#tracing them makes it too stiff

[minkufu]

Anyway if youre like me and have trouble visualizing poses you have in mind, 3D models are a godsend.

The structure and proportions of the models arnt perfect even if you resize them, so I end up adjusting a LOT. I just need the general shape of the poses.

one of the best examples I have of 3D models in clip studio making it possible for me to actually complete a draw I otherwise would have scrapped lol

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How these guys would react to having their face held…

Dick smiles out of habit and pushes his face even further into your hands, humming in content.

He loves it when you held him, however that may be, as it was the one thing he looked forward to the most when coming home.

He’s prone to frequent bouts of fatigue with patrols and the like, but it was moments like these where he could truly appreciate your touch and the healing properties they have on him.

‘I could spend forever here in your hands.’ He’d sigh as he allowed himself to relax within your touch.

‘Oh really? Is that so?’ You raised your brows, watching as the features within his face relaxed into a one that showed you just how exhausted Dick looked. You could see the toll his job his job took but you knew that Dick was too devoted, too attached to what he does to ever give it up, no matter how constantly drained and tired it made him.

You respect his decision to keep doing what he was doing but there came times where you’d just wish he would take a breather from it all, even if it was just for a second, you just wanted to take the weight off of Dick’s shoulders and put it aside for a moment while you work the tension out of his aching muscles.

‘Yeah.’ He responded, feeling himself sink further into sleep. Dick loved what he does but some times he resents it for leaving him with little to no time to spend with you, at least not without him falling asleep five minutes within the interaction. Time with you was sparse and all Dick wanted to do was spend as much of it as he could to make up for the fact that he was barely home at all during the day.

He knew that he prioritised being a hero over your relationship too often and he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt over it during your relationship. You didn’t deserve to wait up for him every night to make sure he was okay, not while developing heavy eye bags of your own and a lack of a sleeping schedule.

He just hopes that one day you too will realise that you better then what he’s giving you and put yourself first, but you were too selfless to ever do that and he could feel that through the way you trace his features with your fingers with featherlight caresses.

Jason stiffens beneath your touch and goes unresponsive for such a long time that you were worried that you had accidentally crossed a boundary.

So just as you were about to remove your hands from his face, Jason quickly reaches out to grasp your hands and pull them back to cupping his cheeks as he then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your palm.

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’

Your heart broke at his plea but obeyed as you began to stroke his cheeks with either of your thumbs, feeling him gradually relax under your touch until he was practically a puddle in your hands.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whimpered, burying his face into your hands so that you didn’t see his tear stricken red face. ‘I don’t deserve this. None of it.’ He adds, cursing himself for being so pathetic but your touch practically broke him in the best way.

In your hands Jason felt as though all his broken prices were being put back together again through love, warmth and patience and that was enough to make him breakdown into tears.

Physical affection is a foreign concern to this poor man, and in due to that Jason is naturally going to be skeptical and on edge the moment the pads of your fingertips explore his jawline, before slowly coming up to cup his cheeks. ‘I’m right here Jaybridie.’ You utter softly as you felt his grip on your wrists slack a little. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere because nowhere is more important than staying here with you. Just take your time.’ And stay with him you did.

Damian is another one who’s not use to soft touches and sweet affection.

So he’ll initially be on guard when he saw you coming his way with your hands outstretched to cup his cheeks, but will huff and reluctantly rest his face in your palms, he’s extremely stiff while doing so and looking away from you out of initial embarrassment.

‘Get on with it.’ He’d mutter, acting as though such acts or moments of tenderness and vulnerability were beneath him, when in actuality Damian loved the feeling of you hold his face as though it were porcelain. He loved the fact that despite knowing his upbringing you still treat him with a love, kindness and warmth that he has never been shown before.

To Damian it was clear that you didn’t care if he was the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. You only cared about him, Damian Wayne and he could feel that care through your touch as he vowed to cut through anything and everything that intended to harm you.

Your touch brings him a sense of calm, serenity and peace that brought him back from the brink a plethora of times, especially in moments when his arrogance and brashness would resurface. Damian was thankful for you being in his life, a true guiding light in his darkest moments, and he couldn’t think of any possible way to thank you for everything you’ve done for him but he’ll surly try.

Bruce feels the tension behind his eyes and in his jaw sooth themselves under your touch.

His eyes would slowly close as he brought his calloused hands up to gently stroke the inside of your wrists. Bruce needs no words to describe how he felt because he feels as though his expressions and the noises of content made it clear how much he appreciated you being here with him.

‘You look tired.’ You commented, tracing the weary lines on his hard face with your eyes as he observed your face and the way it showed most of your innermost emotions whether you were aware of this fact or not.

Bruce knew that you worry and that you worry a lot about him in particular when it came to whether he was sleeping enough, eating enough and keeping himself safe whilst fighting on the streets of Gotham. Bruce knew he was as stubborn as mule when it came to his life choices and that you were only just worried about him because you cared for him, but sometimes he wished you would redirect all this effort towards yourself because he oftentimes didn’t think he was worth of your worry, nor your care.

Bruce felt as though he should be the one taking care of you rather than you taking care of him. It’s not as though he hates it, it’s just you’ve shown him on countless occasions of your care towards him, and on even more occasions you have shown him of your unwavering dedication towards him. Bruce also feels like he should be the one paying you back for all the hard times where you stood by his side, watching him practically work himself to the bone and almost into a comatose if you didn’t step in and deal him away from the computers.

For you’ve proven time and time again that you weren’t so easily swayed into leaving, and that was made more true when he felt comfortable enough telling you that he was Batman and the dangers that would come with knowing such knowledge. You however only shrugged and told him that by his side, you were the safest you’ve ever been or will ever be.

‘More so than usual?’ He asked in a way that it might as well have came out as an indignant huff.

‘And by more so than usual you mean constantly, then yes, yes you are more tired than usual.’ You replied as you ran your thumbs under his eyes and across his eye bags as if to emphasise your point. Bruce only huffs as he watched you take in all of him with nothing but love and affection in your eyes and your touch.

John would most likely bite your hand out of an inherent need to be a teasing little shit.

Will boast about the fact that you just wanted to touch up his stubble. He wasn’t lying but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that and instead say; ‘in your dreams John.’

‘Oh I’m sure I am in yours.’ He reply with confidence as he winked, causing you to lightly pinch his cheek as punishment for his cockiness. ‘I hate you.’ You’d say as you push your fingertips through his stubbly beard, enjoying the way it deliciously tickles your skin, almost as though they were little prickly kisses.

‘No you don’t sweetheart, try as you might but you and me both know that for definite that you love me.’ John would state in a matter of fact tone. Once again you hated how right he was, but kept your lips sealed shut as not to give him any more ammunition to tease and contradict you at any given opportunity than you’ve already have.

The air between you is playful and light in comparison to how cynical, sharp witted and sarcastic he usually is on a daily basis. It was a welcomed change as you allowed the blonde to pretend to bite your hand, only allowing for his teeth to barely graze your skin before pulling away with a sly smirk as you scratch at his stubble.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Imagine telling op guys who has a crush on you, that you want to sleep with them. You just plop down next to them cuddle into them and fall asleep. It's just hem turning red and trying to calm down their thoughts

hehe, this is legit so cute. (tweaked the prompt to be a little more suggestive than just thoughts in the end.)

not a dream ft. the monster trio!

set-up: as anon asked! you happened to utter five simple words, "can i sleep with you?" to the op boys (who have a crush crush on you). now these idiots are contemplating if they'd make it out alive. warnings: includes nsfw thoughts!! no actual things happen but the guys are thinking very very perverted shit, so, if not comfortable please skip!!! m.list

luffy:

💗 you know luffy. do you think luffy— the guy who clings to everyone, doesn't know the word "personal" and "space", who will probably hug you even if you threatened to punch him— will really mind if you told him you wanted to sleep with him? fuck no. even if you stood in front of him with a "i like you, i wanna sleep with you" in a suggestive way, he would say something along the lines of "awh, i like you too. let's sleep."

💗 but well, this was different. cause he liked you. so when you decided to show up at his door after dinner with a cranky look, he was both confused and intrigued. "what's wrong with ya?" the captain mumbled as you sat next to him on the bed. "chopper and ussop. ugghhh." you groaned, "they're doing some stupid shit next door and making so much noise. there is no possible way i can sleep there. and im sure nobody else will let me crash with them tonight in their room." luffy would have probably leapt up and gone to join the other two fools had you not sprawled out next to him. you gave him a tired smile, "so, can i sleep with you?" 💗you hadn't even waited for an answer. mindlessly, you draped a hand over his torso and snuggled into his chest. he pulled you towards himself on instinct. this was normal. yeah. hugging a crewate. yeah. totally normal. atleast for him. then why was his heart beating so fast? mouth going dry? why was sweat clinging uncomfortably to his back although he knew the night air was frigid? 💗you shifted and your chest brushed against his. luffy swallowed wantonly as you shifted again. and then one more time. trying to find the most comfortable position, he guessed. mechanically, you pushed yourself further against him. and this motherfucker went as stiff as a washboard. "luffy?" you mumbled against his skin before tracing your eyes upward. from this position, your doe-eyes bore into his, "you don't mind right? it's just really cold, sorry." how could he mind? your soft body was against his. your fingers drummed faint melodies against his back and your hair smelled like some floral scented shampoo. every time you breathed out, the warm air caressed him and goosebumps painted his hands. he felt your peaked chest brush against his again and he almost swallowed his own tongue. "luffy?" you asked again, your voice saccharine. and he vaguely wondered how would the same voice sound if he tore open that flimsy top your were wearing and held your soft skin against his palm. or if he took the courage enough to dip his fingers below the waistband of your pajamas and felt you up. would you say his name like that? 💗 well, fuck. this was the captain had thought so much in his entire life. and they were thoughts about feeling up his crewmate's tits. and, as a result of such vigorous thinking, a problem had arose in his pants. he tried to think it away. tried thinking about sea-kings or hideous devil-fruit users. of alvida. or anyone else. he even tried to think of food so that his attention could be diverted. but even the most tastiest of sanji's pudding couldn't take away the throbbing in his cock. and the delicious feeling of your soft skin next to his. as a last resort, he prayed that you wouldn't shift more and feel his dick against you. he prayed you would take his silence as rejection and simply drift off to sleep. but ofcourse, this is a godless land. because you moved again. and when you felt his hard-on against your thigh, you looked up at him. lips caught between your teeth, blinking up at him almost innocently, you asked, "got a problem, captain?" before he could answer, you pressed forward, "i think i can fix it." on the other side of the ship nami burst into chopper and ussop's room. when she yelled, it probably could be heard over the entire ship, "LET US SLEEP, YOU MORONS. WE HAVE A LONG DAY TOMORROW. GO SLEEP OR I'LL FINE YOU BOTH A MILLION BERRIES PER MINUTE THAT YOU'RE UP." you're not sure if it was chopper or ussop crying in the distance. but oh well, you have a captain to please 🤭

zoro:

💚zoro's not even fucking sure how he ended up like this. he's sure it involved some higher-than-tolerable level of alcohol for both the parties involved. and he's sure it must have been your idea that he had drunkenly complied with. "let's sleep together" "okay" what was he thinking? because right now, you were sprawled against his chest. both of you were on his bed. his shirt was off, yours was barely on. a bit of drool peaked out from the corner of your lips. and he found himself quietly rubbing it away with the pad of his thumb, smiling softly to himself. ew?! was he still drunk?? as the realization set in, he pulled his hands back in wicked horror and looked around as if someone had seen him. it was still night, and in the middle of the night, the effects of the cheap booze must have wore off of him and he awoke to you as his bed. 💚"hey." he tried to shake you awake but you just groaned, sinking further into him. he hissed when you buried your face against his bare skin. he whisper-shouted, ignoring the goosebumps on both of your skins, "wake up. go back to your own room, woman." but you didn't shift an inch. instead, you stayed buried against him. he groaned but when his eyes fell back to your face, he couldn't help but fight off the impending blush that crawled up his face. your hair was a mess and your cheek was squished against his chest. you breathed softly and sometimes, your fingers twitched against his skin and you touched him fleetingly. and you were warm. too warm for his liking. he tried to look away but his hand carefully came up to your face. staying there not a moment too long, he dragged it downwards. over your shoulders and over your back. he stopped before he went too far and grabbed your ass, the curve so delicious in his eyes. but he stopped, pulling his hands back to lay on the linen sheets. he was a horny man, not an evil douche. 💚but you must have been hell-bent in proving flaws in his moral-code, because you shifted and your pelvis shifted over his. he bit back a grunt at the movement over the fabric. you were so cozy against him. the way you brushed up against him, the way your hair tickled him. would you like it if he pulled your hair? would you moan? god, what would you sound if you moaned out his name? he was a bad man. thinking all of those things. and he tried to focus on anything but the blood-rush to his dick, really, but the way you started moving against him, almost mechanically. god. that made all attempts to ignore his boner disappear. his hips moved upwards and he closed his eyes, giving into the friction of you against him. soft moans fell from his lips, hips still moving upwards to graze your clothed thighs. 💚"zoro?" you mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eye. you strained your neck up and he looked down at you, dazed. "you okay, zo?" when he found himself unable to talk and you found a harsh roll of hips under you, you connected the dots. a playful smile tugged on your lips, "need some help?" "no." the swordsman swallowed thickly. "fine." you shrugged, clamoring off him. your hips swayed as you made a futile attempt to find your discarded shorts somewhere in the room. you gave him a lingering look, "i should go back to my room. the crew will freak out if they find us like this." "no." he caught your wrist, tugging you towards him, "stay. i could use some help." 💚in the morning, sanji walked into the swordman's room to see if the moron could find you somewhere since you were nowhere to be found on the ship. what he found, instead, was you and the mosshead tangled in his sheets. when you and zoro had finally made it to the breakfast table, sanji may/may not have been crying. luffy, ussop and chopper were laughing in the background. nami decided it was a good enough reason to even high-five zoro. it was an awkward breakfast.

sanji:

💙sanji was probably in heaven. yes, that's the only explanation. sure, the ship was en route to alabasta but he was on his way to heaven. because there's no way you had come seeking him out in the middle of the night. you had said, "i can't sleep." "oh?" the cook had wordlessly stepped aside and you took on the opportunity to slip in. he shut the door behind you, "can i help you then, love? want me to cook something?" "i would have really not bothered you but i don't know who else to ask. nami and vivi are sleeping together and the bed's not big for the three of us." you rambled, "and zoro probably showered five months ago. and luffy, ussop and chopper are passed out in the common room. so... can i sleep with you?" it's a miracle he didn't pass out on hearing those words. it's an even bigger miracle that that was three hours ago and he had still not passed out. now, sanji lay next to you— as stiff as a corpse— while you snored. your body shifted and your hands reached out towards sanji. your palm ran up and down his torso as to check if he was there. and once you had gotten a confirmation, you scooted in his direction and sanji held his breath as if one wayward puff of air will wake you up. 💙vinsmoke sanji was trying. he was trying o maintain his composure, to not pull you into his chest. he was trying not to think about the way your chest will feel against his, the way his fingers will glide over your thighs, the way your hand will fit around his dic— and it was as if you could hear his wretched thoughts. because your hands moved over his torso. gliding up and down. you leaned into his touch, molding your body against his. you might have been having an interesting dream cause he saw your hips gently rocking, your thighs pressed harder and you eyes clenched shut. you buried your head into his chest and the smell of your shampoo seemed to turn him on more. he ignored his weeping dick, decided to pay it no mind. but all of that resolve crumbled when he heard you moan his name into the fabric across his chest. your nails dug into his shoulders and your nose buried as deeply as it could against his skin. 💙 he gently guided his fingers to your thighs. and you shook under his soft touches. his thumb softly brushed over your clothed pussy and bucked towards his hand. he could probably just feel you up and you'd let him— "—shit." sanji quickly brought his hand back, realizing that you were sleeping and out of it. even if your lips chanted his name, he couldn't do the things his mind was convincing him to do. because if he started, he wouldn't stop. 💙so, to get himself rid of such sinful thoughts, he decided to hide in the shower and pump at his hard cock till he was tired. till you crawled out of his head. till your voice stopped ringing in his ears, making his cock impossibly harder. he slowly pushed you away, trying to climb off the bed. but as soon as you felt his warmth disappear, you cracked open an eye, "sanji?" "uh" his face went red, eyes averting, "just going to the washroom. i'd be back." you sat up, "did i go too far?" sanji's mouth hung agape as you pulled him back into bed, "i thought you wanted me to moan your name like that—" "—wh-what?" "i had a dream." you innocently traced your index nail down his torso and brushed it over his sleeping shorts, "think you can help me?" you blinked up at him, "pretty please." 💙 the next morning, the cook of the crew made the worst breakfast possible. wasn't his fault. all he could think about was you and your breathless moans and your eyes as— "this tastes like shit." the swordman argued. "thEN MAKE IT YOURSELF, FREELOADER." "might as well if you're gonna cook so bad." "—i think it tastes fine." nami sighed, "if i knew you getting some would make you a terrible cook, i would have let (yn) sleep with me and vivi." and the entire ship choked on their (terrible) breakfast.

a/n: i tweaked the prompt a bit (as i was getting stuck with the original ask), but i hope this was good enough anon!! as always, thanks for reading and send in req that you might have <3 (tagging: @bokutosbiceps cause i know you love luffy) m.list

[moonstruckme]

I don’t know if you currently accept requests but if you do could you write something with Spence where reader isn’t really a touchy kind of person and the team goes out for drinks, r gets drunk and is super touchy with Spencer and he is so flustered but secretly loves it?

If not don’t worry about it<3

Thank you for requesting angel <3

cw: alcohol

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 759 words

“Dave,” Prentiss says firmly, “I’ve got it.” 

“No, you got it last time.” Rossi’s trying to put his credit card down on the tab the waiter left, but Prentiss blocks him with a hand. “Let me take this one.” 

“I don’t care which of them gets it,” you say near Spencer’s ear. “Just glad it’s not me.” He laughs. 

Luckily, you’re not loud enough for anyone to hear but him. You’ve become surprisingly mumbly after a few drinks, imparting your observations and witticisms to Spencer alone, your cheek on his shoulder. Surprisingly tactile, too. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as you trace the creases spanning the insides of his fingers. He doesn’t think you’re doing anything really, drunk enough to be susceptible to whims and mindless fiddling, but Spencer likes to hear you talk. 

You make a muted humming sound. “Reading your finger lines.”

“You mean my palm lines?” 

“No, I mean your finger ones. I’m inventing a new science.” 

Spencer smiles. The tip of your nose is touching the knit of his cardigan, he wonders if it itches. You might not notice, though, with the way you’re so concentrated on his hand. Your lashes shadow your eyes like heavy clouds. 

“You know,” says Spencer, “there’s been some disagreement among biologists about palm lines. They’re called palmar flexion creases, and while it’s largely agreed upon that they form before birth to allow freedom of movement without stretching the skin on our hands, some also think that certain lines can indicate certain medical conditions.” 

“Huh.” You trace your finger down to his palm. “So, sort of like telling the future.” 

“Well, modern medical practitioners can usually identify those conditions early after birth anyway—but sure, if you want to think about it that way.” 

“That’s okay, I’m not that invested in palm line science anyway.” 

You say it placidly, even though you’re not moving away, like nothing is really all that important so long as you’re touching him. The dim, orange bulbs of the lamps in the bar cast shadows under your lashes and in the dip of your cupid’s bow.

Your finger keeps moving absently, past Spencer’s wrist until you’re nudging up his shirtsleeve. “You have really nice forearms,” you murmur. 

Spencer’s skin prickles with a blush. He takes your hand away in an effort to deter you, but you only go along with the deviation, linking your fingers through his. He glances at Garcia, relieved when she’s not looking. Just last week, she’d asked Spencer and Morgan if you secretly didn’t like her. 

I tried to give her a hug, she’d said, pouting confusedly, and she went as stiff as a board. It was the worst rejection I’ve had since high school.

Morgan had laughed. Not everyone is as warm and fuzzy as you are, babygirl. Don’t take it personal. She’s just not the touchy type.

You feel for Spencer’s other hand under the table, seeking to add it to your collection. He gives it over to avoid a fuss. 

On the other end of the table, Rossi seems to have successfully paid the bill. 

“Okay.” He gets up with a sigh, grabbing his coat. “I will see you kids tomorrow.” 

“Bright and early,” JJ agrees with joking weariness. 

As your team starts to get up, say goodbye, and (in Garcia’s case) hurriedly slurp up the remainders of their drinks, Spencer gives your fingers a tentative squeeze. 

“Time to go,” he tells you. 

You sigh heavily, warm breath permeating his cardigan. “Okay. I guess.” 

Spencer’s not entirely sure where your reluctance is coming from—if he were you, he’d be eager for his bed—but you stand without complaint, immediately looping your arm through Spencer’s and leaning comfortably against his side. 

Morgan raises his eyebrows. “Need some help there, pretty boy?” 

“That’s okay.” It’s out before Spencer can think it through, and heat comes to his face when Morgan’s lips lift with a knowing grin. 

Thankfully, Hotch spares him any elaboration. “I can take her home.” He’s watching you severely, the way a strict parent looks at their teenager before reluctantly getting them ibuprofen and a glass of water for the next morning. “She can’t drive.” 

“That’s okay,” Spencer says again. “I can drive her.” 

Hotch’s face is impassive, but Spencer can tell he’s not overly surprised. “Are you sure? I live closer than you do.” 

“I’m sure.” Again, his face heats at what he knows his answer is revealing. But Spencer looks down at you, contented and half asleep against his side, and it’s worth it. “I don’t mind.”

[sixosix]

religion's in your lips

third year to timeskip!hinata x fem!reader, a tad suggestive

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

You don’t join Shoyo’s outings often; most of them are volleyball-related anyway, and you didn’t want to get in the way. But right now, it’s just the third years, and Shoyo had begged so sweetly with round eyes that you would be cruel to even think about denying him.

Kageyama sits on your other side, stiff and polite, jostled here and there by Shoyo pressing up against you. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi sit on the other side of the table. Conversation is light and comfortable. They don’t exclude you even when talking about practice matches and lineups—Yamaguchi asks you about your own club ever so often, too.

Yamaguchi claps his hand, forcing everyone’s attention on him. Except Shoyo, who’s busy tracing stars on your hand. “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend? I heard they’re releasing a sequel of the one we watched back in first year.”

Yachi emits a wordless sound of excitement, easily agreeing. Kageyama and Tsukishima begrudgingly agree at the same time, then sneer at each other. Then they all turn to you and Shoyo.

Shoyo grins. “Sorry, I got plans already.”

“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.

“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.

“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”

Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.

It takes about two years to prove you wrong.

When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.

His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.

But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”

Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.

But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.

It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.

You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”

Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”

“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”

“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.

He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.

Helpless to his whims, you obey.

“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.

He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”

You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.

“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”

“There’s no alcohol here.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”

“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”

You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.

“Did you miss me this much?”

“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.

Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.

“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”

It’s Heitor’s fault.

Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.

Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”

Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”

It’s Heitor’s fault, and Hinata is eternally grateful for it, seeing your wide-eyed face beneath him like this. He loves it when he surprises people, but yours might be a different kind of thrill that he’s already addicted to.

[jaysng]

when your daughter walks in on you | pjs

pairing: husband!jay x wife!reader

genre: married au, comedy (tried my best), fluff

warnings: suggestive, jay sucking boobs like a madman

your husband has had an exhausting week and needed some way to relieve the stress he had related to his workplace. 

and that’s why, you were here know trapped in his hold in the kitchen, “missed you s’much baby” he said as he open mouthed-ly(?) tracing your neck leaving kissed and licks here and there til he reached your earlobe. 

as soon as you opened the door, he looked at you, yes with those goddamn eyes. next thing you know, you’re pulling him from his tie. “fuck can we do this? like in here—“ he asks as he lifts you up easily in one go and puts you on the counter“i have put her to sleep, use me all you want jay.” 

the approval was enough for jay to let his guard down as he dives in again attaching your lips with his, you were wearing a cute loose set of night wear with easy access, in one swift move he pulled your top down by the shoulders as he took a step back appreciating your mounds. 

giving each attention one by one, jay knew how needy you grew when he gave most of his attention to your chest he took your left nipple between his fingers and pinched it, fondling with the other one all while keeping eye contact.

“l-lick them jongseong, feels s’good when you do that” you said as you kept your hand on his, the one massaging your breast as he bend and took one of it in his mouth.

licking, sucking, making out messily with saliva everywhere as you arched your back with your hand on his hair and the other on your mouth to not disturb your ‘sleeping’ daugther. 

few minutes into it, jay felt your body really stiff, not squirming or whimpering anymore, maybe she’s too lost in i—

“appa don’t you think you’re abit to old to be doing that?” 

shit

shit

shit

oh fuck

his head shoots to the direction of the stairs as he sees your 4 year old daughter, half sleepy half astonished, wiping her eyes with her chubby hands. 

now standing straight, not knowing what to do he stares into blank space for a while then stares at you

blink

blink

“ah, yes.. baby uh…” you say breaking the silence as you thought, was better than the silence. “didn’t you say she’s asleep” he whispers, almost just mouths while shooting his big wide eyes at you. 

brushing a hand through your hair, you get of the counter “could’ve atleast pulled my shirt back up jay” you mouth another sentence at him blaming him in panic while fixing your top. 

“baby, weren’t you sleeping?” you ask as walk to her and run a hand over her head, “i dunno… eomma i heard sounds… breaking sounds! i thought bad people came in..” she says, still clumbsy with her words as you chuckled, 

“oh well, uh mommy and daddy were playing a game okay?” you mentally face palm yourself as you hear jay’s embarrassing made up excuse, still funny as even you were out of excuses— i mean what the hell would you tell your 4 year old daughter who just walked in on your husband with your titty in his mouth?? 

“hmm” she says as she looks around, honestly not taken aback or interested in it at all, thank god thank god she was in her sleepy state “i want ice cream” she demands as jay now picks her up in his arms.

the sigh of relief that left both of your mouth were synchronized, you knew your daughter and how she doesn’t process anything when she has just woken up, similarly and gladly this was the case as for what she just saw. 

“you can’t have ice cream baby, it’s midnight.” jay coos at her as she puts her face on jay’s neck and nods already drowsy and sleepy, you felt bad for her to be woken up and disturbed like that. 

shooting at sorry glance at jay who was pretty much sulky right now as the sexual tension was ‘ruined’ and probably not coming back again for today as your daughter was pretty much stuck by the glue to his chest as she slept.

putting her to bed, you entered the room as you found jay on the bed hands splayed around the bed, as the baby slept peacefully in her room now, the two of you exchanged knowing glances and started quietly chortling over what just happened

“a message would be good?” you say between the laughter sitting beside his laying figure putting his head on you lap. 

“massage it is.” he says, smiling with embarrassment.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, obsessive behaviour/thoughts, implied stalking, manipulation

gn reader

Thinking about those yanderes who play the good guy – those yanderes who play it slow and safe – who take their sweet time gaining their your trust…

That calculative yandere who views you as not something to own but to earn – like a sweet-deserved prize he can taste on his tongue right before barreling over the finish line – all eager thrill and heart-blown triumph and such sweet bliss once he's crossed it, out of breath and forgetting everything else in the world.

Oh, and he's been so good – so fucking perfect these last months – the best – all according to plan – and now he’s finally going to get a taste, that victorious taste – allowed to bask in it, to roll it around his tongue, run it through his teeth – finally feel it between his hands, rake and dig his fingers into it and never let it go. 

He’s been sweet and soft and kind – so well-behaved – so boyfriendly – acting like the two of you were slowly getting to know each other even when he already knows you better than you know yourself. You’re so cute – every single squishy detail about you is just so cute.

He can barely hold it together, nearly shaking in vigor as you position yourself on his lap when the credits to the movie you’d been watching started rolling – soft music playing sweetly in the background – black screen throwing the room into an intimate dark, one that calls for certain things you do in the night, and hopefully dark enough to hide what positively red rouge tinted his cheeks as he felt you press down on where something was sleeping beneath the layers of his clothes.

He was beyond ready, beyond starving – hands so very frigid yet still with a practiced touch remained steady and deceptively calm as he placed them on your hips, grabbing onto the ample soft skin found at your waist – suppressing the urge to squeeze and settling for slowly messaging in careful meandering strokes instead. 

Even though he felt like attacking – like pouncing and trapping, like ripping clothes off – he knew that wasn't the way to win. No, he couldn’t let the mask slip – needs to keep playing the role.

His hand stirred again, ascending, perhaps too wantonly – but you didn't seem to mind as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear – feeling his labored finger-pads trace your jaw, swiping over your lips, cupping your chin, pressing into the plump squishy flesh of your cheeks, making you pout. 

He couldn't hold back the impulse that sent his tongue to swipe over his lips but quickly found a way to save himself. Asking, “Are you ready?” as though actually giving you a choice – voice as calm as he could muster, trying to withhold the strained timber of hormones that fought so badly to be satiated.

“I’m ready.” You say weakly – head bowed to look at him with eyes big and glorious.

He tilted his head to the side, pulling you in with a gracious touch when leaning forward to kill the space between your lips – smoothly brushing his stiff lips against your pillowy-soft ones – slightly parting to receive another greeting, and again and again with more and more pressure for every meeting, quite like the increasing drumming of your pulse. 

He pulled away to search your eyes, suddenly realizing his hand had slipped to wrap around your neck – but all that stared back at him were eyes full of trust – a look he couldn't help but want to devour. You’re so cute, so cute, so cute, cute, cute…

He pushed his lips back onto yours, kissing you more earnestly and desperately than before. 

The arm kept around your waist moved, also in favor of rising to head level, gently cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Letting out a rugged groan when prying your mouth open.

You leaned away from the sudden boyish hunger, but his tongue slipped inside your mouth and tangled with yours anyway – making you go still as a statue until you let slip a tiny meager whimper. 

He gently rubbed your cheek at the sound – still holding you close with his words hotly purred on your lips, “Shh, Pumpkin – I won’t bite.” 

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize – pooling with a predatory heat that caused a surprisingly pleasant shiver to slide up your spine, though not withholding the squeal of panic as he spun the two of you around and dropping you carefully on your back.

Now looming above you, with tenfold more control of what he had earlier.

His index finger stroked your chin before raising it for you to look up at him... or maybe for him to look down at you – enjoying the sight of you in all your flushed and bashful glory. 

It’s a different feeling than seeing you smile and laugh, different from looking at you in the hope you’d look back at him – no longer chasing but having his prey caught, ready to sink his teeth in. 

His other hand stroked a wisp of hair behind your ear as the locks had gone wild in the tumble, yet again groping your face as he leaned in closer. 

He pressed his lips against yours again – and though surprised and with a heart beating like a hummingbird, you slid your own hand around his waist, the other tangled in the short hairs at the back of his neck, legs climbing up his back, hooking over his hips and pulling him closer.

You felt his lips curl up into a smirk – before he drew his mouth from yours in favor of kissing a trail of pecks down your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, drooling with such suppressed lust, he groaned into the dip between your shoulder and neck – unsure if he could hold back once he started feeling the blood rush and pump, causing something to fatten in his slacks – unsure if you were ready to take all that he wanted to give you – unsure if you were willing to give all he wanted to take.

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shinso, Dabi, Hawks

JJK – Geto, Gojo, Choso, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta

HQ – Tsukishima, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

[chososcutie]

“Stuffing You Like a Stocking !”

KINKMAS DECEMBER 3RD

synopsis: when an ill-placed bet had made their control you never knew they had been holding, snap!

word count: 2.7k

tags: threesome, anal, unprotected sex, oral (fem!recieving), mention of masturbation, fingering, size difference, etc etc

art creds on pinterest

─── ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ☃︎♡˖ ⊹ ₊ ݁. ❅ ─── ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ☃︎♡˖ ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you, and chuuya, and dazai’s friendship was something no one really understood but you three, bound together by something more blurry and messy than friendship.

it was clear in the way they held you, and their hand placement, that you were theirs, and only theirs, your connection running much deeper than casualty.

they were always so.. touchy with you, a hand absently on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, pulling you to straddle their laps, even going so far as squeezing your tits teasingly, when you were distracted.

but all friends do that.

right?

and sometimes, when they would stay the night, all three of you would cuddle, you sandwiched between dazai and chuuya’s warm, bare chests, their soft breathing ghosting over you.

but they had never tried anything with you.

you understood, somewhere in the far recesses of your mind, that this wasn’t a normal friendship, but you refused to believe yourself until much later.

there had been lots of tension, over the last couple weeks, even more so than usual, with chuuya grabbing you any chance he got, and dazai constantly taking opportunities to pin you down, in the form of a wrestling match, or tickling fight, resting his heavy weight atop your body easily, mouth curved up lazily.

you would huff and puff, and tell him get off! and that you couldn’t breathe while squirming desperately, which would always result in dazai’s breathing to increase, a sudden stiffness forming under you, prodding you insistently.

of course, you weren’t stupid. you knew what was going on.

you just chose to ignore the signs until it was too late. much too late.

they had an understanding between them, chuuya and dazai, to not take advantage of you, and to not complexify things by getting sexual, no matter how much they wanted to.

and oh, how they wanted to.

the way your face would light up at the slightest things, your sweet blushing cheeks at their crude remarks, seeing you tip-toe up to brush your rosy soft lips against their cheeks in greeting, your perky breasts pressing against their chests when you hugged them, the warmth of your soft body and chubbed thighs all made them want you more.

and the occasional glimpse they would get of your body, oh if you could only see how feral it made them.

coming fresh out of the shower, smelling like vanilla and sweet things, a towel tightly wrapped around you as you closed the door a crack. they would sneak closer, eager for more, and watch as you dropped the towel, unveiling yourself to them. taking in your bouncy perfect tits, glistening and sheened with water droplets, your smooth supple skin, and your soft tummy leading down to the v between your legs.

practically panting with want like dogs, as they stared at you, feeling ashamed for seeing you in such a state without your knowing, but not enough to stop, creeping closer for more.

and if only you knew, how sometimes on a particularly tempting day, when you had either been wearing sleep shorts that barely covered your perfect, round ass, or wore one of their spare baggy shirts without a bra, your perky, taut nipples visible through the material, practically begging to be fucked stupid, how they would go home and.. help each other.

dazai’s hand wrapped tightly around chuuya’s weeping cock, stroking upward in hard tugs, with chuuya teasing the leaking slit of dazai’s, tracing over sensitive veins, while they both moaned your name helplessly.

no matter how much they thirsted however, they refused to make things complicated.

oblivious to you, however, things had already gotten complicated the moment the brunette and red-haired men had stepped into your life, and claimed you.

for there was only one way for them to truly end this unresolved, stretched taut restraint and call you theirs, and there was only so long until it happened.

.˚₊‧ ─── ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

knock! knock!

running over to open the door, chuuya and dazai await you, leaning against the doorstep, carrying what looks like an early christmas present, a bulging stocking filled with various candies and perfumes you liked, the two ever eager to vy for your attention.

“aww, thank you guys!” you open the door to welcome them in, giving each a hug, dazai clinging to you longer than usual, while chuuya’s hand slides to your hip almost unnoticeably.

as you shut the door, some of the little trinkets they got for you tumble out, the stocking overflowing.

“wow, you guys really stuffed this, huh?”

“bet we could stuff something else..” dazai retorts, mouth curved up while chuuya snickers beside him.

this in particular wasn’t what was different. chuuya and dazai were always making dirty jokes, flirting with you, with each other.

no, it was what you said after that sent them over the edge you had been inching them closer and closer to, for months now.

“not as full, you couldn’t.”

you weren’t really sure what came over you, whether it be that you weren’t really thinking too hard, or that maybe subconsciously, you had been wanting this to happen, testing them to see how far you could go.

chuuya and dazai loved a dare. and you knew that.

which is how you found yourself here.

bent over the nearest counter, chuuya’s palms roughly coming to cup your breasts, with dazai already yanking down the flimsy pair of panties you had been wearing under one of their baggy tees.

“hah.. y’don’t know how long we’ve waited for this, doll.” dazai groans into your ear, fingers sliding easily into your gushing cunt, absolutely coating them in your essence.

“and now that we have you, we’re not letting go.” chuuya growls, squeezing your tits hard for emphasis.

you gasp, arching further, dazai letting out a pleased hum as he tries to encourage you to arch further, lifting you by the hips to press you hard on the counter.

“think she can take us both, ‘chuu?”

you can’t see it, but you can practically hear the smirk in chuuya’s voice as he replies. “ 'course she can. after all, what was it she said about us not being able to stuff her full..?"

dazai chuckles darkly. "guess we just hafta prove her wrong, hm?"

quickly, he pries your legs apart, exposing your twitching clit to the both of them, the feel of cool air on your sensitive bundle of nerves making you whimper and wriggle your hips back into their grasp, desperate for more friction.

dazai's hands start gentle, tricking you into believing he would be soft with you, deft fingers sliding into your pussy to pump in and out leisurely, curling to find your g-spot.

meanwhile, chuuya is mapping out anywhere he can reach, a sense of desperation in him as he skims over your soft, supple skin, occasionally squeezing or slapping lightly.

you mewl, lashes fluttering as dazai's fingers begin to fuck into you ruthlessly, erotic squelching filling the room with every pump, your thighs already quaking with pleasure.

"m-more! more!" you gasp, trying to back yourself up further into him, which he responds to by licking the nape of your neck, husky voice rasping in your ear, "patience baby.. i want to enjoy this s'much as i can."

and then, chuuya's fingers disappear from where they were curled around your waist a second ago, and you're suddenly caught off guard by the feel of something hot and wet laving at you, slurping all your sweet juices from where it oozes out of your salivating cunt.

"chuuyaaa.." dazai whines, having been shoved aside. "i wanted to d'that!"

he laughs against your pussy, a deep rumbling that makes you shiver as it reverberates through you. "too bad.." he taunts, before resuming his small laps, getting a taste for you.

dazai grumbles something about greed, before your mind numbs with pleasure, unable to think about anything other than chuuya as he begins to run his slithery tongue up your folds, and over your pulsating clit, your sweet slick already dribbling down his chin.

you moan, spreading your thighs wider, as his fingers come to your asscheeks, gripping tightly at the fat, expert tongue slurping and sucking.

and then, a frustrated "fuck this.." is all you hear, before you feel rough desperate hands flipping you, gently laying you back before another tongue joins, immediately getting busy between your plush thighs, this one lapping at your syrupy slick with an urgent sort of fervency.

you thrust your hips up further into their faces, grinding sloppily as both men make out with your ravaged cunt, letting off lewd pops! and muffled slurps.

your eyes meet dazai's, and he's already pussydrunk, eyes half-lidded and dazed, with his mouth sloppily tangling with chuuya's as they fight for the sugary slick tucked in between your legs, mouthing over your clit faintly. both of their chins are glistening with your sheen, and as you watch him, he starts lapping faster, chuuya immediately matching the change in pace, as they eagerly devour you whole.

and you can't even warn them- you're cumming, hard.

so hard you think you black out for a second, eyes and ears fuzzy, as you spasm around their hot, invading tongues, relishing you with renewed vigor.

so hard you don't even realize you're squirting until a few seconds later, when dazai gasps in delight, mashing his face into your sloshing cunt, chuuya following suit.

you throb as they continue to lavish your convulsing pussy in sloppy kisses and licks, until you're pushing their heads away, entirely overstimulated.

"ah ah, where ya going, darling?" chuuya smirks, coming up to stand between your legs. "that was just the warm up.."

and the next thing you knew- you were being lifted up and tossed right over one of their shoulders', being carried away, your body still bare and sticky from your orgasm.

before you can even prepare yourself, you're being thrown on the cushiony softness of your bed, mattress creaking and dipping underneath the weight.

chuuya is on you in an instant, with his hips sloppily grinding into you, the rough bulge of his cock apparent as he rubs it over your plush tummy, placing kisses all along your neck, and laving his tongue over the flutter of your pulse.

dazai quickly follows, stripping away his shirt and pants to reveal his long, throbbing cock, leaking pre-cum and thumping with veins, enormously towering before you.

it's slender, but it's long, impressively so. it reaches almost halfway up his stomach, and as he notices you staring, his mouth curves upward lazily, taking it into his hand to pump slowly. "like what y'see?"

you swallow, before nodding shyly, unable to look away as his fist tightens around the base, keeping half-lidded eye contact with you.

"come sit on it, then."

chuuya eases off you, and slowly, you inch forward, crawling over the bed toward him, arousal running down your trembly thighs.

dazai smiles with pleasure, stroking your hair as you come to straddle him. "good girl."

you throb at his words, and suddenly you can't wait a beat longer, aligning yourself as you lift your hips enough to drool your slick onto his pulsating, reddening, blushy tip, beginning to sink down slowly.

you both gasp at the same time, dazai's head falling back to reveal his slender neck, and adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"fuck you're.. fuck." his hands come to your hips, and you shudder as you feel his cock pushing in to your cervix, hips trying to grind upward as he eases you down.

"s-so big.." you whimper, your pussy greedily sucking him down for more.

"you can take it." he gives you a lopsided smile, one that quickly breaks into a guttural moan as he finally bottoms out inside you, you sinking down on him to the hilt.

and as you both breathe heavily, he starts to bounce you slowly on his cock, eyes locked with chuuya as he groans from across the room.

"you shitheads are leaving me ouut!"

dazai's voice is a breathy moan, as he gestures him closer. "if you're so.. ah.. jealous, get in here."

and as you turn your head to look, making eye-contact with the absolute monster between his legs, cock full and swollen, you can't do anything but gape.

he was much more thick-set than dazai, length heavy and thrumming, fully on display for you to ogle at, red and angry-looking.

he comes closer, creeping behind you to grip your ass tightly, smirk plastered on his lips. "oh, sweetheart, you shoulda never made that.. hah.. bet."

and as he starts to lather his cock up in your gushing slick, making the first movements to push into you, you know then that it's not going to fit.

"hah... 'chu! s'too much! t-too much!" you squeal, pussy clamping tightly around dazai, causing his eyes to roll back, hands coming to your hips to still you.

"baby, don't do that, m'gonna cum!" he whines, hips jerking into you unsteadily.

chuuya huffs over you, trying to rock into you more, but as you feel his thick girth stretching you out to mold his shape, you just can't fit him. there's no room, especially with dazai occupying almost all of it.

"ya gotta loosen up f'me doll, c'mon.." he grunts, prying your legs further apart, a hand coming to smooth over the curve of your ass.

and then, dazai reaches for you, rubbing your puffy, throbbing clit gently to loosen you up, kissing your jaw tenderly. "c'mon, you can do it.."

after rubbing your sensitive nub and making you whine and squeal, chuuya finally manages to ease in a couple more inches, walls clamping tightly around him in welcome.

and what a sight you are.

dazai's hand lazily circling your clit, pussy stretched obscenely around both their cocks.

“m’ so.. hah.. full!”

“told ya, sweets.” chuuya grunted above you. “shoulda listened when you had the chance..”

“now, you gotta take it. take it alll, c’mon..” dazai’s trying to ease you up enough to slide chuuya's remaining inches in, but you’re struggling to breathe, barely able to hold yourself upright.

chuuya pinches and rolls your nipples from behind, while dazai toys with your clit, and with one final squelch, he manages to sheathe himself fully inside you. and when he does, the reaction is instantaneous.

unable to stop themselves after wanting and yearning for you for so long, the rough sound of skin against skin begins to echo as your body ping-pongs between them.

chuuya pulls your hips back into him, while dazai grips them from the front, both of your holes being used and filled like a fuck toy, for their own pleasure and amusement.

“mmh, what a slutty little pussy you have..” dazai teases, watching as more sheeny, dewy slick bubbles from you, your mouth open to let out heaving gasps and moans.

“did ya save it just for us?” he flutters his lashes at you, before pushing his hips up brutally, your insides practically getting rearranged by his thrusting length.

you whimper, eyes rolling back as sweat sticks your thighs to his lap, the filthy wet slapping of your skin sticking together extra noisy.

“you better hope ya did..” chuuya growls from behind. “because if we find out another man touched you like this, we’ll kill him.”

and for some reason, their blatant possessiveness only serves to turn you on more, tightening impossibly around their invading shafts as your breathing increases, head spinning with every mind-numbing thrust.

and when dazai's cock manages to hit that one spongey spot, you swear you're seeing stars as your body slumps back against them, tongue lolling out dumbly.

"look at her, 'chuu. such a cute little fucked-out expression she has." dazai giggles, pounding into you harder as chuuya slams you from behind, grunting in agreement.

chuuya pushes you down into dazai, arching your ass into him higher, as his thrusts turn sloppy and uncalculated, dazai bouncing you rapidly.

“andddd what a pretty ass.. too bad it’s all mine.” chuuya rasps.

"hah.. m'gonna.." is all you manage to get out, before it crashes over you like a tidal wave, head spinning with the force of your second orgasm of the night, practically just gushing all over their fat, weepy cocks.

"mmm.." dazai's head tilts back, hips lifting as he releases spurt after spurt of hot, white seed into your walls, so much of it that it begins to seep out in little rivulets down your thighs.

chuuya is close to follow, hot sticky ropes pulsing into you steadily, as they both moan, grunting into you about how good, how perfect you are, and how long they’ve waited for this.

and as you all come down from your highs, tangling yourselves into the blankets together, dazai tilts his head, resting it on chuuya's chest, studying you.

"you do know, you're ours right?"

tagslist (ask to be tagged!): @urlocalfemcel-xx @ghostedwriting @amanoava @fluffyfrog1619 @newnlovesjennie @b0n3s-is-gay @noblogname-exe @iams0up @t3chn0chan @childesdog69

[lilisettean]

Between Silken Sheets | Headcanons

About: How are they like when they are underneath the bed sheets with you? Random assortment of steamy headcanons.

Pairings: Xavier/Reader, Zayne/Reader, Rafayel/Reader + Bonus! Caleb/Reader

Warnings: First times, Inappropriate use of Evol (Xavier, Zayne, Caleb), No protection (Caleb), please tell me if I'm missing anything! 18+ Only please. Enjoy :)

Xavier

Timid at first, his fingers tracing your form as though convincing himself that this, that you are right before him naked, was a dream.

He isn't very experienced, if at all. But he is eager to learn all you're willing to teach him, and is a fast learner. He memorizes all your sweet spots instantly, and is quite the explorer, wanting to find more of them.

Skilled hands with thick long fingers, deft at prodding your soft spot. Combined with his observant nature, he immediately would pick up on the slight change of your pitch as you moan, mentally filing that spot he just hit into places that would drive you crazy.

His usual aloof expression is nowhere to be found, replaced with the intense focus that he reserves for missions. But instead of Wanderers being his prey, you are.

Being a hunter that is always on the move, he is always in tip top shape. His stamina is nothing to scoff about, being able to go round after round late into the night as long as you are willing.

With experience, he grows bolder and would initiate more often. His hands wandering wherever he could reach when you cuddle with him on the sofa.

He would also be more teasing, turning you into a whimpering mess before pulling away to admire his handiwork.

While not said... Imagine if his light Evol felt like it's vibrating with energy. Him creating a tiny ball of light Evol and having it stuck onto your clit before pulling away, stroking his stiff cock while watching you squirm and plead underneath him.

"You're not the only one who knows how to tease, you know." "This is payback for earlier. If you want me to continue.... Beg me."

Zayne

He had seen and touched your naked form more times than you can count. He is your primary healthcare physician after all. He had kept all those times professional as expected. So when you are in front of him, naked under an entirely different context... He froze.

It wasn't from fear, but rather from enthrallment. It was only then he realized how attracted he is to you, his eyes unable to focus on anything else but you.

Being a doctor at one of the busiest, if not the busiest, hospitals, he never had time for intimacy, much less relationships. No one had caught his eye anyway, until you came back into his life. So while inexperienced, he isn't ignorant. He knows where to touch you to make you crumble and into an incoherent mess.

He handles you like you were spun from glass at first, but with time, his touch grows rougher, leaving indents and marks on your skin as he fucks you, his pace relentless.

His cold facade is gone whenever you two are alone together. And with you underneath him, praises and filthy promises easily spill out of his mouth. Praising you for being so good to him, for taking his cock so well.

He is very cautious about his ice Evol, but imagine. His ice cold fingers thumbing over your nipples while you're blindfolded, and the next second he envelops your pert nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. It takes some time for you to convince him to use his powers this way, but once he starts, oh is he addicted.

"Nnh- You're feel so good around me..." "Relax. Tell me if it's too cold, okay? ...Good girl."

Rafayel

Being a painter, Rafayel had have many models pose naked for him before. He should have more control when it comes to you being naked for him, right? Wrong.

You offered to pose for him naked but he always denies, because he knows he wouldn't be able to focus at all. He would end up studying your body more, on what he would like to do to you, instead of what themes he want to bring out of this piece.

It's one thing to study you from afar, but it's another to have you on his lap. His face is red as it could be, his eyes on anywhere, anything, but on you. You would have to take the lead at first, his breath hitching and his heart jumping out of his throat the moment you grabbed his hands and placed them on your body.

Rafayel was not new to sex, he had plenty of offers before. But he refused them all. As curious as he was to whether sex will inspire him to create art, the act was too intimate for him to indulge. But you are different.

Your touches lit a fire under his skin, his inspiration rearing to go with every kiss. And suddenly he understood why many artists cite their lover as their muse.

As he got more comfortable with touching you, his desire to pin you to the wall like a painting grows. To immortalize your every expression and arch of your back into art.

He would treat your body as a canvas, leaving kisses and bite marks all over your skin as he buries himself deep within you, and admire his work afterwards.

Sometimes he likes it when he is in control, but other times, when things get too stressful, he prefers when you take charge. Just like you sometimes begging him to stop staring and just fuck you already, he would also sometimes plead to you to let him fuck you as he thrusted against your heat.

"Please- Mmh- Please let me fuck you-" "I want you now... Please have mercy on me..."

Caleb

Caleb had forgotten when he had started to see you as someone more than a friend. He was pretty sure it had been during high school, and when you had no outward sign of liking him back, he resigned himself to a fate of unrequited love.

His expectations were subverted however, and he thanked whatever God was out there for hearing his prayers.

His touch was gentle, reverent. As though still in disbelief that you returned his feelings and would let him touch you in ways that would drive both of you mad with want.

He would leave kisses all over your body, worshiping you and praising you all the way as he made his way down to your heat. Your moans were music to his ears, and he couldn't help but undo his belt buckle and stroke himself as his tongue lapped up all the juices flowing out of you.

He had dreamt about you more times than he could count, his cock always stiff and yearning for you the next morning. So when this fantasy of his finally came true and you were underneath him, squirming and clenching around him, he lost it.

It was embarrassing that he came inside you so quickly, but can you blame him? He had wanted you for so, so long. And now that he finally has you, he just can't help it.

You don't have to worry though. Despite having came moments prior, his cock was still hard and twitching, ready to pick up where he had left off.

You never really knew what his Evol was exactly, all you knew was that he could levitate things. He had used this against you many times, but now... Well. Sometimes he would use it to lift your skirt up. And sometimes... He would lift you up into the air and hold you there, rendering you unable to move and fight back against his teasing fingers.

"Looks like you can't move now, yeah?" "You know I won't let you down... Not until you come on my fingers first."

[quietly-sleeping]

When he first started doing Liu Qingge's hair he didn't expect the other man to be so sensitive. Shen Yuan had carefully pulled out the dripping hair pins, the now stained ribbon, and a guan the man usually refused to wear. He thought at first the shivering was due to the sticky sap that still coated most of Liu Qingge's robes, of which he really needed to get out of.

But it continued after Liu Qingge's bath. His shoulders would tense, flinching slightly as Shen Yuan began to drag the comb through his hair. But as it continued, the shivers would return, his shoulders would drop and he began to sway slightly. Shen Yuan knew he shouldn't mess with his shidi like this, but he couldn't help himself sometimes.

It was fascinating to watch Liu Qingge begin to melt as Shen Yuan worked the hair oil in. As he carefully braided his shidi's hair and pulled him towards his awfully Spartan bed, Shen Yuan wondered when he would be able to do this again.

The answer was: less than a week. The Mud Slinging Toad followed through with its name, leaving Shen Yuan, Liu Qingge, and a less than pleased Mu Qingfang covered.

Mu Qingfang left them quickly, citing a lecture he needed to prepare for while Shen Yuan herded his uncooperative shidi towards the Beast Peak. Shen Yuan was delighted to discover that it took less time to make Liu Qingge melt this time around. The man blinking like a content cat while Shen Yuan worked clumps of mud out of his long hair.

His shidi's sudden infliction of loose limbs lasted until Shen Yuan was clean as well. The other Peak Lord gathering his senses enough to stumble over to the bed and promptly pass out. Which Shen Yuan wouldn't have minded, however, Liu Qingge had laid across most of the bed. Leaving Shen Yuan with the choice of either waking his shidi, not going to happen, or adjusting the man enough for Shen Yuan to fit as well.

Shen Yuan certainly wasn't going to be sleeping else where. He liked his bed far too much for that.

That decision caused an unfortunate amount of activity that morning. With his very pretty shidi, clad in his inner robes and flushed down his neck, storming out of Shen Yuan's modest house with Shen Yuan's outerrobe in hand. If he were more awake Shen Yuan was certain he would have called out for his shidi and taken his outerrobe back. However, he was tired, and his bed was so warm, and it smelled sweet like the soap he'd given his shidi to use last night.

He'd simply get his robe back later, Shen Yuan assured himself, he'd have to return Liu Qingge's anyway.

It was nearly two weeks until Shen Yuan got to put his hands on Liu Qingge's hair again. This time they weren't covered in suspicious substances, and Shen Yuan had taken the chance to return Liu Qingge's outerrobe. Despite his shidi attempting to run out the door again, as he had most of the last two weeks, Shen Yuan had managed to coax the man into a cup of tea.

Shen Yuan had found himself staring at a strand of his shidi's hair for most of their talk, it had escaped the braid that lead most of Liu Qingge's hair back to his ponytail. In fact, his shidi's hair seemed softer today, and Shen Yuan could feel his hand twitching slightly. It was a little amusing to watch the tint of red blossom down Liu Qingge's neck when Shen Yuan asked if he could tidy his hair.

However, it was so much more, in multiple ways to have Liu Qingge loose limbed and blinking slowly while resting his head on Shen Yuan's lap. He wasn't entirely sure how they ended up this way, but he certainly wasn't opposed to it. He followed the curve of Liu Qingge's cheek as it pressed against his leg, tracing a line with his eyes down his relaxed shidi's back.

It was a lovely line, and for a moment Shen Yuan longed for the skill to paint or draw the human form. How pretty a painting it would be, his stiff and tense shidi, pliant and soft, permanently recorded for Shen Yuan to study.

He had long finished combing his shidi's hair, simply stroking down his back and shoulders, the man burrowing closer to Shen Yuan the longer it lasted. It left his pretty shidi so relaxed that only Shen Yuan jumped when the door to his home snapped open.

Fighting the heat in his own cheeks now, Shen Yuan tried to smile at his shixiong in a manner that told him I have an explanation for this. Shen Yuan wasn't sure he succeeded when Shen Qingqiu smiled back at him.

"Well," The smile, paired with sharp brown eyes made a shiver of something Shen Yuan assumed to be fear run down his spine. "This is certainly a sight."

[please-destroy]

The 26th of December

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count 4k

.

You first met at the Shield base. She was ahead of you in the cafeteria line.

Natasha was alone. You’d never seen her before and you guessed she was a new agent. She was slightly jittery. She held herself unnaturally still but her eyes darted around the room. Barely noticeable, but you caught it. 

Her red hair was tied back in two perfect braids, her pale face was fresh except for dark shadows under her eyes. You stood next to her in the line, holding a plastic tray and feeling like a school-child all over again. 

Natasha held an apple in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Her grip made the plastic crackle. 

‘You know, it’s not so bad here.’ You mused aloud after a minute, enjoying the way her head whipped around at the sound of your voice.

Her breath hitched and then she regained herself. You watched her expression move immediately from panic to calm. You took note of the emotional control. Not a typical rookie agent. 

‘Maybe for you. They’re training me with Robin Hood.’ She answered after a beat.

‘Oh.’ You pretended to consider. ‘Well then, I guess you’re fucked.’

Her answering laugh rasped through you like an electric current.

.

You ended up sitting at the same table,whilst you ate. Natasha was a mix of conflicting signals. Her smile was easy but it rarely reflected in her eyes. Her shoulders were loose, but her posture was stiff.

She ate her apple slowly. You tried to make small talk between bites of your own meal. You started to hear the trace of a Russian accent in her short responses. 

Natasha was down to the apple core before she told you anything about herself. Even then, it was just fragments. She’d made a deal with Agent Barton, she’d held up her end of the bargain, now she was here.

You didn’t press for more details. You didn’t think you could.

Instead, you pushed your plate to the centre of the table and gestured to the untouched fries.

‘Well.’ You said lightly. ‘Maybe this ridiculous place can be your home.’

Natasha’s lips twisted into something too complicated to be a smile.  

‘I don’t think I know what home is.’

You glanced at her hand, sneaking to grab a fry. You grinned.

‘Don’t worry.’ You promised. ‘It’s not that complicated.’

.

Conversation with Natasha was like trying to fill in a blank sheet of paper. Sometimes, you felt like your threw conversation topics into the air, trying to guess what she wanted to talk about.

It was easy to spend time with her. Despite different routines and training, you made a habit of eating together.

The habit became easy.

Every mealtime, you found yourselves together at the same time and same place. 

.

Through her first months at Shield, you watched Natasha’s demeanour change. 

Her smile became easy with others. She didn’t tense up in crowds anymore. When your friends came occasionally to sit at your table, she always seemed to welcome the company. You couldn’t tell for sure if she liked them but she never seemed to hesitate when she found herself in a group. 

She definitely preferred socialising with you there. You knew she’d declined a few bigger get-togethers with other agents. 

You thought maybe she liked that you’d known her so long. Longer than anyone except Agent Barton.

Her eyes sparkled whenever she started talking about an inside joke between the two of you. If people were around, she’d meet your gaze daring you to share the story behind it.

Your mind still lingered on what she’d said about home, on the first day that you'd met her.

You wondered what she thought about it now.

.

Every so often, you’d catch the mask slipping. A wince after training, when she sat down at the table. A worried expression that smoothed itself immediately into an easy smile. A momentary stormy look aimed at nothing in particular.

The shadows that lingered under her eyes, darkening and fading with a cyclicality that worried you. 

Sometimes, she’d steal a piece of food from your plate and give you a look too fatigued to be playful.

It was after one of those looks that you invited her back to your rooms at the Shield base.

You had to finish some work, you told her, but you’d like the company anyway.

It felt obvious, like a natural next step that should’ve happened months ago.

You couldn’t help lighting up inside when she said yes. 

.

That evening you typed on your laptop from the sofa, enjoying absentmindedly Natasha's exploration of your space. Her casualness was undercut by tiny hesitations. 

She wandered in and out your kitchen like she was on a guided tour, you heard muffled noises and knew she was rustling through your rarely used spice rack. She wandered back through to your living room, and you tried not to smile obviously when she touched the edge of your fluffy rug experimentally with her foot. She studied the cushions on your sofa and the house plant by the door. You watched her finger trail down the spines of several books on your bookshelf. 

Every time she moved on from something, you waited for her to finally settle. To sit next to you on the sofa, to switch on the TV, or start to talk. 

It was when you heard the rubber duck squeak in your bathroom, that you finally understood. Why would she know how to make herself at home?

‘Natasha.’ You called, looking up from your laptop screen. Natasha’s head popped around a doorway.

You smiled automatically and watched her match it with a smile of her own.

‘You know, you can do whatever you want here’ You told her, tone light but still serious. ‘Mi casa es tu casa.’

Natasha rolled her eyes. You knew then that you’d been too forward. You’d acknowledged her discomfort but she hadn’t wanted you to see it in the first place.

You didn’t feel sorry. You meant what you said. You rose from the sofa to make you both some coffee. 

You touched her shoulder with absentminded affection as you walked past. Natasha went still at the action. You turned before you entered the kitchen, wanting to double check if the touch was okay.

You watched Natasha smile secretly down at the ground. She lifted her head, feeling your gaze and rolled her eyes again. Her smile only got stronger. 

You walked into the kitchen feeling lighter than air. When you returned five minutes later, Natasha was sitting cross legged on your floor. 

She gave you a small smirk when you handed her the coffee mug. You sat on the sofa, just to the side of her. You watched silently as she ripped blank pages out of one of your old notebooks. Her fingers worked deftly as she made snowflakes, origami shapes and chains of paper dolls. 

You watched her with a mix of awe and something undefinable. You thought about home. How the definition of it was starting to change for you too.

After some time, you couldn’t help but reach over, picking up the red biro pen that was lying on the coffee table. Natasha startled then relaxed readily, when you moved to sit beside her. She watched as you messily coloured in the hair of the nearest paper doll. The bright red was almost obnoxious.

Natasha elbowed you lightly when you scribbled ‘Romanoff’ on the doll’s dress.

When Natasha left, you hung the paper dolls above the TV.

.

Agent Barton told you about Natasha’s dilemma before she did. You’d never spoken before but when he caught up with you in the hallway, he addressed you by your first name. It took you a moment to realise that he knew exactly who you were. It turned out, Natasha talked a lot about you. 

Natasha’s annual vacation time was mandatory and had to be taken, but she hadn’t booked any of it. Clint didn’t need to explain why. You’d known Natasha for nearly six months now and she’d never spoken about anyone except the people she’d met since joining Shield. 

Clint lay the problem out matter of factly. 

Natasha had nowhere to go and she didn’t seem to want to leave.

It was the easiest solution you’d ever come up with.

.

You found Natasha in weapons training. She was easy to spot with her usual red braid falling down between her shoulder blades. Her arms were raised as she aimed a gun. Ears covered and focus exact. 

She still spotted you almost immediately. 

You waved awkwardly as she lowered her gun and removed her ear defenders. 

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

Natasha’s head tilted. At first, you thought she hadn’t understood the question. It took a second, before you realised that she didn’t understand why you were asking. She thought it was obvious that she didn’t have plans.

‘Maybe we could rent a place for the vacation time.’ You suggested. ‘We could go somewhere snowier than here.’

Natasha watched you for a long moment and then you watched her lips life into a small smile.

‘I like snow.’ She said at last. 

.

The next few weeks passed slowly. A new anticipation crept into your life. You rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere for the holidays. In theory, it was the perfect background for an idyllic snowy Christmas. Trees surrounded it on three sides, it was one step away from a true nature retreat. 

When you described the vacation home to Natasha. She’d just nodded seriously, like you were giving her a rundown of details for a future mission. You tried not to let her reaction worry you, she was relatively quiet for the rest of the day.

The next day, Natasha joined you for breakfast with obvious intent. Before you'd had time to say hello. Natasha asked you about the clothes and other essentials you were planning to pack. You found yourself head first into a detailed conversation, full of follow up questions about things like the capacity of your car trunk.

It was then, as she nodded seriously to each of your answers, that you realised. Natasha didn't know what to expect.

The realisation made you feel a sudden sense of responsibility and freedom. Natasha had no expectations for what the holiday could be. But she'd still said yes. It was a good feeling to be trusted.

You observed her sitting across the table. Natasha chewed her lower lip as she thought about her next question. Her fork spun thoughtlessly against her plate.

You realised, that everyone in this place knew either Agent Romanoff or the Black Widow.

You were the only one who knew Natasha.

Natasha cleared her throat awkwardly, her voice came out quieter and she leaned forward slightly. 

‘Could we?’ She hesitated. ‘Should we bring fairy lights? Would that be festive?’

You’d never smiled harder in your life.

‘Yeah.’ You agreed enthusiastically, reaching over to pause her fork mid-twirl. ‘That would be amazing.’

You’d once sat opposite a blank page but now Natasha was a watercolour.

.

The vacation time came at last and together you drove away from the Shield base full of anticipation. 

Natasha was silent, her focus turned to the world passing outside the car window. You fiddled with the radio and tried not to overthink her quietness.

Just over an hour into your drive, you realised that her eyes were sparkling. Another quick glance over to her and you saw the small smile hidden on her lips.

You let some of your excitement trickle back in. You switched the radio to Christmas music and watched her hand quietly tap against her thigh.

Natasha was your best friend. She was starting to become your family. 

You felt your heart squeeze with a new happiness when you heard her deep intake of breath as you drove up to the cabin. The wooden exterior was framed with a thousand golden fairy lights. You’d called the rental agency and asked for a favour. You hadn’t been able to resist.

You watched Natasha’s expression as she stepped out of the car. For the first time, any trace of uncertainty was forgotten. Her wide eyes filled with curiosity and excitement. 

Her foot crunched on the frozen ground and her eyes shot to the snow covered forest floor with a muted joy. You laughed and her gaze found you instead. Her red hair was loose and long, she’d combed out her braids during the car ride. It framed her face prettily. 

Natasha rolled her eyes at your expression but then she started to smile widely.

You held up a finger in a silent request for her to wait a minute before you hurried to the trunk of your car. You fished in your bag for a few moments and retrieved a pair of festive felt reindeer antlers. 

Your face hurt from smiling so hard as you walked back and fixed the pair of antlers onto Natasha’s head. Natasha’s bare fingers reached up and traced the soft material. Her expression was undecided and then it relaxed into another bright smile. For the first time, your heart pounded nervously at her proximity. You’d never seen someone look so beautiful. Natasha moved her head and the bells on the antlers tinkled.

‘Come on.’ You murmured, another persistent smile tugging at your lips. ‘You’ll get cold.’

.

The next few days were illuminating. It became clear just how embedded Natasha’s lifestyle was, as you watched her invent and stick to a new regimented schedule. There was something fascinating about how naturally she followed a routine, even with no real pressure to keep it.

Early morning runs, chopping wood for the stove, yoga, completing stolen work assignments, reading spy novels, undertaking thorough research into unusual topics.

Your schedule was something different. Unlike Natasha, you reverted immediately to a more relaxed way of life, happily shaking off the Shield agent lifestyle. 

You woke later in the day, always after the sun had decidedly risen. You scrounged breakfast from the fridge. You let any passing whim decide your day’s activity. A stroll to find a nearby frozen lake, a sudden urge to make gingerbread.

You realised soon enough that Natasha’s busy schedule was really paper thin. It only took an invitation and she was eager to join yours instead. She told you all about her spy novel when she joined you on your rambling walk to find the frozen lake. She told you about trying to run in the snow outside as she helped with the icing for your gingerbread house. 

That was the other thing that you were starting to notice about Natasha. You’d known her for nearly a year now. You knew you liked her company. You could tell she liked yours. You realised that every minute you spent together only made you want a thousand minutes more.

On the third morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee. You opened your eyes readily, you’d been moments from waking up at your usual time anyway. Natasha cleared her throat and you startled before seeing her standing awkwardly in the doorway. She was holding two mugs of coffee, clearly unsure. 

You smiled automatically at the sight of her. Natasha’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled too. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she was wearing green winter pyjamas, straight from a cheesy catalogue. 

‘Morning.’ You yawned as you sat up.

‘Morning.’ She echoed, handing you the coffee.

‘You’re the best.’ You mumbled happily, taking a sip.

You felt Natasha hesitate, trying to decide if she should leave. You patted the bedspread beside you. It was an easy invitation. Natasha curled up in the space next to you, hands cupping her mug.

‘I like your pyjamas.’ You said with a smirk.

‘Shut up.’ She said dryly, but you could tell she was pleased. 

‘Very festive.’

.

You drank coffee in silence for a few minutes and then you started to talk. 

At first it was light things, another book she’d just read, how cold it was that morning. 

.

Then the conversation shifted. She started to tell you real things.

Pieces of childhood. The way the tree branches bowed over the walls of her childhood home. The deep chill of Russian winters. Her favourite American Christmas movie. Where she’d been when she first saw it. 

You thought about all the light talking she’d been doing this vacation as you passed your days together. You wondered if she’d been trying to find the courage for this. With every smile or nod from you, the words kept coming from Natasha. Difficult things. Happy memories that lived with an undercurrent of sadness.

You felt a lump in your throat listening to her, wishing you could explain how much you liked hearing her talk like that. How much you liked her.

It was all special.

.

That Christmas Eve, you suggested a drive to the nearest town for supplies. Natasha looked confused but she only smiled and agreed. She didn’t mention your full kitchen pantry and stacked fridge, already full to the brim with enough ingredients for a full Christmas dinner.

This time, she didn’t stare out the car window for the journey. Instead, she played with the radio dials until she found a Christmas song to sing along to. Her quiet singing made your chest tight with an overwhelming kind of feeling.

You pulled up outside a second-hand store. Natasha looked even more confused as she read the sign on the store. You dragged her in with you to pick up the order that you’d called ahead to see if they had in stock.

In the car, Natasha held the DVD of her favourite American Christmas movie like it was her first ever present.

You only pulled the car over one other time. The very last Christmas tree left in the parking lot beside the small hardware store was cheap and hard not to take pity on. 

Together that afternoon, you adorned the tree with some fairy lights taken from the outside porch and for the rest of the evening, Natasha made paper decorations. You put on an old CD of Christmas music that you'd found, before sitting next to Natasha and starting one of the spy novels that she'd already told you the entire plot of.

As she made the decorations, Natasha began to sing again.

.

You didn’t swap presents on Christmas Day. 

Natasha had asked you about that weeks before and you’d promised her not to worry. 

It started like the days before it,  Natasha walked into your room with her usual quiet hesitation and two mugs of coffee. She started grinning when she saw you, sitting up and ready with the pair of reindeer antlers already on your head. 

She gave you your mug and curled familiarly into the space beside you.

‘What do you want to do today?’ She asked, the question feeling completely natural after the last week. 

You turned your head towards her and watched Natasha try not to laugh when your antler’s tinkled.

‘I want to see the best Christmas movie that you’ve ever seen.’

Natasha's eyes closed when she smiled in response. Her head rested gently against your shoulder.

Spending a day with Natasha was the easiest way to spend a day.

It was a good Christmas.

.

Natasha nudged your door open on the morning of the 26th of December. Your last vacation day. You were already awake; she offered you your coffee before she started to speak. You held your breath in anticipation when she cleared her throat nervously.

‘I wanted to say thank you.’ She said carefully. ‘For letting me come here.’

She stood awkwardly at the foot of your bed. She was still wearing her festive pyjamas and you thought that they might be your favourite thing in the world. Her hair was tied back in its usual long braid. She chewed her lower lip and you watched her eyes try to dart nervously before she focused them on you.

‘Natasha.’ You tried to find the right words, cupping your hot mug. ‘You’re my favourite person in the world. You don't have to say thank you. It wouldn't feel like home without you.’

That was the moment. When the last piece clicked. 

You watched Natasha walk slowly around your bed. You watched her place her coffee mug on the nightstand. You felt the bed shift as she crawled into the familiar space beside you.

Her thumb brushed your cheek when she kissed you. Her touch was warm from the coffee mug.

She tasted like home.

.

Things fell apart slowly and then all at once. 

.

You returned to the real world. 

Natasha’s training had been becoming more specialised for a long time. Director Fury’s plans for her became clearer and more intentional. Her time was less her own. 

You were careful never to push. Natasha became more distracted, her eyes held their secret exhaustion again.

You cherished her when she was there. The first time an additional training session ran through your usual time for dinner, you didn’t let yourself be upset. 

That evening, you heard a knock on your door and knew it was her. Natasha's tired eyes were worried and full of unspoken guilt. You pulled her towards you with a feeling of sudden urgency and happiness that came from the simplicity of seeing her standing there.

You kissed her for a long moment and Natasha met your lips with eager relief. Then, you led her to your sofa, ignoring her protests as you insisted on trying to find enough food in your rarely used kitchen to constitute a meal for her. 

She slept in your bed that night, curled familiarly into the space next to you. You listened to her steady breathing and knew that you loved her in a way that wouldn’t change.

Her missions got longer. Natasha was trusted with more. She saved more lives with each mission and you watched her start to forgive herself for the things she could barely say aloud.

You did your best to accept that Natasha might choose a future that didn’t include you so easily. She was exceptional, in her kindness, bravery and skill. 

You knew Natasha could feel the impending future too. The busier she became with work, the more effort she made to spend every other moment with you.

You felt like a pocket of steadiness in her world of chaos. You knew it was a privilege.

.

You can't always hold onto your home.

.

Natasha was given a long-term undercover mission. When she told you about it, you felt a horrible sinking in your chest. It was a feeling that you’d been anticipating.

You knew what her job meant and you knew her talent at it. 

All you could really think about in that moment was that she’d clearly been crying. Her shaky breathing stuttered as she tried to tell you the news. 

You wondered if you knew her so well, or if she wasn’t trying to hide at all from you anymore.

You hugged her tightly and tried to absolve her of her guilt. 

She was going to miss your next Christmas. 

You kissed her forehead and told her that you loved her. Natasha tangled her fingers with your own. She squeezed your hand tight. She kissed the back of your hand softly.

The next day, you walked her to the airstrip. You felt unnaturally still as you tried to stop your chest from heaving with a loss it could already feel. 

Before she walked onto the jet, Natasha turned around. Her small, awkward wave echoed your own. You watched her braids hit her back as she turned again and walked onto the aircraft.

.

Months passed.

You lived a strange empty life.

You didn’t remember the world before Natasha, you still expected to see her at every mealtime.

Christmas day arrived.

You decorated your small plastic tree with the paper dolls that had hung above your TV for nearly two years. You watched a Christmas movie that was someone else's favourite.

.

On the 26th of December, you got a phone call. It was Clint and it was the middle of the night. You were in your car before he’d finished talking. 

.

Home is the place that you are loved.

.

You found her about a mile from the Shield base, it was just past midnight. 

Natasha was walking along the side of the river with her hood up, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights. 

She noticed you almost immediately. She came to a stop, eyes wary and shoulders braced.

You gave a small, awkward wave and she remembered herself. 

She moved toward you, pace quick. 

When she reached you, her head pressed desperately against your thick winter jacket. 

You kissed the soft fabric of her green hood and held her tight.

The sound of the river and the shaking of her cries. 

.

Home was in the sound of the river and the shaking of her cries.

[luveline]

there’s this scene in the office where pam falls asleep on jim during a conference at work, he doesn’t move her at all and even stays until after the meeting is over just to let her sleep!!! do u think u could write something similar for our annoyingly sweet coworker! james?? love u

love u <3 —James may not like you, but he’s a good pillow. fem, 1k

“Today we’re gonna talk about workplace satisfaction.” 

James crosses his arms over his chest. The yawn he suppresses threatens to make his jaw crack, his eyes heavy not a minute into the presentation. 

“I know all about that,” Sirius says under his breath. 

Remus needles him in the arm with his elbow. It might’ve been the best dumb luck in the world to get to work with his best friends, but not even their joking can make this meeting less mind-numbing. He covers his mouth with his hand and settles in. 

“We sent around a survey this last week and we’ve had everyone’s responses. The results are anonymous, but we do want to touch on where we, as a company, are going wrong. Our first category was day to day working.” 

You yawn. James turns his head to watch you, and with the lights dimmed, he’s not sure you notice. You cover your mouth with both hands, your eyes failing to reopen for a few long, admittedly humorous seconds. He likes how your lashes look stuck together, and the way you rub your nose afterward. It’s cute. 

What’s not cute is your shaking knees. You press them together, but you’re sitting awkwardly, and they tremble at the strange position. James wonders what it is you’re upto that’s making you so tired lately. You seem down; he stapled his fingertip earlier in a crazy mishap of which he was at no fault and you didn’t even laugh. You took his hand and pulled out the staple. 

You’ve been acting super weird. 

“So about half of you expressed that you feel like you aren’t allowed the breaks that you need. While it’s encouraged you all take a ten minute break from your screens every other hour, you feel penalised when you do, and we want to change that. Do any of you guys have anything to say? This is the time to speak your thoughts.” 

Remus raises his hand. James loves him more than anyone in the world. “Whenever I try to take a break around lunchtime, you ask me if I can wait until lunch. I don’t think needing breaks from the screen should wait, or detract from my legal break time.” 

“What we’re trying to do is encourage you guys to make the most of your working time without hurting yourselves.” 

A great non answer. You make a soft sound and James turns with a smile, expecting to find you smothering a laugh, and instead seeing a great eyeful of your neck. Your head has fallen back, your back slouching under the weight of yourself as your leg begins to drift toward his. 

Poor girl, he thinks. 

“What about the kitchen tap?” someone asks. 

Your boss sighs. “What about it?” 

James leans down to be your height. He can imagine the neck ache, the stiffness, and so when he brings his arm up to touch the shoulder closest to his, it’s with sympathy, if not fondness. 

You make another soft sound like a snuffle and rest your face on his shoulder.

James looks away. Looks back, tracing the soft roundness of your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and your lips, pouting ever so slightly in your dozing. He’s thought often that you were awarded a face too sweet for who you are. What evil demon are you, to treat him like he’s stupid and to smile at him in your way? Sometimes he gets so mad at you for it that he thinks about grabbing you, and yanking your face to his, and then he feels so guilty for wanting to grab you at all that he leaves your mug where it is in the cupboard. It’s not nice to want to kiss you with any sort of force. 

It’s not nice wanting to kiss you at all, because it isn’t a joke, he really doesn’t like you sometimes. 

But what’s not to like about you now? 

Lately he feels this weird bridge forming between you, like you could be civil, or better. You rub your nose into his shoulder and he holds his breath, worried his moving chest will jolt you. Something must be really getting to you if you’re sleeping at work. He should ask if you’re alright, when you’re awake. 

He doesn’t think he can. 

“Alright, guys. Let’s talk about customer service.” 

You’re demure. James thinks it and bites his own tongue, hard and accidental, flinching at the sudden pain. You mumble against him and he quickly stills, his heart pounding. Fuck, he hates this. Why does he feel like this? He didn’t mean to jostle you. 

Your hand curls around his arm like you’re telling him to stay still. 

He should take a photo of you for blackmail purposes. If not blackmail, mild humiliation. He can email it to everyone before you wake up, zoom in on your nose pressed rough to his arms, your deep exhales warm on his shirt. 

James rubs your elbow for reasons he can’t understand.

The meeting is torturously long, inanely boring. You rouse when your coworkers clap politely at the end of the presentation, James’ hand now returned to his leg. He looks resolutely at the front of the room, your gaze a heat on his cheek, before you look down and rub your eyes. 

“Sorry, James,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay. Don’t mention it.” 

That’s what’s best, right? You have these insane moments of togetherness and never, ever talk about them. 

“Did I miss much?” you ask. 

Pillow and minute keeper? James doesn’t think so. “Should’ve paid attention.” 

“Did he talk about the tap in the kitchen?” 

“If you were meant to know, you’d know, hm?” You yawn and blink to yourself all soft with sleep, and James debates giving in for longer than he’d care to admit. “He did talk about the tap,” he says. 

“Is he fixing it?” you ask. 

“Couldn’t hear him over your snoring, sorry.”

[kissedsuns]

SLEEPING WITH THEM, F1 BOYS.

INTRODUCING THE GRID: oscar piastri. lando norris. charles leclerc. max verstappen. carlos sainz.

CW: fem!reader, teasing, kissing, established rel . . .

— OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

no matter how long you've been together, oscar's shy nature never really fades. the moment you climb into bed beside him, his heart starts racing, and a light blush quickly spreads across his cheeks. even though he has spent countless nights with you, the simple act of your body curling up next to him still makes him feel dizzy—something you find so endearing about him. when you plop your sleepy head on his chest, he stiffens slightly, unsure of how to respond. should he wrap his arm around you? is he being too forward? eventually, oscar can't resist the urge to hold you close. he lets out a small sigh and slowly he wraps his big arm around you. as he settles into the moment, oscar instinctively nuzzles his face into your hair. the sweet scent of your shampoo fills his senses, and it's enough to lull him to sleep. on nights when you're wearing thin pyjamas, oscar finds himself wanting to be even closer to you. he'll gently slip his hand under the fabric, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

— LANDO NORRIS (4)

lando is naturally touchy, no doubt about it. from the moment you both climb into bed, his arms instinctively reach out to wrap around you. it doesn't matter how you're positioned—he always manages to find a way to drape himself over you, his hands gliding up and down your back in soothing strokes. it's a habit of his, one that never fails to send you into a peaceful sleep. there is just something about the way his hands move. no matter how much you toss and turn throughout the night, you always seem to wake up in his grasp. it's almost like he has a magnetic pull towards you, his arms never straying far. sometimes, you'll wake up to find him clinging to you like a koala, his head resting on your chest or his legs slightly tangled with yours, as if he's afraid to let go. and while he might joke about it in the morning, saying how he must have been cold, you know it's just his way of staying connected to you. as much as lando loves holding you, there are nights when he craves a bit of extra attention himself. on those particular nights, he'll gently nudge you, signalling that he wants to be the little spoon. you are more than happy to oblige. his curls are ticklish against your face, and you can't resist burying yourself in them. your fingers also naturally find their way to his hair, twirling little strands between them before it sends you to sleep. lando absolutely loves to sleep, and because of that, these scenarios tend to happen often.

— CHARLES LECLERC (16)

once the two of you have crawled into bed, all charles wants is to hear your soft, soothing voice which puts him to sleep easily. he likes to have a quiet conversation with you about your day, listening intently as you talk about the little things that happened, genuinely interested. and he also takes these vulnerable moments to spice things up by mentioning all of the gossip surrounding the paddock, or somethings that happened over the race weekend that you may have missed. occasionally, charles will press a kiss to your shoulder or the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings in french. if you ever wake up in the middle of the night, you'll often find that charles is right there, still holding you. sometimes, he's already awake, just watching you with a sleepy smile. he'll ask if you're okay, and if you need anything. he is more than willing to get up and help, whether it's fetching you a glass of water or simply holding you tighter until you fall back asleep.

— MAX VERSTAPPEN (1)

when you first get into bed, max is usually stiff and almost a little shy, but you can tell that he's just waiting for the right moment to pull you close. he's not overly cuddly by nature, but he'll often hold you firmly, and if you happen to stir or move away in your sleep, max will instinctively tighten his grip, drawing you back to him without even fully waking up. he will naturally gravitate towards you, his arm draped over your waist. he's not one to sprawl out; instead, he prefers to be as close as humanly possible. even if you start off with some space between you, max inevitably ends up shifting closer during the night. however, he does have this habit of bringing racing magazines to bed with him, flipping through them with concentration. to you, it's kind of funny—he almost looks like a teenage girl absorbed in the latest gossip magazines. you can't help but tease him a little when you catch him squinting at the pages, totally engrossed that you have to stifle a giggle. "are you reading up on your rivals again, max?" you might ask with a smirk. sometimes, you might also jokingly ask him about who his 'favorite' driver is in the magazine, just to see how he'll react. max will play along, maybe flipping a page and pretending to consider your question seriously. "this one," he'll say, pointing to a picture of himself, "he's the best looking, i think." but if you dare tell anyone that he reads formula 1 gossip magazines before bed, you might just find yourself on the couch for a while.

— CARLOS SAINZ (55)

carlos is a natural protector, and that instinct carries over into how he sleeps. he loves to wrap his big arms around you, holding you close to his warm body. carlos also has a habit of tangling his legs with yours, especially when you're lying face to face and get to see that giddy smile of his through the moonlight peeking through the curtains. but, we can't forget his playful side. before the two of you settle into the soft sheets, he might attempt to tickle your sides just to hear you laugh, or trap you in a bearhug that can be surprisingly easy to get out of given his sleepy state. another adorable thing about carlos is that he loves to not only intertwine legs, but also hands. carlos always wants to be holding your hand, even when you're both asleep so he will often reach for your hand, linking your fingers together and keeping them close to where his heart is.

© kissedsuns

[llamagoddessofficial]

I can just see the Mafia boys coming by after a scuffle of sorts- wounded in various ways- and MC absolutely insisting on playing Nurse. Bonus cuteness: Nightmare is too proud to admit he’s been hurt as well, only for that same care to be overloaded onto him.

It’s the one time MC really gets him to blush after firmly, but gently caring- despite still being obviously wary

Horror... oh, Horror. He reacts to you tending to him like a wounded wild animal being comforted for the first time; confused, frozen, visibly alert. He's stiff and flinchy, hard to get to, sweating up a storm, simply because he's not used to it. It's so uncommon that he gets tended to. Sometimes, Dust will help him bandage up wounds he can't reach, but no one ever thinks the biggest guy out of all of them needs help. But he does. He really, really does. So long sorting out his own injuries has made him react to all care like he's never been touched in his life. ... Over time, he will melt into you. His love of your affection will ease him through the instinctive fear. His eyelight gets bigger, the purring starts... and then it'll be hard to tend to him for another reason entirely - he regularly loses focus on the fact that he's injured, and simply goes in for cuddles and kisses. He'll forget you're bandaging him/wiping away blood, and nuzzle the side of your head when you lean too close. And when Horror decides to move, I'm afraid nothing will stop him. You will get soft little nuzzles.

Dust, at first, simply won't allow it. When he's come home from a 'job' he won't go anywhere near you until he's cleaned himself up and sorted out his own fractures and cuts. He won't allow himself to be close to you after significant violence - you have too much to worry about as is, being the centre of the affection of so many deranged monsters. He refuses to be another thing that frightens or worries you. If you want to tend to him, you're going to have to find him yourself, bullying your way into whatever room he's hidden himself away in. It'll be very tender, with Dust. Moments alone with him often are. Unlike the others, who get caught up in how nice it is to have your full focus, Dust will actually help you treat him - he'll talk you through you how to properly bandage bones, what ointments and foods most accelerate healing. He shows you his scars... injuries that never fully healed, because monsters need positive emotions to repair themselves, and his high LV poisoned his ability to feel. Just... don't let Nightmare know how lovingly you traced his scars. It won't end well.

Killer will spend the whole time making sexy nurse jokes. He'll say how he needs kisses to feel better, it's vital you smooch him, monsters can recover HP from being around people who care about them so it's actually scientifically proven that if you give him kisses he'll feel better faster. Don't you want him to get better? ... Underneath all the jokes, though, Killer is in utter turmoil. Much like Horror, he's not accustomed to being treated with care. He's always been a particularly violent tool, and little else, a curse to be set upon some unfortunate soul who got on his boss' wrong side - he's very valuable to Nightmare but the injuries he sustained on his missions were never discussed. In fact, Killer spoke about his injuries as little as possible; they were signs of failure. A broken tool is one at risk of being replaced. And yet... here you are, worrying about him. Fussing him. Treating him not as a broken tool, but as a person. And though he'll never turn down your affection, it's beginning to stir emotions he long thought he'd killed.

Nightmare will definitely play the grouch. He'll sit there, all but pouting, complaining that it would be far faster if he just healed himself. But... he doesn't move his injuries away from you. He talks all that talk, and then he adjusts himself when you can't reach somewhere or need a better angle. He can literally teleport away at any time, yet he remains seated while you take care of him. He's clearly basking in the attention, soaking up you physically demonstrating how much you care about him. Does he need the care? Physically, not at all. But emotionally, he couldn't possibly need it more. You'd definitely end up frightening all the other skeletons without realising. At some point, Nightmare tries to get up to leave - you very gently smack his arm and tell him to sit down. He chuckles and obeys. Since you're so absorbed in making sure the bandages are neat, you don't notice how violently all the other boys flinched when you 'hit' Nightmare; nor the fact that Dust stood up, as if to rush in and grab you. The only thing you'd catch is their incredulous stares afterward... at which point, Nightmare has already given them enough cold looks to make it clear they're not to say a word.

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I absolutely love your writing and i’d thought i’d try to request a remus lupin x reader kinda hurt comfort fic or blurb? Reader comes from a dysfunctional family where her dads alway angry and she feels like she’s walking on egg shells when around him and her mom throws all responsibilities like taking care of younger sibling onto reader so they always feel like they aren’t doing enough and they kind of cary these traits into their relationship with remus? maybe remus comes home from a hard day at work and reader can immediately sense he’s in a bad mood and like gets really quiet and starts working on the house instead of spending time with him bc she thinks he will be mad or something

This was way longer than i intended it to be im sorry😭 and I totally understand if this was too much or a topic that you don’t wanna write about there is no pressure at all!!!

love ya! -anon

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: implied past harmful/abusive dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 849 words

If the sharp turn of his key in the lock didn’t tip you off to Remus’ mood, the way he shuts the door behind him would. Automatically, your mind starts whirring with the things you can do. 

Your boyfriend has barely taken his shoes off before you’re in the kitchen, unloading the overfull dish rack. You’ve no idea how you let it go this long; some of these things have been dry for days. You’re shutting drawers and cabinets as softly as you can, wary of worsening Remus’ irritation with a racket. 

“Hey.” He pads into the kitchen, reaching for you. 

“Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss. His hands start to come around your waist, but you pull away in favor of grabbing a pot from the rack. 

“What’re you up to?” he asks. The exhaustion in his voice has a terse edge that makes your fingertips crackle with nervous energy. 

“Just tidying a bit.” 

“Want some help?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply in your most serene voice. “You’ve only just got home, why don’t you relax?” 

Remus hesitates a handful of moments, watching as you go back to whizzing about the kitchen before wordlessly retreating to the living room. 

Once the dish rack is empty, you decide to start filling it up again. There’s an unwashed pot on the stove, an old container of leftovers in the fridge, and a handful of dishes on the coffee table. You make yourself as scarce as you can when you go to retrieve the last. Remus is still emanating traces of a worn-thin temper from where he sits on the couch, reading his book, and you try to minimize the clatter of the dishes as you stack them. When there’s a sigh, you try even harder. 

“Would you stop for a second?” 

You freeze in your tracks. “Stop what?” 

“Just,” he shakes his head, frustrated, “put the dishes down.”

You obey wordlessly. 

Remus looks at you with something you can’t decipher in his expression. “Now would you come here, please?” 

You walk over to him, tensing for—you don’t know what. You don’t think Remus would hit you, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to shout. You’re stiff with anticipation nonetheless. 

He reaches for you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, slotting against him naturally, the way you always do. Remus presses both palms into your back, hugging you tighter than usual but not enough to hurt. 

He nuzzles his face into your neck. “What’s going on with you?” he asks, and he sounds like the soft, grumbly version of himself that tells you to stop fidgeting at 4 a.m. before trapping you in his hold. You start to relax. 

“You seem like you’ve had a hard day,” you say. Not quite an admittance, but close. 

“I have,” Remus agrees. “I was hoping to come home and relax with you. Maybe have a kiss if you were feeling generous.” His teasing comforts you further, and you don’t flinch when he adjusts his hold so he can look you in the eyes. “Are you being weird because you know I’m in a bad mood?” 

When he puts it like that it sounds so silly. This is how you’ve learned to be around hot tempers, quiet and useful, but of course Remus would want someone to console him. To be with him instead of hiding away. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out. Your hands smooth over his shoulders, a belated comfort. 

He sighs, and this time when you hear the frustration in the sound you know it’s not meant for you. Remus takes your face in both hands, pressing a firm kiss to your brow before resting his own against it. 

“Nobody’s angry with you,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you reply just as quietly. “If I think about it, I know you wouldn’t be. It’s just…” 

“Old habits die hard?” he guesses. There’s a wry twist to his tone. 

You hum apologetically. 

Remus lets his cheek slide along yours, pulling you in for another hug. This one is gentler, his hand running the length of your back and squeezing in all the right places. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m sorry I came home so cross, sweetheart. I never want to worry you.” 

“I like to worry about you a little,” you tease, and you can sense the reward of your boyfriend’s smile spreading unwillingly over your shoulder. “And it’s not fair to expect you not to have any bad feelings around me. That’s just normal.”

Remus hums thoughtfully. “What if we try this: when you’re feeling like I’m upset, you just say something and we’ll talk about whether it has anything to do with you. Do you think that would work for you?” 

You turn your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. Remus’ palm cruises down the curve of your spine as you let out a breath. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” 

“Thank you, lovely.” He tucks his chin to skim a kiss over your temple. “This is just what I needed. I feel better already.”