#him just continuing to be incomprehensibly small

[iscreamkitty]

Ok so the mutant mayhem turtles got their handprints immortalized at the chinese theater in LA, and I just want to point out how tiny mikey’s paw is compared to his brothers. (I’m ill)

[sweetcalebb]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words, but committing to it anyway.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove he was justified rather than listen to you.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[hsjazebel]

Toothpaste kisses

Summary: Just a sleepy morning, a toothbrush, and the kind of love that feels like home

A/n: I saw this photo and immediately had to write something about it — it just felt so soft and real

Wordcount: 541

———

The bathroom was quiet except for the soft hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of fabric. Morning light spilled in through the window, pale and sleepy, washing everything in gold. Harry stood in front of the mirror with a toothbrush hanging lazily from his mouth, his hair tousled from sleep and his shirt wrinkled from where he’d curled up in bed just twenty minutes earlier.

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a small smile tugging at her lips. There was something endlessly charming about the way he looked in moments like this—completely unbothered, soft around the edges, and totally himself.

She reached for her phone, raising it with a quiet chuckle. “You look like a kid who got caught playing pirate in the bathroom,” she said gently.

Harry’s eyes flicked toward the mirror, catching hers in the reflection. He gave a playful squint but didn’t move, continuing to brush as if this was just part of their usual dance. Which, in a way, it was.

Without asking for permission, Y/N snapped the photo.

The moment froze: Harry standing in front of the mirror, sleep still in his eyes, toothbrush angled between his lips, her arm draped just barely into the frame holding the phone. It was the kind of moment you never really plan, but it sticks with you—simple, real, and filled with quiet affection.

Harry mumbled something incomprehensible with the toothbrush still between his teeth, narrowing his eyes like he was pretending to be annoyed.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not loving the attention,” Y/N said, biting back a laugh as she set the phone down on the counter. “You’re literally the definition of ‘soft boyfriend morning aesthetic.’ Pinterest is going to eat this up.”

He finally pulled the toothbrush from his mouth and grinned, foam still lingering in the corner of his lips. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll assume it’s a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, stepping closer to him. “You’re very on-brand this morning.”

Without a word, Harry turned slightly, enough to let her slip her arms around his waist, resting her head gently against his chest. His shirt smelled like sleep and minty toothpaste, and he was warm in that way people only are first thing in the morning.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and mumbled, “Mornings are better with you.”

Y/N smiled, eyes closed. “Even better than your oat milk lattes?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, mock offense in his eyes. “Let’s not say things we can’t take back.”

She laughed, swatting at his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll make the coffee while you finish pretending to brush your teeth.”

“I do brush properly!” he called after her as she slipped out of the bathroom, already giggling down the hallway.

Left alone, Harry looked at himself in the mirror again and shook his head with a smile. His hair was wild, his eyes were still tired, and he had toothpaste on his lip—but she looked at him like he hung the stars anyway.

And honestly, in quiet moments like this, brushing his teeth while the person he loved made coffee just down the hall—he believed he might have.

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Ratchet x GN!Reader

summary: small drabble of Ratchet freaking out about your human lifespan :p

a/n; CHUNNKEEEYYYY!!!

— 🚑 [cw: prejudicial thoughts]

The thought of you unconditionally, overwhelmingly sparks his spark. An entirely different concept compared to how Ratchet felt about the kids.

A burst of wonderful, adoring emotions fill him to the brink—it almost hinders his ability to function. Not that he realizes that.

"An old man picked up my wallet today."

Legs idly swinging over the edge, you watch as Ratchet taps on his control panel, absentmindedly nodding his head to your words. "Uh-huh."

Despite his lack of interest, you continue, wanting to vent about your day. You're used to this behavior anyway; you know he always listens. "I thought he stole it at first. I mean, I turn around and some guy is holding my wallet. Haha, but we made up quickly. It was just a misunderstanding. He was so sweet."

Ratchet shuffles over to you. He begins to do some tech things that you fear you will never understand. You reach a foot to lightly tap his armplate. He offers no reaction.

You smile. "Wanna know my first thought when we talked?"

"...What would that be?" he murmurs, his words smudged over the whisper.

"I found his voice sounding like you." With your rather cheery words, Ratchet pauses, his gaze lingering over you much more than usual. "Caught me off guard and all. Then, I imagined, what if that old man was you as a human? But nah. Sure, he sounds like you, but his fashion wasn't you. In my most humble opinion, of course."

You're yapping now—you know that. Ratchet even stopped trying to understand you a few kliks ago, returning to his own devices. Not that you mind.

"Ratchet, you're old," you say bluntly, earning a whip of a bewildered expression from him.

He grunts. "I may be rusty but—"

"No, sweetie, I meant—you're a million years old," you grimace, letting your head fall. "I can't even imagine living that long." Especially if a long period of that time was nothing but war.

A few moments of hanging silence. Ratchet lets his optics shift from you back to his work, sighing as the weight of choosing you this time settles on him.

"What is this about?" he softly asks, approaching your side, careful with the volume of his footsteps.

Suddenly, you chuckle, startling him. The mech scrunched his faceplate in confusion. "Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the kids. To them, I'm so much older—but compared to you Autobots, I'm basically nothing."

"Nothing?" Ratchet repeats with a furrow.

"I don't mean it in a bad way. Just realizing that one day, I'll grow old, like you—but much, much quicker," you say with a weak smile. "We humans only live for about a hundred years, and that's if you're lucky."

Your word and your tone strangely crawl into Ratchet's spark with incomprehensible devastation. Earth years are in a different timezone from Cybertronian standards; that in itself is a tragically distant line.

"Your species is fragile," the medic mutters, his optics glancing slowly over your figure. "Small. Organic. Squishy. One step and you're dead."

Helplessly, you snicker, unable to feel not offended. "And your species... Big. Metal. Tough. You guys probably live long enough to watch a sun die."

"I have, in fact," he murmurs, almost nonchalantly, "twice."

You blink. "Wow, Ratch, I have deep respect for you. Mm. Everyone does. It must have been hard."

He's just staring at you. Tilting your head, you make a look. He returns it with a look of his own. "See, I may not show it, but for your lifespan... I believe my respect runs far deeper than yours."

"Yeah?" you gasp. "Ratchet, you're actually—"

Ratchet stops listening to you after that. It's the usual—albeit annoying—teasing about him being indifferent to humans in general. Halfheartedly, he is listening, with you being the only noise in the headquarters, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

He has witnessed many sparks fall.

Even then, for a long, long time, they stay as his company. Valued memories that are never lost to his repository. Honorable contributions that are still relevant to this day. A mark that has never left both the Autobots and the Decepticons.

But you?

You're a human.

It could so happen that after one recharge, you'd be gone.

As if nothing ever happened. Just like the rest of the others who died.

Blue eyelights start to tremble the longer they stare at you. So full of life. A voice so new and refreshing. Ratchet hates to admit it—he's grown deeply fond of you and the kids.

"Now I guess I have to make you free of humans," you snicker, standing up and brushing off your clothes. "It's getting late anyway. Thanks for having me."

... What? Are you leaving?

The thought weighs on Ratchet, swelling like pressure inside his chassis. Like an hourglass with sand that falls and falls. The farther you are, the less time remains.

He watches blankly as you take a step. And another. Then carefully down the stairs.

Until you're walking straight to the exit. "I think I'll tell Raf tomorrow too—"

CLANG.

A powerful thud from Ratchet's pede slams into the ground, knocking you over with the sudden tremor. You grunt as you set a hand on his ankle for support. "Woah! Ratchet! What the hell?"

As you lift your head, your eyes meet an expression you've never seen Ratchet in before—you can't describe it. Disturbed? Apprehension? Fear? Hysteria? He's not saying anything. Engines are running louder than usual. Not bothering to move the colossal mech foot in front of your body.

"Ratchet?" you frown. "Are you okay?"

"Don't leave."

The words were so quiet. Almost pleading. You wait patiently. But he doesn't say anything else.

"...Is something wrong?" you urge.

Much to your dismay, he doesn't answer immediately. His eyelights shift.

"Mh—A report came in. Decepticons... They're moving. It would be safer for you to stay a little longer."

...

"...Okay. I trust you."

Maybe you imagined it—but for a moment, it looked like he sighed with nothing less than relief.

It's dangerous, anyway. It's dangerous. It's dangerous. It's dangerous.

— "Stay."

— "I'm not going anywhere."

— False.

[littlelovelunette]

Hiiii! im not sure if youve made something like this but could you write like sevika x reader having rough possessive sex in front of someone? like a stalker-ex of reader or some guy thats been eyeing reader too much during one of sevikas gambling games. I really love your writing btw!! and sorry if it doesn’t make sense

Duality & Gunpowder

Dark!Sevika x Fem!Reader

Sex, dark!Sevika, exhibitionism, restraints, Sevika having duality, praise kink, murder, gun, stalking mentioned, threats

Sevika had you bent over the table, wrists tied together as she squeezed your ass, "We have a viewer today, darling," she said, her voice low and soft.

You were clothed, and so was Sevika, yet she had on the strap harness. You had no panties on underneath her skirt through, so Sevika could access you easily. You nodded, slowly looking up to see your ex tied to a chair, with his mouth duct taped shut. He struggled against the ropes but it was useless.

Sevika chuckled, shaking her head, "Eyes over here, pretty boy," she taunted, her gun pointed towards his head as her strap's head teased your wet cunt from under your skirt.

"Wasn't the best idea stalking your ex, now, was it?" Sevika laughed, a low rumbled from her chest before she pistoned her hips forwards and the toy disappeared in your pussy with a squelching sound that made you blush.

"O-oh, Sev..."

"It's okay, angel, shush, I've got you," Sevika whispered in your ear, her other hand gently rubbing your back, thumb tracing patterns on your clothed behind while her hips continued their motions.

Her pace wasn't too fast or too slow, deep and calculated was the phrase for it. Sevika's eyes were fixed on your struggling ex-boyfriend who mumbled something incomprehensible in the gag but none of the both of you cared enough to really listen. Sevika slammed the strap inside suddenly causing you to let out a small squeak of surprise and tighten around the silicone. Sevika was never rough with you, she adored you. You were her light, her angel, her little flower, her everything.

Every good thing she had in life had to be correlated to you. Or it simply wasn't good enough. The tough life in Zaun hardened Sevika enough to know she needed to cherish someone like you in her life because it wasn't easy to come by love so pure. She needed to protect you even if that meant putting a bullet through your ex's skull.

"You're so tense, my love," Sevika gave your lower back a firm rub, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, please, keep going," you said, eyes closing and head tilting back.

Small moans and gasps left your lips as your back arched feeling the big strap shoving all the way inside and then back out. The thrusts were deeper than before, your hands quickly scrambling to grab the edges of the table so you could anchor yourself properly, you were almost melting in her arms.

"Eyes here, boy," Sevika barked at your ex who was trying to look away, unable to bear the sight in front of him, "You either look this way or I make you look this way."

You let out a loud moan as if punctuating her words, and showcasing just how much Sevika was capable of doing. Sevika smirked, voice softening once she spoke to you like it always did.

"Yeah? Enjoying, my angel?"

Sevika took a deep breath before fastening her pace, causing the table to rattle on its legs. You doubted it could hold the both of you up for too long, so you tried to push back only resulting the toy to sink further inside you.

"Your cunt is so pretty," Sevika whispered in your ear as she continued thrusting, her gun hand still fixed at its form, pointing towards your ex.

"S-Sevika, I'm close," you whimpered and Sevika smirked, starting to thrust harder than before making your moans louder.

You whined and gripped onto the table for support, crying out as you felt her ram into you from behind. You were on the verge of tears due to the overwhelming pleasure but Sevika's thrusts knew no end. Your mouth was open, gasps issuing and moans escaping. With one final thrust, you came and Sevika held herself inside for a bit. The loud gunshot went off, your eyes widening in shock as you whipped your head around to take a look. Sevika's expression was as hardened as ever, gazing at your ex-boyfriend's now dead body in the chair. He was slumped in the chair, eyes wide and empty, drool running down the gag as if he'd been trying to silently plead for his life through the gag but of course, none of the both of you really cared to listen.

You looked at Sevika, feeling uneasy about the corpse in the room, "Sevika..." Your voice was a faint mewl.

Sevika nodded, "I know, baby, I know."

The strap pulled out of your pussy with a wet pop making you whine at the sudden emptiness of your hole. Sevika didn't waste any time and picked you up bridal style. She walked up the stairs of the basement, face still as unfeeling as ever when it came to the ruthless murder of your ex. But for you? Sevika was all soft and sweet for you. Her top priority now was to run you a bubble bath and tuck you in bed before she went to dispose of your ex.

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: reader x bsf!rafe

synopsis: reader gets depressed after sex, so rafe comforts her.

warnings: smut, angst and comfort, fluff MDNI! - wc: 700

author’s note: i wrote this last night when this site went down; it's a bit different and doesn't have much dialogue but i was feeling poetic. also, trying out yet another layout style ⟡ ݁₊ . originally posted 01/08/2025

bsf!rafe masterlist ♡

it always starts the same; the feeling in your stomach building up, the heat spreading through your veins, making your body feel like the sun is rising, slowly warming up every one of your limbs as your whimpers turn into quiet moans as you’re brought closer and closer to the edge, to bliss.

then, all of a sudden, rafe touches just the right spot at just the right pace, whispering just the perfect words into your ear before sucking your earlobe into his mouth as he continues thrusting into you, your nails digging into his back, and then the soft sunlight titillating across your body turns into a blazing fire.

the moment you come undone your back arches off the bed, into him like a moth to a flame, your sensitive, pebbled nipples pressing against his muscular chest as you let out raspy words that are supposed to be his name, but ultimately end up being incomprehensible mumbles, rafe letting out groans on top of you as you clenched around him, your tight walls basically calling for him to come.

you can feel the rush of dopamine released by your brain the moment your back hits the mattress, your entire body becoming tingly, and a small, pleased smile playing on your lips as you felt rafe pull out of you with a satisfied grunt before getting up and discarding the used condom into his trash can before coming back to bed with a satisfied grin on his lips, your head still slightly fuzzy from the pleasure he'd given you.

you stared up at the ceiling fan, watching as it spun around, feeling the cool air on your face, feeling it take care of the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, rafe pressing small kisses on your bare shoulder, causing shivers to run down your spine. you felt content.

but just like usual, you crashed.

you didn't know what caused it, but hot tears started stinging in your eyes once again, rafe pulling back to look down at you, his lips twitching into a slight frown as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb moving to brush away a tear that was rolling down, disappearing into your hair.

"shhh, it's okay..." rafe mumbled against your skin, continuing to press more kisses on the soft skin on your shoulder. you knew it was irrational, that there was no reason for you to be crying, that there was no reason for there to be this hollow feeling in your chest, no reason for your head to be filled with doubts and melancholy; but your emotions didn't much care for logic, "i'm here."

rafe pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly against his warm body while his hand stroked your hair, pressing soft kisses on your hairline while tears continued escaping your eyes, your throat stinging with pain. "you're beautiful. you're alright." somehow, rafe had gotten used to you getting emotional after coming down from your orgasm, and he knew there was nothing he could do to get you out of that mindset, except just be there. and he always did that, he always grounded you. he was like your anchor. "you're amazing."

you held onto him as tightly as possible as he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear, leaving gentle, loving kisses all over your face, wiping your tears away with just a touch of his lips.

and eventually, the hollowness inside of you slowly faded away and was replaced by him, and you looked up at rafe, into his ice-cold eyes that felt so warm whenever you gazed into them, and your lips finally curved up into a small smile, your heart steadying until your heartbeats were in sync.

"there's my girl." rafe says softly, quietly, as if he was being careful not to break the fragile serenity that had now taken over your features. and before he could pull your lips to meet his, you beat him to the punch, so full of him and his adoration, you felt like you'd die if you didn't return it right back to him.

and as your lips met, every thought, every tear, faded away.

[seumyo]

todoroki and his awkwardness with babies.

Todoroki considered himself not good with kids. Yet somehow your nephew always seemed to favor him whenever he wasn’t busy with hero work and volunteered to babysit alongside you.

“Oh my goodness, look at this little cutie!” you coo, your voice brimming with excitement. Todoroki follows your gaze.

There he was. Baby Eitarou was happily gnawing on his teething ring as he sat on his play mat. His wide, curious eyes locked onto Todoroki’s mismatched ones. He tilted his head, letting out a series of excited babbles before reaching his tiny arms out toward him.

You gasped softly, clasping your hands together. “Shou, I think he wants you to hold him!”

Todoroki blinked, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. No matter how often he accompanies you, he still finds himself unprepared for every subtle change. “Me? Why?”

“I— don’t we always carry him whenever he does the grabby hands?”

“I do not, but you do. Because he always wants you to carry him.”

“Well, it looks like he wants you to carry him today,” you reply, your voice quivering with barely contained delight.

With a resigned sigh, he kneeled down. “I… suppose I can.”

He held the child stiffly, his arms awkwardly outstretched as if the baby were made of glass.

“Like this, hun,” you told him, adjusting his arms so he supported the baby properly.

Eitarou immediately snuggled into Todoroki’s chest, then gurgled happily, reaching up to grab at Todoroki’s face. His tiny fingers clumsily found Shouto’s cheeks, squishing them lightly as he let out a delighted giggle.

“Uwah!”

“Aww, you two are so cute! The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Todoroki remained still, his hands supporting the baby securely while the tiny fingers continued exploring his face. “Is he supposed to do this?” he asked, his voice even. He eyed baby Eitarou and evaded his face whenever the little one tried to put his baby fingers in his mouth.

“He’s just curious!” you answered. “Let him—oh, now he’s going for your hair!”

Eitarou’s small hand found Todoroki’s dual-colored bangs, grabbing a tuft of white hair and tugging lightly. Todoroki froze, unsure how to react.

“Do I… stop him?” he asked slowly, unsure.

You waved your hands frantically. “No, no! Let him be! It’s harmless—unless he tries to put your hair in his mouth.”

He freezes, blinking owlishly at you. He’s never heard you speak of such things, let alone worry if Eitarou would nibble at your hair whenever you held this angel.

“He could do that? Should I put him down?”

“No! It’s just a little heads up. Babies who are teething tend to put most things in their mouth.”

“Oh.” Todoroki was somewhat relieved.

The baby let out another giggle, switching to the red side of Todoroki’s hair, his small face lighting up as he babbled incomprehensibly. “Umn!”

Your husband pouted a little. “Does this mean I need a haircut?”

He’s already thinking of going to the barber’s shop, the one that Kaminari had recommended in passing. Todoroki’s never tried that barber before, but if his friend had recommended it, then it could be worth trying.

You burst into laughter. “What? No! Why would you need a haircut? You just went to get a trim last week.”

“Oh. I did.”

He looked down at the baby, who was now attempting to bury his face into Todoroki’s shoulder while babbling happily, and he wiped the little drool on the corner of Eitarou’s mouth with the soft cloth you handed him. “I just thought that if my hair’s this interesting to a baby, maybe it’s too long.”

“Are you serious?” you asked, barely able to keep a straight face. “Hun, your hair is perfect. Eitarou just thinks you’re the coolest person ever.”

Todoroki blinked, clearly processing the statement, but he said nothing. His hold on the baby shifted slightly as he cradled the child more comfortably, the corners of his lips almost forming a smile.

“You think I’m the coolest?” he asks Eitarou, who could only giggle at him. “I think you’re the coolest as well, ‘Tarou.”

-

“You were great with him,” you said softly. Eitarou is napping by now, courtesy of Todoroki rocking him back and forth (even if you suggested he used the rocking chair instead so he doesn’t tire himself out) while humming a soft lullaby.

Todoroki glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “I just held him, love.”

“Yeah, but you made him so happy—and got him to take his after-lunch nap. That counts for a lot.”

There was a brief pause before Todoroki replied, “I suppose.”

You sighed softly, watching as the tiniest hint of a smile flickered on your husband’s face. “‘Tarou’s grown to love you. You’d make a good dad someday, hun.”

His expression was unreadable as he took this in, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Someday. When we’re both ready.”

He’d admit that the thought was... something he’ll look forward to more often now that you brought it up.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[odoraful]

𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑴 ᯓ 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩

⟡ content: gn!reader ; established relationship ; honey petname hehe ; minor hurt/comfort (which i didn't anticipate honestly, but it seemed to just go in that direction :O) ; 1.5k wc

⟡ a/n: i watched a clip where pepper potts helps tony stark replace like the tech in his heart and my brain went straight to caleb! also i don't know bionics at all so pls suspend disbelief at my descriptions of tech because its definitely all baloney HAHA also still figuring out how to write for caleb so it might be ooc..,, ANYWAY I DIGRESS i do hope it's an enjoyable read!! <33

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was beyond you why Caleb chose to entrust you with this task, and equally incomprehensible that you agreed to it. Sure, you knew your way around certain weaponry and gadgets—a skill every good Hunter needed to have—but you were certainly no biomechanical engineer. Yet here you were sitting in the living room of Caleb’s home, his bionic arm fully revealed to you and a set of tools being laid out on the table.

“Isn’t the maintenance process… automated?” you asked, voice quivering with trepidation.

Caleb finished arranging the equipment in front of him. A neat array of screwdrivers and wires.

Comparably, there was no indication of hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.

“Yes, it typically is,” he answered, sitting back down on the sofa. He flexed the fingers of his right arm before flashing a smile at you, “but this isn’t one of those typical times.”

His usually comforting smile did little to ease you. You sat down, observing his arm as he continued speaking.

“One of the wires here—” Caleb pointed to the area at his elbow, “—has loosened for some reason. It just needs some reconnecting and I’ll be right as rain.”

He was right. Upon closer inspection, you could see the wire now beginning to detach from the small, round metal piece it was connected to. Occasionally, a tiny spark of electricity flashed from within the empty hole. If this was left unchecked, it would certainly lead to some kind of malfunction.

You squirmed in the cushion. “Wouldn’t telling the Fleet be better? Don’t they have technicians to do this exact thing?”

Caleb's lips quirked upwards, betraying the stiffness he suddenly felt.

Yes, it would be protocol to let the people responsible for this arm know (whether that was the Fleet or not he would never admit the truth of to you), but it was far too bothersome to have them inspect and diagnose for such a minor issue. And then, there was the pain of it as well. Caleb was very familiar with gritting one’s teeth and baring it, but the soulless nature of the Professor’s rooms made him always feel so alone. Despite the bright, sterile lights and the group of masked technicians in white coats attending to his arm, it was always just him and the pain and the desire for everything to be finished already.

Things were a lot different now with you here, finally here with him.

“Oh, your touch is much gentler than anyone in the Fleet, trust me,” he replied.

Though he hadn’t actually answered your question, the line was enough classic Caleb charm to disarm you. He looked fondly over at your expression as your shook your head, trying to stifle your laugh.

“It’s not a full maintenance repair, just a simple replacement. I’ll walk you through every step, don’t worry.”

He patted the space right next to him and you shuffled over.

“Caleb… will this hurt you?”

You couldn’t help but recall the pain he was in when his arm was hooked up to that machine. Your chest grew tight at the memory.

“Not at all, I swear,” he quickly responded. “Like I said, it’s just a replacement.”

He reached over to pick up a screwdriver. Turning his right arm around so you could see his elbow clearer, he used the tool to point out a small screw on the round metal pieces where the wire was being held.

“So, all you need to do is turn this a little to the left, and it should loosen the wire enough to remove it.”

Caleb then reached for the table to pick up a wire the same as the one in his arm. Though, the metallic conductors could be seen emerging out from the ends of the black casing.

“Then, all you need to do is just need to replace it with this.”

You repeated his words over in your mind. Loosen and then replace.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you took the screwdriver. You placed a hand against his arm to help steady yourself. The metal cooled your sweaty palm. Moving closer, you inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the screw, turning it slowly as possible. Afraid that any quick movements might have an adverse effect.

Just as Caleb had said, once the screws were turned, the metal pieces widened and the wire was freely hanging, only held to the arm by its conductive metal.

So focused on making sure your hands weren’t shaking, you didn’t see Caleb’s eyes scrunched shut, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

“Ah!”

Your head snapped up hearing him wince. His eyes peeled open, a weak but sheepish expression on his face.

“Caleb! You promised it wouldn’t hurt you!”

At your accusatory look, he chuckled wearily. “That was nothing! Just a little—” he sucked a sharp breath in “—buzz that’s all.”

Panicked, you put the screwdriver down. “W-what do I do now?!” you stuttered out, holding your hands away from the exposed area.

“Take the old wire out and put the new one in the same spot.” Despite his discomfort, Caleb tempered his voice. His composure kept your fear at bay for the moment. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

You nodded. Moving you hand closer again, you held onto the wire delicately. You pulled slowly. Thankfully, it released without any tugging needed.

“Mhm, there you go. You’re doing great,” Caleb reassured.

The conductive wire unfurled as if aware it was being replaced. You picked up the wire Caleb had held previously in demonstration and lined it up in the empty space. Similarly, the wire reattached itself.

“Now tighten it with the screwdriver.”

Turning the screws once again, you felt the round metal pieces tighten around the wire, holding it securely in place. The repair appeared successful.

You let out a long sigh, relief washing over you. You looked at Caleb’s face, hoping you wouldn’t find him pale and stricken. Instead, he was smiling. He turned his bionic arm around, bending his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It looked like it was back to normal.

“Look at that,” he beamed. “I knew you could do it, honey.”

Your laugh was filled with disbelief at his complete faith in you. “Please don’t ask me to do this again.” You were still slightly delirious by everything that just happened.

“What if I don’t have anyone but you?” he responded.

You knew that statement wasn’t true. There were plenty of people he could rely on to assist him with this. He was the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet after all. Yet, there was a softness in his tone and a distance in his eyes as he spoke. He really believed that to be the truth.

You looped your pinkie finger around his (still hesitant if your craftsmanship had fully worked). Caleb glanced down at your movement. He saw your tenderness and there was a phantom sensation of warmth right where your fingers connected. Though, he knew it was all just his brain and its sensory signals trying desperately to reconstruct a feeling he once had.

“But what if I messed up a-and something bad had happened? I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Caleb enveloped his hand around yours. His touch was cold and metallic, but his words were anything but.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me.”

The color of his bionic arm began to change. It flickered in the same way a holographic screen did when you put your hand through it. His arm was recalibrating to project the perfect color, and to mimic the feeling of real skin. As fast as you could blink, it returned to its usual appearance.

Caleb squeezed your hand. “See? Right as rain.”

The sudden mixture of your fear and sadness made you crave being in his hold. You pulled him into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried you face into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back. “I’m still here with you, arm fully functional.”

“I know…” you remained glued to his shoulder, voice muffling.

“Nothing bad will happen to me,” he said, coaxing you gently both in speech and touch as he grazed his finger against your cheek. “Could I see you? Please?”

You lifted your head up, leaning back. Your eyes were glossy with tears and Caleb felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest. He kissed you on the forehead. With his thumb, he carefully swiped at your bottom lashes.

“I'm sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting you to do this,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin at his closeness. “You don’t have to do this for me next time.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed, shaking your head. “Now that I know what to expect, I think I can help you if this happens again.”

The shock soon passed. Feeling the rise and fall of Caleb’s chest grounded you. You both held each other until the pain faded, talking to each other quietly in the embrace.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[snoopychris]

introducing… dad’s best friend!chris x reader

warnings: unprotected p in v (DO. NOT. DO. THIS.), no use of y/n, reader has daddy issues, chris is 33 and has a daddy kink, a little dirty talk, dumbification if you squint. oh and also dad!chris.

“so you have kids? you look like one yourself but… maybe i’m just flattering you. but you gotta be at least 18 to be at the airport alone and you’ve got a vertical ID so you’re at least 21.” the bartender speaks, continuing to shake your drink all around.

you chuckle and shake your head, leaning your chin further into your chin. “no i don’t. i’m 23 though…i should probably get on that or something. i don’t even got a boyfriend… just visiting my dad and his new family for the new years. you? any kids?” he sends you a smile as he places the drink in front of you, tasting it from a straw before handing it off. “what is this again?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you take a sip.

the man across the counter chuckles as he grabs another drink ticket, making the beverage all while conversing with you. “i call it the chris. named after the best damn bartender this place has ever known. me. duh. but yes. i got a son. he’s 4. his names owen.”

“he probably looks up to you. don’t screw him up. but with all that aside, how can you be so sure of that?” you whisper, licking your lips as you grab the drink from the counter once more.

“i’ve been workin here since i was 18 years old. first 3 years i was only washing dishes but ive seen a good amount of bartenders come and go. i know im the best bartender that’s ever been here. 15 years of evidence.” his voice is more confident than cocky. a kind of attitude you’d kill to be in bed with. you hum in acknowledgment, looking at your suitcase besides you as the airport PA begins to speak again. the words are incomprehensible, but chris seems to understand them. some flight is leaving from gate B17.

“you think it’s weird or pathetic or something if im drinking at an airport bar at 2pm to avoid seeing my father?” you question, stirring the drink around with the small plastic straw.

“i’ve seen people here blackout drunk at 11am. i think you’re fine. what’s your name again, kid?” he asks, his lips parting as he pours a beer for a man besides you. you give him your name and he hums, handing you a piece of chocolate from behind the bar. “i think kid suits you better.” you furrow your brows at the gesture, reluctantly taking the sweet. “kid, just take it. it’s a piece of chocolate. no harm done if you take it. you don’t even gotta eat it. just get that look off your face. you look sad. you’re too pretty to look that sad.”

you blush at his words, popping the chocolate into your mouth. you slide your empty glass back across the bar, sending the bartender a smile- a real smile- and thank him honestly. “what time does your shift end?” you question, noticing another bartender begin to settle in.

“my shift? the second that you tab out. you want another and keep enjoying my company or you gonna head to your dad’s house?” he teases, washing the glass you handed to him. you shake your head and sigh, sitting up straight. “should probably head home. can i get the tab?” you whine, leaning your arm and head on the marble counter.

“nah i got it. get outta here. go see your dad. be nice to him.” he smiles, clocking out for the day. you slowly walk away, hesitantly pulling your bag with you.

when you finally make it out of the airport after an excruciatingly long walk, you let out a sigh. you knew you had four options. call a cab, call an uber, call one of your high school friends, or call your dad. you take a moment outside to gather your thoughts, only being brought back to reality when you bump into somebody behind you.

“shit i’m so sorry!” you groan, turning to profusely apologize to whoever was the victim. you smile when you notice that it’s chris. “oh. you again. following me are you?” you tease, poking at his shoulder.

“why you still here?” he questions. even though he hardly knew you, he felt like he still had an authority over you for no reason other than he was older than you by 10 years. you shrug as you let out a sigh, looking around. “i just don’t wanna see him yet. i mean… i dunno.”

chris sends you a look of remorse but then pulls you into a tight hug, one you clearly needed. he rubs a hand over his mouth before speaking. “you trust me enough to come back to my place? just till you feel good enough to go to your dads.” the look you gave him made him practically collapse.

your back was arched to a point that you didn’t even know you could reach. your face was buried into a pillow that was most definitely being stained with your mascara. “take it. thaaaaatts a good girl. take that dick. fuck you’re so tight.” chris speaks, his pants getting heavier with each of his thrusts. he’s holding your hands behind your back while you’re pushing yourself back onto his dick. it’s practically impossible for him to go any deeper into you, but you try to get him farther anyway. his grip on your wrists tightens when you let out another one of your whines. he can tell that you’re trying to spit out a sentence but that you’re unable to based on the cockdrunkness you’re experiencing. all you manage to achieve is a “c-cumming” and even that comes out all whiney and in chris’s words ‘pathetic.’ “y’gonna cum? fuck yeah you’re gonna cum. come on, pretty. cum all over daddy’s cock.” he whispers into your ear, leaving a mark on your neck as he lets go of your hands. your orgasm takes over your body, and any control of yourself you had left is out the window. you squirm and shake while chris is just smirking behind you, continuing his thrusts. he pulls out once you’ve settled down, spurts of cum falling onto your ass and lower back.

chris isn’t an asshole. he helps you clean yourself up and look presentable enough to go visit your dad. he even offered to drive you, but you refused because of how close it was. the arrival at your dads house was… fine. his new wife was fine and his four year old son was fine. it was all just fine. you could tell your dad tried cheering you up multiple times but it never worked.

the next day was the same shit, different day. you had to get through the day acting like you liked your step mother, had to get through the day acting like you tolerated children, and had to get through the day acting like your father didn’t hurt you when he left 6 years ago. you’re half tempted to go to the airport just to go to the bar. a knock on the door catches your attention, only furthered when your dad calls out to you. “hey honey can you get that? that must be your brothers friend and his dad, we’re buddies!. i invited them over for lunch!” he yells, to which you comply to almost immediately.

you open the door slowly, your eyes adjusting to the brightness of the outside world. a breath gets stuck in your throat when you’re met with the same eyes you saw at the bar. chris, whose eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, covers his sons ears as he speaks for both of you. “shit.”

a/n: new au who cheered! i did! i did! i finally get to write for chris thank GAWD cause as a chris girl i sure write a lot for matt.

tags(reply or message to be added): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @ayesha-eroticaa

[keferon]

Okaur I had to quickly write something for prowl getting sick cuz its so funny enjoy teehee

______

Prowl cupped Jazz close to his chassis, as close as he could as he turned and began running away from the aliens, managing to gain a good amount of distance between them and their hunters.

Jazz held onto the nooks and crannies in Prowl's chest to not fall, though the other squeezed him hard enough against the metal Jazz would most likely not fall. God damnit! The one time he doesn't bring his mecha..

Jazz had barely any time to process it when Prowl tripped.

He fell, pressing the servo closed over Jazz, catching himself best he could, turning quickly to catch the brunt of the fall on his back as they tumbled down to a small opening in the desert hills.

Jazz was still holding tight when the shaking and rattle stopped. He groaned a little from inside Prowl's closed servo, as Prowl quickly opened it and looked down at the other with concerned optics.

"Sshit- y'couldve warned me-" Jazz huffed, looking up to Prowl and then freezing, visibly enough for Prowl to notice.

"Are you okay?" Prowl questioned, blinking and then noticing a pink drip of energon drop down into his palm, Jazz barely managing to sidestep to not catch it on his helmet.

"Am I- bloody hell mech- are you okay?!"

Jazz questioned, grabbing to Prowl's chest and climbing up to the others face, Prowl supporting him a little with an unsteady palm.

"I feel-" Prowl vented.

He blinked, stuttering a little. Something sent shivers through his chassis, rattling underneath his plates. He tried to evaluate his situation but his processor only added more errors on top of already existing ones whenever he tried to reboot.

His processor might've been damaged, something might've been. He'd been sluggish during their stand-off with the aliens..

"I feel-" he felt warm, but not. Coolant rushing through his systems to fight off a virus, over-exerting his engine and motor functions. Prowl felt....giddy.

Jazz looked at the others face and then down at him as a whole. Prowl's vents were heaving, his armour plates moved in an uncomfortable tremble whenever he exvented, pink energon dripped out of the others nose.

Prowl snorted, which caught Jazz off guard as he looked back at the mech's face, his eyes wide.

"You're funny." Prowl mumbled. His eyes were dilating and shrinking, as he furrowed his optic ridge a little.

"Jazz- im going- to fall-"

He barely managed to cup his servo under Jazz to hold onto before his body slumped and fell back into the sand and dirt.

"Prowl! What the fuck- Prowl!" Jazz crawled quickly back onto the others chassis, staring at him.

"Whats wrong?! Whats happenin?! Were y'injured?" He questioned, staring down at Prowl's incomprehensible face. Was he- was he smiling???

Prowl was watching the other frantically scramble around himself, looking for injury or any other sign of an error.

"My spark.." Prowl mumbled out, making Jazz flinch so hard it sent whiplash through the others body.

Jazz climbed back to the chassis, looking at the other.

What- what what what?! Prowl's spark couldn't possibly be hurt could it?? Did an alien get a shot through his back????

"My spark...is yours.." Prowl cooed in a hushed voice, faceplates twitching in an uncharacterical grin.

Jazz's face sunk. Something was definetly wrong. "Whats goin' on, did y'get hit with somethin'??" Jazz mumbled, leaning down and trying to get the others chest open.

"You're the best thing thats ever happened too mee..." Prowl continued like Jazz wasn't the least bit concerned.

Jazz paused again, taking in a deep breath and looking at the other, even more quizzical than before.

"Yer talkin' like a drunk." Jazz thought out loud, leaning down to examine Prowl's face, which sent the other into a frenzy of giggles. Giggles. Giggles. Prowl was giggling at him.

Prowl smiled, optics half-shut, examining the others flustered, puzzled gaze just as Jazz examined his wide grin like it was a completely new face Prowl had just put on.

"You mmean...the woorlld...to meee.." Prowl giggled, slightly waving his servo slugglishly off the ground to exaggerate. He felt like laughing more, watching Jazz's face turn all shades of pink whenever he spoke.

"I'm callin' for Ratchet." Jazz declared, cheeks rose, kicking his foot very very gently on the others chest. "Open up."

-

Hhad to cut it short cuz I could just go on and on writing lmao (i need to goto sleep )

AUUUGGGHHAHAHAHAHHAHA OH THIS IS. PFFFFHHHHHHHHH YEAH MMMM YEP. THE SICK CLOWNERY. AMAZING~~~

[aquarelliwrites]

Saturdays

SHIP: Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: He sleeps like the dead, but at least he's pretty while doing it?

CONTENTS: Fluff, use of you/yours, no use of Y/N, entirely self-indulgent

wc: 536

A ray of sunshine in your eyes is what wakes you up.

It's one of the rare days when both Oscar and you are free of obligations. One of the rare days when you wake up before him, and get to revel a little in the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you close to him; the feeling of his legs tangled with yours underneath soft blankets; the feeling of his face buried in the curve connecting your neck and shoulder, fanning it with small breaths.

You allow yourself to drift between consciousness and the abyss for a while longer.

„Osc.“ You whisper – and get no response. The man – your darling sweetheart, the light of your life, really – continues sleeping like he's a rock or perhaps a log. Repeating yourself a little more loudly gets you nothing more than a hum. „I need to get up.“

He replies this time, says something, surely, and the vibration of his voice against your skin spreads like wildfire all over your body. He is also, unfortunately, entirely incomprehensible.

„What?“ You laugh.

„What th' hell d'you need to get up for?“ The vice-like grip on you doesn't loosen as you hoped it would.

„Um, the bathroom?“

He groans and lets go of you, acting like it's the most effort he's ever had to put into any task, ever. You laugh, pressing a little kiss on his cheek before getting up.

„Oh, do that again.“ The corners of his lips tilt upwards with the plea. You can't help but oblige.

 When you return, you pause in the doorway to admire the way he managed to take up the entirety of the bed. The way his torso rises and falls rhythmically under the covers. The way his shoulders look – you could spend an eternity just gazing at the way the muscles in his back move. The way he's sleeping with his face in the crook of his elbow, hiding away from the sun.

He feels the mattress dip and moves his head ever so slightly to look at you, even if he therefore must endure the Sun's corona behind you. „S'too early, darling,“ he croaks, and you laugh softly before leaning down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades.

„You're right.“ And you lay back down with that, arm thrown over him in a looser cuddle than he had you in minutes ago. He revels in the warmth of your palm on his bare skin, in the dance of your fingertips all over his back, in the quiet that blankets you both for a little while.

„I say this too much, but I really love you,“ he whispers, mind on the edge of sleep.

„You could never say it too much. I really love you too, you know.“

„I know, you're so good to me.“ The visible part of his face is smiling again.

„Your standards are low, then,“ you tease, messing up his hair.

He looks seriously offended for a moment. Or about as offended as he can look while he drifts off. „How dare you say that about my girlfriend?“

You breathe a little laugh again, and your pointer finger draws a heart on his spine.

hey, sorry that I died for nearly 2 months? go for broke is still being worked on but I think I want to go in a slightly different direction with that than I originally thought, so that's going to be A While. alas we live i suppose

[onlyquinns]

heyyyy!!!

can you pls write a jack hughes fan fic of after a game like meeting his teammates and then going home with him and like him being to tired to do anything he just wants to go to bed so you help him get ready for bed

love ur writing btw :)

jack sits outside of the locker room, silently waving goodbye to his teammates as they trickle out to their cars. he gives tired smiles and daps the guys up, congratulating each and every one of them on a game well played. a game well won.

the door to the locker room creaks open and jack looks up, smiling at the sight of luke. his brother pulls him up and into a hug, patting his back twice.

“see you at home,” luke says, pulling away and walking away as jack calls out his goodbyes.

then, he sits back down and waits.

he registers the click of your shoes first, the fast-paced tap-tap-tap! of your short heels hitting the floor. when you round the corner, hand clenched tightly around your little bag, you let out a delighted gasp at the sight of him. jack immediately smiles.

he’s up in an instant, wrapping strong arms around your body and swaying the two of you back and forth in the arena’s hallways.

“missed you,” jack whispers into your ear, smile gone sleepy and eyes a little droopy. the need to appear strong is gone, wiped away by your comforting presence.

you hum into his skin, lips tickling. “you played so good. i’m so proud.” and jack knows you mean it, knows that you wouldn’t ever lie to him.

he makes a noncommittal sound and pulls away from the hug, sliding a palm down your arm and taking your hand into his. your fingers lace with his perfectly, filling the little spaces like a perfect puzzle piece. the two of you walk to the parking garage together, hands swinging and whispering to each other.

the conversation doesn’t stop when you get to the car. the quiet murmurs and gentle words continue, just little snippets of each other’s days—even if the majority of jack’s was just hockey. you listen happily, letting him talk and chuckle. you’re more than happy to see him like this. you let him slow down and sign fan merch, smiling when he makes small talk with the happy crowd of people. you don’t even bother hiding your face anymore, aware that the fans know of your existence—that they love you for the constant jack content. you wave and smile, even signing a teen girl’s poster as a parting goodbye when jack is finally ready to go home.

by the time the two of you get back to the apartment, it’s far too late for his brother to be awake. jack slumps against your shoulder as the two of you walk inside, a little upset that he didn’t get to see luke before bed but too tired to think about it too much.

you help him take his jacket off, pulling him down the hall to his bedroom. he giggles as he staggers behind you, one hand grasped in yours and the other pulling at the dark colored tie around his neck. he nearly has it off by the time you shut the bedroom door, back against the wood as you shimmy off your cardigan and your blue jeans. jack smiles at the sight of you in your little white top and your devil-red panties. he opens his arms out to you from his spot on the bed, eyes droopy and tender.

you’re on him immediately, falling on top of him in a giant heap. he’s warm and smells like sweat and deodorant—something you’ve gotten used to. jack grumbles under you, something incomprehensible. you giggle and roll off him, sitting up to unbutton his shirt.

he lets you pull it off him and throw it to the ground in a crumpled mess, humming a little as you run warm hands down his stomach and to his pants. you work the belt and button free, sliding them down his thighs until he’s only in his boxers.

it’s nothing sexual, just your little ritual of helping him get ready for bed after a long game. something that he’s heavily grateful for.

when you finally finish and tuck yourself into his side, jack curls you into his warm body and pulls the blanket over you. you hum quietly into his ear, fingers brushing long strands of hair behind his ears and out of his face.

“goodnight,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to jack’s cheek. he smiles, eyes fluttered shut. “i love you.”

jack tucks his face into your neck and mumbles, lips coasting over your soft skin. “love you, too,” you know he says.

[my-castles-crumbling]

beautiful - april 26 - jegulus - CW: mention of blood - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 513

James wouldn’t have heard the screams if he hadn’t been up, heading back to his room from the loo. It was a coincidence, really, but a lucky one, all things considered. Even though there was a very obvious silencing charm on Regulus Black’s door, his yelling could still be heard–just a little–from the hall.

Without thinking about it, James slipped inside, shaking and tense, ready for a fight, though he’d left his wand behind in his room. His instincts had completely taken over–every inch of his body reacted to the distress of the younger boy that he’d been quietly admiring for far too long. He’d been doing his very best to give Regulus his space ever since he’d appeared on the Potters’ doorstep, bloody and disoriented, two weeks ago. They’d had something–he wasn’t sure what, but something–before. Something clandestine and pure. But Regulus had been so scared that he tried not to push, to just enjoy what he was given: fleeting glances and quick kisses in dark classrooms. He figured the best thing for the younger boy, after arriving somewhat safely,  was time with Sirius, so he stayed away. But his resolve broke completely the second he heard those screams.

“Reg?” he whispered, shutting the door behind himself and quickly walking to Regulus’s bed, where the Slytherin was positively thrashing in his bed, yelling out incomprehensible words. “Reg, love, hey–”

Unsure if he was doing the right thing, he sat on the edge of the mattress and shook the boy gently, continuing to murmur his name, along with comforting nonsense he wasn’t really thinking about. After a few more screams, Regulus jumped a bit and his eyes wrenched open to lock with James’s own.

“J-James?” he stuttered, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he nodded, reaching forward to tuck a few damp strands of Regulus’s dark, curly hair behind his ear. “I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Regulus mumbled, grimacing and beginning to turn away. “Sorry I woke you, you can go.”

But James could see him shaking. “I can–can I–stay?” he asked nervously, gesturing to the bed.

The look Regulus gave him was one of suspicious shock. 

“Just to hold you! I’m not asking–that would be–I just want to help,” he stammered, realizing how it might sound. “I don’t like when you’re scared,” he added in a small voice.

For a moment, Regulus almost smiled. “Get in, then,” he said, pulling back the blankets.

Eagerly, James joined him, pulling him close, revelling in the feeling of holding his very heart against his chest. “You…you look beautiful,” he said, knowing it probably wasn’t the time, but completely blown away by everything that was Regulus, gray eyes staring up at him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Again…almost a smile. “Thanks, Potter,” he murmured. “I…I’m glad I’m here. With you.”

It was the closest Regulus had ever gotten to confessing feelings, and James felt warmth and joy wash over him in gentle waves. “Me, too,” he answered, pressing a kiss to Regulus’s forehead. “So much.”

[akisteahouse]

Thinking about annoying, irritating, stupidly cute Barista! Lilia Vanrouge!

Who works at a nearby coffee shop on the weekends for fun, and adores messing with customers - making awkward small talk just to watch them squirm, purposely spelling their names wrong, and of course, the all-time classic, shouting out their names so incomprehensibly wrong that one would wonder how this sweet-looking, barely over five feet man managed to butcher names so horribly.

Who definitely had a favourite customer to mess with, and that customer was unfortunately you - he couldn’t help it, the look of disgust on your face whenever he said another terrible rendition of your name was absolutely priceless!

Who had kept this routine on for a solid month, with you coming to the coffee shop and begrudgingly letting him take your always to-go coffee order, making sure to properly enunciate your name each time he asked for it, the syllables long and purposely drawn out, just to be sure, only for your efforts to go in vain as he continued to mutilate your name each time he called your order out, all with the same stupidly cute shit-eating grin on his face - that little-! >:(

Who had figured you’d finally had enough when you cornered him after work, your eyes boring into his with the intensity of a hundred flames. The gig is up, I suppose. He had thought, foolishly, before being promptly taken aback when you instead asked for his name. Oh?

Who learnt that you could be just as mischievous as he could be when he took your order the very next day, when you greeted him with an absolutely dreadful butchering of his own name, which was so horrific it had made him laugh until he doubled over the pristine counter, giggling so much he had to take a break, all while he slapped his knee incessantly, just like an old man finding something particularly amusing. (Which subsequently led to him randomly cackling throughout the rest of his day - My, you never ceased to surprise him.)

Who quickly fell in love with this new routine of his, ears perked and ready to look up whenever he heard the door’s bell ring, constantly checking the time on his phone to see how much longer it would be until you made your appearance, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart increasing every time you walked near his counter to place your order - Seven, you really had a knack for making him feel young again, didn’t you? ;)

Irksome, irritating, maddeningly adorable Barista Lilia, who’s utterly sure that you’re definitely his favourite - he may be a bit of an old bat, but he has plenty of stamina and youthful charm to make up for it. So… continue ordering coffees from him, pleeeeease? ;)

[diejager]

I know this kinda sounds stupid- but can you do a feral deer reader who was found by the task force? The reader has some magical healing abilities, so she ended up captured and hired as a medic. Since the reader never really communicated with humans/ other hybrids and was mostly by herself, she doesn't understand social stuff. For example, she can be convinced that getting groped is a greeting, and she'll agree since she never interacted with other hybrids before. So she's pretty much oblivious.

If possible- make her a bit fluffy? 👉���

I’m going to make this the continuation to Doe because I can!! Muhahahahahah!!!!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, non-con touching, magic, hybrid, groping, tell me if I missed any.

You were introduced to Laswell after the mission, dressed in better clothing than the tattered dress you wore, antlers cleaned from all the leaves and officially claimed by the Task Force, you found a place in their group. Going through a few rough patches and scuffles to get you out of your home, they watched you tend to your wounds, your hands glowing over the scrapes and tongue lapping at your bleeding fingers. Your… ability was the driving nail that forced Laswell to bend to their words, she’d been hounding them to get a medic or someone with better medical knowledge than the four of them combined. 

After all the paperwork and sweat, Price had the honour of locking the pretty collar they team bought you around your neck, the insignia gleaming under the office light was the final step to bind you to them as your handlers, a poor and fragile, little deer they saved from the freezing Canadian wilderness. But in all honesty, all they did was separate you from your herd, the warmer spring announcing the end of your antlers and the growth of a new set, it made frolicking and dancing easier than winter did. You were plucked from everything you knew, ripped from your lush forest and livelihood where you watched over the fauna and little critters that came to you for healing, and forcefully placed in a dead and unfeeling world where grey buildings towered over the forests and life restrained to small patches of dying soil. It made you uncomfortable, but the binding words the four men - human men - and the nice but stoic lady (she looked so tired, it made your hands itch to soothe her aches) shared with you made it seem like it was impossible for you to return to your home. 

“This is your new home, sweetheart,” the bear-like man said, his gruff voice and imposing figure had you shuddering in your seat, much more than the energetic man with electric, blue eyes that you then learned was Soap. 

You wanted to argue, but your voice died in your throat when they all stared at you with dark and expectant eyes, seemingly anticipating submission and obedience from you as a deer. How could you fight when they held such an oppressive air around them, but perhaps it was just their broad and muscular bodies that made your nerves bristle; perhaps they were nicer than they looked, gentler and tender like the way that man with brown eyes held you in the metal bird, whispering sweet and comforting words; or perhaps they were truly mean and dominating, like some pack of wolves that shared your home. You hoped they were as nice as the Gaz, who made you call him by his… real name? You were confused, but you did as he asked, calling him Kyle unlike the other men. 

You gave Price a muted nod, eyes cast down and fingers scratching and pulling at your restrictive clothes, feeling too covered and your skin too sensitive by all the irritating fabrics and silks. It hadn’t taken them much time to intergrate you in their schedule, finding you a place in their group to stare at and work despite your clear confusion about the social norms and your sudden duty. The human world was a stranger to you, foreign acts and alien words that you needed help with: you could read some words while others were completely incomprehensible for your feral mind, or your confusion about the use for phones and anything too advanced had you fumbling with your words.

It’s good that you had them to help you, no? 

Price made you attend classes with him and Ghost, being taught the alphabet and complicated words after the training drills and morning rituals, sometimes seated between them, squeezed so tightly between their broad shoulders, and other times seated on their laps, their shadow looming over you when they bent over to show you something. They touched you a lot, Ghost having less restraint than his Captain, his rough, gloveless fingers sliding beneath your shirt and groping the softness of your stomach and kneading your breasts, feeling its weight and perky nipples. You squirmed on his lap, whined out your discomfort, used to physical interaction in your herd, but never something so forward, but Ghost had reassured you that this was a normal human behaviour towards someone they cared deeply for.

Price kept his to your stomach and ass, feeling the fat of your cheeks and occasionally standing a hit, drinking in your yelps and whimpers from his touches. He, alike Ghost did, assured you that it was normal that he hooked his arm around your hip and holding you flushed to his side, his musky scent wafting around you like a thick cloud of smoke. He ruffled your hair once your antlers fell, petting you like he would a dog, carding through your washed locks and chuckling when your ears twitched from being handled. He would often call you to his office at random times, allegedly wanting you to train healing them since humans were slightly different than hybrids and having you lick his paper cut with your pink tongue. He liked shoving two fingers down your throat and pumping until you gagged and choked, drooling down his wrist while he breathed heavily and palmed himself.

Gaz and Soap helped you with other things: understanding human behaviour, training you mind and body and helping you around the base when you were lost and disoriented. Both men were enthused to be your chaperone, excited to take part in your schooling in other ways. Gaz lead you around the base hand in hand, his fingers intertwined with yours in a strong and unmoving grip while he pulled you forward, your tail flicking anxiously when people gazed your way, their eyes probing your uniform-clad figure. He was more upfront than the older men, pulling you to his chest and cuddling you in public areas, the bigger rec room, the mess hall or the gym, nuzzling the crook of your neck, lips drawling pretty words on your throat and shoulder and hair tickling your skin, mumbling the sweetest praises despite your obvious stiffness.

Soap, not unlike Gaz, had you call him Johnny (Ghost called him that too, you quickly found out) and was the touchiest of the four, always placing a hand on you even in awkward and weird situations. Soap was more animalistic than the others, panting and huffing when he spent too long around you, rutting your thigh like a wolf in rut or another reindeer deep in the season, you were quite sure this one wasn’t that much of a norm, seeing people avert their eyes or Ghost scruffing Soap and hissing degrading words. He especially loved sparring with you, pinning you on the mat, hand wrapped around your nap and putting his weight on your struggling body. He’d grind his hard bulge against your ass, ignoring your cries and whines, happily huffing and groaning in your ear while Gaz and Ghost watched on, admiring the sight, a pretty and vulnerable deer with little stubs and flickering ears, writhing under the mutt of the Task Force. 

Even if your initial use was for healing wounds and supporting the team, they found a secondary task for you in all the chaos and caution, to help you open up to them faster and easier. It’d only take a few kisses, cuddling and sessions until you grow attune and accept your new home.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter vii.

Your interactions with the entity holding you captive begin to escalate.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

My human.

From the very second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. While you were gifted to him by the woman in a raincoat, that fact alone had little influence on and could not even begin to encapsulate his desire for you.

He had a clear recollection of the moment he found you. You had been injured by the aforementioned woman, sanguine, exquisitely oozing out of the wound on your head. The sight of blood spilling down your delicate features was one he’d never forget, the image having been seared into his mind. You were so, so lovely. A hint of colour against the dull monochrome building; a singular rose blossoming in the dead of winter.

Pretty.

You were just as beautiful now as you had been upon your first meeting, if he could call it that. Though he had adored the way the fresh steaks of red glistened on your skin, he did not find you any less enchanting, even with the blood having dried and crumbled away.

You were truly a gift for him, and he’d cherish you as such.

Which is why he failed to understand your reaction, disagreeing and arguing with him about not having been given to him.

Despite his mild frustration at your incomprehensible response, he wouldn’t get angry with you. You were already afraid of him for some unknown reason, and he didn’t want to exacerbate that fear. Instead, he’d try his best to explain to you the situation. You had no reason to be frightful of him; he’d take good care of you.

Human not communicate. Me worry.

For a moment, you were unresponsive, leading him to worry that you would continue to protest. But then you slowly nodded your head at him.

Human understand. You understand me.

Me happy, he thought. Grateful.

He was unable to do anything but smile, grinning widely from cheek to cheek at your acceptance. You had accepted his desire to take care of you. You had accepted being his gift. You had accepted him.

“You want me.” His statement came out plain and simple, uttered more to himself than to you.

Eyes pretty.

You didn’t refuse him, however. You merely glanced at him with wide eyes, eyes that reflected away all the dreariness of this place with the utmost brilliance. He simply allowed himself a moment to gaze into them, admiring the way they glimmered.

You nodded once again, such a small, slow tilt of your head that he almost failed to catch it.

Human want me. You want me.

“You want me,” his smile widened. “You want me, you want me...”

He feverishly chanted those words, as if each repetition was a stronger confirmation of your feelings than the last.

His heart throbbed, an aching pulse that pulverized him from the inside. While the words existed in his language, he never understood them—not until now. What was once a foreign concept to him now became all too present and all too real.

He craved you with a primal need that swirled deep in his viscera, longing for you in ways he only just now began to comprehend.

And you wanted him too.

Want me.

Just that simple fact was enough for his chest to rumble with tremendous force, the world inside his heart shifting much like the larger expanse he resided in.

Want have human. Want touch.

You were here looking at him still with doe eyes, the sight only further amplifying his desire. As the urge to have you filled his mind, he reacted accordingly by reaching out to you. His fingers brushed against your hair with the intention of stroking it, but you instantly flinched away from him.

Head damaged, head hurt, he suddenly remembered.

He couldn’t run his fingers through your hair, but that did little to diminish his coveting for you. Instead, he settled for touching your face, his fingers tracing along your forehead, your cheeks, your jawline. When they trailed over your lips, he realized he preferred touching them over the rest of your face.

He brushed his fingers over your lips a few more times and each time he did, he yearned for you a bit more than the last.

Want mouth touch.

He wasn’t sure where that thought came from. It was unfamiliar, yet somehow, it felt natural. There was an aspect about the gesture of touching your mouth with his that made it seem different from doing so with his hands. He wasn’t sure why that was, but it was intriguing, this newfound concept.

Slowly, he moved his index finger between your lips, gently pushing them apart. Your lips were a bit damp there, something he found strangely inviting. He wanted to bring his mouth to yours, he wanted to feel your lips against his—and you wanted him, so you wanted this too.

“Want you,” he said, his voice softer than usual, yet filled with fervour.

Want you. He looked at you for a moment longer, before he followed his instincts, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

Pleasant.

Your mouth was astonishingly warm, all molten heat and liquid velvet against his own. So soft, so alluring, so inviting. It was a sensation that felt oddly familiar, stirring up something in his chest that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He didn’t pay it much mind, instead enjoying the feeling of your mouths touching in a way that was all too intoxicating.

Me you together.

In that very moment, with his lips encapsulating yours, the two of you were connected. He liked that.

He liked the togetherness, wanted more of it as he tried moving his lips against yours, hoping you’d do the same. To his own surprise, he found himself disappointed at your lack of reaction. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he wanted more than just this. He craved you with an aching need, desperately longed for more of you. He wanted to feel you against him, he wanted you.

Still, you were inanimate, leading him to wonder why. He reasoned that you were likely new to this, much like he was. Perhaps you didn’t know what to do, or maybe humans had a different way of expressing desire. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he should be patient with you and give you time to get accustomed to this. He would be gentle with you. He would take good care of you and show you that you had no reason to fear him. He would treasure you as his gift. He would express how much he craves you.

He pulled away briefly so he could speak.

“Together,” he mumbled. “Me like.”

Your eyebrows scrunched slightly, your parted lips—now faintly glistening—pressing together into a frown. His own eyes widened in shock; was there something wrong?

“You hurt?” he tentatively asked, a myriad of concerns welling up in his chest. “You okay?”

Human upset. Not know why.

Your frown seemed to deepen, your eyes glazing over with moisture that confused him greatly. He waited patiently for you to respond. After a long moment of silence, you finally uttered a singular word.

“Hurt,” you reluctantly stated.

“Why?” His response was instant. He had been so careful with you. He was aware you were fragile, and he treated you like such. It was hard to imagine he had hurt you in some way.

“Hungry,” you answered. He briefly wondered if there was more to it than just hunger, but he realized then that you had told him about needing food quite some time ago. It made sense. It made sense, but he found himself wishing that wasn’t the case. He wanted to continue what he was doing with you; he wanted to keep enjoying the feeling of togetherness that he experienced with you. But he said he’d take care of you, and that meant ensuring you didn’t go hungry.

He nodded his head, pulling back from you and reaching over to give you the box that you claimed was consumable. You gingerly took it from him, pausing for a moment before a small smile formed on your face.

Human happy. Me like.

“Thank you,” you said. For a second, he was awestruck—the way your lips curved upwards made his heart throb tenderly in his chest. He instinctively put a hand on his own chest, though nothing about it felt different.

Heart change? Not know.

“Welcome,” he muttered, his voice almost breathy.

—

As you chewed on the granola, you found a variety of thoughts coming to mind. At the forefront, you found yourself thinking the granola was extremely delicious. You had not had granola this tasty before. That’s what hunger does to people, you supposed.

In the back of your mind, you found yourself wondering just where exactly your current circumstances would place as far as the misfortune side of the misfortune-complaining matrix went. You had thought being kidnapped and held captive by a ghostly entity was a seven. Being kidnapped, held captive, and kissed by said monster, however—that should probably rank higher, right?

The concerning part was your uncertainty about that point. It should rank higher. In anyone’s sane mind, it would be worse. But somewhere in the very back of your mind, hiding in the shadowy, dark recesses, was the realization that you didn’t find it repulsive.

It was most definitely strange; there was no doubt about that. No matter how you looked at or thought about it, kissing an inhuman creature was an abnormal thing. The very experience was bizarre, from the coldness of his lips, to the stiffness of his movements, and to, well, the fact that he wasn’t human.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate it. If you were being fully honest with yourself, the kiss was... fine. Not how you would imagine a kiss to happen, but nonetheless not displeasing.

Perhaps you had gone insane in the short time span of being here—you weren’t sure. You most definitely felt like you were losing your mind as you ruminated over the kiss.

You had only gone along with it because you didn’t want to upset him, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel extremely flustered about it.

It’s just a kiss, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t even understand how it works.

Your thoughts did little to convince yourself that you were not becoming mad. The ever watchful gaze of the red umbrella man was still on you, increasing the discomfort and awkwardness that you felt. You found yourself shying away, eyes fixated on your lap, on the granola bar that you had stopped chewing, on everything besides him.

“You okay?” He suddenly interrupted your thoughts to ask a question.

“C-Correct,” you stammered, slightly caught off guard. You didn’t know how exactly to say you were okay, so you settled for the closest word you knew. The language barrier still proved to be endlessly frustrating, even with the help you received from Mr. Silvair.

The red umbrella man touched his hand to your cheek, the unexpected movement causing a startled jump.

“Face hurt?” he questioned. You thought his question over before responding.

“Face hurt,” you agreed, lying through your teeth much like you did earlier. You hoped he wouldn’t notice; the sparseness of the language should be enough to cover for any unusualness on your part.

“You ▮▮▮▮?”

You knew Mr. Silvair used that word when speaking to the red umbrella man, but you didn’t quite know what it meant.

“Not understand,” you replied. You weren’t as hungry anymore, but you chewed on your granola bar anyway, hoping it would save you from further conversation.

He didn’t talk after that. You finished your granola bar in silence, its wrapper soon joining the other packaging that you had discarded into the box, using it as a temporary trash can.

A wave of exhaustion washed over your body all at once, the adrenaline from the day’s events finally all wearing off. You could feel a mild ache in your head still, causing you to frown.

You glanced at the red umbrella man, who had been soundlessly observing you—very much unsettling behaviour—and back at the bed, where a small pillow was. It didn’t appear that he planned on letting you go anytime soon. You decided that you might as well rest now. Maybe once you recover some energy, you would be able to find a way out, though having to go through those terrifying rooms again was not something you looked forward to.

You let out another vexed exhale before sliding your shoes off and crawling into bed.

“You ▮▮▮▮?” The red umbrella man—which you were getting tired of mentally using—asked again. The word must mean ‘rest.’

“Correct,” you nodded. “Me rest.”

—

Human need rest. Human weak. Cute.

He didn’t understand the exact sleeping needs of a human yet, but considering how you woke up not long ago, you needed to sleep much more than he did.

His needs for rest were mostly limited to his mind. His body rarely needed any fuel; besides the occasional meal and fluid, he required little else. However, silencing his mind was a different matter.

It wasn’t a thing he needed often, but it was more constant than his need for consumption and physical rest. Every here and there, he slept in order to give his mind a break. Continuous thinking proved to be bothersome after a lengthy enough period, and so he would refresh himself by shutting down temporarily.

Human rest. Me take care.

As you made yourself comfortable in bed and lied down, you reached to pull the covers over yourself. The covers were just slightly too far away, which he noticed when you were about to sit up again.

Quickly, he reached for the covers himself, gently tugging it over your body. Your eyes opened in surprise, but as he rested the fabric on your shoulders, you seemed to relax.

Human happy. Me like. A lot like.

You raised your head slightly to look at him before smiling, seemingly content. The organ in his chest fluttered once again, an unsettling sensation. He looked down to examine his torso—nothing was wrong.

Not understand, he thought.

It didn’t matter too much, however. Your mouth was curved upwards in the most delightful way, and he felt the urge to touch it with his own, but refrained. He would take care of you and allow you to sleep first.

“Goodnight,” he couldn’t help returning your smile. Yours faltered for a slight second before you let out a nervous laugh.

Pleasant.

“Goodnight,” you repeated back to him.

You snuggled into the pillow, seemingly comfortable in the bed. He felt proud of having taken good care of you, like he decided he would.

Your eyelids fluttered briefly, but just when he thought you’d fallen asleep, you abruptly opened them.

“You have name?” you unexpectedly inquired.

He opened his mouth, about to tell you that he didn’t, when a sharp, buzzing static pierced through his skull. 

next chapter ->

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡