#why do i always nap i need to quit that

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired Stalker AU

AKA "Tim Drake is a little obsessive, possessive, and really, really likes his new boyfriend (Danny)" prompt idea!! No non-con, violence, or dead doves. Brief reference to human experimentation.

Inspired by this one post where Tim kept a methodical journal of Danny's resting pulse, body temperature, weaknesses, tracked him literally all the time, and Danny was like *heart-eyes*

I like the idea of Tim's idea of love being completely a bit skewed. He was neglected as a kid and craved attention, affection, being wanted; so, understandably, he assumes that's what other people want, too. He'd only had one boyfriend before. Kon was sarcastic, funny, and sweet, but even he couldn't handle Tim's... staring. The unblinking intensity in those eyes, the hundreds of pictures of himself on Tim's phone, somehow Tim knowing about Kon's conversations and experiences without having been there.

Needless to say, Tim and Kon's relationship ended with a harsh reiteration that most people need boundaries.

So, when Tim meets this very cute messy-haired boy at Gotham-U, he shoves down the instinctive urge to know everything. Mentally captures moments, memorizes them, instead of taking pictures. Shoves earbuds in to avoid listening in on Danny's conversations (oh, his name's Danny, which he overheard when the boy was speaking with the TA).

It's so hard not to obsess, though. Danny is... well, he's haunting. His crystalline eyes make Tim's heart stutter in his chest, chills rising along his arms; he swears there's this aura around Danny that's just utterly compelling. (Stop it, Tim, you'll scare him off.) But Tim can actually be a person sometimes, so he just asks, "Do you want to go out for coffee with me sometime?" And he's psyched when Danny says yes!! (He tries really, really hard not to memorize the fact that Danny likes hot oatmilk chai lattes, uses his left hand to hold his drink, and prefers not to use a coffee sleeve. Does Danny always hold his cups by the lid? Does he prefer- Tim stops himself.)

And Tim is a great boyfriend!! They go on dates (he doesn't avidly stare at the way Danny's eyes sparkle while at Gotham-U's planetarium). Tim learns Danny's favorite music the normal way (he doesn't hack into Danny's Spotify... although he's suddenly found himself listening to an artist named Ember). And Tim has a totally normal album of pictures of his boyfriend on his phone (his burner phone is a different matter entirely, but not even Batman himself could get it unlocked. Tim's got that phone sealed up tighter than the Fortress of Solitude).

Except Tim notices Danny becoming more withdrawn. More tired, dark bags under his eyes and stealing Tim's double espresso (he never does that, it's too bitter for him, why isn't he drinking his oatmilk latte?). Leaning his head on Tim's shoulder during lectures to take naps. And Tim's becoming more frantic the more lethargic Danny becomes.

Maybe he's more like Bruce "Contingency Plan" Wayne than he's willing to admit. Tim sets a hard boundary for himself: I'm just going to Google his symptoms. That's it.

He spends the next 42 hours obsessively researching Danny: hacks into his phone, downloads all his previous location history, texts, calls, background checks everybody Danny's been in contact with. Re-traces his steps down to the minute, finds all his Google searches, activates Danny's laptop webcam. He's determined to find out what's wrong with his boyfriend.

And because Tim is Red Robin, who literally became part of the Batfam because of his stalking tendencies and is one of the greatest detectives since Batman, he finds out. He finds out that Danny Fenton is one Phantom, a vigilante from Amity; finds obscure clips of newspapers mentioning a young boy's tragic death, discovers the GIW, uncovers classified information containing metahuman experimentation (let's say he doesn't quite know about Ghosts, but Metas are close enough).

Somehow, he makes a connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus Pit (maybe not necessarily the right connection, but something-adjacent). After all, Jason was resurrected via "Evil Baja Blast" and Ra's al Ghul used it to make himself immortal. It would make sense that the GIW could sample Lazarus Pit water and use it to experiment on metahumans. So... Does Danny just need more Lazarus Pit water?

Cue Tim making use of the Drake and Wayne family wealth to literally overnight mason jars full of Lazarus water. Ra's al Ghul has no idea how it happened. He tests the reaction of Danny's DNA and the Lazarus water only to realize he was right. (Lazarus Pit waters are just excessively concentrated ambient ectoplasm, I guess?)

Tim does what any good boyfriend would do and spikes Danny's oatmilk lattes with Lazarus Pit water. And it helps. Danny is suddenly so much more energetic, there's that glittering shine to his eyes, and he looks so much healthier. Happier. Tim can't stop staring at him. If anything, he stares more, tries to memorize every angle of his boyfriend's face; he collects more candid pictures than before, always catching the gentle curl of Danny's lips when he's distracted; doesn't disengage the tracking apps or phone mirroring software.

He's just happy that his boyfriend is feeling better, more like himself. It's just a perk that Danny doesn't know about Tim's minor stalking tendencies.

(Danny absolutely knows.)

[quarterlifekitty]

weaknesses: your cooking

König was on watch with you late one night, and you insisted upon filling the air with a bit of conversation– said you needed it to stay awake. You end up asking him lots of questions that night, including all of his favorite foods and drinks. He has trouble answering, he’s never had to come up with this much information about himself, but you don’t mind.

“Do you have a favorite dessert? Mine is lemon meringue pie,” you say with a sweet little smile. It makes him realize how cute you are. That, outside of your uniforms, a cute girl is talking to him. It makes him panic a little, such that he can only bring himself to respond with a quiet me too. 

He had no idea what his favorite dessert was when you asked. He wasn’t even sure he particularly enjoyed desserts at all, honestly. He’s hoping you forget about this embarrassing exchange, really. But you don’t.

You’re stationed in Switzerland when next it comes up. You proudly come back to your accommodations with a little box from a bakery. “I saw this in town today and remembered that you liked meringue too! So I got one, if you wanted to share it with me?”

He just nods. And it’s the best fucking dessert he’s ever had. Which has little to do with how the desert itself tastes. It becomes the first dessert he learns how to make at home, and he makes his best yet when you’re celebrating moving in together. It’s when he’s feeding it to you that he finally comes clean– when you’d asked him his favorite dessert, he’d never even eaten lemon meringue pie before.

Gaz takes incredibly good care of himself. He detests getting sick, maybe more than anything else. It’s just so annoying, and it totally ruins his momentum– throws him off his groove. So he very very rarely gets sick, and is in fact often disgustingly bright, healthy, and energetic. 

Gaz also comes from a home that had amazing food. His standards are, understandably, quite high. A piece of his soul leaves with every MRE he consumes. Which is why his favorite food from you is such a surprise.

It’s during the infancy of your relationship. You’ve been on a few dates. Exploratory, probing, trying to deduce if this is love or just the symptoms of it. He’s on the fence about telling you he’s fallen ill– it’s a little awkward, isn’t it? Partners are supposed to take care of each other in times like that, but he’s not sure you’re ready to be called his partner, much less be around him when he’s a germ factory. But he ends up telling you, if only not to look like he’s ignoring you if he slips into another death-nap while you’re texting.

You do end up coming over, despite all his warnings, all of the easy outs he provides you with. Get him a fresh gatorade before busying yourself in his kitchen.

You come back with a steaming mug that he doesn’t recognize. You say you brought it from home– that it’s your special mug you like to use when you feel icky. It’s got wisteria painted on the side with the scientific name in script next to it, and a little silver spoon with a teddy bear on the end is sticking out of it.

He takes the mug gratefully but still a little cautious– he doesn’t really know all that much about your cooking, and he’ll readily admit that his parents ruined the standard.

He looks down in it to see oatmeal. A bit of cinnamon dusted on, a golden swirl of honey going through it. Just a little bit of cardamom. 

He used to hate oatmeal when he was a kid, but he finishes the mug in record time and asks if you’ll make more. It’s just so soft and hot– gentle on his aching stomach and sore throat, the heat and cinnamon spice clearing up his sinuses a little bit. The sweetness is perfect and comforting as it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Nowadays he keeps up the same wellness regimen, but he does almost look forward to getting sick, because it means you’ll make oatmeal for him.

When sharing a safehouse with Soap, there’s one inevitable constant: the whining. He always finds something to whinge about, just to ease his own boredom. It’s never about the conditions, having to sleep on shitty mattresses on floors, having to trek 10 miles through the dark and fog to even get there– it’s always about something stupid.

Girl who hasn’t texted him back. His deployment making him miss out on a limited edition thing he would’ve wanted to buy. That during his last leave a girl ghosted him after he barked during sex. Come to think of it, it was usually about his girl problems.

But this time, it was that he happened to be deployed on his birthday. Not that he’s sore about spending time with the taskforce, you’re his best mates in the world– but there’s not much celebration to be had out here.

“Could do with a fockin’ cake, ye ken?”

You were taken onto this squad for your adaptability. You’re brilliant when it comes to improvisation. And there’s a couple of shelf stable things left around in the cabinets here, although dubious.

So what are you able to bang together with flour, sugar, and the liquid from a can of chickpeas in some tin cups on top of a butane stove on its last legs?

That’s right. A fockin’ cake. Is it good? God no. The texture is weird as hell and it’s somehow dry on the outside but completely raw in the middle. But Soap smiles the entire time he’s eating it, and god knows he’s finishing the whole damned thing.

He was always of the mind that it’s rude not to finish your wife’s cooking.

It’s Price’s first holiday with you, and his expectations are low. Not as in he doesn’t think you’ll be lovely and amazing, he most certainly does, but his whole squad is coming over and preparing for that is a pretty big undertaking. So if it’s something a little more casual, maybe a bit of potluck, he’ll be perfectly fine with that. His ex used to order catering and tell the guests that she’d cooked it all herself, so anything is a step up from that in his book.

You stun him absolutely stupid when you not only plan a spectacular, full holiday dinner, but you make his boys help out– commanding them in the kitchen the same way he does in the field. Well, maybe a bit less forgiving. You’re less tender-hearted than him when the moistness of the roast in the oven is on the line. Everything is delicious, full of love, and satisfying beyond belief.

But his true fulfillment comes about a year later when his soldiers are awkwardly talking around their plans for the holidays, trying to nudge him into inviting them over again to make dinner with his missus. Muppets, the lot of them.

A lot of Ghost’s concept of vegetables come from army food, school cafeterias, and all-you-can-eat buffets. Typically frozen, only to be thawed and overcooked to an ungodly degree. On the rare occasion he had a half-decent meal with a vegetable side, it was typically covered in butter, cheese, or finely chopped bacon. Sometimes a combination of the three.

You’re a hookup he falls back on a lot when he’s on leave. Keeps him away from his empty apartments and crowded mind. This time, he comes straight to your place when he lands, wanting to lose himself in your cunt more than anything else. And you’re accommodating, you don’t have anything better to do and he doesn’t leave you wanting.

Usually he makes himself scarce pretty quickly, but this time he finds that maybe he was still running on adrenaline when he came in, and now that it’s wearing off with his post-orgasm high, his entire body is killing him. He feels like lead. And he hates that his struggle is plain to see.

“You can just stay, y’know. S’not like I’ll be expecting a wedding ring in the morning or anything. I’m just gonna go make dinner.”

He’s too tired to protest. Falls asleep just about as soon as you’re out of the room, despite very much intending to get the hell up and pass out somewhere that isn’t your apartment. He wakes up to an amazing smell.

Your dinner isn’t complicated. You’d just planned to have dinner by yourself, so it wasn’t fancy or anything. Grilled some salmon, put it over rice with some unagi sauce, steamed some fresh veggies for the side. Simon just barely has the energy to amble over to your kitchen table when it’s clear he won’t be leaving the premises any time soon.

When he’s not eating food that’s mass produced and shitty, he expects to be eating the kind of battered and fried pub faire that sits like a stone and ravages the digestive tract.

This may very well be the first time he’s eaten a meal that was genuinely good that didn’t make him feel at least a little bit disgusting afterwards. And god– it’s like it’s his first time tasting a vegetable for real. Why didn’t anyone tell him they could be this way?

You’re quite frankly shocked when you wake up in the morning and Simon is not only still there– he wants to take you out to breakfast. 

The truth is that he got a pretty remarkably good night’s rest, but in the wee hours while he was waiting for you to wake up? He was planning. The jump from friends with benefits to marriage won’t really be so difficult if he can play his cards right.

[heist-family-content]

This is long enough to be a fic, but oh weeeeell.

As with many other Wayne family traditions, it all started because Bruce was sleep deprived and a little delirious. He had just adopted Dick not even a year ago, but they had their routines. On patrol, Bruce could tell when the boy was lagging behind just a little bit more than usual and sitting down, bereft of cartwheels, on every rooftop. He recognised the signs that Dick would not, in fact, be walking back to the Batcave after this and he would need to be carried.

So Bruce took his sleepy little robin home in his arms, helped him change out of his costume, and tucked him into bed. But Jesus, Bruce was sleepy, too. He'd been up for maybe four days, and all he could really process was that Dick looked so peaceful and happy, worming into three layers of thick blanket after a long night, and he pressed the softest, sleepiest goodnight kiss into his son's head before dragging himself to bed.

Every night after that, Dick simply would not go to sleep without a goodnight kiss. The boy would be half unconscious, for christs sake, but his little hands could grip Bruce's sleeve like a vice. Bruce pretended to think it was a little ridiculous, but what was he going to do? Watch Dick lose vital rest so he could save his grumpy reputation? To this day, sometimes Dick will shamble into the batcave, half dead to the world, and sleepily whine until he gets a kiss and a pat on the head.

Jason has ridiculed them about this endlessly, but the joke is on him, because all robins forever are doomed to love Mom Bruce Kisses.

Kid Jason had been different. He didn't want a kiss every night before bed- that was for babies! But one day, Jason shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch so hard that Alfred raised a brow. Bruce, sitting next to him, stared pointedly until Jason huffed.

"I had a bad day," he said. Bruce nodded and was about to ask Alfred to bring in some ice cream, but Jason stopped him.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine. I just..." He huffed again, not having the words to say exactly what he needed. Bruce watched his son evenly, but his heart ached to soothe him, and not quite having any better ideas, he pressed the lightest kiss on Jason's cheek and smoothed back his messy hair. "It's okay to have bad days," he hummed gently. Jason didn't say anything at first, but he eventually lay his head down on Bruce's knee and took a nap, so Bruce assumed Jason didn't hate it. So "goodnight kisses" are Dick's thing and "bad day" kisses are Jason's thing. Noted.

And then came Tim. Tim, who was always working himself so hard, who stayed up almost as late as Bruce and functioned almost as well without sleep, so that Bruce could barely tell how little rest his boy was getting. Tim, who was always worried that he wasn't doing enough, that his intel wasn't good enough, that he wasn't earning Bruce's love, trust, and respect.

Bruce was really hard pressed to figure out what Tim needed. He was beginning to learn that all children really were fundamentally different, and in the early days, he was worried as hell. He had pushed Jason and lost him. What could he do to keep Tim from being pushed? From being hurt or worse?

One night, he found himself standing beside Tim, who was working tirelessly at the Bat Computer. Tim was explaining something, but Bruce was just staring at him. Tim looked up at him and instantly began to feel nervous. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong? Why was Bruce staring so angrily at him-

Tim blinked as Bruce gave his hair a quick kiss. "Good job," Bruce hums simply, focus returning to the computer screen. "I'm proud of you."

So Tim gets "good job" kisses, now. Alfred might have to start making a chart.

Damian doesn't necessarily like kisses, at least, that's how he acts. But Bruce notices the silent, stoic anxiety that radiates off of Damian when his father or one of his siblings gets badly hurt. Even if Alfred gets a papercut, Damian insists that he must inspect it for himself, and while he remains stern and blunt, he fusses over how "unacceptable" it is. In general, Damian refuses to be consoled or coddled, but Bruce notices.

And then Bruce almost died after being blindsided by a joint Bane-Deathstroke ambush, and Damian literally wouldn't leave his bedside unless it was to wreak vengeance. He pestered Alfred every ten minutes about changing bandages and wouldn't eat anything unless Dick coaxed him into it. Bruce allowed it because Damian does what he wants, and he couldn't pretend to not appreciate it.

Eventually, Bruce could sit up without wincing. He looked down at his youngest son, who had fallen asleep on the edge of Bruce's bed. Bruce gently woke him up for school, but Damian waved him away. Bruce huffed, a mix of reluctance and deep affection in his chest. He gently pulled the covers over the boy and gave his little hand a small kiss. The "it's going to be okay" kiss is the only one Damian will accept without complaint.

[donvampiro]

Hi Don! I would like to know how the Monster Trio’ll react to their S/O calling them “My husband” instead of “My boyfriend?” ☺️ (Sanji is so gonna die from happiness hearing that)

hiii! hope you're doing good ^^ yeahh i'm pretty sure Sanji's heart would do backflips hearing that! xP thanks for your request sweetie, hope these HCs will live up to your expectations! Love <3

MASTERLIST - Welcome

***

'Slip of the tongue (or not)'

Monster trio x gn!reader

Monkey D. Luffy

he’s so chill about it lmao

“boyfriend”? “husband”? “brochacho”? as long as you’re with him, loving & cuddling him and that he can do the same, he’s good.

Sanji has already tried a few times to explain to his captain the nuances of these terms, but he doesn’t really care. Luffy’s not very attached to labels, what matters to him is enjoying each other’s presence, and the gentleness as well as the intensity of your bond. you’re you. and for that, he adores you.

he’s not dumb though. he gets that “husband” is kind of… the next level. or something like that. he sometimes thinks about it, but it’s not really one of his plans. still, if it can make you happy, then he’ll follow you. he’ll always follow you.

‘yeah give me some more please. my husband eats… a lot.’, you’d suggest to a merchant on a random island where the crew would stop.

�� ‘ya mean, King of husbands.’, he’d reply nonchalantly, his mouth full of food taken from the display.

— ‘Luffy what-’

Roronoa Zoro

here’s another one who isn’t attached to labels.

Zoro knows he loves you and would do anything for you. he knows your presence is priceless, and that your relationship brings some kind of peace in his warrior’s life. you’re like a lucky star, radiant and source of hope. Zoro is not a man of great speeches, but if he knows one thing, it is that he and you share a very strong bond that he’d fight to preserve — that’s probably what we call love.

he’d be quite confused, though, when he heard you refer to him as your “husband” — confused and a little panicked, though he wouldn’t show it. still... “husband”? wait, since when? why doesn’t he remember? what happened? his mind spirals, but yet, without hesitation, he would come to you and ask about it.

‘are we married?’, he’d question in astonishment, as if you were revealing to him a truth kept secret for millennia; and you’d chuckle. this guy fr.

— ‘do you want us to be?’, you’d tease, making him roll his eyes in a grunt.

— ‘nevermind. m’gonna take a nap.’ 

the slight blush on the shell of his ears doesn’t escape your gaze as he leaves. you’re always so good at flustering him. but oh, you want to play it like that? don't underestimate him. maybe you two should actually get married…

Vinsmoke Sanji

FINALLY he can use the ring he always has ready for you in his pocket /j

do i really need to remind y’all of this? Sanji is a man with loooots of love to spare, and his relationship with you is so dear to him. he’s attentive to what you do, what you say, he does everything in his power to be there for you, and hopes that your sweet lil couple will last. forever, please.

i mean yeah, bro’s your boyfriend, but what if — what if — one day, he becomes your husband?? unlike the other two rascals, for Sanji, it does make the difference. this mere thought makes him all giddy. and that’s why hearing this word roll off your tongue, in such a sweet voice, to refer to him… oh, the things you do to this man.

nosebleed and heart eyes? probably. but above all, his desire to preserve, to treasure your relationship and make you happy is all the more reinforced. you already see him as your husband — this would mean that you too love him and trust him so much that you are planning for the long term, even into marriage, right? and Sanji would never dare to break your dream.

‘anything for my beautiful partner.’, he’d grin. yes, he’d play along. let him have this moment.

[neellscapsule]

how kent!reader became “mom”

there's always been something uniquely grounding about you. maybe it's the way your mother had been with you, and how you tended to repeat her way of being, or the echo of your love fluttering open in your heart.

that's why, somehow, along the way, you had become a mother. loving them like they were born from your own bones.

dick — the first to say it

you received him with open arms and the sweetest smile, alongside a promise of love no one could ignore. he liked you a lot, even from the start, even when his heart remained broken from his parent's death.

he really enjoyed how calm you could be, how gentle your hands were and how warm your eyes shone, the way you let him sit in silence, never asking too many questions. you helped with homework, you got photos of his circus family, you tucked him in. you even let him nap, or sleep the whole night, in your arms.

it happened at wayne enterprises. you had been bruce's secretary, a girlfriend now turned fiancée to adopt him. of course you were not the most respected among bruce's ex companions, but that didn't mean he would let anyone disrespect you.

of course he was going to scream at anyone who treated you so bad, of course he was going to call you mom and wrink his nose with fury.

from that day on, it never changed.

“mom! do we have any apple pie left?” “mom, i need help with the suit” “mom we should eat together like . . right now”

and every time he says it, your heart catches in the same spot.

barbara — slips of the heart

barbara isn't adopted. actually, you get pretty well with her father; you would never try to replace any member of her already formed heart. and she had always been quite fiercely independent anyway.

but well . . . things happen.

like when she tore her shoulder training and tried to pretend it was nothing even if she was wincing. you stayed up with her until she let you clean the wound, rebraid her hair, acting like a pompous nurse. it was normal that she slipped if you were like that, fluffing a pillow behind her head. barbara had her eyes half-closed, a mumble escaping her lips with a soft sigh.

“thanks, mom…” you paused, startled. she did too. her eyes opened wider like she might retract it. you only smiled and tucked the blanket tighter around her. “anytime, sweetheart.”

jason — the mama's boy

he was twelve when bruce brought him home. you remember it like a clear photograph burned into your brain: the bruises on his knuckles, the oversized hoodie, the wild fire in his eyes hiding the fear behind it.

he tested you at first, never quite having a taste of it before. louder than dick, that still lived there, watching him through narrowed eyes. sharper around the edges. but you were raised by martha kent, nobody could surpass that.

so you were patient, not an easy job but a needed one. so you didn't press him, you packed his lunch, defended him of principals and smiled when he sat at your side to read.

the “ma” came during the quiet.

you had found him in the library, curled in one of the big leather chairs with a wide book in his hands. you didn't ask — just draped a knitted blanked over his legs and brought him warm milk with honey, the way your own mother used to do for you.

“. . . thanks, ma,” he said, too tired to catch himself. you froze. he didn’t. you just smiled, kissed his forehead, and said, “anytime, baby.”

from then on, it was “ma” this and “ma” that. he was the fiercest about protecting you — side-eying anyone who dared breathe wrong in your direction.

he’s still your boy. big, bruised, and carrying too many ghosts—but your boy.

tim — silent shadow

he came in at the worst time.

jason had just died, and your heart hadn’t fully come back from it, broken in a way that just couldn't be explained. not loud or sobbing — but hollow. you wore grief like a second skin. bruce was quieter than ususal, you were quieter than usual, the manor felt like it was holding its breath.

and then he arrived. tim, with his sharp mind, know it all voice, his too-old eyes. thirteen and already so brilliant. he didn't demand love, didn't expect affection. you tried your best to be warm, but even he could feel the weight of your grief, your hesitation.

he'd tiptoe around the manor like he didn't belong, apologized when he spoke to you, made himself invisible in the way only children desperate for love know how to.

it broke your heart. but you just didn't know how to let him, not fully. you smiled at him when you could. you brought him cocoa and made sure the pantry had what he liked. you helped him decorate his new rooms with books and posters.

then, one day — already months in — you found him in the study, curled up over his laptop, tears tracking down his face in small sobs that made his body tremble.

you knelt beside him, cupped his cheek, and whispered, “tim, hey. what’s wrong?” “i’m sorry, mom,” he gasped, broken, “i didn’t mean to call you that, i didn’t—” your heart split. you kissed his forehead. “it’s okay, honey. i’m honored.”

cass — signed, then spoken

cassandra arrived when she was eighteen. but emotionally? she was so much younger. hurt in ways most people couldn’t even understand.

you didn't push her, didn't treat her like a charity case. you treated her like someone who deserved kindness, peace. you don't understand what surprises about how much she clings to you like if you were gravity.

she followed you around silently. sat in your office while you worked. watched the way you baked, moved, hugged everyone without hesitation. and you were gentle with her, always asking for permission before touching her. always have her space.

you both learned to speak in signs together. she was better at body language than most, but you were already a mother.

“home,” you’d sign, touching your fingers to your chin close to your moth, before moving the hand upwards to your cheek near your ear. “safe,” she’d return, hands curling near her heart.

it took her weeks to be able to form actual phrases, and even more to finally mumble words. but one rainy day, after you made her favourite good and helped her braid her hair, she stood in front of you and signed mom.

you started crying. big, ugly, full-body sobs. cass panicked, touching your shoulder, and then realized you were giggling too, overwhelmed, and you signed back: yes, always.

and when she finally said it? you cried a river.

damian — the shell

damian hated you from the start.

you were just so weak at his eyes. you weren't a warrior. you weren't his mother. you were, in his eyes, a liability.

he tested you relentlessly: talked over you, insulted your smallville roots, told bruce you'd die in the field if you were even merely close to it, refused to eat your cooking.

it hurt a little, but you never stopped trying.

you learned arabic. not just phrases. full sentences. not for bruce, for damian. so that, maybe, in some quiet way, he'd feel like someone was choosing him, just to give him something familiar. he didn't react.

you read his favorite poetry, helped nurse his injured animals in the manor's vet room. you planted a small herb garden for him near the greenhouse and told no one it was his.

then he got sick. badly. feverish. shaking, and refusing to admit weakness. you sat with him anyway. tucked him in. sang softly under your breath while wiping his forehead.

he was half-dreaming, soaked in sweat and trembling. then—barely a whisper, half asleep—he said it:

“ummi . . .” you froze. you touched his hair and whispered, “i’m here.” he curled into the blanket, head forcing up to lean right against your touch, his eyebrows twitching, eyes slightly glassy. “ummi . . .” “i’m right here, habibi.”

you stayed with him all night, and in the morning, when he woke up and tried to pretend he remembered nothing, you just kissed his cheek and handed him warm tea.

you never brought it up. he never stopped saying it.

[heartsiebyul]

Helloo!! I didn't see anything about requests being opened or not, so I hope this is alright if not, then that's fine too. Could you do the housewardens with a reader that likes to be carried? Like just likes to be carried around places!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Carry me?

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

featuring — Riddle : Leona : Azul : Kalim : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

᭡ Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle didn’t quite understand why you wanted to be carried. “You have legs, why must I do this?” he would grumble, face red, though he always complied.

One day, you tugged on his sleeve and looked up with a pout. “Carry me?” you asked sweetly. He stiffened, eyes darting around before huffing and gathering you in his arms. Whether it was a bridal carry after a long walk through the rose garden or scooping you up because you refused to move from your seat, he always did it, with a huff and a smile.

Now, it’s become a habit. If you so much as raise your arms slightly and whisper, “Carry me?” Riddle gives a quiet sigh before gently lifting you with surprising strength for his size. “Only for a little while” he says with pursed lips. Yet, he always takes the long way to class or the dorm, carrying you just a bit longer than necessary.

᭡ Leona Kingscholar

Leona raised his eyebrow the first time you looked at him, arms raised, and lazily said, “Carry me?”

“Tch, lazy” he chuckled but he didn’t hesitate. It didn’t take long for it to become routine, him picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder or letting you curl into his arms. Leona like having you close, especially when he could bury his nose in your hair and pretend he wasn’t soft for you.

Now, whenever you sleepily murmur, “Carry me?” he rolls his eyes but lifts you with ease, holding you against his chest or letting you rest in his back.

“If you wanna be spoiled, just say so” he grumbles as he lounges under the sun. The truth is, carrying you gives him the perfect excuse to nap somewhere comfortable, with you acting as his personal blanket.

᭡ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was completely flustered the first time you latched onto him like an octopus and whispered, “Carry me?”

“W-Why would you request something so intimate in public?!” he squeaked. But he was weak to your pout and reluctantly complied, nearly dropping you the first time. Over time, he grew used to the weight of you in his arms and the way you would hum contentedly, as if his arms was the safest place in the world.

Now, whenever you peek at him from behind and ask, “Carry me?” with that hopeful smile, he adjusts his tie and gives a flustered but fond, “If I must…” He’ll act dramatic about it, sighing, muttering about posture and image, but there’s always a soft smile tugging at his lips. He’ll carry you through the Lounge, across campus, anywhere really, especially if he’s trying to impress you.

᭡ Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim absolutely loves that you enjoy being carried. One day, you reached out with a smile and said, “Carry me?” and his eyes lit up. “Of course!!” he cheered, already sweeping you into his arms. He does it all the time now, whether you're tired or not. He will carry you on his back, in his arms, or even balance you on one shoulder if he’s feeling playful.

Sometimes, you don’t even have to say a word, he’s already scooping you up. “You looked like you needed a ride!” he’ll laugh. Kalim doesn’t care who sees or what people think. If carrying you around makes you happy, then expect to spend half the day wrapped up in his arms.

᭡ Vil Schoenheit

Vil took one long look at you the first time you clung to him and softly asked, “Carry me?” He sighed. “Honestly…” But he did it anyway, with elegance and strength you hadn’t expected. “If you insist on being carried, at least allow me to do it gracefully.” And he does, always picture-perfect.

Now, when you blink up at him with that slightly mischievous smile and say, “Carry me?” Vil simply raises a brow and holds out his arms. “Come, darling.” He lifts you with poise, walking through NRC with the confidence of a man carrying the most precious gem. And when you’re alone, his touch lingers just a bit longer, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “Anything for you.”

᭡ Idia Shroud

“Y-You want me to carry you?!” Idia short circuited the first time you quietly mumbled, “Carry me?” while curling against his side. His face turned the color of his flaming hair, and he almost tripped trying to lift you. But with time, and lots of private practice when no one was looking, he got more confident. He still prefers carrying you in private, where he can mumble, “This is like, top-tier romance stuff…” while holding you like a rare game item.

These days, if you poke his arm and shyly whisper, “Carry me?” he stammers a bit but lifts you into his arms with care. He carries you to his room, settles you in his lap while gaming, and sometimes even lets you fall asleep there. “cute” he mutters, totally defeated by your charm.

᭡ Malleus Draconia

Malleus is delighted by your liking for being carried. The first time you looked up at him and softly asked, “Carry me?” his eyes sparkled. “Ah… so you enjoy the feeling of safety in another’s arms? Then allow me.” From the very start, he treated your wish like a royal decree. He picked you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing, cradling you with the utmost care.

Now, all it takes is a glance and a gentle, “Carry me?” and he’s already holding out his arms. “Always, my dear.” He often strolls through the halls of Diasomnia at night with you in his arms, murmuring stories or soft lullabies. And sometimes, he even takes to the skies, flying gently while holding you close, as if you were his most sacred treasure.

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

[jigglyjeon]

oh, deer -> jjk

summary: jungkook is a hybrid doctor that lives on his lonesome in a small cabin in the woods, where he tends to wild creatures great and small that inhabit the area. when you show up passed out on his doorstep, he strives to help you, and also tries to figure out where you’ve magically appeared from— because why on earth would an arctic hare be roaming the green lands?

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: hybrid au, smut, fluffy-ish

word count: 5.7k

warnings/tags: hybrid doc jk, runaway oc, oc is on heat, allusions to abuse, mistreatment and trafficking, reader is so damaged pls, jk is one of the only kind people she’s ever met rip, jk got big ass antlers LOL, he’s super sweet tho omllll even though he looks intimdating, cunnilingus, mentions of mating, humping, dirty tawwwwlk, thigh riding, brief handjob, a little titty play, unprotected sex, knotting

notes: really wanted to get this out because i couldn't stop thinking about it. needed a respectful big buff deer-hybrid jk to be a thing so here he is woops

⋆ ࣪.  masterlist  ˖ ࣪⭑

The high-pitched squawking from outside wakes Jungkook from afternoon his nap, a stark contrast to the soft chirping from midday that ultimately lulled him to sleep, his arms crossed over his chest as he rested on his couch.

There are crows beginning to gather at his doorstep as they squabble over what can only be their next feast. They had always been greedy like that, but Jungkook still thought they were one of the most misunderstood birds to date; they were beautiful in a mysterious way, and they were headstrong and looked after one another. It was commendable, he thinks.

The afternoon is gloomy; there are too many clouds in the sky for it to seem like it’s going to be a peaceful nightfall. but when he finally drags himself off the couch to pinpoint the commotion, he peaks out his window to see that they’re fighting over a body, lying unconscious on the cobble that leads to his front door.  

“Shit,” he curses beneath his breath, racing out the door to shoo off the ravenous birds. He gets a good look at you then.

You’re curled up tightly in a ball, your long white ears are pinned to your head and your body shivers as if on instinct. You’re in a white gown, limbs muddy and covered in dirt and scratches, and there’s a deep frown on your lips.

His first thought is that you’re a just a hybrid bunny, and he doesn’t realise just how ill you are quite yet. He kneels down to you, fingers curling around your arm, “Hey, can you hear me?” He asks quietly, shaking you slightly. When your body tightens, curls inward even more, he relaxes a little. “I’m here to help you, okay?”

He huffs, looking around his property before he scoops you up into his arms. It’s not until now that he gets a whiff that familiar scent, thick and lustful as you nuzzle into his chest. Your eyes are still tightly shut, but now he can feel your hot, clammy skin. He’s quick to bring you inside, suddenly glad for the crows that woke him before nightfall.

You groan when he places you gently over his couch, your eyelids cracking open only in the slightest to get a look at your saviour.

He’s big, and he looms over you in an intimidating way, or maybe it’s the long, rugged antlers that stick out from his forehead that make him seem so. His features are soft, and he’s still as not to startle you— he knew how rabbits could get.

You blink, forcing your heavy eyes to open as much as they possibly can. Your head is pounding; your vision is blurry and you’re so incredibly hot. Your ears flop backwards when you try to sit up, a whimper leaving your lips as he hurries to your side. “Easy, sweetheart.” He hushes, his grip on your arms keeping you steady.

It’s only now that he realises, you’re no ordinary bunny rabbit. Your skim is pale and well, he did wonder briefly why your ears were slightly smaller in comparison to the rest of you. You’re sickly warm to the touch, and you shiver cold sweats in the middle of summer— you’re used to the cold.

Jungkook acts quickly, rushing around his home, rustling noises come from behind when you sat made it known he was searching for something. You’re too tired to peak over your shoulder, so you slump weakly against the couch instead.

He returns with a gel-like pad that’s been frosting over in his freezer, and a lemonade icicle in his other hand. He hands you to ice pack, and you hug it close to your face with a sigh of relief, melting into the cold. He unwraps the sweet treat from its wrapper and hands it to you. You bow shyly in thanks, bringing it close to your mouth where your tongue poked out in small licks. He smiles— it’s cute.

“Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” He asks gently, kneeling down to come eye level with you. You peak up at his from behind your frozen treat, melting cold and sweet on your tongue, only to look away just as quickly.

“Okay…what about where you came from?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t push you to. He can tell by your posture and the state of you that you haven’t had the best moments before you wound up barely awake in front of his home. You’re lucky it’s his lifes work to help those who seek aid in the midsts of the forest, those such as yourself.

He’s particularly well versed in hybrid care being one himself, but because there just wasn’t enough healthcare provided to the ones who lived amongst other species of animals, wild— non domesticated hybrids. It’s what secludes his well-versed and educated self to this very place.

Without another word he digs into the kit on the table behind him, rummaging through to find the things he needs to help get you cleaned up. When he turns back to you, you’re shivering again, eyes blown out and wide as you stare right at him.

It’s not a look of fear, either. No, definitely not; not when your eyes are dark and flittering over his face, roaming down to the sight of his taut, muscular body.

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, gripping onto the popsicle stick, uncaring of the way it melted down your fingers and dripped down your arm. He reaches to take it from you, and when his fingers brush yours, you sigh a little too keenly.

Jungkook had initially thought you had come from a colder climate and the adjustment in habitat had made you unwell.

He sees now just how terribly wrong he was.

When you open your eyes, he tilts his head to meet them, but your ears are flopping over to hide your eyes. They’re only just long enough to cover them sheepishly. He can’t help but smile at how sweet you were.

He looks down are you trembling legs, watching the way they clench and push further together.

Your heat.

The reason you’re in this man’s living room in the first place. It hit you the moment you broke free from the walls that confined you to a place you could only describe as hell.

Although you had no qualms about the cold walls that kept you isolated from the other hybrids, the separation and lack of socialisation had eaten away at you. It had fed that lonely feeling in your heart, the one that convinced you that you could never be wanted, would never belong anywhere.

Your furrowed brown and the way you gnawed at your bottom told him that you barred pain. What he didn’t know it was in so many more ways than one; it wasn’t the superficial kind that showed up on your skin in nicks and bruises.

What scares you most of all is the fact that you’re not scared at all.

“Your heat, huh?” He’s speaking mostly to himself now, maybe you can’t understand what he’s saying. “Do you prefer your baths cold or warm?” He asks kindly, blinking at you in hopes that you’ll finally reply.

Your ears lift slowly out of your line of sight, blinking shyly at him as they curtain over your eyes, prepared to hide yourself behind them again. You lift the gel ice pack in your hands shakily, and he nods enthusiastically when you provide him a real reaction to his words.

He gets up to disappear down the hallway, leaving you alone in his living space. “Baths?” You whisper to yourself so quietly, that he doesn’t hear it. Your ears twitch in curiosity, and you soundlessly follow him down the same path you saw him go down.

The sound of running water leads you to the door toward the end of the corridor, and your fingers grasp the door frame before you peak around the corner. You blink at the way his arms tense when he picks something up, and the way his lips when they pucker as he whistles a light tune have your ears sticking out straight to hear it more clearly.

When he turns around, he clutches his chest, gasping in surprise when he doesn’t expect to see half of your face shyly watching him. Your ears flop to the side, flinching but instead of fleeing your fingers grip tighter against the frame of the door. “Just making you a cold bath, as per request.” He smiles so politely it makes you swoon.

Your foot pounces against the floorboards impatiently, on instinct. “Do you usually settle your heat cycles with a partner?” He asks casually, ushering you into the bathroom when your feet don’t seem to move on their own.

“Yeah,” you answer, it’s meek and small but it’s progress. Progress reigned above all else in his line of work. “Hurts.”

Jungkook hums in confusion, his small ears flickering as he tilts his head. “What hurts, sweet?”

“They hurt me.” You frown, sitting on the edge of the tub, your fingers dipping into the water to check the temperature. You can’t remember the last time you had a bath that wasn’t anxiety inducing— with so many eyes watching you. “They were very rough with me.”

He’s starting to understand now; you’re not from the arctics, you’re from a hybrid homing centre. Think of it as the most damaged kind of foster system, where all sorts of shifty people sold and bought hybrids for all the wrong reasons; you could only be so lucky if someone with a kind heart swung by and took a liking to you, but they were mostly cat or dog hybrids that had such chances.

Did they take you from your mother? Were hybrid traffickers searching the arctics for rare arctic hybrids like yourself? He can’t bring himself to ask, not when you’re still so shaken.

“What kind of partners did you have?” He asks, hoping it’s not what he thinks, but it’s evident in the way your eyes water at memories you most likely want to forget.

“Predator ones, big ones–” You sniffle, “they always tried to make predators mate with prey.”

You hiss, when you feel the wetness begins to drip mercilessly out of you, staining your underwear. You fought it, as much as you could, but it had been about two days since you ran away, and you’ve been untouched and aching for the same amount of time. Instead of fading away like you expect it to, the moment this deer hybrid takes you into his home the aching only increases.

“Take your time in here, okay? I’ll be just outside if you need me, okay?”

Your brows pinch together as you watch him back up toward the door, grabbing the handle to pull it shut, giving you privacy. Just before the door closes, you whisper, “Okay.”

It doesn’t take very long for you to grow bored of being cramped in this space on your own. Your fingers clutch the edge of the ceramic tub, too afraid to touch or brush against anything that would make you cry out in pleasure and humiliate yourself in front of the deer outside the door. You don’t even know his name.

You always struggle to decipher whether or not it’s safe to trust a man— all they’ve ever really done in your life is hurt you for the most part.

But he’s not a predator, that was refreshing; and he wasn’t rugged or damaged like the other prey hybrids did where you came from. He was warm, and he had a lot of things in his house that was going to help you heal. A nurse, a doctor?

You think back to the only kind pair of eyes from that place; he was a nurse, a human nurse that sought your safety came to your aid whenever you fell sick.

Namjoon was his name.

You thank him internally for everything he did for you, but you hoped that you wouldn’t need him anymore.

Preferably, you’d never see him – or anyone else from that place for that matter – ever again.

You shut your eyes, breaths beginning to deepen and fasten, your entire body shakes whenever you clench, your aching hole flutters around nothing; empty yet needing to be filled.

Relenting, one of your hands breaks free from the tub’s edge, and roaming your body, you sigh when you grab harshly at your breast, but you’re too impatient to leave your clit waiting. You rub, too fast and too eager and you just can’t satiate your hunger.

You groan, throw your head back and your hips rise slightly above the water, chasing something, fighting with your subconscious

You call for him.

“D-doctor?”

From the kitchen his ear twitches, glancing in the direction of your soft call. He puts down the knife, mid chop and runs his hands quickly underneath the tap after having lathered them with soap.

He dabs the moisture off on his sweats, and the loud thudding of his footsteps rushing down the hallway thump in rhythm with the heavy beating in your chest.

“You okay in here?” He speaks carefully through the door, knocking lightly. “Do you need something?”

His antler knocks against the door the closer he leans towards in, and he grunts at the collision. He’s still so clumsy with them, they had only recently grown back to their full length after having fallen off a few months back and he was still trying to get used to them. Unfortunately, it never got easier. In another couple months they’ll fall off again and leave nubs in the wake of the root.

He rubs the back of his head as he waits for you to answer, but a particularly high gasp has him opening the door in fear that you might have hurt yourself.

But it’s far from it.

You’re far from hurt, in fact, you look like you’re in pure bliss.

Your head is thrown back, ears flopping lazily above your head as you drag your heat against the cool ceramic that holds the water, you’re not longer submerged in. Your skin is dripping, droplets of water still clinging to you; one leg inside the tub and one out, your hands propped behind you as you ride the bathtub.  

You don’t even stop when your head turns to look at him, you just look at him with a half-lidded gaze, too far gone into the apex of your heat cycle that’s come back to you in full swing. You can’t, won’t, hold it in anymore. It was too much.

“Ah~” You cry, one of your hands slipping from behind you, reaching out towards him in invitation to aid you in your feeble attempt to ease your throbbing pussy. “Need–“ you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, but some still drips from the corner of your lips. “Need your help, Doctor.”

Jungkook is caught looking like a deer in headlights.

“Just Jungkook is okay.” There he goes, being polite again. His eyes haven’t even looked down at your naked body, the face you’re making at him is enough to make him stir in his boxers anyway. “Will you tell me your name?” He asks patiently, inching closer to you, holding out his hand to capture yours, helping you balance as you continue to rub yourself against his bathtub lazily.

“Jungkook…” you test the way it rolls of your tongue first, and it does with ease. It feels comforting— everything about him felt comforting. “It’s Y/N.” You tell him.

“That’s pretty.” He hums, sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes. The scent of you completely fogging up his train of thought and filling up his senses like a vice. His hand squeezes yours, and your small moans as you look up at him with lustful eyes is doing nothing to keep him calm or controlled.

He’s a professional, he’s dealt with the heats, and ruts, of many of his patients in his career. It’s simple, a little herbal tea, breathing exercises and self-care and he sends them on their way as happy as ever. But…

“It’d be unkind of me to let you deal with this all alone, wouldn’t it?”

He caves.

Because how could he not? You’re stunning, one of the rarest living creatures to roam the earth, and you’re here with him. In his home.

Your scent is stronger than any hybrid scent he’d ever come across. Your wetness coats the area beneath you, and it is sticky on your thighs. He dares to look down at see the way it glistens in your path, and he doesn’t anticipate how badly he wants to taste your sweet nectar. Your thighs are tense, wobbly and he can tell you’re growing impatient, because you’re starting to grind your teeth and you smack your foot against the tile. Just once, in warning.

“That would be unkind, Doctor.”

The tone of your voice doesn’t match up with your words. They tremble as if you’re on the verge of tears, shy but your point is firm. You’re starting to feel dull in what you’re doing, because it’s nothing compared to what a partner can give to you.  You look up at his antlers, they stand proudly in the same way his shoulders remain straightened, his posture a fair representation of the bravery in his heart. He may be a prey hybrid by nature, but he was strong and well equipped, he had the muscles and the build to show for that.

You want to touch them— grab them.

You’d never seen a deer hybrid before, not a male one, anyway.

“Are you done with your bath?” He asks, his voice is low and raspy, and you can see in real time the way his soft brown eyes shift darker and blown out with intention.

You nod lazily, blinking slowly up at him as he reaches for your other hand, helping you up on shaking legs. They had gone numb, and you had stumbled into his chest. You giggle drunkenly, “Oops.”

“Clumsy little thing.” He laughs with you, but he’s chewing on his lip when he leads you to his bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of his bed.

You smile happily, backing up onto the mattress until your back is resting against the pillows. You spread your legs slowly, inviting him closer to you. He does, just as slow on his hands and knees like he’s hunting you down. Ready to pounce. He keeps a fair distance, lips parting with heavy breaths as he admires your naked body for the first time. Splayed out, all for him to pleasure and please.

You flutter your lashes at him like you’re not trying to lure him in, and you smirk because you know it’s working in your favour. Your hips move eagerly upward chasing feeling. Waiting for him.

“Your scent is everywhere.” You sigh, inhaling deeply as you sink down into his sheets, nuzzling your face against the pillow that smells strongly of him. “You don’t have a mate?” You wonder aloud. He shakes his head, he doesn’t think too much about it despite the matter weighing on him at times.

Jungkook was almost 30, and without a mate. He knows it’s normal, sometimes it takes a little more time than most, but it wasn’t exactly common. There are all sorts of reasons why some hybrids take a little longer to find a mate: rash decisions being one of them.

His mate has always been out there, but he’s isolated himself for so many years now that he hasn’t allowed to universe to bring them to him. It was a rash decision to run away from the city, the place he was born to a deer-hybrid father and a human mother. He had run away not because he was estranged from the life he was so graciously given, but because of prejudice against hybrids within society; the pure judgement from educators and professionals alike against a hybrid becoming a doctor had put a huge strain on the life he chose to lead— the life he wanted since he was just a fawn.

Instead, he indulges himself when his hands take purchase on your thighs, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your inner thigh.

You shake, a little too much for such a small gesture, tonguing at your upper lip with desire. He purposefully avoids your glistening cunt, nosing at your thigh to rub his scent all over your skin, the same scent that marries through his house— his home.

“Your skin is soft.” He determines, words muffled as his lips brush against you, kiss you so soft you think you’re maybe imagining it; but the way his fingers dig a little deeper into your thighs tells you that this is real. “You smell like rainfall.”

His favourite scent. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Because you smelt exactly the way the earth smelt after heavy rain came and went. It’s fresh, comforting and a little bit nostalgic. You carry that scent so heavily he his eyes roll back, his tongue comes out to swipe against the gap between your leg just beside your pussy, and he tastes your wetness whilst doing so. What’s gotten into him? He had never crossed a line with any patient of his, not like this. It was wrong to take advantage of a poor hybrid in heat like this, but he knew it was more than just his animalistic need to fuck something.

It was far more intricate of a feeling.

You choke on a moan when his tongue presses flat between your lips, dragging it up slowly as he completely consumes the taste of you. He’s pulling your legs closer, hands trailing down your legs and holding your ankles down, feet flat on his mattress. He gives your cunt a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his drool pooling into you, mixing with your own fluids. It’s loud, and it’s lewd and you could cry.

So, you cry.

You’re mesmerised by the man between your legs, so gentle but certain in his movements and the way he took care of you. His antlers brush against your stomach, almost as if they’re asking to be admired. Your hands reach out on their own accord, and your mewls of pleasure don’t falter as you ride his sloppy kisses to your pussy. Your fingers wrap around the hard bone, and he stops his movements for a moment, but he doesn’t look up at you or move his face away. You use him as leverage, thrusting into his face, your clit brushing his nose and the groan he lets out courses through your body like an electric pull.

“Jungkook, I’m g-gonna–”

“Mmhm.” He hums against your pussy. “Let go for me.”  

He demands it of you, and who were you to disobey when he licked and sucked on your clit like a starved wolf?

You cry, your eyes blurring up with tears that have threatened to spill the moment his mouth touched you. Jungkook sucks up you’re cum as it spills from your hole. The wet, sticky sound makes you blush. You sniffle when you begin coming down from your high, but remnants remain and you shiver harshly beneath him as he climbs up and over your body, his warmth the one kind that you craved. His lips are made to ease you, His hand cupping just beneath a breast as he melds into you, kissing on your neck, hushing you in hopes that it’ll help you relax.

It does.

You throw your arms round his neck and pull him closer, and you wrap your legs around his waist and shamelessly buck into him, searching for the bulge weighing heavy in his sweats. He appeases you, rocks his clothed dick into your sopping wetness, uncaring of the fact that you’re staining the clothing with your juices.

“You did so good, pretty girl.” He praises, kissing your cheek tenderly, “came so well for me.”

Your purr, your fingers carding through his hair, tugging his face back so you can look at him. You learn that to be the most dangerous move you’ve taken today. The way looks at you, exerting feeling you can’t quite pinpoint when your mind is so fuzzy, how his lips glisten when he darts his tongue out to moisten them. There’s a natural tugging that happens that has both of you leaning in, your lips meeting in a moment of purity.

Your body feels loose, the lightest it’s ever felt when he kisses you. It feels electric, like it was meant to happen and that his lips were made to meet with yours. You’ve had lips forced upon you too many times to count, but this was a feeling you only heard about in fairytales. Sparks flying, hearts pounding.

There’s no sense of urgency, his lips were soft, and almost shaky whenever they connected with yours. You could feel the furrow in his brow, like he’s wondering too, but you’re past that now, and when your hand travels down to his chest, it stops just above where you can feel his heart thrumming heavily beneath his shirt. His hands detach from you, pulling back, leaving a string of saliva connecting you. Your tongue flicks up to collect it, and his nose twitches when he lets out a gentle laugh.

He moves back onto his knees, and you will yourself not to shut your eyes in the moment he removes his shirt, revealing just how big and buff he was beneath his clothes. Broad shoulders, a wide chest— he was bigger than some wolf hybrids you’ve seen.

You can’t help but think that whoever gets to be this man’s mate is the luckiest woman alive.

You prop yourself up on your hands, missing his warmth and his touch, stopping his next moves just to take another good look at you. You whine, sitting up and pushing him back. He loses his balance and falls back on his bottom and watches you in awe as you crawl between his open legs, throwing a leg over his thigh. You move with conviction, hovering just above where your cunt and the material of his sweats would meet. His eyes flicker between that and your face that gives him a teasing look. Your eyes are full of lust and…something else.

“Did you like my pussy, Doctor?” He tongues at the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening at your nasty tongue. You were bold, but most importantly you were obedient.

“Sit, little rabbit.” He looks to his thigh with a raised brow “And be careful with that dirty little mouth of yours.”

You drop yourself onto his thigh with a ‘hmph’, feigning a look of defeat. You would never say no to a man that looked like this and wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

You sigh dreamily, your hands rising over his shoulders, feeling his skin beneath your fingertips. His eyes flutter, threaten to close when your fingers massage his scalp, and you circle your hips against his clenched thigh. He twitches it up, meeting your thrusts and you bite your bottom lip to settle the needy smile it elicits from you.

His eyes bore into yours as if you’re the only thing in the world. It makes you feel nervous, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your ears fall, moving to cover your cheeks but his hand comes up to caress one with the back of his hand in wonder. “Soft,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he reaches down, teasing himself when he palms the outline of his cock in its confines, then traces the waistband of his sweats. You don’t notice when he pulls it out, not even when he takes your hand so gingerly and glides his tongue so innocently over your palm all the way up to your fingertips that he takes into his mouth to bite on gently. He leads your hand down to his twitching cock, and he moans when your fingers brush the tip.

Your gaze falls to his length; it was on the slender side but incredibly lengthy. You ogle it like you’ve just been given the most wonderful surprise. In a way you supposed you had been.

It starts off slow, the way you drag your closed fist over his hardness, and he shifts so impatiently under your hand. You still rock slowly against his thigh, but you’re now too engrossed with his pretty cock. Red blushed tip and blue-ish purple veins that adorned up the sides of his length that kept the blood bumping through him. You wanted to taste him…wondered what it would feel like hauled down your tight throat. You don’t notice your drooling until a droplet of your spit falls onto his cock. He hums, chuckles eagerly as he watches you watching him. He leans back a little bad, one hand propped behind him while the other soothes up and down your lower back, urging you to continue pleasuring yourself, too.

“Want you, Jungkook…” you blubber, your voice failing you when his name comes out in barely a whisper.

“Hey, you have me.” He assures you, looking up at you with a fond look in his eye, turning his hard glares off for a moment to remind you that you’re safe with him. You let go of his length and lift your hips up again, moving slightly so that your knees are digging into the bed on either side of him now.

He looks up at you hungrily, his hands rubbing at your sides “Take it slow, I’ve got you.” He takes himself in his hand again, tugging on it a few times before holding it up for you.

You didn’t know it could feel so good. Your jaw drops, your eyes are rolling back as you lower yourself onto his cock. You reach for his shoulders, and they don’t let you down, he leans his head down to kiss the top of your breasts. You don’t even flinch when his antlers fly toward you, resting on your shoulders as he brings a nipple into his mouth. You sigh, sat still atop of him as you adjust to the feeling of him all up in your guts.

He flickers his tongue over your other nipple, soothing the other with his thumb. The sensitivity of it all makes you squeeze his cock, and he brings a mouthful of your breast into his mouth to suppress a moan.

“Y’gonna fuck me, pretty girl?” He drawls, releasing your breast with a pop.

You raise your hips, dragging yourself over his cock before falling back down to swallow him whole again. You both moan at the feeling, and you repeat that movement a few times at the same slow pace until your body can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t rush you, even when you can tell he’s trying hard not to slam up into you. He holds your hips as you ride him at the pace you choose. Your eyes are screwed shut in concentration when you begin to find a nice pace that seems to please him also, because every time your slam down onto him he grunts or moans or curses something dirty under his breath.

Your fingers travel up his biceps and up to the back of his neck where you play with the hair at the nape. As if he reads your mind, he takes one of your wrists and leads it up towards one of his antlers. “You can hold them baby, it doesn’t hurt.”

You moan eagerly, your other hand reaching for the other antler. It makes riding his cock feel better.

You find a better angle as you fuck yourself on his cock, your clit hitting deliciously against his navel with each collision. “Fuck– are you an angel?” He wonders aloud, guiding your hips with his harsh grip on your body. Your grip on his antlers pulls his head down but he’s eyes level with your bouncing tits and he thinks it’s a good trade off.

You tug him toward you to smoosh his face in your breasts and let his antlers graze your shoulders again. Your hands wrap under his arms and hold him close to you while you chase your high.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You squeal, your moans louder and higher in pitch as you roll your hips into him, squeezing his cock so tightly you feel him throb, too.

“Shit, wait–“

You don’t listen, your hips don’t stop, only moving faster as you reach your peak. Your cunt holds a vice grip on his cock as it grows thicker, larger inside of you as he begins to cum, and he whimpers at the intense pleasure of your fluttering pussy tightening against him. He licks and sucks on your collar bone, in attempt to soothe you, expecting you to freak out but you don’t. Your quick breaths are all he’s left with, and he swears you pull him closer.

You pull him down with as he knots himself inside of you, attached to you— connected. It’s intimate, the way he looks down at you, propped up on his forearms as he looks into your tired eyes. You look content, peaceful.

For a while it’s all he can do. Just admire your beauty in all its glory and wonder how exactly you had found your way to him.

An unexpected seductress that was after his heart.

The arctic hybrid that was born to be with him.

“Can you feel it?” Your ears brush his cheek, your fingers tracing up the length of his antlers, admiring its imperfections in all its rugged beauty.

“Yeah,” he smiles sweetly at you, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. “I feel it.”

He kisses you, and he doesn’t stop until his swollen cock softens, unlocks from inside you. Your whimper when he removes himself from you, but you’re far too tired to speak anything more. So, he pulls you in close, lets you fall asleep in his arms. He rests his chin atop your head, fingers playing with your hair as his mind races with questions and thoughts that don’t allow him to follow you into slumber.

All he knows that you finally found him, and he’d do everything in his power to keep you here— safe and sound in his arms.

His mate.

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

[littlemissshifter]

How to 'let go'.

To know how to 'let go' you have to understand what it is. I highly suggest you to read this post first.

Letting go is not a act of forgetting but one of perseverance. It's meaning is quite literally it's opposite. Letting go is not you leaving everything behind and focusing on your life but living regardless. It is the celebration of being alive.

No matter what I write, it won't change the fact that everything you 'want' exists. Everything is already available to you. It has happened and only waiting for you to acknowledge it. The integration of a desire in your reality does not mean that it didn't exist before in your life. It's you realising that it was always there. Staring at you right in the face when you were 'waiting for it to arrive'.

To let go you must know, you must know that searching for something outside of you when you're it is useless. I understand your want, your need, your desparation. But it's literally here? The thing you want is already your reality. Everything is happening now. Why aren't you acknowledging the truth?

Perseverance is something you do, not caring what the physical plane is showing you. The physical plane is you. It is your conscious decision on something. You keep moving forward. You keep rising and falling but you keep going. That is what letting go is.

It's your ability to keep moving forward, your ability to keep doing what you want no matter the present or the result that you seek so hard. It is you never stopping. Now I don't mean that you keep going and never rest. Remember, to move forward you must create momentum. To create momentum you keep doing what you like. What you know you want to do.

Doesn't matter what the world says. If you need or want to rest right now, you must do it. Because that's what's important. That's what you want. That doesn't stop the flow of life. It keeps life going. Your decision to do what you want to do keeps life moving.

It doesn't matter if you spiraled for a million hours or if you feel like you ruined your chances to shift/manifest. It doesn't matter if you think you can't do it or whatever the fuck people think these days. The main most important question is what do you want to do right now? What do you want right now in this moment?

The only way to move forward is to keep doing what you like. Doing what you want in the present. It is focusing on one thing at a time. Whether it is playing a game on your phone, taking a nap, eating an apple, crying your heart out or screaming at the world because you're mad. It is the continuing of the cycle of life. It is the continuous energy in motion. Your emotions felt, seen and heard. Your existence acknowledged and appreciated.

It includes every decision you take. Small or big. It includes you acknowledging yourself in every decision. It includes you looking after your wants, your needs, yourself. Stop running after your desire and run after you.

That's all you need to do to let go. It's all letting go is. It was always just moving with yourself and not leaving yourself behind. You are your greatest asset. Stop waiting for people to help you. Get up, cry and move on. Feel and love. You were yours before the world took you. Come back home to yourself and live.

[differenteagletragedy]

Price who (obviously) likes order, likes everything a certain way, even, or maybe especially, at home. Everything has its place, everything has a routine. It’s important to him, to feel in control.

And then you burst into his life, and it’s like he’s just holding on for the ride.

You spew color into his drab, muted home. Where there were once white bedsheets and a navy duvet, made every morning to regulation, there are now mismatched blankets in rainbow hues and more pillows than he knows what to do with. His drawers were once filled with carefully folded shirts in neutral colors and the exact same pair of jeans, multiple times over, with his uniforms and work gear in the closet. They’re still there, but condensed, as half the space is now stuffed with things like pretty sundresses with little strawberries on them and those little bike shorts that drive him insane.

The first time John went to your place after a date, he worried he might hate it, moving you in and losing the order that he’s always craved.

But now that he’s got you, he never wants you to leave. Sure, it’s an adjustment. He still puts your toothbrush in the holder when you leave it on the bathroom counter, and he still makes the bed, trying to find some way to arrange the frankly inconceivable amount of pillows.

And you’re worth every bit of it.

“John, baby, can we get a cat?” you call out one day as you come through the door.

“I’ve already got one pet, pet,” he answers from his spot in his office, going through some papers. “Don’t believe I need another.”

He looks up when you walk into his office, looking adorably apologetic. When he glances down to see the scruffy little stray cat in your arms, he sees why.

John sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, telling you, “I thought we agreed to no pets, sweetheart.”

“I know,” you say as you step closer. “But he was just sitting outside and he looked so sad and lonely and hungry and cold.”

He can’t help but give you a small smile — he never can.

“Sounds like quite the dire situation.”

You smile back, in that soft, sweet way that reminds him, every day, of why he chose you. Why, despite the subtle chaos you bring to his life, he chooses you, over and over again.

A few weeks later, John is dozing in his armchair, the cat, which of course you’d kept, curled up on his lap. You’re nearby on the couch, napping yourself, one of your shows playing quietly on the television.

Something wakes him — a distant clap of thunder, or maybe it was a particularly hearty purr from the cat. But it’s enough for him to open his eyes and take in the scene before him.

It’s beautiful. The empty takeout containers on the coffee table, the books stacked up next to them, the new yellow couch you somehow convinced him to replace his old brown one with and you, laying on it so peacefully.

He closes his eyes again, letting out a contented sigh. The movement jostles the cat, who digs his claws into his jeans in retaliation.

It’s not necessarily the home life he pictured himself having. But it’s one he’ll treasure for as long as he can.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

CINNA MY BELOVED IVE BEEN SAVING THIS REQ JUST FOR U IM SO HAPPY THEYRE OPEN (im so happy ur back btw i was checking ur blog religiously every day)

choso thinking he hates reader when in reality it’s just cuteness aggression but he doesn’t understand because he’s new to being a human

begging on my KNEES 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Cuteness Aggression (Choso’s Ver.)

Tags: Choso x fem!Reader, fluff, very slightly suggestive, mdni anyway, not proofread, is this considered enemies to lovers?

An: this idea is so stinking adorable. i get cuteness aggression so bad, so i definitely relate here lol

you get the feeling that choso doesn’t like you very much.

it’s the way his dark eyes narrow at you with a fervent glare. it’s the way his body tenses whenever you’re too close to him. it’s the way that he’ll make sure to never be alone in a room with you.

you’ve tried everything you know to make him feel at ease while he talks to you, but nothing works. he’s quiet, reserved, and honestly, a little peeved when it comes to talking to you.

you don’t get it. the rest of jujutsu tech seems to accept your presence. sure, you weren’t in japan when the shibuya incident went down, so maybe he just saw you as some outsider who couldn’t grasp the horrors that everyone went through together.

deciding that there’s not much you can do to change choso’s perception of you, you give up. you stop seeking him out. you quit trying to make some sort of friendship happen between you.

that only pisses him off ten times worse.

choso has never experienced feelings like these ever in his lifetime. it’s always been clean cut and dry for him: he either liked someone or he didn’t. there were no grey areas when he was just a curse.

yuji itadori was the one who introduced him to all these… complex emotions. he was still learning day by day what living like a human entailed.

he thought he had it all down… until he met you. now, he felt like a complete contradiction.

your voice was so soft and sweet. it made his heart flutter uncontrollably, which he hated. he wanted to cover your mouth with his palm to shut you up.

your skin looked so smooth and supple. he constantly found himself wondering what it’d feel like if he bit down into it. he wanted to hear what kind of noises you’d make. would you whine from discomfort or moan quietly?

he was physically bigger than you, not that you ever seemed to care. you were constantly there… pestering him. he just wanted to wrap you up in his arms and squeeze you as tightly at he could.

maybe he could but you in some sort of headlock and just hold you there. would you bite him to get away? shit… there it is again.

he growled beneath his breath as his pants feel tight again. he just doesn’t understand. why would his body react this way when he clearly hates you??

he hates the way you make him feel, like he’s unsteady on a tightrope. he hates the way he looks forward to seeing you. he hates how he feels so violent while you’re around, but he doesn’t really wanna hurt you…

it’s all so terrible perplexing. he wants to feel you so close to him that your atoms begin to merge with his.

choso doesn’t fully understand what’s happening to him. that was until your head slowly rested on his shoulder during a debriefing meeting.

it had been a long, grueling mission for everyone involved. he knew you were exhausted, and your cute self decided to take a nap right there on his shoulder.

that’s when things started to click for him as he felt suddenly protective over you. he didn’t want to hurt you. he wanted you for himself.

“oh no, y/n’s asleep. we should wake her, right?” one of the kyoto jujutsu tech students said. he had never bothered to learn her name.

a hand reached towards you, and choso didn’t think twice before he slapped it away. “leave her alone,” he grunted, narrowing his eyes at everyone who was looking at you two. “she’s tired. she needs her rest.”

honestly, everyone was stunned by the fact that choso had spoke up at all, but they were especially surprised that he seemed to be completely content with you sleeping on his shoulder.

his eyes flickered down to your face, making sure you were still sleeping soundly on him. he felt the fluttering sensation in his chest, and his stomach churned. he hated this feeling, but he found himself not wanting this moment to end.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[dollyswishingwell]

Hiii, love your writing:3 could you write one about the LADS guys with an MC that loves kisses but had a partner that said that too much kissing was annoying so she struggles asking for them

how would the guys reassure MC that they adore kissing her

Have a lovely day :3

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Give it to me

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ flufff, just pure fluff lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They want all your kisses

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

– He thinks something’s wrong when you suddenly start pulling back after kisses. He notices your nervous fingers and sad little glance.

– “Cutie?” he says, slipping in front of you and leaning close. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like I won’t kiss you stupid?”

– You shyly admit you’re used to being told it’s too much.

– He goes dead silent, then starts peppering your face in dramatic, sloppy, tickly kisses.

– “I love your kisses. Love, love, love. I want ten more. No—twenty. Right now. Don’t make me cry, baby, I need them to live~”

– From then on, he pouts if you don’t kiss him every few minutes. “I think I’m withering,” he moans, sprawled dramatically. “Only your lips can save me.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

– Zayne notices it immediately. The slight pause, the shy glance at his lips, the way you lean in but never quite close the distance.

– “You want a kiss?” he asks lowly, tilting your chin. When you hesitate, he narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

– When you tell him your ex said it was annoying, there’s a long pause. His jaw ticks. “That won’t happen here.”

– From that day on, Zayne kisses you constantly, forehead, temple, hands, lips. Even in the middle of hospital rounds, he steals private kisses.

– “Don’t you ever hold back again,” he murmurs, breath brushing your lips. “I’ll never be tired of kissing you.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

– You nervously pull back every time you try to kiss him more than once in a row, and Xavier catches on with his usual eerie calm.

– “Do you think I dislike it?” he asks with a soft tilt of his head, confused. You tell him you’ve just… been told that before.

– He frowns slightly. “That doesn’t apply to me.”

– After that, he starts counting your kisses like little stars. “That’s three. Only three?” he teases. “You must not love me very much.”

– Sometimes he’ll wake up from one of his random naps with a lazy grin and murmur, “Did I miss any kisses? Give them all to me now.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

– The moment he notices you pulling away or hesitating to lean in, Sylus is on high alert. He thinks someone’s upset you.

– When you admit you’re just not used to asking for kisses because your ex found them annoying, Sylus is pissed.

– “That’s because they were a damn fool,” he scoffs. “You’re lucky I don’t chain you to my lap with how kissable you are.”

– From then on, he kisses you just to shut you up mid-ramble, mid-cooking, mid-bubble bath.

– “You want a kiss?” he smirks. “Then take it. All of them. Every second you don’t kiss me is annoying, sweetheart.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

– Caleb’s sharp eyes catch it the first time you look longingly at his mouth and then glance away.

– “What is it, princess?” he asks gently. You brush it off, but he presses again.

– When you admit the truth, he’s stunned, furrows his brow, softly cupping your cheek. “Who said that to you?”

– You’re embarrassed, but Caleb pulls you into his arms, presses a long kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

– “You’re mine now. That means your kisses are mine too. Ask me for them whenever you want, or better—just take them.”

– He always tilts his head down just a little when you walk near, so his lips are right there for the taking.

[lianella-artist]

Dad!Ren and his daughter Shayla (My OC fankid!!!)

FINALLY, after some hard work i represent to you.. My OC Shayla! Shayla is based on the official cutiesigh artwork with AU Dad!Ren. This post will have all the basic info about her so far + some headcanons about Ren's family life and his relationship with Shayla. So it's going to be a kinda? long post! I've put a lot of work and love into these arts. Enjoy :3

Redacted holding Shayla!! and their very different reactions

They're just having a bit of a nap on the sofa after Shayla painted Ren's face... and Shayla is drooling on dad's soft chest😭 (kind of inspired?? by this post!)

Her reference:

BASIC INFO

Clarification: in my AU, where there is Shayla, Redacted doesn't pretend to be Ren, but acts naturally! But I use both names in the text

Shayla is a kind, naive, sincere, energetic and cheerful girl who is always looking for adventure. But often, due to her age, her trusting nature and her curiosity, she doesn't always understand the risks and ends up in various messes. The girl is very friendly to everyone she meets! She believes that the world is a kind and beautiful place! Some kids think that Shayla is strange and weird (at least because of her "weird" family), which is why she gets mocked, but she doesn't read social cues (she's kinda autistic coded).

Likes: creative activities (drawing, needlework, sewing (not very wearable yet), making different outfits, daddy's jewelry, laughing, getting up early, climbing trees.

Dislikes: being controlled and restricted, rudeness, social games (she doesn't understand them).

She is the only and most wanted child for Ren and Angel, they had her when they were 30-35 years old. They love her very much!! Thanks to Ren, the family is very wealthy! Redacted spoils her a lot, fulfills all her wishes (well, as much as possible, since it's all after Angel, of course). In Shayla's family, both parents work, but Ren does it from home like he used to. So while Angel is at work, Redacted spends most of his time with their daughter. He picks her up from school, takes her to classes, goes for walks with her + does the housework, cooks, etc (basically he's a stay-at-home dad, because I don't think he needs to spend half a day on hacking; a couple of three hours is enough). With the birth of Shayla, Ren has begun to keep an eye not only on Angel, but also on their daughter, though not as closely. Thanks to this, he manages to get the girl out of trouble in time, but he often arrives at the very last moment.

Shayla is very attached to her father, she thinks he is the coolest dad in the world!!! She loves spending time with him, as well as his dark style and tattoos! She is a daddy's girl :))

While Angel is undoubtedly still Ren's top priority, Redacted genuinely loves his daughter both as an affirmation/continuation of their love with Angel AND for who she is. Her cheerful nature often lifts his spirits. Now, he has another person in his life who helps him see the world through a different, less apathetic and indifferent lens. Ren sees how naive and kind his daughter is and protects her to keep that light in her. And when Shayla comes up with questionable ideas… He supports her! He even suggests something himself😭 BUT even he has limits. He will not do anything that might harm her.

(pretty much everything canon about how Sai describes Dad!Ren)

RANDOM FACTS AND HEADCANONS:

I named her after that meme OOHH MY SHAYLAAA😭 (I didn't have a name for her at first, so I just called her that in my mind for a while. It was actually quite funny to me… but eventually it started to grow on me, ngl, so I kept it)

You know those stories where a kid goes into their mom's makeup bag, purse, or closet and tries on something? In this case, mom is Ren💀 Shayla loves to find all kinds of alt stuff from Redacted, ask what it is, and then try it on herself! Redacted gave her some - a spiked bracelet and a silver chain!

Ren agrees to paint Shayla's nails. She wears all the colors of the rainbow, but she likes to keep all her nails black on one hand, though!

Thanks to the creative atmosphere in the family and Redacted's alternative style, Shayla will be a goth in the future! She's also going to become an alt-clothing designer.

She is wearing three of the five gold hairpins that Ren used to wear! When Redacted and Angel got married, he started wearing only two hairpins - a symbol of their relationship. Years later, when Shayla was born and grew up, the rest of the hairpins were inherited to her, and she wears them with great pride, just like the rest of her dad's jewelry.

Shayla also has her dad's features. She has pale, dry skin and black hair. However, her eyes are a unique combination of Ren's color (blue) + my Angel's (red) = creating a beautiful purple color for her.(I know that's not how gynetics works lmaoo I just think it's cute!!!)

aaaand also, @yzumimenu drew some amazing fanart of Shayla, LOOK AT HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TY SO MUCH AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[just-zy]

I chose you

pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader!

summary: When Wednesday transferred to Nevermore, the school lacked the fiery hostile attitude Y/N always spat out, perhaps a change of heart. But frankly, it never left in the first place. Wednesday frequently hears of the comments about your temper all around nevermore—it's like living hell, they said. Well, she thinks otherwise.

A/N: okay hi, long ass "summary" but short ass oneshot, sorry, so readers ability? ignition touch, anything the reader touches can be ignited on command. Mhmm makes this less boring lmao, dk if the story still needed it tho. (w and r are dating!)

warnings!: reader's a big ass bully (but an absolute baby) to basically everyone LOL (idk this js sounded so fun to write, dk if others would agree), use of curse words (ton of them), arrogant reader idk

Masterlist

One way to make Y/N's blood boil was simply looking at her wrong, asking her stupid questions that held no common sense whatsoever, and definitely bumping into her, accidentally or not. You're in for one hell of a ride, you'd think she's kept that attitude bottled up all night, but the thing is, that temper doesn't die down easily. First thing in the morning, once you see her passing by the hallway, even just a glance, she surely wouldn't notice, right? Well you'd be entirely wrong.

Because after that glance, she'd be all up on you, no matter what.

"The fucks with you, huh? Got something to say, stoner?"

"Look at me like that again and I'll fuck you up, one on one, mermaid."

"I'm not entitled to control my anger because I don't care, you mutt!"

You were ignorant, an absolute arrogant jerk who looks down on everyone, literally. You may have been a high-achiever, sure but you were boastful about that too, you were better than everyone in the school premises, even Bianca Barclay has presumed you are.

Egoistic and all, you were top of the class, every class you took you outstood, even the teachers took accountability of the mistakes you mentioned about the way they educate.

Weems wasn't all too scared of you, she didn't have any reason to be, obviously, you basically saw her as a mother-figure, and you respect her too much to actually do something rebellious in the school. You've always said empty threats, from the very beginning, you claimed it as being bored all the time, so you rile up the students just for the hell of it. Hopefully that was why you were constantly high up your ass, although you've always wondered how Weems don't nag your ear off about your behaviour.

Then the goth gore girl came, you didn't think much of it, more so even glanced at the name of the introduction of the girl. However, it took you by surprise how the new girl stood out from the others, not that she tried, she just did. You had wanted to take a harmless nap in the middle of the class, but then you heard it, a question from the teacher that was quite tricky to answer. Plainly you wanted to show off, not like anybody expected less, it just runs to your veins like a satisfying clink of glass wine to brag about your brains.

Then, a beat. Before you could lift your head, you heard an unfamiliar voice that belonged to none other than Wednesday Addams herself.

Even after she got the answer correct, you'd still wonder how deep thought her response was, it wasn't indifferent to yours, but it definitely was something else. And that's all it took to get you hooked by the raven-haired beauty.

—

When Wednesday met you, you weren't uptight, you weren't intense nor did you act like a hardheaded maniac that all inside them was fined with anger complaints.

You were chivalrous, courtly and noble, totally the opposite of what people imagined you were to be in a relationship. Shocking.

But, you were committed, of course you were, and that felt like a stroke of luck for the Nevermore students, satisfaction. No more angry mob of knuckles so early in the morning welcoming violence, no more flaming wide arms trying to wager students with fist fights, or in a more unbalanced and prejudiced way—a lit of fists with the opponent stuck with non-magical hands, and definitely no more sharp tense stares that can bury you six feet under in under a second.

There wasn't a day where Wednesday had to question anything with you, she's now too smitten to care less about you. Today's just the start of a trial in understanding you better.

—

Wednesday was reluctant on following a panting Enid, tho the pup insisted that it was important, her hand hovering over Wednesday's while she had her brows scrunched, clearly annoyed.

"Touch me again and I'll have your limbs fed to your fellow pack of werewolves."

"Okay! Chill out! I can't breath- Y/N's.. well she's okay but these students were interrogating her and–"

Well that was all it took to have the goth girl stride all the way to her beloved who was apparently in some type of crisis.

"Quad!"

And she was full on sprinting, all the thoughts in her head were full of you, all of you. If you were okay, if you were still breathing fine, god forbid Wednesday gets none historical days.

"Y/N."

The way she says your name was like capturing you with cuffs that were too tight on your wrists, her voice so evident it made you halt.

There you were, standing with rage and destruction. The way she sees your eye twitching, your ball of fury hung in the air ready to strike another punch, the other hand of yours scooped on the collar of the student who obviously had the guts to say anything in the first place.

The image itself was disturbing enough to make someone run away and sob. Honestly, a random student passing by would probably do that.

"Wednesday..I– I'm.. Look I—!"

You stumble on your words. You never do.

Wednesday didn't need to say anything, she just huffs and turns but doesn't move until she hears your boots drawing near.

She doesn't wait for you to say anything else tho, that's when you knew you were in a tough spot.

Wednesday wasted no time, after you both got into your dorm, she immediately tends to your wounds that would soon make bruises all over. Your bloody knuckles, your busted lip. Of course she mildly thought you looked sophisticated, but you didn't need to know that. She's supposed to be upset with you.

"I didn't... start the fight."

Wednesday let out a hum, urging for you to proceed while she gently nurtures your injuries.

"They said something about you.", your voice wavers, on the public's eye it probably wouldn't have been anything serious, but to Wednesday? It was every feeling that she felt when she heard your voice that way, the ache in her chest was undeniable. It was everything she's ever loathed.

"That you were only with me now because.. you've never really seen me so pissed off. And well, it got to me, I know it shouldn't have but what if it were true?"

Oh, how Wednesday's cold heart ached.

Wednesday gave out a light sigh while still caring for your wounds, the way her fingers suddenly twitched every time she heard your voice quiver, the way she just wants to embrace you till everything feels better, till her everything feels better.

And that's just what she did.

Her light touches meant so much to you that if someone were to ask you what your weakness was? It would be Wednesday Addams.

"Ever since I've been held captive in this hellhole, trying to get out of this place, then I saw you, yet I didn't care. You saw me and thought it would be easy waltzing your way into my life."

It wasn't supposed to be funny, but it was. Well, to you. Your ego was so high up, her barrier broke just for you.

"Allowing you in my life may not have been a conscious decision at first, but choosing you to stand by my side was a deliberate and genuine one."

You sobbed into your lover's arms, pulling her impossibly closer to you, afraid if you let go, she'll vanish on thin air.

"And I will remain by your side, not out of obligation, but simply because I choose to, because I chose you."

She was never planning to let you slip away—not now, not ever.

______+______

A/N: short and bad ik ugh i need to be on my A game next time, but anyway.. hope u enjoyed

[daytaker]

The Gang React to You Falling Asleep on Them

Lucifer

*deep sigh that speaks volumes to how difficult it is for this man to get any sleep, and here you are, conked out on his shoulder...*

If you don't wake up within a few minutes, he'll have no choice but to move. He is not the sort to be so sentimental that he can't bear the thought of disturbing your precious sleeping face. Of course, he won't be an asshole about it; he'll be careful and try not to wake you up. He might even drape his jacket over you for your nap.

But only if he doesn't need it.

Mammon

"Hey, my arm's gettin' a little stiff, can I just-- ...ah."

Oh. Ah. Alright. Cool. This is happening. Hmm. Damn. Not super comfortable, and it's kinda inconvenient to be trapped here, but, pshh, what's he supposed to do, wake up a sleeping human? He's heard that can lead to...cardiac arrest, or something. He ain't gonna murder you just to move a little sooner.

You did not just start snuggling him in your sleep. Did Mammon score today or did he score today? Too bad his arm's starting to fall asleep, but, well, nothin' in life is free.

Leviathan

"What...? WHAAAAAAT?" (But only in his brain. He doesn't want to wake you up. Mammon says that can lead to cardiac arrest in humans.)

He's pretty sure he's the one who's going to keel over from heart problems at this rate. He hadn't even realized you were getting sleepy. Are you bored watching him tackle this single-player old school RPG? Did you hate it all this time and you never even mentioned it?! Why is your face so close?! Do you not have any idea the kind of mental torture you're putting him through right now?!

Deep breaths, Levi. Deep breaths. This happens in anime all the time. It's...usually a good thing! It means that the main character and their love interest are tripping all the right flags, and... and how long is this scene going to last? Those scenes almost always end with the two still on the couch, then they skip to the next day or something. How long is he going to have to just sit here... suffering...?

After about ten minutes, he's reached his limit and he gently shakes you awake. He is so embarrassed that he insists you go to bed now, and he will not take no for an answer. Good night. Goodbye. *door slams*

AAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Satan

"Hm? Have you been getting enough sleep...?"

Satan would be very pleased with the situation, though probably less intensely excited than Mammon. He'll make whatever small adjustment is necessary for his comfort, then settle in and read for as long as it takes you to wake up. He feels very warm and fuzzy. It's nice. Hopefully you do this more often. But he should really ask you about your sleep schedule. Levi must be forcing you to stay awake too often.

Asmodeus

"Aww, aren't you adorable?"

This is precious. He needs to document it. As soon as he realizes what's happening, he'll carefully pull out his D.D.D., making sure not to wake you up, and start snapping pics. A few of you, a few dozen selfies with you, a few with him pretending to be asleep too, and then a perfect shot of him kissing your forehead. Grammable as fuck.

Er... is that drool he can see in one of those photos? ...You're going to have to wake up. You can't just drool on his brand-name jacket.

Beelzebub

"Oh."

He's used to people falling asleep on him, so this doesn't really throw him for much of a loop. However, he's a bit more careful of waking you up. He knows that if he wakes Belphie, he'll just fall back asleep within a few seconds, but you're not quite so adaptable. So he'll do his best to stay quiet and not move much.

But no matter how hard he tries, he's never going to be able to turn off his stomach. You'll probably wake up with a start as his stomach roars at you about twenty inches from your face.

Belphegor

"...zzzz..."

Who are we kidding, we all know he was asleep first. Probably, he's the reason you fell asleep so easily. He's soft and warm, perfect for drifting off to dreamland...

Diavolo

"Very bold! You really are astonishingly brave."

It's not every day someone has the stones to fall asleep in his presence, let alone fall asleep and use him as some sort of glorified pillow. What a nice change of pace.

He'll continue doing whatever it is he was doing before, but he is a busy demon, running the Devildom and all. He'll slowly and carefully extricate himself when it's time to move, then have Barbatos bring you a blanket and prepare some tea for when you wake up.

Barbatos

"Humans are awfully needy creatures, aren't they."

He can't help but chuckle. You just pass out during the middle of the day? Then again, it's possible you're probably not entirely well. He'll have to disturb the young master to ask what sort of accommodations to make for you. Of course, he's sure Diavolo won't mind. But it's irresponsible to let yourself drift off like this in the castle of the king of the demons, isn't it? This isn't a resort.

Sleep well, human.

Solomon

"You're just looking cute on purpose now, aren't you?"

Oh well! Looks like he's stuck here for now. Too bad. He'll smile, put an arm around you, kick his feet up, and settle in for the long haul. Hopefully you're able to get a good, solid nap in.

Most likely, you both will. He'll pass out too within ten minutes, give or take.

Simeon

"Oh- shh. There, there."

Well, if you aren't adorable... You must be so tired. He's glad you feel so at ease with him that you let yourself fall asleep, and you certainly look cute, but he's also a little concerned that you're this tired. He'll patiently wait for you to wake up. Then he'll make you some tea and gently remind you to take better care of your health.

Luke

"Eh...?! Hey! ...WAKE UP!"

How tired are you?! You need to get better sleep! Sheesh, you need to be more careful too. You almost crushed him.

[letsdosciencetoit]

WIP Wednesday - 5 + 1 BuckTommy - Part 2

Five times the 118 finds out that Tommy is married, and 1 time they find out Buck is, too.

Part 1

2. Maddie

Post partum after baby Robert has been both easier and more challenging than before. 

It’s easier now because covid is a distant memory, there’s no city wide black out, they have a house, and they have a well-established network of family and friends who might as well be family stopping by and helping out.  She knows what she’s doing, and what to expect to an extent, too.

It’s harder, too, though.  When Robert cries, she can’t drop everything to help him, because she has Jee to consider, too.  Jee is 4, and craves her independence, but also needs help and is prone to meltdowns that seem to be without provocation.

As hard as it was on Chimney, Buck leaving the 118 has been a godsend to her.  He’s on a different shift than Chimney now, so he’s able to come by when Chimney is working and help her with Robert and Jee. 

Buck is more than happy to take baby Robert off her hand so she can spend some one-on-one time with Jee.  He’s happy to help get Robert down to sleep so that he and Jee can bake cookies in the kitchen.  Buck always seems so happy and full of energy when he comes to visit, but when the kids don’t occupy him, he’s more quite than she’s used to. 

She used to be able to read Buck better than she can now. Something shifted when she implied he had feelings for Eddie. She’s aware she maybe overstepped, but before she could consider apologizing she’d lost her voice, then Bobby died, and then Robert was born, and she just hasn’t been able to check in the way she wanted to.

Buck has Robert and Jee at the park while Chimney is playing basketball with the other first responders. Maddie takes the opportunity to have a shower, unload the dishwasher, and then puts her feet up to catch up on a little sleep. 

She wakes an hour later to Jee climbing into bed with her.  She opens her arms and pulls Jee to her.  “Where are Robert and Uncle Buck?” she asks, her voice a little gravely.

“Unky Buck is making sure Bobert goes for a nap,” Jee offers, and Maddie knows she’s going to be so sad when Jee finally starts saying their names properly.

“Do you want to have a nap with me, Jee?” Maddie asks, brushing Jee’s hair out of her face. 

“No mommy. I want to watch Bluey,” Jee declares, like Maddie was crazy for thinking otherwise.

Maddie gives her daughter another squeeze, and moves to push herself up off the bed.  “Okay sweetheart.  Lets get you a snack, and we’ll get Bluey on the TV for you.”

When they come out of the room, Buck is backing out of Robert’s room, pulling the door shut with a quiet click of the latch.  He grins softly at Maddie, and she has no doubt that Buck loves her kids as if they were his own.  

“Out like a light,” Buck offers.  “He was absolutely in love with watching the leaves on the trees.   The fresh air and stimulation did him some good.”

 “Jee looks like she had a good time, too.” Maddie smiles back.  “Thanks for this. Do you want to stick around until Chimney’s back? He’s going to pick up Thai for dinner.  I can ask him to grab something for you too.”

Buck gives her a rueful smile and a small shake of his head. “No, thanks Maddie. I’ve got to grab some groceries.  I’m planning on cooking dinner at home tonight.  Tell Chimney I say hi, though.”

***9-1-1***

Chimney gets home about 45 minutes after Buck has left.  He’s practically vibrating as he walks through the door, and Maddie has come to realize this means he’s learned something he doesn’t want to know and he needs to share the burden.  She keeps quiet, knowing he’s going to spill as soon as he gets his bag put away.

“Tommy’s married!” he blurts as he comes back into the kitchen.  Jee is thankfully distracted and painting.  She periodically still asks about “Unky Tommy,” and Maddie doesn’t want to have to explain to her again why they don’t see him any more.

“I’m sorry,”  Maddie responds. “Tommy’s married?  To who?”

Chimney shook his head.  “I was a little blindsided, I didn’t think to ask.  All I know is they got married a month ago, and he looks so disgustingly in love.  Do we need to tell Buck?  We can’t tell Buck, can we?  We just got our fridge space back.”

Maddie pauses, and thinks it over for a second. “Buck finally seems to be in a good space with his new station.  I don’t think we need to mention anything to him.  It’s not like the two of them really cross paths these days.”

Chimney deflates. “I want to be happy for Tommy. He seems really happy.  I just wish it wasn’t at Buck’s expense.” 

Part 3 Part 4

[lexirosewrites]

Day 7: Pack Dynamics

for @stmarchmm

Steve suspects something is wrong the moment he sees Max’s face.

He’s used to her stopping by a couple times a week, but school just let out a few minutes ago and she’s normally at the arcade with the rest of the party on Thursday afternoons.

“Hey, Red, what’cha doing here? Need more quarters? I think Dustin cleared me out last week to beat Will’s score on Donkey Kong, but I can go dig around the couch cushions or—”

Her lip is wobbling before he can finish drying the cup in his hands.

Steve tosses it recklessly back into the sink.

“Steve…” Max whines, the sad cry of a distressed pup making its way out of her throat.

He haphazardly dries his hands on his favorite apron then tosses it on the counter. Max needs him and household chores can wait.

His pups always come first.

“Shhhh, I’m here, pup. I’ve got you,” he purrs.

She’s not much of a toucher, let alone a hugger, but Max melts into his embrace and her face buries into Steve’s chest, subconsciously seeking out his scent for comfort.

Whatever has her so worked up, it’s a good sign. She knows who her pack is and that he’ll take care of her.

Steve continues to softly shush Max as melodically as he can, rocking them both back and forth like he would a fussy baby.

“Maxine… do you mind if we move this elsewhere? I’ve never met a problem I can’t solve from the comfort of my nest and I know we haven’t cuddled in a while.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but she definitely heard him.

A minute later, she nods and pulls away enough to look at his face. Not surprisingly, there are tear tracks down her freckled cheeks.

His heart hurts for her.

“Nest please,” Max agrees hoarsely.

He chirps.

Freeing up his body, he offers a hand for her to hold while they relocate to Steve’s nesting room.

Eddie had insisted on designating it as such just a few months after they started living together.

It mostly has the benefit of keeping the pack out of their personal bedroom.

They love their pack, but one can only be barged in on so many times before locks become necessary and Steve’s nest is a popular hangout spot for the pups.

“Climb in, Red,” he invites, gesturing towards the nest.

Steve had just straightened it up and changed the sheets earlier.

She hesitates for some unknown reason.

He cocks his head to the side, waiting for an explanation as to why she’s not jumping in like she usually does.

Max’s eyes flicker down from his face to his belly.

Ah. Right. That.

“Get in first and then you can help me,” he offers.

She accepts the compromise, settling herself amongst the many fluffy pillows, ultra soft blankets, and scent trinkets.

As soon as she’s comfortable, her hand shoots out towards him. It’s obvious she’s worried about his balance despite her own ongoing problems.

Max is a good kid.

He’s actually become quite skilled at moving about in their home since becoming pregnant, but the pups have their own instincts and they’re primarily to protect Steve and his unborn baby.

He still lets her help him into the nest.

“Thank you,” Steve tells her, even though it truly wasn’t necessary.

She falls right back into his form.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances down where she’s got her head tucked under his arm, unable to look at her face. All he can really see is the top of her shiny copper locks.

“For what, pup? It was just about time for an afternoon nap anyway and you know I love company,” he reassures her.

Eddie isn’t due home from work for at least another hour, but he knows his mate won’t mind if they have an extra place setting at dinner.

If anything, this is another opportunity for them to practice being parents.

They’ve only got a couple months left until it all becomes real.

“What’s going on, honey? Boy problems? Kids at school being jerks? Someone in ‘The Party’ being a jerk? You know I can put them in their place if I need to.”

She snorts. It’s a start.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” Max whispers.

Her hand finds his bump and rests there lightly, gently.

“That’s okay. We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to. Is there anything else I can do to help though?”

His own omegan instincts are going a bit crazy not knowing how to make Max well again. She’s his responsibility and so is her happiness.

His pups are truly everything.

They all know he’ll soon have another pup— one related by blood and not just strong pack ties and scent, but they also know Steve is their mother too.

Some of them have moms already, but he is their second one. Someone to cuddle them and love them.

Protect them from the world.

As head alpha of the pack, Eddie has become their honorary father too.

It’s their shared drive as a mated couple to assure their pack is healthy and taken care of. Dysfunctional at times though it may be, their pack is full of so much love.

Steve’s never been happier.

Now if he could figure out how to bubble wrap all of the pups and shield them from all dangers, that would be perfect.

“Just this is good. I… I missed you,” Max confesses.

He gives her a gentle squeeze.

“Missed you too. Been pretty busy around here lately,” he remarks softly.

Her head pops up, curiosity filling her young face.

“Did you and Eddie get the nursery set up yet? I know you bought the paint this weekend and Lucas said—”

She cuts herself off with a sour frown and a bitter scent.

Oh. This is definitely a boy problem. Something with Lucas.

Steve knows their puppy love is messy sometimes. Young love and all that. But they’re generally pretty sweet to one another.

Clearly something happened.

It’s not his place to push. She’ll speak when she’s ready.

“Eddie actually spent three fucking hours trying to put that crib together.”

She laughs. Loudly.

He knew she would find it funny. Steve doesn’t swear around the kids often and Max has a potty mouth worse than most grown alphas.

“That dumbass,” she giggles.

“My dumbass,” he reminds her. “Best man I’ve ever known.”

He’s not even lying or exaggerating. Eddie is a godsend.

Perfect? Never. Loyal, loving, kindhearted, brave, and protective? Beyond Steve’s wildest dreams.

“You’re lucky.”

He is.

“I am. Eddie loves me a lot. He’s gonna be a good dad. If he learns to follow instructions better, he might even be a great one.”

Max hums in agreement. A bit contemplative.

“I think Lucas might be in love with me.”

Okay, so they are gonna talk about it after all.

“He might. Does that scare you?” Steve asks casually. There’s nothing casual about her finally opening up.

Her hand on his belly gets tense, but the touch is still light.

“Maybe… Everyone always leaves.”

Steve forces himself to relax. To not slander the dead or blame the only living blood relative she has left.

“They’d have to pry me away from you, Max. Eddie and I would never leave you of our own free will. We love you too,” he states.

This isn’t about them. But she needs to hear it.

“I know,” she whispers. “And I love you too, mom. I promise I’ll talk to Lucas about it tomorrow.”

His pups will be alright.

“That’s my girl.”

Steve pops an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head.

She purrs. So does he.

Therapeutic pup cuddles are so much better than washing the dishes.