#though he would rather die than admit it.

[f4dedtouch]

INTRODUCING…..FAWN!READER୨ৎ

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ loves watching sunsets. prefers the quiet over anything. watching movies. baby birds. soft spoken. phoebe bridgers. baby blue. her bestie. reading romance novels. rafe. her worn out journals. making tea. writing essays. the beach. baking while listening to gracie abrams. her cat. snuggling up in her cozy bed. watching sunsets. rafe’s sweaters. long drives. love letters.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who is a kook princess with a heart too gentle for the sharp edges of her world. she is soft-spoken, kind, introverted and far too sweet for the cutthroat nature of kook life. the expectations that come with her last name never quite fit her, but she navigates them with quiet grace.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who met sarah when she was just six years old, when she was hiding under the table during a business meeting between their parents. and when noticed her from that moment on, she decided they were ride-or-dies, and nothing has changed since.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who loves summer, the golden tans, endless sunsets, and the ocean stretching out like a dream. she spends most of her time at the beach, reading and hanging out with her friends whom she’d die for.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who is rafe’s ‘smarty pants’ as he calls her, because she is as brilliant as she is soft. she devours books, from philosophy to romance, and gives him detailed summaries whether he asks for them or not. he pretends to be indifferent, but he listens to every word.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who, despite the parties and the constant social whirlwind, would rather be curled up in bed, cuddling her beloved cat, persuasion. her cat and her bed are both her safe space, her comfort after long days of pretending to belong in a world sharper than she is.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who loves the color baby blue but will never admit why. it reminds her of the two things she loves the most, her cat’s eyes and rafe’s. she would rather die than say that out loud.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who is the biggest sweetheart in the outer banks, refusing to fit into the tired pogue versus kook rivalry. she adores sarah’s pogue friends and sees past the labels everyone else clings to.

୨ৎ fawn!reader who loves baking for rafe, and even though he will never admit it, he has an undeniable soft spot for her homemade sweets. he never turns down anything she makes, especially when she looks at him with those big, hopeful eyes.

FAWN!READER works……coming soon .ᐟ

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The Doctors and their Pokémon

Fugitive Doctor

Zorua

Stoutland

She got the Zorua first; standard issue from Division, carefully trained and maintained like the gun they also gave her, except she named it and talked to it and by the end of the first mission she refused to give it back, and it refused to leave.

Not that she remembered, of course. Not once she had to hide. Its power is partly what made that happen, what let her hide so long; a Zorua and a fobwatch, and a new mundane life of taxes and takeaways and time passing in order. It couldn't stay with her. Once she was squirrelled safely away, the Zorua changed form to an Ampharos, living alone on the coast, faithfully guarding her TARDIS.

She thinks about that sometimes, about the incredible loyalty and love that must have taken; hiding itself for her, yet staying far away, hoping and trusting it could protect and keep safe a trainer that it would never see again. She can't think about it for too long. It overwhelms her.

She loves the Stoutland, but she can't remember why.

First Doctor

Persian

Polteageist

He's trying to be all old and important, like you do when you're young, and so he's drawn to the Pokémon with gravitas; the ones that suggest wealth and sophistication. Susan wants to stay on Earth in the UK in the 60s (something about the music, apparently), and it seems as safe a place as any; and if many of the men in this period conduct themselves in an eerily similar way to the Time Lords, well. It's nothing to do with homesickness. Absolute nonsense. It'll just help him blend in, that's all.

The Persian is elegant and dignified, snooty and superior in a way he likes. It's disdainful of the roster of new companions that Susan somehow brings home, and continue to arrive even after she leaves, and he likes that too (although it does like Barbara, the three of them often sunbathing while Susan and Chesterton go off exploring on new planets, and he likes that best of all.)

The Polteageist has the aura of old and classy, and yet also has an impish, mischievous streak, sometimes trying to trick Chesterfield into drinking from it. The Doctor approves of this jape. Although he really can't be having with any of them, of course, Pokémon OR companions. Things were much simpler when it was just him and Susan.

(He secretly lets the Persian on his bed at night. Barbara pretends she doesn't know, and discreetly brushes the fur off his coat.)

Second Doctor

Chatot

Neither of them will shut the fuck up. This includes when the recorder comes out, and the Chatot tries to harmonise. Zoe finds it charming, and often talks to it, but Jamie finds it noisy and obnoxious. He swore at it in Scots once, but it repeated it to the Doctor, and so Jamie got a row.

It almost gets eaten by a Cyber-mat on Telos, though, and Jamie beats the offending Cyber-mat to death with a brick with surprising verve and venom. After that, he and the Chatot take great delight in lovingly insulting each other.

After the War Games, and the arrival of the Time Lords, the Doctor is forced to part with it. It goes with Jamie, and lives out its days screaming Scots insults at English soldiers in the Highlands, and sometimes singing strange, whistling tunes that Jamie feels he heard somewhere before.

Third Doctor

Aegislash

Porygon Z

The Doctor trained up the Aegislash with the express aim of being able to fence the Master if needed, because he thought it would be more stylish. He's right, too, but Liz swore to herself that she'd rather die than admit that out loud. Of course, the Master then did exactly the same thing, but with a shiny Aegislash. The Doctor sulked for days.

She loved creating the Porygon with him, though (a synthetic Pokémon! What an incredible scientific creation), and she was the one to train it up to a Porygon Z. When Jo comes along, she loves the Porygon Z with her whole heart and soul, but it's always skittish around her clumsy ways. Eventually, they go back to UNIT for a visit, and it leaves to be with Liz. Probably best for everyone.

It makes Jo sad, though. It feels like maybe it was her fault - if she could have befriended it properly, could have been less ditzy, less her, then maybe it would have been happy. The Doctor tells her it was simply better off with its first trainer, that she shouldn't blame herself, but she can't help it. It eats at her, until one evening she's sitting in her room moping and feels a nudge, and when she looks down the Aegislash is gazing up at her, its clumsy sword body incapable of offering proper comfort yet trying anyway. It makes her laugh, touched beyond measure, and it locks eyes with her, spins its back to her, and morphs into defence form, a shield against the world all for her.

After that, she is best friends with it. It spends most of its time on their adventures leaping defensively between Jo and certain doom; the Doctor is only half joking when he tells her it's probably why she survives.

When she meets Cliff and falls in love, leaving the perils of space for the perils of social justice, it goes with her.

The next time the Doctor meets the Master, he uses Venusian aikido. It's more stylish than sword fighting, anyway.

Fourth Doctor

Psyduck

Beeheeyem

Alcremie

It's actually Sarah Jane who brings the Beeheeyem aboard, and Harry who brings the Psyduck; both are accidental acquisitions, with the former being responsible for a mystery that Sarah Jane was investigating and the latter being treated by Harry for a headache, and both just... follow these humans when they try to leave, and refuse to stop doing so even when they enter the TARDIS.

But you wouldn't know it. Beeheeyem and Psyduck both prove to be off-putting weirdos, and keep staring at people unsettlingly; Sarah has to keep her bedroom door locked shut to stop either from getting in after she woke up one morning to find both next to her bed, staring at her while she slept. She'd screamed so loud that Harry had come stumbling in still in his night shirt, blearily looking for an invading alien or something. He'd laughed when he realised, and shooed them out, and helped her install a lock.

And yet... the Doctor apparently enjoys staring unsettlingly back.

Sarah and Harry start keeping a secret spreadsheet; which Pokémon, for how long, who seems to win the staring contest. Sometimes they last for hours. It seems almost meditative. It causes deep bonds to form; fascinatingly, he even seems to understand Beeheeyem's weird finger flashing, which Sarah is fairly certain is unheard of.

The Alcremie was a deliberate acquisition, though. He does have a sweet tooth.

Fifth Doctor

Farfetchd

Hirsuian Voltorb

Tegan mocks him viciously for it, but he's a vain creature with eccentric and rigid aesthetic choices, and the Pokémon help with it. Farfetch'd is very good at accessorising with his celery. And Voltorb is the only thing that ever lets him relax - it is so much easier to play cricket with a ball that bowls itself at you! Nyssa and Tegan approve at first; the Doctor can be abrasive, and neither of them has any interest in cricket.

It also lets him play alone. After Adric, he locks himself into the TARDIS sports hall, and plays and plays and plays.

Sixth Doctor

Bruxish

Galarian Linoone

Eiscue

He bonds with the Bruxish instantly, love at first sight; they share the flashy coat, warning stripes to the world, and the smirking, vicious temperament. It takes Peri weeks to warm to it, and it snaps and strikes every time she gets near; until one day she doesn't move fast enough, and she discovers that the teeth that fully closed about the meat of her upper arm barely grazed across her skin, leaving no mark. It acts positively affronted when she announces it's not so bad after all; but she's no longer fooled.

The Linoone is, not to put too fine a point on it, a little shit. The Doctor spends half his time loudly decrying it as conniving and ungrateful; it waggles its tongue back, making an odd sniggering sound before stealing his socks and other items. But Peri sees him slipping it treats sometimes, sees the little ear scratches, sees the answering hand licks. Like Barbara before her, she pretends not to see.

The Eiscue is called Frobisher. The Doctor names it a companion.

Seventh Doctor

Mimikyu

Mr Rime

Liepard

Ace wonders afterwards, in the years to come, how she didn't see the lies, the manipulation, the depths of his scheming sooner; it was right there in the Doctor's Pokémon, if she'd cared to look. Except she did, actually - that's the worst part, in a way. She did know.

But she never thought it would apply to her. Not... like that. Not that personally.

And that's also down to the Pokémon, probably. The Mr Rime is too knowing in its gaze, a Psychic type that sees right through her; but whenever it sees her unhappy it twirls its cane and hat in an impression of the Doctor to make her laugh. The Liepard is vicious and deceptive, sneaky and shrewd, and yet it curls around her whenever she sits in the chair in her room, purring and rubbing against her. The Mimikyu is more obvious, admittedly - a little nightmare beast in a Pikachu costume, hiding its true nature under an unassuming mask - but, is that more the Doctor, or her?

Perhaps it's both.

Perhaps it's all true. He went too far, with Fenric. Even he knows he did. But like the Pokémon, he still loves her. She's both pawn and daughter to him; a playing piece to use, but also a companion to love. And he does use her, yes.

But he does love her, too.

(It takes too long to realise it. When she leaves, the Mimikyu and the Liepard come with her. The Mr Rime does not, the resemblance too much; and the Doctor understands.)

Eighth Doctor

Slowpoke

Cherrim

It's probably the difficult regeneration; he gets amnesia like humans get colds, the memories slipping away like sand through a fist and leaving him hollow, without an identity to fill the void. It's a lonely thing, amnesia. Oddly, though, it's the times that he does remember that feel the loneliest.

Odder still, it always feels so familiar.

But the Pokémon keep him sane. The Slowpoke is his constant friend, as forgetful as him, its vacant, constant state of mild confusion nonetheless living proof that even without the memories, he can still be him, whoever that may be. Amnesia is lonely, yes; but here is a creature going through the same thing, and ultimately, they are in it together at least.

The Cherrim is different. It cloaks itself often, hunkering down against the darkness of a non-existent storm, and he knows that sensation. But then the sun shines, and the Cherrim opens up into its delighted cheerful dance, and the Doctor thinks, yes. This too shall pass. And there is joy when it does.

War Doctor

Yveltal

It's wrong. He knows it's wrong.

He doesn't have any others. No family, no companions, no Pokémon. None left now; and if there were, he's about to sacrifice them anyway. Best to keep it simple.

He thinks of Ace. He thinks of Susan. He thinks of keeping it simple and of I went too far and of a thousand other things; Sarah Jane, and Barbara brushing his coat, and playing cricket endlessly with a Voltorb in lieu of thinking of anything at all, and if he doesn't do this wrong thing, this awful thing now, none of them will have ever lived.

On a broken planet at the end of existence, there are Dalek ships in the sky.

They are hidden by the unfurling wings of Yveltal.

Ninth Doctor

Trubbish

Cubone

He's a nine hundred year old alien and Rose is aware that she herself is a teenager who still can't quite get her brain to accept 'woman' instead of 'girl'; and yet, within minutes of meeting the Doctor, all she can see is a broken child.

He hides it, almost. The face he shows the world is definitely stern and moral and hardened. He's sharp tongued even while actually sympathising with abused and downtrodden aliens and young Welsh psychics. But his trauma responses are totally off, he's far too quick to risk his life, and the day he has her at gun point, telling her to move so he can murder a Dalek and she says no, he shatters at her feet like glass.

But it's in his Pokémon too. The Trubbish is a surprise, until she thinks about it - you don't need to know him for more than... oh, five minutes tops before you realise that he will see the value and worth of every lifeform to exist, even - especially - ones that others don't. It's the Trubbish, it's the Gelth, it's a lonely Slitheen fugitive, a bio-engineered woman in a machine; for lack of a better word, the Doctor sees humanity even where you couldn't imagine it.

The Cubone weeps, mourning a loss it simply cannot heal alone. Rose catches them sometimes, sitting in the console room at 'night', the Cubone on the Doctor's lap and both crying silently as they stare at things she cannot see.

The day it evolves is a turning point. She sees the cracks begin to seal.

Tenth Doctor

Luvdisc

Goodra

Wobbuffet

Oricorio (pom pom)

He gets the Luvdisc for Rose, of course.

It's a silly thing, caught from the beach on Woman Wept; it was there, and the locals told them it was good luck, and it had made her eyes light up and he'd thought in that moment that he'd do anything to see that look in her eyes.

And then he loses Rose, and the grief leaves him breathless. There are days he cannot get his lungs to move quite right, and he lies in bed with his hands on his hearts, trying to find a stable pace to breathe. He knows he has to move on. Rose showed him that.

(He cannot even look at the Luvdisc now.)

So he's back to work, and then there's Martha; clever, wonderful Martha, quick witted and whip-smart and resourceful. She's the one who brings the Goodra aboard, actually. It was being neglected by its trainer, fed and trained and put to battle but never given the affection the species needs, and he'd beamed and said it was a good job it had her, then.

Fuck, he was so stupid with Martha. So blinded by his own grief, so trapped in his own head, so stupid. It was all right in front of him. But he'd been so alone for so long, had believed himself so unworthy, and then Rose came along and he'd dared to believe he could be loved, could be happy, could be so unfathomably lucky, and then suddenly it was gone, and he simply couldn't conceive of anyone else seeing what Rose saw.

The guilt had struck right in the solar plexus as Martha spelled out her departure. But his admiration for her, for her strength of character, could not possibly have been higher. She took the Goodra; he expected that.

But she also took the Luvdisc. "It deserves better, too," she told him, with a gentleness he didn't deserve.

The Wobbuffet came the day he re-met Donna. It was unclear why Kovarian had it, but as soon as they reunited, miming a conversation through two windows on opposite sides of a room, the Wobbuffet had slowly rotated to stare at each of them, transfixed. By the time the Doctor and Donna had made it into the same window basket, the Wobbuffet was somehow also there. After that, it came with them.

Between the three of them, they have a single braincell. On some days, it appears none of them are using it. But the Wobbuffet proves extremely useful, especially when protecting Donna from giant Beedrills.

They get the Oricorio as a giveaway from Ood Operations at the corporate open day; it keeps dancing to the Ood Song. It also hype dances every time Donna goes shopping, so she falls in love.

He leaves her with both in the end. If he can't be with her, at least they can.

Eleventh Doctor

Rowlet

Smoochum

Drifloon

Amy gets him the Rowlet. She says they have the same stupid dress sense, so maybe they can cry for help together. The Doctor is delighted, and takes great care of Rowlet's little bow tie.

The Drifloon, though, he tries not to think about. He's aware that he's seeing a lot of his companions and his wife as children. He's aware that it's weird, okay? He knows. He's also heard the old wives tale of Drifloons wanting to steal children, and how they Just Know who to follow sometimes to make that happen. But that way madness lies, so... don't think about it? Don't even think about it. Old wives tale. Anyway, it's too light to actually carry off a child, it's fine.

The Smoochum is on the nose, though. Of course it's River who gets it for him. "I thought a baby Pokémon would suit you," she coos. "See you next time, sweetie! Smooches!"

He wants to kill her.

Twelfth Doctor

Noctowl

Metagross

As ever, the Noctowl is Clara's idea. She tells him it looks like him. He hisses back that she's trying to look like a Gardevoir, but it's ineffective and stupidly mean and then the Noctowl follows him anyway. He catches sight of them in a mirror, and is even more annoyed when he realises she's right - the damn thing is even mirroring his expressions.

But the Metagross is his. It's clever, is the thing - four brains mean it's practically a super computer, and it's vicious in a way he relates to, and also, it has a St Andrews Cross over its face that makes him think of the accent that came with this face.

Bill asks him about that once.

"Lots of planets have a Scotland," he says.

Thirteenth Doctor

Stufful

Altaria

Maushold

She was too closed off last time, she thinks. She can tell; she hasn't been this clingy, this desperate for companionship, in a long time. And it's not a conscious choice, of course, that was more Romana's thing, but... Sometimes, the regenerations give you what you need.

That's how she gets the Stufful, a cuddly creature that just wants love. It's also how the Maushold evolves, she's pretty sure - it happens not long after Ryan calls Graham his Granddad, and the Doctor feels like her hearts could burst, she's so happy for them, and then when she goes to feed the Pokémon there are too many mice gazing up at her.

But the Altaria evolves not long after she and Yaz... realise.

She's not surprised. Attachment terrifies her now. She can't even think about Rose, about the Luvdisc, about Donna, about River. She's terrified of losing Yaz like that.

The Altaria sails serenely up in the sky, high and carefree, and the Doctor dreams of flying.

Fourteenth Doctor

Wishiwashi

Oricorio (sensu)

Klefi

The Wishiwashi happens immediately. He has rarely identified with something more; it battles with its armour, all the bodies and souls of its companions, and it uses them up until they're all gone and what's left is weak and useless and weeping at the horror of the world -

And then Donna's back, and she remembers. Fuck, she remembers. He's dreamed and dreamed and here it is.

The Oricorio is different now. It once flapped yellow wings like pom poms, joy and delight. Now lilac feathers like fans dance a mournful dance, a reminder of all that's lost. And yet...

Donna remembers.

"You're staggering, Doctor," she whispers. "Come home."

And finally... he does.

It can't be forever. He'll outlive them all, eventually. He knows this. But for now, this is what he needs.

A home with a family. His best friend, platonic soulmate, safe and sound; Wilf and the moles out the back; Mel at his side, finding their feet together; his vibrant and beautiful niece, the new and perfect owner of the old Wobbuffet.

The night he moves into the house that is now his, he takes out the keys to his new home, and discovers they are harbouring a tiny Klefki.

Fifteenth Doctor

Gardevoir (male)

Oricorio (baile)

It's a brand new life, a brand new universe, full of possibilities and wonder and so much to explore, and the Doctor does not know where to begin.

He brought one thing from his bi-generated self. The Oricorio is much happier now, its feathers a fabulous red and ready to party. The night he meets Ruby in the club it's him and the Oricorio in the press of bodies, somehow making space as they twirl round and round on the dark dancefloor, feathers and kilt flaring around them both in the heat and euphoria of the moment.

The Gardevoir was Rogue's. He'd been on Rogue's spaceship, and had immediately started dancing to Kylie, much to the Doctor's amusement and Rogue's irritation. Afterwards, the Doctor hadn't been able to leave him. Hadn't wanted to - the Gardevoir is gloriously stylish, with a sort of gender-bending aesthetic that the Doctor adores these days.

And he remembers. "It deserves better too," Martha had told him once, several lifetimes ago. He does not want to repeat those mistakes.

He keeps the Gardevoir, and the Oricorio too; and he chooses to remember what he once tried to forget.

[legendofmorons]

Sky only one bed

One bed (morning confessions)

No warnings just some fluff

Your excitement to sleep at an inn is only half diminished when you find that you've been paired to a room with only one bed. It's not the end of the world. Traveling with this group, you've seen everyone hurt or in various states of dress.

The issue is actually just that there's only one bed and the person you are sharing the room (and apparently bed) with is Sky.

That... makes it sound bad. It isn't!

Sky is wonderful, kind if a little prone to teasing. After all every Link is a gremlin at heart.

The problem, or the root of it, is that you have feelings for the man... and you are worried about making a fool of yourself.

"Well, I can take the floor?" Sky offers from the doorway behind you.

You stand in the middle of the room and turn, "Absolutely not."

"I don't mind."

"I mind." You cross your arms.

You know that if you offer to sleep on the floor he'll shoot it down. Which, if nice because that would probably mess up ypur back and neck.

You know the bed is big enough.

Well... You suppose you'll just have to suck up your feelings about this and share. The bed is big enough for it.

"We can share." You say, hoping you come of as confident.

Sky smiles even as his cheeks dust pink, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's big enough anyways." You offer a smile back. "Besides there are worse people to share a bed with."

"Oh yeah?"

You laugh a little. "Definitely. Wind kicks in his sleep, little monster."

"You don't say." Sky laughs.

You snicker again. "I'm pretty sure. Come on it's been a long day we should try to sleep."

"Probably so." Sky says as he steps fully into the room and shuts the door.

You cross to the corner of the room, setting your things down before stripping into your under layers. An under shirt and underwear is much better to sleep in than full gear.

You can hear Sky doing the same somewhere on behind you.

It's almost scary to bear so little protection after so long with this group, but you know you're safe here. Regardless of any reciprocation Sky may or may not have for your feelings, he would never hurt you. Not on purpose.

Crossing to the bed and getting in is more daunting than you want to admit. It's a comfortable bed, at least.

You watch Sky get into bed, laying like a stiff log beside you.

"That's got to be uncomfortable." You say with a soft smile.

"It's fine. I don't want to encroach."

"I'm not going to die if you end up touching my arm, but thank you for thinking of me."

Sky looks at you with wide eyes. "I sprawl out usually I just don't want to bother you."

A rather silly idea occurs to you. "Would it be easier if we cuddled?"

You can feel your face heat up, but it's a genuine question. There is no answer that will be easy on your heart, but you've already asked.

Sky flushes a little. "If... you don't mind?"

"I offered." You manage.

You both shift until you're comfortable. The soft 'is this okay' or 'can I do this' is asked until you settle down.

Sky lays on his back in the middle of the bed, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you. His heart beats rapidly in his chest like bass drum beating along to a fast song you don't know.

It's nice.

It's torture because this isn't quite what you imagined this situation would be. There's no kisses.

It's okay though, because Sky is a good friend and you feel safe.

"Are you going to be able to sleep?" You ask.

Sky hums, "I should be. Why?"

"Your heart's fast is all."

"Oh." Sky says.

"I didn't mean to be rude-"

"You weren't." Sky assures you.

"Okay."

You let yourself sink into the comfort and safety, relishing the warmth of the man holding you.

Sky's breathing is slow and steady. Even as his heart continues it's rapid staccato.

You lay there long enough that you are all but asleep when you hear it.

"You're beautiful like this." Sky whispers.

You manage to open your eyes, face warming. "Thank you."

"Oh- I thought you were asleep. I mean it though."

"Thank you."

"Go back to sleep, sunshine."

You feel far more awake at this new nickname. "Sunshine?"

"Oh. Uh-"

"I like that one." You decide, ignoring the hope blossoming in your heart.

"Good." Sky says.

Sleep finds you both, the embrace of dreams is nothing new.

-------

Sky wakes and immediately closes his eyes again the sunlight streaming in from the window. He pulls the thing again his chest closer in protest-

That's not a thing that's a person.

Sky opens his eyes again, quickly looking down and seeing you.

Right.

Goddess above, Sky was such a fool last night. Letting his feelings fall all over the ground. It's a miracle he didn't make you uncomfortable on accident.

"I'm so lucky." Sky mutters to himself.

You groan, burying your face in his chest before you bolt up with a gasp.

"What- Sky?" You ask with blurring vision.

"Morning." Sky says.

You blink a few times, the sigh. Lowering yourself back down to your original position with your head on his chest you just pout. "No."

"No?" Sky chuckles.

"Don't wanna."

"Fair enough."

"I was having a nice dream." You sigh, sounding a little out if it still. "Was nice, we were married and having a picnic."

"Oh?" Sky asks.

"Yes."

"Sounds nice."

"It was. Too bad it's not real." You yawn, burying your face in his chest again.

"It could be." Sky offers on instinct.

"What?" You ask, looking up at him.

Sky gives a nervous smile. "It could be real. If you meant that, if you actually want a life with me. If I'm miss reading-"

"Really?"

"Yes." Sky breathes out.

You smile, giddy and adoreable. "We're so talking about this later."

"After breakfast."

"Sounds lovely." You say, setting back down and closing your eyes. "I just want to lay here for now."

"Sounds perfect." Sky says, pulling you a little closer while fixing the blankets.

[dreamerdrop]

Could you tell us more about the WIP called Zebras?

Zebras is an episode related little what if based on If Wishes Were Horses, wherein Julian falls asleep reading medical notes about Bajoran war orphans and finds himself dreaming about his own childhood, and thus wakes up to a small imaginary version of himself pre-augmentation.

I need to rewrite the bulk of it, but here’s a snippet from the ending without any further context.

Julian doesn't really want to be around people, but he does want to drink until he blacks out, so he finds himself sitting in a corner at Quarks, tossing back synthehol like his life depends on it, when Jadzia approaches him, looking uncomfortable.

“You know... What I meant was, does this mean you have a secret yearning to be a father,” Jadzia says softly, almost whispering so that nobody else will hear. “I was… trying to joke about you maybe having a pregnancy fetish or something, and… maybe that was why you liked the idea that I already had a worm in my belly…?” she sits across from him, her smile is very contrite.

Julian grimaces. Of course, that had been what she was trying to joke about... Leave it to Jadzia to phrase it in the most awkward way possible, and for Julian to interpret it as incorrectly as imaginable.

They really did make quite a pair.

“So… who was he?” she asks, and Julian had so very much been dreading when that question would finally come up. His throat feels dry.

“He was… a friend. I knew him a long time ago…” he finds himself staring into the middle distance, several memories playing through his mind.

“What happened?”

Julian breathes slowly, trying not to get lost in the flood of thoughts and emotions that he feels like he might as well be drowning in.

“He died. He was... He was sick. His parents, they… it was difficult for them. Looking after him, because he was… they… they wanted to help him, to fix him, to make him…” Julian chokes on the words, crying. His face heats with shame.

“He was stupid. He was stupid, and annoying, and nobody liked him, and his parents…” he doesn't mean the words at all. He’s not sure where they’re coming from, but he can’t seem to stop them. Jadzia is looking at him in almost horror.

“They took him away to fix him, but… he didn't come back. I think... I think his parents were happier without him,” he says quietly. Jadzia shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest.

“They were. They had another child. I heard… I heard them telling their new child how much better he was. How much smarter, and easier to handle he was. They… I… They didn’t miss him at all…”

Jadzia isn’t stupid. Julian knows she can tell there’s more to this than he’s willing to admit. Julian knows he’s giving away too much. He knows he’ll regret this one day. Right now, the image of watching Jules die all over again is fresh in his mind.

“Sometimes, I think… I might be the only one who misses him at all.”

Jadzia reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. She lifts her own glass and clinks it against Julian’s.

“We can miss him together, at least for tonight,” she says.

The burn of synthehol doesn’t warm him as much as the genuine kindness in Jadzia’s eyes, nor does it sting as much as the still-present pity.

He supposes that one day, she’ll look at him normally again, but just for tonight… he’s grateful that someone else can feel sorry for Jules. He’s glad he won’t be the only one to miss him anymore.

END.

I’m not quite sure what to do with the rest of it in the lead up to that yet though, since I’ve been puzzling over the character voices for a while for this… I think I’ve got Julian being too much of a jerk and being sort of too… idk, softboy-ish? Rather than like… himself. And I think it makes zero sense for me not to have Sisko and Miles more involved as well, since y’know, they’re both parents and here is Julian with a tiny kid.

Anyway, it’s been a WIP since maybe November last year and I come back to it occasionally and hopefully one day I will finish it. Hopefully. Maybe. We’ll see!

[rosysins]

continue from here | @deathfavor

♣ Gekkouin.

Ah, Gekkouin would look down momentarily surprised, before threading his hand through the white hair. "Sorry, it's nothing, I didn't mean to wake you." It was rare for the two of them to find time to relax like this, it'd be a shame to worry the overgrown cat endlessly over ... trivial matters.

'Weird dreams' wasn't the most accurate term for the kind of dreams he had. It was more of... unusual dreams. Gekkouin recalls seeing Byakkomaru in those dreams and... he was missing his stripes and tiger ears, and Gekkouin was missing his own horns and face markings too. He can never recall what they did in those dreams, but whenever he woke up from such dreams, a longing nostalgic feeling would linger in his chest. These dreams were also the reason why he's been seeking Byakkomaru out so much these days, a futile attempt to relieve that longing.

When the large tiger began moving them around, Gekkouin would frown displeased at his comfortable position being changed. He would be faced to face with Byakkomaru's sharp eyes and he would let out a huff. "You're making this into a bigger deal than it is. It's just a passing a comment, nothing more." Honestly, was he always so anxious? No different than a regular fat house cat then. "If you're not going back to sleep, I'm gonna go play games. Get off."

[torchstelechos]

God, I just want a fanfic about the absolute wild internet fandom and discourse of PIDW. Just full stop make it a chat/discord sever fic with both SQQ and SQH in it but neither know and they have another meltdown relationship on this server. Enough so that the fans make jokes that they’re just alts of SQQ and SQH (which is true but no one actually believes this). Make the final chapter present day them figuring it out and wailing on each other in anger. I need this more than I need air.

[schlockamorph]

the pizza guy has taken over my brain

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[souljahwwitch]

ND’ WE SIPPINNN ND’ WE RIDINNN’!

; hc’s about getting high with best friend! thanos ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

(no squid game in these hc’s)

song to listen to: h20 by chris travis <3

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ smoking with thanos means laying on his bed, in his silly room with bunch of posters and random plushies, you just lay there prettily, looking at him as he rolls the blunt—afterall he wouldn’t want his angel (totally platonically..) to do the work, right?

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ smoking with thanos means him making sure you’re alright—yeah he’s an asshole, but he doesn’t want you fainting or something

“hey, hey—easy with that shit, dumbass, it’s strong.” he’d say and you’d just giggle “relax! nothing’s going to happen, promise.”

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ smoking with thanos means watching eachother as both of your eyes get low and glassy, he can’t help stare at you when you get even more beautiful when you smoke (if that’s even possible), and he especially can’t help but stare when you get all giggly and bashful—to him, it’s the most adorable shit—but platonically, right…?

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ smoking with thanos means getting extra clingy, you can’t help it, you’re feeling all tingly and slow—and he lays there with you on his lap, what can a girl do?

as you sit on his lap, while he’s laying, he softly brushes his thumb on your bottom lips “open your mouth” he says, and you look at him—all confused “just do it dumbass”

and you do, because why would you say no to your best friend, right? he gets closer, his mouth dangerously close as he passes the smoke from his lips to yours “breathe in…there you go, pretty girl”

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ smoking with thanos means—him teasing you for being so shy, when he knows what he does to you, he’s so mean!!! but you like it..

“what, can’t handle your best friend getting a little closer than usual, hm?” he’d say—all cocky and full of himself, even though you have the same effect on him just sitting on his lap, though he’d rather die than admit

“can’t handle when you do it like that.. :(“ you’d pout and that just makes him more cocky

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ getting high with thanos means listening to cloud rap, you two can’t help it—especially when h20 by chris travis is on—and what can he do when you look at him all pretty with red rimmed eyes through your long lashes—

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹ getting high with thanos means him losing it, finally cupping your face and kissing you, what can the boy do?!?! >:( especially when you whine so prettily into the kiss

[roanofarcc]

GETTING EVEN

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader

summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 

warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.

a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 

“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 

Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 

You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 

You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 

Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 

“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 

“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.

Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 

Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 

The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 

When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 

You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 

You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 

You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 

Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 

“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 

“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 

He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 

You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 

With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 

Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 

Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 

It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 

You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 

“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 

“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 

There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 

You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 

Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 

You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 

He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 

“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 

You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 

“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 

Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 

Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 

Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 

“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 

“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 

“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 

You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 

“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 

“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 

You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 

At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 

You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 

“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 

“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 

You chuckled. “Yes.” 

He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 

Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 

“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 

“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 

You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 

He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 

She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 

“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 

You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 

“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 

You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 

Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 

“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 

“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 

You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 

“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 

You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 

“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 

You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 

“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 

You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 

“Yeah, y-yeah.” 

After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 

With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 

In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 

You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 

Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 

“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 

“It’s not,” he replied. 

“You should be elevating your ankle.” 

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 

You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 

“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 

Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 

You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 

He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”

[kikyoupdates]

Rivalry | Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader 

katsuki catches feelings for his new rival

Bakugou Katsuki has a crush, and he refuses to admit it. 

There’s a girl in his class who drives him absolutely insane. All throughout middle school, he’s had the top grades. His attitude, foul mouth, and appearance may fool people into believing he’s a delinquent—and to some extent, he is—but the truth is that he has a rigid, early bedtime, he does all his homework diligently, he studies at great length for tests, and he’s never missed a single day of class. 

He’s the best student there is. Or rather—he’s just the best in general. 

But this year, everything changed. 

There’s something about you that seems to catch everyone’s eye. You showed up at the beginning of the school year, a new transfer student, and from that moment onward, Katsuki swears his life got flipped upside down. 

You’re gifted. You’ve got the best grades not only in the class, but out of everyone in the whole school. Every time exam scores are posted for others to see, Katsuki is forced to grit his teeth at the sight of your name at the very top, time and time again.

It’s not just your grades, though. You’ve got a powerful Quirk, too. It’s some kind of energy control that allows you to levitate objects, enhance your physical strength, and also defend against attacks. It’s strong and versatile. Perfect for becoming a hero—which is exactly what you plan to be. 

The final nail in the coffin is that you’re also popular. 

Katsuki is used to being the center of attention wherever he goes. He’s used to being complimented for his intellect, his talent, his strength, and the sheer magnitude of his presence. Thanks to everyone praising him to high heaven, ever since he was a kid, his ego has become massively inflated. 

So, when he realizes that people are paying more attention to you than they are to him, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to handle it. 

Katsuki finds himself glaring at you just about constantly. You’ve always got a group of students gathered around you. You’re always smiling and laughing, looking carefree as can be. You’re also the only person in the whole class who doesn’t treat Izuku like dirt—which just pisses him off even more. 

One day, you stop in front of his desk with a bright smile. 

“Here you go, Bakugou,” you say, handing him a cookie. “This is for you.” 

Katsuki looks up at you in disbelief. “Why would I ever want this shit?” 

“I dunno. It was my birthday recently, so I baked cookies to hand out to the class. Don’t you want one? I thought everyone likes cookies.” 

“I would rather die than eat that,” he snarls, and he angrily shoves the cookie back into your hands. 

He’s dramatic as all hell, of course, and that kind of vicious remark would have been more than enough to make anyone feel self-conscious. It was needlessly harsh. He obviously didn’t mean it. Given the option of eating your cookie or dying, he would definitely eat the cookie. 

Not that it really matters, though.

You’re completely unfazed. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you were deathly afraid of cookies,” you muse. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time. What about cupcakes? Are cupcakes safe for you to eat?” 

Katsuki’s entire face turns red. “That’s obviously not what I meant, asshole!” 

“I know,” you giggle, and for some reason, the sound makes Katsuki’s heart skip a beat. “Sorry for teasing. You’re really funny, Bakugou. I like you.” 

He parts his lips to respond, but he’s incapable of forming any words. It feels like whatever he was about to say just died in the back of his throat. All of a sudden, he’s frozen in place, brain running haywire. 

“I like you.” 

You’re making fun of him. You have to be. And why should he even care whether you actually like him or not? He doesn’t give a shit about you. He can’t stand you. You’re the bane of his goddamn existence. 

…fuck. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself, but given how red his face is, it’s sounding harder and harder to believe. 

“I’ll make something else next time,” you beam. “I’m sure one day, I’ll figure out something you like. I’ve noticed you eat spicy food a lot. Maybe I should try making a curry. Ah, but if it’s good, you have to be honest with me, okay? You’re not allowed to lie.” 

Katsuki’s heart does another flip. It’s so stupid. He can’t believe his mind even bothered to read into it, but…

The fact that you know what kind of food he likes means you’ve at least been paying some attention to him, right? 

“I’m going to beat you,” Katsuki blurts. His voice wavers slightly, and he grinds his teeth together in embarrassment, but still, he persists. “On the next round of exams… I’m going to place first. Just you watch.”

Normally, Katsuki can’t stand to lose. He can’t stand the feeling of inferiority. The idea that someone else might be better than him.

And yet, despite his frustration, despite how much he claims you drive him up the wall, he actually doesn’t mind the challenge. It’s exciting. It makes him respect you that much more. 

“We’ll see about that,” you grin—and he’s convinced you have to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

No doubt about it. 

Something about you just gets his heart racing.

Check out the author’s library!

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[rodolfoparras]

Don’t want it to break, just want it to bend (do you know how to bend?)

Pairing: Top male reader x bottom male character

Synopsis: In which he’s convinced that he can cum without your assistance

cw: 18+, dom male reader, sub male character, use of f slur, homophobia, forced feminization

Thinking about letting a homophobic misogynistic dude bro have a go with one of his toys since he’s so adamant on the fact that he doesn’t need your cock to cum, watching him erratically fuck into the silicone cunt, obscene squelching sounds mingling with the sound of his groans and grunts, the muscles in his back and ass clenching from the sheer force of his thrust but despite how much he tries he just can’t seem to orgasm

“What’s the matter love, that not enough for you?”

And it really isn’t, at least not anymore, doesn’t feel anything like being stretched taut around your length, cockhead continuously ramming into the wall of nerves that his eyes rolling into the back of his head all while you’re whispering lewd things in his ear telling him what a greedy slut he is how he was just made for your dick, words that would otherwise have his lips curling in disgust but has his hole clenching when being practically skewed onto your dick

He’d rather die than admit to any of that though.

“Shut the fuck up”he snaps back, but the pace of his hips have visibly slowed down, clearly giving up on working the silicone cunt and that’s really all it takes for you to approach the other man, hands sneaking around his waist.

“M not a fag,” he says, in an attempt to preserve the last bit of pride in him but there’s no real bite to his words, body willingly relaxing in your arms.

You just hum in response, ignoring the meaning of his words like you’ve done so many times before, while a big warm palm presses down on his lower half, prompting him to bend over for you.

“So pretty princess,” you say, when the man swiftly bends over, hairy hole now on full display and eagerly clenching around nothing.

“Mph- don’t- ah don’t say that ,” he says again, albeit a bit quieter as you line your cockhead up with his entrance , the tight ring of muscles already stretched from earlier endeavors,

“But why shouldn’t I when it’s the truth hm?” You say through shaky breaths as your cockhead pushes past his puckered entrance. “you do look pretty like this, so eager and desperate for me” you hiss, voice growing weaker as he steadily takes you inch by inch.

The man in question doesn’t respond, instead he eagerly bucks his hips, in an attempt to push you deeper inside all while strangled noises escape his lips. By the time your balls are flush against his ass, you got the man practically trembling in your arms, voice all weak when he speaks “fuck fuck, just- ah just please,”

“What is it pretty? You got to tell me ” You murmur into his skin, trying not to lose yourself in the feeling of his tight walls squeezing down on your dick.

“Fuck me please,” he says, voice all soft and it takes everything in you not to cum on the spot.

You just hum in response, clinging onto the last bit of composure as you give an experimental thrust.

And just like clockwork his body jerks in place, shaky breathes escaping his lips as he gets used to the stretch. You let him take his time, while relishing in the feeling of being this close to him again.

It had been a while after all, - weeks actually , partially because he was busy with life, and partially because he was a prideful bastard . But God you missed him, so much so you’re sure that you can blow a load from just being buried inside him “You good?” You say after a while, looking down at the man who’d gone completely silent in your arms.

“Yes yes yes just - ah just fucking hurry up!” the other man hisses, and bucks his hips, clearly having had enough of this teasing.

“Shh it’s alright it’s alright, I got you,” you coo into the crook of his neck, feeling rather amused by the man’s eagerness but nonetheless you comply to his request, completely pulling out of him before slamming back into him again.

“Oh- oh fuck, just ah- just like that!,” He cries out, chucking the last bit of pride onto the ground, as he loses himself in the feeling of your fat cock filling him up, relentlessly slamming into him like he was one of the toys he’d been using earlier “More more more please,”

“Greedy little thing aren’t you? ” you say through shaky breaths but comply with his request, hands gripping his hips in such way you’re sure will leave bruises on them , as you drive up into him.

“feels ah- feels so so good, fuck!” He sobs out, the heat in his groin becoming more prominent as your cockhead continuously brushes against his sensitive spot.

“This what you wanted hm?” You say, puncturing every word with a thrust of of your hips, feeling your own release creep up with each second that passes.

“Yes yes yes” he sobs out while erratically thrusting back onto your cock and it doesn’t take much before he’s inching closer to his orgasm-a couple more rough strokes, and a firm hand pressing down on his windpipe is all it takes before he’s cumming all over himself “going haah - going to cum!”

“Come on love, cum for me, let me know how good I’m making your pretty pussy feel,”

For a moment there are no words exchanged, allowing the other man to catch his breath and when he finally does speak it sends a laughter rumbling right through your chest “this,” he says, sounding out of breath while gesturing between your bodies “doesn’t count,” he continues, referring to the reason as to why you were doing this in the first place.

“No?” You say with a shit eating grin on your face, “how about another round then? Just to be safe”

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[cheonstapes]

Nothing in my mind but nerd! Miguel and titties.

I'm going back to sleep.

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘YOUR BOOBS LOOK HEAVY, LET ME HOLD ‘EM FOR YOU” ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

a/n ~ i am so downbad for nerd miguel, what the fuck. titties, titties, titties, titties, rocking everywhere! thank you nonnie!!!! love you !! creds to @nymphomatique 💗

summary; you let miguel sleep over for the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.

wc; 1.3k+

pairings; nerd!miguel x fem!reader

cw; SMUT!!, titties, body worship basically, switch!miguel, switch!reader, reader has pierced nipples, spanking, anal play, slapping, anal fingering, breeding kink/impregnation kink, cumming in pants, cumming kinda untouched?, biting, dry humping, they’re in love idc, nawt proofread - why did this take me like a week

miguel had been such a good boy for you, making sure you passed all your exams for this semester - you decided that he deserved a little treat

you invited him over one weekend to your dorm, telling him he was allowed to sleep over

he’s never moved faster with the way he packed up his bag and ran to your dorm which is on the other side of the campus

when he got there he was all sweaty n panting heavy, it was a little pathetic how eager he was but you let him in, making sure he went a took a shower asap

to be honest, you didn’t expect it to be hard for you to keep your hands to yourself, especially when your little boytoy is walking around your dorm in that combo - grey sweats and a tight wife beater, you can even see the outline of his abs

he followed you around like a lost puppy, it was cute at least. he couldn’t go two seconds without latching onto you in some way

he was just so excited! getting to spend time with his not-yet-but-almost girlfriend, seeing you in all your natural glory. you thought you had it bad? try hiding a hard-on whilst the woman of your dreams is walking around in booty shorts and a braless cami

speaking of that, miguel could just about make out your puffy, little, nipples through the fabric of your thin shirt - hello kitty barbells piercing your nipples

fuck, he was hard. and those sweats he was wearing weren’t making it any less obvious

miguel loves your tits. period. kneading the soft flesh, sucking on then, biting them. sometimes, whenever he cums inside, he imagines them filled up with milk - he would do anything to get you knocked up

you knew how horny he was, you could be wearing a trash bag and he’d still be as smitten for you as he is every second

so you made a decision - you told him to sleep on the floor.

you almost felt bad, almost

he looked like a kicked puppy, your 6’9 almost-boyfriend pouting like a child

i mean, you gave him a pillow and a blanket at least - plus, you have heated floors. it’s not that bad

he slept right on the side of your bed, making sure to face you directly so he could watch you sleep (not in a creepy way, he just loves you T^T)

you even made sure you were hanging just a little bit over the edge of your bed, an arm hanging over the side - a silent invitation for him to hold your hand

he was sleeping fine for a good while, hands still laced tightly with yours - but he was getting restless not touching you for so long

he stood up, as quietly as his huge ass feet would let him, walking round to the other side of the bed and sliding in

it creaked loudly but you were fast asleep anyway, so he moved closer

he wrapped a beefy arm around your middle, hand coming to rest on your chest

oh. yeah, your tits.

now he was hard again

he pressed himself against you, completely spooning you, large hands sliding under your cami and groping your tits

you weren’t an idiot though, you knew this was gonna happen - having calculated every possibility before he came. you would rather die than admit you were a bit nervous about him sleeping over too

you purposely wore the cami cause you knew it would rile him up, n he always took such good care of his mommy’s pretty tits

you turned to look at him, smiling teasingly - “why’re you in my bed, hm?”

—————————————————————————————————

miguel felt like he was in deep shit, he knew how easily you could flip on him despite that pretty smile. he immediately retracted his hand, stammering as he tried to sit up. “s-sorry, i just missed you. i…i couldn’t sleep, ‘n you just look so gorgeous when you sleep and i couldn’t help myself-“ god, he always talks so much. with a tight grip on his bicep, you drag him back down to the bed, pushing him down on the plush pillows as you straddle his waist.

he was so pretty beneath you. glasses laid somewhere on the floor, curly hairs framing his face. his hands gripped your ass, whining quietly as he ground up against you. “mommy…” you placed your hands on his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed as you leaned forward. he felt like he couldn’t breathe, your tits were resting just above his face, hard nipples grazing his lips. yeah, he was definitely gonna fuck a baby into you one day.

his hands moved up to your hips, squeezing the flesh before he placed a hand on your upper back pulling you down completely. miguel’s tongue snaked out to lick at your hard nipples, the sensation of the cold barbells on his tongue making his hips jerk up against the crotch of your tight shorts. “shit...when d’you get them pierced?”

you rolled your eyes, lifting up your shirt and grabbing the back of his head - pushing his mouth to your tit, grinding salaciously against his clothed cock. “none of your fuckin’ business. if you wanna suck on my tits, then shut up and suck.” you didn’t have to tell him twice.

he sucked hard, unable to resist imagining them filled up with milk, all swollen and heavy, you round with his kid- SMACK. his head whipped to the side, lips slipping off your spit-soaked nipple as he stared up at you in shock. his cheek was stinging, but his cock was straining even harder against the fabric, twitching as his face thrummed with pain. “stop thinkin’, and suck harder. you should even be grateful i’m lettin’ you sleep here, so worship mommy’s tits like you mean it.”

miguel grasped your ass once again, large hands digging into the flesh as he caressed your soft skin through your skimpy shorts, sneakily pulling the waistband down as he ran his fingers down to your cunt. ‘course you were wet, slick staining his sweats. he collected some on his fingers, dragging it back up to your puckered hole, thrusting two wet fingers inside as other hand controls your movements.

“f-fuck, wait, you dickhead.” he continued to suckle on your breasts, flicking and teasing your nipples, tugging on the barbell’s softly as his fingers sped up. your body was quivering in pleasure, his free hand spanking your ass occasionally whenever you would pull yourself away from his mouth - massaging the reddened flesh soothingly afterwards.

his mouth and tongue were downright sinful. the sensation racking over your whole body as your orgasm steadily approached, the swirling fire in your lower belly lighting up. you weren’t the only one, though. miguel was hardly keeping himself together, thick thighs trembling as he tried to keep himself from spilling out his cum in his boxers, the tip of his cock peeking out of his waistband. all he wanted to do was see you writhe in pleasure, see that beautiful face of yours glowing in ecstasy after your release.

you would always let out this adorable, whiny moan when you were close, lips parting, small breathy pants - he knew you better than he knew himself. he was more motivated than ever, fingers moving a bruising speed, tongue relentless. he tugged on your piercing hard, a hand coming to rub your engorged clit through your thong. “m-miguelll - shit, baby - ugh.” creamy liquid coated your panties, not your cum - but his. the red tip spurting out thick loads all over his stomach, the sticky mess tangling with his happy trail ‘n pooling in his navel.

“t-thank…fuck- thank you, mommy.”

you pushed him back to the floor, curling up in the blankets - cheeks heating up as you muttered. “yeah, whatever. shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

“goodnight, sleep well p-pretty.”

“…night, miguel.”

yeah, you were falling for him - hard.

- my titties are small but he’d hold them like they weighed the world

[purinfelix]

── .❤︎

itty bitty franco blurb to feed y'all while i combat writers block ,,,

new-ish boyfriend Franco who would rather die than admit to how much he likes the pet names you use for him. instead he just playfully rolls his eyes or shakes his head whenever you call him "baby" or "francito" to show that he's only tolerating it for your sake. until one day you finally decide to give him what he wants and just call him by his name and almost instantly he notices, coming to you with his tail between his legs to ask in his tiniest voice "are you mad at me, amor?" - because why else would you call him Franco? sure, that is his name, but to you it isn't, it never has been. even though you have to assure him that he hasn't actually done anything wrong, he'll only believe you once you go back to using them. because above all else they're little reminders of your affection, sprinkled into the very way you address him - because he isn't just 'francito', he's your francito.

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[yhwhsdaughter]

Alucard Alphabet

Affection ༄

He is quite affectionate. Alucard’s heart softens at the mere sight of you, so it’s difficult to be anything but loving. He unconsciously lowers his voice when speaking to you so it comes out like a sweet murmur. He has this need to touch you, whether it be a protective hand on your shoulder or a sultry kiss.

Best friend ༄

The two of you would be inseparable. Alucard might seem uptight at times, but he’s always putting your best interests at heart. His help is available to you, always. He won’t hesitate to intervene in your stead should problems arise. Loves to listen as you tell him your worries and thoughts. Alucard stares so intensely into your soul as he does this, which is endearing but also a bit concerning.

Cuddles ༄

In your arms he wishes to stay for the rest of his days. Alucard wouldn’t bring up the desire to cuddle so you’d have to be the one to propose. He won’t admit to liking it, but it’s quite obvious and he won’t fight you on it. Alucard loves to embrace you when cuddling, preferably facing each other. Kisses your forehead often when cuddling. He also inhales your scent because it brings him peace.

Domestic ༄

Alucard absolutely yearns for normalcy. He wants the two of you to have a mundane life, full of domestic intimacy so bad. Alucard wishes for a time where you can be together, without having to worry about fighting the undead or risk losing you in the process. That said, he is perfect around the house; he cooks, cleans, and offers protection. Your cup will never be empty with him.

Ending ༄

He would try to keep things as civil as possible. Alucard wants an amicable separation—mostly to spare your feelings. He’s definitely hesitant about breaking up the memories you have constructed. There’s a bit of awkwardness in the process, for he’s not the most experienced with amorous relationships.

Fiance ༄

Alucard is so happy to be with you, so he’ll have no issue committing his every breath for your happiness. Having a life partner is honestly all he could’ve wished for. He will be a devoted and loving husband. Alucard would craft the most beautiful rings you’d ever seen. On the inside would be an inscription of his feelings for you, engraved in both your minds and hearts.

Gentle ༄

Would rather die a thousands deaths than ever hurt you. Alucard is a gentleman; he’ll tend to your needs, all of them, sometimes placing them above his. Because of his enhanced strength, Alucard will handle you carefully, almost like you’re made of glass. His touch is that of a feather, his voice like a ghostly whisper. Remind Alucard that even if he were to shatter you with his long sword and fangs, you would die a most pleasant death.

Hugs ༄

Will not ask for them explicitly, but he loves embracing you and being embraced. If he’s feeling particularly needy, Alucard will simply trudge towards you and do it. Now, his hugs are incredibly comforting, though they tend to be a bit heavy since he leans on you, his form draping over yours. He doesn’t want you to disappear, even for a moment.

I love you ༄

Alucard will say this spontaneously. It could be at a time where he’s feeling desperate or peaceful. Either way, the words will slip from his lips. This confession won’t be revealed till he’s sure you’re the one—meaning you’ll have to be patient because Alucard is showing opening his vulnerable heart to potential hurt.

Jealousy ༄

Oh, he gets jealous. I think it brings feelings of insecurity. Alucard might try to be subtle about it, he may even act suave about the whole ordeal, plastering a cocky expression over his statuesque-like face. Immediately, he will bury his face on the crook of your neck, fangs grazing your carotid gently.

Kisses ༄

Soft, desperate and forceful. Not in a bad way though, Alucard just needs to feel you… firmly. He gets carried away in your touch and embrace. It’s so addicting that if he were to miss your kisses for a day, he’ll go into a withdrawal. The most common places where Alucard will plant kisses is your lips, temple, neck, and the back of your hand. In return, he’ll want to be kissed on the jaw, the corner of his mouth, and the crook of his neck.

Little ones ༄

He likes to humor them. Alucard is surprisingly patient with children. He would be a great father; has a desire to form a family, whether it be biologically or adopted. He just wants to share that love and be loved.

Morning ༄

Quite peaceful. He would prepare breakfast so when you wake, a meal is already waiting. Alucard also likes to start the mornings by giving you small kisses, a reminder of his love and proof that you’re real, not a mirage or figment of his imagination. Evidence that you’re with him and he’s not lost himself. He likes to start the day slowly, not eager to do much without you.

Night ༄

He’s a creature of the night, somewhat. So if there’s a time where you can’t wander into the land of dreams, Alucard will keep you company. He’ll hold you in his arms and carry you to the top of Castle Dracula to admire the stars till he feels the weight of your head on his shoulder. Afterwards, Alucard will share your bed.

Open ༄

Um. He’s a bit closed off to be honest. Alucard’s story is complex, one that he doesn’t feel like repeating aloud. He loves to learn about you though—taking notes of all your favorites, dreams, as well as the things you hate. However, when you mention how it can be a bit unbalanced, Alucard will then sit you down and reveal his troubles. It’ll take time for him to tell you everything, but that’s fine because you’re not planning to go anywhere.

Patience ༄

Unlike with others Trevor, Alucard extends you his infinite patience. He might get exasperated but never angry. If we’re being quite honest, everything you do is adorable to him. You could be massacring a vampire and Alucard will have heart eyes, smiling proudly. Blame the beating organ inside his chest that threatens to jump out whenever he lays eyes on you.

Q ༄ Quizzes

You are always on his mind. Alucard reserves his best thoughts towards you, so he’ll remember everything. It’s unnerving, in a good way, how Alucard knows you so intimately.

R ༄ Remember

There’s so many precious memories that are stored in the vault that is his heart and mind; so if you were to ask him specifically what’d be his favorite moment in your relationship, he would probably answer with, “When I lay eyes on you.” So, all the time.

S ༄ Security | How protective is he? How would he protect you?

There’s no safer place than by his side, and in his arms, his embrace. Alucard would go to the ends of the earth for you. Your security, your safety, your well-being— it is all above everything. Albeit he fought against his father for trying to exterminate the world for his mother, Alucard would do the same for you.

T ༄ Try

No one like him would put this much effort into a relationship. He would get and arrange things to your liking but not so much that it would overwhelm you. It’s a bit endearing when he’s a bit awkward about certain aspects of being with you.

U ༄ Ugly

His lack of trust can be a bad habit of his. It’s not like he doesn’t trust you specifically, it’s just… well, in his defense, life hasn’t been kind to him. Because of this he might seem cold or detached, and quite depressive at times. Alucard, prior to you, tended to go off the deep end with ease, almost getting consumed by his thoughts.

V ༄ Vanity

For him its all about the heart, though it doesn’t hurt if you’re a beauteous woman. That said, Alucard finds you extremely captivating in every aspect. There was a time where he would constantly stare at your hands and face whenever you’d cook. He would get so entranced by your movements and expressions.

W ༄ Whole

You’ve attached yourself to his heart and soul. You’re ingrained in his being that any attempt at separation is painful. So, Alucard would very much feel incomplete without you in his life.

X ༄ X-ray

There’s no one that knows you more than him. He knows you like the back of his hand. He could sketch every piece of your face, down to the last hair, from memory alone.

Y ༄ Yuck

Don’t tie him up. Seriously. He loves you to no end and wouldn’t harm a hair on your pretty little self, but the idea of being tied would make him anxious, recalling bad memories. He’s entirely averse to causing you pain. He can’t bear to mark you purposefully—maybe only bites but that’s with explicit consent and once in a blue moon.

Z ༄ Zzz

He likes to sleep holding your hand, always facing you, never away. He’ll sleep on his back or facing you—Alucard doesn’t like to give you his back, wanting to fall asleep staring at you. For if he were to die before he wakes, he would want you to be the last thing he sees.