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zepskies · 2 days ago

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HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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kiyzukiy · 1 day ago

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Cat distribution system

Sypnosis: Life is hard as it is, so all we all wish for is some comfort in a furry friend. No one accounted for life playing funny tricks so what would happen if you find Caleb in a trash dumpster?

Tags: reader x Caleb, fluff, Cat!Caleb, crack?, funny (hopefully)

A/N: I got inspired by another fic I found on here with a similar flow. If anybody knows what I'm talking about please tag that person. I don't want to disregard any original ideas! >.<

As always, if I missed any tags please tell me.

Word count: 4.8k

I hope you enjoy <3

Divider by me

You groan as you stretch yourself out. Sitting too long is always such a hassle. Tired bones and you felt like your muscles have calcified. If you wouldn't have moved now someone could have mistaken you for a stone statue the way you were perched at your work desk and scrolled endlessly through files.

Doesn't matter now though. The clock finally releasing you from your workload. Tomorrow was also a day and the files wouldn't suddenly grow legs and run away. No need to do overtime today.

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake off your exhaustion and slowly blinking the dryness in your eyes away. One more stretch that let out a satisfying crack in your back and you stood up. Packing your things together and making sure that this time you also took your thermal mug with you. Waving your coworkers goodbye you made your way home. Head already in the clouds with your game. Planning your time out of doing your dailies and just admiring your favourite fictional man. A pity that they don’t build men like that in real life.

The chill evening air hitting your face made you shiver the first step you took outside. Cuddling up in your coat and wrapping your scarf up just a tad higher you began your track home.

Fuck it's cold, you think to yourself. When would spring arrive and you didn't have to be out in this freezing weather anymore? Don't get me wrong, winter is something beautiful and when the snow hits the landscape it was akin to a fairy tale setting. The sunsets even more stunning with the low light and making everything glisten. Colours spreading over the horizon in deep violet and heartwarming orange. Frozen over roads just a bit slippery which made your way to work a small adventure when you played the game “do I land on my bum today or not?”. But enough was enough.

You wanted the sun back in your days having had your fill with this gloomy grey cloudscape. Waking up when it was still dark out and going home when night greets you again was draining more of your energy than you liked to admit. What made matters worse wasn't even that it didn’t affect only you, but that the melancholic and cold atmosphere was spreading slowly over to the people around you. It was in the way minor inconveniences would grate the nerves of your colleagues or the small tick of the jaw of your boss. The forced smile in service people who normally would make it seem genuine. Point was: everyone was fed up and ready for the seasons to change. When was the last time you saw the sun actually? Was it last October? Two weeks ago? You don't remember anymore. Just- just a long time ago. Pretty sure. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but all you wanted was to feel the warmth again and getting your vitamin D in.

A rustle next to you snapped you out of your self-pitying lament. Confused you turned your head to the right. Nothing. Just a dark alley. A car passed you by on your left, shortly illuminating a sliver of said alley. A dumpster could be made out but nothing exciting. You shrugged your shoulders and took one step, but another rustle stopped you once more. A sigh left you. Would you really go investigate? You swore this is how the stupid character out of a horror movie always died. This exact way but the curiosity in your mind and veins tried their very best to lure you into that alley to go look. One peak wouldn't hurt right? A man who wanted to drag you into it would have done it by now. There wouldn't be a more perfect chance than right now. The way you stood there like a fine lady in bewilderment.

This is what you get when you forget the one time your headphones at home. If it would be any other day, you would have continued on. Having passed this particular alley countless times and in daylight it wouldn’t be as scary as it was in this instance. Hopping from one foot to the other, you were uncertain. Would you really? You also could just…leave. Never finding out and always wondering. Spending sleepless nights wondering what could have been in this very alley that made these rustling noises. Or you would forget about it as soon as tomorrow morning came. Maybe it was just the wind that blew over a leaf or bag. On the other hand this could be a cool story you could tell your friends about. Or you could get mugged.

Alright fuck it. You go. Otherwise you would stand out here in the cold for the next ten minutes pondering about if this decision will have negative consequences on your life.

Tentatively you took one step into the alley. Instantly your common sense kicked in and pressed adrenaline into your veins. My god, this is the way you would die. Mentally have written your testament and who you would leave behind what you took another step.

“Hello?”, you asked hesitantly into the night. Frustrated with yourself you grunted. Naturally a serial killer would answer you out of the alley with “yes, behind this dark corner. I made sandwiches, you want one?”.

You had half a mind just turning back around again, but as if on cue another rustle. This time followed with a bang out of the dumpster. You let out a breath of relief. Oh by the gods, it was just a stray animal…or was it? Nevertheless the strong grip of fear that held your breathing back let a bit loose and you made your way to the dumpster with sure steps.

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought that maybe an unlucky racoon got trapped in the dumpster and would meet an unsightly end in one of the waste disposal sites. Without a second thought you opened it and peered inside. Barely enough light from the street lights flooded one side of the dumpster and you saw- nothing. It was pitch black. Quickly you patted your pockets. First coat and then your pant pockets for your phone. One hand fished for it and rather clumsy you unlocked it to get to your flashlight. Now with your weapon of light you peered inside once more and this time you saw- trash. At first. A lot of it, nothing out of the ordinary for a dumpster in a lived in neighborhood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement and following it was your hand with your phone.

“Naaww you poor guy. How did you end up in here?”, you cooed after you spotted a brown cat that had a completely black right arm. Its fluffy fur was completely damped and it looked very dirty. Also something you could expect of a stray cat. Slowly and cautiously you held out your hand to it as to not scare the cat away.

“Come here. Let me help you”, you said in a low voice. The cat looked at you, then at your hand, rather unimpressed. In true cat manner it seemed like it wanted to say “I don't need your help puny little human”. You giggled.

“Come on. I don't bite and as soon as you are out of the dumpster I leave you alone. What do you say?”, you tried to reason with the cat as if it could understand you. To your astonishment it acted like it did. Suspicious of your hand the cat sniffed it first. Deeming you not an immediate threat it rose up from its position and stepped closer to your hand and yourself. Slowly you dragged your hand to a spot where you could easily grab the cat and lift it out.

“Alright buddy. I’m going to grab you now so don't make me regret it by scratching me”, you spoke more to yourself than the cat. You really didn't want to go to the next doctor and get a tetanus vaccine in. The cat still unimpressed with you followed your movement though. Securely you wrapped one hand around its ribcage and the other, after putting your phone away, beneath its hind paws and scooped it up and over the dumpster back on the ground.

“There ya go”, you smiled down at the cat. “Didn’t even hurt.”

The cat looked up at you and only then do you notice its blue eyes that really dipped into a deep violet. A splatter of yellowish green accompanied the irises. For such a beautiful cat to be a stray, you almost didn't believe it.

Also, the cat didn't move. You fully expected it to dash away as soon as its paws were back on the ground but it just stood in front of you. Almost like it was waiting for something.

“Go on now. Go home”, you crouched down and offered your hand again. “Or don't you have a home? Such a beautiful cat as yourself.”

The cat once more went to your hand. Starting to purr as it rubbed its head against your hand. Demanding pats.

“Yes”, you giggled. “Such a handsome cat. And friendly too. You must have a home, right?”

The cat meowed as if it tried to answer you. Your heart broke a bit. For sure this handsome fellow had a home. As you absentmindedly patted the cat all over you looked around. You felt no collar around the cat’s neck and wondered who it could belong to. Thinking about what to do next, the cat started to rub itself around you. Bumping into you and almost pushing you out of balance.

“Alright, alright”, you began patting it in earnest again.

“So, how about I take you home with me for now and then just put up missing posters, hm? Is that a plan?”, you asked the cat. Meowing back at you, you took it as a yes to your plan. Inwardly you celebrated. The cat distribution system finally chose you! Maybe not for long but you now were in the possession of a new cuddly friend. You might not have anything at home but that could be easily fixed. This beautiful fellow also might not stick around for long but for however long you swore you would take the best care of him. Her? It? Right, you never ascertained which gender the cat had. Eh, whatever. As long as you didn't get attached to it and without much pain could give it away again, all was good. Right. Right?

Future you will hate you for this decision.

The cat stretched, walking around you once more and then pawing at your knees as if to beg to get picked up again. Opening your coat and scooping it up from the ground, you fulfilled the cat’s wishes.

“My god. You are really friendly”, you mused to yourself and scratched the cat's head to which in return it purred even louder.

Together you made your way out of the alley. The dumpster forgotten and your way home just a bit warmer.

“Don’t run away, okay?”, you said softly to the cat before untangling it from your torso. On your track home it made itself very comfortable on you while you carried it. Its head often flitting from one place to another. You blamed the new height of perspective for the cat's behaviour. Couldn’t blame it, really. Imagine yourself getting hoisted up five times your own height and then carried around places that you never seen before. Now that would be an adventure. For the most part the breathing was calm so you didn’t worry that much. More surprised at the fact how the cat didn’t struggle once to get free. Just enjoying the free ride.

Cat on the ground in front of the door of your apartment you dove one hand into your bag, trying to find your keys that you carelessly flung inside. With half an eye on the cat all the time. Not that it would decide in the last moment to make a run for it. Granted that it wouldn’t come far or could cats push open an apartment complex door? Probably not or the coincidence would just be big enough that one of your neighbors decided to go out in that exact moment as well.

You shook your head off these thoughts. Cat was still on the ground and eyeing your door expectantly. Seemingly cat wasn’t even thinking about going anywhere but inside your apartment and here you were already thinking about all the different possible scenarios that would ensue when it ran away. Silly you.

Key victoriously between your fingers you finally unlocked your home and cat dashed inside like the devil was after it. Puzzled you stood at your door for a bit.

“Alright? Well…make yourself at home, I guess”, slowly trudging you went after it into your own four walls. Serotonin tingling your brain with the happiness that cat was very excited to explore its new home.

Exhaustion slowly made itself apparent. Clawing at you and dragging your already tired body. Exhaustion and hunger but motivation wasn’t nowhere near you to make yourself food instantly. Cat on the other hand was curiously looking around. Taking in its new environment. Sniffing, patting around and jumping on shelves to get a better view.

“Don’t throw it down, I swear to god”, you warned as you spotted cat near a vase with flowers inside. Body despite the sluggish feeling ready to jump to save the vase from its crashing end. Expertly the cat avoided the glass and danced around anything that was not stable. You let out a breath of relief. Automatically your body carried to your couch in the living room on which you rather unceremoniously slumped down on. Ah, finally home.

_____

How the fuck did he get here? One moment he was in the deepspace tunnel, conducting a new mission and the next he had four paws. Trash surrounded him, it was fucking dark too. He could make out the sound of cars passing by and people walking on the street. Where was he? To his own surprise he wasn’t that cold until he realised that he had fur as well and when he tried to speak only a meow came out. In no way in hell did he turn into a cat, did he? No. What?

In his moment of utter disorientation, a lid opened and a beautiful face peered down to him. Down? Ah, right. The cat thing.

Caleb watched you fumble for your phone only to be blinded the very next moment by the harsh light of a phone flashlight. It took several blinks to get his bearing again. You reached out your hand to him. Now this was getting ridiculous. “Poor guy”? “How did he end up here”? Sweetheart, that's what he should be asking. Who the fuck are you anyway and why did you open up this-? Where was he? Is this a trash dumpster? Oh his fucking gods. If he could sigh in annoyance, he would.

Caleb eyed your hand suspiciously. The smart move would be to take it. Considering everything, he couldn’t get out of this dumpster alone and what could be worse is that, tomorrow the dumpster could be emptied. Nor did he trust humanity enough that another friendly soul would come and pick him up or at least get him out. You were his only shot right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So? He sniffed you. Creepy in his own mind but he was a cat now. The least he could do was to make it look convincing.

You pulled your hand closer to yourself as if to lure him out of his corner. As if he wouldn’t just go to you willingly. How long would he need to put up with this act? Irritation flared up within him. This is so beneath him.

Scratch you? Yeah, why not actually? Instead he let him get picked up gently. Now was not the time to bite the hand that was feeding him.

The moment was faster over than he could comprehend. Swoop- and he was back on the ground. Caleb looked around. Alright, an alley and- you. In your full glory. Black pants, hair tied up, thick scarf around your neck, an open hanging coat and warm looking boots. Beautiful, pretty and cozy looking. Not a threat. A quick scan and he was certain you carried no gun. Not his worst choice, he thought.

Let's make a run for it. What do cats normally do to get pity? Humans usually die to pet them. Swallowing his pride he went to you. Did he like to get touched? Sensitive question. If it would be his childhood friend, he wouldn’t mind but a complete stranger? In this form no less? God, that needed willpower and he was already running low because of this situation. Please let this all be a dream and he would wake up in a few moments in Skyhaven.

“A home?”, yeah in the arms of someone else but that was not here. Just where in heaven sake was he? Get this over with, woman and just take him with you.

Please, he meowed. Inwardly he sighed. Good lord…

Mercy was shown and you actually picked him up. Giddy and a happy smile on your face you wrapped him up in your coat. It was warm and against his own doing he began to purr at the sensation. Okay so maybe this wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Distracted a bit and sleep pulling at him, he let himself enjoy this small reprieve for a bit.

Lights flitted by behind his eyelids and he looked around. First fact? This is not Linkon nor Skyhaven. Second, he didn’t recognise anything. If this was in fact a dream, his subconsciousness was running wild today. The only thing grounding him was you. Your warmth, your soothing touch and your somewhat familiar scent that he confused with that of MC. It wasn’t as overwhelming or confusing when he could nuzzle up to you for now. Just shortly, only for a bit. To get his mind back on track, you know?

The walk you both took, well- you took with him being carried, was not long lived. You said something but he didn’t pay any attention. Something something not running away something something. Where would he go anyway? For christ sake he was a cat right now. First thing he needs to get rid off anyway. Second thing was to get back home. Like home. Once more begging to the skies above that this was a dream. A very vivid one. Caleb couldn't decide if this was a nightmare or not. Was he maybe more exhausted than he wanted to admit? Did he have an accident on his expedition and was now in a coma? Please let it be just that. Maybe also just cognitive training done by Ever. What does he know?

He heard keys jiggling, a soft clicking of a lock falling back and then a door opening. The ash-brown haired man…uh cat made a run for it. Into the apartment! He stopped in his tracks to get everything in. Analysing your furniture and layout. There was one floor length window that opened up to a small, cozy balcony. A couch in an open space that he guessed was your living room. With a TV mounted to the opposite side of the couch. A lengthy cupboard underneath. On it a few nick-nacks: a charger cable connected to a tablet, a switch console and a bunch of books. The couch itself was decorated with plushies and cushions rounded up with a throw blanket. Some of the walls accented by warm pastel colours to widen the otherwise small space. He peered down one corridor and made out two doors. Guessing one of them was a bathroom and the other your own.

Caleb inspected your walls. The one on the far end and left of the couch was more bookshelf than wall. Filled up almost to the brim but he spotted also there nick-nacks in between. He jumped on the couch arm and continued on another shelf. Slowly getting closer to your kitchen area. Once more he heard you say something. Bla bla not throwing down something. He had half a mind to fuck with you, but again not the opportunity to bite the hand that feeds him. Curious what you meant in the first place he looked back and felt the vase against his body. God it was so weird to see his fluffy legs and a tail too. Dirt clung to the fur and he wondered what he did before he regained his consciousness in that dumpster. But better not test what it would take to make you throw him out back on the street. For all he could know, you could be the one with answers. If not, he could still leave.

Rustling and then a dull thumb. Caleb once more looked back. You all but collapsed on your couch and let out a sigh. Tiredness was written all over your face. Your body practically radiated exhaustion. The ash-brown cat didn’t notice before but how could he? Way too immersed in his own problems. Nonetheless were you kind enough to pick him up. Brave enough to go into that spooky alley. Hell, he wouldn’t have. Not without a gun at least. You also were nice enough to carry him here. Not once complaining. If he dares to say, happy to have him with you. Just as warm as he was. Disregarding that he smelled like the trash he lay in.

Suddenly you moved, like you just remembered something important. As if possessed you scrambled up and reached for your tablet. Okay?

Back to discovering your place he left you to your own devices.

Noises sprung from your tablet. An interesting melody and a woman singing. Just what were you doing? Playing a game? Well, he was done looking at your kitchen that was, well what could be interesting about a kitchen? It was a kitchen. Jumping from the counter to your table and back on the ground he tapped over to you. One last jump on the couch right next to you. What he saw next made his breath hitch.

There she was. His childhood friend. On the screen…with another guy? Did you just took pictures of her with another man? Who was he? Some dude with white hair and a pose slung around his childhood friend. They looked happy together. Frozen in time for the picture. What is going on? Did you know her? How could you do this? How- what? How did you take pictures of her? Switching her poses like that? But why did it look so much like a game? Like a 3D rendering of her? What was going on?

But as soon as he needed to process what he saw, your fingers deftly moved over the screen and collected some rewards in an…event? What? Huh?

“Is it a new bug? Why can’t I select Caleb?”, you mumbled to yourself. Completely oblivious to the distress ball that he was right now. To your own confusion you couldn’t do anything with Caleb in your game besides recalling the memories you have obtained of him.

The head of just mentioned man reared. What was happening? Did you know him? What was this game? Who are you? What is happening?!

Enough, he jumped on your tablet.

“What the- ey!”, you exclaimed and he just meowed back. That's what he wanted to yell right now. What was going on?! Answer him!

“You can’t just- get off!”, you giggled. Not taking his jumbling, confusing emotions and obvious distress seriously.

Okay, different approach. He quickly needed a different approach. Before he could come up with anything you picked him up once more and placed him beside you. Damn him right now for being nothing but an eight pound raging ball of fur. Take him seriously, god damn it! Caleb began to meow again and cursed inside his thoughts. One paw on your tablet, but you giggled again.

“What is it? You also want to play?”, you smiled at him, picked him up. Again. Woman, do it one more time and he is going to forget his rational part about him and would really bite you. He needed answers and not pats. Oh- okay. You placed him on your lap. The tablet on your knees so he could have a good view of it.

“Should I explain it to you?”, you continued on and began showing him everything the game had to offer. Beginning with talking with four different men, battling wanderers in bounty hunting or abyssal chaos up to the “main story”, as you called it, until the memories you collected of said four men. Him included as the fifth. What? Without thinking he raised his paw on “falling for you” and selecting himself. Not half a fuck given that he gave himself away, that he was, in fact, not a cat. That's the whole point though, wasn't it? He was a man! Not a damn cat! He was stuck here. God knows where and you! You just playing with her life, with his! With his life like it was a game?!

These were…all his, well some of them anyway, memories he had with MC. The childhood friend he tried to protect at all costs. Given that his methods weren’t always as pure as he wanted them to be but more often than not necessary. All splayed out for your eyes to see and…rekindle them? Watch them over and over? Relive them?

“Do you like him?”, you asked in a soft voice and he turned to look at you. Totally not caring that he, a cat, was patting on your tablet with human like intelligence. Were you that tired? Half asleep already?

Like him? He was him! How could he tell you that? So that you would explain further. Maybe he could figure out this way how he got here. Wrecking his brain he tried to come up with anything. Fuck it. Fucking dip this cat shit. Even more so than he already has. How blaringly obvious did he need to be? For your rather slow mind to comprehend what he means.

Trying to figure out how to show you, tell you or rather scream at you that this 3D rendering of him was he, he put a paw on his image and then on his furry body. As well as he could at least. Which in result was him patting his image then getting up, sitting on his hind legs and putting his paw on his torso area. Caleb begged to the skies above that you understood his message but to his dismay you looked at him puzzled. Oh his fucking gods…

Alright. Different approach. This was taking all of his patience and he barely had none.

Once more he put one paw on his image that beneath showed a short video out of the perspective of what he only could guess was MC. He didn’t want to think too long about it. Focus. Again he raised his other paw and put it on his chest. This time though he meowed and looked at you imploringly. Please, please let this be enough so you put two and two together. But even he realised that this was rather far-fetched and if this same thing would happen to him, neither would he understand what a cat would try to tell him.

“What is it? Why-”, and then you looked at the screen that froze over the memory. “Hm?”

Oh my god, did you understand? Please!

You looked past his small frame and he could see the thoughts behind your eyes. Yes, yes, yes. Yeah, he was Caleb! Come on. Give him answers!

“Nah”, you giggled. Not knowing what you might have said he just nodded with his head.

“His name is Caleb, should I call you that as well?”, you thought out loud and stroked down from his head to his back.

No! Yes, his name was Caleb but no! God fucking damn it. Just how was he supposed to tell you that Caleb was well- him. He was Caleb. The same man, now a cat in this universe, that you saw on that screen. Distraught, he wrecked his brain. Unfortunate for him there was no book or briefing or training he could have done to prepare him for playing charades as a cat. “How weird would it be if I named you after a otome game video character?”, you sighed. “God, I must be very lonely to even be considering that.” Maybe, but not the point here, woman. You could question your terrible life choices another time but right now, he needed you to figure out his image riddle!

~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*

Henlo, to everybody that made it all the way down here! I plan on making this a multi part story, so stay tunned! If anybody has some cat involved stuff and want to see it here, don't be too shy to tell me about it <3

Thank you for reading, beautiful soul

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #reader x caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff

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eriisaam · 8 hours ago

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Breaching tag containment for this cuz this one has layers to it that I don't mind rambling about. (Although I realize maybe I should breach containment on tags for this anyways from now on, hmm...)

The big reason why is that a lot of my OCs tend to already be in a romance-option-inclined genre to begin with (glaringly, Enoli and his group, but also many others who aren't established or settled enough to be established yet, who also have similar plans of being part of dating sim/relationship-building esque projects to begin with). Those OCs I'm a lot more vague on between 'this will spoil huge components of them before you can get all their context' and 'I'm not sure how consistent this point will be now compared to when they finally debut in public', but they are usually available straight away and around the same time (after establishing themselves to give you an idea of them first) to let you either make an informed pick all at once, or reach out to them at your own pace (while being accessible around the same time), with very few exceptions that usually have pretty big plot-heavy reasons why you couldn't access them right away by comparison. (That being said, some also DO have early access to them, but less directly.)

The only OCs who weren't initially part of a project like this still flirted on the idea and concept, and for those, the summoner OCs, they're a lot more varied depending on their contexts.

As summoner OCs as they are currently? I've toyed with the idea on making even a 'let's practice how to make a visual novel with this for exercise sake' with just running their lore into a VN, with a new player character stand-in as an OC unique to this version, but had always been torn otherwise to keep it true to the lore, make adjustments (for instance the summoners abandoning their relationships in favor of the MC, or shrinking it heavily to be mostly summoner-isolated or even determinant), just as much as I've debated on whether or not to separate from their fandom roots altogether for a new storyline entirely (especially since an idea of the MC being present, making hugely-impactful choices potentially changing the summoner OCs' relationships among other things, and even bonding with them whether romantically or otherwise, already heavily changes things as it is from their original story roots to begin with).

By default, Erin, Kyo, Teru and Sparrow are the only ones of the four who are readily available as-is because those four are the earliest arrivals in their group. Ephrel spent much of the time dead and heavily casting a shadow over Sparrow's story (and route), but doesn't actually become available as someone you could've interacted with until quite a while later on, when they resurface and are fully rescued. Eclair, meanwhile, is also a late addition by virtue he didn't even exist right away, and it wasn't until much later (around or earlier than Ephrel's return) where he was created, rescued, and became a permanent party member likewise, and while doesn't cast such a heavy shadow over Kyo as Ephrel did for Sparrow, he's still pretty significant to Kyo's route likewise in his own way.

This also gets muddled by the fact that while Erin and Teru are usually the most isolated in terms of romantic relationships among the six (except in AUs I toyed with where Erin has leanings alongside Sparrow and Ephrel while Teru has leanings with Kyo and Eclair), Teru was already Kyo's ex from the start, Eclair and Kyo are already close and eventually got together, and Ephrel and Sparrow eventually got close together likewise, so the paths end up splitting more like: Erin, Teru, Kyo & Eclair, Sparrow & Ephrel as it is.

There were also very specific circumstances that happened to lead to certain incidents to play out as they had, meaning that if it didn't stick to their strict canon, the aforementioned floated idea of the MC significantly changing course of their lives could either end up with the aforementioned merged paths after all (Erin/Sparrow/Ephrel, or Teru/Kyo/Eclair), or might split them all even further apart (individually rather than mixed). And all of this is only factoring in those specific OCs, not even their not-so-OC supports/friendships/other romantic partners.

In a fully original plot? It's much more possible to bring back that mostly-consistent design rule as the other not-as-focused OCs I brought up earlier. Circumstances could change to make all of the six much more immediately, readily available, rather than hidden in one another's plots, or merging or splitting in ways that you'd have to rewrite massive chunks of their story lines to adjust course on to get. (Since this in itself just throws out all the pre-establishments to start over with something way more malleable now.)

Barring the six still having certain leanings, and some of those leanings being much more flexible this time, this can bring up more layers to them of all of them gradually opening up to the MC just as much individually as they can in a group that bounces off to one another.

All of which is to say... It's been something I've been thinking about and considering for a good while, but wasn't sure whether or not to explore more (and in better specific detail than this vague dancing-around-the-point way as to not go too off-topic or waffling on in probably-boring stuff), I just wasn't sure on the best approach to it between whether or not to keep them as-is, whether or not to use what I got to springboard something more flexible, or whether or not to just take them into a new world and story entirely to start anew with (now that I have a somewhat broader idea of where to go with this compared to when I started). Or if it's better time to put into making a new cast to go into a new setting, rather than the summoners who have so much already developed, people might get tired of, and would just annoy people to push into outright projects of that kind over just moving on with new OCs.

Food for thought I guess...

If your OC were a romance/friend option in a game, how would their route be unlocked, and how difficult would it be to complete their route successfully?

#Tag Lore #(for consistency but)

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setmeatopthepyre · 1 day ago

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WIP wednesday tagged by the amazing @rcmclachlan and @agentpeggycartering <3 thank you!

here is some more from the fic formerly known as phosphorescence, now renamed pothos | pathos or pothos fic for short. follows [this]

Eddie worries about Buck.

And, if he lets himself think about it, he feels a little guilty for only worrying about Buck now, and not before.

Sure, he'd felt bad for the guy when Tommy dumped him but, well, Buck had been dumped before. He always ended up fine.

Maybe Eddie should have caught on earlier to the ways things were different this time around. Part of that was because Tommy was his friend, and that made things a little awkward, but he'd figured out soon enough that if he just... avoided talking with Tommy about Buck and with Buck about Tommy, it was... fine. He was just a little more vague about it when he had plans with either of them. Easy.

It wasn't exactly like he didn't have anything else on his mind, what with Christopher speaking to him in actual multi-word sentences these days and the whole El Paso house hunt.

Still, he should have probably caught on the fact that it was weird, how easy it was to avoid the subject of Tommy around Buck. At least, in depth.

Sure, Buck talked a lot about how he wanted to reach out, how he'd seen Tommy bubble him again, and the baking... well, the baking spoke for itself. Still, it had taken Buck a full week to share any sort of details as to why he and Tommy had broken up, how it had happened. Even then, Buck had been pretty closed off about it.

And then Buck just... kept baking. And, okay, sue Eddie, it hadn't pinged anything at first because Buck has a tendency to get a little intense about things in general. Until now, those things usually only lasted for a short period of time before Buck wore himself out and things went right back to normal. Or he would go on to the next thing, which, for Buck, was normal.

But the baking went on, so Eddie had figured, hey, Buck had a new hobby. It was a way to cope that wasn't unhealthy for anyone except the people he kept trying to pawn his pastries off to. He was keeping local businesses running with his shopping habits. Buck was keeping himself busy, processing his emotions in a way that didn't involve suing the department or having to be bailed out of jail. You know, all good things. So surely it was fine.

But now... the Tommy thing.

Eddie had kept in contact with Tommy. They'd kept up their weekly hangouts and it hadn't been awkward, because they didn't talk about it. Tommy had looked a little more rough around the edges and he was a little quieter than he had been, but Eddie could tell he was dealing with it in his own way. Their sparring got an extra edge of intensity to it and Eddie enjoyed the extra challenge. Figured if Tommy wanted to talk, he'd talk. But he didn't, so they didn't. Easy as that.

Eddie thought it was, well, fine.

But now Buck is very clearly not fine, and Eddie just watches and sips his coffee while Buck gestures emphatically as he says something to Maddie.

“Have you talked to him?”

Chimney appears by his side and Eddie very nearly inhales his next sip. “Holy-- Chim, stop sneaking up on people like that.”

“Well, have you?”

Eddie dabs at his shirt, trying to figure if he's going to need to change or if the dark blue fabric masks the coffee stain well enough. Glances over to find Chimney still standing next to him, also watching Maddie and Buck.

“You talking about Buck, or Tommy?” Eddie finally asks.

“Either, or.”

“Talked to Tommy day before yesterday. He seemed fine.”

“What about Buck?” Chim says, turning towards Eddie. “Has he... talked to you?”

Somehow Eddie suspects he doesn't mean just in general. “About...?”

“His... theory.”

Eddie frowns. “No, he hasn't mentioned a theory. What kind of theory?”

Chimney ignores his question. “Nothing about Tommy seeming... off?”

“No, I...” Eddie hesitates, thinks back. “Well, he has been asking a lot more questions. But like, trying to be subtle about it, you know?”

Chimney hums.

Eddie casts him a sidelong glance. “Why? What'd he say to you?”

“I probably shouldn't say,” Chimney says. He's fidgeting. Eddie waits him out.

All it takes is a single raised eyebrow on his part and one glance up from Chimney, and Chim cracks. “Fine, but this stays between us, alright?” He glances around them. “He thinks Tommy isn't Tommy.”

Eddie lets the words sink in. Waits for them to make sense. They don't. “What the hell does that mean?”

“See? That's what I asked him, but he couldn't explain it. Just said he wasn't acting like himself.”

Eddie considers this. “I mean, he has seemed a little different, recently.”

“Different how?”

Eddie thinks its a good thing Buck isn't here to hear it, honestly felt guilty about even noticing it, before. “Honestly? Tommy seems... better.”

“Better how?”

Eddie shrugs again. “Calmer? Like he's actually getting some sleep these days.”

“Shit,” Chimney huffs.

“Yeah.”

“Don't tell Buck that.”

“Wasn't planning to.”

They finish their coffee in silence.

big big shout out to the one and only @hubcaphalo for the input re: eddie pov

no pressure wip wednesday tags for @trombonechurchill @geddyqueer @sugarpenchant @ambernotember @leashybebes @beanarie @bidisasterevankinard @iphyslitterator

tag list for those who requested tags for this fic under the cut ↓

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly @nochance-noway @manifestingchaoticvibes @hyperfocusthusly @frogsinflannel @beanarie @rcmclachlan @sad-girl-hours23 @ambernotember @apartmentsmoke

let me know if you wanna be added or removed!

#dyiiiing to hear what yall think please let me know #also first time writing eddie pov!#pothos fic #<- was it sooo important to change the name? no but this fits much much better and it would bother me if I didn't #wip wednesday #my writing #wip #bucktommy #911 fic #bucktommy fic #phosphorescence fic #tevan fic

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mvctavish · 1 day ago

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hi! i found your blog and i loved your cod hcs. can you do more gaz hcs, but basically abt how he is a husband/what it would be like to be his wife, please? thank you if you write it! :3

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐆𝐀𝐙 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

notes: hi!! i'm glad you like them <3 thanks for this request I LOVE THIS MAN

summary: general headcanons of gaz as a husband

cw: wife!reader, mentions of kids/pregnancy, i think that's it but lmk if i missed anything!!

౿ ۪ ݁ kyle will always, always wear his wedding ring — no matter how impractical it is. the metal is uncomfortable underneath his gloves, and digs into his skin even without them on. but to him, the pain is worth it. he doesn't see the golden band as just a ring, it's a symbol of the love he'd given you and a life you both shared. it's the promises he made to you, ones he has full intentions on keeping. it's a reminder that a part of you is always with him, even when you're worlds apart. one evening when he was home from deployment, you'd noticed the indents in his ring finger, skin rubbed raw from the friction. you managed to convince him to let you buy one of those silicone rings (yk??) and force him to wear it instead when he's working. kyle always keeps his actual wedding ring on the chain that holds his dog tags. he enjoys the cool metal against his chest, and that way, you're even closer to his heart.

this man is so so soft for you. of course, there's a few rocky points in your relationship because nobody is perfect, but you're the closest thing to it. you're perfect for him, and that's all that matters. you're the light of kyle's life. he constantly thinks about you whilst he's on the battlefield. your existence can give him enough determination to keep going and get through tough times. he needs to make it home to you, his angel, his wife. he tends to show his love in quieter ways. soft gazes and gentle kisses to your cheek or temple.

he splits the housework 50/50 when he's home with you. it's his one chance to live a relatively normal and domestic life, even if that means he's stuck washing the dishes or doing the laundry. something people don't talk about enough if how smart this man is. he's a genius on and off of the battlefield, which is why he's in charge of settling the finances and whatnot. kyle is very, very handy (years in the military exposed him to quite a few odd jobs) so you never have to worry about any of the utilities at the house. when something's out of order while he's home, he's fixing it as soon as you tell him. he makes sure to teach you along the way, surprisingly patient, so that you can fix it on your own in case he isn't around next time something is amiss.

insists on driving you everywhere you go when he's on leave, whether that be work, an appointment, the store.. anywhere. regardless of if you have your own license or not — your husband is your own personal chaperone. he claims it's because he wants to spend as much time with you as possible, but it's truly rooted in a deeper reasoning. kyle tends to worry a lot. he knows you're independent and capable (you kinda have to be when you're married to a military man) but he prefers to be there, just in case. he knows how the world works, how everything can change in one split second. kyle is very protective, not in a sense that he won't let you go out on your own, but if you are out together, he's always got to have some part of his body touching you. he's got a hand on the small of your back, your pinky intertwined with his own. he wants everyone to know that you're taken, you're his. it usually does a good job at keeping the creeps away.

this may seem odd, but kyle is a master at hair braiding. he'd gone through a few phases as a teenager, and learned how to do his own box braids. so, need help with your hair? he'd love to help. brushing your hair and helping you with your hair care is honestly one of his favorite things to do. when it's been a long day and he's too tired to do anything else, kyle will sit you down on the edge of your shared bed and pull you into his lap. he'll gently brush through your hair, taking time to be tender and careful as he works through particularly stubborn knots. "there you go, angel. all better." and he'd press a quick peck below your ear before putting your hair up into your usual nighttime style.

onto the topic of kids... i definitely see kyle wanting at least one or two of his own. not in a "must carry on the legacy" sort of way; but he'd always been good around children. having his own little family had always seemed like a distant dream until he married you, and you had your little girl. he made sure to take an extended leave when it got close to your due date so he'd be present and help you through postpartum and the newborn stages. kyle had done a crap ton of research beforehand, way back in the stages when you were still trying to conceive. he attended every single birthing class you went to (and did garner a few odd looks from the other mothers-to-be) so he'd be prepared for any scenario. going back to the topic of hair, your baby girl is born with curly hair like kyle. he wouldn't hesitate to teach you (if you didn't already know) how to care for her hair as she gets older and how to braid and style it on your own. after every single deployment, he makes sure to bring back some sort of trinket from overseas for his daughter. whether it's a handmade doll from the phillipines, or a unique bracelet from russia. overall, kyle is a very involved husband, especially when it comes to your child. it wouldn't take long for him to ask for one more.

#mvctavish ༉‧₊˚ . 🪽#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #gaz x reader #kyle garrick headcanons #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #gaz headcanons #task force 141

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livelaughlou · 24 hours ago

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little Louliver fic while I procrastinate on working on schoolwork? @cjlouwho and @louvemeanyway encouraged this and they probably don't even remember. Inspired by Lou's latest Instagram dancing post. Which I HAVE NOT watched like 50 times.

louliver (rpf) - words: 600-ish - Rating: mature (probably bordering on explicit) - complete

cw: edging

Once Shanna kicks him out of her house, he heads home and hops in the shower. When he gets out, the text is waiting for him.

It's a link to the Instagram post and under it, Oliver has put wtf is wrong with you.

Lou can't help it, he snorts a laugh at his phone and types just having fun. we're not all British snobs.

The response is an immediate rude. come open the door.

He frowns, before he can respond, Oliver sends him a picture of his front door.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, rushing out to the front door and pulling it open to see Oliver leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. His curls are in full force and he's still wearing a pair of sunglasses, which he pulls down his nose to give Lou a once over.

Lou raises an amused eyebrow, but holds the front door open. "Can I help you?"

Oliver pushes past him, swiping a hand across the knot of the towel. "I'm bored."

"That's my problem, how?"

Oliver snorts. "Oh, come on, you love entertaining me."

"Seems like I wasn't the only one who was entertained," Lou teases as he moves back up the stairs to get dressed.

Oliver follows him just like he knew he would. "You were twerking to Kendrick Lamar!"

Lou laughs. "Actually, it was not Kendrick Lamar at the time, Shanna added that to the video after."

"Oh," Oliver says as they get to his bedroom. "What was it?"

Lou drops the towel. "Not telling."

Oliver's grin turns sassy and bratty and Lou has yet to tell him this, but he especially loves him this way, when Lou knows he's going to be a little shit.

He moves toward him, runs a finger down his chest. "Bet I could make you."

Lou grabs his hips, pulls him in until their lips are just about to touch, then he says in a low voice that he knows drives Oliver insane, "Try me."

Oh, yep, there's that little shiver, but Lou doesn't have time to gloat when Oliver kisses him, all teeth and tongue, but it's over too quickly.

At first anyway. Instead, Oliver moves kisses down along his jaw, down his neck, their stubble scraping together as neither of them bothers shaving if they're not working that day and it feels fucking amazing.

Oliver moves further down, licks a nipple, then stops to look at him. "How about now?"

Lou exhales, tries to keep his composure but he knows it's a losing battle. They've been doing this long enough that they know what each other's tells are, how to drive each other crazy. It's honestly the most fun in a relationship he's ever had.

"Sorry," Lou breathes. "Not good enough."

Oliver snorts, licks the other nipple. "You're a yapper, love. I'll get you to talk."

Lou knows he will, but why make it easy on him?

He's soon pushed onto the bed and Oliver is settling contentedly between his spread thighs, looking for all the world like he's exactly where he wants to be.

He wraps a hand around Lou's cock, strokes it just once and it's fucking torture.

Oliver just looks at him with a raised eyebrow of his own. There's a curl falling on his forehead and Lou reaches forward to push it away.

"You're super cute," Lou says, voice still far too breathy for his liking. "But nope."

Oliver bends down and puts his mouth to use, over and over, starting and stopping and goddamnit, Lou didn't see himself getting edged today over an Instagram post, but if he was gonna die, this would be the way to do it.

He tells Oliver the damn song.

rpf tag list (go here if you would like to be added or removed):

@mmso-notlikethat, @bisexualbrainrots, @just-barrow, @gaybonesforivy, @superlock-in-the-tardis

@loulou-land, @mehhhhhhhhhhgggg, @deansmilo, @evansbuck-ley, @changmin-lord-of-chaos

@hevans89, @aaronntviet, @sirnikolas, @casismybestfriend, @sad-girl-hours23

@thetommykinard, @hehasacleft, @fuselsstuff, @gaytommykinard, @louvemeanyway

@cjlouwho, @louisjude

#911 #louliver #rpf #fic #my fic

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inseparabiles · 21 hours ago

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Please, never apologise for your rambles. I love reading your tags and posts.

When Lucius interrupts him giving mercy

This kills the man. This is so embarrassing. At the opening of their games, this slave talks straight back to him - rejects his mercy - and then proceeds to kill his champion. In front of 50 000 people. Geta has no power here, and everyone can see it.

I think you could even argue when he tries to repeat the poem but doesn't remember it and Lucilla corrects him.

This? This whole thing: it starts from the night before, Caracalla is giving him hell for all his money's worth here over this. Lucius recites a poem - an extremely well-known one, from an epic everyone knows through and through, and a child would know to recite (the quote lines the walls of Lucius's childhood bedroom). Geta humiliates himself when he doesn't know how to react to it, and doesn't recognise it: Macrinus has to clarify for him, and then this fucking creature, who's high off his mind, flashing the room, making demands and being a big wasted slut, comes from behind him laughing like he always knew it was a fucking poem and that's the funniest shit that ever happened. The look Geta gives his twin when the scene ends is absolutely scalding:

(Even the fact that Caracalla actually does turn his gaze away by the time the camera cuts tells you how fucking livid Geta is, because in the pause, he first gives him a very teasing look. He's very clearly making fun of Geta, but the sheer brimstone he's getting in return actually makes him back off, even as intoxicated as he is he knows he's going too far.)

And now, when Geta brings it up again with this gladiator, just the fact that Caracalla doesn't seem to give one fuck about it. The way he dismisses him, again, in front of everybody. Not his concern, not important; Geta's thoughts are not important to him. He's left begging for anyone else to care - but he still can't remember the poem.

It might be a saving grace that Lucilla does, because if nobody helped him, he'd be standing there like a proper moron with no support at all.

Nearly getting shot by Lucius during the second colosseum game in front of his subjects. Could the average person sitting there really see that it was A: a deliberate shot into their seats or B: that it nearly hit Geta? There's a noise from the crowd that indicates yes, which I'm sure did NOT sit well with Geta. Even if Lucius was aiming at Acacius, Geta was almost grievously injured if not killed by a gladiator.

This. Dear gods. The only two people who know it was aimed at Acacius are Acacius and Lucius. Everyone else thinks it was meant for Geta. That is an open act of rebellion: no wonder he calls for all of them to be punished, and frankly I am stunned he didn't outright call for them to be crucified as a lot. I think that's only because it's Macrinus's crew that saves them.

When Acacius laughs while Geta is rambling about treason and betrayal.

At his fear. His terror, out in the open: at the reality of how close they came to death there, and at the thought of being written out of history, forgotten. Acacius laughs at him, at his most vulnerable - dismisses his fear, his pain, and the one thing he believes meant something to them. He's never learned the lesson that Acacius is not and has never been glory-seeking: his own worst fear is that no one will ever think more of him than his father did. That he'll never be anything more than a scared boy.

There is also that deleted scene where Caracalla asks where Geta is, seemingly forgetting that Geta is dead. I have no idea where that was supposed to fit into the movie, but either way the humiliation continues.

This is before Lucilla's execution; "Macrinus greets Caracalla", they're travelling from the Palatine to the Colosseum for the games in the morning, two nights after Geta's death, the day after Caracalla's appointment of Consuls. If I know how to read, anyway, I'm really bad at keeping track of days.

The thing that stings me about this is that in all of Caracalla's denial of what's happened, he thinks of Geta still as his biggest supporter: "He should be here. He would be so happy for me."

And he's right, because Geta would be. To see his brother rise to be the Emperor, in his full right. But the one person, this one and only person he thought loved him - who was a hellion, certainly, always getting on his nerves, always humiliating him, always crossing him, but still the closest to him, the most important person in Geta's universe - can't accept his death, refuses to acknowledge it or cannot (all of my money on cannot), and allows himself only to either think of him as something that was false and wrong and that had to be destroyed, or else still as someone who would have willingly stood aside for him to shine: who loved him unconditionally, and would have forgiven him for anything, and even then, would just step aside and let him shine. If he were able to. If he wasn't dead, with Macrinus using his remains as a grotesque statement to the change of power.

Whether Caracalla knows what Macrinus did with the head, or the body, I don't know. But he does know that Geta would always put him first. Even after his death, he'd still be happy for him to see him rise.

And he's right and he's right and he's right and that is the greatest tragedy in this movie to me. How Geta always feels so fiercely - but at every turn, he's denied that, he's humiliated for it, and then he's not only disposed of and used like a prop for shock effect, but forgotten like his worst fear was. Even by Caracalla. Even by his own twin, who he would have given anything up for.

I'm going to go deepthroat an electric eel now, bye.

moon, meet sun

#gladiator

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wizardandpirate · 3 days ago

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Me when im evil

(Future of AU + info under cut)

Doodles for my lil' Doey AU:], AU where he splits into the 3 kids instead of dying. Translations of my god awful handwriting and plans for the AU below. Warning; whole lot of yapping... too tired for filter.

"The gentle voices lie."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't hurt me."

Doesn't remember how to be a kid <-

Me when Tumblr is stupid and won't let me make Jack's text yellow.

Also if you can't tell who's who, Matthew has a bow tie + hat on the middle of his head, Kevin has the spikey markings and hat on his left, and Jack has his hat on the right.

Anyways!

For the foreseeable future I'll post sketches like this sometimes, and maybe do a fully colored digital one if I have a really good idea. I probably won't make a bunch of art for this as I feel the idea is good but my art skills are a little too bad for it💔 but I do love the idea and might plan to write similar concepts.

I've realized if I do write a fic for this, it may or may not change the concept a little. I do adore this idea but I don't know if the factory is a setting I'd be good writing inside of. Might make a small fic about them escaping and surviving as a family though^^ probably being hunted though I fear😔 I do not think monster hunters, the government, or any other scientific facilities would let them off the hook. That's a setting I'm used to working in so it's why I'm more likely to write it in such a way, if I do at all.

Something something write outside your comfort zone but no actually because I write for comfort so fuck you actually, fuck you me who said that two seconds ago😎/silly/j

If you make any fanart for this AU, please please please tag me! Even if it's just a doodle you don't wanna post, please do show me. The idea has my heart and soul as does this freaking dough. They're literally my boys, okay? Beloved sons + kissy beloved daughter. I am their dad now. But if anyone wants to be their mom I mean../JJJJJ (im sorry.. lesbinism took over)

Me when it's almost 2AM and I'm still yapping about this freaking AU.

Asks are open for this AU^^ You can send asks with the very small chance I'll respond with doodles and the higher chance I'll respond with words. You can ask the character questions, and I'll respond in character, or just ask me directly. Idm either way, I'm not full on roleplaying though.

#doey #doey the doughman #poppy playtime chapter 4 #doey fanart #doodles #sketches #small doey #lil' doey

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suzukiblu · 1 day ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY GAME

Slimmed-down post/rules, but originally taken from @/kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday! This week’s theme winner is "I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face", a.k.a. Match. It's just Match.

Also we're only doing four WIPs this week because I keep having issues with actually getting to all five, so I'm hoping knocking one off the list will help me out there, since the main issue I'm having is switching between that many different WIPs. And if it doesn't help, maybe we'll try dropping down to three next time, hah.

Here’s how it works:

I will post the file names of five four WIPs, and will also post a snippet of new content from one of them to get the ball rolling.

Send me an ask with the name of one of the listed WIPs and I will write you a minimum of three sentences in that WIP in response!

Multiple requests are fine, but please send them in separate asks. Just a little easier for me to fill them that way, and also easier for people to read through the WIP tags smoothly later.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

WIP names:

Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (( chrono || non-chrono ))

you're a real Katch, girl (( chrono || non-chrono ))

mirror mirror (( chrono || non-chrono ))

snippet from “Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this”:

Kal does convey her welcome to Lois Kal-El–for the second time, but it’s a distraction from her kitchen self-repairing, so she’s not going to complain. Or at least, she’s mostly sure that’s what Kal is doing. Earthling is such a toneless language, it’s hard to feel like she’s really getting a good read on any of the emotion behind it, even when it’s Kal speaking it. Actually, maybe even more so when it’s Kal speaking it.

She spares a glance towards Thirteen and Match, who are both standing very stiff and very still on the other side of her kitchen counter, but in very different ways. Thirteen looks sour and sullen and like he’s just barely managing to force himself to stay in place; Match looks blank and unaffected and like a powered-down android. Neither option is a reassuring sight.

She looks back to Kal, who’s looking all fond and smitten and adoring at Lois Kal-El, who’s smiling back at him wryly even as she’s looking a little smitten herself. It’s a vaguely bewildering sight, honestly. She’s not sure she even knows the last time Kal courted . . . literally anyone, actually, and now he went to an alien death-planet and got married in the same amount of time the first stage of courting should’ve taken–and, technically, “reproduced” in that time too. Twice, again.

Kara really cannot get over how godsdamned ridiculous it is that two separate Earthling labs decided to clone Kal. Two! What is wrong with that planet, how much damn cloning do they even do over there?

Well, at least twice as much as they should be, apparently.

#wip wednesday #meme #wip: krypton lives and kara did not sign up for this

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diodellet · 11 hours ago

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cw: still not feelin 100% with my writing but here's smth to celebrate valentine's day 🤧💕 unbeta'd and cheesy, established relationship fluff

"jamil, would you call yourself the sentimental type or the practical type?"

"why do you ask?" he doesn't look up from his homework.

you make a noise, something between lightly dismayed and exasperated. "…humor me for a bit, won't you?"

he sighs at your petulance. "you already know that anything flashy is an automatic 'no.'"

"i know that already! these are already the casual options, so are you feeling sentimental or practical?" you sidle up to him, knocking your shoulder against his. flipping the cover of his textbook shut for added measure.

he meets your expectant gaze. there's a very real temptation to play coy, to see what you'd do without his input. but in the last few seconds, you have - once again - managed to stir his heart with easy sincerity.

which was unforgivable, really.

unforgivable how you chipped away at his carefully-crafted nonchalance, how you could elicit that persistent sense of curiosity with the littlest of gestures, how your consideration for him - his position and all that baggage - only intensified the little surprises you brought him.

there's a dangerous temptation to leave it up to you, but that hypervigilant part of him absolutely refuses - in spite of your many good intentions - to have a surprise going sideways.

"if you're thinking of gifting flowers," jamil starts. "you'll have to do it before classes start for the day."

"i'm saving flowers for another special occasion, so stop dodging my question!" and now you were swiping his textbook before slipping away.

of course, he has to give chase.

all it takes is one graceful - dare i say, serpentine - lunge that sends you both sprawled out onto the floor of his dorm room. while pinned under his weight, your arms are vainly stretched away to keep him from reclaiming his stolen book. "i'm not giving it back until i have an answer!"

this only leaves you vulnerable to attack, his fingertips skirting up against your sides, eliciting a shriek that you try (and fail) to tamp down.

"fine. whatever gift ideas you have - " he makes sure to emphasize the plural in that, because if there's anything he's certain about, it is that you aren't rolling up to this valentines' day without at least one gag gift. " - i will only accept if they're discreet."

"okay! okay! i promise i won't embarrass you - mercy!" he lets up. the risk of accidentally getting bludgeoned by his own textbook is too big to ignore.

he doesn't need one of those grand show-stopping gestures. but there's nothing quite as warming as that sort of reminder, that you found him special.

(come the day of hearts, you pass him a small red pouch. there's a mess of ribbons inside all entangled around… a white tube? he undoes the overly-detailed bow and a laugh of disbelief bubbles up from him as he sees what it is.

a menthol inhaler.

there's a small gift tag attached to the ribbon with a note warning against hay fever. in tinier letters, he can almost make out the actual letter. it's a sappy thing that he finds himself rereading at the end of a tiring day, along with a small stack of notes and letters he stashes in a hidden compartment of his nightside table.

of course you'd find a way to make even a little joke sentimental.)

what he doesn't expect is the ten other little gifts you deliver to him throughout the day. but it's safe to say that this was a good start, right?

tagging: @viperwhispered @crystallizsch @twstgo

@sillystr1ngs @bakedgrape @mama-m1na

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)

#imagine matching ya dom with jamil viper🤧💕💕#dellet-writings #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #gn!reader

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mystic-myrtille · 2 days ago

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"Imagine if a character did a bad thing, the fandom would be so mad and bash them!" ... yeah no shit?

Sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, but have you seen the salt tag these past days? It's filled to the brim with Marinette salt and bashing and whatnot. Last week I blocked 5 people because they made a bunch of posts about how Marinette is the worst person ever and I was getting tired of it. There's even a whole community dedicated to salting/critizising Marinette. People are angry at how weird she was about Sublime, how she broke Adrien's ring and probably poofed him out of existence (or not since Astruc said something about Adriens amok being fine because LB didn't intend to free the amok... idk makes no sense lore-wise), how she tried to mix a friends movie night with a romantic date yada yada. We don't need roles reversing, we see the fandom's reaction.

Everyone and their mothers fucking complain about how she sucks.

It's everywhere.

And it's not like I don't understand where this is coming from, her portrayal this season is... yeah... you've probably seen it yourself. It's bad.

Meanwhile Adrien didn't do anything this season, he just stands around, is all lovey dovey around Marinette and apparently doesn't make any mistakes in the relationship ever. He's just crazy chill about it. Like... there's clearly a bias here. Why does Adrien know how to act in a relationship but Marinette doesn't? Why does Marinette always have to be the butt of the joke because she doesn't know what she's doing, and Adrien isn't? Why isn't this season about both of them doing small mistakes and finding out together how to handle their relationship instead of just one person doing the most unhinged shit ever while the other is suddenly a relationship expert? Wouldn't that be nicer and a good way to bring the two to grow closer and ultimately become better people and a stronger couple as a result?

This is the point of the post and I really don't see how bringing a gender-reverse discussion into this is supposed to help. If Marinette acts stupid she gets salted on. If Adrien acts stupid he gets salted on. If both act stupid both will probably get salted on. It's always been like this in the fandom.

The new season just reinforces what the writing is like for thew whole show: Marinette makes a mistake in every episode, no matter how cringe or ooc or unlogical it is, and Adrien is just too damn perfect and every flaw he might have is actually the world around him being flawed (which I think is also the reason he doesn't do much in general. If a character doesn't do things, he can't do them wrong lmao).

But if we really wanna bring gender in, here's a take: If Mari was a guy the writers wouldn't make him/her act this way in the first place.

Marinette being the one making all the mistakes in their relationship so far is kinda notttttttt giving me the best vibesssssss

#ml salt #everybody involved deserves better writing #The writing has very clear misogynistic vibes #and Marinette's writing suffers the most from it imo

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strawberry-nugget · 8 hours ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

~In which you and Katsuki watch 'Ride your Wave' and you end up crying uncontrollably about it in his arms, featuring a twist on 'would you love me if i was a worm'

Tags // Warnings: Fluff, like a lot of it, crack, these two idiots are sappy and in love, they’re SAPPY I’m telling you, cuddles cuddles cuddles, a little somnophilia (??) towards the end, uhhhh reader smokes for a second.. Enjoyyyyy :>

All CHARACTERS ARE 20+

Word Count: 6.4k

You sob.

Unfathomably hard and uncontrollably.

Wine bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other, you dig your clothed knee in your eye socket and pat the salty tears away from your eyelashes— careful not to rub; your lash tech will kill you if you rip your extensions off once again.

You're not even halfway through this goddamn one and a half hour movie and your eyes can't stop welling up. You have to pause it, wipe your eyes and then press play, then continue the circle all over again until you absolutely cannot keep your own two eyes open.

The candle on the coffee stand that serves as the only lighting in the room hurts your eyes too much. Your nose is splitting at the seams from how much you've to wipe it with toilet paper— your chest heaves. Up, down. Like it's filled with all the sorrows that the protagonist of the movie you're watching carries.

And then, there's Katsuki.

“Put out that cigarette, ya look like shit holding it”

Pressing his lips into an angry pout as you pause the movie again, red orbs boring into you from the corners of his eyes and as of now, you decide to unwrap his arm away from you.

“You're so evil!” You sob as you speak, hiccuping a breath. “You're a bad, bad man, Katsuki”

“Oh you're never getting a movie rec from me ever again”

Even though he seems taken aback by your sudden change of position, his arm doesn't retreat completely. It hovers there, fingers twitching like he’s considering whether to pull you back in or let you decide your next position that uses him as a body pillow.

“Good,” you hiccup again, grabbing the remote and jamming the play button. “Your taste in Shoujo is gut wrenching”

“S'not”

With pouty lips and the sides of his mouth wrinkled in action, his palm takes a hold of the side of your head, pushing you onto his lap. You give him little resistance, shocked and sobbed out as you are— you collapse into his knees with a gorilla grip on the neck of the wine.

“Who makes a love story this sad Katsuki? Who does that?”

Instead of replying, he licks his lips slightly, catching his button lip between his teeth for as long as a second lasts. His eyes shut close for one, two, three seconds. He's far more dramatic than you, when you're the one who's crying.

You try to roll your head to glare at him, to no avail. It's hard to do so with blurry eyes and his fingers being an obstacle to your ogling, but you do catch your glimpse anyways, as he inhales sharply through his nose. Just as his neck tenses.

“You're a drama queen. That's all”

It's astounding how weirdly hot he looks right now. Half lid eyes that flicker golden and vermillion flames as the orange lights of the candle dance, casting rays of light onto every sharp feature and angle of his face. That alone is almost enough to distract you from the movie. Was he not the ultimate menace that he is with you right now, you'd jump him.

The second he presses play, his thumb hooks over the bottle neck, over your fingers, to grasp it away from your hands. You hear as he gulps some wine down, even if your eyes are glued to the screen.

Soon enough, when he moves your body to get the rest of the wine on the coffee table, you're already bursting into another fit of tears.

You can't actually believe Himiko's best friend just confessed to his girlfriend.

Katsuki pauses the movie, again and bows his head to look at you— the hand that's wrapped over your head to softly stroke the hair over your ear, ready to violate your face.

Through silent sobs, you know he's trying to cheer you up.

He absolutely hates to hear you cry. There's heartstrings that are being pulled into existence every single time he hears a sob coming from the depths of your throat. It hurts him more than this dumb movie ever could.

Still, he opts to run his pointer across your face, hook it under your top lip and pull it. He tries to poke your eye open and he even taps the pad of his finger onto your good—and not runny, nostril to cut away your air intake. He laughs like a menace at it, before he shoves it into your nostril for a split second.

“Katsuki!” you yell, and oof— there's that playfulness back in your voice “You're so gross. Ew”

“Trynna fuck new wholes babe”

You scratch your nose in disgust as he lets out that familiar raspy laugh of his, make a move to snatch your tissue from your hand to wipe his finger. He bullies you with it, wavering it across your face like he's going to touch you with it. Like you're not full of your own tears and snot already.

“Ew ew” you laugh as you sob. Hand reaching out to shove his finger away from your face only to end up fighting him on the couch. But with a flip of his wrist and his leg, you land right on top of him; chest to chest. As if you're not still holding his finger.

If that's what he does with you while you're just holding his finger, just to play fight with you, imagine what he does to villains… that as a notion is almost hot enough to stop your sobs.

You stay pinned on top of his chest, his hands, wrapped around your waist and trapping you in your position. The tissue is nowhere in sight for him to bully you with it, but as you squeal and wiggle to get out of his grasp and get the revanche you need, you dive nose first between his pecs and vigorously wipe your face onto his T-shirt.

“Oh? And I'm the disgusting one?” he humors “you ain't getting me to move babe”

With a heavy head, you stop wiggling— you take a deep breath, as muffled as it is, and completely relax into his arms. A very well known surrendering tactic that has to make him let his guard down.

You're more than determined to win this play fight. He made you cry with his movie rec and now he's acting all high and mighty, so it should be fair!

While you're deep in thought about your next move, eyes already set on his neck and your upcoming attack on the spot, you're taken aback, when he grabs your cheeks in one hand, catching you with puckered lips. The lethal weapon!

“Stop it! Katsuukii! Let go of my cheeks” you mumble.

He groans as a response, opting to press play.

Not even five minutes pass before you're caught up in tears again. This time though your boyfriend doesn't whine about it.

He holds you closer, free hand searching the spot on the back of the couch where your fluffy blanket is, to wrap it around both of you.

Only when he's turned the two of you in a human-couch-blanket burrito, does he leave a soft peck to your forehead. The sudden act of affection makes you nuzzle into him and in return he just wraps the blanket snugglier over you, until only your eyes and nose are poking out.

Your fingers clutch over his T-shirt as new tears fall down your eyes and onto him. You try to steal a glance at him, only to find him boring his eyes into the TV. No emotion behind them whatsoever.

“How are you not bawling right now?”

“I’m a baller not a bawler”

Though you shoot him a disgusted look, the sound of laughter after a small pause, broken by one or occasionally two sniffles fills the entire living room.

“You're a child” You whine and Katsuki sports the smuggiest expression a person could muster; one eyebrow raised, an evil and way too wide grin, chest rising impossibly high as he breathes— he's too proud of his humor. You almost don't want to ruin it for him.

He rasps a laugh that's too loud, too throaty as he locks your body with his hands again.

“Katsuki, stop it!”

“Seriously though. Stop crying or I'm turning it off”

“Nooooo, don't do this to me” you wail dramatically.

He plants a kiss to the top of your forehead as if to interrupt your sentence and with half poured lips that you can barely distinguish in the dark he says “You cry over everything”

His tone is teasing, but there’s something gentler beneath the raspiness of his voice. Something as serious as a confession. You pout, your sniffles returning. Looking at him, you catch that otherwise undetected-by-most-people agenda that he pushes when he has to speak up about his feelings.

It's as true as it can get; Katsuki hates to be the reason you shed tears. He hates to see you cry and he has to make sure you cheer up so he can sleep better tonight. Otherwise the guilt that'll start eating him away is going to be the root of an emotion that'll shutter his heart for good this time.

You kiss him, slightly pecking his lips, and it's alright. It's fine. He's not the one responsible for your tears— he thinks.

“Don't cry over a stupid movie too”

“You don’t get it,” you sniff, pulling a piece of toilet paper from the squashed roll on the couch next to you. “This movie—it’s not just sad. It’s like—” you gasp, clutching your chest dramatically. “It’s like someone reached into my soul and ripped it out! It’s—”

“—a movie,” he interrupts flatly, leaning back into the couch with a heavy sigh. His arm falls over the backrest, brushing your shoulder, and you can tell he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t care whether or not you snuggle back in. “That I'll turn off if you don't stop crying”

“I didn’t know it’d be like this!” you wail, grabbing the throw blanket and wrapping it around yourself like armor. “I thought it’d be... I dunno, like bittersweet at most. Not—” your voice breaks on another sob, and you bury your face into the blanket, muffling the rest of your sentence.

Katsuki lets out a long, exaggerated groan, but you don’t miss the way he leans toward you, resting his chin on his fist over your head, like he’s actually waiting for you to calm down. He won’t admit it—he’d rather bite his tongue off—but you know he likes it when you’re this messy around him, when you let him see all your raw, ugly bits.

“Shut up.” But you scoot closer anyway, your side pressing into his, and he doesn’t pull away this time. Instead, his arm falls naturally back over your shoulders, grounding you. “Let's just finish it”

With a deep, shuddering breath, you grab the remote, press play, and sink into him.

His arm doesn’t move far, just shifts slightly as if unsure whether to pull you closer or let you keep your space. But Katsuki isn’t one to stay unsure for long. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, fingers brushing against your blanket cocoon, and you feel the heat radiating from him—steady, grounding, like a lifeline.

You stay snuggled like this for as long as the last act of the movie plays out; unsurprisingly you’re laid on his chest again, by the time the movie is finished.

The movie finally ends, the screen fading to black as the credits roll. The soft hum of the ending theme fills the room, and you let out a content sigh, your head still resting on Katsuki’s chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, a soothing rhythm that makes your eyelids feel heavier by the second

“You’re such a crybaby,” he mutters, but his voice is softer this time, like he’s afraid of breaking the fragile moment. His red eyes flick to the TV screen, then back to your face, where the tears are still pooling right onto the middle of his shirt despite your best efforts to wipe them away. “Seriously. It’s just a movie.”

“It’s not just a movie!” you gasp, twisting to face him. The blanket slips off your shoulder, and he immediately pulls it back up with a small, exasperated huff. “Katsuki! It’s—” your voice wavers, cracking on a sob, “—it’s...

He stares at you for a moment, when you struggle to compose words in your sleepy state.

The candlelight is making his features impossibly soft. For all his rough edges, there’s something boyish in the way his lips quirk into a half-smile, like he’s amused by your melodrama but doesn’t have the heart to call you out on it outright.

“You knew it was sad going in, though,” he points out, leaning back into the couch and casually draping his arm over your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I told you it’d be a tearjerker, and you were like, ‘No, Katsuki, let’s watch it anyway. I can handle it.’ And now look at you.”

“I didn’t know it’d be this sad!” you almost wail, clutching the edge of the blanket like it’s your only defense against the emotional onslaught. “I thought it’d be bittersweet, maybe a few tears. But this? This was—” you hiccup, your voice catching, “—soul-crushing!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but the small laugh that escapes him is warm, almost fond. “You’re so dramatic,” he says, but his hand starts rubbing small circles on your shoulder, the motion soothing despite his words. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” you gape at him, wiping your eyes with the corner of the blanket. “Did you see that last scene? Did you hear the song? It’s like they ripped my heart out and stomped on it, Katsuki. And you’re fine?”

“I’m not crying like a baby, if that’s what you mean,” he says smugly, but there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“You’re lying,” you accuse, leaning closer to squint at him. “You cried. I know you did.”

“I didn’t,” he insists, looking away too quickly to be convincing.

He looks at you with an all familiar pout; its a shame he took your sleepiness away.

“Liar!” You poke his cheek, and he swats your hand away, grumbling under his breath. But there’s a telltale softness in his expression now, one you’ve come to recognize as Katsuki’s version of letting his guard down. This time you won't tease him with the ‘are you leaving me’ joke, just because he shoved your hand away.

“Fine,” he mutters, finally meeting your gaze. “Maybe it was a little sad. But you’re the one who’s turned this into a whole production.” His hand squeezes your shoulder lightly, the gesture at odds with his teasing tone. “You gonna survive, or do I need to call an ambulance?”

“I’ll survive,” you mumble, leaning into his side and letting the warmth of him chase away the lingering ache in your chest. “But only if you let me pick the next movie for our day offs. Something happy this time.”

“Whatever,” he says, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until your head is resting against his chest. “Just stop sniffling all over me.”

You let out a watery laugh, curling into him as the ending titles play on. And even though your heart still aches, it’s a little easier to bear with Katsuki by your side.

You sniffle, burying your face further into Katsuki’s chest, his familiar scent wrapping around you like a blanket. His hand moves absently, fingers threading through your hair in a way that’s far gentler than one would expect from someone so rough around the edges.

“You’re really pathetic, y’know that?” he murmurs, but there’s no bite in his words. Instead, his tone is warm, teasing, like he’s not-even-secretly pleased to have you curled up against him like this.

“And you’re a liar,” you shoot back, though it comes out muffled by his hoodie. “I felt you tense up during that scene with the surfboard. You totally cried.”

“Did not,” he grumbles, but the tips of his ears are bright pink, betraying him. “You were too busy bawling to notice anything.”

“I wasn’t bawling!” you protest, pulling back just enough to glare up at him. “I was… emotionally invested.”

“Sure,” he says, smirking down at you. But his hand doesn’t stop stroking your hair, and the corners of his eyes soften in that way they only do when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You poke his chest playfully, your finger sinking into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Admit it. You cried a little. Just a tiny bit.”

“Nope.”

“Not even when they sang together?”

“Not even then.”

“Not even when—” your voice cracks, and your eyes start welling up again. “When he—”

“Oi,” Katsuki interrupts quickly, pulling you back against him before you can spiral. “Don’t start again. You’re already dehydrated from all the crying you’ve done tonight.”

You laugh despite yourself, the sound breaking through your sniffles. “You’re the worst comforter ever.”

“And yet,” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your hair, tilting his head smugly, “here you are, clinging to me.”

“Because you’re warm,” you counter, wrapping your arms around his waist for emphasis, wiggling them just between his hoodie and the couch “And because you’re not as mean as you pretend to be and you looooove me”

“Tch.” He looks away, but his hand settles more firmly on your back, holding you close. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Might as well sleep on you right now”

Your words are like a child’s whine. You grab onto him for life and bury yourself further into him—so much that everything suddenly feels too soft, too warm. The notion of that heartbreaking movie is a thousand years away.

“Don’t fall asleep here,” Katsuki mutters, though he doesn’t make any move to push you away. “You’ll drool on me.”

“I don’t drool,” you mumble, already half-asleep again. “But even if I did, you’d deal with it because you love me.”

“Dumbass,” he grumbles, but when you feel him press the lightest of kisses to the top of your head, you know he doesn’t mean it.

The room falls into a tranquil silence, save for the designated trailers of movies that follow the credits of the one you just finished and the soft crackle of the candle on the coffee table. You shift slightly, nestling closer into Katsuki’s chest, and he doesn’t complain—just adjusts his arm to wrap more securely around you, like he’s silently resigned to being your personal heater for the rest of the night.

“You’re gonna fall asleep like this,” he mutters, though his voice is quieter now, softer. It almost sounds like he doesn’t mind.

“Maybe I will,” you murmur back, your words drowsy and slurred. “You’re comfy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he huffs, but his thumb brushes gently against your shoulder, a contrast to the gruffness in his voice.

You peek up at him, your cheek still squished against his hoodie. His face is half-lit by the warm glow of the candle, and you can see the faintest crease in his brow, like he’s still pretending to be annoyed even though his hand hasn’t stopped tracing soothing patterns on your back.

“You like it,” you tease, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

He looks down at you, his crimson eyes darkening with curiosity. “Like what?”

“Mmmm” You respond, sporting your tongue out.

Sleepiness escapes you in an instant when you light bulbs above your head with a different, new and so very fresh thought about how the conversation is going to turn out.

He knew that you would ask him this at a point anyway, the second he picked that damn movie.

“What would you do if you died and your best friend confessed to me like Wasabi did?”

You ask and Katsuki sighs, bringing his palm across his face to wipe his annoyance away from it.

And though you might be giggling in your skirts about it, all Katsuki can think of is—Where the fuck did this ever come from?

“I ain’t answering that, babe” he deadpans

“please please tell me”

Katsuki lets out a heavy sigh, the kind that makes it clear he’s already regretting entertaining this conversation, but for the sake of you being sleepy and whiny he will—good news for the weird girlfriend community but you just made it!

Katsuki’s face contorts in concern for a moment as he looks at your mischief expression. His hand stays pressed against his face for a moment before dragging it down, revealing the faintest furrow of his brows and a glare that’s more exasperated than genuine.

He so knows you’re never giving up on this.

You sit up slightly, propping your chin on his chest and giving him your best —sleep-ish— puppy-dog eyes. Katsuki groans, tilting his head back like he’s praying for patience, but his arm stays firmly around your waist, keeping you close.

“I ain’t answering that, babe,” he repeats, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“But it’s important!” you whine, poking his chest with your finger. “What if your best friend pulled a Wasabi and told me they loved me after you—” your voice falters, “—you know, weren’t around anymore?”

His vermillion eyes snap down to meet yours, narrowing slightly. “First of all, I’m not dying anytime soon, so quit it with the depressing crap.”

“Katsuki!” you pout, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Just humor me!”

He sighs, dragging his palm down his face again, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fine,” he mutters. “If some idiot—bitch ass idiot may I add—tried to pull that move, I’d haunt his ass. Forever.”

You snort, your pout quickly replaced by a grin. “You’d haunt them? Like, spooky ghost noises and knocking things off shelves?”

“Damn right I would,” he says, smirking now. “I’d make sure they can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t do anything without thinking about how badly they screwed up.”

“That’s so petty,” you tease, laughing softly.

“You asked,” he counters, shrugging one shoulder. “Besides, they’d deserve it. You’re mine, and even if I wasn’t here, that wouldn’t change. Did I mention there’d be a lot of blood apart for spooky noises?”

Your cheeks feel warm at the possessiveness in his tone, but there’s an unexpected warmth in it too, something that makes your heart flutter despite the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“You’re so dramatic.” you say, trying to suppress your smile.

“Says the one who cried through a whole ass movie,” he shoots back, leaning down so your noses almost touch. “But I mean it. Doesn’t matter what happens—I’m always gonna be yours and you’re not losing me anytime soon, got it?”

“Got it,” you whisper, your voice softer now. Oh that pout of his right now would have you haunting anyone for him as well. “Me too”

“Good,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, lower lip lingering on the spot for a second too long, before flopping back against the couch. “Now quit asking dumb questions and let me enjoy the peace and quiet for five fucking seconds.”

But you can’t stop smiling as you snuggle back into his chest, feeling more loved than ever—even if Katsuki would never admit it outright.

You nuzzle closer, your cheek pressed against his chest as his heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. His hand resumes its place in your hair, lazily twisting strands between his fingers. The room feels softer now, wrapped in a blanket of warmth that’s entirely him.

“You’d really haunt them?” you ask again, your voice a playful whisper.

“Damn straight,” he mutters, but his tone is lighter, like he’s secretly amused by how seriously you’re taking this. “They’d regret it the second they even thought about pulling something like that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle, your fingers tracing small patterns over his hoodie. “But I guess it’s kinda sweet. In a ‘territorial ghost’ kind of way.”

“Sweet?” he echoes, scoffing, but the way his hand shifts to cradle the back of your head says otherwise. “You’re so weird. Who calls haunting someone sweet?”

“You’re not just haunting anyone,” you point out, grinning against his chest. “You’re haunting them for me. It’s romantic, in a twisted Katsuki kind of way.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If you’re gonna call me romantic, at least don’t add the ‘twisted’ part.”

“I’d simply haunt you if I were in your place” you tease, tilting your head up to look at him. His face softens as his eyes meet yours, the usual sharpness of his gaze melting into something warmer.

His hand freezes for a moment before he lets out a quiet sigh, his breath ruffling your hair. “You’re ridiculous, there’s no place that I’m in for you to take it. Also what the hell… Me? What for?” he says, but there’s no heat in the words. If anything, there’s a hint of something softer, like he’s given up on trying to act tough. Like he’s genuinely curious as well.

“So I can be with you forever”

Katsuki clicks his tongue to sound displeased, but his grip tightens around you. He takes a deep breath—one that makes you move along with his chest— as in to erase any horrible thought that might have sparked from your interaction.

Sleepiness drowns him like the depths of a river.

You tilt your head back at the realisation, grinning up at him. “Say say…”

“Sleep.”

“Nooooo one more question”

He grumbles, shifting so that you’re more snugly tucked against him and closes his eyes. His other hand grabs the remote and lowers the volume on the TV, the credits now nothing more than a faint background hum.

“Shhh, the next number one hero needs to sleep”

“More like number thirteen. And that’s pushing it”

His left eye flutters open at your giggling “Huh? I’ll kill you” he barks and you burst out laughing. “Just let me sleep woman”

“But Katsuki,” you say with a mischievous grin, tilting your head to look up at him, “which one of your friends would ever do such a thing?”

“Stop”

Katsuki groans, his head falling back against the couch like he can’t believe you’re still going at it. “None of those idiots would dare,” he mutters, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly where this is headed.

“Oh, come on,” you tease, poking his chest lightly for the uptenth time. “What about Kirishima? He’s your best friend. You think he’d confess to me?”

Katsuki snaps his head down to glare at you, his red eyes narrowing. “Kirishima? His bitch ass would probably cry over the idea of it being disrespectful or some crap like that.”

Giggling impossibly hard, you wipe a tear from your eye, grinning up at him.

“He doesn’t even have the guts to take the last slice of pizza when we’re all hanging out. He’s not confessing to anyone”

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically wheezing, and Katsuki’s smirk has turned into a full-blown grin despite himself. He shakes his head, his hand coming up to rest on your back, rubbing small circles as if to keep you from laughing yourself into oblivion.

“You’re seriously nuts, you know that?” he says, but his voice is warm, and there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Maybe,” you gasp, finally calming down enough to speak. “But… this is fun.”

“You’re right. It’s only fun for you” he sighs “And for the record, none of those extras would stand a chance with you. Not while I’m around.”

You grin, your heart swelling at the certainty in his voice. He huffs, rolling his eyes, but the way he tugs you closer tells you he doesn’t mind.

“If it was Izuku?” you ask, your grin turning so sly as you watch Katsuki’s expression darken instantly. His hand freezes on your back, and his red eyes narrow into slits, the annoyance practically radiating off him in waves.

“Deku? Nuh uh, no way in hell.”

You bite back a laugh, trying to keep your composure. “Why not? He’s sweet, polite, and—”

“Don’t even start,” Katsuki interrupts, his voice low and dangerous. “Deku wouldn’t have the guts, for one. And even if he did, I’d—” He stops, his jaw clenching as if the thought is too ridiculous to finish.

“You’d what?” you ask innocently, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

He glares down at you, his face redder than usual. “I’d beat the crap outta him, that’s what.”

“As a ghost?”

“Hell yeah”

You can’t help but burst into laughter at the image of ghost Katsuki chasing poor Izuku around like a storm cloud of fury. “Katsuki, he’s your childhood friend! You wouldn’t really beat him up, would you?”

“Try me,” he growls, crossing his arms over his chest like a stubborn child. “If he even thought about it, I’d make sure he never forgot his place.”

“His place?” you echo, grinning. “What, at the bottom of your imaginary pecking order?”

“Exactly,” Katsuki huffs. “Deku doesn’t have the balls, and even if he did, you’d never go for him. Right?”

There it is—the smallest flicker of insecurity hidden beneath his usual bravado. It tugs at your heart, making you soften instantly.

“Of course not,” you say gently, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want Izuku. I want you, Katsuki.”

His eyes widen slightly at your words before he looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Tch. Damn right you do.”

“Always baby” You smile, settling back against his chest as his arm slides back around your waist, pulling you close. “But for the record, I don’t think Izuku would ever confess to me. He’d be too worried about hurting your feelings.”

“Damn right he would,” Katsuki mutters, but his tone is lighter now, the tension in his shoulders easing “and you’re not funny by the way”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it,” you tease, resting your chin on his chest. “I’m funny and you hate being wrong.”

“Damn right I do,” he says, smirking again. “You’re still not funny though. I ain’t wrong about that.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and playful, your lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Katsuki," you tease, “I’ll be so funny now, promise” stroking his chest lightly as you speak "say... would you still love me if a villain turned me into a worm?"

Katsuki freezes for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion, clearly not expecting the question. His eyes turn over to you, narrowing in the way they do when he's trying to figure out whether you're joking or if you're actually serious, only to find you trying to suppress a laugh.

And here he thought you were having a moment.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" he grumbles, but his tone isn't as harsh as usual—there’s a small glimmer of curiosity in his voice. His hand runs through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as if he’s trying to decide whether to humor you still, or not.

"But seriously," you prod, giving him your best doe-eyed look, the one you know always gets to him. The one from before. "If some villain took me and turned me into a little squirmy worm, would you still love me? Or would you just—what—leave me on the sidewalk to get stepped on and squished by some random person?"

His eyes widen at the thought of this even being an actual possibility—you being a worm. The horror on his face is too much, and you start giggling at the image of Katsuki having to deal with a tiny worm version of you. At the sight of you looking so enthusiastic, he grimaces in disgust first and then his face contorts into frustration.

“Don’t make that face and sayyy”

“Tch... If someone turned you into a damn worm,” he mutters “I’d punch that villain straight into the ground. Then I’d find some way to turn you back into a human. And if that didn’t work, I’d... I’d put ya in a jar or something. Keep you safe ‘n shit.”

You giggle again, completely delighted by his determination. "You’d carry me around in that jar too for dates?" you ask.

"Yeah, no" he grumbles, his voice thick with seriousness. "I’d find some damn way to make sure you're okay. No villain’s gonna turn you into some stupid worm. And you sure as hell ain’t getting squished.”

“But would you still love me?” You chuckle softly, pressing your lips to his chest. "I just wanna know”

“Yeah…”

“You’re so ridiculous, for answering” you tease, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “But I guess if I ever get turned into a worm, I’m glad I have you to save me.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he mutters, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna be some damn worm. I’d make sure of it.”

You smile up at him, snuggling back into his chest. "I know you would. Because you’d loooove me, worm or not."

Katsuki huffs, but this time, there’s no denying the soft, fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming. Idiot ass.”

You can’t help but grin as you hear his words. His tone is gruff, as if he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s no missing the softness behind them.

“I’d love you if you were a worm, by the way” Katsuki hears you clear as day; his gaze still slightly averted like he’s trying to hide how seriously he means it. “I’d even feed you your greens.”

His eyes widen in mock surprise, and you give him a playful shove. “Greens? You’d feed me, a worm, actual greens?”

He looks like he’s about to roll his eyes, but then he catches your grin, and his mouth tightens, clearly trying not to smile. “Yeah, you ass. I’d go out and get the best damn salad for you. Spinach, lettuce, whatever the hell worms eat—if I have to be a worm’s personal chef, so be it.”

“But what if I want my green juice one day and I can’t tell you?” He asks and you cringe at the memory of the taste of that atrocious juice. “With a scoop of protein in it”

“I’d sense it and squish you” you deadpan instantly and he grins in response “I don’t want a fucking farty worm Katsuki. You’re already all that in your human form”

“Shut the fuck up cause you’re lying right now”

“Now that’s a loving boyfriend”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you think he’s going to ignore you completely and finally go to sleep, too fed up with your silliness. But then he mutters something so low you almost miss it. “I love you, asshole, ain’t have to ask me all this shit for me to tell you”

“You called me an asshole.” You pout. “Like you don’t like it”

“Yeah, yeah. I like it. Happy now?”

Your smile widens, and you press your face into his chest to hide your excitement. “Very happy.” Wait–but maybe, this is the spot you wiped your nose earlier?

“Good.” He pulls the blanket tighter around the both of you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. “Now shut up and sleep, idiot.”

You let his words settle over you, warm and weighty, and your eyes finally feel relaxed. Even the soft vibration of his chest as he clears his throat doesn’t startle you.

“Wanna go to bed?” You mumble out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Nah, I don’t wanna move”

“Okay then”

Katsuki’s grip on you shifts, his fingers flexing as he drags you even closer, chest to chest, until there’s barely space to breathe between you. You sleepily coo into him, into that calming heat that only he emits, wrapping the blanket impossibly tight around you and him. The tip of your tongue is sweet with the lingering syllables of a ‘goodnight’ that is exchanged.

Barely fazed by sleep, your fingers trace light circles on him, teasing circles along his ribs.

It’s such a simple thing. Barely a touch at all–but that’s what does it for him. That’s what makes something inside him snap into his usual malevolent self.

His face lights up like he’s a super villain having just executed his masterplan.

Peacefulness hangs between you for half a second and then his grip on your waist tightens. It’s sharp and sudden. His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly, even if there’s something dark and thrilled swimming beneath that nightly dulled vermillion.

You don’t react at first, just let your fingers keep moving against his ribs, slow and featherlight. But you feel it, in the way his breath hitches for just a fraction of a second. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, teasing against bare skin.

Did you just fucking get him in the mood?

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose—almost a laugh. He looks down at you, his eyes softening as he moves a piece of your hair behind your ear. His voice is quieter this time. “Say babe,” he whispers, his lips cuing at the edges of his mouth “would you still love me if I fucked you on all fours with my foot on your head while you’re asleep?”

He has such a nice way of making you feel more cherished than anyone else ever could.

“I’d marry you, by the way”

Silence lingers, stretching between you both. It’s like his breath hitches for just a moment, but his eyes narrow at the sudden confession, as if weighing whether you’re teasing or serious.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is rougher now, lower, dangerous in a way that makes your heart race, despite the sleepiness. He pulls you in closer, his body shifting beneath yours, his heat sinking into your skin. “Pull those fucking panties to the side before you fall asleep."

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