn’t—he promised he wouldn’t!

You squeeze your eyes shut with all the might the drug allows you when you feel his gritty finger filter through your slit. His warmth tells you he’s leaning down close, then the sensation of his mouth wrapping your nipple, soaking it in spit, even hotter than the steaming tub from earlier.

“I want to make you feel good—I need you to be happy,” he moans around the nub, sucking it into a pretty pebble before doing the same with the other—leaving them both glossy. “To smile. And laugh. You aren’t healthy if you don’t want to live.”

You can feel the bed shake beneath you, and you can tell from the tremor in his voice it’s from jerking himself—teasing your entrance with the other hand. You wince when his fingers enter you. The bathwater makes it easier—one digit first, testing you out, then quickly followed by the sting of another. It’s a stretch—after all, you haven’t done it in the many months since arriving here, and even before then, you’d been busy with work. You don’t remember how long it’s been, but it’s far long enough to make it feel both a little painful but also way overdue.

It's embarrassing how quickly you come undone. Two fingers barely doing anything but fill you out, and you’re already throttling them and cumming—wetting them with slickness of your own.

He pulls them out shortly. You don’t want to open your eyes, but the stillness that befalls the bed tells you everything of how he’s inspecting them with that god-awful doctoral leer in his eyes.

You think you hear the sounds of suction a second later—yes, definitely slurping.

You want to crawl in on yourself and die.

The hand returns, settling flatly upon your pelvis—a fat thumb nuzzling your pearled clit. And then something grazes the puffy lips below it—softly and slowly, ever-gently. Something hard. Something big. Something bulbous.

“This will hurt a little. But then you’ll feel good,” he cares to explain as if you’ve never done this before. It’s awful how soft and sweet he makes his tone, masking the brute—but the room is too quiet to hide behind, and you hear it anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar liar liar!

He nudges against your entrance to find purchase, a request soon granted—though it requires much more than what his digits did. A cry cracks from your chest and his movements halt. But that’s somehow worse—the slow burn is all but torture—you wish he’d rather do it quickly, in one full motion, like ripping off the band-aid. But no, he eases in, and the tear feels everlasting until it nudges right and tight against your womb.

“Fuck.” His whole body labors with his breaths, trying hard to restrain himself—and you suppose that’s something to be thankful for. “Fuck, that’s so nice…”

He, as well, hasn’t had a fuck in ages. Since before he met you.

He’d been too much of a wreck after the funeral when the realization had finally settled. Unfit in every sense of the word. Put on mandatory sick leave.

He had a month of binging. Too many hookups in poor taste and even shittier circumstances—sloshed at exclusive clubs, taking home the first person he could play pretend with. It was easiest with his fans—they remind him of him—how they fawn over him so wholeheartedly, cute nerds all too eager to let him use them.

Kirishima had beaten him half to death at some point, fed up with his bullshit—told him he was tainting his memory. His words hit harder than his fists. Set him straight. He’d sobered up, and then he’d gone back to work as the new number-one hero.

He had touched neither bottle nor another human being since. It had been all business.

And then he met you.

He hunkers down—his lips and nose brush along your neck in small kisses. “I love you,” he confesses under his breath, circling your clit under his thumb while his other hand dwarfs your hip tenderly. It’s the first time he says it out loud like that. It doesn’t mean much to you, or no, it means you want to twist away—but to him, it’s as if he’d said so under the climax of a romance, or maybe an even more dire intimacy than that, like the last breath he’d take before death, coated head to toe in blood, knowing he’d never be able to see you again.

All previous reservations are thrown as he pulls back and starts rocking forth slowly.

“Ah fuck—” he hisses. “I love you.”

The patterns drawn on your clit get messier—so do his kisses—sloppy and getting needier. The hand on your hips has to grip the mattress instead, supporting him while his breaths turn gruffer.

“I love you,” he keeps repeating, and you keep your eyes closed.

The bed rocks softly beneath you like you’re lying on a saucer swing—making you a little nauseous, and yet you feel it coming anew—the sweet tingling from below, simmering beneath Bakugou’s thumb.

Then his lulling picks up, veering on thrusting—just hard enough to make your skin softly clap upon meeting. It’s just enough friction to make you jerk again, seizing up and shivering on his cock. It jitters shortly, stutters, and then stills—and you feel it fill you—swarm you—hot and wet and spreading.

His chest rests on you—heavy and plump with brawn coated in sweat mixed with bathwater. It’s suffocating, yet you breathe fine, albeit in shambles, recovering from the toll.

“I love you,” he says a final time, breathless.

And you don’t know… something about the entire thing feels as though he’s talking to someone else.

♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[monstersholygrail]

It broke your heart to leash and put a muzzle on your Werewolf bf. But ultimately you really didn’t have any other option.

Not when he was growling and snarling at anyone who dare to look at you too long. Protecting his territory and constantly preparing to fight off any human who he thinks is planning to take you away from him.

Even now with a leash attached to his pretty collar and the muzzle fit snuggly on his face, he still pulls and tugs on the leash, growling lowly as other hybrids pass by on your daily walks around the park. But at least now you nor anyone else has to worry about things getting out of hand.

Or at least that’s what you think…

Your bf is silently stewing, practically seething at the fact that you’ve done this to him. His bad mood only increasing the amount of times he snarls at his competitors for your affection that pass you by.

His limitations only serve to remind him what you’ve done to him. And boy does it make him want revenge. To teach you who’s really the one in charge here as the desire to make you submit roars inside of him.

That feeling only grows as your walk continues and by the time the two of you have gotten back to your home, your bf is practically vibrating in his skin. The need to pounce on you and mount you pumps through his veins and electrifies the urge.

You gently take off the leash and the muzzle and he finally feels free. Your soft smile and sweet touch never leave his face as you hang them up. For a second his heart warms at your affection but the clank of metal rings in his ears and he’s reminded he’ll have to wear them again for your walk later.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask lightly, leaning in and giving him a chaste kiss before turning around and heading to your room.

Your bf’s eyes follow you closely like a predator hunting their prey. He smirks wickedly and lifts the leash off the hook before following you, tail wagging in excitement thinking about how he’s gonna demolish that sweet pussy of yours.

“You deserve a treat for being such a good boy. Can get you some from the kitchen in a minute,” you call out as you flick on the bedroom lights, preparing to change into your pajamas for the night.

At your comment he freezes outside your door, vision flashing till all he sees is red. That was the final straw and before he can stop himself, your bf is swiftly jumping out to pounce on you.

You yelp as his body barrels into yours, pinning you to the bed before you can even blink. He chuckles darkly, claws digging into the flesh of your wrists to keep you still for him.

“A snack?! No, babygirl, imma take the whole meal. I think I’ve earned it after what you put me through.”

Your eyes widen as you realize where this is coming from. Your body squirms but he pushes his hips against yours and you whine as his cock nudges against your wet folds. His dominating presence turning you on more than you can admit.

“I-it was just a precaution, please,” you beg, though you don’t know what you’re begging for.

But as he takes out the leash he was holding and starts tying it around your wrists, binding them to the bedpost, you know. You’re begging for more.

“Yeah, well I can’t have you squirmin’ ‘round on me. So this is just a precaution,” he mocks with a dangerous smile that has his fangs glittering in the sunlight.

With a harsh tug your bf exposes your messy folds. He runs his fingers down your soaked slit and you cry out, hips jerking up to meet his teasing touch.

“Ahhh, it seems like you’ve been lying to me. You like it when I’m like this. It gets you all hot and wet— fucking hell you’re dripping all over my hand, love.” A rumble moves through his chest as he sees just how desperate you are for him.

Not waiting a moment more he removes his pulsing cock from its sheath and slams himself inside you in the blink of an eye. You moan loudly, body bucking at the sudden intrusion. But the leash and his hands keep you tied down as he pounds his length deep inside your pussy.

Whimpers leave you as you’re left defenseless against his attack, his brutal pace jolting your body with each thrust with no way to add to the pleasure he forces onto you. No matter how much you try and squirm it’s no use. You can’t reach him.

“Oh fuck, please. Take the leash off. Let me touch you, please, let me touch you!”

You let out a strangled whine as he starts aiming for the soft spot along your walls. Your bf shushes you gently, a clawed hand moving to hold your neck in a firm grip.

“Sh, sh, sh. No talking. Wouldn’t want me to get the muzzle now,” he rasps as he quickens his pace, leaving you mewling as your back arches unnaturally.

He goes on for what feels like forever. Bringing you to climax over and over again. Only allowing short sounds of pleasure to leave your lips. His grip on your neck squeezing every time you talk until you cum on his cock and it all starts over.

By the time you’re done and he gently removes the leash from your wrists, your body is nothing but a limp bag of bones. Yet you still have the strength to immediately cling onto your bf, keeping him close as he whispers praises in your ear about how good you did for him and how he can’t wait for your next walk so you can do this again.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel w/an Innocent S/O

Warnings: Protective Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Implications of Smut, Fluff, More Fluff, Spooning, Mentions/Implications of injuries, Insecurity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Him being fiercely protective of you 24/7.

If someone even so much as looks at you wrong, he stares them down until they either break down and start apologising, or their heart gives out.

You’re the only person he shows any affection to. You’re also the only person allowed to touch him. Period.

He’s so touch starved; please hold him and tell him he’s your big guy :-(

Goes FERAL when you rake your fingers through his hair; his eyes roll into his skull and he can’t help but moan a little, even if the context isn’t sexual.

Don’t bring it up or he’ll punish you for it later 👀.

He finds your innocence both endearing and worrying.

On one hand, you believe in the good of everyone, which, considering how insecure Miguel can be, is what initially drew him to you; your ability to empathise and sympathise with others, to not judge them.

However, he knows people would take advantage of your kind and giving nature.

One time, he found out that one of the Spiders – a Victorian England era ‘gentleman superhero’ – had tossed you a used coffee cup and told you to dispose of it on his behalf. When you tried to say something, to tell him you were busy and had better things to do, he just dismissed you.

Of course, Miguel had seen this. He has eyes on you every second of the day.

You never saw that Spiderman again. Nor did anyone else. All that seemed to remain of him was his suit thrown haphazardly into the storage room, where a great big tear edged with blood was ripped into the chestpiece, the hero’s signature top hat abandoned and crumpled beneath it.

He also broke another Spider-Person’s arm when they tried to steal one of the fairy cakes you’d lovingly baked for him; poured your heart and soul into.

Miguel also growls at people he thinks are looking at you strangely. Full-on bares his fangs like a rabid dog and watches them cower.

He purposely grows his fangs out and lets you play with them.

He’s careful to make sure you don’t get hurt, though, guiding your hands away from the pointed tips.

His guilty pleasure is when you kiss his fangs and tell him he’s “The coolest, most handsome man in the world!”

“Just the world?” He says, smiling, raising an eyebrow. His heart melts in his chest as your smile widens, eclipsing your eyes into crescents.

“In ALL the worlds!” You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, laughing. He brings his arms, thick and muscular, around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing ticklish kisses into your neck, revelling in your laughter.

Intimacy-wise, Miguel is horrified at the prospect of hurting you.

He’s ever so careful, as if handling glass, holding back his strength.

It’s worth it, though. The strain.

Especially when he hears you mewl and try to hide your face in his chest.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he says, tangling a hand in your hair and pulling your head back. His pointed fangs flint as he gives a smile. “I want to watch you like this.”

Loves your gentle kisses – they give him life.

Nothing can get him down when you’re around; especially when you’re sitting in his lap.

Though, issues have arisen as a result of your oblivion to…compromising positions.

More often than not, Miguel’s had to bite his lip and tongue when you shift in his lap, catching him, making his heart start and his breath shutter, electric anticipation jolting through him.

He takes you aside in the bathroom to deal with the issue you’ve unknowingly caused, but you don’t complain. Not that you can with your mouth full.

He looks at you with eyes which have seen the deaths of countless individuals, yet when he finds yours, he sees love and light spanning infinite universes within them. And they give him hope that there is more to life than loss and grief; more to him than his failures.

He revels in the feeling of you hiding behind him whenever you’re scared.

Sometimes he takes you to areas of the facility where he knows you’ll be easily frightened – for example, where captive villains are held – so he can feel your hands tightening around his arm or gripping the back of his suit. It makes him feel useful, like he can take on the world.

And he gets off on being the only person who can truly protect you. But he’d never tell you that, of course.

Loves demonstrating his strength around you. He can pick you up single-handedly and carry you anywhere without so much as thinking of breaking a sweat.

He prefers to be the big spoon, curling around you like a shield and protecting you from the outside world, his warm, broad chest to your back.

Tells you how much he loves you through hushed post-intimacy whispers and soft touches. Shows it through acts of service and the insurmountable adoration that fills his eyes whenever you’re around.

He can’t imagine being with anybody else. He can’t even remember the last time he felt anything save for contempt before you showed up.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. No cost is too great for the love of his life <3.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[rose-petles]

Pls can you make a pt 2 to the 니키 - ruined make-out sessions -> N.NK fic where niki is teased by the members

니키 - ruined make-out sessions -> N.NK [ P.2 ]

Warning → none!

Paring → Clingybf!Niki x SoftieGfFem!Reader

Synopsis → Its been two months since he has kissed your lips.

He whined as you dragged him into the bathroom to get ready, already craving your kisses again. “But I miss you I wanna spend time with my love.. can I not..?”

You sighed, “We are already going out with your bandmates, lets go love..”

Niki sighed and followed you as you dragged him out of the room to the lounge area.

After jake had left the room a smirk spread across his face as he watched you kiss, his mind already running through all the teasing he was going to give Niki later.

When Niki arrived to meet his friends at the restaurant a little while later, he was instantly met with raised eyebrows and knowing smirks. Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, looking at Niki with mock seriousness.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Sunghoon said, tapping his fingers. “Must’ve been a really good excuse for being late.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Did you have something better to do than hang out with us, Niki?”

Niki shifted, immediately suspicious. “What’s with the attitude?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But the red tint that rose to his cheeks betrayed him.

Jake finally let out a loud laugh, clapping Niki on the shoulder. “broo. Saw you and Y/n having a very romantic moment.”

Niki’s face turned even redder, and he groaned, dropping his head. “Jake, why didn’t you just walk away quietly?” he muttered, eyes closed in embarrassment.

Sunoo leaned over the table, clasping his hands dramatically. “A kiss, really? On the bed? How cliché,” he teased, earning a laugh from everyone.

Jungwon laughed, pointing a finger at Niki. “Our little Niki is growing up so fast! Who knew he’d be the romantic type?”

Even Jay joined in, winking. “Next thing you know, he’ll be planning a candlelit dinner.”

Niki buried his face in his hands, his muffled voice reaching them. “You guys are the worst. Seriously.”

Heeseung gave Niki a light shove, grinning. “Don’t worry, we’re just happy for you, man.”

Despite the teasing, they all flashed him supportive smiles, and Niki couldn’t help but laugh with them, knowing he’d never hear the end of this.

But when he looked back at his friends, their laughter mingling in the air, he knew it didn’t matter.

At the end of the day, he had you—and they’d always be there to remind him of that in the most embarrassing ways possible.

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[taegimood]

alright i need y’all to buckle up and hear me out cuz this is gonna be a long one…. bunny hybrid!soobin.

bunny hybrid!soobin w his long white ears that flop down instead of standing up just like his chikai chibi hat ❤️‍🩹

bunny hybrid!soobin who’s soooooooooo shy and nervous when you first bring him home… nervous twitching little tail and warm cheeks, bad at making eye contact, shifting awkwardly in one spot in the living room cuz it’s not home to him yet 🤧 also easily startled but you come to realize later that that’s just part of his personality so you try not to sneak up too much even on accident <3

he’s SO HUGE but such a baby !!! it takes him a while to warm up to you but not in any nasty way, just shy and hesitant, and you always give him space while making it known that the option to join you or be close to you is always open to him and eventually he starts to take it 🥺

at first he would sit stiff as a board on the complete opposite end of the couch from you LMAO but eventually over time he gets comfortable coming closer, until eventually his favorite thing becomes laying his head in your lap while you stroke his ears or sitting on the floor by your feet and leaning into your legs (but don’t point it out to him or he’ll get too shy and retreat).

i know that for rabbits, especially males, there’s not really a specific mating season because they literally will just want to breed any time of the year (lol rip 24/7 horny soobin) — but for hybrids, since they are.. hybrids, literally.. then let’s say that they do go into a regular heat, and let’s say that soobin’s is coming fairly soon after you first take him home.

only a month or two has passed so even though he’s comfortable with you now, he’s still a little reserved and shy with certain things, and so for his sake you’re dreading the coming conversation as you sit him down and gently try to bring up the topic of a breeding partner. the way he would get SO red, tail twitching and leg bouncing in his seat.. he’s refusing to make eye contact as he fiddles with his fingers in his lap and stammers “i-it’s okay, i-i don’t need one..” ears drooping forward to shadow over his face cuz he’s too busy looking down at his hands 😖

you’re gently trying to convince him that he does need one or he’ll be miserable, that it’s totally normal and expected and most people find breeding partners for their hybrids every season so it’s nothing to be ashamed of !!! you say most people because the other percentage are the ones who let their hybrids use them instead COUGH HACK but he doesn’t need to know that

you try to explain that there are services and programs just for this reason and it would be so easy peasy, just for a couple weeks, but soobin is NAWT HAVING IT as he suddenly springs up from his seat and darts out of the room — having gotten progressively redder and more jittery over the course of your attempted convincing.

he’s never bad or disobedient, would normally never run away like that while you’re in the middle of talking to him, but he just got SO unbearably embarrassed and shy,,,,, not to mention: the guilty filthy shameful (in his mind) secret that he has…… and that is, he actually doesn’t want it to be anyone else but you.

he feels safe with you, he trusts you, he’s already bonded to you more than you realize and part of the reason why he got so freaked out and ran away was because all his mind kept going back to was BREEDING YOU INSTEAD 😩 and little do the two of you know, but all the adrenaline from his little freak out ended up kickstarting his heat EARLY and when you find him later in his room after giving him some space for the day, he’s feverish, sweating and whimpering and writhing around uncomfortably in his blankets, hugging one of your sweatshirts to his face as he breathes in your scent. (a sweatshirt that you thought you’d lost, but turns out he had secretly taken for himself).

“binnie!!!” you’re rushing to him immediately cuz you’re so worried but that was a mistake or was it because the second you touch him, the second your scent fully wafts over him, there’s no going back. eyes shooting open and pupils blown out as they lock onto yours, and the next thing you know you’re face down in his blankets as he’s pounding you from behind, chest pressed flush against your back as his hips slam against your ass over and over and over again and he’s whining and whimpering into your ear, telling you how he didn’t want anyone else, didn’t want some bunny girl, he just wanted you, and he keeps apologizing but he can’t stop 🤧

you can finally admit that you fucking love it though because surprise surprise, you ALSO had some filthy secrets of your own and there was a part of you already that sometimes wondered what it’d be like to let him use you instead; on nights when it was hard to sleep and you’d lay awake in bed thinking of his big, gentle frame and pillowy lips, his soft eyes that contrasted so harshly with his strong hands and the outline of that huge cock in his pants that you tried so hard to pretend you never noticed.

it was especially difficult on nights when you could hear him from his designated room, his soft moans and little gasps as he would touch himself that never left your head — eventually causing even your own hand to wander into your panties with a mind of its own.

the kicker was that one time when you were relaxed together on the couch petting his ears as usual and thought, would he like it if i scratched behind them too?

….liking it is an understatement, because the moan that he let out as a result was enough to cut the evening short, him hiding away in his room from sheer embarrassment while you didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night, because all you could think was: i want to hear it again.

for a while after that he would get jumpy when you tried to touch his ears and you were worried you did something wrong to make him scared of you or something, but in reality he was just scared of HIMSELF and was convinced that he’d have to dig a hole and die of embarrassment if he ever moaned like that in front of you again. but don’t worry, the distance didn’t last long cuz he’s just too weak for you and can’t resist your nightly head pets <3

but i digress;;; basically the both of you just wanting each other so bad and not even knowing it, both feeling so guilty and shameful over it until now. now.. right now, as his big cock is buried so deep inside of you that you can’t think of anything else even if you wanted to; right now as he’s fucking you with so much desperation that the bedframe is gashing the paint right off of the rattling wall.

there wasn’t even the chance for clothes to fully come off, but you have plenty of time, and after that the two of you end up barely leaving his room for his entire one or two week heat other than for necessity because you know what they say about rabbits….

as fucked out of your mind as you are, you take such good care of him between waves with what energy you have left — placing wet cloths over his forehead and wiping the sheen of sweat from his neck and collarbones to ease his fever, trying to clean up as much cum and mess as you can before the next round hits, keeping his damp hair from his dazed, half-lidded eyes that watch you so gratefully, poor baby so vulnerable and exhausted between the waves of frenzy… and after everything’s finally over and it passes, he treats you like a FUCKING QUEEN trying to make up for battering you to death with his monster bunny cock all that time <3 you literally Cannot Walk

side note moablr is always talking abt soobin w a breeding kink but imagine BUNNY SOOBIN ???!!!!! holy shit logically he knows it’s not possible to get you pregnant but THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE WON’T TRY 😫 balls deep inside you babbling on and on about how he’s gonna breed you so good and fill you with his babies and he’ll do so well for you he promises - cums BUCKETS, thick and sticky and so much everywhere but cough anyway this is a whole other can of worms

after that first heat your relationship is obviously different but you’re always willing to give soobin whatever he needs. you learn very quickly that those pretty bunny lips have an oral fixation, always wanting something to suckle on; good thing you have tits !! and fingers 🥰

you’re laying on the couch watching a movie and he’ll walk over, just hovering hesitantly, fiddling with his hands, bunny lips pursed as if he wants to say something but isn’t… you immediately know what he wants and sigh with an endearing smile, murmuring “c’mere,” and opening your arms to him. he grins shyly and immediately flops on top of you, nestling into your arms, nuzzling his face into your chest before gradually his lips start suckling lightly at the part of your breasts he can get at, and then he’s pawing at your tank top, eventually getting it pushed down enough that your tits are free and he just lays there sucking and licking at your nipples for ages while you watch your movie, the occasional little moan slipping past his lips as his hips shift against you.

eventually you have to literally pull him off of you when you get too sensitive and he’s so whiny and sad. sighing and running your fingers over his lips instead; caressing your thumb over his pouty bottom lip, swollen from all the suckling, his glazed eyes watching you in anticipation, and as you slowly push your thumb past his lips he immediately moans and obediently begins to suck on that too, eyes sliding shut as his hot tongue swirls around it.

which brings me to soobin sucking on your fingers with barely-open eyes as you ride him — he’s so blissed out, fucked out look on his face as he drools around your fingers, hands weakly reaching for your plush thighs, your waist, your tits; just so fucking content as he lays there and takes everything you give him, moaning around your fingers with half-lidded eyes and his soft pretty bunny ears splayed out on the pillows, framing his handsome face <3

soobin always being too shy to go full out cock monster on you unless he’s desperate for it, so you like to purposefully get him to that point by cockwarming him, chilling on the couch not letting him move as you sit and read your book or play on your phone; he’s trying so hard to be a good boy and wait for your direction, but with the way your warm pussy keeps tightening around him he just can’t take it anymore and desperate frenzied soobin is unlocked as he flips you over and fucks you into the couch cushions like a madman.

and a final thought for now is tugging lightly on his ears or his tail whenever he’s getting too ahead of himself and it only makes him more of a whiny mess; he’d spend the whole day with his mouth buried between your thighs if he could, so tug on his soft ears and it gets him all teary-eyed as you’re holding his face back mere centimeters from your cunt that he wants to bury his face in so badly </3

if your nipples are too sensitive at the moment to handle his oral fixation or if your hands are too busy doing something else, then you can always find soobin between your legs, mouthing at your pussy and humping the air or the couch as his little whimpers send delicious vibrations up through your core.

aaaaanyway.. i love hybrid aus man. just soft sweet bunny soobin who loves and trusts you so much and always wants to be inside you, close to you, connected to you in some way. just so so happy to be yours ❤️‍🩹

p.s… i may or may not have hybrid thoughts for other members as well 👀