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peachylynnie · 5 months ago

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you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his.

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?”

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far.

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good.

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble.

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body.

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck.

oh.

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck.

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?"

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding.

"anything for my beloved bride."

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

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confuzing · 3 months ago

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I know this flies in the face of all established timelines but Head Disciple Shang Qinghua on a business trip to Huan Hua Palace his Shizun didn't want to do when he sees they have a baby ice demon in their holding cells- soon to be transferred to the Water Prison proper.

And like, it's clearly Mobei-Jun, who else would it be? And he's so little! And he's crying! What is SQH supposed to do??

So he steals that demon baby and takes him home to An Ding Peak and hides him in his rooms.

He brings Mu-shidi in on the secret because he wants to make sure Mobei-Baby is ok. And he's pretty sure he can trust MQF.

LQG and SQQ find out when one of their fights spills over onto An Ding and through the wall of SQH's rooms. They're both very pro- murdering the little demon until SQH calls their bluffs and tells them to do it then.

MBJ, sucking his thumb: 🥺

LQG: ...you do it

SQQ: No you

They both agree to keep it quiet - though SQQ immediately tells YQY the liar...

Soon half the future Peak Lords know about SQH's secret. Which is good because he needs their help figuring out what to do when MBJ's Dad eventually starts prowling around the base of the mountain looking for his kid.

YQY eventually shows off his leadership skills by meeting the senior Mobei and negotiating his son's return on the conditions that he not kill them when they give his kid back, and also please don't tell our shizuns about this. Which the senior Mobei is cool with because honestly losing a kid this badly is kinda embarrassing.

SQH is super attached by this point so he gives MBJ this long rambling good bye he thinks there's no way he'll remember because he's just a baby. (I love you you're my favorite don't trust your uncle and be safe I'll see you again soon my king I promise you're definitely going to be king some day by the way you're gonna be so big and strong and cool no one will be mean to you again I swear I'll beat them up if they do)

But of course, a decade and change later when MBJ meets him again he not only remembers but has missed his Hua-ge dearly.

Even later when the spying is revealed all the Peak Lords who were involved are just like, "Ohhh that makes sense. You betrayed us for Your Baby" (<what they all called MBJ)

Edit: I wrote a lil snippet of this.

#svsss #this could definitely be pre- moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #svsss au #i know I said baby this whole post but MBJ is like 5 #he can speak full sentences and everything

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silkythewriter · 1 year ago

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Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

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mari-positas · 1 year ago

Text

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika ��

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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deathberi · 2 years ago

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my mind on 99.9% ichiruki brainrot when its mimato week next week and i have ✨zero✨ progress on it 🫠

#trust this brainrot to go away when i actually need yhem #okok imma stop myself from making more edits this month and hopefully actually do them on ir month instead #its soon self you can do it #imma just read fanfics bye 😭#imma 1-day old my mweek entries at this rate #eri.txt #delete later maybe

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outer-andromeda · 3 months ago

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Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

#... oof. i uh. might come in and change some of all that because this is all one-shot and lots of it probably don't make any sense #I TRIED #I promise I can write sometimes. today just isn't the day I think whoops #ANYWAY- AU LOREEEE #Because I need Doey to be happy again damnit :((((#Immediate serotonin #+ gave a hug to the guy because GOODNESS GRACIOUS DOES HE NEED A THOUSAND #my art #doodle #writing #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime spoilers #doey #doey the doughman #self insert #ppt #big bro & kids shenanigans au #PS. also keep in mind I'm French so uh... if some stuff don't make sense that might also explain why lmao

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clockwayswrites · 11 days ago

Text

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 4, Part 3

Masterpost, (pls no editing or concrit. I am still ill, editing is hard)

“Go deep sea fishing, mother fucker!”

Well, that was sure a phrase to wake up to. Danny wasn’t convinced that someone in the room had actually said it. Maybe he was having a lingering dream. The hand in his hair was nice though.

It was nice to be touched.

So many of that Titans were easy with their touch. Kori was constantly hugging people or draping herself over their shoulders. Nightwing was the same, but he’d also just touch people as he passed them, like he was taking count. Gar loved to sit on a couch with people as an animal. Cyborg was big on high-fives and Donna clasps on shoulders. Raven wasn’t a toucher, but somehow Danny knew that she was reaching out to her teammates in her own way. He wondered how Wally would be, once he was back. He looked like a hugger.

Danny’s pillow shook with laughter. Not wanting to actually be awake yet, Danny turned his face further towards the darkness with a little mumble of noise. The hand scratched satisfyingly against his scalp.

“Is he awake?”

“I don’t really think so,” Danny’s pillow said, “but I think it’s going that way.”

“Good timing, pizza will be here soon!” Another voice chirped.

“You have to make sure he eats.” That was Flash. He could tell by the static hum.

“We will,” the Pillow said. “Gar’s been good about that.”

“Course I have,” replied who must be Gar.

Gar… gar gar gar, gar fish! Beast Boy. Beast Boy had been feeding Danny. His food was pretty good and the vegan stuff was easy on Danny’s stomach. He’d been nauseous on and off since Flash showed up to haunt him.

“Wally,” an accented voice said. Oh, Kori, right. Who was Wally? “It is still your turn.”

“Yeah, but my acting hands are a little busy.” Oh. Oh. Flash was Wally?

Wally.

That fit him, Danny thought. Wally. Cheerful. Also dealing with him has been a real ‘where’s Waldo’ sort of thing. Danny’s own bad joke made him laughter. The snicker was smothered by his pillow.

“Everything good over there, Dick?”

“Probably!” the Pillow said. The Pillow was named Dick?

Danny rolled over enough to peer up at the person he was resting on. It was Nightwing. Or Nightwing without his mask. Unmasked Nightwing was called Dick?

‘Nightwing is a real Dick.’

Really?

“Really?” Danny asked out load. He twisted until he could see Flash. Wally. Whichever. Sure, he as looking at Wally upside down, but he still tried for a scowl. “Really? You secret code to get me into the tower was a joke about his name?”

Wally shrugged. “What? Knowing a hero’s secret identity is a big thing and you didn’t even know you knew. I thought it was pretty prefect, and besides, it worked!”

“I can’t believe you,” Danny said.

“No, this is peak Wally,” Raven interjected dryly. “It’s very much a thing he would do.”

Danny blinked upside down at the rest of the crowd. All of the Titans that had come to support and wait for the Flash were gathered around, sitting on stools and pillows in a semi circle around several pile of cards.

“Are those Uno cards? Aren’t you playing Go Fish?”

“Super Mega Ultra Go Fish!” Gar said, complete with jazz hands.

“Right, what is—no, wait!” Danny spread an arm out, stopping himself. He slipped a little, though Nightwing made sure he didn’t fall, bless him. “Knowing a hero’s secret identity is a big deal! Why are all of you using real names?”

Nightwing—Dick—shrugged and Danny shifted with the motion. “Because we trust you and wearing a mask all the time sucks.”

Danny blinked up at him. “What?”

“You were a hero too, Raven likes your vibe, you nearly killed yourself to help Wally, and you’re kind,” Dick said like that explained it. “We trust you.”

“Oh. Okay?” Danny still didn’t get it, but what else was there to say? “Now what the fuck is Super Mega Ultra Go Fish?”

“You have to do the jazz hands,” Raven said.

With her usual deadpan tone, Danny didn’t know if she was joking or not.

He did the jazz hands anyways.

“Super Mega Ultra Go Fish—” Gar did Jazz hands “—is the Titan’s special version of Go Fish. It’s been developed over many years of friendly games, brutal arguments, post battle insomnia, and one very boring abduction by aliens. We add a new word each time it goes through a major shift, so this is version four!”

“Right,” Danny said, drawing the word out. “And there are Uno cards?”

“And flash cards!”

“Trivial pursuit cards if you’re unlucky.”

“Candy Land—”

“That explains the monopoly board, I guess,” Danny mumbled.

“—and one of Raven’s old oracle decks if shit gets really weird.”

“Y’all are way too proud of yourselves,” Danny said. After a beat he added, “and are so teaching me how to play.”

“Yes!” Gar cheered. “Super Mega Ultra Go Fish has a new player in town!”

“After food,” Dick said, looking at his phone. “Pizza is here. Danny, do you think that if we all move upstairs that Wally will stay around?”

Danny tilted his head in thought. “I think so? It’s always been about his proximity to me, right Fl—Wally?”

“Yep. It’s like you’re my focus point. I don’t know if the machine expands that though based on its location. We can only figure it out if we try though,” Wally said.

“Okay, I missed a lot of that,” Cyborg said. “Translation?”

Danny paused in sitting up. “Huh?”

“Wally is staticy to us. We don’t get every word of what he’s saying,” Dick explained as he reached out to steady Danny.

“Oh that’s… huh. Something to look into. Um, I’m Wally’s focal point but the machine might expand things to you all. We won’t know what the anchor is, me of the machine, until we try,” Danny explained. “Or that’s basically it.”

“But if he disappears, we can get him back?” Kori asked.

Danny nodded and finished sitting up with a little waver. “Yeah. He won’t really disappear, I’ll be tied to him, it will just be y’all's perception of him.”

Kori nodded back. “Okay, then we try.”

“Then we try,” Wally agreed and came to stand by Danny.

If he could have taken Wally’s hand, he would have. Instead he walked out through the door, to the elevator, and rode it up. Everyone else watched Wally so intently that he started to fidget.

They reached the personal floor.

The elevator dinged.

Wally was still there.

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally #rocket fuel

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kthologue · 2 years ago

Text

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — —

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing.

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist.

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated.

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind.

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point.

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.”

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — —

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]? getosugu how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri You disgust me sometimes getosugu Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.”

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — —

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa.

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked.

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — —

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you.

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him.

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up.

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid.

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — —

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.”

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you.

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together.

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper.

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

#i’d like to think they had a meet ugly that made him fall head over heels for [name]#[name] also believes her sole purpose on this earth is to humble him hehe #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kt.writes.·:*¨༺#i feel like i didnt make gojo mean enough. maybe next time #remember spring days!au

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starkeymeow · 1 month ago

Text

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT rafe cameron x reader au, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, grief, hallucinations, intense survival situations, just the hunger games sobs

main masterlist | tag list | post-games idea

prologue — “rafe cameron and y/n y/l/n, this year’s tributes for district two!”

reaping ceremony; district two is coming. and it’s already soaked in red.

chapter one — “i don’t plan to die.”

the train ride to the capitol; the parade; rafe and reader step into the arena of public eyes, and they already know it’s all a game.

chapter two — “if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the night after the parade; reader and rafe find each other on the balcony.

chapter three — “rise and shine, sweetheart.”

the first day of training; reader and rafe show each other what they’ve got. sneak peak to district fours tributes.

chapter four — “y/n y/l/n, with a score of . . .”

the rest of training week; the private sessions loom, and every tribute sharpens themselves into weapons, including y/n.

chapter five — “i don’t think he ever really saw me. just some idea of who he wanted me to be.”

caesar’s interview, the world watching; on the final night before the arena, rafe and reader tear down their last walls and find something almost human in each other.

chapter six — “win.”

the bloodbath; steel, blood, and desperate survival, reader and rafe fight their way out, but not everyone makes it.

chapter seven — “they could’ve fucking killed her.”

the birch forest is not all what it seems. an ambush shakes the group; kie’s injured.

chapter eight — “you think it’s a trap?” “everything��s a trap.”

the group finds some new solid ground to camp on; y/n finds the roses. y/n and topper come across their first mutt of the arena.

chapter nine — “just you ‘n me for right now, huh?”

rafe and reader are alone; reader finds out about the rose thorns toxins. they share a moment before their first sponsor gift comes.

chapter ten — “you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

rafe and reader reunite with kie and jj again, but it doesn’t last long.

chapter eleven — “i’m not dying for their cameras.”

the gamemakers open up a feast at dawn; devastated with the loss of kie, jj makes a sacrifice.

chapter twelve — “do you trust me?”

the final fights; glory, victory. rafe and reader make a decision that puts them down in history.

part thirteen — “make it worth it.”

reader wakes up from weeks of being in a coma; enobaria gives y/n a talk. y/n sees rafe for the first time in weeks and someone she never expected to see so soon.

part fourteen — “i don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

collection of imagines: rafe and reader move into victors village. y/n’s mom visits. snow proposes that rafe and y/n move into the same house together. reader has a nightmare.

part fifteen — “she’s good. the kind of good that makes you want to be better. even when you’re sure you can’t be.”

caesar’s interview with panem’s new victors; rafe and reader get closer.

part sixteen — “you’re owned, my dear.”

the victory tour commences; rafe and reader join together in the capitol for a victory ball to wrap up the tour. y/n finds something shocking about her victory.

part seventeen — “snow’s gonna kill me.”

collection: aftermath of reader refusing being sold. reader finds out rafe has to take her place, but while out one night, rafe comes back home to reveal he finally broke.

part eighteen — “we’re in the same boat now. might as well get used to each other.”

rafe and reader meet 18-year-old finnick odair the following year. headcanons and ideas of their dynamics and how post-quell plays out.

part nineteen — “i wanna be more than that.”

rafe confesses his love to reader who’s avoidant; reader lets rafe touch their back for the first time since the implants.

part twenty — “may we meet again.”

the 74th hunger games commences. rafe and reader must mentor cato and clove; y/n is devastated to find the victors are falling into the same footsteps as her and rafe.

chapter twenty-one — “even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol.”

catchup of post-74th; president snow announces the quarter quell three months before the reaping.

chapter twenty-two — “i volunteer as tribute.”

enobaria has to decide whether to stand for or stand down when it comes to who will be reaped into the games; rafe volunteers.

coming soon.

516 notes · View notes

zaynessbeloved · 24 days ago

Text

Suppressing desires

Synopsis: You never expected your quiet friendship with Zayne—the cold, brilliant cardiac surgeon—to spiral into something that burned beneath your skin. Between long shifts, cold coffee, and fleeting moments, you tried to ignore the pull between you two. But life was hard, and desire was harder to suppress. Filming yourself became your secret escape. You never thought he’d find your videos. You never thought he’d watch. And when the truth breaks free, so does everything between you.

Content warnings: Friends to lovers, slow burn, camgirl x viewer dynamic, explicit sexual content, masturbation (camgirl content), mild voyeurism (consensual context), sexual tension, emotional angst, miscommunication, guilt, soft dominance, possessiveness, power dynamic, soft dom Zayne, oral sex, begging, overstimulation, rough sex, aftercare, cute shower scene, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, confessions during intimacy, possessive!Zayne, light choking (consensual), hand on belly kink, manhandling, praise kink, deep emotional release, cuddling, vulnerability, comfort after conflict.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 5.3k

A/n: not necessarily canon, although i do believe that if zayne stumbled into a similar situation, my poor baby would feel a little guilty for indulging especially since he would think it's like breaking some sort of trust. so i indulged myself too and wrote this hehe

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - more soon

There are days it feels like you live in thirds. A third of you is bent over textbooks and digital coursework, chasing a degree that always looms just far enough ahead to make your knees ache. Another third is spent on your feet at the café just off campus, the one with creaky floorboards, overcomplicated drinks, and regulars who tip more in compliments than cash. And the last third… that part stays behind a locked screen, wrapped in pseudonyms, soft lighting, breathy sounds, and a silence that speaks louder than any script ever could.

Your mornings start like most others. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm again. You wake with a groan, limbs heavy with sleep. You shower quickly, half-conscious, dress in the kind of casual comfort that passes for effort, then stuff your laptop into the overstuffed tote that’s already begun to fray at the edges. Outside, the campus air bites at your calves. Inside the café, warmth greets you in the form of sputtering espresso machines and the low hum of indie playlists stuck on loop.

You smile easily there—for coworkers, customers, your manager who thinks you’re too quiet to be anything but sweet. It’s the kind of smile that comes from muscle memory, not comfort, but it works. People don’t ask questions when you wear that kind of smile.

Sometimes, you catch your reflection in the brushed metal of the machines—tired eyes, a faint smudge of concealer from rushing, lips bitten raw from absentminded nerves. No one looking at you now would guess what you filmed just two nights ago. Your knees spread wide, thighs trembling, back arched off soft bedsheets as you pressed the toy in slow, torturous circles—silent except for the gasp you couldn’t hold back when it hit too good to ignore. You never look into the camera unless you’re about to come. That’s your rule. You like the power of it, the control, the way eyes across the world wait, hungry, breathless for that moment. And you give it to them only when you decide.

Your videos are never live. You prefer the curated performance, the soft power of editing, of trimming away anything that feels too messy or raw. You don’t talk much on camera either. It’s all in the act, in the rhythm, the tension, the wet sounds of your fingers and the breath that catches when your body starts to shake. You don’t do it for the money—not necessarily. Not even for the thrill, entirely.

You just like being watched. You like the heat of unseen eyes. You like being wanted.

That side of you never bleeds into daylight. Not when you’re pouring oat milk into a cup or typing essays in the corner of the library. Not when your professors call your name or classmates ask if you’re coming to the party and you shake your head, smile, and lie. They don’t know you. Not really. No one does.

————

Zayne’s world is built on precision. Timing. Structure. A sterile kind of order that makes everything else easier to bear.

His days begin early—not in the reluctant, groggy way most people drag themselves out of bed, but with mechanical efficiency. The alarm never needs to ring twice. He moves through his apartment like clockwork: a clean shave, black coffee left to cool slightly while he reviews patient charts. His suits are always pressed, muted tones in grays and blacks, crisp lines and subtle textures chosen with the kind of quiet deliberation that fits his nature.

The walk to Akso Hospital is usually silent, save for the muted rhythm of traffic and his own measured footsteps. He prefers it that way—mornings still and untouched, like clean paper before the ink hits. By the time most people are settling into their first meetings, Zayne has already scrubbed in, gloved up, and cut through someone's ribcage with the focus of a man who knows what’s at stake with every breath.

He is known across the hospital for many things—his brilliance, his meticulous work, his ability to navigate even the most complex cardiac surgeries with unnerving calm. But also for his silence. His unshakable, unreadable stillness. Nurses whisper that he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink when things go wrong. Interns dread rounds with him, fearing the weight of a single, unimpressed glance through his silver wire-frame glasses. No one ever says it to his face, of course—no one dares—but the nickname floats down the halls in quiet breath: Ice Doctor.

They don’t know him. Not really. Zayne doesn’t mind. In fact, he prefers it. Distance is clean. Distance is efficient. But lately—for the first time in years—he’s started to notice the cracks.

They began with you.

He met you by chance. A standard consult. A low-priority case, routine enough that he barely glanced at the file until you sat down across from him, looking half-exhausted, half-annoyed, a mix of vulnerability and fire he wasn’t expecting to deal with on a Tuesday. You misunderstood him, at first. Most people do. You thought he was being cold, uncaring—but then you caught the subtle tilt of his mouth when he made a dry remark, the pause he took before speaking, as if weighing whether you’d understand what he didn’t say aloud.

You saw through him faster than most. And he saw more of you than he meant to.

A week later, he walked into the café down the street and found you behind the counter—your apron askew, hair pinned up messily, hands moving on autopilot while you poured milk into a to-go cup. Your eyes widened when you spotted him. Not in fear, not embarrassment. Just surprise. Warmth. A flicker of something real.

It became a pattern after that. Not always intentional—he never made a point to come in on your shifts, not at first. But somehow, more often than not, the time aligned. He’d stop by after his rounds, fingers aching from holding instruments too tightly, the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to his sleeves. And there you were—tired, smiling, sometimes annoyed at the espresso machine, sometimes lost in thought. But always there.

Over the past year, you’ve kept in touch. A message here. A passing conversation there. Long gaps. Quiet ones. But the thread held. He doesn’t say much—never has—but he remembers things. How you hate hazelnut syrup but pretend to like it when it's free. How you always carry a pen tucked behind your ear. How your smile changes when you’re genuinely amused, eyes squinting just slightly at the corners. How your voice softens when you're talking about something you care about.

He regards you as a friend. A curious one. Interesting. Sharp. Bold in ways he isn’t, soft in places he thought were best left untouched.

He hasn’t allowed himself to want anything more. He tells himself it wouldn’t be fair. That he doesn’t have time. That you deserve someone softer, more available, someone who doesn’t carry the ghosts of too many open chests and sleepless nights.

And yet… he remembers your coffee order. He notices when your wrist is wrapped in a brace. He sends a message to check if your fever has gone down—not phrased kindly, not overtly. Just, Did you rest? Did you take anything for it? Delivered without a hello.

You think he’s sweet underneath it all, and maybe you’re right. But he doesn’t know what to do with that…

It’s nearing six when you finally manage to drag yourself behind the counter again. Your body aches in places that shouldn’t ache from standing, your backpack’s digging into your shoulder like it has a personal vendetta, and you’re pretty sure your brain has been replaced with coffee grounds and static. Uni was a blur of deadlines and professors who didn’t believe in compassion. Work has been nothing but loud blenders, passive-aggressive customers, and the espresso machine threatening its own slow death.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you hear the small chime above the café door. You don’t even bother looking up right away—it’s probably another regular wanting decaf with oat milk and something gluten-free.

"You're still standing. Impressive."

The voice is dry. Smooth. Low and effortless, the syllables pressed clean like he’s never known exhaustion.

You look up. And just like that, something in your chest—tight from the weight of the day—eases.

Zayne stands in the doorway, his coat collar slightly damp from the drizzle outside, a few strands of black hair fallen out of place and curling ever so slightly at his temple. His silver glasses fog faintly from the warmth of the room. He adjusts them with his thumb before sliding one hand into the pocket of his coat, scanning the near-empty café with that practiced calm he always carries, like he’s already memorized the layout, like he’s always a step ahead of everything.

You blink once, twice. Then you smile, slow and tired, but real. “Dr. Zayne. Back from the dead, I see.”

His brow twitches. “Haven’t died yet. Just caught up in hospital bureaucracy. And you?”

“Dying,” you say flatly. “But still clocked in, so. Yay capitalism.”

Something flickers across his expression—something subtle but warm. The corner of his mouth lifts just enough to pass as amusement. It isn’t a laugh, not quite. But you’ve learned his language by now. It is a smile.

You haven’t seen him in a while. A few weeks at least. You’d assumed he was buried in OR schedules or buried under paperwork—both likely true. But the thing is, with Zayne, distance never feels like absence. He doesn’t text daily. He doesn’t send memes at midnight or call just to chat. But he always replies. He always remembers. Always shows up when it matters.

Even now, even on a random day like this—he’s here.

You take his usual order before he even asks. “Black coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar. I’d say you’re predictable, but somehow I find it comforting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmurs, glancing toward the window as he tugs off his coat, revealing a light gray vest under his dark suit. His sleeves are rolled up today, and you catch sight of the faint pale scars that line his forearms—surgical, clean, some old, some newer. You never ask about them.

While the coffee brews, you sneak over to the pastry case, grab a small box, and tuck a trio of macarons inside—lemon, raspberry, and pistachio. You know he has a sweet tooth. It’s not something he ever admits out loud, but you’ve caught the way his eyes linger on the dessert menu longer than necessary. The way he once looked genuinely betrayed when the last slice of tiramisu was gone.

You place the cup down in front of him along with the box. “On the house. Consider it a thank-you for being the only person today who hasn’t complained about the wifi or asked for gluten-free milk.”

Zayne glances at the box, then at you. His eyes—green threaded through gold—soften ever so slightly behind the glass.

“You shouldn’t,” he says, but his voice betrays him. It’s low, rougher than usual. There’s a flicker of concern there, just under the surface. “You look exhausted.”

You shrug, wiping your hands on a towel and avoiding the way your throat tightens. “I’m always exhausted.”

“That doesn’t mean it should be ignored.”

You meet his gaze. There’s something in it—something steady. Not pity. Not obligation. Just… attention. Care, measured in his own quiet, deliberate way.

And for some reason, that makes everything feel a little less heavy.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” you tease, leaning your elbows onto the counter, allowing yourself to sink just a little into the warmth between you. “Beneath all that brooding, you’re secretly a softie.”

He exhales slowly, looking away, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a smirk. “Don’t spread slander.”

“Too late.”

And just like that, the tiredness doesn’t disappear—not fully—but it softens. You feel it in the space between you, in the silence that isn’t awkward, in the way Zayne sits down at his usual table but still angles himself toward the counter, still watching you as you move, still present in that solid, dependable way that only he is.

You don’t know what it is between you exactly. You’ve never asked. Never pushed. But maybe that’s what makes it feel so steady—whatever this is, it’s growing on its own, slow and sure and real.

And right now, that’s enough.

The day ends like so many others—not with rest, but with collapse. A few more hours of wiping down counters, smiling politely, pretending like your spine isn’t screaming, like your brain isn’t soup from back-to-back classes and closing shifts. Zayne stayed for a while. Long enough for a few more quiet exchanges, a few soft jabs that made you roll your eyes but smile without meaning to. He left the macarons box empty, like always. You found a note under the lid—small, scrawled in his impossibly neat handwriting.

Try sleeping for more than four hours. Just once. Indulge me.

You didn’t text him about it, just tucked the note into the front pocket of your backpack like you weren’t saving it.

By the time you get home, it’s past eleven. Your shoes are kicked off somewhere near the doorway. Your bag drops with a thud. The floor is cold beneath your toes, and the tiny studio apartment hums with that late-night stillness that always makes you feel like you're the only person alive.

You should sleep. You know that. But your body is buzzing, skin prickling with something close to frustration—a dull, gnawing ache that’s been sitting low in your belly for days now. The kind that builds under stress, under pressure, under the exhausting demand to keep yourself contained.

You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. And then you decide—fuck it. It’s been too long.

You rise, slow but certain, and flick on the soft corner lamp. Warm light spills across the sheets as you pull open the drawer under your bed. Camera. Tripod. The sleek little toy you’ve come to know like a second pulse. Everything exactly where it always is.

You don’t think too hard about it—you never do. The setup is instinct by now. Angle. Lighting. Camera set to record, not live. That was always your boundary, and you’ve stuck to it. You like knowing you’re watched—but on your terms.

You undress slowly, peeling off each layer like a ritual. Tank top. Shorts. Underwear last. You stretch out on the sheets, limbs loose, eyes half-lidded as you glance toward the lens. Red light blinking. Recording. You inhale, long and steady, and slide your hand down the length of your thigh.

It’s not about pretending. Not for you. This part is real.

You reach for the toy—curved just right, smooth and familiar in your grip. You turn it on, the quiet hum teasing in the air, and press it against your clit. Soft at first. Just enough to make your legs twitch. Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as you sink deeper into the rhythm.

You don’t speak. It’s all movement, all sensation—the way your back arches, the way your fingers curl, the wet sound of slickness growing louder as you press harder. You imagine the way they watch you—faceless men, thirsty and obsessed, paying just to see you like this. To witness you unravel.

You don’t care who they are. You don’t need their names. All you need is the heat. The eyes. The knowledge that somewhere out there, someone is watching you lose control.

Your free hand grips the sheets as you circle tighter, faster, chasing the edge that’s been just out of reach for days now. Your breath comes fast, uneven, your hips rolling against the toy like your body’s forgotten how to be quiet.

And then it hits. It crashes through you all at once—your thighs shaking, a moan ripped from your throat before you can stop it, drawn out and helpless. You ride it through, breathless and twitching, clenching around nothing as your mind blanks out completely.

The toy drops from your fingers. You exhale like you haven’t breathed in hours. Chest rising. Falling. Sheets damp beneath you. Muscles trembling, toes curled.

For the first time all week, you feel light. Not fixed, not whole. But calmer. Fulfilled. Like the storm in your head finally went quiet.

You let the camera roll for a few more seconds, your eyes drifting lazily toward it. Then you reach over and press stop. You’ll edit it later. Upload it for your subscribers sometime tomorrow. You know it’ll do well—they’ve been waiting. But for now, you just lie there. Naked. Spent. The room warm and humming around you. You feel the ache in your thighs and the slow, heavy pleasure in your limbs, and you think—just maybe—you’ll sleep better tonight.

The next morning, you uploaded it with little fanfare—just a title, a few tags, and a click. That was it. No teasing caption. No promo. You didn’t need one. Your followers were loyal, patient, and generous. You’d built your small corner of that world on consistency and intensity—no gimmicks, no exaggerated moaning or roleplay. Just you, real and raw, caught in the haze of your own desire.

Then life resumed. Papers stacked high in your bag. Three hours of sleep, back-to-back lectures. Your manager texting you last-minute to cover someone else’s shift. The usual chaos. You moved through it like you always did—bleary-eyed and running on caffeine and quiet stubbornness, earbuds in, listening to soft background noise or lo-fi playlists just to keep yourself from mentally combusting.

But that week, a quiet thrill stayed beneath your skin. A subtle spark in your blood every time you checked your balance or saw the little notification pop up on your phone: another tip, another purchase. The video was doing well.

And so, despite everything—the exhaustion, the growing mountain of responsibilities, the ache that lived in your neck from sleeping on your desk—you smiled more. Just a little.

Meanwhile, across the city, Zayne was unraveling slowly in the background of his own life. Back-to-back surgeries. Consults stacked like dominos from 6am to well after sunset. He moved through the sterile halls of Akso Hospital like a ghost—crisp white coat, clipped strides, glasses slightly smudged from forgetting to wipe them between rounds. No one questioned it. Zayne lived in work. Always had. No one expected otherwise.

But when he returned home, keys sliding into the lock of his cold, quiet apartment, silence pressed down on him like a weighted hand. No music played here. No voice greeted him. Just the dull hum of the refrigerator and the soft click of his bedroom door as it swung open. The lights were automatic—they greeted him better than most people did. He unbuttoned his vest slowly, fingers tracing the familiar shape of the scars on his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing skin that rarely saw daylight.

He wasn't the type, they would say. Zayne? A man like that? Too cold. Too principled. Too composed.

But they didn’t see him like this. At 1am after his third emergency procedure of the week. When his body ached, his brain wouldn’t shut off, and the weight of every decision clung to him like blood under the nails. On nights like this, he needed release, not gentleness. Just something else. Something that burned hotter than the sterile quiet of his apartment. Something that could blot out the silence.

So sometimes, rarely, he gave in.

He didn’t browse. Didn’t search for fantasy or romance. It wasn’t about who. It was about rhythm. Sound. Timing. That quiet build-up of heat that pulled him out of his head long enough to forget the last chest he’d cut open. He’d scroll, eyes half-lidded, not even really looking, until something felt right. Click. Background noise. His belt unbuckled, trousers shoved down just enough. He’d stroke himself in silence, face calm even as his breathing stuttered, the faintest hint of a flush beneath the angle of his jaw.

Tonight was one of those nights. Dinner sat forgotten on the kitchen counter—half a reheated plate of something he didn’t taste. He stripped down to just his shirt, buttons undone, hair mussed from raking his fingers through it too many times. He dropped into bed, long legs splayed out, one arm propped behind his head, and opened the app.

He scrolled. Absentminded. Mechanical. Half-lazy strokes already beginning, just enough to coax his body into tension. He wasn’t really watching. Just letting the static buzz of arousal settle in his bloodstream like it always did. Something to quiet the chaos.

Until his eyes caught on a thumbnail. His hand paused. No. No, it couldn’t be.

He blinked. Stared. Dragged the screen back down and hovered his thumb over it. There you were.

At least… it looked like you. Same mouth. Same eyes. Same curve of your jaw when your head tipped back, lips parted, bathed in amber light.

He didn’t breathe. The blood drained from his face, pooling instead in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he wondered if this was a hallucination. Maybe he’d passed out mid-surgery and was dreaming. Delirious. This couldn’t be real.

But the thumbnail moved. A preview looped—a low gasp, a roll of your hips, your eyes half-lidded and unmistakably yours.

Zayne sat up slowly, his hand falling away from himself like it no longer belonged there. The room was suddenly too warm. His heart was hammering, tight and confused in his chest.

He didn’t mean to watch it. At first it was just the thumbnail—looping on its own, as if daring him to look closer. A breath caught mid-gasp, your chest rising and falling in the low flicker of warm light. He told himself it couldn’t be you, over and over again. Tried to convince himself that he was tired. Imagining things. Misreading familiar shapes in unfamiliar context.

But when he tapped the screen, when the preview expanded, the sound came. Soft. Involuntary. Yours. It slid into him like a knife between the ribs.

Zayne’s breath stilled in his throat, muscles tight, body caught somewhere between instinct and denial. He was still touching himself—hand firm around his cock, half-hard from the lingering pressure he’d started absentmindedly before this whole thing derailed—but now it wasn’t mindless anymore. Now it was you.

And the video just kept playing. There wasn’t even a buildup—it dropped him right into the middle of it, your legs spread, your fingers glistening, mouth slack with pleasure. You didn’t say a word—you never needed to. It was the sound that did it. The staggered breaths. The slick rhythm. The choked noise that slipped out of you when your hips rolled just right.

Zayne felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

It was real. You were real. His friend—if he could even still call you that—was there, laid bare on his screen, fingers buried between your thighs, glowing in candlelight and shadows, and the worst part, the part that made his pulse thunder in shame and disbelief, was how fucking hard he was.

He knew he should stop. He knew it. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the phone like that could will the image away. This was wrong. Invasive. You hadn’t sent it to him. You didn’t know. You couldn’t. You didn’t film this for him. You didn’t look into the camera with his name on your tongue.

Your moans, soft and breathless, ghosted across his skin like smoke—like heat, curling low and unforgiving in his gut. His cock twitched in his hand. A hot flush climbed his neck, and still he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He sat there—flushed, breathing unevenly, hazel eyes locked on the screen as you reached the edge. As your body shivered through release, legs shaking, head tilted back in the sweetest surrender he’d ever seen. Your thighs flexed, your chest rose in short, panting bursts, and a broken little sound spilled from your throat, caught somewhere between pleasure and relief.

Zayne exhaled sharply. His grip stuttered.

This wasn’t you, he tried to tell himself. Not the you he’d seen bent over a register, rolling your eyes at broken machines and slipping him macarons like it was a secret only you two shared. Not the girl who smiled at him after ten hours on her feet, who made him feel less hollow without trying. Not that version.

But this was you too. Unfiltered. Wild. Raw. And Zayne—private, controlled, unshakeable Zayne—couldn’t lie to himself: he wanted this version too.

His head fell back against the pillows, throat tight, his hand moving now not from boredom or stress, but from need. Desperate and hot and shameful. He pictured your voice, your expression, the exact shape your lips made when you moaned like that. The exact second your back arched, and your hand trembled, and you pressed the toy tighter between your legs.

He came harder than he meant to—panting, flushed, his body jerking once, twice as release flooded through him, leaving him wrecked and breathless in the dim glow of his bedroom.

The video ended. The screen faded to black. And for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt ashamed of how good something had felt.

He lay there, bare chest rising slowly, still holding the phone like it might burn through his fingers. Guilt curled in the pit of his stomach, thick and sour. His heart was still racing.

This was a line he should never have crossed. He cleaned up in silence, showered with water too cold, as if punishing himself might undo what had happened. As if it would rinse the memory from his skin. But it didn’t. And the worst part wasn’t that he watched it. The worst part was the next time he saw you.

A week passed. Nothing changed. Life resumed. But when he walked into the café again, the familiar chime above the door sounding, and he saw you—tired but smiling, apron crooked, hands covered in a dusting of flour—he hesitated. Just for a second. Not enough for you to notice. You greeted him with the same warmth, the same tired spark in your eyes.

But for Zayne, the moment your smile reached him, the image played behind his eyes with ruthless clarity—your lips parted, your back arching, your fingers sinking between your thighs as if your body couldn’t stand to be empty.

And he felt it again—that sharp, helpless ache. Nothing changed, he told himself. But it had. And now, he didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

You were running on fumes and spite that afternoon. Your professor had spent the entire lecture acting like compassion was a foreign concept, refusing to grant you an extension on a project after you’d explained, calmly, that working double shifts at the café wasn’t something you could magically pause. That if you didn’t keep working, you’d have to cut back on food. Rent. Tuition.

He didn’t care. Of course he didn’t. The world kept demanding, and you kept bleeding for it.

So by the time you made it to your shift, still fuming and running late, your jaw was tight and your heart was thumping with quiet rage. The café smelled like burnt espresso and too much vanilla syrup, and you were already three orders deep before you even realized the bell above the door had chimed again.

"Coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar."

You glanced up. And your breath caught—not in any special way, not dramatically—but just for the slightest pause. Like your heart forgot which rhythm it was keeping for half a second.

Zayne stood by the register, his coat open over one of his usual three-piece suits. Grey today. Darker than usual, tailored to the shape of his shoulders like it had been made with reverence. His glasses sat just slightly lower on the bridge of his nose, as always. But his expression—it was… off.

You didn’t notice at first. You smiled like you always did, too wound up in your own chaos to analyze anything.

“You say that like evolving would mean drinking bitter bean water voluntarily.” you started prepping his drink. “No, Dr. Zayne, I’ll leave the self-torture to your operating rooms.”

You meant it lightly. A jab. Something to ease the day. You even added one of the pistachio macarons you’d stashed in the back—he never asked, but you always noticed the way his eyes lingered on that flavor. It felt like your small way of saying I see you.

But when you looked up again, something in his gaze snagged. It wasn’t tired. Not exactly. Zayne always carried a quiet exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, the weight of long hours stitched into the seams of his suit. But this… this was different.

His eyes didn’t meet yours the way they usually did. His expression wasn’t unreadable; it was withheld. His replies, when they came, were shorter. Clipped.

“Rough shift?” you tried, voice softening as you slid the cup across the counter.

He glanced at it. Then at you.

“Long week,” he said finally.

That was all.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. That inner radar you’d honed from years of pretending things were fine when they weren’t—it started to twitch. Zayne was reserved, yes, but never cold. Not with you. And now something was pulling back from you, like he was afraid to stand too close.

You debated pushing. But in the end, you let it go. If anyone had earned the right to stay quiet, it was him. Maybe it was just another surgical complication. Maybe a patient. Maybe grief he didn’t name.

You didn’t ask again. He took his drink and sat at his usual table by the window, but didn’t stay long. You’d barely managed to sneak a glance over your shoulder—just to see if he’d eaten the macaron—when you noticed he’d already left. The box still sat on the table, unopened.

The shift ended, and you walked home with a strange heaviness curling around your chest, even heavier than the bags under your eyes.

Weeks passed. You posted again. Two more videos, both different in style. One was slower, softer—you wore lace and touched yourself with delicate fingers, teasing, stretching the moment until the moans came high and breathy and desperate. The second was rougher—new toy, deeper angle, your face flushed with exertion as you came harder, louder, lost in something deeper than just arousal. You didn’t talk in either, as usual. But you felt—and the screen captured every moment of it. Every arch of your back, every quake of your thighs.

And they both did well. Better than expected. The payments trickled in. Your following grew. You should’ve felt triumphant—and you did, a little. But there was still that weight.

Because Zayne hadn’t come by the café again. Not really unusual—his schedule was brutal, and you never expected regularity from him. But this time, the space between you felt different. His texts were fewer. Drier. When he did message, they were practical at best—neutral check-ins about health, about classes, never personal, never playful. Gone were the occasional sarcastic remarks or small jokes he used to slip in. Gone were the conversations that left you smiling at your phone like an idiot.

And it hit you, quietly, in the middle of a late shift—that something had changed.

You leaned against the counter as the espresso dripped, staring out the window at the blur of headlights, and whispered to yourself, “Did I do something?”

Maybe it was you. Maybe something you said. Maybe he saw the cracks in your mask and decided he didn’t want to see what was behind them. You tried not to let it sink in, but you’d always been too good at internalizing. Too good at filling in the blanks with blame.

So you told yourself he was busy. That it didn’t matter. That he was just Zayne—cold, private, unreachable Zayne. But a part of you… the part that always noticed when he shifted slightly closer, or how his eyes lingered a second too long when you handed him coffee—that part of you knew something was wrong.

And it was starting to hurt.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deep space #loveanddeepspace #doctor zayne #zayne li #zayne #zayne x reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #li shen #dr zayne #zayne x mc #zayne lads #zayne x you

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lavandadiana · 1 month ago

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Hear me out, Original Nice x Hero Lin Ling.

Takes place during episode 1, Miss J was able to catch up to Nice and stop him from committing suicide, and let him some time to recuperate because Nice is still suicidal. (Lin Ling doesn't take over as Nice.)

Miss J forces Nice to be on True Love's Recipe (Enlighter still takes over as host), and was about to tell the truth about not being Moon's boyfriend when something crashed into the studio, interrupting the show.

It's the rank 14 hero, The Commoner (Lin Ling), and his nemesis, The King (an OC I just made up). They were fighting outside the studio when The Commoner punched The King into it.

Miss J, Moon, and Nice are somewhat relieved that they were interrupted. The King tried to take Moon hostage, but Nice interfered and was captured instead. (Think of the wedding scene from episode 2 where Moon wanted Wreck to kill her, but now it's Nice with the King.)

The commoner, unaffiliated with the Treeman Corporation, still knows that Miss J will chew his ear off and possibly lower his trust value if Nice dies.

Awesome fight scene occurs, The King gets frustrated and commands Nice to kill The Commoner. (The King's main power.*) Nice, under The King's command, tries to kill The Commoner, but with the right words, inspires Nice to break free from The King's command.

But Nice was floating high in the air when he broke free from The King's command. Since breaking free from The King's command takes a lot of energy, Nice falls from the sky.

The Commoner jumps up and catches Nice. Nice, tired and hazy from being under the King's powers, he sees The Commoner with a white light behind him. (A studio light broke and was shining on him.)

"Is he my guardian angel?" Nice thought, as he gets flustered. "His dark brown hair, with a white streak, shines so beautifully in the light. He still has the light in his stunning brown eyes, so innocent."

"Are you okay?" The Commoner asked Nice. Nice, flustered, nodded, not even daring to speak. Luckily or unluckily, depending on who you ask, the camera crew was still rolling, capturing the scene of The Commoner princess carrying the flustered Nice.

The Commoner placed Nice on the couch while he beat up The King. The Commoner does his fighting, defeating The King, but because of his status, he knew that he would be free soon.

After the fight, he bids Nice and Moon goodbye and takes The King into custody. Nice, his face still red, lovingly waves goodbye to The Commoner.

After the fight, clips of The Commoner saving Nice and Nice lovingly waving bye to The Commoner goes viral. It raises their trust values, making Nice, rank 12, and The Commoner, rank 11.

Because the clips went viral, people began shipping The Commoner with Nice. Shipping wars broke out: NiceMoon vs. NiceWreck vs. NiceCommoner. People noticed similarities between Nice and The Commoner, stating that they were soulmates because of them.

Treeman Corporation tried to wait it out, but as time passed, Nice x The Commoner became even more popular. Eventually, they contacted The Commoner's agency to see what could be done.

(In this AU, Lin Ling got signed by the guy who created FOMO in episode 4.) Instead of forcing The Commoner to do what the company wants, they let him have some autonomy over himself and his brand.

Treeman Corp. pays Lin Ling to have The Commoner to spend time with Nice in public. "A bromance." Miss J says. Lin Ling agrees, and a friendship between The Commoner and Nice blooms.

They fight together sometimes; they train together sometimes. The announcements of Nice and The Commoner planning to enter the top 10 (separately) came out one after the other.

Of course, it's all for publicity. Lin Ling likes Nice, but to him, it's platonic; it's work. But for Nice? Oh, he's fallen hard for Lin Ling.

Edits, fanfics, fan art, and everything else—Nice has seen them all. Nice knows the public wants Nice to date The Commoner, and for once, he agrees. Treeman is hesitant; some fans still want Nice and Moon together.

But Lin Ling refuses. He absolutely refuses to date Nice. Nice only knows The Commoner, the hero, not Lin Ling, the real him. Even though his hero persona and real self are similar, Lin Ling hides things from the public, hence the differences between his hero and real personality. (Like Moon in episode 2. She has her hero side and her real self separate. But Lin Ling only hides small things unknown to the public.) Only after knowing the real Nice, does Lin Ling also develop feelings for Nice.

This could go either way. Yandere Nice, doing everything he could to get Lin Ling to agree to date; Nice pining after The Commoner, getting to know Lin Ling, doing acts of service for him to make Lin Ling agree to date.

OR Nice is pining after The Commoner, but X is pining after Lin Ling. (The Commoner and Lin Ling literally look the same, but their personalities differ.)

Just some food for thoughts. :)

*The King is basically an OC villain I created on the spot. He is a wealthy and powerful socialite. His main power is commanding one person at a time, who must then obey his orders. I think he could be a real villain/nemesis for The Commoner, or his hero agency could stage fights with The Commoner without his knowledge.*

#tbhx #凸变英雄x #to be hero x #nicest #original nice #tbhx nice #tbhx lin ling #tbhx the commoner #🜲Diadrabbles

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matsunoluvr · 10 months ago

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୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ when the love and deepspace boys get jealous

warnings: pouty men, jealous xavier is a warning in itself, sorry if i mischaracterise…. and i also have favourites LOLL

characters: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier

link to master list here!

author notes: all i can think of is pouty rafayel and jealous xavier my brain is a melted goop of lnds brainrot… also sorry for not posting in a while i was on holiday!!

also quick reminder that i have requests open but 1. i’ll get to them slowly and 2. please read my pinned post about rules!

more under the cut ~

out of the four men i think sylus is the least jealous - now let me elaborate that possessiveness and jealousy (in my eyes) are very different

if you talk to another man, sylus both trusts you and has enough faith in himself to know that no matter what the dude does, sylus is yours and you’re his

he trusts you 100%, without a shadow of a doubt. and this translates through his lack of jealousy when you spend time with other people

however, if the man even attempts to lay a finger on you, his tone becomes too sweet or his hand inches a bit too close and you’re getting uncomfortable?

you bet your ass sylus is interfering.

immediately shifts his body to create distance between you and the other party

he flashes a dangerous look at the other man, evol glowing dangerously as it whispers a small warning into the other’s ear

“Stay away and you get to stay alive.”

he seriously doesn't fuck around when it comes to your comfort and safety, and if he feels that another man is compromising it or pushing the boundaries it really ticks him off

when does sylus get jealous?

mostly when you start to spend less time with him and more time with others

it’s not as if as soon as you spend time with someone else he gets jealous, but if it causes you to start to ignore him/spend less time with him he gets jealous

when he gets jealous, he doesn’t hide it at all

sylus isn’t one to keep his feelings from you, so when you see his displeasured frown you know immediately something is up

he doesn’t get angry or petty when jealous, he just makes it clear that he’s not happy with the division of attention

when you ask him what’s up, he gives you the answer plain and simple

“Getting bored of me already? How come you’re spending more time with […] than me, I’m jealous.”

his voice is slow and clearly unimpressed, crossing his arms as he looks you up and down.

luckily for you, he’s not hard to win over

spend time with him, even if it’s not active such as going out to restaurants or to one of his formal events

the two of you sitting in comfortable silence, him reading a magazine and you looking through moments, that’s more than enough for him

he’s not opposed to displays of physical affection either, cuddling or kisses to his face - anything that tells him “you’re mine/i’m yours” will satisfy him

just make sure not to spend TOO much time with the other person, otherwise sylus might seriously hunt them down

he’d never make you jealous on purpose, he had no interest in other women/men at all and respects you way too much to pull petty moves like that

when sylus accidentally makes you jealous, he’ll definitely pamper you, spoil you with gifts and spend time with you

wanted to get the new limited edition plushie? he’ll stay in the arcade with you until you get all of them. wanted a new game on steam? he’s bought both the game, all the dlcs and any in game passes and currency.

Somewhere at some point during the day he'll simply come clean about it, after all he's a straight forward man and he trusts you.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to make you jealous. Forgive me, please?"

tldr; sylus is a love sick loser that knows you’re equally in love with him as he is with you

here goes the award to the most composed LI - zayne gets jealous alright, not nearly as much as the coming two but he still gets jealous

it's not that he doesn't trust you, but watching you smile so brightly to the café employee or get a little too friendly with another doctor sets him on edge

if you're talking to male friends/giving them friendly hugs zayne's completely fine with it, he's happy to see you surrounded by people who care for you and for you to be happy too

at first it's hard to tell when zayne gets jealous, he has a poker face that would put lady gaga to shame

however, after a while you discover the few subtleties that give away his disgruntled state

for example, if you're talking a bit too excitedly or friendly to the barista - especially one you'd both met just today - there'd be a little crease in his forehead, his mouthwould be a fraction more downturned and his eyes a bit narrower as if he was squinting

or if you talk to him about a male colleague when you two were supposed to be out on a date, he'd definitely be jealous... however the only give away would be the faintest purse of his lips and twitch of his eyebrow

if you ask him if he's jealous he's going to deny it, he usually doesn't lie but when it comes to vulnerable emotions such as jealousy i feel he'd have difficulties expressing them

"Jealous? I'm not jealous, don't worry about me."

but then the right side of his mouth is twitching a little and if you focus hard enough he gives the impression of a kicked puppy, a very subtle hint of 'give me attention'

if you manage to learn the art of 'zayne expression reading' and finally notice that he's not 'lactose-intolerant-and-having-stomach-issues-causing-him-to-look-like-that' but in fact jealous, here's a few ways to heal your zayne!!

zayne specialists recommend a good dosage of subtle affections - e.g. bringing up one of his interests or reminiscing upon something you two did in the past, basically indicating to him 'hey, i still love you most in the world!'

he's a perceptive man and will pick up on what you're doing relatively quick, and his little grumpy face will relax back into the unconscious, soft smile he adopts when in your presence

if he accidentally makes you jealous, he makes sure you know more than anyone else in the world that he's yours and yours only.

reciprocates the small gestures such as holding your hand in public or introducing you to his colleagues

"Good afternoon to you too. I believe you haven't met [Y/N] before?"

and then he'll adjust his hand placement, sliding from patting your shoulder to gentle resting on the small of your back, a little intimate gesture that screams "I'm their partner."

makes sure by the end of the day he's got the message across, and at one point brings it up (even though you've basically forgotten what he did to make you jealous anyways)

"I didn't mean to upset you, [Y/N]. I love you only, no one else could replace you, I promise."

okay, yeah, we made it to jealous, pouty, bratty man territory

there’s an evident gap between zayne level jealousy and rafayel level jealousy

don’t get me wrong, rafayel would do anything you asked of him - partially because of his whole lumerian bond and also because he’s utterly whipped for you

does he love you? that’s a stupid question to ask oh course he does… but does he truly trust you?

i’d like to think that rafayel (if he was dating you in this situation) is absolutely devoted to you and trusts you wholeheartedly, but in reality rafayel has deep engraved fears and uncertainties

he has a fear of being forgotten about, and likely (as a consequence of being forgotten multiple times) - the idea of being abandoned or replaced sends physical chills down his spine

so honestly, rafayel’s jealousy stems from the unwavering fear of being left alone, lost and forgotten again…

the pain of being forgotten, it’s not something he’s willing to go through any more, causing it to be difficult to fully reassure him that you’re his.

on a more lighter, more playful level, rafayel’s jealousy would probably lay with animals - specifically cats and sea creatures

one day he finds that instead of lazing about with him indoors, that you were outside napping with a cat on your lap

if he wasn’t so afraid of the cat concerned for your quality and length of sleep he would’ve had a go at the cat as it smirked triumphantly at him, licking its paws as it rolls around in your lap.

when complaining later on he would be his usual, petulant self, pouting and crossing his arms, tilting his chin up etc

“I guess you prefer those furry monsters over a fishie like me, why don’t you just leave me for one?”

to fix this petty brattiness is simple!

simply devote all your attention and affections to rafayel, as in when you two are alone and spending time together you can just pat his head or trace his beauty marks

he’ll be pouting the whole time, but after a few pats he’ll get embarrassed and his ears will go red as he says something like “I’m not a cat…” yet he still lets you pet him lol

rafayel especially likes it when you gently stroke at the roots of his hair, leaning into your touch a little every time you thread deeper into his hair

however, if you spend too much time with another man rather than rafayel, it’s a whole different type of jealousy/insecurity

he’s quiet, too quiet, and withdrawn

the situation was deeply confusing the first time around

it’s as if you ordered the wrong rafayel, what happened to his usual bratty and playful personality? this wasn’t like all the other times.

unlike his childish display of jealousy when you were with the cat, this time he had a schooled expression, blank, a facade

his expression was eerie, you’d never seen him like this, so… emotionless seeming

rafayel, really, was emotionally detaching from the relationship - he still loves you oh my god he adores you so much he’d sacrifice everything he had for you, but the idea of you preferring that other person over him?

it sends him into panic, and all he (believed he) could do was numb himself, anticipate the leave or him getting forgotten

(am i projecting too much here… avoidant attachment rafayel believer and lover 😞🙏)

if he withdrew from the relationship first, maybe it would hurt less being left again

of course you weren’t intending to leave him, so how do you fix this?

well, as unhealthy as this may seem, spending less time with the new person and more time with rafayel really would be the only way i could think of making him feel better

saying things such as “Rafayel I would never leave you.” can only provide him with short-term reassurance, after all how many times have you said that before and then still proceeded to leave him?

instead, caress him gently, give him time to feel safe in the relationship again. late night calls where you two fall asleep together or hold him in your arms as you two both sleep at night

this avoidant attachment style will, however, probably go when you two start dating, since in dating you rafayel has probably decided to let you into his heart and whole heartedly trusts you now :)

if rafayel accidentally makes you jealous, depending on the severity (again) here’s what he’d do

if it was a simple thing (such as spending too much time with the shakes idk something more tame) he’d definitely tease you

“Awwh cutie? Getting jealous of the sharks? Don’t worry, I prefer you over them any day.”

he’ll have this smug ass grin that pisses you off, as much as it makes you love him too

rafayel will give you more hugs and gifts than usual for a while after, claiming it’s ‘nothing’ and that you’re ’hallucinating things’ when you ask what he’s doing

really he’s apologising, but you don’t need to know that

if he made you really jealous/upset he’ll make is extremely clear to you that he belongs to you, his heart and will is yours

will become more clingy and affectionate with you (not that he does it on purpose infact he’s only showing his true desires more), forever. like, you get jealous? don’t worry, literally for the rest of your life you’ll know that rafayel is head-over-heels for you.

tldr: he needs a hug :( also i ended up writing way more than intended but im a rafayel lover, writer and if he has no stans left im dead

here he is, the most jealous and arguably possessive man in lnd.

xavier tries to hide it, but everyone knows that he’s yours, without a shadow of a doubt

we all saw what happened with jeremiah, don’t make me pull out the receipts LOL. like jeremiah was just happy to finally see the girl xavier was lining over for centuries and xavier was already losing his shit 😭

literally anyone talking to you too affectionately will tick him off, but xavier’s too sly to make it obvious

you’re talking to a doctor (cough zayne) ? xavier brings up some sort of old medicine they don’t or asks about their speciality so you stop talking to them

talking to a protocore specialist? he’ll all of a sudden be holding a textbook worthy protocore, worth the poor persons whole shop

a florist? he’s pointing at every flower and naming them, both common and scientific name.

“Oh [Y/N], look at that flower. I believe it’s called a Lonicera periclymenum?”

*turns to face the clearly shocked and flustered florist with a polite smile*

“Well, maybe you know it as a honeysuckle, is that correct?”

after living for so long he’s learnt many things, and boy does he use it to his advantage

when xavier gets jealous, he doesn’t expect anything from you, no no, this man is a service boyfriend if i’ve ever seen one, he was MADE to please you

rather than thinking “oh you don’t like me anymore i’m so upset“ he thinks “i need to serve and show you i’m yours.”

do you like sweet things? he’s buying you chocolates of all kinds, if that’s not your jam he’s got pastries, or candy, or fresh fruit, maybe everything in a little gift box

prefer savoury foods? he’ll cook you a meal that he knows you like (even if you don’t trust the food) he’ll practice making it until you like it

if you talk about another person when you’re one on one with him, he’ll do little things to get your attention, maybe bite your finger softly or tuck hair behind your ear, little fleeting touches and such

cheeky little grins and conversational diversions such as 'Oh? What about you, how did you do in the exam?' or 'What were you buying in the supermarket?' - more ways of saying "i'm yours, don't forget"

but if you wanted to reassure xavier, physical affections such as cuddling and kisses can win him over

nap with him for a few nights (really he forgave you the first night, he just pretended to be grumpy with you for a while longer for more naps) and he’ll be satisfied (for now)

“Come cuddle with me starlight, I’ve still not forgiven you.”

(he’s lying, he forgave you like a week ago)

likes it when you play with his hair when you two cuddle - now this makes me want to write abt how the men cuddle lol

if he accidentally makes you jealous it’d probably be when the two of you are on a mission and he flirts with another woman to easily progress through a mission

the two of you are in the hotel room and you’re sulking in the bed, turning away from him and clearly displeased

xavier knows you’re jealous, and can only huff out an amused breath - he doesn’t like that you’re feeling bad but he’s happy that you’re jealous… means you like him as much as he likes you!

he gently walks over to the bed, shifting onto the duvet beside you and reaches out to touch your shoulder - making sure you’re okay with him touching you

if you let him, he’ll lie down next to you and slowly wrap his arms around you, spooning you from behind as he slowly kisses the top of your head

slipping your shirt down to just below your shoulder, he gives the skin of your back gentle kisses as he apologises

“I’m sorry, it was for the mission. I’ve only ever loved you, so please don’t be angry.”

and then he nuzzled into your back until you finally cave in, twisting around and hugging him back.

he’ll be seriously apologetic about it though, and in the future avoid such intimate forms of gathering information even *if* you told him it was okay

AN; i got way too carried away with rafayel ANYWAYS hope you enjoy and now i want to write smaller hcs on how the men cuddle lolol

also this isn’t proofread no beta we die like caleb ig

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