#ASKING IF HE CAN HARM HIMSELF AND SAYING “CAT”

[nordicbananas]

the thing about having a friend that's really hard to read is you don't know if they're joking or not

(tw in the tags for mentions of someone else 'joking' about killing themselves)

[k2ntoss]

hihi, it me, back again with more jason brain rot, this time brought to you by this random Instagram reel i saw while having dinner lol

anyway, just imagine this with Jay?? like, warm cozy domestic hugs and kisses in the middle of the kitchen?? simple domestic bliss?? absolute dreammmmmm 😭😭

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3nuMFVMRhe/?igsh=MXhqMWdtYTQxbDNqMw==

-🦊

ps. hope you're doing well lovely, miss you <3

i crave and need fluff bc i love me a little sweet jason !!!!!!!!!!! (i'm single and i want a nice relationship) i can't see the reel now BUUUUUT i'm gonna do my magic and be a simp and this could be a second fluffy part to that drabble with subby jason having to skip patrol after getting good head from his gf hehehe you can read thar here

sometimes having your girlfriend to call sick for you so you can take a rest earns you three well deserved days to sleep late and have comforting hours without having to worry about patching wounds or chasing after criminals.

so after a night of being completely unable to move from bed because of how dizzy his head was, he's clumsily going out of the bedroom looking for you, rubbing his eyes to try and push his tiredness away because he didn't liked the feeling of waking up after you, when you had already left the bed and he isn't able to pull you closer and kiss you right away.

it's funny to see him like that, while you wait on the living room drinking a cup of coffee for him to wake up you're able to see him walk out of the room still half asleep but he looks just too cute. jason is a 6ft tall guy, big as a wall and rough but there he was, dragging his feet, his hair all fluffy and the black hoodie he wore to sleep looking messy; you can see him walk to the kitchen and he grunts softly when he sees nobody there but as soon as he turns around he spots you.

you know what jason is about to trap you under his body but damned be his long legs because you're not able to properly set your cup aside when jason is letting his weight fall over you like a tired cat "wait, baby... the coffee" you say between giggles but it's too late when your boyfriend is cuddling himself into your arms, hugging your waist and nuzzling his face against your neck "good morning, jay"

"g' morning, princess..." he mutters, voice is still hoarse but sweet as he greets you "why were you out of bed?" jason asks, kissing softly a small trail in your neck as you wrap one of your legs around his waist.

"were you looking for me, love? i thought about making breakfast for you before you woke up..." you say softly, trying to move and lean a bit to leave your cup on the table but failing when he just cuddles more into your chest making you chuckle softly "you looked so pretty sleeping i couldn't wake you up... are you still tired, red?" and that nickname makes him grin goofily, he loves the way it sounds when you call him that and even more as you keep babying him with soft pecks on his forehead.

"i feel like i could sleep for a month... but only if you're there with me" jason's voice is a low rumble, his words sending shivers through her spine and that mixed with how sweet it was knowing that he wanted you by his side even when his last months as the red hood had been so tiring.

"want to make breakfast with me and then we go eat on bed? we could watch a movie, does that sound good?" you ask him, reaching to cup jason's face between your hands and pressing a soft kiss on his lips which he gladly accepts with a soft purr leaving his throat.

he nods and you can swear he's never looked so calm before, so well rested and it was just what he needed more than anything. jason was sure he had done a lot of harm and there would be days when he didn't feel like deserving you but right now, having his sweet girlfriend to look at him like he hung up the moon and stars makes him feel worthy of love and care, even the big bad red hood deserved to be babied after all.

"then let's go, big guy" you say, starting to squirm in a failed attempt to slide from under jason's body and he chuckles at it before moving with you on his arms, picking your body up and walking to the kitchen as he lets soft kisses fall to your cheeks and neck before putting you back down.

and the morning goes like that, jason wishes he could get more of this. the way you walk around the kitchen as he tries to help, pouting softly when you don't let him do everything because he has to rest, he loves the warmth he feels on his chest as you walk past him and he pulls you back to steal a kiss from your lips before you try to walk away only to end up with him clinging to your back, kissing the top of your head as you cook.

[scoutpologist]

NO PRONOUNS FAQ

How do I even do that?

There are multiple methods for referring to those who use no pronouns, shown below. (Examples here taken from this page, a very good resource.)

Use names or initials instead of pronouns

I talked to him yesterday → I talked to Sky yesterday.

She is really beautiful → Soph is really beautiful.

Her graduation starts soon → J's graduation starts soon.

Passive voice

He answered the phone → The phone was answered.

Wen takes good care of her cat → Wen's cat is well cared for.

Rephrasing the sentence (circumlocution)

Lior did it all by himself → Lior did it all without any help.

Gael talks in his sleep → Gael talks while sleeping.

Replacing a pronoun with a descriptive noun or phrase

She landed the plane safely → The pilot landed the plane safely.

This is Lea, she is into painting → This is Lea. My friend is into painting.

She argues that… → The person who started this discussion argues that…

Dropping pronouns

Did you buy Tex her gift? → Did you buy Tex a gift?

Yes, I bought it for her. I will give it to her tomorrow. → Yes, I bought it. I will give it tomorrow.

Why not just use they/them?

For many people who use no pronouns, the issue with they/them pronouns is the implication of a neutral gender rather than no gender. Nonbinary people have often been lumped into a “third gender” category, and for agender/genderless people, this feels just as restrictive as having to “settle for” a binary gender. They/them pronouns can feel like being forced into another category, especially as the popular perception of people outside the binary has become a monolith, and can be very dysphoria-inducing.

Who can use no pronouns? 

Anyone! Most commonly, this specific way of expressing oneself is used by agender/genderless people, but anyone can use no pronouns if that’s what that person wants. 

Can I include you in group pronouns? (Example: They all went to the beach.)

It’s up to the person whether or not that’s alright, but I’d wager most of us would say that yes, that’s fine! It can’t hurt to ask.

Are second person pronouns alright to use?

Same as above. Most would find it perfectly fine, but if there’s ever doubt, please ask!

Isn’t that transphobic? 

When asked for sincerely, this is not transphobic. Some transphobic people might say they “don’t have pronouns” in order to make fun of trans people. There is a big difference between someone genuinely stating their preferred pronouns (or lack thereof) and being transphobic. 

Are you trolling?/Is this satire?

No, this is not a joke or an attempt at making anyone look bad. If you asked if this is satire, I also urge you to take a look at what satire actually is and it’s history as a form of comedy. Trolling and bait are not satire.

Aren’t you harming the community with this?/This will make transphobes think we're stupid!

I am, by definition, a trans person just trying to be comfortable. I am part of the community. While people inside the community can definitely harm it, expressing myself in a way that makes me most comfortable is not harmful towards anyone. If transphobes think I'm stupid, I can't stop them. They'll think I'm stupid no matter what.

How do I try these out for myself? I think this might be for me!

Here's a website that allows the user to input a name and ask for no pronouns in a sample sentence. No matter your conclusion, I wish you the best on your journey of discovery!

[nyursi]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘!

꒰ † ੭‎��NSFW 18+ㅤ(MDNI)...  well, the favonius church's choir had a spectacular ensemble. one stood out in particular.ㅤノㅤnot proofread.

ᡴꪫ‎ TODAY'S SPECIAL!ㅤkaeya alberich.

WOULD YOU LIKE SPRINKLES? (っω=`)ㅤm!rdr, religious themes,  kaeya jacks off to you cause he's horny, drabble.

                 ㅤ ⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝

Call it irony or whatever, but the fact that Kaeya still attended church while drunk and out of his mind was pretty funny. Of course, considering that Sister Rosaria was no better than the Cavalry Captain— Kaeya let go of all his guilt and entered the Holy grounds anyway.

Besides, spending an hour in here was all worth it, as Kaeya had his eye on a special someone.

You were close with Barbara, and a few months younger than Jean, so your relationship with the sisters certainly helped you settle in Mondstadt. A long time ago, when you first came to the humble city, Kaeya was oddly pleased to see a feline roaming the streets. Save for Diona, who was too busy handling the Cat's Tail.

And you can call him weird, obsessive, strange. But can you blame him? With your honey-toned voice constantly singing during Mass— who could resist the urge to hear more? Truly, locals adored you. Even if there was a whole ensemble in the stands, it was you who stood out and took the spotlight. Kaeya was no better.

It was just another day for him. Rosaria was his close friend, and since she paid for the booze he drank last time, he owed her. And thus, when she asked to accompany her at the Church, Kaeya begrudgingly complied. Really— he was so ready to take a seat and get some shut eye. They arrived a few minutes earlier, so what harm could be done?

Not 5 minutes passed and he was already awoken. "Uhm, excuse me...?" A soft voice he heard. Gentle shaking on his shoulder. Kaeya hummed, not ready to wake up just yet. Nonetheless, he opened his eye, ready to throw some passsive agressive remark at whoever dared to stop his slumber.

But shit.

"Sir? Mass is starting soon, it would be very disrespectful to sleep through it!" Not a word made it through Kaeya's ears, too busy listening to the angelic melody that suddenly praised him when he looked at you. Clothing that those in the Church wore daily, something so innocent, pure and white, somehow became unholy with the way it clung to your figure. He couldn't help the way his eyes trailed down, down, down, til' they landed on your shorts.

Tight and snug. They barely looked like shorts with how high up they were. But Kaeya wasn't complaining— not at all.

And fuck— was that a thigh belt? Kaeya gulped, seeing the shining vision dangling on your thigh. To keep himself from any more thoughts, he quickly looked up at you.

Ah. You were staring.

Did he look weird? Was it obvious he eyed you like some treat? As if he were a kid, drooling for candy? Or did you find him handsome? Attractive like he did you.

"Ah, my apologies. Thank you for waking me up." He chuckled, scratching his scalp as if he were guilty. You crossed your arms and pouted, lips puckered and Kaeya had an urge to suck on them. "It's alright, but please be more attentive. We're starting soon." You reminded, before turning around, heading to the stands.

And if you felt a burning glare on your behind, Kaeya prayed you believed it to be your imagination.

Safe to say that first interaction guaranteed many more to come. Kaeya was greedy, a selfish man who had not one, but two addictions.

Alcohol was just his mistress.

So he kept coming. Anytime he could, Kaeya attended Mass like he was a Saint. Rosaria called him crazy, but he couldn't deny that claim. He would go mad if there was not a single glimpse he could catch of the cute singer.

He found it funny how something so innocent managed to catch the attention of a dirty man.

One time, you made a particular face when the sun got caught in your eyes. Your eyes squinted, lips pulled in a small frown, and Kaeya imagined that to be the face you made if he ever came on it.

Yeah. He was fucked.

At some point his right hand became sore with his nightly activities, accompanied by the repeating scenarios in his mind that fueled his desire even more. Kaeya couldn't wait any sooner.

He wanted you. He needed you.

Kaeya attended the next days Mass, clean as ever. As if he didn't spend last night fucking his fist to you, until the sun rose. Groaning and wishing that it was you around his cock, not his left hand. (He had to alternate.)

He couldn't handle it. Every time he saw you, thoughts would pop up in his head in the most random places. He walks past you in the streets? All of a sudden he imagines breeding you on the cobble path. A glimpse of your cat ears from afar? He dreams of tugging and biting at them. The worst one that ever happened was at Church.

Kaeya frequented the place so much that you eventually grew a friendship. Greeting him whenever you saw the tall, sunkissed, eye-patch wearing man. One time, while waiting for Mass to start, you actually sat down beside him to talk. He had to fight off a boner.

One of the Deacons dropped the long candle, and you, ever kind and pure, stood up to get it for them. Soon as you bent down, Kaeya shamelessly eyed your butt. He always did that, but what caught his eye were your cute little balls, snug against the thin fabric of your shorts.

Either they were that tight, or you decided to go commando.

Kaeya hoped it to be the latter.

Not only was he blessed with the sight of your buttocks, full and plump, but your round balls too. Kaeya wanted to pinch them. Squeeze, suck, fondle, put them in his mouth— he didn't care. As long as he got to touch your sweet cheeks too.

If holding in a boner while taking to you was hard, this was a lot more extreme. Not to mention your cute tail; that dangled and swayed, urging him to pull on it.

"Oh dear! Sir Kaeya! You're bleeding!" You exclaimed, hurriedly taking out a cloth napkin from your pocket. Wiping at the blood that dribbled down his nose. "Are you alright? Perhaps you should miss out on today. Please get some rest."

He didn't even fight back, too shell-shocked at the fact he got a fucking nosebleed from that. But hey, at least he has your napkin!

And if he returns it to you the next day; sticky, crumpled, and wet? Don't question it.

vanillaclaws 2024. do not repost.

[suashii]

𝒮𝒫𝒪𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒟 — kuroo tetsuro x reader. 0.7 wc. sfw. fluff.

today was normal in every aspect. morning routines within the apartment went smoothly and you and your boyfriend had decent days out before returning home for the evening. the two of you cooked and ate dinner together, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in hours. and when you finished, kuroo, being the gentlemen he is, offered to clean up the table and take care of the dishes while you began washing up.

“have you seen my sleep shorts, tetsu? the blue ones,” you call out from the bedroom.

kuroo had been responsible for the laundry this week. he’s usually good about making sure he doesn’t leave any lone garments in the washer or dryer and he clearly recalls folding the specific pair of shorts you’re asking about. he must have put them away with his clothing by mistake.

“check my top drawer,” he yells over his shoulder, hoping his voice is loud enough to carry over the running water. he hums to himself as he rinses off the last dish, setting it on the drying rack. it’s only when kuroo is shaking the soapy water from his hands that he realizes his mindless blunder. he has been purposely trying to keep you out of his side of the dresser for the past few weeks so as to conceal a certain object.

“wait, don’t look in there!” water drips from the tips of his fingers as he rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall to stop you from finding what he’s been trying so hard to keep hidden.

though, when he finally reaches the doorway of your bedroom, you’re frozen. seems like he was a little too late.

“what’s this?” you inquire, clasping a small velvet box in your shaky hand. your eyes slowly drag away from the unexpected discovery and meet kuroo’s frantic ones.

“… a ring.” if his hands weren’t already covered in suds, kuroo is sure they’d be sweating beyond his control. you weren’t supposed to find that for at least a couple more weeks. scratch that—you weren’t supposed to find it at all.

“for me?” you question, your tone more steady and even than before.

“perhaps,” he answers.

“perhaps? don’t tell me i’m the side piece,” you try to joke. you know there’s no way kuroo would be unfaithful, but you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around the events playing out before your eyes.

“of course not. i just meant that i never got to ask before you found it.” he shrugs, finally stepping past the threshold of the doorway and into the room. “i didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

no matter how hard you try, you can’t think of a time when the air felt so tense between the two of you. knowing that you are partially to blame, albeit unintentionally, you clear your throat with the goal of resolving the mess that you created. “i know you weren’t planning on it, but you can do it now.”

“do what?” he asks, caving and wiping what was left of the foam from his hands onto his pants.

“propose, dummy.” you toss the box to kuroo, which he catches effortlessly. “that’s what the ring is for, right?”

“yeah…”

“then do it. i have my answer.”

a bright shade of red flushes across kuroo’s cheek as he considers your words. you’re right, he had no intention of proposing so soon, but now that the cat is out of the bag, it only makes sense to. even simply thinking of it is nerve-wracking, yet the thought of walking on eggshells around you until he builds up his courage sounds even worse. so, he buries the jitters ravaging his body before opening the box and kneeling down on one knee.

“will you—”

“yes!” your feet are moving on their own, launching you into kuroo’s chest. your body crashing into his sends him flying backward, his back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. he doesn’t have time to focus on the discomfort of it all before you’re showering his cheeks and forehead in excited kisses.

“you didn’t even let me finish the question,” kuroo chuckles, pulling the ring from its case and sliding it onto your fourth finger. 

“i already ruined your original plan, no harm in cutting the formalities short.” you hold your hand out to inspect the jewelry, a wide smile spreading across your face.

“i guess you’re right,” kuroo agrees, lovingly gazing at you.

“not to ruin the moment any further,” you start, fighting back a laugh, “but we really need to have a talk about your horrible hiding place.”

[bwabys-scenarios]

vampire kurapika thoughts? :D

Vampire Kurapika HCs SFW/NSFW

!!REBLOGS OPEN!!

warnings: period sex, creampie, breeding, pussy eating

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha @ashdownunderscorebeloved @stygianoir @lightshowerrr @highbats69

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

SFW

-he is very hesitant to bite you. if you tell him it’s okay, and that you even want it, me may nibble you. although he LOVES the taste of your blood, he gets anxious hurting you and feeding from you in a way that could potentially harm you if he takes too much. he prefers to feed from you in… other ways.

-he is COLD to the touch, so he has a bad habit of snuggling up to you and putting his hands under your shirt to get warm. vampires can only feel warmth when touching humans or consuming blood, so let’s just say he’s very touchy.

-he’s been alone for centuries, forcing himself into a life of solitude out of fear that he would be hunted down, or that he would hurt someone. so when you, the cutest human he’s ever seen wants to spend time with him, he gets clingy and FAST

-Kurapika is so clingy, following you around at night and watching over you. you end up changing your sleep schedule a bit so you can be up with him more often, since he rests during the day. he doesn’t sleep, but gets a bit lethargic and wouldn’t be in the mood for anything but cuddles. so if you want you want to do any sort of activity with him, it has to happen in the evening to the early morning when he’s awake and energized

-again, this man is clingy and he is TOUCH STARVED!! he wants constant attention and affection, even if he’s a bit shy asking for it. he’s been alone for so long, and he loves you so much! please give him all the snuggles and kisses he wants :(

-his protective and possessive tendencies border on yandere. you’re his treasure, his precious little angel, he won’t let anyone take you away from him.

-he has a few cat like behaviors. first, he purrs! it’s so cute, but don’t point it out or he’ll become self conscious. another thing he does is knead at any of your soft spots, like your tummy or thighs. anything that’s nice and soft and perfect for squishing! he also tends to curl up with your forehead warmth like a cat as well :3

NSFW

-This man… period sex… ugh…

-he was absolutely terrified at the thought of losing control and feeding on you, so when he smelled the delicious aroma of blood on you in the middle of the night he panicked. he tore off your clothes to find the wound and try to help you before his mind was taken over by his thirst… and found the source. your pretty pussy was drenched in blood. he wasn’t an idiot, he knew what a period was, and he was just awestruck at the lovely sight before him.

-safe to say he ate your pussy well into the night, giving you gently kitten licks and soft sucks to your clit. you woke up with the pain in your abdomen feeling slightly better, and your boyfriend looking up at you from your pussy adoringly. “so good… mmph…” he purred, his mouth and chin covered in blood.

-not only is he scared to drink from you, he was also scared to have sex with you. he sees you as an angel, a pure being, and having sec with a creature of the night such as him was an act of sin. it didn’t take long for him to sink his cock into you after you begging and whining for it, but he felt bad after :( he got over it, though, when he saw how cute you looked with that satisfied smile on your face

-he makes love, and is always putting your pleasure first. he can be a bit rough and forget his strength when he fucks into you for the first few times, but he’s never had sex, and all those centuries alone really wear down on a man :( he just wants you so bad, his vampire instincts telling him to stuff you full of his cum to make more little vampires

-all he wants is to make you happy. he adores you, and your face, fucked out and satisfied turns him on to no end. you just look so cute all full of his cum!

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It���s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[qierxing]

yandere Corpse bride AU, where you're a undead person who died in their wedding attire and swore to be reunited with their spouse.

When Trey accidentally summons you after practicing his wedding vows to his fiance, he nearly faints when you stagger to your feet, covered in dirt and silk white tatters that barely cover flesh and bones. You happily accept the polished silver ring and trap him in a tight hug. It's much too late for him to get a word in while you babble about plans on whether the wedding venue should be decorated in white lilies or red roses. But he's too kind, and he can't find it in himself to squash the sparkling hope that lights your gaunt eyes, and so–

–he keeps quiet. His groomsman, an eccentric cat like gentleman who has a fondness of unsolvable riddles and mischief, merely grins widely when he hears Trey's conflicted explanation.

"The poor dear probably means no harm," he laughs and shrugs. "And if you help them, then they might be able to pass on."

Trey sincerely hopes so. From your overall look, it's clear that you've been dead for a good while, and although you refuse to talk about it, the gaping hole in your chest most likely meant that your death was not caused by natural means.

He comes to learn that you had planned to elope with your fiance, but somewhere along the way, you had perished waiting for them. Robbed of the meager gold coins you took to keep you and partner afloat, you were resigned to waiting for the day they would come back to your waiting arms.

He didn't plan on this. He thought it was just pity that kept him by your side, gently adjusting your limbs when they became askew from rot or making sure to fix your tattered wedding wear back to its original luster, with the help of an old teacher. No, it was not pity when he showed you how he baked cakes, watching with a soft smile as you admired wholeheartedly his frosting skills. It was not pity he felt when he let himself listen to you play elegant piano pieces, haunting melodies echoing off stone walls.

Somewhere, along the way, you had become endearing.

He doesn't think about the fiance who wonders where he must be, whose curiosity leads them to follow Trey to his meeting place with you. They are horrified, but most of all, outraged. How dare you take away their future partner? And that is indeed what they shout when they confront you when you're alone, shrieking about how you were a monster and taking someone else's husband away. Needless to say, you run from them in confusion and fear.

Is that really what you are? Just a heartless monster? The more you ponder upon it, the more you realize their words ring true as you try to search your memory of Trey agreeing to marry you. Anything that would have confirmed that he loved you. But it all comes up blank. There are no watery tears when you weep; but your ribs crack under the weight of your stuttering breaths, your lifeless body barely able to maintain your lively emotions.

And so, you decide to let go. Perhaps you can bear to love Trey, but you can't bear being the reason he couldn't love. When Trey comes to see you again, you quietly slip off the silver ring, still shiny and new, and hand it back to him. His face pales, worried confusion lacing his questions on if you changed your mind because of something he said? Were you mad at him for not staying longer with you the other day? You can only smile as he rambles on, and it's only when you clasp both his hands gently, he finally, finally, looks you in the eyes.

You apologize for everything: not asking him whether he wanted to even marry you, forcing him to spend time with you, making him acquiesce to your stubborn demands. It's a miracle you don't break down midway through.

There's a comforting pull when you laugh with tears in your eyes at Trey's horrified face. It's so soothing, there's barely any resistance, as pieces of you start flickering away, flesh finally rendering itself to dust, silk fluttering into petals that float away on the wind.

If you're lucky, you'll pass on before Trey grabs you in desperation, attempting to bring back dust and particles in hopes of making you stay. You can finally be free of your mortal coil and sorrows–even if you leave behind a man who spirals into madness and insanity. Cursed to roam the earth until he could find a way to join you in the afterlife and beyond.

–but if not, beware.

Death is not torture, it is repreive. Being forced to endure your flesh falling apart at the seams, while in the arms of someone who cannot see sense, is more agonizing than being able to accept your life and move on.

Yes, beware the man who has learned to love so fiercely, he's willing to defy nature's laws and whatever god is out there so you can remain his lovely spouse, for the rest of eternity.

[gay-dorito-dust]

bro a ken x reader where the reader moves to barbieland but she’s got tattoos and he’s got no clue what they are …

The ending to this is absolute arse. Idk what to do.

‘What’s this?’ Ken asked as he gestured to the tattoos you had littered here and there before even more questions followed after. ‘Can they come off? Did someone draw on you like Weird Barbie? If so was it with permanent marker?’ Ken then proceeded to smile, puffing his chest out like a proud bird, ‘I learnt that big word all by myself.’

You chuckled, now realising that ever since you came to BarbieLand there wasn’t a single person in sight who was even remotely as tatted up as you were, and so all of Ken’s random inquiries concerning them made all the more sense. ‘These are called tattoos and no they can’t come off, and I guess you could say that someone ‘drew on me’ but not with a permanent marker pen, but instead a piece of equipment that some might consider a painful process.’ You shrugged. ‘Though that depends on the pain tolerance and the placement of the tattoo.’ The look on Ken’s face was borderline hysterical to you with how wide his eyes became as they trailed over your most recent tattoo as though it’ll jump out and bite him.

‘Did you say painful? Like someone pinching your skin type of painful?’ Ken asked.

‘Hmmm. Think more like being stung a thousand times when in the midst of the outlining of the tattoo, only to then feel like your being scratched repeatedly and all over by a stray cat when they start the shading and or colouring process.’ You told him.

‘So you’re meaning to tell me that you were being hurt!’ Ken cried, retracting his hand away from you as though he was going to cause you more harm, which was something he doesn’t want to have happen. ‘Why would you or anyone ever want to go through that horrible process?!’ He said, voice muffled with his hands clasped over his mouth. You should’ve probably known that Ken would’ve reacted like this but the damage was already done, and yet you couldn’t help but find it sweet when he exemplified concern over your well-being, despite the fact that it was over something as briefly painful as a tattoo.

‘Beauty is pain as they say,’ you began, ‘but I found that once you get your first tattoo, you’ll soon enough want more to add to the collection. Think of it this way, we use tattoos as a way of self expression, some of them can be of something meaningful or something fun and cartoonish and hold no meaning at all other then it looked cool at the time. But I think they quite cool, don’t you Ken?’ The blonde then removed his hands from his mouth, moving himself closer to you as to get a better look at your tattoos in general, just as a smile appeared on his face. ‘They’re so cool.’ He admitted but it was clear he was still a little conflicted about the pain you put yourself through for a tattoo. ‘But they still sound a little frightening.’ He admitted to you with a weak chuckle and you couldn’t do anything but understand and sympathise where he was coming from.

‘Yeah, they can be frightening at first but I promise you Ken, I wasn’t in that much pain for very long, besides I was the one who wanted it done, the tattoo artists were just doing their job.’ You reassured him as you felt his fingers gingerly trace the tattoo, taking in every last detail as he looked at it with a new found perspective. Your tattoos are beautiful to Ken and he’d show appreciation for each and every one by tracing his fingers over it, almost as though he’d ruin the artistry that went into them if he went any harder. He found tattoos fascinating but would probably never get one himself and even if he did, he hoped that this tattoo artist that you talk about could give him a horse portrait, or at least something related to horses at the very least. That would be cool.

[altheneum-writings]

Narinder with an s/o who attempts to not be weak but is dragged in a fight and made to cry. Causing them to come sniffeling to them all bruised.

"The One Who Waits is not one who you want to anger" Narinder x Reader oneshot

- Contains; Narinder/Reader (romantic), mention of blood and mild description of gore, mild hurt/huge comfort, fluff

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The black cat would stare at the paws of his beloved, he was silent, very silent. You would ask him if he was okay but everytime you tried to, he'd shush you and tell that you don't need to speak when you are in this state. not yet at least.

As he neatly wraps the cloth of silked webs around your scarred hands, it only took him a deep breath to try and restrain himself from getting angry in front of you, no no he'll never show his anger to you. he can wait, he is very patient...

Narinder would finally ask, in the softest tone possible "who had dared to touch you?" You were scared to say, or rather, embarrassed. you made yourself as the tough one in this relationship, someone who Narinder could rely on for all the time he's spent alone but now you're showing how vulnerable you are and it's embarrassing, it brings that dreadful stinging feeling in your eyes.

As your eyes glisten with burning water, your face was cupped in gentle hands. you look up and see your beloved and he looks at you with the utmost care. "Please, oh little bird o' mine? please tell me who's done harm to you." he would ask, his tone showed no anger, only calm. You can't help but feel obliged to say the name, so you answer to his request. he would nod and softly kiss your patched paw before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bell, as much as he'd hate to call upon the Lamb...he hated to see you in pain alone more, so he rings the bell and let's it's little chiming calls reach to the Lamb.

When the Lamb came and saw your condition they were unpleasantly surprised, unamused, but since Narinder was there to help you heal for at least a bit they were also relieved. "Lamb, watch over my beloved...I will have a...stern talk to someone, make sure my beloved will not be hurt." Narinder's voice requested of the Lamb calmly which was unexpected of him to do, in the Lamb's eyes at least.

Never the less, the one who wore their red cloth came towards you and started to check if there were any more injuries whilst Narinder walks out of the tent. His head is filled with ideas, many ideas. maybe he can rip his spine out? or blow his head out? maybe a public execution?

whatever it is, the members will fear him more than they should have.

[shirefantasies]

Hi!! I just found your blog and I love the way you write your headcanons! I was wondering if there's anyway you could write how each of the company in the hobbit would cuddle? or how they'd show physical affection? If not, that's fine, just thought I'd ask! (sorry if this is a bit weirdly worded I don't actually request things often lol, I've just been in such a the hobbit mood and found your blog and loved it immediately.)

Thank you sweetie and I'm so glad you love my headcanons 🥰 but this imagine YUS YUS YUS!!! My Hobbit mood has been coming in big ol waves of late heck yeah 🫡

Thorin’s Company + Physical Affection

Balin

✧ If you fall and he catches you, you may notice the way his hands wind around your waist and keep you for just a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

✧ Always the one who does your fastens for you and helps you into your coat, lingering touches therein as well.

✧ Sometimes his hand will just creep over as he listens to you, taking yours and drawing encouraging circles upon the back of it.

✧ Pulls you closer into his chest in the cold, whispering that it's alright, don't be shy as you melt into him.

✧ Almost always at your side with a hand placed gently but firmly upon your shoulder, half guiding, half guarding.

Dwalin

✧ This guy...is not very physically affectionate. You're going to have to coax it out of him like a stray cat.

✧ He enjoys sparring with you if you're down and you may notice he prefers pinning you or wrestling you down to, say, literally any other member of the company, but that feels like something beyond affection...

✧ "Are you hurt? Let me see." For the strength of his hands, he cradles your head, your arm, whatever it may be, so gently and warmly.

✧ Acts exasperated when you show up at his side to cuddle, accepts only “because it’s so cold, I suppose it’d be right”, then wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest as tight as he can.

✧ Seated at a table, Dwalin will keep an arm draped over the back of your chair at all times.

Thorin

✧ His hands go to you first after any sort of danger, holding you back initially then laying a hand on your shoulder as he checks you over, ensuring no harm came to you.

✧ Asks for your hand, taking it in his when your travels get difficult so as to lead you along the safest path he can find.

✧ Wraps you up in his coat, his hands sliding down your arms after he drapes it upon you, staying like that for a moment with his chest to your back.

✧ Big spoon. That feeling of care, of presiding over your warmth and safety and everything Thorin can give absolutely translates to your sleep, your solace. It means the world to him if he can be your comfort.

✧ Even in idle times, Thorin tends to stand with a hand wrapped around your waist, not grasping you tightly or restricting you in any way, but simply enough to keep you near and make it clear that you are his.

Oin

��� Offering massages is basically a love language for him. The others are always asking him and sometimes he gets annoyed or just does it grudgingly, but when it is you? He takes his time, uses your favorite oils, savors the connection between you two and your hums of pleasure.

✧ Oin loves asking you for help just as an excuse to have you near, your hands darting beneath his to grab supplies or holding down his work, his own coming to cover yours as often as he can spare them.

✧ In the moments you get to sit next to each other, his hand will gingerly rest over yours. If you tense up at all, you can feel his grip tighten just a little bit, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

✧ Likes loose cuddling, simply your arms draped over his side as you rest alongside each other. Also not-so-secretly enjoys being the little spoon- indulge him every now and again!

✧ Has been known to give your cheeks the occasional affectionate pinch or squeeze, just smiling and chuckling giddily to himself at the sight of you before he leans in for a kiss.

Gloin

✧ Always fussing over your hair, whether it's getting things out of it or even knowing its entire care routine and performing it for you if you let him, his hands dressing it practically reverently.

✧ Gets bored, forgets himself and plays with your hands. If you wear rings, he probably slides those around or spins them a bit. He enjoys intertwining your fingers again and again and keeping both of your hands in his as he peers at you.

✧ When simply standing around, he sometimes will stand behind you and drape his arms over your shoulders as if claiming you.

✧ Will practically wrestle you into position if you try to make him little spoon. You have to get him tired enough before he’ll accept not being the one to hold you.

✧ Grabs you up into the biggest, bone-crushing in the best of ways, bear hugs you've ever had the pleasure of being swept into.

Bifur

✧ Speech can be so difficult, the feeling of trying without success so frustrating that a meaningful touch is simpler and infinitely more calming. A favorite of his is a simple hand on the shoulder, a gesture of care.

✧ He also loves teasingly elbowing you to get your attention, whether it's to show you something or just to say hello!

✧ Tracing each and every line and curvature of your face is his guilty pleasure; it is as though he is at work silently memorizing your every feature.

✧ Looser with cuddling, the feeling sometimes suffocating, especially if he has a nightmare. Rather than cage you in or be caged in, Bifur prefers the simple feeling of your hand upon his chest or your head leaned against his while you sleep.

✧ Absolutely loves decorating you, feeling like an attendant to royalty as he slides rings onto your finger, bracelets and necklaces he made around your neck or wrist. Such moments are some of the most tender between you, the way he looks at you afterward and the way his hands caress you after each beauty is set to magnifying yours.

Bofur

✧ Has a little habit of just taking your hand and twirling you when you stand together, almost as if you're dancing in place.

✧ When you truly are dancing, you know Bofur will be dipping you down for a kiss nearly every time!

✧ Cuddling is all over the place. Snakes his arms around you and pulls you into his lap when he’s feeling particularly merry. Lays facing you before sleep, your legs tangled together in the most wonderful mess.

✧ Bofur has this little habit of falling onto you when you’re laughing together, playfully shoving you before his hands fall into your lap or grab your knee.

✧ Hugs from Bofur often turn into him picking you up and spinning you around!

Bombur

✧ As I've mentioned, he is the best with a partner who has anxiety, basically becoming a living weighted blanket atop you.

✧ Though shy and subtle he can be with his initial affections, Bombur is very cuddly. The greatest cuddler, in fact. Your shared bedroll is the coziest one of the whole lot.

✧ Has been known to, upon being in a bolder mood, turn his head when you lean to kiss his cheek, capturing your lips instead! Has the biggest smile upon success, so you can never be upset.

✧ Pulls you into a hug the moment you say or do something cute.

✧ Great acts of service fellow as he is, Bombur will often offer things like scratching your back or rubbing tension from your neck as a means of getting closer while still providing for you.

Dori

✧ Small, subtle touches, like letting his hands cover yours when you accept the steaming mug of tea he hands you.

✧ He also loves running a thumb over the back of your hand when you sit side by side, sharing that one point of connection between you two.

✧ Always does a cute little tap to your knee after he laces up your boots for you, a little wink topping the endearing gesture off.

✧ The type who loves to lay with your heads against each other, cheeks brushing, especially as you look at the stars, discussing everything beneath the sun and very well likely some things not beneath it at all.

✧ Shocks you when you sit at a table and you feel his hand on your knee, and again when it moves up and down, tracing a little pattern on your thigh.

Nori

✧ I still maintain that Nori would be the main perpetrator of the classic yawning or stretching as an excuse to put an arm around you. Once you're pulled in, though? Good luck getting back out! You are nothing if not secure in his grasp.

✧ Cheekily sliding his hand into your pocket, especially if you have a back pocket, is his favorite.

✧ If there is any possibility of him not being able to hear you, Nori will lean in as close as he can, possibly even drawing you forward with a hand beneath your chin, grinning if you get flustered.

✧ Ideal cuddling position, you ask? Why, with him on top of you, obviously! Enough said.

✧ When it isn’t in your pocket, he nearly always has a hand at the small of your back when you walk. He occasionally uses it to guide you, but mostly he likes to run it up and down your spine, occasionally running his nails down too, giving you a cheeky look when he does it.

Ori

✧ Oscillates between being too shy to show physical affection and a natural propensity to misunderstand personal space. For example, he'll probably not want to kiss you in front of his older brothers lest they tease him, but when he gets excited about his latest drawing he practically throws his arms entirely around you to show you his sketchpad.

✧ Shares his scarf with you, winding the two of you both into its long, thick warmth and flushing as you lean in closer and closer beneath it.

✧ The kisses you share in private are almost desperate, hands clinging to whatever fold of fabric they can reach to draw each other in.

✧ Enjoys pretty much any way you lie together, facing each other, back to back, you name it, Ori is eager for it!

✧ Rubs your hands between his own to keep you warm, straightens your clothes up for you, little tending touches that lead to kisses upon your hands or head.

Fili

✧ Gives amazing hugs, pulling you into his arms and soothingly, lovingly sliding a hand up and down your back.

✧ So sweet, he loves swinging your joined hands between you both if you are granted the opportunity for a leisurely stroll.

✧ Always wants to be the big spoon when you guys cuddle, that position feeling much more protective of you, secure as he can hold you.

✧ Sneaks up behind you to cover your eyes, asking ‘guess who’ and chuckling at the way you startle if he catches you by surprise.

✧ Offers you his arm when you walk together and smiling when you link yours with his and rest your hand upon his upper arm.

Kili

✧ In love with physical affection. Who cares who sees you? Not this dwarven prince, that is certain! Completely unafraid to pull you into his lap and hold you, pride crossing his face.

✧ Pulls your joined hands into his pockets as you walk side by side.

✧ When he teaches you how to shoot, he guides you smoothly by the hips, hands running down your sides and along the length of your arms until you reach the proper stance.

✧ His favorite way to cuddle is you lain upon his chest, your head against his heart and right there for him to place kisses atop.

✧ You two are a tangled mess at fireside, someone’s legs always thrown upon the other’s lap.

Bilbo

✧ Rather than show you over-the-top affection, Bilbo is the sort to just stay glued to your side, joining you at the hip for even the most mundane tasks even if it’s under the guise of “getting a break from all the dwarves”.

✧ Similarly, he’ll offer to hold your hands “because it’s quite crowded” or “just so you don’t fall, it’s a bit steep here and all”.

✧ When you sit together at the fireside, he may get flustered but he absolutely loves it when you lay your head upon his shoulder.

✧ He also favors being little spoon, not that he would necessarily tell you that out loud, but you can feel the way he relaxes, hums in contentment against you.

✧ Bilbo gets surprisingly protective, though, shifting you behind him or moving you aside by your waist when danger strikes.

[lovebeatriceplz]

My Larry Johnson headcanons 👻🎸

General and dating

- His room is a mess 24/7 but he's not a slob. It isn't like a health hazard but it's just never neat, something is always out of place.

- A huge sleepyhead, most of your dates are smoking sessions and taking really long naps together.

- He might appear scrawny to some but he can fight. He'd never start one, but blv he's going to defend himself or someone else. Not ruthless or brutal but he's got a nasty fist (he'll bite their ankles).

- Loves watching you get ready. Whether it's doing your make-up or your hair, or styling your clothes, he wants to watch.

- Once someone confused his eyebags with a smoky eyeliner look and asked him what brand. Now he watches tutorials on YouTube with Sal.

- Is a metalhead but is open and listens to all kinds of music, especially the ones that you recommend.

- He likes to experiment with kissing. Sometimes he kisses you like a royal and then he's inhaling your face😭.

- Can never go wrong with neck kisses though so he just goes for that most of the time. He also bites, but not like love bites more like a little Chihuahua, i digress.

- Has an old, beaten down pair of converse that he just refuses to toss out.

- Tells you everything, especially things about his dad. Sits up at night and talks to his father about you. When he can't do that, he'll talk about you with anyone that comes his way.

- Terrible at skating, popped his ass a couple of times.

- Is low-key down bad for you. Don't worry he's not a pervert, but he'll take any opportunity to get inside your pants.

- He's not a jealous person, like ever, for no circumstance.

- Has a nice singing voice but he prefers to play instruments instead, says he can feel the shit outta it more.

- Takes pictures of cats he see together and sends them to you, captioning it "us".

-Also takes pictures of you, you are 98% of his camera roll. He does it secretly as well, you could ask him "wait- when tf did you take this!?" And he'd just be like "🧍", i digress😭. Has a bunch of forehead pics.

- Supportive in anything that you do, not just you like anyone, his friends, his mom, anyone.

- Has no self - preservation and might self harm without realizing it's self harm. You have to stop him sometimes and help him to acknowledge his limits.

- Has really good hair genes. It grows back very fast, so when he impulsively cuts it (which happens often) it's back to normal in a good amount of weeks.

- First time he had s3x with you was... shocking?. Bro was hungry, not aggressive, just felt a little desperate. He didn't know he was touch starved until he met you.

- Thinks your drop dead gorgeous. Like he's mesmerized, and loves to just stare at you with those lazy eyes like your the best thing to ever happen to him.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Ghost Bookshop Romance Headcanons

CoD ML

📖 Ghost is secretly quite bookish, having found refuge in novels during his youth and now even as a grown man. He especially loves bakery and coffee shop romances, though he’d never admit this outright.

📖 No one asks what he’s reading when they see him sitting with his e-reader, more often than not smoking as well.

📖 Those who are brave enough to ask only get glared at in answer and walk away, tail tucked between their legs.

📖 When he’s on leave, back home in Manchester, he watches out for a particular girl he’s seen at Waterstones. Pops by there for hours on end, drinking coffee, smoking outside yet near the shop, all in the hope he’ll bump into you.

📖 Your face looks familiar to him, but he can’t remember where he’s seen it if ever he has. Nonetheless, it’s enchanting, a strange though pleasant (and thoroughly distracting) imprint on his memory.

📖 Unbeknownst to him, you’re secretly his favourite author. However, you barely have any photos out there, preferring the anonymity of your pen name. It doesn’t help you haven’t published in a while due to being grabbed tightly in the vicious maws of writer’s block. Henceforth, despite the loyal fanbase, there’s little talk about your works or you yourself.

📖 One day he catches you sitting in one of the chairs dotted around the store, reading. Finally, at long last, he has the chance to talk to you!

📖 Simon has a whole plan. First he’d ask you what you’re reading and your opinion on it thus far, gradually leading the conversation towards your recommendations and favourites. It’s essential to gain that info because there’s always plenty to say and discover about books. Then, he’d ask you for tea, show you he isn’t as scary as he looks.

📖 But, like out in the field, there can be unforeseen circumstances.

📖 He didn’t account for the goosebumps on your skin, the slight shiver that has you shaking despite your efforts to suppress it.

📖 “Trying to catch a cold?” Simon crouches down before you, takes off his heavy leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s warm, infused with the scent of nicotine, black pepper, gun oil, gasoline, and black tea.

📖 For a moment you stare at him, gobsmacked. After all, you don’t meet someone in a skull balaclava at Waterstones on the daily. Nevertheless, after wrapping his jacket around you a little tighter and deciding he means no harm, you find your voice. “Not consciously. Guess I’m not particularly good at dressing for the weather.”

📖 “No, you’re not.” He chuckles at your expression, a mixture of shock and surprise. Much to his delight, Simon senses you’re not offended by his bluntness. “Fancy a cuppa? My treat.”

📖 “Only if you tell me your name.”

📖 “For now, call me Ghost.”

📖 “Cheshire. Pleased to meet you.”

📖 “Like the cat?”

📖 “Indeed.” The way you tilt your head, eyes bright with defiance and granting him a glimpse of the walls you’ve carefully constructed around yourself, sends electricity through his nerves. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

📖 Simon usually keeps people at a distance, even the taskforce, but he’ll gladly take on the challenge of getting closer. “Yeah.”

📖 As per his promise, he pays for the tea and a scone to share. He cuts it in half, giving you the thicker top part while he settles for the thinner bottom bit.

📖 He doesn’t know how, but as he watches you smear jam and only the tiniest bit of clotted cream on the pastry it hits him. Finally he recalls who you are, where he’s seen you before.

📖 “Cheshire,” he begins, wanting to breach the topic carefully. Still, it’s hard to not get distracted by how you’re innocently enjoying your scone, enough to unintentionally give him the opportunity to wipe the crumbs from the corner of your mouth. However, to restrain himself, Simon tucks his hands in his lap. “Have you by chance heard of (your pen name)?”

📖 He clocks how you stiffen. Bingo. “How do you know that name?”

📖 “I… I’m… I’m a fan. Inked Monsters is the first book of yours I read. I liked how you discussed the prejudice against age gap relations, lone wolves, and heavily tattooed people. Made me feel heard.”

📖 You can’t help but chuckle, amazed at this giant’s enthusiasm for your novels. “What’s so funny?”

📖 “Nothing, it’s just… you don’t strike me as the type to like my writing. I’m glad to hear it touched you, though.”

📖 “Well, I am. But yours is the only one in the genre I really like. I’m not a big fan of fairy tales or retellings, but yours,” he glances at his cup, comically small in his big hands, “I… I do… a lot.”

📖 “Glad to hear it.”

📖 “How’s it going with Sugar Hood and Flannel Wolf? Haven’t heard or seen anything about it for a while.”

📖 You snort because ‘for a while’ is a severe understatement considering it’s been three years. The fanbase exploded with supportive messages when you announced you were writing another modern fairytale. This time, it would be about a lumberjack grumpy werewolf and a young woman who runs a bakery after her grandma’s passed away.

📖 And there’s the key phrase.

📖 Would be.

📖 “I’m suffering from writer’s block, which also drives my publisher and agent up the bloody wall. They still earn enough thanks to me to not cancel my contract, but I don’t think I’ll be able to publish soon… if ever again.”

📖 The way you look down into your tea, head bowed low and eyes sad, breaks his heart. “How so?”

📖 “When a hobby turns into a profession, there’s the pressure to perform, to deliver. I used to write for fun, but now it feels like a chore and I feel nothing but guilt for not doing it. Doesn’t help I’m stuck on the plot.”

📖 “You need a rubber duck.”

📖 You look up at him, feeling like you lost the plot. “A rubber duck?”

📖 “Talk through your problems to a rubber duck and you’ll see the solution presents itself. This duck can also be… someone.”

📖 “Are you asking to be my rubber duck?”

📖 “Proofreader, at most. If you’d allow it.”

📖 “A second opinion wouldn’t hurt.” You smile to yourself and shake your head. “A ghost reader.”

📖 Little do you know that that is what gets him going. “Let’s make this a two-man project. You write, I read, and we get through this together. Fuck deadlines and to hell with the people pressuring you to write. This is our plan, our mission. Getting that book out.”

📖 You giggle, a sound he archives for later. “My God, you’re headstrong. It’s nice, though, to hear you speak as passionately about my works like I did once.”

📖 “Being stagnant is useless. It’s also definitely the way to get yourself killed out in the field.” Simon wishes he could kick himself in the face for his words. “Sorry, you can take the man out of the army, but not vice versa.”

📖 “That explains a lot, you being an army man.” You take a sip of tea and nibble on the scone. “Retired or on leave?”

📖 “On leave.”

📖 “Know when you’re deployed again?”

📖 “Not any time soon. Unless Price cooks something up again. No, I’ll be here for a while.” Mumbling under his breath, the words too low for you to make out, he adds, “Plenty time for me to help you.”

📖 “Pardon?”

📖 “Nothing. But,” he clears his throat, “if you don’t mind, would you sign one of my copies?”

📖 “Sure. You have it with you?”

📖 “No, so, uhm, could we meet here tomorrow for that?”

📖 “Are you asking to see me again?”

📖 “If we could have tea again, that’d be nice too.”

📖 “Maybe grab a bite in town instead?”

📖 He perks up. “That’s a yes?”

📖 “It’s bad protocol to go out with a fan, but,” your smile makes him melt, “how can I say no to an interesting man like you, Ghost?”

📖 You pop the last bit of the scone into your mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Meet here?” He nods. “Thank you for the tea.”

📖 “Anytime.”

📖 Ngl, silly as it is considering you just met, he’s kinda disappointed you don’t give him a kiss on the cheek before you leave.

📖 Though he finds enough satisfaction in the fact you ate the piece of the scone he cut for you.

📖 Enough to carry him through the day.

📖 Afterwards, the two of you stay in regular contact. It’s not always about business and even if it is, the conversation always diverges. To what you’re reading, simple recipes for Simon to try and make (he’s a self-confessed terrible cook), easy stretching exercises for you to do in between writing sprints (he hasn’t had the courage yet to ask you to accompany him to the gym), or possible outings.

📖 Yes, outings.

📖 Because Simon loves driving around the country on his bike with you.

📖 What he’d love even more, though, is not having to book rooms or accommodations with two single beds rather than one king or queen size bed whenever you’re off on a multi-day trip.

📖 Occasionally you do buddy reads. You were the first to propose it and have since expanded your literary horizons together. If only because Simon makes a lot of notes. Honestly, it’s surprising he doesn’t have a literary degree what with how passionate he is about reading.

📖 One day, a few days before he’s off to the gods know where, your ghost reader gives you a book with a copy of his dog tag. Until then, you’ve only known him as Ghost.

📖 But now you finally know his name.

📖 Simon Riley.

📖 “What’s this?” You look from the necklace to him, uncomprehending why he’d gift you his dog tag.

📖 He keeps his eyes trained on you, taking you in as best he can lest this will be the last time he’ll see you. After all, there always remains the chance he won’t return. “In case I don’t come back. I don’t care if they’ll be unable to identify me. I’m a ghost, un fantasma according to a buddy in Mexico. But I want you to have something to remember me by.”

📖 “You’re very real to me.” His heart cracks at your outburst. “How can you say that? You’re a person, Simon!”

📖 There’s no hesitation in the way he cups your cheeks and presses his lips against yours. You melt into his touch, the feel of his hands on your skin, feeling the smirk pressed against your lips when you clutch his shirt.

📖 “Your person, eh?” he asks when he breaks away, breathless and lightly panting. However, he has to stop himself here. Unlike in the field, there’s no time limit with you.

📖 Because despite the novel, he’s come to understand you’re in more than a business relationship.

📖 A relationship which takes time, shouldn’t be rushed.

📖 An opportunity for you both to show yourselves.

📖 For him to learn patience and self-restraint.

📖 For you to learn how to trust and rely on someone.

📖 And grow together.

📖 “Yes, so don’t you bloody dare claim otherwise ever again.” The way you poke his chest, full of conviction, melts his cold heart.

📖 “I’ll try to be a person around you, sweetheart.”

📖 If only because you care.

📖 And he can’t live without your stories.

📖 Especially not when you tell them yourself.

Btw, I might actually write Sugar Hood & Flannel Wolf because I’m going nigh on feral thinking about werewolf!Price. I mean, c’mon, that man screams wolf vibes (aside from the massive daddy… I mean teddy! Teddy vibes).

[sh1-n0bu]

HELLO HELLOOO I was just wondering if I could ask if you could do a

Kaeya or Thoma ORR Diluc x Self destructive reader? Maybe any genshin character but whenever my mind goes to angst my mind automatically goes to Kaeya and Diluc LMAO

And basically Reader has a hard time expressing feelings and finds comfort in their lowest so they are seen as reserved

And Kaeya or (Character) tries their very best to help them despite reader rejecting their affections and worries But Kaeya or (Character) loves them too much to let go so they just stay by Reader's side

You can add more or plan the rest of the story but right now that's all I could explain

One last if I could ask I'd like to be Banananon/ 🍌 Anon

Besides that have a great time! Your works are amazing 🫶

✿ 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 ✿

characters: kaeya, diluc and thoma x nb!reader

warnings: angst, comfort, reader daydreams a lot, mentions of self harm and healed scars

notes: what the reader is going through and their description of self destructive thoughts, actions and behaviors are all greatly influenced by my own not so great moments. if such topics are triggering to you then please scroll past or continue with caution. i hope you’re all doing well in this dark times. i love you and thank you for being here

as the sole survivor of his family and the one given the task to be his destroyed home nation’s one and only hope, the cavalry captain has his own dark moments

definitely did used to self harm as well. it only worsened after his fight with diluc and crepus’ death

and seeing you, his closest companion, lover, his light and life, his dark days and pillar suffer through the same things makes him want to curl up on the floor and wail until there’s nothing left in him

will sit you down and have a nice long talk with you. it can range from your self destructive habits, self harm scars, bad coping mechanisms to even the gossips the cavalry captain had heard or shared with lisa, how diluc’s hair seemed a bit more trimmed today at angel’s share, how the cats at cat’s tail was seemingly more affectionate etc etc

anything you want to talk about, kaeya’s here

scars, relapses or even a new stimming you’ve got, he notices the second he sees it. he may have one eye but he’s keen on noticing the smallest, minute detail that is changed

but if you don’t wish to talk about it or don’t hint anything to him then it’s okay. kaeya can wait but please don’t take too long until you have completely destroyed your own self beyond recognition. he can’t carry the guilt and regret

if you have been relapsing too much then kaeya will have no other choice but to sit you down and talk about it

he will even come to a compromise to quit his alcohol addiction and learn to live again with you, together

if he comes back from his work to see you feeling down in the dumps, prepare yourself to be wrapped up in the biggest fluffy blanket like a burrito and given cuddles and smooches mwah mwah mwah mwah (¯ ³¯)♡

“there there, darling. we’ll go through this together”

another person who has self harmed in the past

personally speaking, i think he used to self harm in a deprivation type of way especially during his time when hunting the fatui harbingers in the merciless eternal winter clad nation of shneznaya

depriving himself of food, water, hygiene, sleep, the basic human necessities to survive

so after the whole hunting harbingers thing is over and the wine tycoon comes back to mondstadt, diluc’s trying his best and starts to let go of his self harming habits, actions etc

in the present time when he sees you, his lover, the dawn to his dark side, the apple of his eye and his most cherished person doing the same things he used to do - it pains him immeasurably

diluc is a straightforward person. if there’s something he doesn’t like he says it, shows it without wasting a single second

but this. this was an incredibly sensitive and a hard topic for anyone to talk about or mention

so he decides to wait for you to say something or even give him the smallest of hints first. however don’t take too long because if diluc sees you continuing to be self destructive then he’s taking things into his own hands

will bring up about the topic on a warm night, when the two of you are cuddling close to each other under the blankets as the fire in the fireplace crackles softly

the atmosphere is soft, silent and comfortable with the smell of your cups filled with hot cocoa wafts through the air. this is when diluc gently brings up the topic

will patiently wait until you wrap your mind around things and answer him. even then the uncrowned king will stay quiet, taking in every words, every names, every breath and sighs you produce with a gentle squeeze to your intertwined hands

when you’re finished opening up to him, diluc will place down both of your cups on the nightstand of the bed and pull you in for a cuddle. you can cry if you want to, he will soothingly rub shapes and sizes into your shoulder with a low hum to soothe you

“it’s alright, my love. you’re safe now. here, with me”

first of all

yes my skrunkly (you), you can marry the puppy vibed blonde fictional man you saw on your device screen. mama nobu approves, he looks like a green flag

anyways, with that shit out of the way

green flag. seriously. just green flag all over

thoma has personally never experienced or committed any self deprecating, harming or destroying actions, thoughts or whatsoever

he does have bad days but that’s it. bad days. he likes to stay enthusiastic about life and living in general so he simply sits down, takes a breather, maybe pay a visit to the stray cats and dogs he looks after in inazuma city before continuing

when thoma first notices your scars whether they’re healed or not, or even sees your self destructive habits such as not eating when your stomach is grumbling, tugging on your hair harshly, peeling the skin around your nails - thoma instantly reaches his hands out and envelopes yours in his own

with a soft voice, the housekeeper would envelop both of your hands in his before looking into your eyes with the most saddest kicked puppy look

will ask you if you’re okay first and foremost before holding your hand and walking back home together. on the way he will buy you some of your favorite treats, drinks, point out a newly opened shop, a new vendor etc etc

when home, thoma would make a nice chamomile tea before sitting down with you on the chabudai. first will start with the small little talks about what happened during his time at the kamisato’s, a cute cat he saw and will eventually slowly drift into your habits

he will be here with you through thick and thin. you’re his pudding after all but before that you are your own person and you deserve to live

“sweettums… i will always be here with you through anything and everything okay?”

[acommonanomaly]

Caranthir for @feanorianweek.

Inspired by a scene from my fic What Fades Away.

Excerpt:

“What is it, Moryo?” Maitimo finally asked, when Carnistir showed no sign that he would continue on his own.

“It is not fair that grandmother Miriel cannot return,” his said, his voice faltering as though he was admitting something very grave. The source of his solemnity was revealed when he continued, “If grandfather Finwë had not married Indis, then she could be with us.”

Makalaurë sucked in a sharp breath, and his eyes were heavy when they met Maitimo’s. Neither of them spoke at first, for each of them had their own conflicting emotions to sort through at the raising of this issue. But when Carnistir shrank down on the stool as if fearing their censure, they pulled themselves together.

Maitimo’s voice grew delicate, each word formed with care. “Although you may find them tiresome at times, would you wish that your uncles and cousins did not exist at all?”

Carnistir’s flushed cheeks paled. “No, I wouldn’t wish that.”

“So some good did come of it, you see.”

“But we will never meet our grandmother Miriel.”

“Oh, Moryo,” Makalaurë said tenderly. “It seems strange to miss someone you have never met, but so it is, and we miss her, too, and long for what might have been.”

Maitimo nodded in agreement with Makalaurë, but he was troubled. He could not help but feel as if he had been dishonest with Carnistir, somehow.

Although he did not regret that his grandfather had been allowed to remarry, allowing their family to grow and become enriched, he felt it an unnecessary cruelty that his grandmother should be forbidden to return because of it. The Valar claimed it was the will of Eru, and though it was not Maitimo’s place to gainsay them, he did wonder how this could be true because of the grief it caused. 

It was while Maitimo stood lost in his thoughts that Carnistir finally unburdened himself.

“I did something very wrong.” Carnistir would look at neither of his brothers, dropping his head again as he stroked the cat.

Maitimo raised his eyebrows at Makalaurë, who only shrugged. He tried to keep his trepidation out of his voice when he spoke.

“What did you do?”

At the same time, Makalaurë asked, “You mean, to those children?”

Carnistir shook his head. “I took something from Atar’s study.”

Maitimo’s eyebrows rose even higher, and Makalaurë gaped in surprise, but as it was obvious that Carnistir meant to go on, they said nothing.

Carnistir sighed and shifted on the stool, careful not to tip the cat off his lap as he reached into one of the pockets stitched onto his loose tunic. He pulled out a silver chain, lifting it until a large oval locket slipped out of the pocket and hung spinning in the air.

“Oh,” Makalaurë said.

They knew this locket well. They had all seen Atar holding it in his study when the occasional quiet, somber mood came over him. At some time or another, each of them had opened the locket to see for themselves what it held, or asked Atar to show them. It contained a miniature portrait of Miriel and a twisted lock of silver hair that glinted like starlight.

“I just wanted to feel closer to grandmother Miriel. But now I am worried that Atar will notice the locket is gone before I can put it back, and he will be angry with me.”

“I don’t think Atar will be angry with you for taking this, especially once he understands why you took it,” Maitimo hurried to reassure his little brother. “You must give it back to him as soon as we return home, of course, but I will talk to him first before you go to see him.”

Maitimo would have to decide how much to tell Atar, because he did not wish to upset him any more than he had to. 

He didn’t think the children who had questioned Carnistir meant any harm, likely only curious and repeating things they had heard adults say. It was unfortunate timing that their questioning had come while Carnistir was struggling with personal issues.

Makalaure seemed satisfied with this, and he stood, gesturing for Carnistir to stand as well. “I think Nelyo is right. Atar will be pleased that you wish to feel closer to grandmother Miriel. Perhaps you could take up embroidery, and learn the skill that was her delight.”

Carnistir stood and set the cat on the floor, where it wound around his legs and meowed in complaint. Determination burned in Carnistir’s eyes now, and he said, “Yes, I would like that.”

[honey-words]

spider boy promises — spider-man!midoriya izuku x reader

synopsis: you’re spider-man’s neighbor, his friend. but there’s still secrets between the two of you, ones he refuses to share and ones you’re too scared to ask about in fear of him leaving. so they sit between you, festering and threatening to spill over. patched up and kept at bay by promises that might be left unfulfilled. PART 1 HERE

content warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, angst

wc: 1.3k

author’s note: part 2 of the spider boy series. thanks for all the love <3

You hold his hand until he falls asleep, brush away his tears. You cannot bring yourself to let go of even long after his breathing has evened out, after his face has melted to a more peaceful expression. His furrowed eyebrows smoothed out, lips almost tilted into a smile.

Midoriya started sleeping over more often, especially on days when he was not out patrolling and coming back to his quiet apartment bloody and bruised, patching himself up because he did not want to worry you. Even though you had insisted you did not mind, that you wanted to help him.

When you wake up, he is usually gone. In his place, you find a new spider sketch on your kitchen table. You had started a small collection, hanging them up on your fridge with the unused magnets that had been waiting for a purpose ever since you had moved in.

Knowing he would be gone in the morning meant you stared at him until sleep made your eyes heavy and took him away from you.

You fight it off as long as you can. But when the morning sun shines in your eyes and wakes you up, you realize your bed is still warm. And his hand is still in yours.

“You stayed?” You asked before you even opened your eyes. Maybe this was a dream. A cruel dream where you were both free to stay under the covers all day, away from harm and the burdens of being a busy student and beloved vigilante.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s Saturday.”

You opened your eyes at that. Saturday.

On Saturdays, Midoriya hardly went out. Police presence tended to be stronger, and he only went out if he was continuing something, following a lead, or if there was an emergency. That much he had shared with you, that much you knew.

Selfishly, you loved Saturdays.

He smiled at you when your eyes met his. “Is it okay that I stayed?”

You nodded.

His smile faltered, and he reached up to poke your cheek. “Promise?”

You smiled at his action. “Promise.”

You realized you had never lied to him before. Could he say the same about you?

The morning was spent inside, in pajamas, avoiding your phones and reminders of upcoming assignments. Moony slept on Midoriya’s lap all through breakfast, and as you made pancakes for the both of you, you could hear him quietly cooing over her, whispering what a good cat she was.

Really. It was impossible for you not to develop feelings for him. You angrily flipped a pancake, exhaling through your nose strongly. This would be easier if your feelings were nonexistent.

He was no better later in the day, during your TV show catch-up time. Moony was off somewhere napping, so he seemed to seek a replacement. Something to do with his hands. An arm wrapped around your shoulder, a hand reaching for yours. His fingers idly traced your knuckles, intertwining with yours over and over. His eyes never left the TV screen.

You were a mess. You could feel your palms starting to sweat, but Midoriya either did not notice or chose not to mention it. So you melted into his touch, leaning onto his chest and watching the TV show you watched together, letting him play with your hand.

By the third episode, you had your head in his lap and he was braiding your hair.

“Your hair smells nice,” he said from above you. You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Thanks.”

He hummed a response. You let your eyes close, the TV serving as the perfect background noise to pair with the soothing motions of Midoriya braiding your hair. You let sleep overtake you this time, welcomed it. He would be there when you woke up.

——— * * * ———

When you woke up a few hours later, you knew something is off.

You were in the same exact position, but the room was darker, the lights never turned on. You turned, adjusting yourself until you were facing the ceiling and Midoriya.

He was wearing his suit, mask still on. “Midoriya?” you asked. Patting his thigh frantically when he did not respond. “Midoriya?”

You sat up, the hand that was resting in your hair falling limp into his lap. You grabbed his shoulders and shook him a little, a lump forming in your throat and your eyes becoming blurry with tears. “Midoriya wake up. Midoriya Izuku wake the fu—” you break off with a startled gasp when he stirs, groaning.

“Y/N?”

“Thank god,” you said, pulling him forward and hugging him. “You scared me, you little shit.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling off his mask, nuzzling his face into your neck, and wrapping his arms around you to tighten the hug. “Got back really tired.”

You sighed, idly running a hand through his hair. “You’re okay?”

You felt him nod, and then could actually feel him smile into your skin. “Did you use the full name card on me?”

You tugged at his hair, earning a surprised yelp. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He laughed, pulling away. Your smile fell the second you saw his face.

There were tear steaks cutting through a thin layer of dirt, and you watch as another falls and trails down his cheek. You wiped the other away and smiled sadly at him. “Need help getting to your place?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

Liar. You had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from saying it. You forced another smile and stood up. “Okay, then you can shower here. Chance for you to use my shampoo since you like it so much.”

The second you heard the shower turn on you opened your Spider-News tab and started scrolling, looking for any clues. It had become a horrible habit, but you could not help it. Your search was unsuccessful, though. There was no breaking news for you to discover, no sighting of Spider-Man at all that day.

So where the hell was he going?

——— * * * ———

You asked him three days later, when you found him curled up outside your bedroom door with Moony on a Tuesday morning. After making sure he was okay you scolded him for scaring you, and he was so ashamed he refused to meet your gaze.

“Didn’t wanna wake you up,” he yawned. He was not hurt, but the bags under his eyes were more defined. “Moony kept me company.” An unhelpful meow from Moony, which you ignored. She spoiled him too much.

He insisted on making you breakfast before you left for class, and knowing he would keep insisting if you did not back down, you let him. You kept a watchful eye on him as he made your eggs, making sure he was wincing with certain movements or limping. But he looked perfectly fine.

“Where’d you go?”

His back was turned away from you, so you could not see his expression. You were not sure if you preferred that.

“Out patrolling,” he said, turning the stove off and moving your eggs to a plate. “Following a lead.”

He sat down and ate with you, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Why can’t you tell me?” If you were going to ask, might as well push as much as you could.

“I want to,” he said, setting down his fork and finally looking up. His eyes were dull with weariness. None of the bright energy usually in them to be seen. “But it’s too dangerous right now.”

“Are you being safe?” you said, trying hard to keep your voice from shaking.

He nodded. “Promise.”

Was he lying again?

“Okay. I trust you.”

Did you?

You stayed awake as long as you could that night, but you never heard him come back to his apartment, and he was not outside your bedroom door when you woke up the next morning either. You scrabbled to get dressed and rushed to the library, but every step you took away from your apartment filled your stomach with more and more dread.

He was not at your usual spot at the library. And you knew he would not be waiting in your kitchen when you got back.

So where the hell was he?

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