#I don't draw them necking -that- often do I?

[httyraptor]

Whisper Your Siren's Song

Raptormoms Fanfic

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Alcohol use

Summary: Soyona and The Handler find a moment alone during a corporate event. At times, Handler's animalistic traits make her feel undesirable—but she will come to learn the truth.

Notes:

• Headcanons I apply to this fanfic: Handler's name is Lillian and is referred to as such; she was experimented on in the past, giving her raptor-like traits; Raptormoms were having a "situationship" and this is set during it

• This is NOT smut, just MILDLY steamy tension I suppose... not explicit at all dw /gen

if anyone wants to draw a scene from this pleeeeaaaaseeeeee doooo🤭🤭🤭 ok ENJOY

also I wanted to give a mention to @emilydevoursstories who kind of inspired me to start this fic!!! she writes them SO beautifully

The full moon shone brightly in the cool night air. The clamoring of voices could be heard in the background, muffled by distance and thick concrete walls. On most occasions, the two would turn down such corporate events, dismissing them as unnecessary—but tonight was an exception.

“I am glad there is at least somewhere with a shred of privacy in this venue,” Soyona remarked, gazing out over the balcony she and Lillian occupied. “Really, I'm mostly here for the drinks.”

A small smile crossed Lillian's lips. “Me too.”

“Although,” Soyona continued, swirling her wine glass lightly in her hand. “I also just happen to enjoy seeing you dress up. You are looking…”

Soyona glanced at her up and down.

“...quite sharp tonight.”

Lillian felt warmth creep up her neck. “You chose my outfit.”

“Still,” Soyona playfully replied, taking a sip of wine.

They had been there in solitude for at least twenty minutes at that point—yet now, all at once, it properly occurred to Lillian that they were alone, together. Often, she couldn't fathom why Soyona took such an interest in her. She was the image of gracefulness, of sophistication, of beauty. Lillian tended to find herself merely unconventional—especially in the shadow of someone like her. She thought of the scornful glares of others, often her colleagues, viewing her as nothing but an anomaly. At times, parts of her certainly enjoyed being feared. It made her feel powerful, regaining the control she'd lost at the hands of those greedy researchers. But when the job had been done, she didn't want to be a mere monster anymore.

She watched Soyona out of the corner of her eye, marveling at the sight. She always looked especially beautiful in the moonlight. She wore her golden hair down, tiny strands of it waving lightly in the breeze. She remembered the night of their first kiss, and realized the similarities between circumstances. That night had also been spent upon a balcony. It had also been when she'd first noticed how nicely the night sky complimented Soyona's features. It had also been—

“Do you want to try this?”

Lillian jumped at Soyona’s interjection. That night, she'd also been caught staring. She could hardly help it.

“What?”

“This,” Soyona answered, lifting her glass. “I know you aren't one for wine, but you might like this one.”

“Oh… Sure.”

There wasn't any discernible emotion on Soyona's face, yet Lillian still sensed a miniscule slyness behind the way she delivered her words. Seeming light as a feather, the woman in white stepped closer to her, bringing the glass closer. Lillian turned her gaze to its stem, expecting to take it from her hands.

But before she could do so much as lift a finger, she felt a warm hand grasp her chin, followed by the cold of the glass’ rim against her lips.

Before she had time to think, Soyona's deep, auburn eyes were staring straight through hers.

“Here,” Soyona breathed. She held Lillian's face in one hand, tipping the glass in the other, the wine traveling steadily towards her mouth. Lillian's breath caught, her eyes wide, locked on the ones before her.

“Try it. Don't be shy, now.”

She opened her mouth just enough to take in some of it, trying not to choke on the tension that filled the space. As she did, she saw a shift in Soyona's eyes, almost undetectable, like a spark. They had darted briefly from her eyes to her lips, then back again. A pleased smile appeared.

She could tell Soyona would pull the glass away any moment, but every voice in her mind seemed to plead for her to stay. She was right; Lillian usually didn't care for the taste of wine—but right now, it tasted like heaven. The glass still tipped in Soyona's delicate hand, agonizingly slow, yet simultaneously, far too quickly. One of her long nails grazed her cheek, nearly causing her to shiver.

Just before Soyona retrieved the glass, Lillian felt a drop of wine escape between her lips and the rim, falling onto the palm of Soyona's hand.

The glass was pulled back.

“So, how do you like it?”

It had been her first taste of alcohol all night, but Lillian already felt dizzy. In fact, the dizziness came from another factor entirely. Her vision focused incessantly on the red trail on Soyona's hand, left by the escaped drop.

“Ah.” Soyona had noticed her gaze. She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag, wiping it off in one clean sweep.

Lillian didn't stop staring.

The deep red. Soyona's intense eyes. The burn of alcohol lingering in her throat. The burning in her mind.

A feverishly familiar hunger, an instinct set over her. Her breath quickened. This can't happen now. Not with her.

She could never quite control when this feeling would overpower her. An instinct, a drive to draw blood.

But this wasn't the same.

This time, the drive wasn't to harm. Perhaps, however, the notion was the same. She wanted to experience intensity, to feel power. But she didn't want blood. She wanted her.

The leftover taste of the wine in her mouth was fading quickly. She didn't want to lose it.

“Lilly.”

Once again, the smooth sound of Soyona's voice broke her trance.

“Yes?” she said, sounding breathless.

Soyona's slight smile returned, paired once again with the sly undertone. She hummed a small laugh. “I suppose you enjoyed it.”

Lillian had completely forgotten she'd been asked a question. For the second time, she felt herself turning red. The red of the wine flashed in her mind.

“I did.”

“Lilly…”

“Hm?”

“Come here, will you?”

Lilly stepped closer.

“I noticed something,” Soyona said, her voice just above a whisper.

“What?”

Again, Soyona's hand reached for Lillian's face, taking it gingerly, pulling her nearer. Her thumb brushed ever so slightly against her lips, subtle, yet intentional.

“There's something here.”

Her thumb circled back, this time, pushing her upper lip back carefully. The spark Lillian had seen earlier returned, burning brighter than before.

“Ah… So I didn't imagine it.”

Lillian could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She realized what Soyona was looking at. Oh no.

“What… What is it?”

“Your canines. They're sharp. Especially so.”

A wave of shock settled over Lillian. With every new breath she drew, she felt more like a wild creature, vulnerable. This alien instinct, her unsightly features, unceremoniously gifted to her by those uncaring scientists—it often made her feel like an abomination, unnatural. Soyona had no idea of the experiments she'd endured. All of the sudden, as her animalistic traits were pointed out to her, she feared the eyes that peered into hers. Her prey drive dissipated—now she was the prey.

“You're… You're right.” She stated it plainly.

Soyona's eyes narrowed as she smiled again, studying her.

“Do they…” Lillian began, then hesitated.

“Do they what, love?”

“Do they… scare you?"

Soyona raised her eyebrows slightly, a look of mild surprise on her face. Just as quickly as she'd reacted, her expression softened.

“Scare me? Not at all. In fact…”

She moved closer.

“...they allure me.”

Lilly's eyes widened. Her lack of judgement caught her off guard, but simultaneously, lifted a burden. Soyona had called her beautiful before, but now, she had aimed her flattery directly at the features Lillian thought made her undesirable. Now, she wanted nothing more than to savor the moment. She could've lived in it forever.

Her fears had dissolved away, but the tenseness in her chest was still clinging on. She felt pulled to Soyona, almost physically, like a magnet, a force of gravity. She placed a pale hand against Soyona's cheek, perhaps with more force than she intended. The other grasped her shoulder.

“They do?”

“Mhm.” Soyona's voice was low, soft as silk.

“What… What else?”

“Hm?”

“What else… do you like?”

The spark returned, and this time, lit a fire. “Aha… Where do I begin?”

Her fingertips gingerly brushed Lillian's shoulder.

“I like your freckles. They're like stars.”

She moved her hand upward, running her fingers through her dark hair.

“I like your wide eyes.”

Finally, her hand sunk down, holding her chin once again. Subtly, she pulled Lillian's face nearer.

“I like… that you are unlike anyone I've ever met.”

As Soyona's words sunk in, the tension in Lillian’s chest melted into warmth, engulfing her completely. She felt that force returning, this time, unashamed of it—the desire for fervor, to pounce and to capture, to stay, to keep what she had finally found. Soyona didn't look at her like something to be feared. Finally, somebody wanted her near.

“I like everything about you, Lilly.”

A winded breath escaped Lillian. She grasped Soyona's face tighter as she guided her chin down, ever closer to her lips. Soyona reached her arm out behind her to place her glass down, leaning forward, her breath hot against her skin, barely an inch of separation remaining. At long last, the unbearable distance between them vanished, warm and sudden and sweet and all at once. She felt like she could drown in the taste of wine as she kissed her. She was as soft as her voice had been. As Soyona ran her fingers through her hair, she felt more valued than ever. Time molded together; there was no beginning and no end to this moment. At least, neither wanted an end to arrive.

Behind her closed eyes, Lillian saw the red again, deep and maroon, wide as an ocean. She savored Soyona, clinging to her like she was all she had left in the world, her only life source, her only love. And in many ways, she was. She never wanted to let go.

When they finally pulled away, the world seemed quiet, content, and lighter than before. The night air felt comforting and gentle around them. In an unexplainable way, Lillian felt different from the person she was before that night. Even if it was only a miniscule piece placed, she felt more complete. Wine-red swirls occupied her mind's eye; the floral scent and taste was wonderfully dizzying. She isn't afraid of me.

Soyona lightly caressed Lilly's cheek before stepping slightly away, her hand lingering against her forearm. The fire had dimmed, but a few embers still glowed passionately behind her eyes.

“Well… Judging by your eagerness, Lilly,” she began, picking up her glass from the rim of the balcony where she'd placed it.

“I suppose you'd like to get yourself a glass of that?”

[canisalbus]

thinking about the time I showed my friend your blog but they were flash banged with gay dogs kissing and I had to explain that it was only gay dogs, but not too much gay dogs kissing 😔

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

special little guys nocturnes (night drawings)

[monicaalexandraaa]

Ahhhhhhh🥰🥰Uncle Harry !!!!!!!!!!!

These two are an absolute delight! I loved rereading this and being reminded that from the jump how sweet and silly he was. Very much into her and maybe a little insane but in the best way🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️that’s just classic Uncle Harry !!!!

"How about this… You stay the night and then give me your number before I have to leave tomorrow. We'll go from there, yeah?"

You laughed out your words, not hardly believing anything that was happening. "Okay. Fine. You're still insane, though."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just a man who knows what he wants."

He definitely does know what he wants !!!!! This story progresses into such a beautiful love story. It also highlights real emotions and struggles of everyday life and how love and care is just as deserving to those who experience it. Harry is an absolute gem in this !!!!!! The sweetest man whose priority is making his woman feel happy, safe and loved. AND THE SMUT😮‍💨😮‍💨THE SMUT THE SMUT THE SMUT😍😍😍🫠🫠🫠Yeah. The smut.🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Uncle Harry is the sunshine you need on a cloudy day. You’re never not smiling while reading about these two. I love their love🩷🩷

Trinket joy Kale !!!!!!!!!!

Uncle Harry

*This is an ongoing series on Patreon. This part can be read as a standalone (as that was how it was originally written). Enjoy!

Summary: You're a preschool teacher. Harry is your student's uncle. He seems quite keen on winning you over when you run into him again at a wedding.

A/n: I get lots of asks about this Patreon fic over here and I figured I'd share the "one shot" that started it all with you guys on Tumblr. All subsequent parts are only on Patreon. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4,217

Warning: smut

MAIN MASTERLIST

.

"This is Uncle Harry!" Kale excitedly jumped up and down, his small hand tucked inside a much larger one attached to a man you'd never seen before. Kale's mother rushed into the classroom behind them.

"This is my brother, " she gestured toward the tall man. "He's in town for the weekend, and we're having him pick Kale up this afternoon so I wanted to introduce you so you'd know who he was."

You smiled up at him. "Nice to meet you, Uncle Harry. I'm Y/n." You shook his hand as Kale ran toward the toys in the room, already forgetting all about his mom and uncle standing there.

"Nice to meet you too Miss Y/n." Oh. The way he said your name…

You slid your hand away from his palm and tried to push off the immediate attraction so you could act normal and professional. He was tall and handsome with a deep voice and bright, kind eyes.

They both left before you'd recovered. You were taken aback by his presence. It was only 8:30 in the morning and you had an entire long day of herding three-year-olds ahead of you. So, you couldn't dwell on his grin, or his dimples, or his dark waves of hair, and you most certainly needed to not think about the way his frame looked powerful or how he moved around your space with such exquisite masculinity.

Being a preschool teacher was a thankless job. Although you liked working with kids and most of the parents were great, it left you exhausted, frazzled, and worst of all, broke at the end of the day.

Most of the parents who dropped their kids off at Bright Beginnings were looking for a place that was affordable and safe. They couldn't afford one of those expensive spots that actually paid the preschool teachers a living wage. You often thought about applying to one of the fancier schools so you could earn more money and you could drop your weekend catering gig.

But even though none of the children in your class were your own, you grew attached to them like they were. You loved them and they deserved to be treated with gentleness and patience. Your greatest fear was quitting your job for a better one and being replaced by someone who didn't love them the way you would.

Uncle Harry showed up at 3 o'clock on the dot. He was standing tall in the door frame grinning into the classroom—grinning at you.

You'd been sitting on the floor, legs criss-cross as all the children were gathered around listening to you read. You knew the book word for word. It was the end of the day book you read every day so as Harry moved into the room you watched him, as you continued rattling off each line on the page.

He crouched down and sat on the floor behind the kids, tucking his long legs underneath himself. Kale had yet to see his uncle. Harry watched you intently. It had the blood under your skin convecting.

"This is happiness. It shines yellow like the sun, and twinkles like the stars." You read aloud from the page with the yellow monster drawing. Your voice came out breathier than you intended as you looked away from him back toward the book and turned the page.

You tried to collect yourself but Kale's uncle seemed quite fixed on you as you read the next page. Looking toward him you began to smile, the lilt of your words affected by the way your mouth stretched upward.

"Uncle Harry!" Kale had finally realized his uncle was there. You watched him crash into him, arms around his neck as Harry fell back, catching himself with one palm down on the floor and the most alluring laugh you'd ever heard.

A couple of other parents arrived right then. You stood from the floor to help them get their things and send them off as Kale showed Harry around the room and to his cubby with the drawing he made that day.

"Kale is a great artist." You pointed toward the light blue construction paper with crayon drawing. He'd drawn his family with a big sun at the top and a flower at the bottom.

"This is Uncle Harry." Kale pointed his short finger toward the very tall figure he'd drawn and then he slid his fingertip toward the shorter figure next to the one that was Harry. "And this is Miss Y/n."

You smiled at him and leaned down to take a closer look. He'd drawn a nice big smile on your face and your stick figure was standing right up against Harry's stick figure. Glancing up at the man, he shifted his sight to yours after assessing the drawing.

"That was so sweet of you to add me to your picture. Thank you." You patted Kale on the back and stood up.

"He couldn't stop talking about you all night," Harry spoke, his eyes still set on you.

You laughed. "Oh, well, I mean we do hang out all day together so, I suspect that's bound to happen."

"Probably right." His smile was making your knees weak.

When another parent arrived you were distracted from Kale and his uncle and only glanced up when they left the classroom together. You smiled. Harry was unexpected and awfully handsome. You hoped you'd see him again someday.

. .

The wedding guests were all mingling and laughing or dancing by the time you came out into the hall to check on the food trays and remove any empties. It looked like most of the food had been eaten, which was always a good thing. The woman you worked for, catered for local weddings and small functions and she was often booked up for one thing or another every weekend. You liked working with her and the other two people she rotated in as needed.

But mostly you liked the flexibility and the extra money. It wasn't much, but it helped. That night you'd be getting cut a decent little check. Catering weddings was always a bit better than some work functions. Of course, there was a lot more work to do for weddings too.

You stacked up the stainless steel platters and shut off the burners as you went. Everyone was already on to dessert and coffee anyway.

"Miss Y/n."

You turned sharply to look at the person who'd just addressed you. You knew who it was before your eyes even landed on him. If the miss didn't give it away it was the familiar deep voice that did.

"Uncle Harry." You smiled at him and wiped your hands down your waist apron.

"You're working here?" He tilted his head to the side as he looked you up and down.

Nodding you laughed. "Yep. Gotta pay the bills."

"And being my nephew's preschool teacher doesn't give you that luxury?"

"Uh… I mean… It's not really a well-paying job. I do love it, though." You rushed out that last sentence, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

"I could tell you love the job. I'm just surprised you need another one."

Swallowing you flitted your eyes toward the table and back at him. "It's fine."

Now you were embarrassed. You worked hard. You were an honest person but you were not afforded certain luxuries in life that others were. Among other things, you never finished college and therefore, finding a job that paid well wasn't always the easiest.

Harry was dressed in a dark navy suit that he filled out in such a way that made him look terrifically sharp and stunning. And even somehow taller. You watched him lift his arm and look down at his wristwatch before he set his soft green irises on your face. "What time do you wrap up?"

You smiled as you looked around the room. "Whenever everyone here wraps up. We've got to wash dishes and box up the leftovers. Tomorrow they'll be donated to the women's shelter just up the street. But as you can see…" You gestured toward the table. "There aren't many leftovers."

He nodded as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

"So, you know the bride and groom?"

Another nod. "Yeah. My brother just got married. Kale's other uncle."

"Ahh… I see. How fun. So, Kale's mom is here too then?"

"Yeah, she's somewhere out there dancing probably."

You noticed he kept eyeing your catering outfit. Black slacks and a white button-up shirt with a black tie tucked into your waist apron. You looked as basic as they came.

"I'm gonna hang back until the end. Will you come find me before you leave?"

Blinking your eyes you pushed a breath from your throat in surprise. "Sure. Was there something you needed?"

He shook his head as a light smirk turned the edge of his mouth upward. "Just to see you again."

The room around you began to dissolve as your eyes stayed glued to his. It suddenly felt hard to breathe as you watched him gently rake his eyes over your face. "Okay." You practically breathed the word out.

You had a hard time concentrating on anything other than your impending visit with Harry again. You kept wanting to poke your head out to look around the hall and see what he was doing, or to just glimpse at him again but you did have a job to do, as distracted as you might be.

It felt like it took ages for things to wrap up. The band stopped playing and had packed up their things, guests milled out slowly, the bride and groom had left hours earlier… And finally, you were finished loading the van out in the back when you took your waist apron off and tucked it under your arm before saying goodbye to your boss.

Normally you'd have walked out the back to leave but Harry had said he wanted to see you again. Who knew what he wanted but there was no way you were going to pass up the chance to find out.

Looking around the nearly empty hall you spotted him at a table with another man. He'd removed his suit jacket and was leaned back into the seat with his arms crossed over his chest nodding as he listened to the man talking to him. His eyes were narrowed slightly, his features otherwise schooled into impassivity. He looked bored.

Stepping in closer, you didn't want to interrupt, but you did want to at least signal to him that you were there if he still wanted to see you. You wondered if maybe he'd forgotten and you started to feel a little silly by the whole thing as you lifted a hand and waved to get his attention.

The moment he caught sight of you he sat up straight and his expression brightened. He said something to the man as he grabbed his suit jacket and took a few long-legged strides in your direction before sliding an arm into yours, leading you toward the exit. "Thank god you showed up. He just talked my ear off about a baseball team I know nothing about. For almost thirty minutes!"

You laughed as you let yourself get practically dragged out the door with him. When you'd stepped outside he let you go and looked up at the sky briefly. "I hate small talk." He looked back down at you. "Especially when it's about sports."

You laughed again and he dragged his eyes down to your pants and then back up. "What are you doing right now? Done for the night?"

Nodding you shifted under his gaze. "Yeah. For me, I'm done. So, probably just go home soon."

"Wanna go somewhere?"

Pushing a laugh out of your mouth you watched him move in a little closer. "Like where?"

"There's a 24-hour cafe and bar in the hotel I'm staying at. Maybe we could start there?"

His hotel?

Swallowing you found yourself nodding yes. Maybe it was unwise to say yes like that. Risky even. However, probably less risky than if he were some random man. Harry was Kale's uncle, after all. So there was some familiarity there, even if you'd only just met him the day before.

Your second latte was probably a bad idea. You were feeling the caffeine jitters as you both chatted about various topics. You learned Harry was a pilot and amateur boxer. He was so much more interesting than you were. It felt like you were conversing with some high-level being who was intelligent, gold-hearted, skilled, and naturally handsome. While you were… well, a preschool teacher and part-time caterer. Your hobbies consisted of knitting and watching true crime shows. He was so far out of your league that it wasn't funny.

But he was 100% flirting with you, despite all that. Which was surprising.

He wasn't shy about it either. He kept knocking his knee against yours after insisting that you two sat next to each other. He had a long arm draped behind you on the bench seat and every so often you felt his hand brushing against your neck or your shoulder.

He even leaned in, pressing himself against your side, and spoke with his mouth close to your ear saying things like you smelled good, he liked your necklace, and that you were gorgeous.

Needless to say, you were kind of a squirmy, giggly mess next to him. He was coming on hard. You were aware he was probably just trying to get you in the sack. And honestly? That was fine with you.

"You don't have a boyfriend do you?" He finally asked you. You wondered if it would have mattered if you did. Clearly, you were past the point of that being a dealbreaker for him.

"No. What about you? Girlfriend?" You tilted your head back to look up at him.

"Nope. I'm single. Anything else that would stop you from coming up with me to my room?"

And there it was. The question. You weren't sure it would ever come but you thought it might. He thumbed at the nape of your neck and looked down at your lips as you parted your mouth and smiled up at him.

"Depends on what you're planning."

He licked his lips. "Fair enough. But I'm pretty sure you already have a good idea of what my aim is here."

You sniffed a laugh. "I can't make any assumptions about what your intentions are. Wouldn't be the first time I'd read signals wrong."

He nodded, "So, you want it straight. I think you're beautiful and I think you're a good teacher so you're sweet and patient too, which is…" He shook his head as he kept his gaze pinned to yours. "Well, it's sexy, Miss Y/n." He grinned. "Haven't stopped thinking about you since yesterday morning and imagine my surprise when the girl I couldn't get out of my mind was at the wedding tonight. Felt like I had to do something about it."

Your head wasn't screwed on right or something when you felt yourself being pulled against him and you pushed your lips to his. You didn't know if you made the move or if he did but it was something that felt instinctual. He groaned into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you placed a palm over his chest. You could feel the raging beat of his heart, proof that he was just as wound up over the kiss as you were.

So, yes. You went to his room with him. There was no question anymore about what was going to happen or what his intentions were. When your clothes were littered on the floor next to his and you were spread out underneath him as he licked and tongued your skin and then your pussy you were sure you'd made the right choice.

He was confident, skilled, and just the right side of aggressive to make you wilt and gush at his will. His body was another thing, though. He was brawny but slender, and his maleness was palpable. The light scattering of hair on his strong pecs, his broad shoulders, well-muscled thighs, and the dark patch of hair under his happy trail that led down to a big, healthy cock… he was sexy.

Every drag of his tongue reminded you of what hung heavy between his thighs. You clenched around empty space with the image of his erection being nudged up inside of you. You'd never wanted to feel a man so badly before.

But then he tucked two fingers inside and added pressure to your front wall that had you writhing and coming as he sucked on your clit. Fuck.

You were panting and catching your breath as you watched him roll a condom down his shaft. He kept his eyes on you, half-lidded, wet lips, aching cock (you were sure from the looks of it). When he climbed over you he wrapped his lips around your breast and looked up at you. A scratched moan fell from your lungs when he moved to the other side.

"So fucking pretty, Y/n. So sweet too." He pressed his palms over your tits as he fit himself between your thighs. "Gonna feel so good around me, aren't you?"

He lowered his gaze to your pussy as he thumbed at your clit softly. You inhaled sharply, the sensitive bud still reeling after he'd just sucked an orgasm out of you.

When you pushed away slightly he grabbed your hip and pulled you back toward him. "Not done with you yet. Stay put."

You might have laughed if those words weren't so hot coming from him. But the truth was that you'd never been told to stay put before. At least not during sex. Something about the way Harry was doing everything was a wild turn-on.

"Good. There you go. Be good for me, Miss Y/n. Yeah?"

Miss Y/n… You felt your limbs melt at his deep, breathy rasp. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined someone calling you Miss anything would be so sexy. Or maybe it was just Harry that made it sexy.

When you felt him place his hands on your forearms and push them down to the mattress, pinning you in place he leaned in and kissed you again. For a moment you thought he'd fuck you as soft as the way he kissed. It was slow and sensual. But then you moaned and he lifted, aiming his tip at your entrance and pushing himself in, sinking in until he was balls-deep. The snap of his crown into your delicate cervix had you gasping loudly and your eyes widening.

Harry's cock was big and he was hard as stone and he was buried in deep and he panted and watched your face as you adjusted around him. He pulled back and then rutted in deep again, the bed shifting under you with a bounce. There was something about the way he was holding your arms down and the subtle dominating way he was fucking you that ratcheted your desire up outrageously.

You clenched around him, relishing the feel of him inside of you. His hips ground against yours, prodding as he stared into your eyes. It was so possessive, almost controlling the way he fucked.

His entire body hardened, the muscles of his chest and arms straining as he pulled out to the tip. The rigid tightening of his abs was the only warning you got before he forced his cock forward. Smacking into you hard, your body jolted upward, tits bouncing from the force.

You cried out and his chest rumbled with a low, primitive sound. “Christ… You feel so good.”

Tightening his hold, he started fucking you, nailing your hips to the mattress with powerful drives. Pleasure rippled through you, pushing through your insides with every hot shove of his cock through your walls.

You didn't say anything but your brain was screaming… Yes, right there, fuck me harder…

He buried his face in your neck and moved his hands down to your hips to hold you tightly in place, plunging hard and fast, gasping raw, heated sex… He breathed against your ear. “Fuck you feel that?"

He swiveled his hips against you, stroking pleasure through your gushing core. You made a small, helpless sound of need and his mouth slanted over yours. You were desperate for him, nails digging into his pumping hips, struggling with the grinding urge to rock into the ferocious thrusts of his big cock.

You were both sweating, skin hot and slicked together, chests heaving for air. As an orgasm brewed like a storm inside of you, everything tightened and clenched, squeezing. He cursed and shoved one hand beneath your hip, cupping your ass and lifting you into his thrusts so that his cock head stroked over and over the spot that ached for him.

It was like he knew where to drag his dick to get you off, knew the spot on the inside that sent waves of satisfaction through your guts. You choked a moan as he pounded into your wet cunt, hitting you deep inside, his plump ridged cock slicking against something that did it for you. Something that made you see stars.

You babbled nonsense as you orgasmed around him, your walls pulsing as he thrust in and in, holding you against him as he wrecked your insides. You could hear his pants, his moans, his gurgled grunts as he drove into you, thick cock filling and stuffing until you were a limp noodle in his arms and he was working into you, chasing his own release.

He tensed and threw his head back, gasping your name as he spurted heavy pumps of come into his condom, hips stilled against you… throbbing. He clung to you so tight you could feel the pinch and knew you'd see bruises later. He slowly pressed his chest back to yours as he rutted gently, soft breaths as he emptied every drop of himself, tucking deep inside of you until he was completely still.

You felt his mouth against yours, and then lower as he kissed your neck and then over to your shoulder as your entire body tingled and pulsed.

"Fuck," he cursed. He smeared his lips up to your jaw and then looked down at you. He didn't say a word as he lifted a hand and smoothed his palm over your jaw where he'd just kissed. You watched him take you in, his pupils sliding over your features as he caught his breath.

Lifting your own hands upward you pushed your fingers into his hair. You loved the way it felt having the weight of him over you like that.

"Stay the night."

Blinking your eyes up at him you laughed. "Whatever happened to please?"

He smiled. "Please, Miss Y/n?"

Another laugh puffed from your mouth. "I'll think about it."

Harry squinted down at you, an amused expression on his face. "You'll stay. And you'll give me your number too."

Your heart was thudding in your chest. You loved the direction this was going. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you wanna see me again. And because you want to do right by Kale."

"Do right by Kale? What do you mean?" Your grin stretched wide to match his.

"You saw his family drawing. He thinks you and I should be together. I say he's right."

You pushed at him gently, his hard muscles not budging under your palm as you laughed. "He doesn't think we're together, Harry. He just likes me because I'm his teacher. He spends a lot of time with me."

"He seems to think we're gonna get married actually. I'm positive it was just a dream he had but who knows? Maybe he's prophetic or something."

You both laughed. It was the silliest pillow talk you'd ever had after sex. But somehow, it was also the most riveting. You didn't know what to think about Harry. He was quite forward, but it was refreshing not to have a man beating around the bush for once.

"Prophetic or not, it's a little fast to be talking marriage, don't you think?"

He looked down at your mouth, a smirk so seductive on his lips you were finding yourself turned on all over again. "Why? You don't want to marry me?"

"Oh my god…" You turned your head and looked up at the ceiling as you rolled your eyes. "Now you're just fucking with me. We just met!"

He laughed and you felt his hand on your jaw again. "Did we? Feels like I've known you for ages. Guess we'll have to just get to know one another. Take it slow first."

You focused back on his handsome face. "I can't tell if you're teasing or if you're insane."

"How about this… You stay the night and then give me your number before I have to leave tomorrow. We'll go from there, yeah?"

You laughed out your words, not hardly believing anything that was happening. "Okay. Fine. You're still insane, though."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just a man who knows what he wants."

. .

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[kaiser1ns]

#. JUST COME KISS ME AND BITE ME

featuring 𝘀𝗮𝗷𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + suggestive. (kissing, making out, biting) you knew what you were getting into when you started dating a demon idol, but you didn’t think you’d end up liking his sharp fangs that much.

in his human form, he still shows some of his demonic features, like golden eyes, glowing markings, long claw-like nails, and... fangs. so, the question is: where’s his favorite place to fool you with a kiss and then bite you?

JINU this happens way too often, and somehow, you still can’t get used to it. not fast enough to react, at least not when he kisses you so sweetly, smiling against your lips, with those gentle hands lightly squeezing your waist. one of the many ways he makes you lose your mind, expecting something to happen, maybe somewhere more suited for the moment.

but then he pulls away, his lips trail down your jaw, to your neck, right where your pulse is. he breathes against your skin and smirks. you feel it, his teeth sharpening. oh my god, he pulled up the fangs on purpose. why does he always have to do it...well, not that you have anything against it, but it would be nice if you could stay mentally and emotionally alive afterwards.

“jinu—?”

he’s about to bite. not enough to hurt, or to draw blood, just enough to get a taste. he looks up at you, golden eyes gleaming as they lure you in, soft and dangerous all at once. so beautiful, but so full of secrets, of longings, he can only show, never say.

jinu doesn’t wait. his mouth finds your skin again, biting gently, and your breath hitches. your hands find his shoulders, clutching him, pulling him closer because this is a routine by now.

you think you might have a problem, because you enjoy this too much. and what’s worse than having a demon boyfriend? it's having a demon boyfriend who knows exactly which buttons to push. and maybe the fact that you’re just a little too obsessed with his fangs.

ABBY he’s lying beside you in bed, shirtless, not that you expected him to wear something at all. pinkish hair tousled from sleep, little too awake for this hour. he leans over, tracing lazy patterns with his clawed fingers along the curve of your waist, then down to the exposed skin just above your hipbone where your his shirt has ridden up.

he murmurs something, voice raspy, too deep, and it’s too early in the morning for this. but he is already sliding down to the level of your stomach, lifting your shirt, pressing a slight kiss there first. soft and slow, making you arch your back just a little. as someone who is not human in any way, he knew what and how to do.

resting his head on your abdomen, while gently squeezing your waist, then down to the exposed skin just above your hipbone, where your shirt has ridden up. slowly, his fangs press into the curve of your hip, and you melt, short-circuit, your brain has stopped functioning.

you should feel pain, but it's the complete opposite. it's pleasant, as he bites harder than necessary, meaner than expected, but it only makes your toes curl, fingers gripping in the sheets. then he pulls away with a satisfied hum, dragging lazy kisses up your stomach as he comes to rest beside you again, looking far too pleased with himself, and catching the dazed look on your face.

“what? i barely even bit you.”

ROMANCE prince charming is his middle name, subtle and oddly romantic, like kissing your knuckles, holding your hand like royalty, acting like the man of your dreams and deepest desires. he’s trying to be sweet, really trying to hold back, but the urge still hits, because he is no prince.

he gently took your hand, resting your fingers on his lips, kissing them, and his teeth sharpened; his eyes momentarily lightened to a yellowish-gold color. congratulations, you are doomed. then he turns your hand over, warm breath ghosting over your palm as his lips trace down to your wrist.

“you always tense here when i kiss you there, my love~”

and how can you not when you don't know if he will love you or suck your soul out with just one kiss, just one touch? you feel the graze of his fangs before the bite. it almost doesn't hurt; you barely feel the pain, because even in moments like this, he is tender.

romance’s sink his fangs in just enough to make you gasp. it’s not cruel, but it isn’t soft either. perhaps his sadistic nature is finally starting to show. he likes the way your breath catches, the way your fingers twitch in his grip, the way you don't even resist at all because you like it.

he pulls back, licking over the spot like an apology he doesn’t mean. intertwining the fingers of your hand with his, then flashing you that devilish smile. he could be gentle, but that ain't what you like.

MYSTERY you’re sitting on the couch, playing with his hair as he sits between your legs with his back to you, eyes glued on the tv. unlike the others, he’s calm, at least he pretends to be. but when he’s with you? that’s a whole different person. or in this case... a demon.

when he’s feeling possessive, teasing, or downright feral, he bites your thighs. he just loves it, for some reason. maybe it’s because you get so sensitive, or it’s because the marks are easy to cover and don’t always show. despite that, he gets to walk around barking like a prideful dog, knowing they’re there.

you feel him shift slightly, repositioning .his lips brush your skin softly, almost regretful, like a kiss, warning you for what’s about to happen. your eyes widen. you’re about to yell at him, to tell him no. 

“mystery, don’t you dare—” 

but it’s already too late. he bites you and you gasp, your breath catching in your throat as his fangs sink in slowly, deep right into the tender flesh of your thigh. you tighten your grip in his hair, trying to tug him away.

hissing to make him stop, but he doesn’t budge. if anything, you feel him smirk against your skin. he’s a big animal sometimes, not to say... always.

BABY one thing he did was to really resonate with his name, because just like a baby, he hated letting go of your embrace, and if you dared move, he’d start whining like you just personally ruined his entire day. well, excuse you for needing to go to the bathroom. it was late afternoon, you were in his room, and he was using you as a pillow.

you were looking at something on your phone, as he cuddled up to you, his cheek rested over your chest, right where your heartbeat was, and his breathing was slow, relaxed, completely knocked out, or so you thought. one arm was tossed lazily over your middle, and the other curled beneath him. while you scrolled through social media with one hand, the other absentmindedly combed through his messy hair. he really was just one big baby.

there was a vulnerable, exposed patch of skin where your shirt had slid down your shoulder, and that’s exactly where you felt it. a sharp little nip. you twitched, fingers freezing in his hair. his lips moved upwards, brushing your collarbone with a softness that contrasted with the initial bite. then his fangs grazed back down, slowly and teasingly, he just wanted to see and feel how your body would react. don’t worry, he would give you what you wanted...but only after he had played enough.

and oh, you felt it. you blushed, gasped, and your pulse quickened. when he finally pulled back, you could tell without looking: he left a hickey. not on accident, on purpose. his smile was pressed into your skin like a seal, because you looked too comfy not to mess with.

“should i bite harder next time?” you don’t answer. you can’t, and he definitely takes that as a yes.

taglist: @y2kuromi @irethepotato @justanindiangirl12 @zuhaeri @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @ririrenni3 @tsukimoon-chan (sorry if i missed someone; please let me know if you'd like to be added to the general kpdh taglist!)

2025 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[differenteagletragedy]

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"

[pearlfull]

must be love

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: Batboys as boyfriends and their habits in a relationship! SFW + NSFW. 18+. 〝 What did you give me to make my heart beat out my chest? 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Thanks for love on my last post! I TAKE REQUESTS! Sorta rusty, but I've missed writing sm chat

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

SFW

DICK GREW UP WITH BRUCE'S OLD WORLD MANNERS AND ALFRED'S TENDERNESS. It would be insulting to both of them if he didn't treat his partner following those examples of devotion.

Always has a hand on you. Thigh when he's driving, drawing circles on the inside with the other on the wheel, the small of your back as you're walking through a crowd to help you guide through the heat of bodies around you both, your hip when he's talking to someone else.

So there's no question when you both are out that you're his. Not because he clings, just because he's so unmistakably in love and he's loud about it. His hand finds yours without thinking, it's second nature to him. He laughs louder when you're happy, arm stays around your waist.

When you're not around? If someone tries their luck, any girl is met with a smile and he shakes his head sweetly, "Someone gorgeous has me."

Another thing about Dick is he shows up. Not just for you, the other people in your life. They're important to you, so they're important to them. He bribes your little brother with action figures and of course he'll drive your sister to soccer practice, and they can hit boba on the way home afterwards. Holds your dog during fireworks. Your roommate has a bad date and he's on the couch with you and gives his two cents from a guy's perspective and wait hey, he thinks Wally's her type?

"They like me, right?" His hair has stray pieces of sawdust from helping your dad fix the garage door, and there's a streak of grease staining his shirt. "I can't have your whole bloodline turning on me if I mess up babe."

He wants to find his way to fit into your world. And vice versa for sure!

Will bring you to the manor, and kiss the inside of your wrist and introduce you to Alfred like you're royalty. "This is (her. him. them.)"

Like that's all the explanation needed.

With the others, he lights up when they ask about you, or when you play cards with Jason and Tim, compliment and study Dami's drawings or make Bruce and Cass laugh.

When you go out with his friends, he'll drape his arm around you and grin when they tease you both.

At his apartment, he presses a kiss softly to your lips after you steal a sip of his beer and Roy will grin at the lovestruck expression on Dick's face before raising his brows at him, "Why don't you ever do that to me?"

Flowers are often. Will deliver them casually, too. Was 4th of July a worthy occasion for them? You don't know but you don't really mind.

NSFW

Munch city. DON'T YELL AT ME I'M RIGHT.

Lives for your pleasure, but there's nothing performative about it, he just gets off to how he can make you feel.

He takes his time, draws it out, and holds your hips down to keep you from squirming. "Where're you going, pretty?"

Literally moans into you, louder if you get louder, looks up at you as if he's seeing the face of God.

"So pretty like this, fuck."

Offers constantly. You'd honestly think he's ovulating. You're drying your hair as you step out the shower, and he's kissing the side of your neck sweetly, and tugging you to his bed murmuring something like, "C'mere. Wanna taste you real quick." It's not quick, you both know, but he's already kissing inside your thighs.

All hands and praise!!

Doesn't rush the after, he's walking you to the bathroom and when you're back he has a wet towel and an iced water with a straw.

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

SFW

JASON DOESN'T LOVE LIKE HE WAS BORN INTO IT, BUT RATHER LIKE HE HAD TO LEARN HOW TO DO IT.

Clumsy, then careful!

He's practical, until he's not.

Until you mention wanting to see a local play, and when you get home he's bought tickets to four.

"This one's experimental." His finger points to the pamphlets he got when he drove down to the ticket office. "This one's about war. Feminist period piece. A musical." He gets quieter, and shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Thought we could make a thing of it."

He's practical until he's adopting a kitten with you, no question.

You find her outside your complex in a silver bin, tiny and shaking and definitely sick. He just sighs and peels off his jacket to wrap it up as you kiss his cheek. "Guess we're cat people now."

You find him on the couch with the cat on his chest and he's reading Wuthering Heights lowly to her. He doesn't look up, just rolls his eyes.

"Don't start, [Name.] She likes the voices."

He doesn't say I love you early. But he definitely acts like it. He'll pull you behind him when you cross the street quickly, text you "home safe?" before you've even made it to your driveway.

Observant would be putting it lightly. Your favorite shampoo and conditioner is in his shower and he keeps makeup wipes and guesses your lipgloss shade to have an extra in his pocket in case you misplace it.

Checks your apartment locks, and replaces them, "Sweetheart, these deadbolts were shit."

Learns all your favorite recipes.

He learns how you like your eggs how you want the edges of your sandwiches.

"You feed the people you love, right?" A beat. "And I love you."

Your favorite childhood meal. How your mom made it after your first breakup, a week later the aroma is filling your apartment, and he has sauce on his cheek and he's trying not to grin.

He loves to cook with you too! Jason'll open the jars, hold your hips while you're focused on stirring.

Annotates your favorite books. Watches your favorite movies. Without complaint. He wants to know you. And initially it was scary, but you're healing parts of him he didn't know were hurt, and he tries to do the same.

Tipsy Jason? The roughness practically melts out of him.

He drinks slow till you arrive, and when you do, he lights up and Roy laughs and shakes his head as Jay pulls you into his lap with his drink still in hand, kissing your shoulder.

You tease him for being clingy, but the next he's murmuring into your hair, "Don't get how someone like you gets to be with me."

NSFW

Needs to see your eyes, and hear you fall apart because of him.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck you."

Whines when you moan his name, and ruts harder when you beg.

If you try and stay quiet, he slows down and looks at you like he's got every bit of time on his hands. "Say it again, want that voice, baby."

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

SFW

DESPITE EVERYTHING, TIM IS CONSISTENT! He always makes time for you, and doesn't brag about it, doesn't rearrange his schedule in front of you.

"I'll be in your neighborhood in ten minutes." You raise your voice to protest, but he's already lacing up his shoes.

Spoiled would be an understatement, but to Tim? It's bare minimum, don't even think twice about it.

He'll subtly match outfits with you. Red tie, to compliment your gloss. Soft grey if you choose blue. Enough so when pap photos come out later, you'll notice.

"You do that on purpose?"

"We look good."

Places for dates are quiet when you go out: old jazz bars, private late night planetarium tours.

When he picks you up, the smoke curls in the air like the music and he's gotten you the booth in the corner next to the drums.

You also go to the aquarium, the whole place is closed to the public. You swing his hand as it's laced into yours, eyes glittering and you can tell he's trying not to laugh at your excitement. “How did you manage this?”

He just shrugs, and kisses your cheek. “I had a favor owed. Small bribe. You said you used to come here with your mom.”

You almost melt into the floor.

He loves your perfume! In a really sweet way.

Will steal your scarf in the winter to wear to work. Buries his face into your shoulder when he hugs you.

Eventually purchases a travel size of your signature scent for himself to help remind him of home when he's away.

He keeps a photo of you in his wallet, tucked behind his ID. Steph teases him for it, claims he acts like he's a soldier at war carrying a picture of his wife.

It happens on accident that you find it, you're sitting on your couch on a Sunday, your legs draped across his lap, he's rifling through it to find a gift card that has thirty more bucks on it. He flips through it, one hand on your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles over your hip bone.

There's a flash of photo paper and you blink. "Go back."

He raises his brows, freezing, "What?"

You pluck it from his hands, thumbing it through yourself and there it is. A tiny picture of you. He must've printed it himself, but you remember when it was taken. You, with a matcha latte and a goofy grin pointing to a billboard behind you with Tim's face on it.

You laugh, but tuck it back in. "You keep this in your wallet?"

"Yeah." His voice is soft, but his eyes crinkle with amusement.

"Why?"

"Because it's the one I always liked. Makes me laugh. You look pretty and like soft. And mine."

You stare at him a moment too long, and he rolls his eyes, "Okay, I sound insane."

"Nope."

Also nights in?? A great break for Tim. He gets overwhelmed easily and when he comes home he wants something real and sometimes that's you playing Mario Kart on his floor in his pajama bottoms.

Or decorating cookies shaped like lopsided bats.

You let him put his armor down, literally and figuratively.

NSFW

He works from beneath you!!! Controlled and deep thrusts, eyes locked on yours and studying the way your chin tilts and nose scrunches when he hits the right spot.

His hands are everywhere, but your hips are his favorite, rolling them in slow circles.

"That's it," "Just like that, fuck."

He also loves seeing you completely bent over sorry. Your back arched, legs shaking and your winded breath every time he pushes it in deeper.

Kissing your shoulder. Groaning against your back, he'll make you look at him

[robinavich]

goldilocks | jack abbot

jack abbot x attorney!reader | 5k words | ao3

synopsis: jack has trouble sleeping. you don't make it any easier.

content: 18+ mdni, age gap, swearing, super soft sex (not like super graphic bc I'm weak), reader is annoying as USUAL and jack is just so in love

a/n: teehee. LOL? tbh can I be honest. I'm not sure what this is fr

sorry for using an andrew cody gif. as if u could blame me LOL up top ladies! shoutout @doctcrrobby dani for putting this in my mind. also my dad was in the army and dude literally sleeps on the couch every night and I'm always like dad let's go get you a new mattress and he's like I'd rather fucking die. I don't know why I told you guys that I think I just had to cite my sources on that single line.

Jack’s back ached. It has for years—a legacy of abuse stemming from unforgiving cots, and the punishing weight of rucksacks weighing as much as he did, and strain from bodies thrown over his shoulder en route to safety. It ached from responsibility, and it ached from the perpetual guilt that he’ll probably never rid himself of.

It also meant no bed was ever right. One was as hard as the unyielding ground while gunfire split the air overhead. Another bed he tried sagged beneath him with every twitch, threatening to pull him under. They were too warm, too short, too something.

He felt like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks only had one foot and lumbar pain.

After his wife died, it got worse. Beds were suddenly too cold—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. A vast expanse of isolation that chilled him to the bone. More often than not, Jack found himself wedged diagonally on his too-small sofa, sweat gluing his skin to the overheated pleather, or lying stiff on the ground with nothing but a pillow under his head to protect him against the hardwood floor.

Rest was always just out of reach, as elusive as the peace he naively once thought he could help secure. 

Then he met you.

Your bed was great, sure. Amazing, even. Your comforter’s woven out of straight springtime sunbeams, and your mattress stuffed from clouds that angels slept on, probably. Best sleep of his life in that bed.

Beyond the composition, though, what he felt the most is what it meant. It was the one place where Jack could rest. Really rest. Where his body didn’t have to stay coiled beneath the surface, waiting for the next sound, the next shadow, the next inevitable loss. It was the only place no longer had to sleep like a soldier.

Under those covers, he finally understood why kids hide from monsters under their blankets—like a piece of cloth would save them from the horrors. Not because it was logical, but because that softness, that warmth, meant safety. The comforter was flimsy armor, but it was armor nonetheless. A quiet prayer stitched into fabric, whispering you’re okay.

Not every night was easy. Not every nightmare stayed away.

But the difference now was that he had somewhere to come back to.

And with you wrapped in his arms, face buried in his neck, he knows that he could die contentedly in this refuge beneath the covers. That he would kill to have this feeling etched into his very soul.

Most nights, that’s how it was.

Tonight, something’s off.

He doesn’t know what. Can’t quite name it. Just something needling at him.

Poking and prodding him at the edges of consciousness.

Teasingly dangling REM cycles behind closed eyes, only to yank them back, leaving him tangled in restless sharp awareness.

“Psst.”

Not metaphorically.

It comes again, hushed and more incessant. “Pssssst. Jack.”

Jack’s eyes groggily flutter open, eyes rolling as they adjust to the complete and utter darkness that welcomes him back to the land of the living.

A jab in the skin directly above his heart.

He looks down.

It’s your stupid-ass finger nudging his chest. Robbing him of peace.

His muscles unconsciously tighten, instinctively drawing you nearer to shield you from whatever shadow you woke him for.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jack asks, fatigue pulling his tongue off tempo and lagging behind a brain already whirring to attention. Really, the words come out more of a was wrong? Reyoukay?

Slowly, the rest of his body starts to power on, returning his senses to their rightful place. Distantly, he can hear sirens shooting down far-away streets. The gentle patter of rain on the window. The warm vanilla of your shampoo washes over him.

“You never answered me,” your soft voice drifts up to him. “About the penguins.”

Jack’s eyebrows come together, forming a small crease between his slowly closing eyes.

A deep inhale inflates his lungs.

“When I called you the other day,” you unhelpfully remind him. Like his silence was from lack of memory, not from trying desperately to keep his composure upon understanding he’s been yanked from his beautiful, glorious sleep for something like this.

“When I had my entire arm in someone’s chest?” Jack’s tired voice cuts out like a spotty Bluetooth connection. He clears his throat.

Stronger now, “Is that what you’re referring to?”

You snuggle closer to his chest, attempting to completely ignore the laws of physics prohibiting fusion of bodies, and nod, hair tickling his skin with every pass.

His arms reflexively tighten around you, rough fingers slipping under your shirt to trace the ridges of your spine. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest at the small shiver that runs down your body in response. His head dips down, burrowing against yours so gently tucked into his neck.

“Honey, why do you only want to have this conversation at—” his wrist tilts up and he peels open a single eye, immediately sliding it shut again, “—three in the morning?”

Your shoulders rise in a small shrug as much as they can snuggled safely in your cocoon of Jack and comforter.

“Could have a different one. Just missed you when I was sleeping,” you sleepily whisper, words so tooth-achingly sweet that Jack absently thinks that you should be a poster child for the American Dental Association.

His heart clenches in his chest—slow and nearly unbearable—because of course you woke him up to tell him that. Of course that’s the reason. And you say it like it’s something so obvious, like missing him when you sleep is something you’re well acquainted with and just wanted to keep him updated on what’s going on.

How do you manage to inadvertently weaponize the most innocuous things?

Jack exhales slowly and shifts down, lips gently placing a kiss on the tangled hair near your temple.

He doesn’t even know if you understand the effect you have on him.

“Never gotta miss me, kid,” Jack mumbles against your skin, lips brushing your temple. “Always’ll be here.”

He feels you shift against his chest—a quiet rustle under the blankets—trying to make space for your hand to wiggle free. 

With a groggy blink, Jack’s eyes open, vision sluggishly pulling into focus.

Hovering in the corner of his periphery, he sees it.

Your hand wedged between the both of you. Pinkie looking back at him. Patiently extended. Waiting.

“Promise?” you ask, and your voice is so soft—so small. It’s not a question, really, but the thought that there could be a drop of doubt in your mind pains him. Not after the way he looks at you like you hung the moon, not after the way he builds a home out of every room you’re in.

It twists in him, slow and aching.

Jack’s throat tightens marginally. His curls his own pinkie around yours.

“Promise.”

You shift, nudging your nose up along his chest until your lips are just shy of his neck like the thought of any distance between the two of you is a federal offense, breath a quiet puff against his skin. The blankets shift with you, rustling like trees in the wind. Your voice comes out half-asleep, muffled by the blankets and your lungs smushed against his chest.

“Break that promise,” you murmur, “and I get to take your pinkie.”

Jack blinks down at you, eyes drowsy and soft. There’s a moment he doesn’t say anything. Just looks—memorizing the way the streetlights bleed through the window and highlight the soft curves of your profile, illuminate the way your hair sticks straight into the air. The way your lashes fan against your cheek, and the way your hand—so much smaller than his—rests gently over his ribs, like you’re making sure he stays put.

You’ve never looked more beautiful.

He leans down and captures your lips—quiet and careful, sealing an unspoken vow. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and steady.

“Kid,” he whispers, “you have my whole life.”

The words drift into the space between you.

They’re unmet with any response.

In fact, you’re silent for so long, Jack figures you’ve fallen back asleep.

He lets his body begin to sink, tension softening, breath evening out with yours.

Almost gone.

The holy choir of REM harmonizes in the distance, beckoning him with open arms, ready to anoint him with a divine blessing he’s worked so devotedly to earn.

Your voice slices through the quiet like a celestial record scratch, violently yanking his soul straight back into the prison of his body.

“See, you say I can have your life,” you mumble exasperated. “But won’t answer my question.”

Jack groans.

Loud. From that ancient, grizzled part of his soul that pre-dates the Geneva Conventions. One that can only mean holy shit, I’m going to kill you. 

“Alright,” he relents, releasing you from your pinkie promise and rolling off of you with all the enthusiasm of a man summoned to war. “We’re doing this.”

“Nooo,” you whine. Your hands smooth around his middle and pull him back in place. He grumbles in your arms, melting back into you.

You reconnect your pinkies.

“What’s the fucking question?”

You snuggle into his chest, mumbling, “Stop being so bitchy.”

His eye twitches and he makes a half-hearted attempt to push you away, which you halt with the force of a barnacle, clinging to his chest and pulling him on top of you.

Up at three in the morning. Demanding a metaphysical inquiry into the emotional state of flightless Antarctic avians. Jack shoving you away.

And all you want is to do is be close to him. 

He curls himself around you once more.

You sigh, loud and dramatic, like you cannot believe he had the audacity to wake you up to talk about this.

“Something about penguins?” Jack prompts.

“Do you think penguins get sad because they can’t fly?” you morosely recount, voice muffled by his bare chest. 

A beat passes, Jack’s shoulder lifting in time with your inhale.

“They probably don’t even know they’re missing out,” you continue, somehow completely articulate despite waking up not ten minutes ago. “But they are. Like, they don’t know that they’re taxonomically classified as birds. So, like, they don’t know they’re a bird that can’t fly. And they’re the only ones that can’t fly. In the entire southern hemisphere.”

Every sentence is acknowledged by a gentle press of his lips.

Against your neck, God, you’re insufferable.

The freckle right behind your jaw, God, I’m obsessed with you.

The soft curve of your ear, God, never stop talking.

Jesus Christ, it’s true, you are insufferable. But he would lay here and listen to you read a Wikipedia article about regional variations of the protected left turn signal if it meant you stayed this close, tucked in his arms, forever.

“I’m sure there are other birds in the southern hemisphere, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear, eyes drifting closed as your warmth consecrates his. On his next breath, his arm tightens around your waist.

“Albatross,” you agree.

Jack nods, already half-asleep again. “Sure.”

“Skua.”

He opens one eye. “Suka?”

Genuinely, Jack has never heard of that one before.

“What the fu—?” You twist in his arms, head coming up to glare. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

His eyebrows retreat to their exasperated place high on his head before his eyes have even finished opening fully. “How could you have possibly gotten there?”

You narrow your eyes, singular eyebrow ticking up in response, scrutinizing the sincerity of his confusion. Content with whatever the fuck he guesses you see, you slowly slide back under him.

Jack blinks into the dim, blue-tinted air of the room, the glow of the streetlights outside barely brushing the edges of your faces, his mouth coming together in half-formed, extremely confused words.

Your lips, warm and close, graze against his neck with every syllable, and he tenses, fighting back a shiver. “Crazy metathesis there, Abbot. Skua. S-k-u-a. A seabird.”

“There’s no way that’s real. You’re making that up.”

A laugh ripples out of you, soft and sharp, shaking your small frame. Your laughter seems to fill the quiet, swirling with the distant patter of rain. “You think I’d go through the trouble of inventing fake polar-adjacent birds just to gaslight you about penguins?”

“Sounds exactly like the kind of thing you’d do,” he replies, fingers tracing absent, looping patterns along your side. Blankets slide off his arm with a soft rustle as you squirm under his touch.

You’re silent for a second.

He knows he got you.

And he knows you know he got you.

Checkmate, your voice echoes in his head, tugging the corners of his mouth into a fond smile.

A small, displeased sniff twitches your nose.

“Yeah, well, shut up, so…” you sulk.

The rain hitting the window grows louder, the once soft patter growing to a sharp tapping on the glass. It’s like the storm wakes up as you do, deafening all the earlier sirens and yelling people. Wrapped in the warmth, and the darkness, and the percussive sound of water dripping down the windowpane in winding rivulets, it feels like the world has been narrowed to just this room.

And he guesses that he’s rubbing off on you, because you keep talking through it all.

“What, so, do you think that even if they don’t know they’re penguins, they probably see other things with wings and are like, must be nice?” you ask. “Was that your point?”

Jack didn’t even have a point with his follow-up question. It was just something to keep you occupied, in the same way he gives his nieces an anatomically correct model heart to play with when they come over.

He just wants to keep hearing your voice. So, he hums, faux contemplative. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, or whatever.

“Could also be an innate longing to fly,” he says.

You squint over at him like he’s a very confusing legal document. “What?”

“Like how humans want to live in the forest and hunt and gather.”

You blink. “Do they?”

He nods against your neck, self-assured, and rumbles, “Deep evolutionary memory.”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, skeptical.

Then, after a moment, he says, “There’s definitely something innate, alright.”

He doesn’t specify what.

You don’t press.

Mostly because you know Jack Abbot well enough to know he probably means something like the innate desire to go back to sleep.

“So you do you think they’re sad?”

“I think,” he shifts, settling more of his weight on you, which you receive with a happy sigh, “they go so long without something, they forget what the weight of that loss even feels like.”

He pauses, almost lets it stop there. But then Jack says, “Penguins also mate for life. I think. I saw it on a documentary.”

“Oh!” you whisper, soft and full of sleepy delight. “That could be us, Jack.”

Your voice curls around those four letters identifying him as him, dripping with sleep and affection and something bordering reverence. You always say it like that, like it means something, but tonight, with his watch blinking 3:07AM and a storm crawling outside the window and you curled up in his arms, it hits different. Hits deep. Like gospel. Like divine direction spoken through the mouth of the world’s most annoying, sleepy prophet.

Four simple letters, his truth and his life.

Jack’s hand finds the nape of your neck again, thumb rubbing slow circles into your hairline. He breathes in—long and deep and steady.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “that’s us.” 

A beat passes.

“Could’ve been puffins, though,” he mutters as an afterthought.

The quiet stretches.

Jack tightens his grip, just a little. Doesn’t know how else to say what’s caught in his chest.

“If they are sad,” he concludes, “Maybe it gets lighter when they’re with the one they love.”

Jack doesn’t expand, but he’s pretty sure this time he isn’t talking about the penguins. Not even a little. He’s talking about the way he said that’s us instead of that could be us. He’s talking about how you slot against him like a divinely ordained puzzle piece. About how, with you, loss doesn’t press so hard against his ribs.

Maybe penguins can’t fly.

But Jack knows—a bone-deep truth—that if you were a penguin, he’d learn. Even if his body wasn’t anatomically built for such an action, he’d learn. Just to show you the sky.

Your arms tighten around him, your hand sliding up to scratch lightly at his scalp. The touch undoes something in him. 

“I love you, know that?” you whisper.

His palm splays wide across your hip and he swallows.

“I know, kid.”

Then, more softly, “You love me too?”

And even though he’s half asleep and mulling over your avian philosophy, there’s zero hesitation.

“I love you more than I ever thought I’d get to,” he confesses softly.

The comforter slips a little as you shift, tangling your legs with his and nestling yourself closer beneath him.

It hits him sometimes, how much he loves you—hard and sudden, like a blow. The kind he’s trained to roll with. But there’s no training for this, no drill that teaches you what to do when someone curls up in your arms in the middle of the night and trusts you so absolutely, so unconsciously, that it feels like a genuine extension of the self.

You're ridiculous.

And he would do this for the rest of his life.

He would let you poke him awake at 3:00AM for every stupid, nonsensical question in your brain. He would spend every hour learning the rhythm of your thoughts, memorizing the way your voice gets sleepy and small when you ask if he still loves you like you’re not already written into his genetic code.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

God, he does. He loves you so much it’s physically stupid.

“I know.” You trail the tip of your nose across his chest and gently press a kiss right over where his heart beats. “Just like hearing you say it.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” he murmurs. “I’ll write it on every fucking thing you bring Robby to sign if that’s what it takes.”

“Those go to insurance,” you mumble against his skin. “You can’t just write in love declarations.”

“Says who?”

“Canon law.”

“Sounds made up.”

“You’re made up.”

Jack laughs, full this time, chest vibrating under your ear.

He presses a kiss into your hair again. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’m tryiiiiiiiing,” you whine petulantly. “You keep talking, Abbot.”

He shifts just slightly, hand smoothing down your back. You sigh in response, one of those unconscious sleepy noises that makes him bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from absolutely melting into the mattress.

Soft lips brush the hollow of his throat as you murmur something half-asleep, unintelligible, and Jack exhales sharply, jaw flexing once. It’s not fair—the way even your unconscious affection feels deliberate. The way you can press your mouth to his skin like that, so casual, and not realize you’re rewiring every nerve in his body.

He shifts on top of you, just enough to turn his head, to press a slow kiss to your crown.

“Jesus,” he mutters into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re a doctor,” you murmur. “Just resuscitate yourself.”

Jack huffs a laugh, low and warm. “That’s not how that works.”

“Sure it is,” you insist. “They let you keep the paddles in your car, right?”

His brows pinch together. “No—”

“Then what’s the point of medical school?”

He huffs a laugh. Beneath him, you wiggle, trying to escape the air tickling the sensitive skin of your neck, and he groans.

“Honey, please,” Jack mutters, mouth still pressed against your skin. “Stop moving.”

You go still for half a second, just long enough to make him think he’s won, before you shift again—less of a sleepy squirm and a little more intentional—and his hips respond before the rest of him catches up.

“God, you’re so annoying,” Jack groans, the sound muffled where his mouth is pressed against your neck.

His hips shift against you again. Your breath hitches, hands scrambling for purchase at his shoulder, fingers clutching fabric and muscle like your body’s trying to ground yourself in him.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, barely audible. “But I’m yours.”

Something flickers across Jack’s face, and his hand slides lower, under your shirt and over the curve of your waist—broad palm settling flat against your skin like he could hold you together with touch alone. His thumb moves in slow, hypnotic circles, brushing tenderly just beneath your ribs.

“I’m yours,” you say again, quieter this time.

And Jack stills for half a second—just enough for you to feel the tremble that runs through him, the sharp exhale that catches on something jagged in his chest.

His breath stutters, raw.

“Goddamn right you are,” he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse and impossibly soft.

He raises on his elbow just enough to see you, drinking you in like he needs to memorize every inch before he dares move another step forward. Then, slowly, deliberately, his mouth drops to your collarbone—gentle and unhurried, lips warm and reverent.

Not so much kissing your skin, as reading it like a sacred text.

Every gasp and mumbled word you say is repeated in kind. His quiet prayer, said as a devout disciple.

Every sound from your lips something new to learn and to replicate—answering each quiet whimper with the same patience and care you might use when translating something holy.

Every press of his mouth, devout exegesis. 

His nose nudges your shirt higher, one kiss at a time, until his mouth is moving over your sternum, your ribs, following the rhythm of your heart.

You breathe his name, barely a sound.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your skin. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

You nod before your brain even catches up. Of course. You’d fucking let him do anything.

He eases your shirt up, slow and careful, ceremonial in the way he lifts it from your body. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tug or fumble. Every movement is tender, reverent, every inch uncovers a secret you’ve chosen to share with him, and he refuses to take it for granted.

And when he looks back up at you, his expression unravels. All the smartass quips and dry commentary gone. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth believing in.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice cracking under the weight of sacrament. “You don’t even know.”

Fingertips dragging across your waist, featherlight, hesitant. His thumbs brush over the dip just beneath your ribs and his mouth follows, open and warm. He kisses your stomach like it means something. Like it’s sacred.

Your body arches under him, chasing the heat of his mouth, and he cradles your hips with both hands, trying to steady you—trying to steady himself.

You’re already trembling. You don’t even realize it until he whispers against your skin, “You’re shaking.”

You laugh soft, breathy, half-lost in the haze blooming behind your eyes. 

“Because you’re being so nice to me,” you murmur.

Jack lets out a shaky breath, chest tight. He presses his forehead to your bare stomach, arms tightening around your waist.

“God, you have no idea,” he says, muffled, “what I want to do to you.”

Then he’s slowly kissing up your chest, lips dragging languidly, following the dip between your ribs, the rise of your sternum, the hollow at the base of your throat—pausing, breathing, letting himself feel the shape of you with his mouth like you’re a language he’s only just starting to learn.

One hand drifts up to your face, fingers brushing tenderly through your hair, tucking it back with a care so gentle it makes your breath hitch. He tilts your chin slightly, and his mouth finds just below your jaw, warm and soft and deliberate. He lingers there, just for a moment, committing the cadence of your pulse to memory. Then your jaw. The corner of your mouth. The faintest brush of his lips, hesitant and full of awe—unsure whether kissing you is a right or a privilege.

And then he is kissing you. Fully. Deeply.

Like it’s the first time all over again.

Like he can’t quite believe you’re real, and even less that you’re his.

“I swear to God, I could die like this,” he breathes. “I could live like this. Please let me live like this.”

And you feel it, all of it. In his hands, in his voice, in the way his body fits against yours like it was made to be there.

You pull him in closer. There’s no space left between you, but it’s still not fucking enough. Not until his body is pressed to yours, bare and burning, skin to skin, and the sound he makes when he slides home is a choked-off groan that you feel in your ribs.

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer.

His movements are slow—agonizingly slow—like he’s not trying to fuck you, he’s just trying to stay inside this moment as long as he can.

His mouth finds yours again, and he kisses—soft and shaking and so full of love it leaves you breathless. He murmurs against your lips, praise and want and desperation all tangled together.

“So good,” he breathes. “So perfect for me. You’re mine. Say it again.”

Your eyes are damp, lips parted, breath catching with every push of his hips.

You cup his face, grounding him to you, and whisper, “I’m yours,” more certain this time.

Not a confession. A confirmation.

Jack groans softly, forehead dropping to press against yours like he’s trying to soak in the words, let them burn themselves into his bones. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, eyes flicking down to your lips as if he's still trying to process that you said it. That you mean it. That he gets to have this. Have you.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper, with a quiet desperation. The kind of kiss that makes your chest ache. Like he’s trying to tell you all the things he doesn’t know how to say. Like he’s memorizing you molecule by molecule. 

And still, he doesn’t rush.

He shifts, just enough to press further into you, his body cradling yours like he was built for it. Like there’s nowhere else on Earth he could possibly belong. His hands move over you with care—palms dragging down your sides, fingers tracing every dip and rise of your body as though mapping something sacred.

“You feel like home,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. His voice sounds broken around the edges, like it’s unraveling under the weight of how much he means it.

You tilt your chin up to kiss him again, gentler now, your fingertips skimming through his hair, down the strong line of his back. 

The roll of his hips is unhurried, worshipping rather than commanding, and your breath catches on a soft gasp that he kisses off your lips. Each motion drags sparks across your nerves, and every one of them is lit by the way he looks at you. 

Like you’re something miraculous.

“I’ve never—” he breathes against your cheek, like the words are betraying him by coming out at all. “—never wanted anything like I want you.”

He’s trembling a little now too. Not from nerves. Overwhelmed in the way only someone completely, irrevocably in love can be.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, bringing one hand to rest against your chest. Right over your heartbeat. And then you echo his words from earlier back to him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you feel him break open just a little more.

His mouth dips lower again, dragging a trail of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone. He presses his lips to the space just above your heart like he’s trying to seal your promise inside of him. His hands, ever careful, move with intention—cradling your body, anchoring your breath to his, grounding you both in the kind of intimacy that’s so deep it feels like silence.

And when you come—quiet, breathless, your whole body curling toward him—Jack holds you like he’s cradling something holy. Like he’s never known anything more divine. He follows not long after, his body shaking with the force of it, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

Afterward, he doesn’t roll away. He doesn’t loosen his hold.

He just stays there. Wrapped around you. One hand pressed flat to your spine, the other curled protectively over your waist, lips brushing lazy kisses into your hair as your breaths slowly begin to sync again.

“Still mine?” he murmurs, voice warm and quiet and nearly drowsy.

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck. “Always.”

Jack hums, eyes fluttering closed. You feel the smile against your temple.

“Good,” he whispers. “That’s all I’ll ever need.”

You’ll fall asleep again soon, he knows. You always do. But Jack stays awake.

Just for a while.

Just to keep looking at you like this.

Because in another life, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to have you. Maybe someone else would’ve held you like this. But he’s got you now. And no amount of battlefield trauma, or paperwork, or middle-of-the-night penguin debates is ever going to make him take that for granted.

He’s tired.

But he’s yours.

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀COCKWARMING ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. office sex. public sex. sub/power sub reader. no mentions of specific anatomy. vox is in an online meeting for work. touch starved lucifer. val blowing his smoke on you for fun. non proofread because it's six in the fuckin morning and I have not slept a wink. #summary : in which they keep themselves buried deep inside of you while being busied by other stuff. #note : save me, I've been writing nothing but hazbin smut lately. i should really start working on other shows.. alastor's a bit shorter than the others, can't really think of a solid idea for him and I wanted to get this out as soon as possible

ʚ LUCIFER .

lucifer whines when you force him to focus on his unfinished work once again. he has been going back and forth from attempting to thrust into you, but you always found a way to press him down in his place firmly. he had some unfinished work that he left sitting in his office for almost a week now, and it irritated you. that's when you offered to cockwarm him while he worked, get him to finally get his hands on those unfinished works.

being absolutely touch starved, lucifer agreed without hesitation unaware of how miserable and impatient this will make him. his hand remain on his working desk, occasionally scribbling some words and a signature on the paper filled with printed words. he does his best to resist the urge to finally thrust into you, worried that you'd leave him unsatisfied if he doesn't do as he's told.

but there's a limit to how much he can contain himself, especially when he has you sitting on his lap with his cock stuffing you to the brim, when you'd tease him so often by clenching around him or moving your hips ever so slightly. lucifer whines every time, the hand that's placed on your hip squeezing on your flesh desperately.

"can i please.. just finish this up later?" his voice muffled from nuzzling his face into your shoulder, eyes closed shut to focus on the warmth engulfing his throbbing member. you let out a small chuckle, baring your teeth into his neck to draw out those pretty moans of his; his cock leaks pathetically inside of you.

"no can do, luci. you're not going to get whatever you want until you finish up." you pull away and tilt your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto his jaw while giving a quick glance at the papers sprawled across his desk. he's only halfway done with them. "you're doing pretty well, no? you're halfway done."

lucifer groans, annoyed as he picks up the pen from the desk again while reading through the papers. this time, you decide to tease him a little more instead of staying still. you connect your lips with his exposed neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as your hips slowly grind against his. you hear his breath hitch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping you.

your name spills out from his lips breathlessly, following with a whimper that you love so much. you carry on with your actions, dark marks gradually bloom all over his skin like breathtaking flowers. lucifer shifts to lay his forehead on your shoulder, shuddering from pleasure; you tug on his soft hair, firm enough to lift his head up from your shoulder.

"stay focused, luci. remember what's waiting for you to finish your work."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"oh, what a twist!" alastor exclaims with his eyes glued to the book he's reading, chuckling like you're not clenching down on his cock out of desperation. your eyes are teary as you turn to peek at the page he's on, frustration brewing in your chest. upon noticing your reaction, alastor laughs while moving his hand to cup your face, leaning in with a grin. "don't you agree, my dear?"

you groan, parting your lips further enough to drop his thumb into your mouth, biting down on it. alastor mutters a small "fiesty" before buckling up his hips, watching your eyes widen from the sudden pleasure that shoots up your veins. his arm tightens around your waist to stop you from squirming around excessively.

"put.. the fuckin' book down, a-alastor.." your nails dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, the back of your other hand hovering over your mouth with a frown on your face. alastor smiles in response, holding the book between the both of you now that there's a gap.

"why, it has only gotten interesting! patience is key, darling."

"it has been almost a whole fucking hour, alast-" your words get cut off by yet another harsh thrust of his hips, an uncontrollable moan slipping off your tongue. a low, barely audible grunt could be heard coming from alastor because of how you're squeezing around him like your life depends on it.

slowly, he places the book down, pushing two digits into your mouth as his sharp nails graze past your gums. your tongue swirls around them, gaze fixated on his that seems to be mocking your desperation. you grind your hips, wanting to feel more of that sensitive spot in you being stimulated by his tip brushing against it. alastor grunts every time you tighten around him, the feeling making his skin jump and his eyes close shut from the pleasure he receives.

you reach for the book to toss it aside, not allowing him any chance to get it back and return to what he was previously putting you through. he laughs at the action before getting cut off by yet another groan, a frown slowly finds its way to spread across his face despite the grin that remains on his lips.

"the book shall wait after all."

ʚ VOX .

the sound of vox's workers and colleagues echoes through his workplace, the source of it coming from the laptop that sits in front of him. he's holding an urgent meeting with them to discuss some things about work, yet you're here obediently sitting on him, cockwarming him. your arms hug his neck tightly, hands grabbing tightly onto his shirt while listening to him speak to the people in call.

you bite down every moan that builds in your throat, not allowing any sound to be heard by anyone but your partner. times when vox isn't discussing important matters, he leans into your ear to whisper praises, thrusting into you, and stops so suddenly when you're close to release.

he grins as you whine at the sudden loss of friction, skin flushed while feeling him draw lazy circles on your hips with his thumbs. he starts speaking again just when you're about to voice your frustration, drawing out a grumble from you. you stay there unattended, glancing at the part where the two of you connect; you're craving release, and you're done waiting.

with a steady pace, you move your own hips while holding onto his shoulders for support. vox's head snaps toward your direction, teeth gritting as he bites back the groans that threaten to leave his lips. he tries to hold you down, but his body betrays him and allows you to carry on with your movements. his head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair, the words that his workers speak gradually shifting to a blur in his mind.

"fuck, w-wait," his breath grows heavy, barely managing to keep his eyes open as you fuck yourself on his cock. you're supposed to be cockwarming him, not riding him. he has allowed you to the point of no return, how is he going to carry on with the meeting now? you grab him and connect your lips with his, drinking in his groans like how he does to your moans.

ignoring the calls of his name from the meeting, he pulls you closer by the waist as you grind yourself on him. it wasn't until he started getting annoyed by the meeting that he broke away from the kiss, strings of saliva still connecting your lips while his hand reached out to shut the laptop down. the room falls to a sudden silence, the only sounds that remain are your heavy breathing.

"you're gonna fuck up my company if this carries on," vox snickers before crashing his lips with yours again, hands holding onto your hips to thrust into you without anything holding him back this time.

ʚ VALENTINO .

you still can't process the fact that you're in valentino's studio with his cock buried deep inside of you while people walked around to work on set. valentino takes puffs from the cigarette he holds between his fingers, often ordering and even yelling at people as they rush to obey his commands.

nobody pays any mind to the both of you; in fact, they see it as something normal. after all, they're working for a porn producer, what is there not to be normal? you keep your face stuffed in the fluff of his coat, hands gripping tightly onto his outfit while still trying to adjust to how good he stretches you apart. everyone has just started working, and the set is still being prepared for a new film.

"you're tighter than usual my love, are you that excited to be around everyone?" he teases with a mocking tone, puffing out a wisp of pink smoke onto your flushed face. you lightly shake your head with a whine, the smoke that you inhale causing your vision to spin immediately. humming, valentino lifts your body up with the help of his lower pair of arms before roughly slamming you back down onto his cock. "I doubt that. you've always loved being fucking in public, no? look at you,"

you gasp, body tensing as a moan escapes your throat. you immediately bite down on your lower lip, eyes screwing shut while simultaneously having your body trembling under his hold. you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, yet the idea alone excites you in an odd way that you never knew it would. noting your reaction, valentino continues repeating the action before stopping promptly, feeding himself with your choked back moans.

"keep looking pretty like that while i work, i'll have a reward waiting for you." you mewl at his words, giving him a weak nod while tugging onto his shirt. he takes another long drag from his cigarette before letting his gaze fall onto the prepared set displayed in front of him, eyes scanning for the stars of the show in the room.

he would moan softly into your ear whenever you clenched around him, teasing you with his mere voice and carrying on with his work. you don't complain, though, considering how you'll be fucked into a moaning mess once he's done with work.

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[snowstormarts]

Can you do cuddling headcanons for the Hanks, Mac, and parker ?

Thanks for the request and I got another ask about including Luke Nukem in the next Headcanon I write so I will include our dear, crazy microwave man in here. Also I'm going to be honest here and say I don't like Parker, sorry if it's obvious in his part & with most of the characters here I went the Friendship route ^^" But it was still fun to write!

I hope you will still enjoy it, likes & reblogs are always appreciated and don't forget to send me an Ask or Request if you want [I also really should make a do/dont write for list, huh?]

Cuddle Time #3 [Date Everything x GN!Reader]

[Feat; The Hanks, Mac, Parker & Luke Nukem] [Divider Credit]

𖣳 The Hanks 𖣳

- You are always in the middle of the pile, the other Hanks had started with drawing matches to see who sleeps next to you. But after a while Hank 2 suggested to make a detailed rotation plan, so everyone had a turn cuddling with you

- All of them run quiet hot, some run a bit cooler [Hank 1 & 5] while others are the definition of a human oven [Hank 4] so if you're cold you can ask the boys to let someone else cuddle you for the day

- All of them are diffrent cuddlers even if they all share the same amount of muscles, here are the details;

Hank 1; Smells like Peach Vanilla Bodywash, his cuddling style is the Half spoon [One arm around your shoulder, leaving his chest wide open to be used as a pillow], he also has a dream journal

Hank 2; Smells like Kiwi & Passionfruit, he cuddles the classic spooning style with him switching between being the small or big spoon [he slightly favors being the big spoon], loves to give and recieve tight hugs

Hank 3; Smells like Deodarant with a hint of Cinnamon, he prefers to have both of your arms around each other with his head resting against your sternum

Hank 4; Smells like "3 in 1" Shampoo with a cool name like "Noir" or "Cool Breeze", he has you laying on top of him with one of his arms around your hip while the other runs up and down your arm, talks about his future plans durring cuddle time he soemtimes asks for feedback on those plans

Hank 5; Smells like Mint & Lime, his cuddle style is the Honeymoon Hug [Arms holding each other, legs intertwined and your head resting in the crook of his neck as his head rests atop of yours], sings lullaby to lull everyone to sleep he has a nice voice

🖥 Mac 🖥

- Thanks to all your fanfiction and acess to the internet they know many diffrent ways of cuddling & snuggling with you, they will offer you a few to choose from

- Dosen't care what position they are, little spoon, big spoon, something else they just enjoy being with you. That said they do prefer the lap pillow cuddle style where either you rest on their lap and they get to play with your hair or they get to lay on your lap and talk about their day

- Will play cozy game soundtracks from their little mouse buddy who besides being a mouse is also a portable bluetooth speaker [Mac got bored one day and just improved the lil' guy & then went "Do you want bluetooth speakers? Yeah? Ok"]

♟ Parker ♟

- He will roll for the Cuddle position, who's the big/small spoon and where you should cuddle [the bed, couch, floor, the yoga mat, ect], you can't stop him unless you beat him in another game

- He falls so quickly asleep during cuddling, he's just so relaxed and safe with you that his whole body goes comfy eepy mode

- Loves to have you rest in the crook of his neck with his arm around you while the other waves around wildly while he explains a new game to you. He will sometimes lean down to nuzzle you before going back to talking

🧨 Luke Nukem 🧨

- While he's a loud and energetic person deep inside he's a softie and that's best reflected when you two cuddle togehther, it's one of the few times where he can be himself without having to fear to be judged

- He will ask you to hold him tightly more often then not but when he senses that you had a bad day he won't hesitate to hug you tightly, wrap a blanket around you and turn you two into a cuddle burrito. He will also make a strange, whispery beeping sound mixed with vibrations to simulate purring [he learned that from Timothy once that purring can help to lower stress and anxiety, a great tool to have in this wasteland]

- He told you that Cuddles ward off Youngling Swarmer who are super tiny and will dig into your skin, so you should stay always close to him so you're both safe in this cruel, monster filled world, Ranger

[honeypiehotchner]

Sleeping Beauty (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Nobody look @ me this is the filthiest thing I've ever written I need to go take a cold shower

Summary: With the demanding jobs you both work, you and Hotch see each other more often when one of you is asleep. An idea pops into your head.

Warnings: SMUT mdni 18+ only etc, somnophilia (if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to scroll bc it's the entirety of this fic lmao), angst if you squint, established relationship, consent/ground rules are established before anything happens, fingering, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex (don't be like them), mentions of phone sex, dirty talk, Hotch is just pussy-whipped as y'all say

WC: 3.8k bc I clearly have no self-control

It started as a joke. Mostly.

Both of your jobs are demanding — you and Hotch knew this from the start. It was first date material, after all. The usual, surface-level questions including So, what do you do for work?

He told you later that he thought about giving you a vague answer, so as to not scare you away. But you had opened up first, said that your job at the courthouse meant your hours were long and somewhat unpredictable, no matter how hard everyone tried to stick to the 8 to 5 routine. There were nights you wouldn’t leave your desk until nearly eight. Hotch’s chest had tightened at that, even on the first date, the idea of you overworking yourself, but he’s no better.

You told him some nights it was a miracle if you got home before ten; he joked with you and said it was a miracle he made it home some nights at all.

It was like everything opened up from there. There was no pressure. If one of you had to stay late, it didn’t really matter, because the other probably had to as well. If one of you had to cancel or postpone dinner plans, it was fine, because nine times out of ten, the other was already on their way to calling for the same reason. 

It always makes the two of you laugh. The phone call the afternoon of the dinner plans, you laughing as you answer the phone to say, “Let me guess, raincheck?” His soft laughter, but apologetic all the same, “We just got called to New York.” And you expected it, so you said it was fine, right before your boss came knocking on your door, a frantic look in his eyes. “And I’m being summoned. Be safe in New York.” And Aaron’s ever-present gentlemanliness, “I’ll text you when I can. Go show them how it’s done.” You were grinning as you hung up, turning to your boss with an extra boost of confidence. “What do we have?”

As one can expect, this schedule, this careful dance the two of you have, means that nights together are rare, and the sex is, unfortunately, just as rare. Not that the two of you haven’t found other means— who knew Aaron’s dirty talk would somehow sound hotter through the phone when he’s timezones away, on a five minute break to call you and check in, and help you relax enough so you can sleep? But it’s not the same. It’s not the same as having him here.

And he is here, just not as often as you’d like, especially not when you’re awake. Ever since you started staying at his place — it’s closer to the courthouse, you tell yourself as an excuse, those five minutes make a big difference — you see him more often, but you mostly feel him. The dip of the mattress as he settles in to sleep beside you. The strong arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you toward him in his sleep, as if he needs to be certain you’re still there, even as he’s dreaming. The rustle of sheets as he scrambles to grab his phone to silence the incoming call, to get up and get dressed without waking you. 

It’s just a fact. The two of you see each other more when you’re sleeping. Isn’t that crazy?

So, who can blame you, when one night, half-asleep, only woken by Aaron’s soft nuzzling into your neck, you say, “Keep going.”

He freezes, lips just barely hovering over your pulsepoint, the place he loves to suck on, nip at, because he loves all of the little sounds he can draw out of you. 

When you’re awake.

“Honey,” he chuckles nervously, pulling back. “You’re asleep.”

“M’awake,” you protest, tossing your arms around him clumsily — as if that was going to prove your point.

He placates you with a soft kiss on your lips. “Sure, honey,” his laugh rumbles through his chest again as his hands smooth up your arms. “I believe you.”

“See?” you murmur, but your eyes are closed. There is no way you’ll remember this come morning. “You can keep going. Wanna feel you.”

He tenses. The idea is tempting, and that scares the shit out of him, which is exactly why his hands don’t move any lower than your arms. You’re practically asleep, for god’s sake. That’s taking advantage, and he will not be doing that.

“Maybe later,” he says gently, kissing your forehead this time. “I’m exhausted.”

You whine, but you bury your face in his chest, and your breathing slowly evens out. 

He sighs, wrapping his arms around you, wondering what in the world he’s going to do with you.

+++

You do remember it. Aaron thought you wouldn’t, and for a couple days he was convinced that you didn’t, until a rare night when he returned home to find you already there.

“Half-day,” you explain with an easy smile, meeting him at the door for a kiss. “Well, kind of. I brought some work with me. You know how it is.”

You’re rambling and he knows it. You know it, too, but you can do nothing to stop it. He knows you need to talk to him about something, but you don’t want to admit it. He knows how you work. 

Which infuriates you on a bad day. On a good day, it’s hot as hell.

Right now, it’s somehow a mix of both. All it takes is him sitting next to you on the couch, seemingly unbothered by your fidgeting, and one simple question.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Too many things,” you answer automatically, letting out a laugh and exhale at the same time. God, your chest feels so tight, and not in a good way. Since when are you this nervous to talk to Aaron? The man you’ve been seeing for well over a year now, the man who has been nothing but understanding with everything you’ve thrown his way, the man who is sitting right here with you, who knows exactly what your nervous rambling means and isn’t upset with you for it.

As if he can sense the anxiety rolling inside of you (and he can sense it), he reaches out to thread your fingers with his. “You can talk to me. Is it work?” You shake your head. “Is it us?”

“Kind of.”

“Is it the other night?”

Your eyes blow wide, giving you away entirely. Your eyes snap to his. “Seriously? Three questions? That’s how long it took you?”

He chuckles. “It would’ve only taken one, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Cocky motherfucker,” you mutter, which only makes him laugh more. This is good. Lightening the mood is good. You don’t need to be so on edge about this, about what is most likely about to be Rejection City Central. “Okay. So. Yes. The other night.”

He nods, waiting patiently for you to get your words together.

“I feel like it was…too much.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Too much?” Nothing happened. Do you think something happened?

“I feel like I pushed too far, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry, we don’t have to harp on it anymore than this, I just— I felt like I was pushing you into doing something you don’t want to do. And I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“Honey,” he stops you gently. “Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, you do, but there’s worry swimming in your eyes. 

“What do you remember?” he asks. He knows how it sounds, cryptic and probably a little scary, but he needs to fully see where your head is.

“Um,” you hesitate, your eyes darting away again. “I remember asking you to keep going and you saying no. Because I was asleep.”

He nods. “Okay.” He pauses, gathering his words. “Honey, we’ve never talked about that before, about doing anything when either of us is sleeping—”

“We don’t have to do it,” you immediately interrupt, clearly still with the wrong idea in your head. “It’s weird, I get it—”

“It’s not weird, not to me,” Aaron says, remembering the way desire flared in him. He had secretly hoped you would still be awake that night, not because he wants you to deprive yourself of sleep, but because he wanted to have you. “And it’s especially not weird if it’s something you want, too.”

You pause, staring at him wide-eyed. “Wait. You. You’d want to?”

“Absolutely,” he says, trying not to sound so unbelievably wrecked just by the thought. “But I want us to talk about it first. Set ground rules. Figure things out first.” He pauses, squeezing your hand. “Believe me, I wanted to.”

Your lips part just a little in disbelief. “You did?”

He nods seriously. “Of course I did. Do you have any idea how good you look sleeping in one of my old shirts and nothing else?”

You smirk, a wicked look brewing in your eyes. “I have an idea.”

He pulls you over into his lap for a bruising kiss, one hand cradling your jaw. It’s intoxicating, his tongue on yours, all gasps and moans as he rocks your body against his.

“Wait,” you gasp, his lips chasing yours as you pull back. “I want to talk about it.”

“We will,” he bites out, just before he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. “But I want to taste you first.”

+++

You do talk about it. You lay the ground rules, for both of you. 

Aaron orders a new pair of panties just for the occasion, so that when you wear them, it’s a signal. He can do what he wants. For him, it’s slightly different, since he always sleeps in boxers, so if he’s not wearing anything, that’s his signal. He wants to be woken up; you’re happy to be mostly asleep, though you know your body will wake you up and want to stay awake to drink him in. 

And, of course, if when either of you wake up, if it’s too much and it needs to stop immediately, you have your safe words, but a simple no, stop will work given the added complication of being asleep.

It’s exhilarating, thinking about it. Planning everything out. Your body practically buzzes with need. 

But you have no idea when it will happen. That’s the whole point, of course, but it’s complicated with your work schedules. The strange hours and days you both work has never pissed you off so badly as it does now. 

It’s as if your schedules are mocking you. Every time it feels like there might be a night where something could happen, something comes up. Aaron is called away, a case goes sideways and delays his return, or you get slammed at work and don’t make it home in time before he’s called away, or you get home in such a bad mood that if he even tried to touch you, you might lay into him.

It just never seems to line up properly, none of it. You start to think it was foolish to want it so badly, that you should’ve known better with your schedules.

Especially because now, it’s quickly approaching week two of Aaron being away on a case in Florida, and week two of you practically living at his place since going back to your own apartment feels too empty.

You miss him. It’s an aching feeling, one you don’t get often because you two make things work, and because you’re usually too busy to feel it, but it’s here now. This is the second-longest case he’s been away on. And because the universe is torturing you, work is calm for the moment, so you don’t even have that as a distraction.

All you have are Aaron’s old law school t-shirts, a bed that still, miraculously, smells like him after a week of his absence, and a pair of lace panties that seem laughable as you pull them on.

You curl up against Aaron’s pillows, sighing deeply. When you close your eyes, it’s almost like he’s next to you.

+++

Hotch is bone-tired. It’s been a long time since a case has been this wild, full of this many twists, and dragging on so long that it’s starting to piss him off. All he wanted to do was finish this case quickly and get home to his girl, but the unsub had to drag things out. For a week and a half.

It’s so late when they get back to Virginia that he doesn’t bother texting you, not wanting to risk the sound waking you from your no-doubt peaceful slumber. He smiles faintly as he drives toward his apartment, thinking of you sleeping so softly, probably twisted in the sheets from how restless you get on your own.

God, he misses you.

He’s quiet as he unlocks the door and quickly silences the alarm. The apartment is dark as he sets his briefcase down on the couch, shrugging off his suit jacket as he heads down the hall. The door to his room is cracked just barely, and soft snores are coming from a lump in the middle of the bed.

He chuckles to himself as he enters, stealing a glance at you as he walks to his closet. He quickly undresses, not bothering to hang anything up until morning. Right now, he just wants to be next to you.

With just his boxers on, he heads back to the bed, lifting the sheet and— He freezes.

You’re in your usual pajamas: his shirt and your underwear. Except this time, it’s a very specific pair of underwear. A specific pair of lace panties that he remembers ordering, probably spending too much money on, but he didn’t care. He wanted them to be special. And they are.

And you’re wearing them. 

He stands there like he’s seen a ghost, his brain momentarily short circuiting as he tries to compose himself. He swallows.

He’s only human. It’s been so long since he’s seen you, even longer since he’s touched you, or even got to hear you touch yourself. The case was too hectic for even your usual phone sex, and he didn’t realize how wild it was driving him until now.

He tosses the sheet back gently, watching as you curl further into his pillow, your body registering the sudden chill.

Slowly, he crawls over you, settling himself at the end of the bed. He can only imagine how crazed he looks right now, the way his eyes can’t leave your legs. He wants to drink you. Devour you in every way possible.

His movements are gentle, not wanting to wake you, not yet. You said you wouldn’t mind being asleep the entire time, but he wants to rouse you, wants you to really feel it even if for a moment, but not yet.

Right now, he stretches your legs out, turning you on your back. You make no noise other than a content sigh. He smirks as he spreads your legs, lowering his mouth to his favorite place.

He plans to take his time. He has all the time in the world, after all. You’re sleeping soundly.

He mouths at your core over your panties, just barely silencing his own groan. That would be something, waking you up because he can’t keep himself in line. He can already hear the playful annoyance in your sleep-filled voice if that were to happen.

Returning to his task, he drinks you in as he likes, smothering your inner thighs in kisses, even leaving a love bite or two there. It’s a private, guilty pleasure you both have. He loves to leave marks, you love to have marks. But you’re both adults and you absolutely cannot be caught with a hickey at the courthouse.

So, he leaves them here. In a place where only the two of you can see. It wakes something primal in him, seeing the little reddened marks where he’s irritated the skin enough for a bruise to form later. He smooths his thumb over the spot, pressing. If you were awake, that would earn him a little squeak. Right now, all he hears are your even breaths.

He hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them to the side, nearly cursing aloud at how beautiful you are. He has to take a moment, just admiring, his thumb gently stroking you, and already glistening. He pops the digit into his mouth, eyes rolling at the taste. You’re addicting like nothing he has ever known.

He tests the waters some more, blowing onto your core, watching in awe as your body reacts instinctively, even in your sleep. It’s mesmerizing.

He can’t wait any longer, so he doesn’t try. He surges forward, finally tasting you, finally lifting your legs to rest over his shoulders. He relaxes into his favorite place, sucking gently on your clit before dipping his tongue inside you. You don’t even shift in your sleep.

He wonders, then, if he can make you cum like this. In your sleep.

Suddenly, and albeit selfishly, he wants to try.

He takes his time inserting a finger into you, watching as you take him in so easily. He adds a second right away, knowing how much you hate it when he teases you with just one. Your walls clench around him, but your heat envelops him, and he’s dizzy with it.

He circles your clit with his tongue as he thrusts his fingers, curling just slightly until you clench, your body telling him he’s found what he was searching for. And he doesn’t relent, only massages that spot inside as his mouth works outside. He adds a third finger, your body welcoming the stretch, pulling him in.

You shift, and he comes up for air, watching your face, but you don’t wake. You melt into the pillows as his fingers continue their pace.

Relieved in some twisted way, he returns to sucking your clit, doubling down, forcing you toward that edge. He almost thinks it won’t happen, that there’s no possible way you’ll climax and not wake up, until he feels those tell-tale spasms, and he knows you’re close.

He groans into you, knowing how that sends you over when you’re awake, and it works even now. Your walls clench around him, spasming through the shocks of your orgasm, and he doesn’t stop, milking out every last bit, wanting to drown in the way you taste, the way your body relents.

You’re a dream. He presses a loving kiss to your inner thigh, disbelief in his every breath. Gently, he removes his fingers, and tugs your panties down, tossing them to the floor. 

When he crawls back up the bed, you’re still sleeping soundly, but that won’t do.

He presses his erection into your hip, presses a kiss to your jaw, whispering, “Honey, I need you.”

+++

You’re floating on pure bliss. Dreams are rare these days, and dreams of Aaron are even rarer — which just feels rude, honestly. But this one. This one is the best you’ve ever had.

Only, you realize you aren’t dreaming at all. The sensations are real. The hot breath in your ear, the slick want between your thighs, the hard press of Aaron’s cock as he rocks against your hip.

But you’re so tired. You can’t bring your eyes to open. You barely have enough energy to turn toward him, to wrap an arm around his neck, toss your leg over his, pressing your core right against him. The growl he lets out is delicious.

The next thing you know, the boxers are no longer separating you, and the head of his cock is parting your lips. 

You sigh in content as he thrusts into you, hitting you so deep, staying there just to grind his hips into yours.

“Missed you,” you murmur, hands clumsily tugging on his hair to pull his lips to yours. He goes without protest, licking into your mouth and you gasp in surprise, tasting yourself. “Did you…?”

He smirks against your lips. “Did you know you can have an orgasm in your sleep?”

Your eyes fly open at that, vision adjusting in the dark, but it’s easy to see the smug look on Aaron’s face. And then he pulls his hips back, slamming into you again and causing your eyes to roll back. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the words so gentle and soothing, a stark comparison to how brutal his pace and depth of his thrusts are. “Breathtaking. My sleeping beauty. Can you give me another one? Need to feel you again.”

You’re awake, but nowhere near alert enough to have any wits about you when he talks like that. You nod dumbly, rocking your hips in time with his, but your movements are sloppy, the pleasure rising at a blinding pace.

“Come on, honey,” he murmurs, capturing your lips again, his tongue searching for yours. “Just one more, then you can go back to sleep.”

Something about that does it for you. He thrusts as deep as he can go, and your body crashes, writhing against him as he holds you in place, grinding into you.

“There you go, so beautiful, honey,” he guides you through it, soaking up all of your little breathy moans.

But like every time when you have an orgasm (or two) when you’re already on the verge of sleep, your eyes are struggling to stay open.

“Aaron…” you whine, clinging to him. “Keep going.”

“Oh, I will, honey,” he chuckles, pressing a soothing kiss to your forehead before flipping you onto your back again, so he can hover over you. “You just sleep for me, okay?”

You nod, the action already taking too much of your energy as your eyelids slam closed and refuse to lift again. He moves inside you, slower now, just a gentle pace, lulling you back to sleep.

It doesn’t take long for him to spill inside of you, and you’re still somewhat conscious, given the happy little sigh he hears you let out when he cums inside you. You’ve always loved the feeling. 

Feeling wrecked, he slowly peels himself off of you, heading into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. When he returns, you’re back on your side, hugging his pillow again. He shushes you with gentle praise while he cleans you up before tucking you back in.

After cleaning himself and slipping boxers back on, the exhaustion hits him in full force, and he sleeps soundly with you tucked into his chest, clinging to him like a koala.

[theorist-fox]

Simon has dinner

Literally I don't know what this is I just got horny

18+

CW: simon eats you out, squirting, idk

Placing the window in front of the stove was a good choice, you think—especially since your kitchen faces west. The sun kisses your skin as it sets at the horizon, only countryside stretching before your eyes.

You're lost in your head, mindlessly stirring dinner with a wooden spoon. Red lentils, bit of coconut milk, spinach—a recipe you found online and couldn't wait to try.

Arms wrap around your waist loosely, out of the blue—appearing so suddenly that you can't help but jump on the spot.

Heart in your throat, you turn your head to look behind you in horror—

—but you're met with a smirk blooming on scarred cheek. Quickly, Simon hides it in the crook of your neck—stubble coarse against the thinner skin there, though he soon soothes the irritation with apologetic kisses.

"Scared me shitless." You breathe a chuckle, dropping your spoon on the counter. "Asshole."

He only huffs. "Sorry."

Big hands feel you up, from the curves of your stomach to the silhouette of your hips. They reach upwards, thumb at your nipple as his palm follows the soft arch of your breast. Squeezing, feeling its weight in his hand and how it delightfully dimples under the pads of his fingers.

"Bit hungry, love" he whispers, mouth kissing the shell of your ear.

No matter how often you giggle and swat him away, or say that dinner’s just about ready—he won't let go until he's satisfied. 

And you know how rare that instance is.

Which is why his hand sneakily turns off the stove.

Which is why those subtle kisses on your neck turn open and awfully patient; teeth at your jugular, bites assuaged by his tongue a moment later.

Which is why you're panting, now, naked with your ass flush to the kitchen island—clothes hanging from the back of a chair, or crumpled on the kitchen floor. 

Simon crouches before you, head already buried between your thighs.

He encourages your hands to pull at his hair, guiding your fingers to fist his curls. Encourages your moans to grow louder, because he didn't buy this cottage deep in the countryside for you to be afraid of waking up neighbours that don't exist.

He sucks on your clit, laps at your cunt until he can hear your cries grow breathy, until you fall quiet—only gasping for air.

He fits a finger inside. Then two. Sucks and licks and pumps you stuffed and full with three. Your heels digging at his back, your thighs closing in around his head. Gorgeous pressure—even if it cottons his ears, muffles your voice.

He can live with that. Feels like a right bargain.

It's probably less than a handful of minutes before you're cumming on his tongue. 

He pushes in—inhales, the bastard. Takes out his fingers and replaces his tongue, effortlessly sliding over your clit to prolong your orgasm for as long as he can.

Licks over and through them to taste the juices you drip, those that you spray. Ecstatic when you do, holding onto your thigh something fierce—like he won the moment he started drowning between your legs.

Until you're a puddle on the table, dizzy and slack. Gooey limbs draped over his shoulders, blood like syrup pumping slowly down to the tips of your toes.

He looks up at you, cheeks wet and mouth smiling the loveliest smile and yet still the cheekiest of smirks. Tenderly, you draw its outline with your thumb.

“Still peckish?” You ask with the same tease you see in his eyes.

He scoffs and turns his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, where your flesh is softer and streaked with silver lines.

"Nah," he shrugs. "Ate loads."

You snort, something between embarrassment, disgust and utmost fondness riddled in your tone.

"Oh my God, Simon."

Gently, you nudge him with your foot, hooking the arch at his shoulder. He catches it. Softly kisses your ankle through his smile, huffing a breathy laugh.

He leaves his hand there, draped over your shin—smoothing slow lines all the way to your toes, up and down, in a soothing fashion.

"Reckon bed's sounding better than dinner right now." He murmurs to your skin, leaving pecks to the side of your foot. "What d'you think?"

You shake your head fondly with a quiet chuckle.

Simon won't let go until he's satisfied—and you know, always have, that those instances are rare.

And he proves you right every single time.

Alas, dinner can wait. Takeout is always an option, after all.

You jump down the kitchen island—can't even land on your feet that he already has his hands wrapped solidly around your thighs.

He stands up, and brings you with him.

You kiss his cheek. "Reckon it does."

[akaiitoru]

Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your lip balm / chapstick ~

Xavier ~

'what's that smell? it...doesn't smell like shampoo usually does.'

he's cuddling on the sofa with you and lifts his head, hair a bit fluffed from where he was tucked into your neck and chest, and his light eyebrows draw in at the centre trying to work out where it comes from.

'smell? Mm...its probably my lipbalm, Xavier, here,'

he takes it when you grab it and give it to him, rolling it over in his fingers to read any writing around the edge, head resting back against you again. he takes off the lid and sniffs it, eyes widening slightly before smiling a touch.

'its nice. does it taste good?'

he sort of asks without thinking of the double entendre at first, but a second later he realises and his eyes hold a flicker of mischief as he brings his face closer, eyes flitting to your lips.

'i dont know, you tell me?'

then he's all up in your business, eyes closing as he brings his lips to yours almost exploratory as when you try a new snack.

'mmh, yes. I like it.'

'good'

you plant a soft little kiss on the end of his nose to a cute blink and blushed chuckle from him.

over the next few hours he keeps coming back to kiss you more pointedly, more often, to a raised eyebrow from you. he likes the feeling and smell of it on his lips, it makes them soft and makes him think of you.

'Xavier you can take it if you want, i have a spar-'

'I don't want one.'

'but...?'

He only wants the thin soft coating of it on his lips when it means he's kissed you recently.

Rafayel ~

once this man catches drift of your scented lip balms he is all over that shit. he'll insist on going to choose ones, buying too many since you cant try them at the store, and then pouts when you tell him you cant face trying on and wiping off like ten different lip balms just so he can smell and kiss you over and over to see which one is best.

youre sat on the bed, the fading sunlight shining through the domed windows of your shared bedroom and onto this ridiculous pile of little cylindrical tubes on the duvet.

'but...'

'the scents will mix, and anyway lip balm is supposed to be nourishing, not causing my lips to be sore because ive applied and scraped off loads of different ones'

'well how am i supposed to know which one is the best then?'

'you'll have to wait and see i guess, i can put a different one on at few hour intervals, itll be like a fun surprise, you can guess which one i have on!'

'thats tooo longggg'

later you catch him applying one on himself in the bathroom, he just couldnt wait okay!! when you do put one on, he materialises at your side, hands running over your skin and finding their way to your jaw as if he could sense it from the other room, and he tilts his head with a little cute smirk.

'next taste test? this one's going to be good, i can feel it.'

Zayne ~

'here,'

he hands you one that he picked off the shelf next to you as you perused the options.

'what, you like this one?'

'i'm not familiar with it, but its important to use ones with more natural ingredients, especially when applying to sensitive areas like your face and mouth.'

'mmh, makes sense.'

you buy a few different types at his behest, and then he watches you try them and smell them as he puts his stuff away around the house.

'do you like them?'

'this one smells really good, actually.'

'mh?'

he's at your side, finding himself strangely excited to have another scent to not only feel and smell when he kisses you, but also to associate with you like he does with your hair stuff or your perfume.

'it does, you're right.'

he takes your chin in his other hands fingers, his usually gentle but firm touch, and then runs his thumb featherlight across the edge of your bottom lip, dark eyelashes lowering slightly as his eyes seem to both soften and darken at the same time.

'does it taste just as good?'

Sylus ~

'get all of them'

'Sylus, there are like fifty options here, why would I need fifty lip balms?'

he just shrugs, that annoyingly handsome smirk on his face as he feigns nonchalance.

'just trying to be supportive, kitten. no need to scratch now.'

'being supportive would be you helping me pick one'

'mmh, would it now?'

he was waiting to be asked, he's irritating like that. you rolled your eyes subtly and couldnt help the smile off his face as he on cue started analysing the options on the shelf with a discerning critical eye. after a silence, you pause, and glance at him sidelong.

'so?'

he points to a few in succession, speaking in a slow thoughtful sort of drawl as he ponders, playful yet serious simultaneously. It's an important decision, of course.

'too sweet, too floral, too colourful, too...is that glitter? i thought this was supposed to be health related, not glamourous. though i suppose a mix of both might be alluring. mmh...this one'

he holds it out to you, made up his mind. not stating his reason outright obviously. he looks down at you and eyes flick between your face and his choice, very subtly figuring out your reaction to his choice. as you leave the shop after buying, and go to put on your helmet to get on his bike, his hand comes to rest on top of it, stopping its path, and he raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. You blink.

'hm?'

'well, come now, are you going to let me try the latest flavour of the lips i so often indulge in, or would you be cruel and have me wait?'

Caleb ~

so...lets say one day you're buying something completely unrelated, but you double take as your eyes happen to flit over some apple scented lip balm on the store shelf. You pause, nibble on your lip with a faint curl to the corners, and grab it and apply it on the way home. It's good...that apple scent that isnt too artificial or plasticky but also sweet and sharp enough to be noticeable and tasty.

Its hard to keep it in somehow when he gets home? its like a secret, which feels stupid, but he looks at you and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

'why you smilin', pips? what have you done?'

he asks, starting to laugh a bit at your face as you tried to keep it normal. it'll be like after a while where he wrestles you off the stove or something playfully that he'll catch a whiff. i mean he's obviously noticed your lips seem a touch shinier, but didn't think a whole lot of it except 'nice'.

'did you buy new perfume?'

'no...?'

'but...its appley over here, you got one in your ear or somethin'?'

he makes a point of sniffing around you like a dog as your giggling form is pressed back against the counter. then he pauses as his nose nears yours and a cheeky smile stretches across his face. his hand lifts and he runs the back of his fingers ever so softly over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement.

'ah, bullseye. so this is what you were giggling about earlier, you're so silly pipsqueak,'

'what? why?!'

'who gets all giggly about lip balm hm?'

he tilts his head, still in teasy puppy mode, though his eyes have softened and darkened as his face has come closer. as you pout he pokes your lips again with a smirk.

'mmh, an apple flavoured pout huh?'

he leans in achingly slowly to kiss you.

Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your scrunchie

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

for me?

Frank Castle x f!reader | wc ~1.7 k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: Frank's lap is the best place for dry humping and being fingered

warnings: no y/n, barely any plot except ✨they are fwb and in denial✨, making out while sitting in Frank's lap, dry humping until it's not, fingering (f receiving), Frank talking you through it, finger sucking because it's me, squint and you miss possessive Frank, affectionate smacks on the ass, petnames (pretty girl, 1x attagirl 🫦), hand on the throat but just for the aesthetics, pussy pronouns, dm me if I missed any, not beta'd because I'm rebellious

a/n: another drabble for my follower milestone event, thank you nonnie for requesting "and what do we have here?". i just need to ride Frank so bad, blame this month's ovulation. 😩 a big thank you and a smooch to @guiltyasdave for literally sitting with me while I was writing this 💛💛💛

There were too many feelings for something casual. For something to just take the edge of.

“You're needin’ me too much, pretty girl,” Frank says when he rests his head in your lap.

“We shouldn't meet this often, just makes things complicated,” you say when you put your stuff in a drawer he has emptied out for you.

“Can never make you happy,” he whispers against your forehead before he places a lingering kiss there.

Maybe you both turned blind to the obvious. Or just got comfortable in the coziness of your ignorance. Whatever it is, neither of you wants to stop playing pretend. Just friends. Just casual. No big deal. We can stop anytime, you both say, like addicts lying straight to themselves.

“Don't need you,” you murmur and climb into his lap.

“Don't need you either,” he replies, gruff voice polished all soft in the crook of your neck.

“Just want you.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, his hands roaming up your thighs to your ass and he pulls you deeper into his lap. Wanting you to feel him.

You learned quickly that there were hardly any boundaries for Frank's hands. What they wanted to break, they broke. What they wanted to rip open, they ripped open. What they wanted to touch, they got to touch.

“Frank,” you whine quietly, pushing back into his hands, dragging your lips up his neck and along his jawline. Whining again when his dark scruff burns on your lips. Yelping when he smacks you and kneads your stinging flesh.

“I know, pretty girl,” he mutters into your ear and nips your earlobe.

He knows. You see it in his eyes the moment before you start kissing. Making out, your hands gripping the backrest of the couch and the back of his neck. He knows you need him. Want him. Not just benefits and friendship.

“Jus’ like that,” Frank grunts, sucking your lip between his. His hands, unbounded in their will to unravel you, start pulling and pushing. Guiding you in your movements when you need no guidance. You let him move you willingly.

He drags you over all the hard parts, belt and bulge. He draws soft sounds out of you, soft and sweet, and he eats them right out of your mouth.

It's leisurely, rolling and rubbing against each other just for the sake of getting drunk on each other, desperate for the other one, hungry for the feeling of hot skin on hot skin. Frank waits until you whine his name, until you breathe more heavily from humping him like a desperate little thing.

He’s patient, he’s able to push his own needs aside, still a soldier, still serving.

“Touch me,” you breathe out with your lips swollen from his nips. Shaky from the relentless back and forth on Frank’s lap.

A finger slips under your top, then two and three fingers. You whine again because it is not what you want. But his nails scraping over your lower back are better than nothing. He shifts, pushes his hips upwards, spreading his legs even wider. He is so hard in his jeans. If you’d care to look down you would see a dark spot in the denim.

If he'd care to look down he would see a dark spot in your short, too.

You press down, in need of more friction when the slick in your panties barely lets you feel any. He grunts, fingers digging into your back and then slipping into the back of your shorts. With a handful of your ass he holds you in place and grinds up into you.

“No. Touch me!”

He grins when you whine again, another breathy complaint coming from you.

“'m touchin’ you, pretty girl. Feel that?”

You do. You feel his other hand slipping behind the elastics and fabric. His fingers connect one spot with another with a tender brush, zigzagging his way deeper into your panties.

“Mhmmm, and what do we have here?” Frank doesn't have to do much searching or probing, he can feel your arousal right on his fingertips.

“Is this for me?” he asks, his nose nudging your chin, making you look at him. “All this wet and just for me?”

You nod your head, unable to put up an act whenever he is like this, so sweet. “Yes,” you breathe softly, “‘s for you.”

“Thought so,” he murmurs, and you can feel each word rumble in his chest.

Frank looks at you, brown eyes flitting over your face. Your droopy lids, your lips ajar the tiniest bit with the tip of your tongue between your teeth. Your impatience shows with how your shoulders tense up. You're holding your breath. Waiting for the impact.

He dips one finger between your folds and smiles when you whimper. He adds a second finger, moves them back and forth, coating you and him with your slick. Curls his fingers, wedged tightly against your entrance.

“Frank,” you whisper and your muscles tighten even more. Ready to pounce. Ready to be pounced.

His hand, the one still on your ass, pulls you closer and onto his two fingers. Joint for joint Frank spreads you open until he's nestled inside you. Knuckles deep with your pussy clenching around him.

“‘s for me, right?” he husks and kisses your moan right off your lips when he pulls you back again with the handful of your ass. “She's just for me? Tell me, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his.

His fingers slip back inside you when he pushes you forward again. Frank grunts, satisfied with your answer and your slick walls gripping his fingers. “That's right, pretty girl.”

He's guiding your movements, just like before. Back and forth, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers. Allowing you to bite into the coiled muscles of his shoulder and neck when you want to go faster than he lets you to.

He knows you, knows where to push and rub, when to a third finger, only for a few thrusts, and when to leave you on the edge with just two of his fat fingers stuffing you.

With every tilt of your hip you grind against the heel of his palm, every cant bringing you closer. You tighten and clench, your hands grab for anything that is Frank. His arms or chest. Knowing he doesn't mind it when you forget about being gentle, when you can't really be anything else but gentle. Just desperate and aching, just for him.

“Need me so bad you gonna cum.”

It's not a question. It's a simple fact. Stated with a low hiss when your nails leave small halfmoon imprints on the taught skin of his arms.

What his hands want to break, they'll break. They will ruin and wreck as they please. And so it's three fingers again with the next thrust. Buried inside you, all the way to his calloused knuckles. Making you whimper and your pussy squelch.

“Gonna cum on my fingers? So needy for me you gonna cum all over my hand?” he asks, voice just as breathy as your moans.

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, and if your cunt clamping down on his three digits isn't already proof enough of how close you are, the look on your face is.

He curls his fingers, almost hooking himself inside of you, right where you need it and where only Frank manages to reach. You start rocking against his palm, pinned down by three fingers and just enough range of motion to rub your clit against his hand, coated with your arousal.

“Jus’ like that, pretty girl. Take what you need. Make yourself cum for me,” Frank groans and moves the hand from your ass up, higher, squeezing whichever of your curves he passes on his way to your neck.

And while you fuck yourself stupid on his fingers he gently wraps his hand around your throat.

Holding you up just slightly, holding you in place, holding you close to him. Holding your gaze.

Seeing your face twitch while he feels your cunt twitch. Seeing your eyes roll back when he changes the angle of his fingers and pushes into deeper, just a little bit, just to let you feel the stretch of his knuckles.

You moan his name one last time before you cum. A feral expression is edged into Frank's face now. The last thing you see is his tongue wetting his lips, then your vision turns white.

This is the part he loves most, seeing you letting go, just for him and only because of him. He loves the way your brows pinch together with each wave of your orgasm, loves the way you lose control of your body and are just held together by his hands.

“That's it, pretty girl,” he praises between his own groans, feeding you each one of them, right into your opened mouth. “I got you. You're doin’ so good for me.”

He's rubbing the heel of his palm to your sensitive clit until you start squirming.

“Frank, it's too much,” you whine, but Frank is not yet loosening his hold on your throat. He's still holding you in place, right where you belong. In his lap.

“Thought you wanted me to touch you? Ain't that right?” He chuckles, all rough and warm, like his hand between your legs, but then eases up. “Attagirl,” he murmurs and distracts you from pulling his fingers out of you with a harsh kiss.

A kiss that gets sweeter the moment a finger slips through your lips, followed by a second. You moan at the taste of your pussy, sucking Frank's digits deeper into your mouth.

“You're too greedy, pretty girl,” Frank says and pulls his fingers back only to lick the third one clean himself. “You're too needy, told ya.”

You roll your hips, knowing exactly that he is painfully hard.

“You're looking pretty needy, too, y’know?” you smirk, rocking against his bulge once more. Your move elicits one of his reluctant grunts from him.

“We gotta stop doing this,” Frank huffs, his hand already going from your neck to his belt buckle. “Ain't gonna end well.”

“Too many words,” you chide, working his fly open. “Too many clothes.”

You push your hand into his jeans, his cock hard and hot in your palm.

“Is this for me, Frank?”

thank you for reading, let me know how you liked it. i'd love to get some feedback on my first Frank fic <333

general masterlist here

drabbles bribery masterlist here

Frank Castle masterlist here

dividers: @saradika-graphics

[webslinger-holland]

okay I love bucky and all the boys honestly so can you write one where they get a goodnight kiss for the first time? love your writing btw!

Prompt: Bucky, John, and Bob receive a goodnight kiss

Warning: the implication of wanting to stay the night ;)

Thunderbolts Masterlist

It had been a long night; the gala ended up lasting way longer than anticipated. The Thunderbolts were being honored by Valentina, which was just another way for her to get good public press shots. Since it was hosted by her, that meant the guests of honor had to stay the whole time.

By the time the night was over, all of them were beyond exhausted and ready for a quiet night in the hotel room she'd booked for each of them. It was nice when he offered to walk you back to your room, even after spending many hours chatting and drinking together.

Bucky:

Walking side by side through the quiet hotel hallway, you carried your heels in hand. He kept his hands deep in his pockets; his eyes trained on the patterned carpet below and counting the steps until reaching your hotel room.

Coming to a slow stop, you paused for a second in front of your door. You turned to face him, rocking on the heels of your feet and clutching the room key tightly.

"You know..." Bucky tried to make it sound as casual as possible. He scratched the back of his neck and avoided eye contact at first. "We don't have to say goodnight to each other tonight."

A smile crept onto your lips at the proposal. "Enjoy my company that much, huh?"

"More than you know," Bucky spoke so softly, it nearly melted your heart right there.

Your eyes searched his as if trying to read him like a book. Instead of answering, you reached up and hooked two fingers into the front of his shirt collar — that small space between his open jacket and the buttons underneath.

You tugged gently, drawing him closer. His breath hitched when he realized.

And then your lips found his. One kiss that felt heavier than all the things he’d wanted to say. His hands found your waist automatically, like they belonged there and planned on staying there. Your fingers didn’t let go until it ended.

When you did pull back slowly, you looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Your fingers brushing down the front of his jacket. He leaned forward to chase your lips, but your hand stopped him.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him before he was able to take it a step further.

“I could—” Bucky began.

“Alone.” You smiled because Bucky looked only slightly disappointed.

"Right," Bucky nodded. He took a step back to give you space, shoving his hands back down into his pockets.

“But thank you for walking me.” You patted his chest twice and then headed into your hotel room for the night, knowing that you were leaving him wanting more.

John:

Coming up to your room, the laughter slowly began to die out. It was the kind of shared laugher that felt similar to a post-adrenaline high where everything felt lighter than it should. Shoulders brushed together teasingly.

John stopped short. He ran a hand through his hair and —for some reason— looked more nervous than his usual cocky and confident self. He kept gesturing with his hands, trying to sound casual.

“I mean… I could come in,” John suggested, fast and casual, like it wasn’t a big deal to him. He even shrugged. “Not for anything, just like—talk. I don’t often fall asleep right away and you—uh…”

He only stopped talking when he saw the amused look on your face. He narrowed his eyes at you as if trying to figure out what was going on in that head of yours.

"What?" John smiled. You shrugged.

“You’re cute when you do that,” you confessed.

“Do what?” John swallowed, shifting from one foot to another like a nervous schoolboy.

You took a step forward and slipped your fingers into his tie — right near the knot. His words died in his throat and he swallowed hard again.

“Talk like you’re not sure if I want you here.”

You gave the tie a slow tug — just enough to make him lean down to meet you. He didn’t resist. His lips parted like he might say something — but you kissed him before he could.

His hands came up like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. But he did. Just you waist. Just enough for him.

It was unhurried and surprisingly soft for how much heat had built up between you. Your fingers stayed curled in his tie even as you drew away from him.

He stared down at you like you just handed him the world in the palm of your hand. You watched the way his eyes darted back down to your lips like he wanted another taste and he even dared ask.

“So, uh… does that mean—” John wondered.

“Goodnight, John.” You stepped away.

“Right. Right. Yeah. That.” John ran his palm over his mouth and down his beard. The door closed in his face and left him more flustered than he'd care to admit.

Bob:

The walk back to the hotel had been quiet for the most part. The air heavy with things neither had said out loud. He particularly had been quiet since the gala ended — not brooding, just stuck in thought. His shoulder brushed yours more than once. And you once caught him staring at you.

The two of you came to a slow stop in front of your hotel door. You fished your hotel card out of your clutch purse, holding it up for him to see. He sent you a tight lined smile.

"Well, this is me." You motioned to the door right behind you and Bob nodded without making eye contact with you. "I really enjoyed tonight," you tried to catch his eye.

"Yeah?" Bob glanced up, somewhat surprised. He smiled in recollection. "Me too."

You turned to scan your card against the reader, but Bob —with a sudden burst of courage— stopped you in your tracks.

“You don’t have to go in yet,” Bob said gently, drawing your attention back to him.

"No?" You quirked an eyebrow curiously.

“Y—You could come back to mine,” Bob almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. The moment he saw the look of surprise on your face, he quickly backtracked with: “Only if you want. I’m not—”

You smiled reassuringly and he looked so hopeful. Not expectant. Not pushy. Just hopeful.

He kept talking. And saw the way you moved closer to him.

"We could watch a movie, eat some snacks, or just talk if you want to." Bob's voice was growing quieter the closer you got to him. His eyes searching your face for some kind of sign of interest.

"Just talk?" You teased a little.

"Yeah," Bob squeaked, though he didn't mean to. He coughed and cleared his throat a little, shrugging it off like it was nothing. "Or any of the other things."

"Very tempting," You nodded.

"Yeah?" Bob looked up.

You were close enough to him now. You reached out to lay your hand flat against his chest, slowly dragging it up, and snaking it behind his neck. You pulled him down until your lips met his in a slow and deliberate kiss. He melted into it like he’d been holding his breath all night.

Your other hand moved to grab the lapel of his jacket— not to pull him any closer, but just to stay grounded. His hands hovered at the spot right above your waist, too fearful to place his hands there.

The kiss was warm, sweet, and slow. And he savored every second of it.

When you pulled away, you dragged both hands down the front of his chest to smooth his jacket flat again like you hadn’t just stolen all the air from his lungs. He watched your movements with hopeful eyes.

"I'm gonna have to pass tonight," you told him.

"Okay," Bob nodded. Not mad at all. Very understanding.

"But only because I like you too much to rush this," you confessed while you ran your hands down the front of his chest before withdrawing them carefully.

"Oh," Bob said mostly to himself, not catching on right away. And then: "Oh."

"Goodnight Bob." You smiled cheekily and slipped away before he had a chance to say anything else. The door closed with a soft click.

“Right,” Bob whispered. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

SEND IN MORE HEADCANONS! I LOVE WRITING THESE

[emptymasks]

They're done! I really want to try and make prints again as it's been years and I've never felt like I was very good at making whole posters. Dipping my toe back in with these silly chibis of each Papa with every Ghoul they've had. Perhaps they can also work as a guide for those wanting to learn all the characters? I added in a fair amount of little references with the Ghoul's poses so it'll be interesting to see what you guys figure out and notice!

The prints are on pre-order and won't ship out until November. I've put up 25 of each to start with but if they get low on stock I'll keep adding more until I have them printed and then it'll be a set amount in stock.

Also a reminder about the stickers of every Ghost Papa and Ghoul that I made earlier this year that are also available as customisable badges! Thank you so much to everyone who already bought them and got Etsy to list them as a 'bestseller' for a while. They're still up and in stock.

EDIT: someone informed me Delta was not in Secondo's era so sorry little water ghoul but he got edited out of that drawing.

Characters featured on the prints and are also available on stickers and badges: Papa Emeritus I / Primo, Papa Emeritus II / Secondo, Papa Emerirus III / Terzo, Papa Emeritus IV / Cardinal Copia, Aether, Air, Alpha / Fire, Aurora, Chain / Water, Cirrus, Cowbell, Cumulus, Delta, Dewdrop / Sodo, Earth, Ifrit, Ivy, Lake, Mist, Mountain, Omega / Quintessence, Pebble, Phantom, Phil / Special Ghoul, Rain, Sunshine, Swiss, Zephy.

I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post from tag search results, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️

[ID: Four landscape drawings, one for each of Ghost's Papas and the Ghouls that were in the band with them while they were the lead singer. Each Papa is in the center with each of their ghouls standings to their sides. Every character has their name written above or below them, on brightly coloured backgrounds for each Papa's robe colour. Also, individual pixel art chibi drawings of 69 characters from various European musicals (listed above) that are available as stickers. These drawings are also available as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]

For those who want to know what the little references in the prints are and don't want to guess, they're under the cut:

Omega can be a stompy boy when he's playing guitar, Alpha likes to throw up peace signs, Air is very found of the rock horns hand symbol, there's one close-up photo of Lake out there where you can clearly see his black sclera contacts and he's doing double 'horns' hand symbol, Mountain infamously takes his shoes off when playing the drums and leaves them on the stage at the site of his drumkit, Dewdrop likes to like.. most things including his guitar and his picks and sometimes his own hand, Pebble liked to hand out his drumsticks at the end of shows by dropkicking them into the crowd, Omega wore a flower tucked into his guitar strap during one show and Terzo constantly flirts with him more than other ghouls, Delta is suspected to be the ghoul that attempted to kick an audience member off stage when they climbed onstage and attempted to kiss Terzo, Zephyr was the only band member and only keyboardist who sat down while playing, the special ghoul played by Tobias wore a nametag 'Phil' in an interview, Swiss constantly is showing all his teethies with his smiles and always wiggling and moving around, Aether and Dewdrop often interact with Dew teasing/bothering Aether, Dew and Rain also often interact with Dew constantly reaching to grab his neck and attempt to kiss him, aaaand I think that's everything I intentionally included other than just generally tried to get the poses and expressions to match the personality we've seen from each ghoul.