#mostly sweet and fluffy I think

[critter-dead-set-on-driftin]

Woah, another Driftcells oneshot be upon you! This time more sweet and less full or fear or grief than the other two writings I’ve posted for this fandom so far :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66686023

Summary

Friendly and kind physical contact is far from guaranteed to be something Blu outside of the North can find. It’s also not something freely given to Drifters or the afflicted. Even the most optimistic cant expect much of it if they are any of those things, let alone all of them like Drifter is.

Not that he minded. Even when outside of his universe with people more than willing to express themselves that way, they didn’t really like it.

But something must have changed because now they really, really yearn for it- no, they are starving for it.

Unfortunately their partner is too busy learning to and then sticking with ‘respecting their boundaries’ to just pull him into a hug. More fortunately, Drifter doesn’t really see Beheaded rejecting him entirely if they are the one to initiate.

He doesn't.

Aka Projecting my touch adverse touch starvation on my current fav cat boy for a yummy hurt/comfort oneshot

[moonxq]

very grateful to my fluffy childhood dog who let me wrap my arms around her as a kid when things felt kind of weird and unreal and bury my face into her fur and breathe into it and just sit like that for a while

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Miniseries MASTERLIST

Part One -Part Two - Part Three (finished)

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- Going to have smut at the end (three parts!) lots of sexual tension, light angst but mostly fluffy, friends to lovers AND marriage of convenience trope lol. Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink, gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad.

WC- 22 k- completed

Preview- click above for the chapters!

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips.

permatags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw @aldebrana @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 gojo: @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen suggestion from the lovely @bunheadusa

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[mallory524]

Oh oh, can I request a sort of alternate ending to the kidnapping headcanons with each of the Thunderbolts where, when they are about to break into the building reader is trapped in, reader appears behind them all bloody and bruised, making them jump and her saying, “Did you guys come to save me? Aww, that’s so sweet, I feel so loved right now!!”

(OMG YES This is sweet and fun I love it)

the thunderbolts come to save you, but you've already handled it yourself

tags- fem!reader, mostly just silly and fluffy, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of blood and fighting and minor injuries, some language

Yelena

Yelena knows that you’re tough, but she doesn’t expect you to be able to get yourself out of this one. The group gets to where you’re being held, and you’re just sitting on the ground, with your back up against the doorway. You look like hell, but you’re free. This is not what Yelena had imagined. She thought she’d have to free you herself and toss you over her shoulder or something. She couldn’t be more happy to see that she was wrong about your state. “Oh, hey, guys! This is awfully sweet of you to all come out here. This is a long ways away from the city,” you say as you manage to get back up on your feet. Yelena looks at you, amazed, and runs up to hug you and kiss your temple. Walker mutters to Ava, “At this point we could’ve just called her an Uber.”

Bucky

Bucky did not want to think about what could be happening to you. He’s seen a lot of pain and hurt in his day, so he knows firsthand how ugly these situations can get. Luckily, it never got as bad as it could’ve, because you actually broke yourself out. Bucky did not expect to find you already fighting off your captors on your own when he arrived with the whole team. Bucky wants to help, of course. He gets one punch in. You thank him, like you haven’t just knocked out every other person on your own. “I was just about to look for where they hid my phone so I could call you to give me a ride home, but it looks like I didn’t even need to call! You guys are the best,” you say, as if you’d just been stranded at the airport. Bucky’s never been so proud.

Ava

The fact that the search for you was dragging on for days was only making Ava’s nerves worse. Leaving you in danger for so long made her feel so horrible, and sometimes she’d wonder if it was possible that you’d escaped on your own. She figured it was too much to hope for, but it made her feel a little better. Besides, it wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility. She’d imagine finally reaching your location, and the people who were supposed to be guarding you would all be just as clueless about your whereabouts as she was. She never considered that they’d all be unconscious on the ground when she got there. “Ava!!” she hears you yell from behind. She spins around and sees you jogging (with a slight limp) down the hall to reach her. She’s astonished. “Aww you guys! Thanks for coming. That means a lot.” After that remarkably chill response, Ava looks at you like you’ve never been so beautiful and cool in her eyes before, and that’s saying something.

John

John was terrified the whole time you were missing. All day long, he panicked and thought about all the horrible things that could be happening to you at any given moment. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he led the whole search, and he was ready to do whatever to took to get to you. You can only imagine his surprise when you run out and cut his destructive rampage short. He keeps standing there and looking at you because this is not computing. You're just standing there with your hands on your hips, your clothes all tattered, with bruises and cuts all over you. You're clearly exhausted, but you manage a little smirk. "Awww, Walker! Were you worried about me?" He just tosses his silly folded shield to the ground and pulls you into a tight hug. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He doesn't even put up a fight when you reach out to affectionately ruffle his hair or pinch his cheek like a grandma. He's just so happy you're safe.

Alexei

When Alexei gets there and realizes you’ve already broken yourself out, he is so shocked. Then he thinks about it for a moment, and he doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Of course you solved this on your own! You’re such a badass. You always have been. It’s one of the first things he noticed about you, and it’s what initially drew him to you. He feels like he should’ve had more faith in you, but now’s not the time for that. Now’s the time to celebrate the fact that you’re safe. He lets out a loud, jovial laugh and wraps his arms around you, telling you over and over again how proud he is of you while wiping some blood from your forehead. Somehow, you always manage to surprise him. Everyone is thrilled that you’re back, but Alexei is absolutely beaming with pride and relief for the rest of the night.

Bob

Part of why the team originally didn’t want Bob to go on the rescue mission, besides the Void stuff, was because they didn’t know what kind of state you’d be in. Bob’s very new to this line of work, and they know how much you mean to him, so they thought it might be too much for him to handle if he ended up having to see you seriously hurt. Luckily that didn’t happen. Before they have the chance to break the door down, you walk out from the other side of the building, waving your arms. “Hey! I’m right here!” Bob rushes to hug you, and it’s so tight that all your words are kind of muffled. “Guys I got the whole search party? This is actually really flattering.” Bob pulls away after a while and he’s immediately worried again when he sees the bruising all over you. You make a “You should see the other guy” joke, but everyone knows you’re not kidding. They really don’t want to see the other guy.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[mssorceressupreme]

Let Me Help | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: After losing a quidditch match, Fred is frustrated and you help him by giving him a post-match massage, which leads into something more, or well something sweet.

Warnings: massaging, making out, hickeys, moaning ig, praising (ish), slightly steamy but mostly fluffy, fluffy!fred, nap-time together, cuddling, littlespoon!reader, bigspoon!fred, pls i want to have nap-time in fred's arms

———

The roar of the crowd had dwindled into murmurs as you, Hermione, and Luna sat on the bleachers, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team gather on the pitch below. The match against Hufflepuff had ended moments ago, and to everyone’s surprise, Gryffindor had lost after a season of winning.

It wasn’t just a loss—it was a hard-fought game, filled with moments of near victory that had slipped through their fingers.

Fred and George, always the heart of the team, looked particularly worn down. Fred’s usual buoyant demeanour was dimmed, his lips were pressed in a firm line, nodding as Oliver clearly scolded him about something. He wasn’t one to take criticism lightly, especially not when he was already down.

“I think Wood's giving Fred a hard time,” Hermione murmured, squinting at the scene below.

“Fred looks sad,” Luna observed, tilting her head dreamily. “Maybe he’s just feeling the weight of the nargles today.”

You tried waving to Fred, catching his eye. "It's okay Freddie..." you mouthed, attempting to comfort him slightly from the bleachers.

He looked up and, instead of the cheeky grin and exaggerated gestures you were used to, he blew you a small, almost apologetic kiss.

It wasn’t the playful, confident one that usually made you laugh; it was soft, almost sad, and it made your heart ache.

“He’ll be okay,” Hermione reassured you as you all made your way down from the stands.

The walk back to Hogwarts was subdued. The team split off to the showers while you, Hermione, and Luna headed toward the common room. Your mind was on Fred the whole time, wondering how you could cheer him up.

When the players eventually returned, freshly showered but still visibly tired, you led the cheers in the common room to boost their spirits. George gave a half-hearted grin, Angelina and Katie exchanged appreciative smiles, but Fred hung back, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

Determined to help him, you waited for the crowd to thin out before slipping away and making your way to the boys’ dormitory. Knocking softly, you peeked inside. Fred was sitting on his bed, his head resting in his hands, and the sight made your chest ache.

There was no sight of his dorm mates, they were likely out and about, lurking around campus somewhere.

He looked up when you entered, and his face softened immediately, though the exhaustion in his eyes noticeable.

“Hey,” you said gently, closing the door behind you.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice low. He patted the spot next to him, and you sat down, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, though you already had a good idea.

Fred sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Oliver. He’s... he’s been on my case. Said I was distracted during the match, that I wasn’t focused enough. Maybe he’s right.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. I watched the whole match, Fred. You were brilliant out there.”

He shook his head, a humourless laugh escaping him. “Doesn’t feel like it. We lost. And Oliver... he’s just so stressed about this season. Guess I was an easy target today.”

Reaching out, you placed a hand on his arm, stroking gently. “Ignore him. He’s just upset because he cares too much about the team. But that doesn’t mean he’s right about you. You gave it your all, Fred. I could see it. And I’m so proud of you.”

You hated seeing him like this, your Fred, who always had a joke or a cheeky grin, now looking so defeated.

Fred gave you a small, grateful smile, his gaze softening further, though the weight of the day still lingered in his expression. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” you teased, squeezing his hand. “You’re not half as annoying as you pretend to be Weasley.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, and you decided you’d do anything to make it stick. An idea popped into your head, and you straightened up.

“Sit on the floor,” you said suddenly.

Fred blinked at you, confused. “What? Why? You’re not planning to hex me, are you?”

“No hexes,” you promised, laughing. “Just trust me.”

Still skeptical, Fred slid off the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. “This better be good,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You knelt behind him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. The moment you started massaging him, he tensed, clearly surprised.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, grinning. “Just relax.”

It didn’t take long for him to give in. A low groan escaped his lips as your fingers worked over the knots in his shoulders. “Merlin Y/N, that’s... bloody amazing,” he muttered, his head dipping forward.

“You’re all tense,” you said softly, your fingers kneading the muscles in his neck. “You’ve been carrying too much stress.”

Fred let out a deep sigh, his body slowly relaxing under your touch. “You’re going to put Madam Pomfrey out of a job,” he joked, his voice muffled. “This is—blimey—I could get used to this.”

You smiled, continuing to work your fingers along his shoulders and down his back. The earlier frustration and tension seemed to melt away, his breathing slowing as he leaned into your touch.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice lighter now, “if you ever decide to quit school, you’ve got a future in saving stressed Quidditch players.”

You laughed, continuing to massage him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you leaned closer, you couldn’t resist planting a soft, lingering kiss on the side of his neck. Fred’s breath hitched slightly at the unexpected gesture. Smiling against his skin, you pressed another kiss just below his ear, then one more at the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

“Wha—” Fred started, his voice thick with surprise and something softer, “what are you doing?”

“Cheering you up,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke.

He let out a low, content hum, tilting his head slightly to give you more access. “Well, I’d say it’s working,” he moaned softly, his grin evident even though you couldn’t see it. “Bloody hell, you’re good at this.”

You giggled, continuing to pepper his neck with light, affectionate kisses. “Good. You deserve a little TLC after today.”

Fred turned his head slightly, his voice a little breathless now. “A little? I deserve this every day.”

“You’d get spoiled,” you teased, kissing just below his jawline.

“Already am,” he admitted with a happy sigh. “And if you don't stop I might just take you here and now." He moaned again, as you left him a hickey, sucking sweetly on the side of his neck.

"You like that Weasley?..." You cooed, continued planting sweet kisses around his neck and he threw his head back, groaning softly.

"Mhm, feels so good love..." He hummed, eyes shut as his breathing grew heavier.

You chuckled, pulling back slightly to look at him. His eyes were closed, his lips curved in the most serene smile you’d seen all day. His usual cheeky confidence was still there, but it was softer now, tempered with gratitude and affection.

When you finally stopped, Fred turned around to face you, his brown eyes warm and filled with gratitude and adoration. “My girlfriend's incredible,” he said softly, reaching for your hand.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, smiling.

He got up and made his way onto the bed, hovering over you as he pushed you down gently, making you lie down with his hands beside your head, trapping you beneath him essentially.

He then bent down into a kiss, sweet and unhurried, his lips warm against yours. You giggled, as he continued, parting your mouth slightly as his tongue slipped inside.

His lips were soft, pillowy against your own. "Fred..." you moaned into his kiss softly as he sucked on your tongue. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath beneath your nose, your fingers running through his hair as you breathed each other in.

He too, had always managed to make you melt at his touch, to feel good, to feel loved, you were weak beneath him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a content sigh.

“You really know how to cheer a bloke up, don’t you?” he teased, his grin finally back.

“Someone’s got to keep you from sulking,” you quipped, poking his chest playfully.

Fred chuckled, moving to lay beside you on his bed. You curled up against his side, his arm wrapped securely around you.

For the first time that day, he looked completely at ease, the weight of the match’s loss forgotten.

As you lay there together, his fingers idly traced patterns on your arm. “You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “I don’t deserve you.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, frowning. “Don’t say that Freddie, you're amazing. You know, despite how much of a git you can be sometimes, you deserve all the happiness in the world.” You turn to face him, brushing some messy strands away from his face to see him, your Fred.

His grin returned, this time with a mischievous glint. “Well, if you insist... I suppose I’ll let you keep spoiling me.”

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t push it, Weasley.”

He laughed too, pulling you closer. “Too late.”

Fred pulled you into his arms, your bodies pressed against each other, your head rested below his, melting into his chest, one of the many perks being the little spoon.

The two of you laid there, tangled together, the world outside fading into nothing. His steady breathing lulled you into a peaceful nap.

When George returned later, he peeked in, grinning at the sight of you both asleep, Fred’s arms securely around you. He quietly closed the door, leaving you both to your well-deserved rest.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. ❞

┊ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — “I would love to see a little friends to lovers, dramatic love confession type thing after Joaquin has his near death experience. I just love that man and he looks way too handsome lying on that hospital bed”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joaquin torres x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, this fic is really fluffy and sweet. friends to lovers, confession of feelings, joaquin means everything to me. cameo from isaiah bradley.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first time writing for joaquin (mcu) and I adored this request so much! 🫶 you will be seeing a lot more of him on this blog! I hope you all enjoy!

Hospitals were the bane of your existence.

Too stark, too pale — it encased suffering all in one centralized location, with gaunt, exhausted faces and hollow eyes. It was the embodiment of everything sick, of helplessness.

Discomfort nipped at your heels whenever you were in one, but it was different this time.

You surrendered any shred of discomfort for desperation, perched in a chair that had seen better days, cushions painfully rigid. Plastic leather squeaked whenever you shifted your weight elsewhere.

Time passed abnormally slow, heartbeat timed to the idle beeps of the monitor, red lights flashing in steady succession.

Haggard bags hung beneath your eyes, frayed and worn from the past few days of waiting by his bedside, hands fisting into your jeans.

Joaquín had crashed from the sky over the Indian Ocean in shock and smoke, landing in the water at inhuman speeds. You’d toiled over him — cried during his surgery, sobbed into Sam’s shoulder.

He was your best friend, your everything; part of you feared what you’d become if he didn’t pull through. Even then, you were trying to stay optimistic, and Sam had enough to share between the both of you.

Sam told you that he was in and out — mostly sleeping, and when he was conscious, making jokes about the whole situation as if it were normalized.

It was infuriatingly Joaquín; playful even in the face of death.

“Still sleeping?” Isaiah murmured, having nudged past the door without you knowing. Startled, you shifted in your seat, swallowing the growing lump within your throat.

All of your concentration had been laser-focused on Joaq’s slumbering visage, sporting a myriad of scrapes and bruises.

“Yeah, ah — Yeah, still asleep,” With a nod, you rubbed at your cheek, flashing a threadbare smile before you glanced at the old soldier. “Sam said he’s been in and out.”

“He’s a strong kid, he’ll pull through,” Stepping inside, Isaiah held a styrofoam box, beads of perspiration rolling from the lid. “Brought you somethin’ to eat.” He offered, moving around the end of the hospital bed.

“Oh,” You croaked, clicking your tongue. “Thanks, Isaiah. You didn’t have to.” In an awkward clamor, you were ready to move from your chair until he waved you down dismissively.

“You ain’t been eating,” He chided, tone fatherly as he shook his head. “Somebody’s gotta look out for you, too.” Through a stern gaze, he offered you the box, complete with plastic silverware.

“I would’ve gone to the cafeteria, I just —” With a sigh, you exhaled, pushing the air out through your nose. “I wanted to be here when he wakes up again.” You mumbled, taking the box with a weak ‘thank you’.

“I don’t think he’s goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” Isaiah’s voice is somewhat dry, but he’s got sympathy for you; you’re resolute, he’ll give you that. “My wife used to do that — fret over me, sit like I was on my deathbed.”

“I don’t think I would be able to live with myself if I left.” Through your soft-spoken confession, you feel yourself lurch with embarrassment.

Heat creeps over the back of your neck as you open up the container, met with a lackluster buffet of hospital food. It’s something, and you’re hungry, sticking the fork into a dismal glob of mashed potatoes.

“She said somethin’ similar.” Isaiah muses, countenance one of a distant lament, chasing the tails of a memory. There’s a spark in his eyes when he talks about her — same way you light up when you talk about Joaquín.

Taking a slow bite, your stomach thanks you, and you eat in silence for a while before answering. “He’s resilient, and strong,” You murmur, telling yourself that, too. “He’ll be okay.”

Isaiah huffs, characteristic of a stoic old man, but there’s a peculiar softness in his eyes. “You love him.” He states plainly, as if you’ve said it a thousand times before.

There’s a beat, a pause; you react as if you’ve been caught in the act of something heinous.

He leaves little room for refutation or retort, and you quietly acknowledge his words, and that’s a confession enough.

A wet sheen of tears shimmers within your eyes, and you take a bite of the rubbery hamburger patty to distract yourself. Isaiah isn’t wrong — he’s wholeheartedly correct in his observation, but you’re afraid.

Afraid that Joaquín would reject you if you told him, or not feel the same way — or never wake up, and that love would die with him.

“Yeah,” Through a hoarse croak, you confirm the obvious; Sam knows, too. “I love him.”

To say it outloud, say it where he can hear — it’s both a blessing and a curse, a weight that’s freeing yet dragging you down. A tight coil forms within your stomach, a torrent of nerves.

“I think he loves you, too.” Isaiah states, hands folded together within his lap. There’s something forlorn within his gaze, as if he’s reminiscing; you think it’s about Faith.

A tearful laugh escaped you, one of half-disbelief and despair as you swiped at your eyes again. A hush falls between as you shovel a mouthful of wilted green beans, heel tapping against the tile.

Sometimes you wonder if that’s true, if Joaquín loves you too — loves you in the way you love him, more than just friends.

Going quiet, you make sure to eat, satiating the constant gnaw of your stomach, gaze shifting towards Isaiah. He’s looking at you with a sense of understanding, wisened as he juts his chin at the styrofoam container.

“Make sure you eat,” He insists, lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “Gonna go meet Sam for lunch.” Standing from his chair, he briefly presses a hand over your shoulder.

“Thank you, Isaiah.” With a nod, you get nearly three-fourths through the plate before setting it aside. “I’ll see you soon.”

With a low hum, he wordlessly departs from the hospital room, shutting the door behind him with a click and a rattle. Silence seeps into the cracks, save for the monitor’s incessant beeping.

Sitting back, your gaze flutters over his features; handsome even when he’s beat-up, black curls disheveled, jaw slack. His eyelids twitch, and you wonder if he’s dreaming.

Looping an arm behind your head, you’re starting to feel exhaustion catch up to you, curling around your bones as you fight to keep your eyes open.

The nurse comes by to check in, and leaves when there’s no update. You’d only gone home once since his accident, glued to the hospital room as if it was your sworn charge.

Outside, daylight slips in through the windows, catching over pockets of dust that float throughout the stagnant air. The chatter of hospital staff chat hums beyond the door, and for a moment, you nearly fall asleep.

“Hey.”

Joaquín’s voice is taut with grogginess, frayed and worn-thin, warped by a hint of discomfort. Slivers of light catch over his eyes, prompting him to squint as a low groan splits through his diaphragm.

His body is still battered, sore from the fall — his pride is sorer still, but he’ll survive. Bruises feel bone-deep, and he’s got a few cracked ribs, a mild concussion, a broken arm — the list goes on.

When he sees you, it’s as if you’re encompassed by the sun’s gentle glow, your personal halo. Maybe he’s died, and this is what he sees; you.

He’d die happy, if that were the case.

The whites of your eyes are splintered with scarlet, partially due to a lack of sleep, the other half due to crying. He wants to reach out and hug you, but everything hurts — his heart included.

“Joaquín,” You gasp, dragging your chair as close as it’ll allow, wood scraping over hard tile. Words fail you in the moment, but you’re overjoyed, and that’s more than enough. “Hi.”

His mouth quirks into a smile despite himself, brows creasing as he adjusts to his surroundings. Aside from the crushing physical pain he’s in, he’s doing well — Sam promised him a new pair of vibranium wings.

“How long have you been here?” He questions, wincing when he adjusts himself, body spasming with a constant ache.

His good hand moves toward the bed’s remote, shifting it up enough to get a better look at you; the pain in his spine is completely worth it.

“Since you went into surgery,” You confess, fingers plucking at your sleeve. “Sam made me go home once, but I’ve been here the whole time.”

Joaquín blinks owlishly, seemingly surprised that you hadn’t left his side, but he’s happy about it. “Really?” He clears his throat. “Sleeping in that chair, too? Your back is probably as bad as mine.” He chuckles.

It gets a laugh out of you, and he’s head over heels; you have the prettiest smile, the prettiest laugh, everything about you is stunning.

“It’s pretty uncomfortable,” Smiling, you lean in close, letting part of your knee perch against the edge of his hospital bed. “Are you feeling okay? Do you want something to drink? They’ve got a slushie machine.”

“Do they have pineapple?” Joaquín asks, dimples forming at either corner of his mouth. His throat is disarmingly dry, mouth akin to a desert as he wets his bottom lip.

“I can go find out,” You offer, preparing to stand, but he grabs your wrist before you can go anywhere. He grunts, coaxing you back before shaking his head back and forth. “No?”

“Not now, just — In a few minutes,” His heartbeat hitches, and it’s reflected in the monitor’s idle beeping. “I want to look at your face for a little while.” Joaquín’s cadence softens, brown hues glued to you.

Surprised, you settle down into your chair, nose wrinkling at the distasteful groan of the cushions. “Your concussion is catching up,” You mumble, stomach twisting with butterflies. “Brain’s rattling around in there.”

Joaquín rolls his eyes, throat bubbling with a burst of laughter. “Didn’t hit it that hard,” He refutes, hand still loosely lingering around your wrist, and when he realizes, he lets go; reluctantly. “How’s Sam and the OG?”

You giggle at Joaquín’s nickname for Isaiah — you couldn’t tell if he liked it or tolerated it. “They’re good. Isaiah was just here, he and Sam are going for lunch.”

“You didn’t go with them?” A twinge of shock permeates his tone, but he knows the answer already; he wants to hear you say it.

“No,” With a nonplussed shrug, your fingers idly pick at a frayed patch on the knee of your jeans. “I wanted to stay here, in case you woke up.” A smile tugged at either corner of your mouth.

“Oh,” He swallows, dark lashes kissing the bruised skin beneath his eyes. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a while.” Joaquín grumbles, brows knitting together.

“I want to stay,” You assured, and he didn’t object to that in the slightest. “How are you feeling?” In hindsight, it might’ve been perceived as a silly question, but you asked anyway.

“Ah, you know,” He flashes a pearly smile, accompanied by a weak thumbs up. “Like someone hit me with a tank. Pride’s more wounded, I think.”

A soft huff escapes you, and you tuck a hand beneath your chin, gazes interlocking. Tendrils of heat curl over your features, and he’s mesmerized — Joaquín never looks away, not once.

“You stopped a war from breaking out, Joaq,” Your voice softened, laced with admiration. “You saved so many lives. I know that Sam is really proud of you, and I am, too.”

Joaquín’s smile was somewhat weak, but he basked beneath your praise, eyes carrying a sheen of mirth. “Thanks,” He paused. “You’re looking at an Avenger now, you know.”

“Sam asked you?” Incredulous, you watched as Joaquín nodded, pumping one hand into the air before groaning in pain. “Easy. You’ve still got your wings clipped, Falcon.” You tease.

Settling down, he nodded, deciding to heed to your advice and not strain anything. As he placed his arm back down, he shifted over enough to make room for you.

A soft laugh tumbled from his mouth, and he gestured for you to sit. “This bed’s gotta be more comfortable than the chair.” He offered.

He wanted to tell you how he really felt about you, let that weight come soaring off of his chest.

When he was crashing over the Indian Ocean, all he could think about was you — heard your voice on his comms before they went dark. He considered the possibility that he might die without you knowing he loved you.

A gap of silence passed between the both of you, with Joaquín appraising your features, awestruck by your beauty. He’d always thought you were gorgeous, but in this light, in the moment — you were stunning.

Wordlessly, you abandon the old, discomforting plastic for the soft foam of his mattress, sitting just beside his hip, one leg still touching the tile. He welcomes your closeness; you smell like peaches and cream.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Through a hoarse whisper, you felt tears sting your eyes, brusque and prickling. “I was so scared, Joaquín.”

Through a burning stare, he reached for your hand, thumb caressing over your knuckles. You gladly held onto him, giving him a melancholy smile.

“Me too,” He admits, tone frayed as he swallows down the swell of nervousness. “Kept thinking about you, when I was falling.”

Joaquín wished he could’ve told you somewhere else — somewhere more romantic than a hospital bed. Though, he had to make do with what he had, and he didn’t want to go any further without you knowing.

With several owlish blinks, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. “What?” Bewildered, you almost couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“I was scared because I thought I was gonna lose you, too,” He whispers, as if the heaviness of it might crush him. “I didn’t think I could be scared of something like that.” Joaquín utters, eyes never straying from you.

“Joaquín …” Part of you feels like this is a dream, a fantasy; you don’t want to wake up if it is. A shaky breath hitches within the bottom of your throat, hands intertwined.

“I love you.”

The tenderness of which he says it makes your heart burst through your chest, tingles of exhilaration coursing through your spine. Your lips part, making room for a light gasp as he squeezes your hand.

“I should’ve told you bef —” He begins, but you’re stopping him with a swift and impulsive kiss, lips briefly sealing against his.

There isn’t an ounce of him that protests, sinking into the feeling of your mouth as if he’s made for you, pushing out a sharp exhale through his nose. Joaquín doesn’t recoil, reciprocating the kiss, much to your surprise.

When you pull away, you don’t stray far, lashes fluttering as you smile. “I love you, too.” You murmur, and he laughs, eyes warm and glittering as your foreheads ghost over one another.

“I know, cariño,” He mumbles, a hint of mischief prevalent on his features, and you come to the realization then and there. “Before you say anything, I didn’t …”

“You were listening to Isaiah and I the whole time,” You aren’t upset in the slightest, but you do let out a shocked burst of laughter, riddled with faux theatrics. “I can’t believe you!”

“Guilty,” Joaquín teases, but his grin fills your stomach with butterflies. He’s so handsome, so warm — he reminds you of summertime. “Heard your voice, and it sounded like heaven.”

A playful scoff leaves you before you reach for his jaw, fingertips idly caressing over bruised flesh and small scrapes. “You’re lucky I love you, Joaquín.” You mumble, and he’s the happiest man on earth.

“That’ll never get old,” He remarks, and you scoot closer, well within reach as he admires you, adoration thinly-veiled. “I love you.” The ardor in his voice is unmistakable, genuine.

Your hand falls to his chest, and if it weren’t for being bedridden, he would’ve pounced on you — his patience was about to be tested.

A gentle sigh tumbles through his lips, pulled from his diaphragm, a contented sound that warms the both of you. His gaze is awestruck — he looks at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you, too.” When you say it, you mean it; stare at him as if he’s hung the moon and the stars for you. You want to kiss him again, kiss him a hundred times over.

“When I’m all healed up and discharged, can I take you out somewhere? I know a great steakhouse near Arlington.” Joaquín is smooth, endlessly charming, and he knows it, too. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

A giggle bubbles from your chest as you nod, enthusiastic about the idea of going out on a date. “Took you long enough to ask me, Falcon,” You smile, cheeky as ever. “Thank you.”

Joaquín nods, sure of himself and emboldened, unable to keep from grinning. “Still got it,” He chimes, thumb still tracing patterns over your knuckles. “Do you think you could kiss me again? Heard it’s really crucial for recovery.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You mumble, but you’re leaning in before he has time to make another humorous remark.

Mouths meet again, passionate this time, and he wants nothing more to grab onto your hips and pull you with him. Maybe it’s a good thing, he thinks, unable to fully act on his own wants.

He’ll never let go of you once he gets his hands on you, that’s for certain.

The kiss lasts longer, lingers; he’s pouring all of his effort into it even when he’s bed-bound, eyes fluttering shut. You’re leaning in, mapping him out, something you’ve dreamed of doing for so long.

“Should get shot out of the sky more often if it means I get a kiss.” Joaquín murmurs against your lips, his own mouth twisting into a faint grin before you shake your head.

“If that happens again, I’m never kissing you, Joaq.” Teasingly, you plant a sly kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head right at the last second, capturing your lips again.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

[bllushbunniie]

reader is a gorgeous gorgeous girl obsessed with Charlotte Tilbury makeup- Spencer of course is always up for spoiling her

fem reader, 18+ for little dirty talk but mostly fluffy fluff, reader cries a little but boyf spence sorts it right out hehe

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

‘Oh my gosh Spencer, look’

Your shoulders were pulled back, hands clasped together, your eyes intently locked on the makeup cabinet in front of you.

This morning, he let you pull him all around the department stores, hands intertwined- but you were the one leading. He loved letting you lead. Especially when you were wearing that cute little pink midi skirt, littered with little flowers that swished when you took a step.

You were just out to buy your skincare products- ‘that’s all’ you told him. But he knew you couldn’t stop your eyes wandering to the more expensive, more luxurious looking products.

‘God, I just wish I had a full collection of Charlotte Tilbury products, Spence. She’s just.. she’s just, so.. me. Don’t you think?’

He smiled, squeezing your hand, of course he agreed. It was like the woman made these products just for you. You were glamorous, a bombshell, even. Each product was adorned with a signature rose gold shine, elegantly shaped containing expensive formulas.

They would be lucky to be owned by you, he thought.

He then spotted a lipstick that had its own little display.

‘Pillow talk, hm. This colour would look so pretty on you, lovely’, looking down at you, scanning your face. God, it would look good on you; the name ‘Pillow Talk’ sending his thoughts a little further than was appropriate for Sunday morning shopping.

He’d love to kiss it off of you. Letting it blur around both of your lips, then maybe you could do a little ‘pillow talk’ of your own-

‘Let me buy you this, please’, Spencer almost pleaded.

A little worried look took over your face.

‘I’m not so sure, Spence... As much as I’d love a gift off of you, it’s a little expensive- don’t you think?’, turning to face him, eyes stay staring at the glowing lipstick display.

‘We’re not doing this again, sweet girl. I work too much to not be able to spend the money on you.’

You don’t argue, because what could be better than receiving your first Charlotte Tilbury product as a sweet gift from your boyfriend?

‘Spence?’

‘Hm?’

‘You can put it on my lips for me when we get home, yeah?’

♡

‘I think we’re going to have to tone down our morning escapades, baby’

Spencer had a short work day today, thank god. He’d been working too much recently- so you enjoyed being his little haven to come home to.

Laughing, turning away from the boiling dinner dish, you walked over to greet him. He looked so yummy in his work clothes.

Your hand reaching out to grab his tie to drag him towards you, into your arms.

‘Why’s that, honey?’, tilting your head to the side like a confused little puppy.

‘Garcia spotted your little lipstick mark on my shirt’.

Oops.

‘It’s hardly my fault is it, Spence? You’re the one that pinned me down just as I was about to leave.’

He hummed, kissing your lips.

‘Oh it’s definitely you’re fault, c’mere’

♡

You’d been having a particularly difficult time at work.

Long days. Annoying clients.

‘I’m just so exhausted, Spence’, you manage to splutter out through tears. He had you wrapped in a little cocoon on your sofa, rocking you back and forth soothingly.

His lips never left the top of your head, little kisses and words of encouragement being uttered into you.

But Spencer knew everything would about to be alright. A little magical surprise that would turn your mood around.

He spotted it whilst shopping online yesterday.

He often saved items that he knew he’d like, he knew you too well.

It just so happened he ordered it at just the right time.

He imagined he could see your heart, it would probably look like this.

Glittered, golden and in the centre, a light pink jewel that looked charged with magic.

‘I think right now would be a good time to tell you that I got you a little gift today’, he admitted, squeezing oh so tighter around your body.

‘A gift?’, lifting your head to look at him.

He felt a little cruel, you looked so pretty when you cried. He wasn’t completely evil! Don’t get him wrong, it’s just.. your cheeks flush, your eyes glisten, and you cling to him like his life depending on it.

‘Yeah, a gift, my pretty girl. I think you’ll be pretty pleased. Open it for me.’

He reached his arm over the side of the sofa, unveiling a nondescript white paper bag.

Inside contained a little cardboard box. Stamped on top, a Charlotte Tilbury signature.

‘You didn’t’

‘Of course I did’ he whispers back.

Slowly taking out the box, unlocking its little paper lock, you were greeted with the cute little tissue paper- ripping it was going to be so fun.

A pink box greeted you, Beauty Soulmates Palette, what gorgeous name.

‘I had to pick between two shades. I know your skin colour by the hexadecimal, which then allowed me to calculate which blush would match the best- but we can always get the other shade if you want, of course you’re allowed to pick something else out if—-‘

‘Oh my God’

Revealing itself from inside the pink box, a golden glowing heart. It cushioned a pink jewel right in the centre of the compact. It was the most beautiful packaging you’d even seen.

Opening it up, the compact to reveal two perfect shades of pink. The formula was going to be the dreamiest thing you put on your skin, you’re sure of it.

‘Spence, oh my god!!!! C’mon, I want you to put it on for me!!!—- oh and then we can do your blush too!!!!’

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[seoulmatez]

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽

short scenarios in which you turn the blue lock boys on.

itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser x reader (separate) ﾉ 1.4 wc total ﾉ nsfw (MDNI!) ﾉ fingering ﾉ oral (m!receiving) ﾉ allusions to penetrative sex

₊˚ପ⊹ ITOSHI RIN

Waking up without you in bed is a rare occurrence for Rin. It's normal for him to rise before you and your absence would have worried him if it weren’t for the noise coming from the kitchen. He tosses the comforter aside, swinging his legs over the mattress before pulling a pair of sweats out from his dresser. After the elastic is tied neatly, he starts toward the kitchen where he’s sure he’ll find you.

Sure enough, the refrigerator is open and most of your figure is hidden behind the door. The sound of his approaching footsteps makes your head turn. You greet him with a smile. “Good morning, Rin.”

“Morning,” he returns.

“Want some coffee?” you ask, closing the door of the fridge with your hip. The action warrants Rin a good view of you. To his surprise, you’re wearing his dress shirt from last night. Only a few buttons are clasped in the middle, leaving your collarbone and the top of your chest on display. The shirt just barely covers your ass and he can see a peek of your pink, lacey panties beneath the garment.

“Earth to Rin. Coffee?” you ask with a laugh, sparing him a glance from your place in front of the counter. You can tell his mind is elsewhere when he still fails to respond and, instead, walks over to stand behind you. Your task becomes much more difficult when his arms wrap around you, lithe fingers dropping to toy with the hem of your panties.

The cool feel of his fingers creeping between your legs makes you shiver and causes you to think of the night before when they were buried in your cunt and rubbing sweet circles against your clit. You don’t remember how many times he had you come undone on just his fingers before he pulled out his cock. You abruptly clear your throat in a weak attempt to concentrate on the topic at hand. “Still waiting for an answer, Rin.”

He hums against your neck, pressing himself closer to you, effectively trapping you between the counter and his body. It’s impossible to ignore the feel of his erection against your ass and any intention you have to focus on breakfast is out the window. “Coffee can wait, I want you now.”

₊˚ପ⊹ SHIDOU RYUSEI

Steam seeps from the bathroom as you open the door, soft hums filling the silence of your shared bedroom while you grab the bottle of lotion from your vanity. A dip at the end of the mattress draws shidou’s magenta eyes up from his phone, to your mostly naked figure. Other than the short, fluffy towel wrapped around your torso, the expanse of your skin is on display.

That much catches his attention but the water dripping down from wet hair is what keeps it. Small drops of moisture roll down your neck and over the top of your breasts before soaking into the fabric of the towel. It makes Shidou imagine what lies beneath the cloth, makes him wonder if your nipples are hard and what they’d feel like between his fingers. The thoughts make the blood rush down to his dick, a smirk curling the corners of his lips upward.

You’re smoothing lotion on your legs when he meets you at the edge of the bed. There’s a look in his eyes that screams no good but you try to pay him no mind, rubbing the moisturizer into your skin. Though, it’s difficult to ignore him when his arms wrap around your waist and his lips latch onto your neck.

You lightheartedly attempt to swat him away but your efforts go unnoticed as your boyfriend continues to leave a trail of kisses up your pulse. A large hand comes up from your midsection to paw at your tits.

“Ryusei.” His name is meant to come out firmly but your voice is a lot more breathy than it was supposed to be. You clear your throat before continuing. “Cut it out, I just showered.”

“I'll make it quick,” Shidou breathes against your skin. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise and chips away at your resolve. You can feel his smile against you as he speaks his next words. “And I'll even pull out.”

₊˚ପ⊹ NAGI SEISHIRO

It never takes long for Nagi to get ready and he’s usually able to waste time on his phone while you finish putting yourself together. Though, today, his phone sits on the bedside table hooked up to the charger and a cloud of boredom lingers over the snowy-haired man’s head. With a sigh he turns from his spot on the bed so that he’s facing where you’re sitting at your vanity. Quietly watching you should make the time go by faster.

He isn't particularly knowledgeable about makeup, but he silently follows each of your movements, watches you pat what he thinks is blush onto your cheeks and paint your eyelashes with mascara. He doesn’t think much of it, that is, until you get to your lips.

His own part as you glide the applicator along the plump of yours, leaving a shiny gloss in its wake. It reminds him of the way your lips look when they’re smeared with his precum only moments before you take his aching cock in your mouth.

The thought alone makes his pants feel tighter. It makes him wish the two of you were doing something else right now—that your lips were sticky with something that wasn’t lipgloss. He wants to feel the warmth of your mouth around him, feel your tongue trace over each raised vein.

You catch sight of Nagi's blank stare in the reflection of your mirror. Returning the brush back to its tube, you rub your lips together before asking, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“What?” He blinks.

“You’re staring, Sei,” you tell him, meeting his eye in the mirror. “Does my makeup look bad? Is it too much?”

“No,” he clears his throat, “It’s pretty.”

You hum and nod, eyes falling to where his hand not-so-discreetly adjusts his pants. The bulge pressing against the cotton is hard to miss. You grin, spinning around on your stool to face him. “Want me to handle that before we leave?”

₊˚ପ⊹ MICHAEL KAISER

Kaiser isn’t so easily distracted, especially not when he’s on the field—even if it is merely for practice. Though, staying focused has become more difficult since you joined the team as an athletic trainer. Your presence on the field has exposed a new side of you, one that Michael hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing before but can certainly get used to.

He's supposed to be running drills now but his eyes keep drifting back to your figure on the sidelines. He can’t hear your conversation well, not unless he happens to be passing by, but from the bits he can gather, you’re not happy. Gone is the honeyed voice he’s grown used to. It’s replaced by one that’s much more firm and demanding, one that would tell anyone you mean business.

You yelling isn’t all that catches his attention—your stance does, too. Your arms are crossed against your chest, feet firmly planted in the grass. Even though you’re looking up at the man, you carry yourself as though it’s the other way around. No wonder his teammate on the receiving end of your lecturing looks so uneasy.

The thought of being in his poor teammates shoes makes the blood rush to Kaiser's cock. He can’t put his finger on why, but just imagining being at your mercy is enough to divert his attention from what he’s meant to be doing.

The moment you send the man away, Kaiser is rushing over to you, hopeful that some of your frustration from the interaction is lingering. He knows how adamant you are about keeping your personal and work life separate, so, in an attempt to be sure that you’re still a little annoyed, he approaches you from behind, wrapping you in a loose hug. “Damn, you’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“Not the time or place, Kaiser,” you grumble.

Something about you giving him the cold shoulder turns him on even more. There’s no way he’s going to be able to make it through practice in this state, not when the only thing he can think about is being beneath you.

“Come on, no one will mind if we step away for a bit.” A grin pulls at his lips with his next words. “Maybe I can help you blow off some steam.”

manon here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[strawberryg-cake]

When it rains... Albedo | Tighnari | Kazuha x reader (separately)

Category(?): Mostly fluff + spicy, so if you are a minor, please skip this one.

Hi! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ. Strawberry here again, it has been raining a lot in my country lately so I got the idea thanks to the horrible weather that ruined my last week of vacations from college... Anyways, I hope you like this one, enjoy! ♡

Pd: The only one that doesn't have a mini oneshot? It's Kazuha, but I just didn't want to make him look meh so I didn't add it, sorry (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠).

Pd (2): Albedo's one is a bit longer, I just got inspired bc I love my eternal genshin crush a bit too much. ごめんなさい(_ _;).

✧. ┊    POV:

"It's one of those days when the weather suddenly changes from sunny to pouring rain in the blink of an eye. You're alone with him—what kinds of things are the two of you doing together?"

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ─────────── · ·

❀ When it rains... Tighnari likes to cuddle with you. He wouldn’t even realize he wanted to at first, but due to his hybrid genes—which he’d be quick to point out if you dared tease or ask—he’d end up seeking you out and wrapping you in bed with him.

❀ His tail would curl around your waist, and his arms wouldn’t do anything other than hug you and keep you close. It’s probably the way his body and instincts tell him to seek warmth and stay near his mate. He might even use your shoulder as a pillow.

❀ If you dared to caress his soft, fluffy ears, he might let out a sound he’d never admit to making… Yes, he purred—but don’t you dare mention it, lol.

❀ Eventually, he’ll kiss you and start teasing you a bit—just because Tighnari enjoys seeing your reactions and how your sweet scent shifts to something deeper, more intense. “W-why was that?” Your ears are already red, and you try to put some distance between you two to avoid dying from embarrassment—but this only makes him hug you tighter and ask, “Where do you think you’re going?” Yeah, good luck trying to get away.

❀ If you return the kiss, things will definitely get a bit spicier. His hands shift from a cute, innocent hug to something a little more exploratory—going from gently touching your face to sliding his hot, bare palms under your shirt, caressing your waist and then your back. His tail will flick once before wrapping around your thigh—an unconscious way to anchor you there. And yes, his cheeks would be just a little pink... but only a little, okay?

❀ He’ll eventually let you breathe—take a break from being wrapped up with him in bed—and head off to prepare something warm like tea. He might work on the forest rangers’ schedule or dive into his latest research while you read nearby. But don’t stray too far—if the weather gets a bit colder, he’ll definitely wrap you back in bed with him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

There you were again, wrapped in his bed. Tighnari wasn’t the type to be clingy or seek out cuddles, so having him almost lying over you was, indeed, a surprise. His usually well-prepared attire had been swapped for something more comfortable and warm. His long, fluffy bicolor tail flicked when your hands moved from stroking his hair to gently brushing over his ears.

“Do you like it?” The tease in your voice was clear, making him lift his head slightly.

“Don’t treat me like a pet,” he replied, but the way his ears twitched at your touch—and the fact that he didn’t pull away—betrayed how much he enjoyed your hands on them. One of his ears twitched dangerously when you applied a bit more pressure with your fingers. His breath hitched, and you only smiled like an innocent girl who had no idea what she was doing.

“I would never dare to do such a thing—!”

Too late. You felt him shift, and the next thing you knew, he was over you—his lips pressed against yours, one bare hand slipping under your shirt to rest on your waist, while the other pinned your hand away from his ears. Your cheeks flushed deep red as his body pressed over yours, his tail curling around your leg like a chain.

“Much better…” Tighnari murmured against your lips, his breath slightly heavier, while your face burned with embarrassment.

“W-what do you…?” Your eyes tried to avoid his—pretty hard to do when his forehead was pressed against yours and you could already feel his breath brushing your lips. He smiled slightly.

“It’s a bit cold outside…” His voice dropped a tone, dangerously low. “I thought it’d be a good idea to raise your body temperature a little. Stay warm, you know?” The fact that he was speaking right over your lips wasn’t helping you focus.

“I-I’m already warm, thank you…” You pointed to his tail, wrapped tightly around your leg.

“It’s the fur,” he replied, as composed as ever. The way he effortlessly shifted from dominant fox to calm scholar made you laugh.

“And the genes,” you added, giggling—until his warm hand moved from your waist, slowly exploring upward, lifting your shirt just enough to leave you breathless.

There was the faintest pink on his cheeks.

“Maybe… I’m not warm enough,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. His eyes locked on yours, a smirk tugging at his lips—before his gaze darkened into something more primal, intense.

“Good,” he murmured. “I wasn’t letting you go anyway.”

Good luck. You will need it.

✧. ┊    Let's pretend this man doesn't spend 99.9% of his time at SpineDragon ok? Ok.

❀ When it rains... Albedo likes to spend his time with you—probably at his tiny, cozy house or yours. The two of you would be reading in front of the fireplace, or he’d be sketching in silence while simply enjoying your company.

❀ You’d end up talking about his latest experiment or exchanging theories about a topic you’ve both been studying. Eventually, he’d get up to make something warm—not because he particularly needs it, but because he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and warm enough.

❀ If you’re into art, Albedo would show you some of his sketches, explaining in more detail the ones related to his research and how they help deepen his understanding. That would only make him more attractive in your eyes—smart guys are hot, and Albedo? He’s a genius... even hotter.

❀ Eventually, you’d end up undoing his hair and gently running your fingers through it—maybe even massaging his scalp a little without realizing it. It’s something he finds relaxing… not that you’d notice right away, since he’s not exactly the most expressive man, if you know what I mean.

❀ “You seem to enjoy playing with my hair… Is that something I should keep in mind?” Boom. He noticed. And of course, you blushed. Being the curious man he is, Albedo would absolutely pay close attention to your body language… and while he won’t admit it out loud, he’s quite fond of your facial expressions.

❀ The way your eyes soften when you look at him, how you smile without realizing when he explains something complicated… He notices it all—and loves it. Albedo would even take mental (and physical) notes of what makes you react.

Not because he sees you as an experiment, but because he’s never felt something quite like this before. So naturally, he treats it the way he approaches anything that fascinates him—carefully, thoroughly, and always with the intent to ensure you’re comfortable.

❀ He wouldn’t seek physical contact... directly. But he’s clever, and he’d find ways to make you initiate it without even realizing. If he catches you looking at his lips, he’d lean in just slightly. If you do the same, he’d tilt his head a bit more—and before you know it, you’re kissing him.

❀ His hands would start on your cheeks, gentle and deliberate. But if things escalate and you end up on top of him, his hands would move to your waist—holding you close, but never forcing. Like I said, this man is hyper-aware of your reactions, and he would never want to make you uncomfortable.

❀ Also, he wouldn’t deny how much he enjoys the feel of your lips on his, your body pressed against his, your hands tangled in his pale blond hair... or how you reacted when he applied just a bit of pressure to your waist. He didn’t dislike any of it—in fact, he found it quite enjoyable. An experiment he’d very much like to continue... to explore every new reaction and response you give him.

❀ Almost unconsciously, one of his hands would drift to your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. And if you noticed and got flustered, he’d glance down and say, “Oh—my apologies... Would you like me to move it?” Because, of course, Albedo respects your boundaries. But if you don’t say yes, he’ll leave it there—his thumb slowly stroking your skin, making you acutely aware of his touch. “Shall we continue?” Yeah, that would be exactly what pushes you over the edge—hiding your face in his shoulder, your voice a muffled squeak: “Albedo!”

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

You didn’t know how the two of you had ended up in that situation. But you didn’t dislike it either.

Your hands were tangled in his hair—that beautiful, pale blond, always slightly messy hair of his. His bare and ever-efficient hands rested on your thighs... And his lips—Archons, the two of you had kissed before, but you could never get enough. The softness of them, how they responded to yours with equal or even greater intensity when you deepened the kiss.

A sudden clap of thunder made you flinch, breaking the kiss. Both of you were left breathing heavily, staring at one another. His deep blue eyes locked on yours with unwavering intensity. No trace of shyness, just a quiet fire that made your cheeks burn. A faint pink dusted his own.

"Did the thunder scare you?" he asked, his breath brushing your lips, nose grazing yours. You weren’t sure if it was the heat in the room or something else, but your body felt unusually sensitive. So when his thumbs began to draw gentle circles on your thighs, you had to bite your cheek just to keep from making a sound.

He noticed—of course he did—but said nothing.

"A little..." you whispered, voice trembling just enough to betray your flustered state.

Another rumble of thunder made you close your eyes again.

"It's fascinating," his voice brought you back, eyes fluttering open just in time to catch the faint smile playing on his lips. Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in just a little more. "The way you can be scared and yet look so dangerously cute... I find it intriguing."

Your entire body burned at that. Now it wasn’t just your cheeks—you could feel the heat creeping into your ears too.

"I-I’m not your experiment...!" you replied, shy and breathless.

"I never said that," he replied, lips brushing dangerously close to yours. "But I must admit... your reactions stir my curiosity, even now."

Albedo was being far too honest for your sanity.

"A-Albedo!" you protested—though not truly upset. You loved it. "And what do you mean by—?" you began, only to pause when you caught the faintest smirk tug at his lips, like he had been waiting for you to ask.

"Allow me to show you..."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, though still composed. Controlled. It was the kind of kiss that left you breathless, unable to think straight. One of his hands slid back to your waist, anchoring you close to him. Holding you there, exactly where he wanted you.

"There it is..." he whispered against your lips, sounding pleased—like an experiment had just confirmed his hypothesis.

"W-what...?" you breathed out, confused—until he explained.

"Your eyes," he murmured, gaze locking onto yours. "The way you look at me after we kiss. Your voice, when you're trying so hard not to lose composure. It’s..." He leaned in just a little more, voice dipping lower. "...unreasonably distracting."

Congratulations. You were now incapable of forming words. Entirely flustered. Embarrassed. Because how could he say that so calmly, while your entire system was currently malfunctioning?!

And if you tried to move away? Those pretty hands of his would gently stop you, keeping you right there.

"Wait," he said softly, "please... stay still for me. Just a bit longer."

And really... how could you say no to him?

❀ When it rains... Kazuha enjoys reciting haikus about you. He does it quietly, to himself, while watching the rain and thinking about you—because he's in love, and as a poet, he can’t help but find inspiration in everything that reminds him of you.

❀ So, if you find him and sit quietly beside him, he’ll welcome your presence with a soft smile, both of you simply watching the rain pour. Eventually, his hand will find yours, fingers intertwining gently. He’ll glance at you, and as your cheeks begin to heat from his gaze, he’ll softly recite one of those sweet verses—about you.

❀ Kazuha is gentle, composed, and respectful. But he won't deny that he enjoys the way your face turns red from his words. If he finds you especially adorable, he might lean in to place a small kiss on your cheek, just to tease you—and grin quietly when your ears flush red.

❀ If you don’t mind and the rain isn’t falling too heavily, he’ll take your hand and lead you outside. Hand in hand, walking beneath the drizzle, he’ll stop, gaze into your eyes, kiss you tenderly and whisper: “You are more breathtaking in the rain than any view I’ve seen in all my travels.”

❀ Once the two of you return indoors and change into dry clothes, Kazuha will prepare something warm—most likely tea—and tell you old legends from his homeland, Inazuma. Your favorite becomes the tale of a rain spirit and the traveler who fell in love with it.

❀ Eventually, as the room fills with the warmth of tea and stories, he’ll kiss you again, this time pulling you into his lap. At first, his touch is innocent—gentle hands on your waist, lips softly brushing yours. But little by little, his kisses trail to your neck, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, and his fingers begin to hold you more intentionally.

And you? You’re completely undone. Flustered. Breathless. But you can’t deny that you like it.

[stxxrlights]

𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

boy next door!geto who you welcomed so warmly the day he moved into the apartment next to you. helping him carry some his boxes upstairs to his new place which surprisingly, was right nest door to yours.

boy next door!geto who would go out and come back to his apartment the same as you almost everyday. you would head for college while he's going for a run early in the morning. always smiling brightly at you.

boy next door!geto who started engaging in small talk with you, trying to get to know you better. what foods you likes, the type of shows you like, your favourite colour. whatever it is, he's happy to know that about you.

boy next door!geto who let's you play with his white fluffy dog named satoru. he seemed to take quite an interest with you. always jumping and barking excitedly whenever he sees you. and he's not small either. he causes you to fall on the ground as he jumps onto you and licks your face.

boy next door!geto who really enjoys your company and values it a lot. he thinks your and interesting person in general. he mostly asks you to accompany him to the laundry mat because why not.

boy next door!geto who would get you groceries when he sees you ordering takeout for almost an entire week. anything to help out his cute little neighbour since you've been so busy with school.

boy next door!geto who eventually asks for your number. giving excuses like, "i need someone to call incase something happens you know. you're the only one i trust here anyways", he winks playfully at you. but once he does, he's going back into his apartment and silent screaming that you took his number.

boy next door!geto who would invite you on his morning and evening walks when he's walking satoru. claiming since he gets so excited around you, he's gonna have more energy and actually get some exercise. he just loves talking to you about absolute nonsense, often smiling at you as satoru trots happily infront of you.

boy next door!geto who's feelings started to get stronger for you. his heart beating a little faster, his palms getting sweatier and he's stuttering more than usual, which he never does, around you. he doesn't understand, but he likes the way you make him feel.

boy next door!geto who couldn't help but smile whenever you cross his thoughts. he could just be laying on his bed staring at the ceiling and he randomly remembers the stupid joke you told him and the pretty smile on your face. he sighs contentedly and knew he had to make you his.

boy next door!geto who started taking your opinions very seriously. "your hair look grwat in a bun", you commented one day and suddenly, he's hair is almost always styled in a bun.

boy next door!geto who would subtly try to woo you into liking him as much as he likes you. throwing compliments whenever he deemed necessary, making you laugh with his jokes and sometimes buying you things and food and tiny trinkets to get his way into your kind heart.

boy next door!geto who would leave chocolates and other sweets you mentioned liking at your door step in secret. you would always find them after you got back from school. they never failed to make your day and you knew who it was, but you didn't tell him. you infact started liking him a little too

boy next door!geto who meticulously planned the perfect moment to confess to you. asking you to go somewhere with him where you found a picnic table set up as you watched the sunset.

boy next door!geto who could not stop his heart from exploding in his chest when you smiled and laughed and confessed your feelings for him as well. he was at a loss for words. his cheeks dusted pink and he's shaking a little not believing that this is happening. overjoyed, he pulls you in for a big hug. whispering 'i love you' over and over again.

boy next door!geto who feels like the happiest man on earth, to have the most beautiful, gorgeous, kind and absolutely adorable neighbour as his girlfriend, and in the near future...his wife.

comments and reblogs are appreciated

[levigarden999]

♡︎ levi ackerman headcanons ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

fluffy , sweet headcanons about our tough softie ♡⋆˙

୨୧ levi loves gardening. especially after the war when the world had changed to something more peaceful, he found new ways to enjoy his retirement and momentarily forget about the traumas he had gone through. he loves to see the results when he had pulled out the weeds and planted new flowers in the ground. of course, he uses gloves and mostly works only with his healthy hand, but he has noticed how a beautiful, clean backyard somehow puts his mind at ease.

୨୧ levi has poor peripheral circulation. that is manifested by his hands being cold all the time and his skin feeling cooler. even though levi has gotten used to feeling cold most of the time, he still enjoys warmth. that's why he always dresses up in long sleeved shirts and often wears a longer jacket on his shoulders (like in the season 2) if he needs to.

୨୧ related to the previous topic, levi also loves to sleep snuggled under the blanket. i know you would probably believe that levi is sort of a hyper-sensitive and neurotic person, that he would hate the feeling of being firmly tugged under the heat of a blanket. however, i think it's the other way around. because levi probably has the fear of being attacked during the night since he had always had a lot of enemies, especially back in his youth in the underground, he enjoys the feeling of safety during his sleep. that's why the blanket swaddling his whole body brings a sense of comfort and peace to him.

୨୧ in a relationship, levi would never judge you by your appearance. in his eyes, you’d be the most beautiful person in the whole world, no fucking matter what you looked like. he is a feminist and due his negative experiences with men, he feels more natural among women/nonbinary company.

[snail-day]

Thinking about how unhinged it would be to date/marry Sukuna. He's not exactly a normal man. Curse? Man? Who knows.

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Sukuna threatening to eat you (as a joke), pregnancy, its sukuna so...be warned? Fluffy. MDNI.

------

Sukuna uses the threat “I’m going to eat you” a little too often.

He thinks it’s funny. Thinks your wide-eyed horror is adorable. His sweet little dove, so gullible, so easy to spook. Every time he leans in close and whispers it low against your pulse, breath fanning the soft, sensitive skin. You flinch, unaware about how fond he is of you. Like you haven’t caught the way he watches you sleep, strokes your back when you’re sick, presses his palm over your belly now with something bordering on affection.

He doesn’t kiss your cheek like some sweet prince. No instead he bites. Sharp enough to leave little indents. Licks over the tender skin when you whine. Chuckles when you complain, pinching your hip or smoothing his hand over the curve of your stomach and muttering, “Just waiting until you’re nice and plump. Ripe.”

You thought it was a joke. Probably a joke. Actually, you aren't sure. You've heard the stories. The legends.

But then you got pregnant. And suddenly, every offhanded comment hit different.

Especially the time he said as his crimson eyes flicking lazily to your stomach, “If it’s a girl, I’ll eat it. So you better pray I get a son.”

You laughed. Nervously. Until you walked into the kitchen one day and found Uraume sharpening a long, glinting knife - expression blank as ever, as they asked, “Have you figured out the gender yet?”

You cried.

You cried all the way back to Sukuna, your pretty little body shaking as you sobbed into the warmth of his chest, pleading not to eat the baby. Or you. But mostly the baby. Please please please, you’ll be good, you’ll do anything.

Sukuna was a bit lost.

Sitting there, robes split open, a hand resting on your swollen belly, blinking down at you in baffled silence. His peachy brows furrowed as you hiccuped and clutched at him, and then, finally, he let out a low laugh and cupped your cheeks in his big, warm palms.

“You haven’t realized I’m joking, little dove?” he crooned, tilting your face up to meet his amused, if slightly exasperated, gaze. “You think I care if it’s a girl or boy? They’re going to be strong either way.”

You sniffled, lip wobbling. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m honest.”

“You said you’d eat them.”

“I also said I’d eat you,” he reminded you smugly, brushing his thumb under your eye. “And look at you. Still in one piece.”

You huffed, trembling against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. A rare gesture, one he only gave when he knew he’d pushed you just a little too far.

“…Besides,” he added, voice a low, teasing purr against your skin. “You’re out of your prime now. Too sweet. I don’t care for sweets.”

You slapped his arm, weakly.

He just laughed again, holding you tighter. Because you always fall for it. And deep down, a selfish part of him likes that you’re just scared enough to cling to him when you’re unsure. Because fear keeps things close. And close is exactly where he wants you.

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[ilium-ilia]

you're an angel // i'm a dog; masterlist

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega! reader | read on ao3

Kyle Garrick is an amicable man. Always cordial, everyone would agree that he's an exemplary soldier. Especially for a beta. At least, that's what he wants everyone to think. Choking down hormone suppressants for the last handful of years has kept him level headed and reliable on the field, something he tells himself he must maintain in order to keep himself and his allies safe. Things get a little complicated when the main offices hires a sweet new secretary who seems to render those suppressants useless.

a/n: this is another work that i intend to be mostly fluffy, but i'll tag things as i see fit, overall; alpha!gaz, omega!reader, suppressants, heat mention, claiming, medical talk, smut, claiming

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

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