X Reader Fluff - Blog Posts

Eyeless Jack boyfriend headcannons please !!!

Eyeless Jack relationship headcanons

A/n: Oh Ej, my beloved, my beloathed

Warnings: Brief mention of sex (kinda??)

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Touch starved FOR SURE.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 But it takes him a while to initiate any form of physical touch with you for a while.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 The last thing he wants to do is (accidentally) harm you, he's a demon after all, he knows he's far stronger than the average man... so he's a little apprehensive at first.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 He'll come around eventually though, just be patient and understanding with him (´∀｀)♡

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 His love languages are acts of service and gift giving!!!!!!!!

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Y'know how cats will drop mice at your feet and then just kinda... stare at you to show affection??

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Yeah lol, he'll do that. Minus the mice and instead of dropping stuff at your feet, he'll hand you pretty pebbles and flowers he found on his missions and stare at you with empty, black sockets.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Unintentionally funny, will say something and you'll crack up and he'll not understand why. Which is fine by him, he loves your laugh.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Very intelligent! Wanted to be a surgeon :3

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 ...But he's socially awkward and bad at flirting 😭😭

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 "You smell good." He'd say, as he stares at you, the slightly worried smile that came over your lips at that statement immediately made him backtrack and explain. He'd momentarily forgotten about the fact he literally eats people and that statement might be a bit concerning.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 "Like- your body wash..." Which.. wasn't any better considering he'd also awkwardly name the exact scent from the exact brand you used.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 If you couldn't tell, he stares a lot for someone who lacks eyes 💀

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 LOVES praise and being complimented but sometimes finds it hard to believe you actually think he's attractive

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

Can you do Sayaka x reader fluff headcannons?

A/N: Yes, of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! You didn't specify the gender of the reader, so I kept it gender neutral :} Hope that's okay!

The Softest Spotlight

Sayaka x GN!Reader Fluff Headcannons

Warnings: None that I can really see :}

Word Count: 716

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- Constant cheerleader energy: Sayaka thrives on encouragement and gives it in abundance. Whether (Y/N)’s making breakfast or just trying to focus on studying, she’s their  #1 hype girl- "You're doing amazing, sweetheart!" levels of support every day. She believes in destiny, but she also believes in working hard to protect what you have. Even when things get tough, she always says, “As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

- Little love notes everywhere: She leaves (Y/N) sweet notes in the most random places: their notebook, your hoodie pocket, their shoe (once). They're always handwritten with cute little doodles and sparkly stickers.

- Cuddling = therapy: Sayaka is touchy and adores cuddles. Her favorite position is (Y/N) lying on their back with her draped over them like a weighted blanket. She hums her favorite songs softly while tracing patterns on their arm.

- Morning snuggles are a must: She wakes up first just so she can admire (Y/N)’s sleepy face. Her fingers brush their hair from their forehead as she whispers, “You look like a dream.” Then, when they stir, she gently pulls them back into bed- “Five more minutes, please~”

- Loves being the little spoon: Though she’ll happily big spoon too, her favorite thing is curling up in (Y/N)’s arms, her back against their chest, while they wrap their arms around her waist… She kicks her feet a little when she’s extra happy.

- Giggle fits under the blankets: Sometimes she just wants to be silly and soft- she’ll pull the covers over both of them like a little fort, tell (Y/N) jokes, make silly faces in the glow of her phone screen, and end up in a pile of giggles and forehead kisses.

- Soft lullabies as cuddles deepen: When (Y/N) is almost asleep, she hums a soft melody- usually something nostalgic from her younger days. It becomes (Y/N)’s personal lullaby, and now they can’t sleep well unless they hear her voice.

- Secret songs just for (Y/N): Despite being used to crowds, her favorite performances are the ones where it’s just the two of them. She writes lyrics inspired by their relationship, though she keeps some private in her journal. She’s promised- if she ever releases a solo album, (Y/N) will be the muse.

- Surprise back hugs: She always sneaks up behind (Y/N) when they’re doing something mundane- cooking, brushing their teeth, folding laundry- and wraps her arms around their middle, swaying gently with her chin resting on their shoulder. She just wants to be close.

- Blanket thief but in denial: Sayaka always ends up wrapped in the majority of the blanket by morning, yet she insists (Y/N) is the one who hogs it. The solution? (Y/N) ends up getting a bigger blanket just so she can burrito herself and still share with them.

- Loves curling up in your lap: When (Y/N) is sitting on the couch, Sayaka will crawl into their lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’ll curl up there like a cat, cheek pressed to their chest, arms tucked close as they stroke her hair.

- Says “I love you” when she’s half-asleep: When she’s drifting off, in that sleepy-soft voice, she mumbles “I love you” like a mantra. Sometimes it’s three times in a row. Sometimes it’s a barely audible whisper. But always sincere.

- Dates always feel magical: She plans the cutest little dates. Think picnics under fairy lights, karaoke at home in matching pajamas, or dancing around the kitchen with music blasting as they both sing terribly on purpose.

- The queen of matching fits: Sayaka lives for couple aesthetics. Matching accessories? Matching phone charms? She's already bought them. She even customizes (Y/N)’s stuff with their initials + a heart.

-  Protective but soft about it: She gets anxious when (Y/N) is sad or overwhelmed. They’ll catch her sneaking worried glances, always ready with a warm hug, tea, or even calling her manager to cancel practice so she can stay with (Y/N).

- Public affection? Yep: She’ll hold (Y/N)’s hand anywhere, sneak kisses when no one’s looking, and gush about them in interviews (with a shy smile and sparkles in her eyes). Fans adore how much she loves (Y/N).

ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it. 

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording. 

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet. 

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms. 

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately. 

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin. 

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face. 

"All done?" he asks. 

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you. 

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair. 

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby." 

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the tower isn’t what it used to be. no more clean metal shine. no more stark’s weird robot jazz echoing off the walls. now there’s throw blankets that don’t match, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and half a pizza box abandoned on the coffee table under a forgotten tablet glowing faint blue. the new avengers are spread across the sectional like dropped laundry. yelena belova was upside down with her legs hanging off the top, scrolling on her phone like the fate of the universe depends on it. john walker's asleep with one arm tossed over his eyes, pretending not to be listening. and you, you’re tucked in next to bucky barnes cause it’s always been that way.

his arm’s around your waist, the metal one, heavy and cool through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. your legs are half across his lap. there’s a blanket barely clinging to both of you. you lean in slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth first, he hums something. so you do it again, softer. your lips trail across the edge of his jaw, warm and lazy. and he finally looks at you, real slow, real tired.

“you tryin’ to distract me?” he says, voice rough with sleep or maybe something else.

“from what?” you whisper. “yelena's tiktok rabbit hole? pretty sure the world’ll keep turning.”

he chuckles, breath fogging warm against your temple. “you’re gonna get us kicked off the couch.”

“then we’ll take the beanbag. better view of the stars anyway.”

there’s a long pause, no one talking, just the low thrum of the tower’s power system and distant sirens down in the city, muffled by double pane glass and altitude. bucky doesn’t say much when he’s tired. doesn’t need to. his hand settles over yours, thumb dragging lazy circles over your skin.

your powers flicker under your skin when you’re this close. heat like static behind your ribs. reality bends easier around you when he touches you. he doesn’t flinch anymore when it happens. the way light bends a little around your fingertips. how your shadow twitches half a second slower than your body.

“you’re glowing again,” he mumbles.

“can’t help it.” you grin against his throat. “you make me all… photonic.”

“that a scientific term?”

“yup. real cutting edge. avengers approved.”

he turns toward you fully then, presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. it’s nothing hurried. like sunday mornings. like breath.

near you, yelena mutters, “jesus. get a room.”

you don’t look away. neither does bucky. just smirks against your mouth.

a/n: i actually hate this so much! but forgive me for i was puking my brains out yesterday when i wrote this.

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you met him on a thursday.

not that the day matters, really, but he would always remember it like it did. said thursdays felt like beginnings, and you, standing there in the soft light of the shop window, your hands curled around a cup of tea and your eyes steady on his, it felt like the first page of a romance novel.

he was talking to the shopkeeper about cocoa beans, something about mouthfeel and integrity and how 'chocolate should feel like a memory'. you weren’t listening at first. not until he laughed, it was soft and a little startled, like someone had surprised him with his own joy. you looked up. and he looked back.

and everything that came after was quiet.

“you always smell like sugar,” you said one morning, your voice still scratchy from sleep.

“occupational hazard,” he murmured, cheek pressed to the pillow, curls a little chaotic. “you don’t mind, do you?”

you shook your head, pressed a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

“i think i’d miss it if you didn’t.”

he had a way of making even the smallest things feel like magic. folding napkins into roses. spelling your name in spun sugar. telling you stories like they were secrets, eyes bright, hands moving in the air like he was sculpting the words as he said them.

“i want to build something,” he told you once, “a place. for people who still believe in whimsy.”

you leaned into him, heart warm.

“then do it,” you said. “i already believe in you.”

sometimes, when it got late and the world felt too sharp, he’d reach for your hand without saying anything. just gently lace his fingers with yours.

“thank you,” he said one night, voice soft like sugar melting in warm milk. you didn’t ask what for. you just squeezed back.

btw i’ve decided michael afton wears glasses. he doesn’t like wearing them. in fact, he’s self-conscious about it. and he only wears them occasionally to work and when he’s alone with you!

see drabble below ↓

the clock on the wall ticks past 2:45 am when you hear the faint sound of the door creaking open. michael’s home. you don’t need to ask how work went; the tired shuffle of his boots is enough to tell you it’s been a long night.

you’re sitting on the couch, a worn-out book in your hands that you’ve probably read a hundred times already. the house is quiet, save for the distant hum of a fan, and the way the dim light from the hallway filters into the living room. the air feels heavy. when michael steps into the room, you can tell he’s exhausted. his hair is messier than usual, his shoulders a little more slumped, but what catches your attention immediately is the pair of glasses perched on his nose. the same glasses he rarely wears outside of when it’s just the two of you. he looks... a little too good in them. "hey," you say, glancing over the top of your book. “haven't seen those in a while.”

he gives you an unreadable look, but you can see the subtle awkwardness in the way he gently pushes them up his nose, like he's trying to make them disappear. "yeah, well, i don’t really like them," he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow, setting the book down in your lap, "they're cute."

he doesn't respond. crossing the room, sinking heavily down onto the couch next to you. you can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and sanitizer on him, his technician’s outfit looking a bit rumpled. he keeps his gaze fixed on the carpet, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “long night?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. he sighs heavily, slouching back against the couch. he rubs at his face with one had, glasses pushed up onto his forehead. “the longest,” he mumbles.

you hum sympathetically. he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking over your face. "how was your day?" he asks, though his words are more of a formality than a genuine question. you know the day doesn’t really matter to him, but you tell him anyway. about work, about the book you’re reading, the mundane errands you ran, whatever pops into your mind. michael sits there quietly, just listening. he’s been so tired lately; it’s been weighing down on him heavily. “you doing ok?” you ask abruptly but gently, after a long pause. he gives a noncommittal shrug, still looking at the ground. “m’fine,” he mutters, though he’s anything but. you study him closely, and you can see that the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual. his shoulders are tensed. you set your book on the coffee table, shifting your body and kissing his cheek.

michael leans a little into the touch. the tension on his expression eases just a little, though there's still a frown on his face. he glances at you. “that all i get for coming home so late?” he says, his voice teasing. you laugh breathily, almost like a sigh. kissing the corner of his mouth. he can’t help but crack a small smile as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the action so familiar to him. he lifts a hand, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. “missed you,” he murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "mm. missed you." you kiss him in a slow way, a lingering press, more comfort than passion. he lets out a soft sigh as your lips meet his, he kisses you back, gently and unhurried, as if the world outside the walls of your home didn’t exist. he tastes faintly of nicotine. he deepens the kiss, his mouth moving against yours in a familiar rhythm.

he shifts on the couch, angling his body towards yours, and pulls you closer. he kisses you a little harder this time, his hands skimming over your hip. he’s always been affectionate when he’s tired, and the exhaustion from his shift just makes him all the more needy. he breaks off the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. he’s so close that you can see the tiny freckles across his nose, the tired bags under his eyes. “stay with me,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding their familiar place on your waist. his thumb rubs idle circles on your body. he sounds tired. “i don’t want to be alone right now.” you pull away slightly, your thumb tracing his cheekbone as you study him closely. he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes averted, and you can tell there’s something weighing on his mind he’s not telling you.

(okay this is a sidenote but omg imagine the SL ending when mike opens his eyes and he has glasses on...... like he just got scooped but i #needthat....... i think i'm ovulating.)

ᝰ

the fire was low, but the glow of it painted the walls with a soft orange flicker. the house was quiet, save for the soft scrape of metal on wood and the occasional pop from the fireplace. joel sat at the table, glasses halfway down his nose, sleeves pushed up, and a small block of wood cradled in his calloused hands. his knife scraped slow, methodical strokes along the curve of what looked like the beginnings of a fox, delicate ears just forming, the snout notched into shape. he looked like he belonged there. not just in the room, but in the moment. hands busy, mouth set, the steady rhythm of his work filling the silence like he needed it more than rest.

you hovered in the doorway for a moment. there was something magnetic about watching him when he didn’t know you were, how quiet he became, how precise. you couldn’t explain it, but something in you twisted a little when you saw him like this. it didn’t help that your brain was already a little fried from the day. you’d been restless all afternoon, bouncing between tasks around town, trying to distract yourself with anything that wasn't the thought of his hands. now you were back. and the ache was worse. he didn’t look up when you stepped in, but you could tell by the subtle shift in his shoulders that he knew you were there.

“you’ve been out there awhile,” he said, voice low and even, not pausing in his carving.

“wasn’t that long,” you murmured, stepping closer. “you eat anything?”

joel snorted softly. “ate somethin’ earlier. left some stew if you’re hungry.”

you walked around him, slow and quiet, letting your fingertips brush the edge of the table. you watched him work a little longer, the careful drag of his knife, the tension in his forearm, the way his brow furrowed when he focused. his glasses slid further down, and he huffed, pushing them back with the side of his wrist.

“i’m not really hungry,” you said, voice lower now.

he hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

you stepped between him and the table, gently nudging one of his knees open with yours. that finally earned you a glance. a small, knowing one.

“what’re you doin’?” he asked, not irritated, just suspicious.

you didn’t answer. you just moved closer and lowered yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh like it was muscle memory.

joel made a small sound in his throat. “jesus,” he muttered, setting the carving knife down with care but not taking his hands off you. “you’re gonna make me slice my damn thumb open one of these days, sneakin’ up on me like that.”

“you looked busy,” you said softly, your arms sliding around his shoulders. “didn’t wanna interrupt the great artist at work.”

he shook his head, his hands found your hips, grounding you, holding you still, but not pushing you away.

he muttered something you couldn't make out, setting the knife down with more care than necessary. “that what we’re doin’ now?”

“you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” you said, your voice low as you slid your hands up the front of his shirt, thumbs brushing the space just under his collarbones. “been wound up all day.”

joel leaned back slightly to look at you over the top of his glasses. his eyes dragged over your face, then lower—assessing. thinking. his hands landed heavy on your hips, grounding.

he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was weighing his options. like he was pretending you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger.

“you’re actin’ real needy tonight,” he said, voice dropping a little lower. his hands were still on your hips, thumbs idly brushing the hem of your shirt like he was debating whether to tug you closer or keep you there and burn slow.

“been thinking about you all day,” you admitted, quiet against his skin. “you didn’t even notice how pretty you looked this morning. all frown and flannel and your fuckin hands…”

“mm,” he rumbled, mouth twitching. “that what’s got you worked up?”

you didn’t answer. you just shifted slightly in his lap, pressing down a little harder on his thigh, watching the way his jaw tightened when you did.

joel’s hands flexed, gripping your waist a little firmer now. “you come in here sittin’ on my leg like that,” he said lowly, eyes flicking to your mouth, “and you expect me to finish my carvin’?”

“i expected you to tell me how bad you missed me while i was gone,” you teased.

his brows lifted. “i see you every day.”

you leaned in closer. “doesn’t mean you don’t miss me.”

joel leaned back, gave you that quiet, unreadable look.

his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, squeezing once before he pulled you closer, flush against him. the fox on the table forgotten, the knife untouched. his mouth brushed your cheek, soft and rough.

but you had him here, grounded. his hands, his warmth, the slow way he let himself have you.

“you done carving?” you whispered.

joel nodded slowly, almost like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“good,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “’cause i need you worse than that fox does.” his glasses were crooked. you reached up and pulled them off, setting them aside. his eyes were darker now, heavier.

ᝰ

a/n: i wrote this at like 1am after watching the s2 premiere so it's ass but seeing him in those glasses... meow...