Me: *opens Document To Write*brain: Lets Rethink The Entire Plot Instead

me: *opens document to write* brain: let’s rethink the entire plot instead

all of my notifs have been in groups of 6 is this an omen

sick bug - orderly!blue jones

i haven't written any orderly blue jones because he's spooky but i tried! so ta da...

thinking of doing a sickfic series lmk

cw: literally this is like ooc but also...not. idk it's weird. blue behavior, mentions of vomit. fluffy? reader's gender is not specified

There had been a bug going around the bunks. It had started with Hanna, who gave it to Sweet Pea, who gave it to Baby, and on and on until everyone had gotten it at least once. The nurse's office was packed and coughing could be heard echoing in the halls.

Your eyes felt gluey when you woke up that morning. A humming throb sloshed around your head, and it sounded like you were underwater. Sinus pressure gave you an eye twitch.

Great.

Weakly you rolled over, sending the room into cartwheels. You winced, waiting for the dizziness to subside. The throb was stronger, beating in time with your heart.

The bunk room was empty. Shit. An orderly would be in there soon to shove you to breakfast. Just don't be Blue. Please, anyone

A whistling tune grew eerily louder as somebody approached. Ave Maria.

Blue.

You wanted to cry, but the pressure on your eyes only allowed for a pathetic sniffle. The vertigo was so bad you couldn't even sit up. As long as you don't throw up you'll be okay. Just breathe. Hardly. Your nose was stuffed and sandpaper rasped in the back of your throat.

The whistling had stopped but his footsteps were loud. A dim feeling of dread crept up your chest - or was that the nausea?

You could feel him behind you and you curled into a tighter ball.

"Come on, be a good pet and get up," he said loftily, saccharine tone sending shivers down your back. "Good pets get their breakfast."

You went limp in defeat. Breakfast sounded like a terrible idea.

A hand prodded your shoulder, first soft, then firm. Inside you were sobbing, but your face betrayed nothing but slack misery. Maybe if you played dead he'd leave you alone.

Blue whistled lowly and slammed his foot against the frame of your bed. The resulting bang sent splintering pain through your skull. Without the strength to support yourself, you rolled of the edge and collided heavily with the side table.

Your body was in a world of hurt. Not even a gunshot could clear your head. Pain radiated from every joint, and an encroaching fever was burning your insides up. A garbled moan scratched your sore throat and you blinked blearily at the man above you.

"You fuckin' sick too? Goddamn, what the-" muttering, Blue wiped his upper lip and leaned down, pressing harshly against your forehead. His hand was rough but cool, and you leaned forward into the slight comfort. He hissed and reared back.

"Don't."

You shuddered, a wave of nausea crashing into you. With a sudden cough, you spat bile onto the floor, quaking and choking at the sudden reaction. Blue swore and stepped back.

"God fuckin'- hang on, hang on," he swore again and stepped around the puddle, roughly leaning your head forward. "Don't choke on it, it'll get worse." His grip was strong on the back of your throat, and you felt another tide coming in.

He stood behind you, grimacing, until you sagged backwards, exhausted. Your stomach felt better, but the rush of endorphins had worsened the headache. Water, please.

A thick finger crammed into your mouth, clearing out all the sick from behind your tongue. You coughed weakly and grimaced as Blue wiped his hand on the sheets.

"You get any of that in the wrong pipe and you're screwed. Don't move." he stepped over you, face twisted in irritation.

Through a haze of dizziness you saw him disappear down the hall. Your head thumped dejectedly against the bedframe. You whimpered and pressed closer against the cold metal, aching for comfort. A slurry of voices and the smell of saline made you hum but sleep was looking very attractive and-

a warm darkness pulsed against your eyelids, easing the ache in your head. it felt nice. you tried to open your eyes and feel around, but the dark was heavy. your limbs felt shaky and you flopped down. laying here wouldn't be so bad.

oh.

a sliver of white light needled through the center. bright. wow, very bright. brighter brighter

You hiccupped awake, sneezing violently. A different set of papery sheets rustled around your sweaty legs. An IV was jammed in your wrist, the injection site aching red. You'd been put in the farthest bed from anyone else, tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the grimy medical hall.

The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. You sniffled, wishing for a tissue. At least the sinus pressure had lessened - but now you had a constant drip.

it was cold.

You curled up against the wall, wrapping yourself tight in the thin sheets. The fever was almost preferable, at least your blood hadn't felt frozen solid.

The nausea had also subsided, but your stomach rumbled uneasily. Whimpering, you peeked around the dividing curtain.

A set of beady eyes peeked back. You shrieked and fumbled backwards, hacking and coughing at the sudden burst of noise. Your throat had not recovered, a feeling akin to shredded metal stinging your tongue. Wincing, you wiped your eyes.

Blue raised his eyebrows, one hand parting the curtain.

"Boo," he deadpanned, smirking at your watery eyes. Mouth falling flat again, he slid a tray along the floor. A glass of water and a bowl of something rattled gently along the linoleum.

You stared numbly. It was for you. You were hungry. You should eat. But lead coated your arms and you were content to lie listlessly until unconsciousness swept over you. It was better than being cold, achey and awake.

Blue did not like this plan, evidently. He planted his hands on his hips and raised a dark eyebrow.

"Go on," he urged, "eat."

Your hand twitched, but you settled, favoring sleep. He sighed again and snapped twice.

"Come on, pet, I'm not paid to watch you like a hawk."

So you just do it for fun? You mumbled out an incoherently half-hearted response, wishing he'd leave you to your misery.

He grinned tightly. "Good. Your mouth does work. Now come on, let's go. I got shit to do. Need me to spoon feed you?" He pitched the last part menacingly, voice twisted in mock sympathy.

You sent him what was hopefully a glare but more resembled a pathetic pout.

He huffed and shoved the curtain closed. You sighed at his receding footsteps, closing your eyes.

A sharp grip wrenched under your arms and you yelped, roughly shoved against the wall. Blue glared, pointing a menacing finger.

"Stay."

He pulled up a chair and tossed an empty bowl on your cot. "If you throw up, do it in there. You ruined my last pair of scrubs."

From your cowering position against the wall, you realized he was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Blue grabbed your tray and put it on his lap, then leveled you with an expectant stare.

"Wh..." you wet your lips and tried again. "What're you doing?"

He sighed through his nose. "You wanna act like a baby, you get treated like a baby. Open up, here comes the airplane and all that."

Carefully he spooned up - oatmeal? - and gestured at you to eat. You peered at him, suddenly realizing he was serious.

Glumly, you swallowed a bite and tried not to choke. God, just some water please. Your throat was stuck together like glue. Blue recognized your shaking ribs and tipped the glass to your mouth, carefully making sure he didn't accidentally waterboard you. Once your throat felt clear, you nodded and he spooned up another bite.

You felt like a scolded child being forced to eat your vegetables. Blue's hand was steady on your jaw, holding your weak neck in place. His gaze wasn't...angry, but you still felt uneasy.

He paused halfway through the bowl.

"Gonna puke?"

You thought about it, and shook your head. Grunting, he fed you the last of the bowl and wiped the mess from your cheek. You accepted the rest of your water, finally calm enough to hold it yourself.

Clutching the empty cup to your chest, you watched perplexedly as Blue unfolded a new blanket and tucked it up around your shoulders. He turned your face left and right, feeling your forehead. Satisfied, he sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

You waited for him to say something. Blue stared back, eyes dark and placid. He wasn't angry. Didn't seem very scary either. Tentatively, you placed the glass on the tray and laid down, eyes on him the whole time. You tensed when he shifted, then relaxed when he stayed far away.

"Twitchy little thing, hm?" he remarked drily. You pulled the blanket up to your nose, peering at him with round eyes. His eyebrow twitched.

"I scare you a bit, huh, pet?" He bared his teeth. A glimmering smile came and went across your face.

Blue poked your leg with his toe.

"Do it again, that was funny. Come on, do it." He kept prodding you like a pet snake. You fought a smile and hid your giggle in the folds of cotton. He caught the twinkle in your eye and relented his teasing. You settled against the pillows, eyes heavy.

The lights flickered on and off.

When they flickered, then dipped a few levels dimmer, you went rigid, eyes huge. Blue slid his gaze over to you, head tilted.

"Scared of the dark?" His voice was quiet and silky. You didn't acknowledge him, mentally preparing yourself for the next blink of darkness.

He waited, then shifted closer, eyelashes almost brushing yours.

"Tell you a secret," he whispered. You blinked expectantly, staring into his deep brown irises.

"Promise not to tell?"

You nodded quickly. He smiled, teeth glowing pearly in the dark.

"Me too." His nose gently booped yours, before he leaned back against the rickety chair.

You felt warm at the admission, just a little secret.

The lights blinked again.

He winked, flicking a knife out of his pocket and twirling it in his palm.

"The monster's not gonna get you, pet."

this was not fluffy at all but you delulus are so obsessed you don't even care (it's me i'm delulus) also hilarious i posted my writing schedule and then Did Not follow it.

tags!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @bulletgoth

comment to join xox

T Minus 7

part four is here im so sorry

i feel terrible i dipped out for two weeks and all i have to show for it is this piece of garbage

good luck

cw: nothing just tension (are you bored be honest) and mention of vomit.

Masterlist

Ben was in mid sentence when you flung open the door to his office. The window shattered as it bounced violently off the wall. Every med tech in the room froze, glittering dusk spreading over the floor. the shards crunched under your footsteps as you came nose to nose with Ben. Your cheeks were on fire, chest heaving. Breathe. Breathe.

"You drugged my patient," you spat, flinging the clipboard at your boss. A few interns skittered backwards, murmuring concern. Ben dodged the flying paper, swearing.

"What the hell-"

"Miguel O'Hara," you seethed, "Spiderman of Universe 2099-A. Was specifically given to me to care for, and yet I found a drug that I did not administer in his bloodstream." You punctuated this bombshell with a snarl, jabbing roughly at the file summary.

Ben adjusted his glasses. "Now, now calm down a second-"

"He was getting better and now he's a rabid animal!" Your shout echoed across the whole med bay. Logic had gone out the window; you were far too focused on finding answers.

"Do you see what has happened to him?" Miguel was prone on a cot, tubes shoved into his throat. "He's tied up there for no reason other than the side effects of whatever cocktail you gave him without telling me."

Ben shot a look at the hovering interns, who quickly dispersed. Still calm as a breeze, he sat and gestured for you to do the same. Folding your arms, you didn't budge. Anger had blurred the edges of your vision and highlighted his nonchalant expression. You could smell the cold sweat gathering along his hairline.

Be scared, you coward.

He sighed again. "I'm sorry for the confusion. But this situation...is worse than you understand."

"Then make me understand," you bit back.

Ben was clearly disgruntled with your stern attitude. He hesitated, then pulled up a few documents for you to look at.

"Miguel has serious attitude problems," he said, "as I'm sure you've noticed. His extreme anger and violent reactions are a result of hormone imbalances from his unstable splicing with a spider breed."

Sitting back, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You mirrored his expression. When it was clear that was the only explanation he'd give you, you snorted.

"Yeah, okay. Why did you give him that drug? What even is that?"

Ben stood, jaw ticking. The smell of his own endorphins was stronger, making your nose twitch. Let him get mad. If he yelled, you could yell right back.

"I've given you all the information you need. I don't think you're the right nurse for this-"

Your palm cracked across his face before you could think about it. He flinched, skin flaring up at the contact. Pride roared in your chest, despite the waver of regret.

Ben leaned forward and snatched the ID from your jacket. "You're done," he said coldly.

A low buzz rang through your head, chilling your blood. The uncertainty and anger mixed in a disgusting whirlpool in your stomach, urging you to hurl in a garbage can. You swallowed it down proudly and stormed out without another word.

"So who's taking care of Miguel?" Your friend chewed her thumb nervously after you told her the story. Yeah, it was classified, but you didn't owe Ben shit anymore.

"I...dunno," you exhaled, scrubbing a palm over your face. You hadn't thought this through at all. Maria's gaze softened when she took in your terrified expression.

You'd been a mess since you arrived home; immediately vomiting in the sink and having a panic attack on the bathroom floor. Maria almost called the med bay before you blubbered about the situation. She was shocked at the state of O'Hara.

The idea of leaving him in the med bay with some random nurse made your chest twist. He'd had such a hard time with the needles...and the thought of Ben running the doses fired up your anger. You'd gotten along with the head doctor, but something about him always rubbed you the wrong way.

"I need to sleep on it," you mumbled. Maria patted your shoulder comfortingly as you trudged into the shared bedroom.

Foolish of you to think you could sleep. You tossed for an hour before giving up frustratedly. The sheets were twisted around your ankles and cold sweat had dried uncomfortably under your sleep shirt. Maria had left around seven, supposedly for a get-together.

The sink dripped quietly in the background. Low light from the oven glowed ominously. You shivered. Padding to the sink, you poured yourself a cup of water and drank, easing your shaky nerves. There was leftover pizza which you devoured in minutes.

I hope he's okay.

You buried your head in your arms, anxiety knotting tight and sharp under your ribs. It felt like all the air had been vacuum sealed out of the room.

Breathe.

Shoving away from the table, you slipped on your shoes and left, trying to clear the brain fog. A walk would be nice. The light had faded outside, and the HQ was asleep. The air conditioning hummed and faint sounds of the machinery was clicking, but everyone had gone to bed.

Out of habit, you felt yourself ducking down the medbay hall. The windows were all shuttered and the lights flicked off, an eerie blue glow under the doors. You'd never noticed how similar to a morgue the bay was. Unmarked doors, solemn workers and hushed voices.

You shivered again. Your footsteps paused, and you found yourself outside of a very familiar door.

Don't. Just go home. He's sleeping.

You can't.

Not having an ID made it impossible to unlock any doors. You pressed a hand to the small window, condensation from your nose fogging the glass. The faint beeps of his monitors could be heard if you pressed close enough. A small piece of your heart broke as you listened to the rhythmic beeps.

Your hand brushed against the doorknob. A small eep when the door pushed open. It hadn't locked.

Whoever had last checked on him hadn't locked his room properly.

Keep walking. Turn around. Don't.

Just a peek. You'd just take a peek. Toeing the door open, you clicked it gently shut and tiptoed closer.

Miguel was still pale and clammy, but the machinery had been reduced. You could smell his bandages from the doorway. Rot. He was neglected. The slow beat of your worry picked up the pace. Why hadn't anybody changed his bedding?

Something was up.

Impulsively, you smoothed the sheets around his arms and pushed sweaty hair off his forehead. His skin was flaming, and you flinched back.

Something hot and thick closed around your wrist. You froze, his hand holding your arm loosely. Miguel's brow furrowed with pain as he tried to keep his eyes open, and you gently prompted him to go back to sleep.

His irises were muddy with pain - sharp scarlet turned a rusty brown.

You patted his hand and peeled off his sweaty fingers, shushing when he groaned.

"Hang on," you whispered.

Breath held, you quickly peeked into the hall. Still empty. Holy fuck this is such a bad idea.

Closing the door quietly, you tiptoed over and carefully pulled an empty syringe out of the blood kit on the counter. Snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, you pulled his wrist into your grasp and felt for a vein. You tried to add pressure to coax the blood flow. In a long, slow exhale, you swiftly drew up a few milliliters of blood. Miguel barely flinched, fingers twitching in sleep.

You pocketed the syringe and slipped out of his room. Ben had taken your badge but he hadn't taken your coat or your lanyard. You could still - as long as a tech didn't look to close - apply for a blood scan.

If Ben wouldn't tell you what he'd dosed Miguel with, you could figure it out yourself.

The bags for lab requests were in an unlocked office. You scribbled out a report, fudged a couple of numbers and slipped it into the stack of waiting transfers. Quick as you came, you disappeared out the door and back into the hall.

A few late-shift nurses waved at you, unknowing of recent transgressions. You kept your face calm, not betraying the stampede underneath. A few minutes later you were back in bed, adrenaline pumping after your escapade.

You woke up with cottonmouth the next morning. After downing a second glass of water and waving off a concerned glance from your roommate, you shook off the despair and tried to piece together what was going on.

Labs were backed up, hopefully you'd have the results by tomorrow. If all went well and the techs were their usual inattentive selves, nobody would notice your unauthorized request.

As the clock ticked, your guts twisted. Your gaze slid to the mess of Miguel's file on your floor. Jumping off of your bunk, you crouched over the sheafs of paper.

Curious, you picked one up off the pile. If Miguel's infection was even close to the severity that Ben had implied, he'd definitely have symptoms outside of a mid-grade fever and weight loss. That was standard. None of the nurse reports you or your coworkers filed had any reports of indigestion, bloody vomit, or something that would explain away his wound.

Huh.

Miguel hadn't hallucinated, fainted, developed lesions or rashes. The testing of the venom proved that red rashes and a pox were a symptom of exposure.

O'Hara's symptoms listed none of the above.

Puzzled, you flipped through his information until the mission report resurfaced.

Impaled on left side of sternum with approx. 8 inches of rebar.

His wound was on the right side.

Either somebody did not know their directions or somebody lied.

Miguel had one of the fastest healing metabolisms of anyone on the team. Probably the fastest. An impalement would have healed in hours. By the time he'd arrived at your office, his left side was fine. His right side had a wound. There was copious scar tissue all over his chest. The original wound would have been disguised easily.

Did he get injured again? It would have been in the mission report.

Unless it happened after the mission.

Dr. Ben had been first on the scene. He'd personally transported Miguel to the medbay. After that was the first contact any other medical personnel had with O'Hara.

Hands shaky, you dialed Maria.

"Hey," you jumped when she answered, "where's Dr. Ben?"

Maria hummed, ducking away from her phone. "I got him," she said, "what's up?"

Holding up Miguel's file, you swallowed thickly. "Wh...how big was the rebar that Miguel was impaled with originally?"

8. 8 inches. Say it.

"Twelve, why?"

"Nothing," you whispered, hanging up.

Bingo.

The two wounds were different. Miguel had not been infected by the original impalement.

It had been done intentionally.

You slid down in your chair. "Oh my god."

There was a notification in your inbox the next morning. Spitting out your morning toast, you opened up the lab report.

Hemoglobin, normal, oxygen, normal....the sedatives you'd been using were listed, an abnormally high sodium level - circle back later - and-

compound r4 status: abnormal.

Compound r4 was a norepinephrine regulator given to anomalies to control rage. NE was lowered to calm them down so that the spiders could transport them easily. However, if overdosed it had an opposite reaction.

Why would Miguel need r4?

"...has attitude problems, as I'm sure you know..."

Your stomach had plummeted through the floor as the fog slowly cleared. His sodium levels were high because the drug you'd been administering was a false. Just a saline solution, no antibiotic. His iron levels were normal, even though he'd been losing blood.

Miguel was fine. There was no infection, the venom had not come in contact with his wound. Somebody had staged the effects.

Ben.

I SWEAR I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT YOU GUYS I JUST DUG MYSELF DEEPER IN THIS PILE OF GOD KNOWS WHAT AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT

i love you xox

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @ridiculous-hibiscus @seeeuspaceecowboyyy @neeshsoodrippedout @llumetrii

AND THEY’RE FUCKING CORRECT

misc headcanons for oscar isaac characters

ta da. sfw and nsfw but nothing terribly explicit. (There'll be a divider before the horny stuff)

Miguel O'Hara

Likes to cook. Idk but I think he likes meal planning and looking up recipes and stuff. Needs to eat a lot because he big and strong so y'know.

If his gf bakes and cooks? Mans is in love

Sweet tooth (fang?). Drinks those sugary Starbucks drinks but he pours them in a thermos so nobody can tell. His favorite are pink drinks, pumpkin spice lattes and vanilla chai. Coffee gives him a tummy ache.

Scared of the dark. Inconvenient bc he has so much light sensitivity but I think pitch darkness makes him nervous. He has a weighted blanket to help.

WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU GAVE HIM A BACK RUB. His muscles are Fucked. Add some lavender oil and he is purring.

Needs a stress toy. Nice if it's you-shaped. Or if it's you. You're nice to hold, what about it?

nsfw

we know about the breeding thing. we get it.

but i think another thing he has is a neediness kink. Like he wants you all over him all the time.

For this reason, he will edge you to oblivion every morning and lunch break he has so that you'll be on the floor for him whenever he needs.

Likes to hold your tits. Kinda like a stress ball.

What? They're soft, warm and perfectly shaped for his palm. And you make the prettiest noises...

I don't think he's that possessive tbh. He's not the kind of guy to make a big fuss about 'marking you up' and all that. He likes the secrecy of giving hickeys beneath your neckline.

cockwarming KING. He's developed an addiction; he can't focus on work without it. Will paw you into his lap for hours. You're used to it, you can sit patiently. He never leaves you high and dry.

Miguel will suckle on your neck like a piece of candy and just. zone out.

ORAL FIXATION ORAL FIXATION BEEP BEEP HELLO. Needs something of yours in his mouth always. Hand, fingers, mouth, jaw, neck, tits, ass, pussy, thighs, literally whatever. He'll lay his head in your lap and suck kisses into your tummy while he watches a movie. you taste good and it gives him something to do. Melts his brain into goop.

Marc Spector

Very minimalist but loves having little pieces of you around his apartment. A picture taped to the fridge, pieces of art hung above the sofa, your favorite color painted in the bedroom...nothing extreme, just things he can look at and smile.

Best dad. 100%. Has pictures of your kids in his wallet, phone lock screen, gets a tattoo of baby's first drawing, art projects on the fridge, goes to every parent conference.

Girl dad.

His favorite thing to do with you is go on walks. The fresh air is nice, he can hold your hand, maybe get some coffee. Even though he doesn't have a dog, Marc likes watching them play. Favorite breed is a bernedoodle. don't ask me why. it just is.

Plus, in the winter your nose gets cold and then he has an excuse to kiss your face.

Not a PDA kinda dude but needs physical touch to stay grounded. You will often link pinkies or bump elbows.

Has an essential oil collection. it helps him sleep.

NAPS. Naps everywhere; loves to cuddle you against the couch and sleep for hours. Doesn't mind wasting time as long as you wake up together.

(nsfw)

missionary guy or reverse cowgirl. Likes to watch your soul ascend to heaven.

Not great at personal boundaries; will fuck himself to overstim if it means you are having a good time. Steven will be seizing from aftershocks in the headspace and Marc will be going for round 5.

Aftercare is a learning curve but he is all for making you feel better.

Bath sex? Bath sex. Likes the warm water, your hair smells divine, it's easy clean-up. And you're so fucked out he can snuggle you to death in the warm blankets afterward. Perfect combo.

He wakes up too early for morning sessions but if there's naptime during the day he is 100% waking you up with an orgasm.

Very attentive to all the good tricks. Has a methodical process of mouth, fingers, cock, mouth. Rinse and repeat.

Cleans you up orally. Actually I don't think oral is his favorite to receive or give. He's a whole nine yards. Proper fucking.

Not a fan of quickies. Either you set aside two hours in your schedule or he forcibly sets aside two hours. No broom closets for him.

Steven Grant

has the best sense of humor.

is on tumblr. like he has to have a blog dedicated to Egyptology fun facts and shitposts. Gets SO excited anytime somebody reads/likes/reblogs his posts. Literally makes his day.

Not very artistic but likes going to art museums. Fun date idea too, you can play guessing games about the subjects and the titles.

I think he has a dirty sense of humor. Will give you a side-eye and an eyebrow wiggle anytime someone says something remotely suggestive. He makes himself laugh so hard he steps into the hall so he won't interrupt the meeting.

Likes old music - Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole. Steven will 100% dance with you in the kitchen to Elvis. Hums it to himself so he'll fall asleep.

Writes love notes! He loves the blush on your face when you read them and he will do anything to make you smile. Has a dedicated pad of sticky notes in his desk for this purpose.

Kisses are his love language. He needs to stim with his hands so hand-holding is ehh, but cheek and forehead kisses make his heart explode. Will purposefully press his face against your lips to hint he wants attention.

Will kiss you while you're talking because he's so in love.

(nsfw)

munch.

has discovered it's the easiest way to make you cum and therefore will do it for hours. I think his stamina is astounding so he can hold himself off for a hot minute while you melt from pleasure.

Loud. very, very loud. You've gotten used to it and use it to your advantage if he's in the mood for d/s.

Doesn't like being degraded but DOES like being told what to do (nicely). You could get him to eat meat if you suck him off well enough.

Needs aftercare. Specifically words of affirmation, especially if you've dommed him. Might need a break from physical touch if he's really overstimulated, so you just sit beside him and murmur comforting things to him until he mellows out.

A switch but prefers bottoming.

pull his hair. it makes him so hard he starts crying. especially with some neck scratches??? baby he's not gonna last.

Feels bad for making a mess. Don't worry! he'll clean it up for you. With his mouth.

Jake Lockley

Sings you to sleep in Spanish.

Likes telling stories and jokes. Does the best impressions, insane talent at accents (probably because of Steven).

He'll pack up a bag of snacks and drive to somewhere to watch the sunrise with you. Don't worry he'll grab a blanket to hold you in his lap if you fall asleep.

Does not have road rage somehow. Marc will be screaming his head off and Jake will be that Javi Gutierrez car meme.

Brakes to watch animals cross the road. Doesn't care if it holds up traffic.

Like Miguel, loves to cook and eat. If you can bake him chocolate muffins? He'll marry you on the spot.

Chocolate whore. Eats chocolate every day, has a secret stash in his glovebox. Easy bribing method.

The Best Kisser. Knows exactly when you need it, where, how intense. Softest lips ever (sponsored by cherry flavored chapstick) and loves to leave hickeys.

(nsfw)

wines and dines you like a gentleman but whispers the filthiest words in your ear the whole time.

fucks you with The Gloves on. Then he can have a little bit of you with him at work ;)

Can only do one or two rounds but those sessions go hard.

Thick strokes. Does that make sense? Like, uses his whole body to fuck into you. Not fast, but powerful. You cannot walk ever when he's done. Neither can he, truthfully.

goes feral when you wear perfume. You are not leaving the house wearing that or smelling that good. Unless you let him have a taste.

Has a 'ring the bell for sex'.

King John

whiny whiny whiny little man. Pouts if he doesn't receive a good morning and a good night kiss.

Gives you lavish gifts all the time. Will treasure whatever you give him. Clothing? he'll wear it every day. Jewelry? Glimmering for all to see.

Is actually really insecure. Is shy about it but asks for your opinion when making decisions in the kingdom. His cabinet makes fun of him but he genuinely wants to hear your opinion.

Likes smart women. Will gaze at you lovingly while you ramble about various topics you enjoy.

Hates getting sick. Is the biggest baby, doesn't like throwing up or needing somebody to take care of him. Unless it's you, in which he'll gladly lay in your lap while you sponge his forehead.

If you take care of him, he'll purposefully stand in front of the fire longer than necessary to trick you into thinking he's feverish.

You see right through him, but you let him have his fun.

Likes games and puzzles. If he had access to Wordle he'd be religiously addicted to it. not sure why but I think he just likes being good at things and bragging about it.

Needs compliments to survive.

(nsfw)

exhibitionist. Would fuck you during a council meeting if it didn't make you cry with embarrassment.

Keeps you in his bedchambers when he really really needs you. Will just come in every few hours, fuck you silly, peck your cheek and do it again later.

Doesn't really want kids but makes a huge deal of 'wanting an heir' to excuse his rampant horniness.

Masturbates frequently. If you're gone for an extended period it's every day.

Tit guy. Sucks, fondles, gropes, nuzzles them every chance he gets. He buys you dresses that lace in the front so he has easier access in a quickie.

Quiet during sex but loves it when you're loud. Edges you until he can't take it and eats you out for hours. Doesn't care who hears, what are they gonna do about it? He's the king, he can fuck his wife when he wants.

Blue Jones (Club)

Brat. Loud, brash, sassy for attention. Enjoys getting ready, the Most extra when it comes to self-care. Skincare, spa day, makeup. You'll never catch him with unmanicured nails.

Misses being onstage. Sometimes he'll put on a record and do a quick number in his room, reminiscing.

Feels embarrassed about having romantic feels. He thinks it's bad and he's dying, so he'll do nothing about it unless you confess first.

Physical touch is a love language. Not necessarily suggestive, just shoulder rubs or a hand on his arm, or your cheek resting against his. does wonders for his anxiety.

Sarcastic but will cry if you insult him back.

Scared of the dark, sleeps with a handler by the door and wrapped around you so tight you have a hard time breathing.

Gets nightmares and needs a hug sometimes.

(nsfw)

kinky bastard.

Hella open to new things, openly asks patrons for bedroom ideas and then will run back to his room with excitement.

So far his favorites are spanking, rimming, restraints, and sixty nine.

Needs a blowjob to function tbh. He gets so noisy that you've sewn a specific silk gag for him to wear when you're sucking him off or he'll wake the building.

Tears holes in his pants because he's so eager to undress and get inside you. He'll fuck fast and rough, against a desk or table.

Ass guy. Spanks you while he fucks you, loves watching it bounce. He'll cum from seeing your folds flutter while he takes you fro behind.

Doggy/anything without eye contact. He's really not into intimacy.

Friends with benefits for sure.

Cecil Dennis

lovesick puppy. Obsesses over you, all of his bong dreams are about you.

Texts and calls you every minute of the day. Asks you stupid questions just so you'll talk to him.

Even though he has no money, he tries to put effort into his dates. Even if it's just take out, you love the intention and give him a kiss as a reward.

Supportive of you 100%. Can't take him clothes shopping cause he'll say yes to everything.

Really likes sundresses though. Really really really.

He'll share his playlists and movies recs with you as a way of showing his love. He makes cassettes for you with voice messages recorded on to them.

Keeps a Polaroid of you in his car to kiss when he misses you. Sobs when he drops it in a puddle so you hold him and promise to take a new one. This time he remembers to laminate it.

Will tattoo your name on his arm, which you think is stupid but he looks so genuinely in love and desperate for reciprocation that you just smile and hug him.

(nsfw)

no refractory period because he cums so fast. He Cannot be edged because it won't work.

accidental stimulation will send him over the edge; if he's high and the seam of his pants is rubbing the right way? moaning and biting into a pillow while he humps himself on the couch.

Horny in an instant. You'll look at him a certain way and bam.

Sundresses, his favorite. He can grope all he wants, let his hands wander on the soft fabric. any white stains will blend in with the pastel print...

Nathan Bateman

Is an asshole but is self aware. when he drinks a lot, he feels really bad about it and overthinks every interaction he's ever had.

Prefers smoking weed to drinking but he doesn't like the smell. Has gummies in his desk for emergencies.

Secretly likes the great british baking show. Watches it with you when he needs a break or when you ask him nicely.

Prefers curvy partners. I think he likes having extra to hold and the softness of another person because it's so human.

Not an asshole about standards. Body hair, cellulite, whatever. he's spent so much time with androids that real people are beautiful in all ways.

Really wants a dog. You get him one for christmas and he takes it everywhere, sometimes talking to it about his projects in that adorable baby voice. There's a recording somewhere that you have stored for blackmail. He names it Boop.

(nsfw)

BDSM. Soft dom but enjoys bondage specifically.

Pegging is totally his thing. Likes shutting his mind off for a while.

Will design the perfect vibrator for you and watch you get off for hours. Nothing feeds his ego more.

No breeding kink but likes filling you. Will cockwarm after so that he can make sure you take it all and nothing makes a mess.

Will use your mouth while he works to 'keep the blood flow going.' Sometimes he gets a bit too distracted and ends up fucking your mouth until he's whimpering.

yes, he whimpers. He'll hide his face in your neck but you still hear it.

Poe Dameron

ADHD. Has fidget toys in his X-Wing when shifts are boring. BB-8 is programmed to play binaural ambience or music to chill him out when he's stressed.

A real music geek I think. His favorite part of going to other planets is standing in cantinas and listening to the different genres.

For a great pilot I imagine he's a terrible driver. Passenger princess. Likes snacks, picking the playlist, playing with your hair, anything but driving. If it can't fly he doesn't want anything to do with it.

The best gift-giver. Has a list on his tablet about all the snacks you like, your TBR books to buy, any movies you wanna go see, he knows Everything. And he goes all out. None of that store-bought flower shit, not him.

Does all the cliche couple stuff. Matching PJs are his favorite because he can steal your clothes for once and walk around smelling like you. Will wear one of your t-shirts (oversize) under his flight vest so he can sniff the hem and play with the fabric.

Will get couple tattoos. Probably of some stupid joke but he will kiss your tattoo every day when he leaves for work.

(nsfw)

any time, anywhere. Has all the accessible fucking locations memorized and the best times for availability. Will map his schedule around adequate opportunities for a make out session.

Will not leave for a mission without fucking you into the mattress first. If he dies, he wants to die with that memory in his head. And a nice afterglow to ease your grief.

Loves getting head but won't do it because he loses it so fast.

Loves giving head but only does it sometimes because he gets hyperfixated and won't stop until you're screaming with tears.

Really sensory oriented. Loves skin contact, squeezing and kissing and biting. Foreplay is where he shines; he knows all the best places to stroke and pet so that you bend to his will.

Doesn't like dom/sub.

Does like fucking you stupid and then holding you afterward. Aftercare 10/10.

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