#somewhat fluffy

[gumibuki]

A very small and quick thing for @aveloka-draws bc I genuinely love her little bat Tzinn! And also as a small b-day gift uwu

[delicioustarong]

Fanart for this ACHINGLY GUT WRENCHING FIC! 'my body is young (but my mind is very old)' by green_tea_and_honey!!

Chapter 20 made me ugly sob y'all, I m not kidding (My eyes were puffy for the whole day LMAO) I can't express in words how this fic touched my soul so I decided to make fanart. This illustration is based on this part of the fic 👇 (under the cut) It's not biblically accurate but I like it. (Spoilers ahead!)

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The wave of panic he expected never came, even as water sloshed in, soaking his waist and rising more rapidly than ever now that Bill had been swept away. He could smell it, as if he had never left; salt, sand, and a hint of oil from a nearby factory that he suspected had stained the beach with its constant dumping in the ocean.

“I’m okay,” Ford said, looking at his hands, and taking a long, slow breath. “I’m okay.”

You guys should go read the fic and give it lots of love. I guarantee you all it's worth it!

(also small note; I have a lot of fanart for fics otw, I'm just busy with college and deadlines so it might take a while lolz)

[shripscapi]

[mushroominaforest]

Artificer going on a villain monologue lol

This is from a pretty old Karmaflower au of mine, where Arti is still very much into killing scavengers. Basically, Arti finds out about Saint’s ascension abilities and immediately recruits (yoinks) Saint to join her cause.

[etchif]

togam

[hajihiko]

YOURE NOT HAJIME HINATA FROM POPULAR 2012 GAME SUPER DANGANRONPA GOODBYE DESPAIR?!?!?!

I've been LIED to 😔💔

no ;) I'm not ;) I don't know who that is ;)

[persy-r-bozo]

[thatdesklamp]

January, 2011

intrinsic warmth, gojo pov. Tonally very similar to the end of 2012, Chapter 17, with similar content warnings (angst)

Satoru stares up at the ceiling.

It’s a good ceiling. It’s high, and tall, so tall that he can stretch his arms up and not even brush his fingertips on it. His old home always had high ceilings, which he thinks was a show of wealth back when it was built. His old room in high school had very low ceilings, which he understood, with the knowledge that it was made for people half a foot shorter than him. Satoru would complain about it with Suguru who, when they were still teenagers together, was the same height as him.

No. Satoru blinks at the ceiling. Suguru was taller. He was taller by exactly 0.28cm in their first year, and 0.19 in their second, and Satoru cannot remember the number from their third year.

The woman shifts in her sleep, and Satoru’s gaze is drawn from the ceiling. She is naked, but has the bedsheets bundled up to her collarbone. They drape in a way that is accidentally attractive; the white linen catches on the side of her breast, highlighting the curve, luxurious in the way that asks to be touched. Satoru does not. He doesn’t want to, for how much he touched last night.

The ceiling. This ceiling is taller than his room back in school. The woman, whose name he cannot remember, had commented on it; she had been awed, last night, at how large the rooms in his apartment were, and how expensive his furniture looked, and how high his ceiling was. She had walked around, her fingertips brushing against the back of his white couch, her eyes wide as she looked upwards and not at him. Satoru had not wanted her to wait around, or to make herself home here.

He had stepped forward. He had taken her hand from his furniture and moved it above her head, had backed her against a wall and kissed her, hard, until her breathing was frantic and her body was writhing and until she was gasping out his name.

Satoru, he had told her, in the bar, when she had asked for it. She had told him hers—Satoru can’t remember, damn, that’s not good—and he thinks that it was her first name, too, because he had told her his.

Satoru, she had moaned out, when he was fucking her. He had her on her back, her thighs wrapped tight around his hips, bracing his weight on one forearm by her head and teasing her clit with his hand between their bodies.

He had been mean, last night, making her beg for it, for his fingers and his dick and the permission to come. He had fucked her ruthlessly, until she couldn’t say his name anymore, and could only make weak gasping noises as she shuddered through another orgasm. He had left dark bruises on her neck, from his tongue and his teeth, and she had bared her throat for him like an animal trying to submit.

But in the taxi back from the bar, she had told him that she liked it, and that she always wanted guys to edge her and call her a slut and be rough, and she had giggled drunkenly and clicked on a porn video that showed him what she meant.

Satoru had paid attention, and he had become the man in the video, and afterwards, when he had kissed her and moved his hands to her waist and murmured comforting words in her ear, she had told him that she had never felt like that before, and that she had felt good, so good, and that she wanted to do this again sometime.

Satoru had been drunk too. He was probably more drunk than she was, even though he’d barely drank anything. He’s always been a lightweight; he can hide it now, but it was embarrassing when he was in school and experimenting with alcohol with Suguru and Shoko.

Satoru doesn’t like drinking. He doesn’t like the feeling of it, the fuzziness and zeroed-in vision and the waning voice in the back of his head telling him he’s doing something wrong. Satoru drinks because it’s easier to pretend with women when he’s drunk, because words fall differently and disgust falls away.

Mostly. Satoru is still drunk, even now he’s woken up. That’s another thing with alcohol: it disturbs his sleep, making it fitful instead of peaceful and deep. You would tell him—and Satoru feels the pain like a knife in his chest, searing and agonising and serrated, at the thought of you. The guilt is visceral, and he flinches away from it, instinctual, pathetic. There is the wrong woman in his bed.

He looks back at her. There are the hickeys, which seem teenage and shameful now, now he has thought of you. There is the white linen, which he wants to draw up further, until it is her face that it covers, not just her naked body. He wants to hide her from his view, and pretend she is not here, and he sees the bare skin of her hands that hold the blanket to her chest, and he knows that she is not you.

She had wanted him to call her a slut. Satoru had done it, because he had known it would put him even deeper, and because it had made her eyes roll back and her chest shake with pleasure. His stomach had twisted, revolted at the sight of it, of the words that were coming from his own mouth. He had said it, and he had fucked her, and he has done it all before so many times and he cannot remember her name.

Satoru can remember almost everything. It’s the worst thing about his Six Eyes, and the best. Satoru remembers details, details, details. The dust particles catching light in the air, the day he learnt Suguru had massacred a village of innocent people. The width of the lock of hair that fell against Suguru’s temple, the strand he never cared enough to tie back. The words of hatred you had said to him, verbatim, exact, when you told him you did not want to see him again, ever, and that he had made you cry just like your father always had. The shine of moonlight in your wide pupils, the night on the rooftop.

It is almost everything, not everything, that he remembers. Because Satoru forgets. He thinks, sometimes, that the things he forgets are more painful than the things he remembers.

How did Suguru say his name? His first name, the name you say so rarely. Satoru remembers it, and he does not. The memory has become distorted with age, has gone grey and lifeless, and Satoru cannot remember that which used to be so familiar to him.

How many times have you told him you love him? It’s not enough that he could forget; Satoru hasn’t become neglectful in their abundance, because you will not allow them to become abundant, and so has tried to capture each one in his memory. He didn’t know that he could forget things, when he was seventeen, still reeling from Suguru, still so raw from his betrayal. But, months later, Satoru had realised that he could not remember how much taller Suguru had been than him when they had last checked at the beginning of the year, and he had realised that despite his Six Eyes, Satoru Gojo was not infallible or omniscient, and that he had to try to remember the things he could not allow himself to forget.

How many times? The first, when he was seventeen, of course. Moments, later; sometimes, when he says it, you will say it back, and his heart will fill with love so much that it hurts him. Of course, sometimes you will not say it back, and will send him an exasperated look, like you think he is playing a game. This hurts more, but he will not let you realise it.

His eyes are growing tired. There is more than just the ceiling, in his vision; there always is. There is his cursed energy, both opaque and completely transparent, curling and undulating like a living being, or like fog, with tendrils like a scorpion’s tail. It surrounds him, and surrounds everyone he looks at, enveloping and encasing them and entrapping them without him being able to hold it back.

This is not his technique, which Satoru can control. This is his raw energy, powerful beyond belief, powerful enough that Satoru cannot bear to look at the ceiling anymore. His vision is clear and overwhelming, both simultaneously, and he cannot focus on one thing like normal when there is a sea of nothingness, of expensive modern lights that came with the bedroom and white plaster and nothingness, nothingness, and Satoru sees everything. His eyes sting, painfully dry.

He closes his fist around the blindfold he keeps on his bedside table, and places the material against his eyes. The room darkens, and twists, and Satoru can see again. This was the blindfold she had laughed at, before he had gotten her to cry.

The wrongness returns; that guilt, the disgust, that he feels whenever he thinks about the woman. Or the women: Satoru cannot pretend she is the first, or that she will be the last. Satoru cannot have you.

Satoru fucks the way they want him to fuck, and he will call them a slut if they want him to, and he will be the best sex they’ve had in years if he can get them to say something good, tell him something he cannot hear anywhere else. That was so good, this woman had said to him, and Satoru had lapped at it like a savage cat to curdled milk. Their words are empty and shallow, and yours are rich with time and knowledge and love. But Satoru will scavenge for what he can, now, carnivorous and desperate and empty.

The woman had laughed at the blindfold, when she had craned her neck to look around his room, and asked him whether he was going to use it on her. Satoru had shaken his head and kissed her, distracting her, and he had swallowed down the surge of loathing at the repugnant idea that he ever would.

Satoru remembers you putting on his glasses at the beach, and the innocence of it all, the way his stomach had flipped at the sight of it. And you, running your fingers over his blindfold when he had discarded it after a day at work, when you had brought it up to your eyes and told him that it was cool, really, how he could see through it like normal when to you it was just really dark.

His day had been pitiful, up until then, and he had been so tired, even if it was making him feel better to pretend that he wasn’t. But you had held up the very thing that kept him sane, and had made as if you would put it on, and Satoru had only had to watch you to feel better.

That’s all it takes, these days. Satoru only has to see you, and it’s better. You have his heart between your gloved fingers, and yet you do not squeeze it tightly enough for it to beat.  

[oddestishottest]

💙

[clownhonkbonk]

slams head against wall.

i. will. not. fall. for. drawing. them. as. posts.

yeah that went well.

CHARACTERS BELONG 2 @apleye from their delightful comic

bonus i was gonna finish but hand hurt :^))

[angrychicagoan24]

never research food prices for a fanfiction. i want to eat cake so bad. its 2 am i can't drive and i want cake

[nohoney]

I have an idea, can we get siren (merman) Hawks and can it be smut/fluffy...please

-👁

i’ve never been one to be able to write about any fantasy creatures whatsoever but this was actually kind of fun (๑˃ᴗ˂)

warnings: oral sex (receiving), fingering (receiving), some dirty talk (imagined by the reader), a little bittersweet at the end sorry

The air is warm, sunlight peeks through the breaks of the trees, and you walk further down the path to the lake that you’ve been visiting since the beginning of spring last year. A picnic basket is carried by your side, it’s contents slightly rattling as you walk the paved dirt path. The straps of your dress fall down your shoulder every once in a while and you think that once you stop to rest that you should tighten the bows a little bit so that you’re not always adjusting them.

You break into a little jog once you see the end of the path despite your flip flops not being meant for more than a leisurely walk.

A small pond with a little waterfall is your destination. There’s a wooden dock that you can tell has been standing strong and shows no sign of giving way anytime soon. Perhaps in another fifty years it will start to show some wear but right now, it’s sturdy.

You sit at the very end of the dock, making sure to take your flip flops off first and setting your basket aside next to you. The water level has risen; you know this because last year the water only reached your ankle when you dipped your feet in and this year, the water is up last your calves. There was a lot of rain and while you’re grateful for it, you also don’t want it to submerge the dock either.

Kicking your feet in the water, it creates ripples and disturbs the water lilies nearby.

A head of blond hair pops out from the surface of the water, yellow eyes trained on you swimming beneath the surface to approach. “There you are,” you greet to your friend, “I brought a picnic for us today.”

The head disappears beneath the surface, leaving you alone for a few seconds, the splash of water and wet hands grip onto your calves. When you look down, you see the handsome face of man but beneath the surface of the water, he’s mythical.

Last year, you discovered him.

You moved to town two years ago in the winter and hadn’t made any friends yet. Loneliness settled heavily on you as you struggled to connect with the folks of this town but it’s hard to break into the inner circles of a place where the population is only used to knowing each other. In trying to make conversation with the townsfolk, you heard a lot of talk of avoiding the lake in the middle of the forest. That apparently some parents tried to drown their child in the lake and it came back as a ghastly creature to haunt the water and the surrounding shores of it as well.

You took their little fairytale as a bunch of hooey and decided to walk to that lake.

When you walked the path, it was no different than any trail you had been to before. However coming closer to the break in the trees, you saw a dock and someone swimming in the water. There was some wariness from you when you saw it was a man. Only his head popped up from the water and he seemed very focused on something in the tree branches that reached over the water.

You peered quietly at first, following his line of vision to see a hawk just perched on a tree branch.

When you called out, it startled both the bird and the young man. The hawk took flight and the man in the water was frightened by your presence. He was quick to look back at you before going into the water. You ran to the dock, shouting that you were friendly and your eyes were searching for air bubbles to find him. Your immediate action was to jump in after him.

It was the day you discovered that mermaids… or rather a merman was real.

He had a beautiful tail of red scales that shimmered underneath the sunlight and he seemed to have a liking for the hawk that circled the lake.

So you named him Hawks.

Unusual name for a sea creature but he responded to it once he had gotten used to your presence.

“Here, I brought you an egg today. Hard boiled this time.” You offered to Hawks, already having peeled the shell off. Last time you tried to give him soft boiled but he hated it. He looks reluctantly at it and shakes his head, a gesture that you had taught him since you found he had very little communication. “Oh don’t worry, it’s not runny like last time.”

To prove it, you bite into the top half of the bed. The yolk is firm and a little dry as you chew, but it’s for your friend and not yourself.

Hawks is still reluctant.

“If you don’t want it, that’s okay. But it just means that you won’t get your favorite,” you sing the last word and watch how he perks up, “chicken.”

Hawks grunts and pats his hand at your knee, almost as if he were a child. His hand reaches towards you, eager at the mention of his favorite food. You place the half eaten egg in his palm before pushing his hand back to him. You giggle when he pouts at the egg and looks back up at you; you can tell he feels a little betrayed.

“Just try it, okay? You know how to show me if you don’t like something right?”

You taught him small ways to communicate, often with simple hand gestures. If he doesn’t like something, he’s supposed to cover his mouth with his hand. If he does, he taps his lips twice and then points to what he likes.

Again, like a child, he takes the egg and chews with puffed up cheeks. As you wait for his evaluation, you reach for the plastic container inside the picnic basket but you don’t quite bring it out just yet. He needs to properly tell you whether he likes something or not.

Hawks seems to mull it over before putting his hand over his mouth.

“Okay, I won’t bring you eggs anymore then.” You say with a little confirming nod. The container from the picnic basket is brought out and Hawks bounces in the water in excitement. The little, excited grunts he makes make you shake your head with a smile. You hand him a hearty piece of cooked chicken and it’s practically snatched from you.

Nothing that you haven’t been used to for a good while now.

You give him pieces of chicken with one hand and feed yourself with a sandwich the the other. The sun is warm on your skin, the water is cool, and Hawks is nuzzling your shins as you finish feeding yourself once all the chicken was gone.

Slowly you start to pack up everything inside your picnic basket. You wished that you didn’t have to go, truthfully you hated leaving him by himself, but you still had a life to attend to. Plus also needing to cook his favorite foods as well. “Okay Hawks, I’ll try to see if I can stop by in a few days?”

You start to lift your legs out the water but Hawks hugs your legs to keep you in place.

When he does that, you know it’s because he’s feeling a little lonely.

“I’m sorry Hawks, I know you’re sad that I have to go. I’ll try to come the soonest I can, okay?” You apologize to him, reaching down cup his cheek. He leans into your palm, affectionately humming but whines sadly when you retreat your hand back. He taps his lips twice and points to you. “I like you too Hawks.”

Slowly, he parts your legs and pushes the skirt of your dress up. Again he taps his lips twice and points to in between your legs, this time sticking his tongue out.

“Oh… I don’t know about today.”

Aside from keeping his actual presence a secret, this of course stays strictly between the two of you. Not that Hawks had the capability of saying anything or anyone knew of his presence. Sometimes you laid in bed at night thinking about him, reminiscing how curious he is about your body and how you let him explore his curiosity.

Hawks repeats his action, his brows furrowing and insisting with a pout that is working its magic on you.

He ends up getting what he wants when he presses a kiss to your knee, looking at you through his eyelashes and humming.

“… Okay.”

You discard your dress and fold it neatly before setting it aside. Hawks has a smile on his face that you pretend to not see as you slip your underwear off your body. Your calves are used to the temperature of the water but you still let out a little squeal as you join him in the water.

Hawks swims up to you and shows how happy he is by giving you a hug, affectionately nuzzling your cheek. Even though you hadn’t necessarily planned to have this type of visit with him, a part of you is flattered that he has these kinds of feelings for you and wants to act on them.

He pulls back, only to give you a quick kiss on the lips, smiling at you before sinking beneath the water’s surface. His lips kiss at your tummy before sinking lower, his hands carefully holding your hips and pats your butt as a signal.

I’m going to start now.

You gasp when he shyly licks at you as just a little tease, focusing on the view ahead of you and at a water lily floating on the water. “Oh…” you whisper quietly as closes his mouth over your cunt, licking away at you with the same eagerness he was displaying before. “H-Hawks… oh fuck.”

If only there was some way for you to be able to breathe underwater with him. To see his face and what kind of expressions as he eats you out. He’s beautiful so you know that if you were to see him look up at you as he ate you out, he’d set the butterflies in your tummy fluttering.

When you first let him explore his curiosity, he was just as shy as you were. You could tell by his touches and he could tell by the way you’d jerk whenever you were unprepared to receive his touch. But at this point of your bond, the two of you were definitely used to each other.

Not to say that he didn’t make you flustered sometimes.

Hawks seemed to be able to express himself just fine without words and without difficulty. Something in his nature or perhaps you happened to sync well with him, the two of you were able to understand one another clearly. How was it the best communication you had in a relationship, it was with someone that couldn’t speak any discernible words at all?

“Oh god!” You gasp again before you let out a small moan. Hawks licks you enthusiastically, carefully pushing a finger into your pussy, something that he learned after observing you in the early stages of the two of you showing interest in one another. You remembered how you shyly opened your legs while sitting at the dock one day and confessing to him that you dreamt of him. You remember his curious eyes watching your fingers dip into your dripping cunt and just how fascinated he became.

Your head falls back and you dip one hand beneath the water to grasp at Hawks’ hair. You bite your bottom lip to try to keep your noises in even though you were more than sure that no one else except him would hear you.

Sometimes you wonder what he’d sound like if he was able to speak. You imagine his voice would be smooth, pleasing to your ears and that he could make you laugh. In your selfish little mind, he says all the right things that make your heart race.

You’re a good girl, my wonderful girl…

The tip of his tongue prods against your clit and you let out an audible moan into the air.

The way you sound is so sexy, I fucking love it!

Your hips rock into his mouth, almost like you’re riding his face. His hands are secure on holding your waist to help keep you afloat. Sparks of pleasure go up and down your body, your thighs slightly shaky as your orgasm starts build higher.

Sweet, precious thing… I adore you.

Your hand clenches into a fist and grabs a fistful of Hawks’ hair while your mouth drops into a silent ‘oh’. Your eyes flutter as you experience your high, still caught off guard over how well Hawks has learned how to make you cum. He was intelligent enough to discern that you were experiencing pleasure, smart enough to see if you were sad over something, and he always seemed to be looking into you just as you were looking into him.

He always looked like he was in wonder whenever he stared at you too long.

Hawks comes up from the water and you loop your arms around him in a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek and just hanging onto him like a sloth. You were wanting to catch your breath. He doesn’t seem to be done with you just yet, sliding his hand between your bodies and pushes two fingers into your pussy. “Oh… you’re not done?” You ask but have difficulty keeping conversation when you’re still sensitive from an orgasm and he keeps curling his fingers into you.

Your body shudders as you let him finger you, a part of you wondering if he liked the feel of his fingers inside your warm cunt. More than a few times he’d point to in between your legs and hold up his middle and index finger up as a signal and pointing at himself. Eventually you had learned that it was his way of saying that he wanted to finger you.

“H-Hawks… are you done? I have to go back soon.” You whimper as he continues to tease his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you see heaven. Your cunt squeezes around his fingers and a big part of you wishes that he had a cock so that you could know what it was like to fuck him.

You could see him being a little whiny as he cums in you, lying back to let you take control as you ride him. You’d milk him dry and make a creamy mess on his dick, wanting to make him just as over sensitive in the same way he does it to you.

You wished that you could fuck Hawks.

Cumming a second time by his fingers, you pat at his shoulder and he retreats from you. This time, he returns your hug and holds you close. Your legs cross around his waist and you stay for a small moment just holding one another.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead.

I miss you already.

In return, you do the same to him.

I always miss you.

You wished that he could come with you.

You try hard to not look at him as you begin to get ready to leave because of the sad look in his eye. There are days that he seems to be okay as you head home, but others he makes it very known when he’s sad. And you know that the more time you spend together, each goodbye will get harder and more forlorn.

“Okay Hawks, I’m going to go now. I’ll try to visit soon.”

He nods his head, watching from the water as you take your picnic basket and the straps of your dress fall off your shoulder. You walk ahead and make sure to keep looking forward, eventually hearing when he dives under the water and you can let out the sad sigh you were holding in.

“I’ll visit you again soon.”

[spiderin-space]

Next chapter up!! And sketches below!!

[citrine-elephant]

the way i like to ship leon is in open relationships and isn't really committed per se. nothin real domestic. occasionally the roses and chocolates come out, but mostly he's too busy with work and being depressed. maybe he's just not too interested in all that fluff, anyway.

ace-spec -> demi bisexual, i guess. not always flirting, just super awkward and terrible at social skills. (asking her out for dinner?? don't friends like to eat meals with one another??) (coping with dad jokes and one-liners has not helped him socially whatsoever)

so what i'm saying is he'll have flings with ada, chris, that cute ass agent patrick (infinite darkness). heat of the moment, blowin off steam, "fuck it, why not?" horny + desperate for physical touch and emotional affection once in awhile.

chris might get jealous... mostly from his uh... lack of enthusiasm for ada, but leon's having a good time and chris ain't exactly afraid of flings, either. plus, leon can't give him everything he needs. huge fluffball needs a bit of domestic cuddles. fully discussed poly situation here. chris has playmates, one nights... piers is totally alive and they're committed-

ada's wifey with nadia (vendetta), probably rizzes up everyone leon left on read. ... and then also leaves them on read. lmfao. nadia's a lesbian, but she sees why ada adores that goofy dilf. "i can still appreciate art when i see it, even if it isnt my style" kind of reaction

[cult--of--hypnos]

Too chubby to be an otter. Not fat (or hairy) enough to be a bear. What type of beast could that even be.

[diaphanouswings]

Sleepy Studies (A LaDS fic)

Click. Click. Click. You sigh and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Hunched over with your chin propped on the palm of your hand and your elbow braced on the little café table, you continue to click your pen and twirl it between your fingers every third one. The words of the book you are trying to read have begun to blur for the past few minutes. And your notes are getting more squiggly than legible. Yet blinking away the film of tiredness is not working anymore. You sigh again. Hopefully another sip of coffee would help.

And then the chair across from you is pulled back and someone plops down in it. The audacity…?

“You look like you’re about to collapse face first into that book,” a familiar voice says. “Strange, and you call me sleepy.”

“Xavier,” you intone dully, the syllables of his name heavy on your tongue. You straighten up. “I thought you were out this week on some long term assignment.” You carefully didn’t say that he went without you. Complaining wasn’t cute from anyone.

“Finished early.” His half-lidded blue eyes stare carefully at you. The cup in his hand rises so he can take a drink of his latte. “What is so necessary about this book for you to push yourself so hard?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Some of us aren’t super geniuses,” you drawl. “Some of us have to study for our hunter recertifications.”

He brings his empty hand up to his mouth as he thought. “Ah, those are coming up, aren’t they?” As ever, he sounds absolutely unbothered. His cup clinks as he sets it down on the table you’re now sharing. This guy… “I suppose I ought to review a little.” He cocks his head to the side, looking up at you through his pretty lashes. Ugh.

You smile despite the irrational urge to pinch his face with both hands as hard as you can. You don’t know if it’s cuteness aggression or just plain aggression thanks to the exhausted state you’re in. “Maybe you ought to, yes,” you say. You bend your neck back down to try to go back to reading.

“I don’t think you’re going to retain what you need if you fall asleep on your book.”

“I’m not going to retain anything if you keep talking to me.” For once, you don’t want him to yap. “Drink your latte.”

“Hm.” You can feel him staring at the top of your head.

You startle when suddenly a strong steady hand catches your forehead. “What?” you slur, blinking rapidly. Shit, were you sleeping?

“Enough.” Xavier sets down his empty cup. (When did he finish it…?) “Come on, time to go home.” Before you can stop him, he gathers your book and notebook, tucking your pen into the spiral binding of the latter. You squeak when Xavier scoops you up as well. You have no choice but to throw your arms around his neck to keep your balance. He smiles a little, likely at the way you puff up your cheeks angrily. “Good thing this café is just down the road from us.”

“Hey!” But you know it’s no use fighting it. For an easy going guy, he did get bossy on occasion. “Fine.”

Xavier huffs a laugh and nuzzles his nose against yours but doesn’t say anything more. Weirdly affectionate of him. Before long, he is stepping into the elevator, using his elbow to press the button for his floor. But not yours. Strange… Yet the senior hunter simply strides to his door and it slides open to let the both of you in. Your things are plopped down on the coffee table in a drive by move as he continues onward.

What the…?!

The sight of his dim bedroom make you wriggle in confusion. You gasp when he tosses you onto his bed. And you’re not quite sure if you want to kick out when he tugs off your boots. You wiggle again but there is no escape. Xavier flops down on top of you, head on your tee shirt covered chest. “Excuse me?!” you gasp.

“Nap time,” he announces. “You’ll study better after some rest. Besides, I’m sleepy.” And then Xavier seems to melt into a relaxed puddle. It isn’t too long until he’s asleep. His long lashes are like elegant fans swept downward and his breathing is slow and deep.

“What the fuck?” you whisper. But he’s heavy and the bed is soft. Fine, fuck it. You stroke his shoulders and back, your fingers curling into the fabric of his soft sweater. Your own eyes flutter closed. You never see the smug quirk of his lips as you drift off.

You wake with a shriek later at midnight because your sleep schedule is completely borked now thanks to Master Sleepy and his devious ways.

END