#I'm going to be like: 'They're too good for him'

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Restraint | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Oneshot 1.6k

You rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him.

Warnings: 18+ smut, if you're looking for an medical ethics this isn't it, p in v, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex, orgasm denial, dirty talk. Topping from the bottom a bit? Bucky is restrained/slightly subby Bucky if you squint, but also dominant Bucky. Bucky is horny, reader can't help herself and they're both crazy possessive.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Sam asked, his warning look at Joaquin came too late. 

“Tell me!” You turned on the younger man, “where the fuck have you put him?” 

“He's -”

“No, it's for her own safety,” Sam pulled Joaquin away, trying to dodge around you. 

“Where's Bucky? Tell me - please.” You were desperate, running through the hanger as soon as you heard he'd been hit, you needed to see him- now, needed to know he was okay. 

“I really don't think-”

“Sam I'm going to find him, I don't care if I have to search every inch of this airfield I'll find him. So you might as well just tell me and get it over with.” 

“Fine, but you've gotta leave him to it, he needs to recover and we don't know -”

“Sam!” 

“Upstairs, room 205.” 

You could hear him before you could see him, the sound of metal on metal unmistakable, and then the door to room 205 slammed shut behind a fleeing doctor and his cry of anger was released into the corridor. 

“Bucky?” You pushed the door open again, peering inside. 

“Don't, baby, just go and I'll come to you when -” he cut himself off, thrashing side to side. 

205 was somewhere between an officer's quarters and a hospital room, it was furnished like a bedroom, but away from the mess hall and regular sleeping areas downstairs. You'd expected to see Bucky hooked up to machines, maybe an IV drip, at least a monitor. 

But Bucky was handcuffed to the bed. The vibranium cuffs attached at each corner, spreading his body across the sheets. He’d shed his shirt and leather jacket, but his tactical pants still stretched over his thick thighs, his boots kicking out despite the restraints around his ankles. 

“Bucky, what happened?” 

“Doll, please -” he grit his teeth, jaw ticking, and set his head back on the pillows, “I don't want you to see me like this, go home, I'll come back.”

‘Like this’ was sweating and writhing, veins bulging in his already flexed muscles, sweat forming on his brow. 

“I can't leave you, what happened?” 

“Hit,” he tugged at his bonds again and you noticed red welts forming on his right wrist, "serum booster something, they were trying to - ugh -” he arched up, a vein in his neck pulsing, “enhance, but I - hit. We don't know - ugh - what it will do to me.”

Despite his otherwise out of control appearance, Bucky's blue eyes were clear and pleading. This was painful, you were sure, made worse by his movement in the cuffs. 

“You need to calm down, baby, stop moving.”

“Can't,” he tugged again, rattling the cuffs. 

“Let me help,” you stepped forwarding, shedding the big coat you'd pulled on when you left the house in a hurry. Your nipples pebbled under the flimsy nightdress you'd been wearing when you got the call. Bucky took a deep inhale at the sight. 

“No, no, no - I'm here because I could - fuck, baby, I could hurt someone. I don't wanna hurt you, go - fucking hell you look so damn delicious - go home!” 

But you ignored him. Instead you knelt on the end of the bed and unlaced his tactical boots, sliding them slowly off and setting them to the floor. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut. 

It did feel better to have them off though, and he rolled his ankles in relief, despite the cuffs. 

“Better, baby?” Your hand was on his leg and he managed to get out a quick nod before your hand moved higher, higher. He thrashed. 

“Seriously, you have to stop, what if I -” 

“You won't hurt me, you're a good man, Bucky. And look at you.” 

Your hand left his leg, the bed moved and he cracked his eyes open in time to see you settle in his lap. He bucked up, involuntarily he was sure, and revealed in your giggle as you grabbed his tac belt for stability. 

“Hmm, later, Bucky baby. Let me take care of you first.”

Your hands were back, sliding up his chest. He'd put on weight, since moving in with you, coming home to a hot dinner every night, desserts on the weekend, treats on dates. You liked seeing him well and happy. Beneath your hands the feel of his abs was still there, an undeniable strength, but he was so soft too and you loved that about him. The softness that he only shared with you, that he had gained through your love and care.

“Doll-” his warnings were beginning to sound whiny, pleading, and you could feel his familiar hardness growing beneath you now. 

“Just let me look after you,” you repeated, though you weren't sure if this was for him or you.

Your hands grazed higher, over his pecs, brushing your thumbs against his nipples, and up to his tense shoulders. It would hurt, you knew, to have his arms pulled like that. Especially his left, where the vibranium met skin and muscle. You'd massaged that spot enough times to know exactly where to dig your thumbs to make him say - 

“Fuck - I can't -" the cuffs rattled again, his hips driving upwards and knocking you off balance, leaving you in one of your favourite places, sprawled over his chest. He was thick beneath you, spreading your thighs wide, his cock straining against his zipper and pressing up between your legs.

“Bucky - let me take some of that pressure off, I love you so much - I” 

He tipped his head, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. Your hands clutched at his hair, turning his head to the perfect angle, lips parted you kissed him back fiercly in a whirlwind of his desperation and your need.

“We shouldn't - the doctor said -” 

Your hands were gone again, leaving his hair mussed on the pillow. 

“You're mine, Bucky, I won't have anyone else telling us how I take care of you.” 

The zip on his pants was close to splitting and so was Bucky's sanity, back arched from the bed, teeth bared. Slowly you popped the button and lowered the zip, allowing the hard length of his cock to spring free.

Like the rest of him, Bucky's cock was beautiful, thick and ready, the vein running up the side pulsed beneath your palm, precum beading at his red tip. He looked delicious.

“Do something,” Bucky's hips pumped again and again, thrusting up into your grip. You let go and he growled, low and throaty, body straining against his bonds. “Get your hands back on my dick right now.” 

You shivered, lust coursing through your body like fire. "I thought you told me to leave? Besides, wouldn’t you rather have something else?” You teased, leaning forward and licking a long stripe from his base to his weeping tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue and groaning lewdly in satisfaction. 

“Fuck!” He tugged again and the bed groaned. “Do that again.” Instinctively, you lent forwards and wrapped your lips around his head, sucking slowly and dipping your tongue into his slit. It was Bucky’s turn to groan now, head tipped back. 

He was thrusting up, trying to get himself as deep into your mouth as possible and - fuck - you loved him like this. Raw and wild and passionate. You had to have him, the need was so strong you could feel your heartbeat between your legs, arousal making your thighs slide together when you moved to sit up. 

“No, no, no, doll, please, what are you doing?” He pleaded, eyes wide in understanding when you climbed up to sit in his lap. 

Bucky’s cock lay hard against his soft stomach, your lips perfectly molded around it to push the tip against your clit when you rocked back and forth. It was delicious, this temptation, the tease. But Bucky was beyond teasing. He needed to be inside of you now.

With one last pull he broke free of the restraints. His hands, vibranium cuffs still hanging from his wrists, went straight to your waist, lifting you enough to impale you on his cock. 

He was so ready, throbbing inside of you, and the sensation of being empty and then so wonderfully full had you clenching around him immediately, teetering on the edge of an orgasm you weren't prepared for.

“No, no, Doll, this was your idea so you can fucking wait for me.” 

You wailed but clenched down, willing yourself to hold on for now.

Bucky set a bruising rhythm, holding you still as he thrust up into you, using your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Bucky I'm gonna -”

“No you're fucking not, you're gonna hold it like a good girl and cum when I say.” His voice was low, gravelly from shouting.

God. You needed it. It was like an electric shock, the power looking for an escape and ricocheting around your body until every muscle felt sore from holding back. 

“I can't, Bucky, I've got to-” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes from the effort. 

“Cum,” he grunted, holding you down and grinding you onto his cock while your body went tight, light exploding behind your eyes, “look at me.” 

You opened your eyes and met his, dark with lust, and you twitched again, milking him as he filled you in three harsh pumps.

“Fuck,” he dropped his hands to the bed and you rolled off him. 

“Well, at least you didn't get sick from the serum, right?” You flopped back onto the bed. 

Bucky rolled into his side, looking down at you with a grin on his face, hand pumping his already hard dick again. 

“No ill effects, anyway.” He laughed, before sliding back between your legs. 

[kawhh]

luke would lowkey be the opposite he’s asking you to hide ur stuffies to turn around the peanut jelly cat, he feels self conscious

Everything was going well for him until he looked up.

Please be gentle with me, I haven't written for him before.

He hasn't been in your room before. You've both been taking it slow with each other - little kisses here and there, cuddles in the dark together where he can feel safe with no pressure. Dragging his soft hands under your shirt, resting them on your stomach. Feeling him gulp, slowly testing both of your limits.

You broke his mind tonight, feeling him freeze as you take it further. Dragging his hands up your body, holding his hands over your bra, feeling his fingers twitch with the restraint he needs not to squeeze your pretty tits. He's physically and emotionally overwhelmed, whining as he buries his face against your shirt, nuzzling into you.

He's forcing your hands into his curls, needing you to ground him. To reassure him that you're fine with him taking this further. Needing your consent before he lets himself go.

The minute he gets the go ahead, he's scrambling to dig his fingers into your thighs, needing you to be wrapped around him, whimpering as he pulls them around his body, pushing them further around, needing you to squeeze him.

Using his strength to lift off the couch with you, wrapping his hands around your back to support you. He won't drop you. Even if he's already tit drunk. Moaning into you like your tits hold all the answers, like he needs them to breathe.

Clumsily carrying you up the stairs, accidentally hitting your side, whispering apologies into your skin. Sliding the hands on your back under your shirt on the way, clawing at your skin, dipping the pads of his fingers under the waistband of your shorts, hesitantly digging into the skin of your ass, too nervous to fully grab you.

As soon as he gets you in your room safe, falling on the bed with you, he can't resist getting more skin contact. Lifting your shirt, dragging his mouth up your stomach, following the revealed skin. Mouthing at you like he's whispering a prayer, compliments flowing from his mouth the minute he reaches your bra covered tits, before he makes his mistake.

He looks up. Stopping in his tracks, his face flooding with heat. You can feel the sudden warmth on your skin. He's just staring above your head, your calls of his name going unheard.

There's.. there's stuffies. There's stuffies all over your bed. They're just.. watching him. He feels like he's being judged. Burying his head back into your stomach, hiding under your shirt.

"Baby.. can't. I'm being watched, feel like they're gonna lock m' up in jail."

He's whining into you, embarrassed that it's such a problem for him. Embarrassed that he doesn't even feel like he can kiss you.

"Baby you gotta.. you gotta put them outside. I can't.."

Even as you lift off the bed to throw them outside the bedroom door, holding in your laughs, you can hear him speaking apologises into the bed covers, hiding his face. He can't look at you, can't believe that he ruined this for you.

You can feel him gulp, feel his breathing quicken when you come back to him, laying down over his back, burying your hands in his curls, reassuring him that it's okay. Not wanting to poke fun at this problem with him, wanting him comfortable. You can tell when he's in the mood for it and when he's not.

Kissing the back of his neck as you massage his scalp, murmuring praises into his skin, calling him your good boy, making sure he knows he did good. That you're proud of him.

@hughesinthebox I was gonna wait.. but.

[vvkyomi]

(1) dating itoshi sae

i. acts cold, but he's so whipped

sae isn't the type to shower you with compliments, but he shows his love in subtle actions

remembers everything—your favorite drink, the way you like your ramen, even the fact that you always lose your socks

if you get cold, he'll throw his jacket at you without a word. if you try to thank him, he just shrugs. "don't be dumb. you'll get sick."

if you tell him you love him, his response is always a quiet “i know”. but on rare occasions, when he's really soft, he'll murmur back, “love you too.”

ii. he's not big on PDA—except when he's jealous

sea doesn't like public affection—no hand-holding, no kissing in front of others. but the second someone flirts with you?

he'll casually wrap an arm around your waist, and say in his usual deadpan voice, “they're taken. try harder next time.”

if someone really doesn't get the hint, he'll stare them down until they leave

iii. he shows love through small gestures

sends you texts like “eat.” or “don't stay up too late.” instead of actual sweet messages

if you complain, he'll roll his eyes but later send something like “i guess i don't want you collapsing or something.” (his version of: i care about you)

if he sees you're stressed, he'll silently hand you your favorite snack. he won't say anything, just sit beside you until you feel better

iv. he's secretly super soft when it's just you two

when it's just the two of you, his walls come down

will lay his head in your lap after a long day of training and let you play with his hair

if you initiate a hug, he'l grumble at first but will always hold onto you for longer than necessary

the kind of boyfriend who will pull you closer in his sleep but deny it in the morning

v. he's blunt, but he never lies to you

sae doesn't sugarcoat things. if you ask for his opinion, expect brutal honesty.

“that outfit is terrible. i'm not letting you go out like that.”

but if you look good? he won't say it directly, just smirks and stares a little too long before muttering, “hurry up before i change my mind and keep you here.”

vi. he'll always put soccer first, but you're a close second

soccer is his life, and he won't pretend otherwise

if he's away for games, he won't text much, but when he does it's always something unexpectedly sweet

“scored a goal today. thought you'd want to know” (which is basically his way of saying i was thinking about you)

if you ever doubt your relationship, he'll just look at you and say, “i chose to be with you. that should be enough.”

vii. he's unintentionally romantic

would never plan extravagant dates, but somehow, the small things he does feel more intimate

if you fall asleep on the couch, he'll carry you to bed without waking you up

when he's overseas, he always brings you something back—even if it's just a keychain or a snack from another country

“it looked stupid, so i got it for you” (translation: i saw this and thought of you)

viii. he'll never say it, but he needs you

sae is used to being alone, but with you, it's different

he won't ask for affection, but if you pull him into a hug, he'll sigh and melt into it—like he's been waiting for it all day

you're the only person he lets see his vulnerable side

[puppym3]

felix x reader ─── third times the charm

synopsis - after a tension-filled series of rounds of a game as innocent as mario kart, you find yourself in his room again. while the both of you admit it's wrong to want to keep this going, it feels too good to stop.

wc: 10.6k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, definitely mutual pining., angst, fluff, they're both idiots, reader is an overthinker, also incredibly horny (they both are), felix knows he's hot, confident felix, a lot of tension, banter with other members, jeongin is clueless, pt 1 -> here, pt 2 -> here

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut (obv), multiple orgasms (f + m rec), felix is an experienced pussy eater, munch felix, fingering (f rec), hair pulling, thigh fucking

The decision had been unanimous.

Game night was happening, no excuses. The guys had declared it a celebration for you finally “getting better,” though you were pretty sure they just wanted an excuse to go all out before their schedules became too hectic. They had a full week ahead, packed to the brim with rehearsals, recordings, and commitments.

And you, well, you had spent the entire day inside your own head.

No matter how hard you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts kept circling back to Felix.

It wasn’t even a question anymore, you liked him. You had figured that much out, though the realization had done nothing to help the growing ache inside you. Because liking him didn’t mean he liked you back. Not in the same way.

Sure, it wasn’t normal to make out with your friends. It wasn’t normal to touch them the way you had. It wasn’t normal to watch them come apart under your hands, gasping and trembling and so devastatingly beautiful that the memory alone had you pressing your thighs together all over again.

But Felix had said it himself.

Just once. (Two times...)

Like it was something to be forgotten. Like it was something that shouldn’t have meant anything.

And if he didn’t want it to mean anything, then… what did that make us?

The thought made your stomach twist, doubt creeping in like an unwelcome whisper. Had you crossed a line? Had you pushed too far, let your selfish desires take precedence over his comfort?

You hadn’t asked. Not really. You had just… reacted, lost in the heat of the moment, swept up in the way he had looked at you, the way he had sounded, breathless and desperate, breaking apart under your touch.

Had you misread him? Had he only gone along with it because you had pushed?

The thought made your chest tighten painfully.

But then you remembered his words.

"you won’t run away after?"

He had asked you that. If he had felt uncomfortable, he would’ve told you. Right?

And yet, knowing that didn’t stop the weight pressing down on your chest, didn’t stop the anxious knot forming in your stomach as you lay curled up in bed, staring at the ceiling.

You wanted to see him.

Not just because you were still pent up, still aching from earlier, but because the idea of avoiding him, of really avoiding him, made you feel like you were drowning.

You couldn’t run, And you didn’t want to.

But at the same time, the idea of going up to him, of acting normal, felt impossible. You had no idea what to say, how to look at him without giving yourself away. What if you made things even weirder? What if-

A sudden knock on your door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts.

"Yah, you better not be bailing on game night," Jisung’s voice rang out, muffled through the wood. "We already decided. If you’re in there with another mystery illness, I will drag you out myself."

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. Of course he wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.

Another voice chimed in, Changbin this time. "Are you scared I'm going to kick your butt?"

"Nobody is scared of that," Jeongin added, amusement lacing his voice. "Nobody."

There was a murmur of agreement from the others, and you could practically hear Changbin's expression behind the door.

You sighed, forcing yourself to sit up.

You couldn't stay in here all night. No matter what you felt, no matter what had happened between you and Felix, the guys deserved better than that. And it's not like you were going to be alone with Felix anyways. There would be no way to even have that talk until much, much later.

Besides, it had been a while since you'd seen the other members, let alone interacted with them in a relaxed way like this.

So you steeled yourself, pushing your anxieties and worries aside for the moment, and made your way to the door, opening it with a smile that felt almost natural.

"I'm here," you announced, giving a little mock bow.

Jisung crossed his arms, looking you up and down with mock suspicion. "Took you long enough. We almost resorted to breaking your door down."

Minho scoffed. "I was just gonna let them rot in there."

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. "You should've let me, what game are we playing?"

"We’ve got a lineup," Hyunjin said, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he steered you toward the living room. "Some Mario Kart, some Uno, maybe something else. It’s gonna be a bloodbath."

You let them guide you into the space where everyone was already sprawled out on the couches and floor, setting up the Switch and shuffling through stacks of games.

And then your gaze landed on him.

Felix was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a controller already in hand. He looked up at the exact moment you did, his eyes meeting yours.

Your breath caught, heat creeping up your neck, and suddenly it was like your body remembered everything from earlier. The way he had shuddered under you, the way he had looked at you, pupils blown wide, lips parted, voice wrecked-

You tore your gaze away, forcing yourself to focus on anything else. The couch. The snacks. The ridiculous arguments already breaking out between Seungmin and I.N over who was sitting where.

Act normal.

"Hey," Felix’s voice was softer than the others, quiet enough that it was meant just for you.

You swallowed, forcing a small smile as you moved to sit down near him, keeping a careful amount of space between you. "Hey."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes before he turned back to the game screen, adjusting his grip on the controller.

You clenched your hands together in your lap, pressing your thighs together, willing yourself to not think about how close he was.

Jisung plopped down next to you, completely oblivious to the way your entire body was warring with itself. "Alright, losers. No mercy."

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. It’s just a game. You’ve played this a million times. Just concentrate.

The race countdown began, the screen lighting up as the first match of Mario Kart kicked off. You gripped your controller, determined to shake off whatever ridiculous spell Felix had on you.

And then you made the mistake of glancing at him again.

His hands moved with expert precision, veins on his forearms prominent as he worked the controller effortlessly. His fingers; a little shorter but beautiful, dexterous- flicked over the buttons with ease, thumb pressing down hard on the joystick as he maneuvered his kart. You swallowed, watching how they twitched with each slight movement, how fast they were-

You nearly missed the start. Your character jerked forward awkwardly while everyone else sped ahead.

"Yahh," Jisung laughed, bumping his shoulder into yours. "You know you have to move, right?"

"I- I was," you said quickly, adjusting your grip. "Just had a bad start."

Felix, still focused on the game, didn’t look at you. But he smirked. He fucking smirked.

Your stomach clenched.

You tried to focus, tried to shake it off, but then his tongue darted out, wetting his lips before catching the bottom one between his teeth. And god, it was such a casual thing, something so innocent, but why did it make your breath hitch? Why was your brain suddenly short-circuiting over something so simple?

You had barely recovered from that when Seungmin’s kart sent Felix spinning off-course, and he let out a low groan, deep and annoyed, his jaw clenching as his tongue pressed into his cheek.

Oh.

Oh, that was so fucking hot, and unfair.

Heat rushed through you, making your grip on the controller falter. Your entire body felt tight, restless. The way he shifted slightly, adjusting his position with that focused expression, the way his sleeves bunched at his elbows, exposing more of his forearms-

You missed a turn entirely.

Your kart slammed straight into a wall.

"Wow," Changbin snorted. "Did being sick mess up your eyesight?"

You cleared your throat, trying to recover. "No! no, I'm just- just warming up."

"Sure you are," Jisung teased.

Felix still didn’t say anything, but you swore you saw his fingers tighten on his controller for a fraction of a second.

You sucked in a deep breath and tried to focus, tried to play like you normally would, but it was impossible.

Every time Felix reacted- whether it was a sharp inhale when someone overtook him or the way his knee bounced impatiently when he was trailing behind- it got to you.

By the time the race ended, you blinked at the results in horror.

Dead last.

Even the bots had beaten you.

There was a beat of silence before a chorus of laughter erupted around you.

"Wait, what?" Jisung wheezed. "How does that happen?"

"That’s never happened before," Hyunjin added, frowning at you. "Aren’t you usually, like… stupidly good at this game?"

Felix finally turned his head to look at you.

And the moment his gaze met yours, it was over.

His eyes held something unreadable, something amused yet dark, something that made your stomach do a full flip. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

He didn’t have to.

Because the way he looked at you, the way his gaze flickered just slightly down before returning to yours, the way his fingers twitched against the controller, said everything.

He knew.

You felt heat flood your face, your entire body suddenly feeling too warm.

You ripped your gaze away. "I- I wasn’t focusing."

"Yeah, no shit," Jisung laughed.

"Rematch," you blurted out, gripping your controller so hard your knuckles ached. "We’re doing a rematch."

Felix finally smirked. Not the small, teasing kind he had given before.

No, this one was deeper. Slower.

Like he was enjoying watching you squirm.

"Whatever you say," he murmured, voice just low enough for only you to hear.

And fuck.

You were in so much trouble.

You clenched your thighs together, your entire body coiled so tightly you felt like you might explode at any moment. You needed a distraction. Actually- nevermind, you could use less distractions.

The rematch started, and this time, you were determined to win.

Felix had gotten under your skin, but two could play at this game. If he wanted to tease you, if he wanted to smirk at you like that, look at you like that, then fine. You’d give him something to react to, too.

As soon as the race began, you leaned forward slightly, getting into it, letting your knee press against his. It was subtle, barely there, but you knew he felt it.

His fingers twitched.

You pushed forward, knocking him slightly off-course, earning a sharp inhale from him as his kart swerved.

"Playing dirty?" he murmured, not taking his eyes off the screen.

You tilted your head innocently. "What, me?"

He huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking his head.

The game quickly turned into a war between just the two of you. The others were playing, sure, but it didn’t matter. It was you versus him. Every drift, every shortcut, every item thrown, it was all just to one-up each other.

When he overtook you, you let out a quiet, breathy whine of frustration, just loud enough for only him to hear.

His fingers twitched again.

You smirked.

"Oh my god, what's gotten into you?" Jisung commented, watching the way you two were completely locked in, ignoring everything else.

Felix’s knee bumped yours this time, just slightly, just enough to throw you off for a split second, and suddenly, he was in first.

You bit your lip, gripping your controller tighter.

He hummed, low and knowing, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

The final lap was chaos. Items flying, turns taken too sharply, both of you trying to psych each other out. But then-

Felix suddenly reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it to wipe at his face, revealing the sharp cut of his stomach, the defined lines leading down beneath the waistband of his sweats.

And your brain broke.

Your fingers fumbled. Your character swerved.

His smirk was immediate.

"You’re kidding me," you hissed, barely managing to get back on track.

"Something wrong?" he asked, voice too smooth, too smug.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus. But it was too late.

Felix crossed the finish line first.

You, just barely, came in second.

A chorus of reactions erupted around you, but you weren’t even listening.

Felix turned his head toward you, slow and deliberate, eyes still dark with amusement.

You could not do this right now.

"I need water," you blurted out, practically throwing your controller onto the couch as you stood.

Felix didn’t stop you. He didn’t have to.

Because you felt his eyes on you the entire way to the kitchen.

You sucked in a deep, steadying breath, filling up a glass of water with tap water to give yourself something to do. The cool liquid soothed the burning ache in your throat, the tight knot in your stomach finally unclenching slightly.

But you didn't miss it. The way he followed you, making his way casually toward you, leaning against the kitchen counter.

He was too close. Too close, too fucking hot, his sleeves still pushed up his forearms, the muscles tense and prominent under the smooth tan skin.

The way he was looking at you, fuck.

"Mm-" you cleared your throat, willing your voice to stay steady. "That was a close game." You said, deciding to not mention the amount of tension that was just previously between you two.

"It was." His voice was so smooth, so steady, so goddamn collected when all you felt was falling apart.

He shifted his stance, and fuck, his shirt shifted a bit with him. Just enough to reveal a hint of the v-line of his lower abdomen. You forced your gaze back to the glass of water. "Are we uh… playing Uno next?"

His gaze raked over you slowly, like he was savoring you, taking in every detail, every movement. "Are you still trying to avoid me?"

You almost choked, snapping your gaze to his. He didn't look angry or hurt. No. There was something else in his eyes. A sort of playfulness, something that made you swallow hard. "N- no, of course not."

Felix took a step closer.

Heat flashed through your body, a million responses flickering through your mind. A part of you wanted to back down. To apologize for making him feel uncomfortable, for crossing the line. Another part of you wanted to grab him, to shove him up against the nearest surface and kiss him until his lips were swollen again, to not even care who heard, to show him how much you wanted him-

"Uno it is, then."

-

The night stretched on, the group dwindling as exhaustion set in. It was past 2 AM now, and the whining had reached its peak.

"Okay, I'm tapping out," Hyunjin groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch before peeling himself up again. "I’m going to bed before I actually pass out here."

"You guys are weak," Jisung muttered, but even he sounded drowsy, rubbing at his eyes.

One by one, everyone started disappearing to their rooms, the energy in the room shifting from chaotic to something quieter, heavier.

And then, Felix caught your gaze.

It was quick, barely a flicker of a look, but you felt it everywhere. The way his lips barely curved at the corners, the way his head tilted ever so slightly toward the hallway.

Your stomach clenched.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

As the last of them retreated, the house fell silent. The kind of silence that made everything feel weightier, like the air itself had thickened.

You hesitated in your room for what felt like an eternity, your heart hammering in your chest.

With shaky fingers, you pushed open your door and stepped out, padding quietly down the hall in your pajamas.

When you reached his door, you hesitated, nerves tightening in your stomach. The hallway felt too quiet, the weight of your own anticipation pressing down on your chest. Your fingers hovered over the doorknob, your mind racing. Why did he call me here? What does he want?

But more than that, why did you want to find out so badly?

Taking a steadying breath, you gathered your courage and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

Felix was there, exactly where you'd imagined him, leaning back against his headboard, his legs stretched out comfortably, one hand resting lazily over his stomach while the other held his phone.

The second he saw you, he dropped it without a second thought, the soft thud against his blankets barely registering over the way his entire face shifted.

Slow. Almost shy. A smile spread across his lips, lighting up his features.

And goddamn it.

He looked so good. So effortlessly, unfairly good. His hair was slightly tousled, like he had been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His hoodie was loose over his frame, draping in a way that made him look entirely too comfortable, like he belonged exactly here, like he had been waiting for you.

And then there was the way his fingers splayed across his stomach, his sweatshirt riding up just slightly, revealing a sliver of smooth skin.

You felt like melting straight into the floor.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a step closer before perching on the very edge of his bed, hands fisting into the hem of your pajama shirt to keep yourself from fidgeting.

"Why did you- why did you call me here?" Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you hated the way it betrayed you, revealing too much.

Felix exhaled a soft chuckle, shifting his weight as he turned more toward you. And then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, he reached out, the warmth of his palm pressing against your thigh.

Your heart stuttered.

A hot and unrelenting feeling sat inside of you, spreading from the point of contact and curling into your stomach.

"I just thought," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your pajama pants, "since you... took care of me this morning, maybe I should repay you."

Something in your chest twisted.

The words themselves weren’t inherently bad. They weren’t cold. But the way he said them, too smooth, too casual, made something inside you crack.

Like this was nothing more than an obligation. Like the way you had touched him this morning, the way he had melted under your hands, had just been another favor to return.

Not because he wanted to.

Not because it meant anything to him.

You froze, the warmth in your stomach flipping into something heavier, something uncomfortable.

Felix must have sensed the shift immediately because his grip on your thigh loosened, the easy confidence on his face faltering as he tilted his head, brows pinching slightly in concern.

"Wait- hey, what’s wrong?" His voice softened, suddenly cautious.

You shook your head quickly, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. You hated how fast the emotions swelled inside you, how stupid you felt for thinking, for hoping, that maybe he wanted you.

That maybe he liked you.

"Felix," you exhaled, your voice barely holding steady. "You don’t have to do things like that just to pay me back."

His entire expression crumbled, guilt flashing across his features. "I didn’t mean-"

"You don’t owe me anything," you said, voice cracking as you suddenly pushed yourself to stand. "This was a mistake."

"Wait-"

Your breath hitched as his fingers curled gently around your wrist, not tight enough to trap you, just enough to make you stop. Enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin, the unspoken plea in his touch.

"Wait," he said again, even softer this time, like he was afraid the word might break if he said it too loudly.

You stood frozen, staring at the door in front of you, at the blurred outlines of your own reflection in the dark window beyond it. You willed yourself to take another step, to keep moving, to leave.

"I really do... want this."

The words barely reached you, so quiet they almost melted into the stillness of the room. But you heard them. Felt them. And they shattered something inside you.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your throat tightening painfully as you let out a sharp, humorless breath.

"Don’t," you whispered.

Felix didn’t move, but you could feel the weight of his presence behind you, could hear his breath just as unsteady as yours.

"You really shouldn’t want this, Felix," you said, and this time, your voice broke. "Because this isn’t something best friends do."

Silence.

Then, before you could pull away, before you could do anything at all, his grip shifted, slow, careful, as he turned you just enough to slip his arms around you from behind.

Your entire body stiffened as the warmth of his chest pressed against your back, as his arms folded around you, holding you against him.

"I know," he murmured, voice thick with something you couldn’t name.

You should have pulled away.

Should have stepped out of his arms and walked out that door before this got even more tangled, even more painful.

But you didn’t.

Because even though you shouldn’t love the way he held you, shouldn’t love the way his warmth seeped into your skin, grounding you, calming you, you did.

Even though you shouldn’t love the way his breath tickled the back of your neck, the way he exhaled like he was relieved to be holding you, you did.

And suddenly, no matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you tried to blink them back, the tears fell.

Your shoulders shook, a quiet sob breaking past your lips, and Felix tensed, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

"Shh," he comforted you, letting his hand rub comforting circles on you. "I’m sorry."

His voice wavered, and god, it only made you cry harder.

"It feels so wrong," he whispered, his arms tightening around you like he could hold you together, like he could keep you from unraveling. "But it's all I can think about."

You tried to stop it, but a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob broke from your mouth, and Felix froze.

"You don't have to say things like that," you sniffled, bringing your hands up to cover your face in embarrassment.

His grip shifted, just slightly, as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, where his breath was previously fanning against. It made your breath hitch, your entire body shuddering at the feeling of his lips on you.

"You think I don't want to kiss you?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper. "That I haven't imagined what it would be like to touch you in the ways you've touched me?" He leaned back just enough for his fingers to reach yours, lacing together with your hand as he guided your fingers to your cheek. He was holding you, kissing you, yet his hands were shaky against your own. "Do you feel this?"

"Felix." His name left your mouth on an exhale, half a warning, half a plea.

"Do you?" He insisted.

Your chest ached with the weight of his words, the sheer desperation laced in his voice breaking something inside you. And suddenly, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself from turning into him, from slipping your fingers free of his and bringing both hands to his face, tilting his head just enough before you crashed your lips against his.

The second your mouths met, it was like everything inside you ignited at once. The tension, the longing, the days of unspoken desire roared to life, consuming you both. His grip tightened at your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him. The heat of his body pressed into yours, and the sheer force of it sent you stumbling back onto the bed, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Felix followed without hesitation, his hands bracing on either side of you as he hovered over you, his body caging yours in the best way possible. His lips were urgent, hungry, moving against yours like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped as his tongue flicked out to taste you, the slow, teasing slide of it making you shudder beneath him.

A low, needy sound rumbled in his throat when you ran your hands up his clothed torso, your hands resting on his shoulders and pulling him even closer. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. Your hands slipped beneath the thick material, palms skimming over the lean muscles of his back, feeling the way his breath hitched at your touch.

Felix groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as he shifted to straddle you. You watched him for a beat, eyes taking him in.

He looked good enough to eat. His hoodie had bunched around his hips, the fabric barely clinging to him, his lower half exposed. Your gaze flicked down to the v-line of his abdomen before dropping to the visible tent in his boxers.

When you looked back up at his face, you found him already watching you, his cheeks flushed as his fingers gripped at the hem of his sweatshirt.

He didn't pull it off yet, his expression hesitant. Like he was afraid he might ruin something, that you might break beneath his touch. It was a stupid, irrational fear. You were already ruined, already broken. And all you wanted was for him to break you a little bit more.

"Please," you whispered, the last shred of your resolve fading.

The sound of your voice seemed to hit a part of his brain. His grip tightened on the hem before he finally lifted the garment over his head, his hair mussing just slightly, and god. He was even hotter shirtless than you imagined. He was all smooth lines and tan skin, toned yet soft.

All smooth, skin stretched over lean muscle, toned yet soft in a way that made your mouth go dry. Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his torso, palms pressing into the warmth of his skin. He shivered under your touch, his stomach tensing as your fingers trailed along the ridges of his abdomen.

“You look so good,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

Felix exhaled a breathy laugh, but the sound was shaky, like he was nervous, like your words had done something to him. His hands found your wrists, guiding your palms higher, over his ribs, his chest, until your fingertips brushed over his collarbones. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your touch, quick and uneven, matching your own.

Your breath caught as Felix let your hands roam over his skin, his muscles twitching beneath your touch. But just as your fingers trailed back down, seeking the familiar heat of his stomach, tracing down his v-line, he suddenly caught your wrists, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Wait,” he whispered.

You blinked, your brows pulling together as you instinctively tried to tug your hands free. ��Felix—”

His hold didn’t waver, but there was no force behind it, just hesitation. A soft flush crept up his neck, settling high on his cheeks, his lips parting like he was debating something, fighting with himself over whether or not to say it.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be the only one receiving anymore,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a breath. His fingers squeezed yours lightly, almost apologetic, almost embarrassed. “Not tonight.”

Something about the way he said it, so soft, so unguarded, made your heart stumble.

Your first instinct was to protest, because you loved watching him unravel under your touch, loved the way he shivered, the way his breath hitched, the way he melted when you traced your fingers over the sensitive planes of his body. You wanted more of it, you always did.

But before you could say anything, he glanced up at you through his lashes, his grip on your hands loosening, and whispered, “I want to touch you.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. He must have mistaken your silence for reluctance, because he ducked his head slightly, his thumb brushing idly over your palm as he continued, quieter this time.

“If that’s okay,” he murmured, voice so gentle, so sweet, something about the tone of his voice made your heart ache.

You swallowed hard, your skin burning at the weight of his words.

Then, before you could find your voice, Felix shifted, sliding down. Your breath stilled as he settled onto his knees on the floor, looking up at you with his eyes that held something shy, something uncertain, but also something unmistakably wanting.

His fingers found your thighs, barely touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your pajama pants as he tested the waters. His hands were warm, his touch hesitant but deliberate, and when you didn’t pull away, he let his grip tighten just slightly, just enough to make your breath shudder out of you.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you closer to the edge, his fingers flexing against your skin.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, could hear the unsteady rise and fall of his breathing as he stared up at you, waiting.

“You always take care of me,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading, his fingers squeezing ever so slightly at your thighs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with anticipation, with the sheer weight of his words.

And when he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, just a soft, fleeting kiss, your resolve crumbled entirely.

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

Felix hesitated for only a second, his fingers twitching slightly before they found your waist, warm and uncertain, like he was afraid to move too quickly. His touch was light, barely there, as his hands slid beneath your shirt, his fingertips grazing your ribs in a way that made you shiver. The anticipation, the slow, almost teasing pace, sent a wave of heat down your spine.

Your thighs tensed involuntarily, but you couldn’t close them, not with him kneeling between them, his presence impossible to ignore. The thought of what he might do, what you wanted him to do, burned through you, your breath catching as his hands moved higher.

His fingers traced the curves of your body like he was mapping them, committing every dip and rise to memory. And when he hesitantly skimmed over the swell of your breast, a sharp gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Felix’s head snapped up. His breath hitched audibly, his cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful red. His gaze flickered between your face and where his palm now fully cupped you, his grip instinctively tightening before he gave the slightest squeeze. The reaction it pulled from you; your soft inhale, the way your head tipped back, made something shift in his expression.

You didn’t miss the way he squirmed slightly, his thighs clenching as though your reactions affected him as much as his touch affected you. But then his fingers left you, his warmth vanishing too soon, leaving your skin aching in its absence.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost like he was speaking to himself, his voice laced with something raw. His hands found the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it up, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze. "So beautiful."

You wanted to argue, to hide, to cover yourself in embarrassment, but then his lips.

Soft. Gentle. Worshipping.

They pressed just below your navel, sending a tremor through you. His kisses were slow, unhurried, as though he wanted to savor every inch of you, his lips lingering, breathing you in. Every touch, every press of his mouth, was deliberate, and the way he moved, like he never wanted to stop, made your breath quicken, your fingers curling into the sheets.

Felix didn’t stop. He trailed lower, exhaling softly against your skin, his hands curling around your hips as he pressed his forehead there for just a second. As if grounding himself. As if overwhelmed by you.

Then his fingers dipped into the waistband of your pajama pants, testing. Seeking permission.

And when you gave him the smallest nod, he exhaled shakily, his grip tightening before he slowly, so torturously slowly, began to slide them down.

The seconds felt like hours. Like an eternity. You were exposed, vulnerable, and you could only watch as he pulled your pajama bottoms down your legs.

Then you were left in nothing but your underwear, and the reality of it all hit you at once.

Felix leaned back just slightly, his breath unsteady, his gaze trailing down your legs before lingering at the apex of your thighs. His eyes widened, his lips parting as if he’d forgotten how to breathe, and suddenly, the heat of his attention became too much.

You shifted instinctively, your thighs pressing together, a flush crawling up your skin. Embarrassment bloomed in your chest, the urge to cover yourself nearly overwhelming.

Felix must have sensed it because his gaze snapped up to yours, his expression softening. Without a word, he moved closer again, bracing one hand beside your hip as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, gentle, warm, like he was easing you into this, like he was reminding you that you were safe with him.

Your breath hitched, and his free hand found your thigh, fingertips barely skimming the surface as he traced slow, teasing patterns. His touch was featherlight, barely there, but the sensation sent a shiver through you, your muscles tensing beneath his hand.

"It's okay," he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice making you tremble.

His touch shifted, his palm resting over your knee as he gently coaxed your legs open. Your heart thrummed at the feeling of your legs spreading for him, your mind going hazy with arousal.

"So good," he praised, and the words made you shudder, your head spinning.

Slowly, carefully, he guided your legs over his shoulders, letting them settle there as his hands slid along the outside of your thighs. His eyes locked on yours before he leaned in.

A soft gasp escaped you, your pulse quickening as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him most.

One of your hands found its way to his hair, feeling a little sensitive from his breath tickling your skin. Felix exhaled a shaky sound, his hips shifting slightly against the mattress as he let his mouth linger.

You swallowed hard, your stomach fluttering as he slowly trailed lower, his lips brushing dangerously close to the crease where your thigh met your hip. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling another muffled sound from him, something like a whimper.

It made your mind fog over with heat, your thighs clenching instinctively. But then his grip shifted, his hands sliding beneath your thighs, fingers curling around your legs as he pinned you open.

A shaky moan broke from your lips, your head falling back as your hand gripped at his hair even harder, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. He hadn't even touched you yet, and the feeling of being held open, of being almost completely exposed for him, was overwhelming.

"Felix," you breathed, your hips squirming under his grip.

He hummed softly in acknowledgment, but it was more of a low, needy sound than an actual response. Then he pressed another kiss to your thigh, just slightly higher this time, before he lightly bit down on the soft skin.

The unexpected pressure made you gasp, your fingers clenching in his hair. He let out a muffled sound, his fingertips digging into your thighs as he released the skin from between his teeth. Then he soothed the sting with another soft kiss, his lips lingering as his breath fanned over your skin.

Your hips shifted again, a whimper rising in your throat as he continued teasing you. He was so close, so painfully close, but not close enough.

"Please," you breathed, your voice shaky and unsteady. "I need-"

Your words cut off abruptly as Felix closed the distance. Your muscles tensed, a gasp escaping your lips as his tongue flicked out, tracing over the wet fabric of your underwear. The sensation was light, barely there, but it made you shudder, your body suddenly feeling too hot, too sensitive.

He exhaled a soft sigh against you, the sound sending a jolt of heat down your spine, and then he was pressing kisses, teasing you with his mouth, his tongue, making you tremble.

A soft, needy sound escaped you, the feeling of his lips on you making your mind go hazy with arousal. You shifted, instinctively trying to close your legs, but his hands were firm, holding you open for him.

"Fuck," you gasped, the word trailing off into a whimper as he nuzzled closer, breathing you in.

His tongue traced the outline of you, slow, teasing, before he mouthed at you, dragging the fabric over your clit. Your back arched slightly, a shaky moan breaking past your lips. He did it again, harder this time, his mouth hot even through the thin barrier.

Felix groaned into you, the vibration of his voice making your hips jerk against his grip. And then suddenly, his fingers slipped into the waistband of your underwear. He didn't stop kissing you, didn't stop touching you as he dragged the fabric down your thighs, leaving you bare.

And then he pulled away just enough for him to take in the view. His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet with you. The sight of it made your breath hitch, your heart thrumming against your ribs.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, and god, his voice sounded so fucked out, so breathless. "So pretty."

A desperate sound rose in your throat, your hips shifting at his words. "Fuck, don't say things like that."

He hummed softly in acknowledgment, sitting back on his heels. But he didn't respond, instead, he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the strands back. You watched, captivated, as he gathered his hair into a messy bun, securing it with a hair tie around his wrist. Then, slowly, deliberately, he trailed his fingers along the inside of your thighs, his gaze following the movement before his eyes met yours again.

Your pulse quickened, your skin tingling beneath his touch.

Then his thumb brushed over you, slow, experimental. The sudden pressure made your breath catch, your muscles tensing as you tried to suppress a shiver.

His gaze flicked up to yours, gauging your reaction as he repeated the movement. You whimpered, your grip tightening on the sheets as he repeated the action again, and again. The feeling of his thumb moving against you sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn't enough.

You gasped out, your hips rolling into his touch.

"I know, baby," he murmured affectionately, his voice barely above a whisper.

Baby. The word made your head spin. Hearing it fall from his lips caused you to clench around nothing, the emptiness almost painful.

His eyes widened slightly at your reaction, looking up at you through his lashes with something akin to amusement. Then his hand left you, leaving you cold, leaving you empty. You wanted to protest, wanted to beg him to touch you again, but before you could, he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, soft, tender.

You stilled, your breath hitching as he trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, making you more impatient.

When he reached the apex of your thighs, he hesitated. You could feel his warm breath fanning over you, sending a wave of heat down your spine.

Then he leaned in, and you gasped.

A choked sound escaped your lips, your back arching as he pressed his tongue against you. You felt him smirk, just slightly, before he did it again, licking a slow, firm stripe up your slit.

The feeling of his mouth on you was unlike anything you'd ever felt before, hot and wet and overwhelming. A shudder ran through you, your hips twitching against his grip as he repeated the action, his tongue tracing over your folds.

The sensation made your legs tremble, your head falling back as you moaned out, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your ears. Felix groaned in response, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulled you closer, burying his face between your legs.

Your skin was tingling, your body burning with arousal. But then he flicked his tongue over your clit, slow and teasing. It was so light, so gentle, yet it made you whimper, heat pooling in your lower stomach.

"F-Felix," you gasped out, your fingers curling into the sheets.

He hummed softly in acknowledgment, the sound vibrating against you. Then he did it again, firmer this time, his tongue circling your clit before he flicked it once more.

Your breath hitched, your thighs clenching around his head.

He seemed to notice your reaction because he repeated the motion, adding a little more pressure. Your hips twitched involuntarily, your voice breaking off into a moan.

"Shit," you breathed, barely able to string words together. "Feels so good."

The praise made him whimper, his grip tightening on your thighs as he continued licking at you. Your back arched slightly, the sensation making your muscles tense, your skin buzzing. He continued teasing your clit, each flick of his tongue sending sparks of pleasure through you.

But you needed more. You wanted more.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers sliding up your thigh, tentative. When his thumb brushed against you again, you moaned, your hips rolling against his touch.

"Yes," you gasped out, barely able to breathe. "Please."

Felix pulled away just enough for him to speak, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin, making you shiver. "You want my fingers?"

You nodded frantically, unable to form words, unable to do anything but chase the feeling. He hummed softly, almost to himself, as though he were savoring your reactions.

Then his hand shifted, his thumb brushing against your entrance. The sensation made you gasp, your hips bucking forward, trying to get him inside. But he only pressed another soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, murmuring low against your skin.

"Relax, baby," he murmured, the term of endearment sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

Then his index finger slowly eased inside, the sudden sensation making you gasp. His grip tightened on your thigh, his touch reassuring, grounding, as he added his middle finger, probing deeper.

Your legs trembled, your head falling back as a soft whimper broke past your lips.

His mouth was still on you, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out, slow and torturous. The feeling of his mouth on you, his finger filling you, was overwhelming.

You were so wound up, so desperate, that the sudden rush of pleasure was nearly too much.

"Fuck, Felix," you moaned, your hands fisting into the sheets.

The sound of his name made him whimper against you, his tongue flicking out, teasing. He curled his fingers inside you, searching, seeking. Then he found what he was looking for, a spot that made your hips jerk against his touch, a broken moan rising from your throat.

He groaned into you, his tongue moving faster against your clit, his fingers hitting that same spot over and over again.

Heat coiled in your stomach, your muscles tensing as he kept up his pace. Your skin was tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps as he continued, his fingers pumping in and out.

You felt yourself getting closer, the sensation of his mouth and his fingers pushing you to the edge.

"Wait, I'm close," you breathed, your voice breaking off into a whimper. "Lixie, please-"

Your words trailed off into a moan as he sped up, curling his fingers with each thrust. The feeling of him touching you, fucking you, was overwhelming. Your vision blurred, your hips rolling against his touch as you chased the feeling.

A sharp cry escaped you, your back arching, your legs tensing around his head. Your muscles clenched around his fingers, waves of pleasure shooting through you as he kept moving his hand. You trembled, your body aching, your thighs shaking as he fucked you through your orgasm.

When your breathing finally started to slow, he gently pulled his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty, a whine building in your throat. But then he pressed one last kiss to your thigh, tender and sweet.

Felix let out a slow, steady breath, his hands still smoothing over your legs in absentminded strokes as he leaned back. His lips were swollen, his cheeks stained with warmth, and his hair, god, his hair; was a complete mess, strands of it falling into his eyes. He looked so pretty like this, so utterly wrecked and yet still so gentle, so sweet.

You wanted to tell him. Wanted to whisper how beautiful he was, how good he made you feel, how all of you felt like it belonged to him in this moment. But the words didn’t come. Instead, you reached forward, fingers slipping into his hair, pushing the stray strands back.

He closed his eyes at the touch, exhaling softly, and before you could stop yourself, you tugged him toward you. He let himself be pulled, crawling onto the bed, settling beside you as you wrapped yourself around him, pressing into his warmth.

There was a quiet hum of contentment as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, his arms winding around your waist. He held you like he never wanted to let go, his fingertips tracing light patterns along your back.

And for a moment, you let yourself forget everything else. The worries, the overthinking, none of it mattered. Not right now.

All that mattered was this. The warmth of him. The way your body still trembled from what he’d done. The knowledge that he had wanted to. That he had chosen to.

But then, as your breathing steadied, your mind caught onto something else, something that made your stomach twist.

You could feel him.

Hard and aching against your thigh, his body trembling ever so slightly as he held you. He hadn’t asked for anything in return. Hadn’t even hinted at it. He had done this just for you, just because he wanted to.

But now, you wanted to do something for him too.

Your face burned at the thought, nerves creeping in as you swallowed hard.

You hesitated before whispering, “I can, um…” You swallowed again, heat spreading up your neck as you forced the words out. “I can help you too. With my mouth.”

Felix stiffened instantly. His arms tightened around you for a split second before he pulled back slightly, eyes wide, face already turning red.

“I-” He shook his head, his voice breathless, uneven. “No. I… I only wanted to take care of you.”

You frowned. “But-”

“I don’t think I can handle that right now,” he admitted, voice quieter, his fingers gripping onto you as if the thought alone had overwhelmed him.

You bit your lip, staring at him. He looked so nervous, so wrecked already, and you knew he meant it. But at the same time, you could feel him, could feel how much he needed something, anything.

So you thought for a moment. Then, hesitantly, you spoke again.

“What about…” You swallowed, your heart pounding in your ears. “What about my thighs?”

Felix nearly choked on his own breath. His eyes snapped to yours, his face going impossibly red, and he let out something between a cough and a gasp, his grip on you tightening as he tried to process your words.

And honestly? That reaction only made you want to do it more.

You shifted, laying back on your elbows and letting your legs fall open slightly. He exhaled shakily, watching the way you still dripped from earlier, and suddenly, he seemed to forget how to breathe.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your skin tingling under his gaze.

He didn't move, didn't speak, just stared. And fuck, he looked like he was in absolute awe of you, like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. "Lix?"

He blinked, his eyes refocusing. "Um, are you sure?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Please."

He let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on your ankles. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pulled them together, resting your calves on his shoulder as he leaned forward.

You watched as he hesitated before fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down just enough for his cock to spring free. He was already dripping, flushed pink, hard and straining, and the sight of him like this, so needy, made your stomach flutter.

Felix's hands were shaking slightly as he reached out, gently guiding himself between your thighs. The sudden feeling of him against you made you gasp, the sound making him whimper, his cock twitching.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice unsteady.

His hands wrapped around your ankles once more, holding them in place as he rocked his hips forward experimentally. A shaky moan broke past his lips as he dragged his cock through your folds, smearing precum across your skin.

Your eyes widened when you realized how intimate this looked and felt, your mind going hazy with arousal. You were still sensitive from before, still aching from his mouth, and the feeling of him sliding through your thighs made your head spin.

He exhaled a shaky sigh, his grip tightening on your ankles as he continued rocking his hips. The friction was delicious, hot and wet and overwhelming. You couldn't help but whimper, your skin tingling, your stomach twisting with heat.

He leaned forward, his body hovering over yours as he pressed your ankles closer together, the pressure making you gasp.

You threw your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as he fucked into you, slow and steady. You could feel every inch of him sliding between your thighs, his cock hot and heavy against your skin.

The feeling of him surrounding you like this, your legs pressed together, your thighs slick with his precum and your own wetness, was too much. A soft whimper broke past your lips as you rolled your hips, desperate for some kind of friction.

But he suddenly paused when he felt your folds rub up against him, making a sound that was way too erotic for your own good. His head fell forward, his cock twitching against your thighs.

"Shit," he moaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do that."

You swallowed hard, your body tensing at the sound of his voice, so low and breathless. "Sorry," you mumbled, unable to form any other words.

Felix let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your ankles as he pushed them closer together, holding your legs in place as he tried to take a moment to compose himself. But then you shifted slightly beneath him, and a choked sound broke past his lips, his hips jerking forward instinctively.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as his cock slid against your folds once more, making you whimper. "You're so wet."

The words sent a wave of heat through you, your skin tingling, your muscles clenching. He was right, you were dripping, your arousal mixing with his precum, slick and hot and wet.

And then, before you could respond, he started moving again, his thrusts faster, harder this time. Each stroke dragged along your folds, his cock pressing a delicious pressure against your clit. You couldn't help but gasp, your hips rolling into the feeling, trying to get closer.

"Lixie," you breathed, your voice shaking.

Your hands fisted in the sheets as he continued fucking into you, his grip tightening on your ankles as he held them in place. You could feel yourself getting closer with each thrust, your skin tingling, your muscles tensing as you chased the feeling.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped out, his voice breaking off into a moan. "So good."

The praise made you shudder, and your hips rolled into him, your breath catching in your throat.

"Please," you whimpered, the word trailing off into a gasp as he pressed your ankles closer together, holding them tighter.

Your back arched off the mattress, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his cock drag against you, hard and hot and heavy. It was so good, too good. You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All you could do was moan, your voice breaking off into a desperate sound as he kept thrusting between your thighs.

He groaned into you, his body trembling as he fucked you, his movements starting to grow erratic, sloppy. You could feel yourself getting closer, your skin buzzing, your muscles tensing as you tried to hold on.

"Come on, Y/N," he moaned, his voice breathless. "Give it to me."

The words made you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you felt yourself slipping over the edge. Your legs tensed around him, your toes curling as pleasure shot through you, making you shiver.

Felix whimpered at the sensation, his hips stuttering as he kept thrusting into you. Your eyes rolled back, your head falling to the side as you rode out your high.

He followed soon after, his fingers digging into your ankles as he came, hot and wet and sticky. You could feel him spilling all over the uncovered skin of your lower stomach as he let out a string of beautiful moans, his voice breaking off into a gasp.

He collapsed on top of you, burying his face into your neck as he tried to catch his breath, his body trembling.

For a moment, you just laid there, unable to move, unable to speak, your chest heaving. And then slowly, deliberately, you reached up, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. He whimpered in response, his face still hidden in your neck, his arms winding around you, holding you close.

"Lix," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Are you okay?"

He exhaled a slow, steady breath before nodding, his grip on you tightening slightly. You smiled at the reaction, your fingers carding through his hair.

Then he mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like thank you.

"You're welcome," you murmured, your voice soft. "Are you okay? Was that too much?"

He shook his head, pulling away just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, hooded, his cheeks flushed.

"I'm fine," he breathed, his voice still slightly shaky. "That was... so much."

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze falling to your lap. "I know. Messy too. We should probably-"

Felix cut you off by pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, silencing you instantly. The gesture made your heart flutter, warmth spreading through you.

"Let me clean you," he mumbled, his voice quiet, almost shy.

You felt yourself blush at his words, your stomach twisting. But before you could respond, he stood up, disappearing into your bathroom.

You couldn't help but stare at his back, watching as his muscles flexed with each movement, his skin glowing in the moonlight. He was so pretty, so soft, so... everything.

The sight of him like this made your chest ache, your heart hammering against your ribs as you watched him walk away.

And then, as soon as he was out of sight, you remembered the situation. You remembered that you were almost completely naked, that your thighs and stomach were coated in his cum, that you were laying in his bed after he'd fucked you with his tongue.

Oh my god.

Your face burned at the thought, your pulse quickening. You'd never felt like this before, never experienced anything like it. I mean, yeah, you've had sex before, but not sex like this. Not sex that made your entire body tingle. Not sex that felt so intimate even when it wasn't supposed to be.

You swallowed hard as you heard him return, your gaze turning to the ceiling. He paused, his eyes scanning over your body, taking in the sight of you spread out across his bed. He hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, before he stepped closer, a wet cloth in his hand.

He reached out, his movements slow and gentle as he wiped you down. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching in your throat as he cleaned you up, careful not to leave anything behind.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't say anything in response, only nodded before returning to the bathroom. When he returned, he crawled back into the bed, pulling the covers over you both.

"Wait- you want me to sleep here?" You asked, surprise evident in your voice.

He hummed in agreement, reaching over to turn off the light. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice low. "We've slept together before, what's the problem?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. He should really watch his words, because now all you were thinking about the fact that you'd 100% let your best friend hit if he asked. But he was talking about how you both have slept together, as in, literally, sharing a bed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to calm down. "I don't know," you finally answered, your voice quiet. "I just... wasn't expecting this."

He shrugged. "I don't mind. It's easier than you going back to your room, isn't it?"

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, pulling the blankets tighter around yourself.

Felix smiled softly at the gesture, shifting closer to you, resting his head on your chest. You blinked, taken aback by the sudden contact, but then relaxed, letting your fingers slide into his hair, taking out the bun he had put in prior.

Felix’s breathing evened out against your chest, warm and steady, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested on your waist. You could feel the weight of him, the way his body molded so easily against yours, like he belonged there. His hair was soft beneath your fingers as you ran them gently through the strands, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

You exhaled softly, staring up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow. You would tell him tomorrow.

The thought settled into your bones, a mix of nerves and certainty twisting in your stomach. No more dancing around it, no more overthinking. You were going to tell Felix how you felt.

With that thought, your eyes grew heavier, and soon enough, sleep pulled you under.

-

The next morning, the soft glow of early sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting gentle rays across Felix’s face. You blinked blearily, still groggy with sleep, only to find him nestled against you, his lips slightly parted, his hair a tousled mess against the pillow.

He looked so soft like this. So precious.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. He stirred slightly, his fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt, but he didn’t wake.

A warm feeling bloomed in your chest, but then-

Your eyes caught the time on the clock.

Panic jolted through you.

You quickly and carefully slipped out of bed, pulling your pants back on as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Felix let out a soft, sleepy sigh behind you, but you forced yourself to ignore the urge to crawl back under the covers with him.

Instead, you quietly crept out of his room, shutting the door softly behind you.

As soon as you turned around, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Jeongin was standing right there, looking like he hadn’t slept a single minute. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles under them so prominent that you wondered if he had even blinked since last night.

“…What the hell?” you muttered, still groggy.

Jeongin stared at you, dead serious.

“I swear to god, I heard a ghost last night.”

You blinked. “…What?”

He ran a hand down his face, shuddering. “I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed, trying, right? But then I heard this… this noise.” His eyes darkened as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Like a ghost moaning in pain.”

Your stomach dropped.

Oh. My god.

You suddenly wished you had stayed in Felix’s room.

Jeongin continued, oblivious to the way your face was quickly heating up. “It was awful. Like, I don’t know how to describe it, but it was this long, drawn-out, breathy sound, and I swear it came from somewhere in the dorm. I kept thinking, ‘what if it’s a spirit trying to communicate?’”

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Aha. That’s, um. That’s wild.”

Jeongin groaned, rubbing his temples. “I had to turn the lights on, man. I couldn’t deal with the dark anymore.”

You swallowed hard, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

Jeongin squinted at you, suspicion written all over his face. “Wait… where were you last night?”

Your stomach flipped.

“Nowhere!” you blurted, way too quickly. “I was just- um…”

Jeongin’s eyes narrowed further, his gaze dragging over your disheveled state, your rumpled clothes, your messy hair, the clear signs that you had definitely just rolled out of someone’s bed.

Before you could scramble for a better excuse, the door behind you creaked open.

Felix stumbled out, looking just as exhausted as Jeongin, his hair a fluffy, unkempt mess. His pajama shirt was slightly askew, his eyes puffy with sleep as he rubbed at them sluggishly. He barely registered the two of you before stopping dead in his tracks.

His gaze landed on you first, then darted to Jeongin, then back to you.

And then-

His entire face turned bright red.

Oh. Oh, he just realized what this looked like.

You, standing outside his room, fresh out of bed.

Him, still in pajamas, barely awake.

At eleven in the morning.

Jeongin sighed suddenly, covering his face with his hands.

“Thank god,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “You guys heard the ghost too.”

You nearly choked.

Felix’s wide eyes flickered to you in utter confusion. You could only stare back, mirroring the same 'what the hell is he talking about?' expression.

Jeongin peeked between his fingers. “Wasn’t it awful? Like, so awful you couldn’t sleep alone?”

Your soul left your body.

You cleared your throat, forcing a stiff nod. “Yeah. So awful.”

Felix nodded so fast you were afraid he might hurt himself. “Terrible,” he added weakly.

Jeongin let out a deep sigh of relief. “Finally, someone who understands.” He shook his head. “I told Channie-hyung, but he just laughed at me. Like, what kind of reaction is that?”

Felix swallowed hard, visibly trying to keep it together. “I- I’ll make breakfast,” he blurted out suddenly. “For everyone. Just… give me a minute.”

And then, before anyone could say another word, he spun on his heel and fled back into his room, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face, realizing that you were never going to be able to walk around your apartment in peace again.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

tags for beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @velvetmoonlght, @honeyybbuubblleess, @st4rv3lly

[bhaalest]

god this is so overdue. im finally making a bg3 side blog

for a first post i wanted to list some of the artists i've been (mostly) refraining from reblogging to main for many months at this point. i meant to only do my favorite few but then i couldn't decide who my favorite few were so... here you go

@meanbossart draws absolutely beautiful art of his absolutely beautiful du drow, and also has an amazingly well-written and well-characterized story about what he, astarion, and shadowheart get up to post-game

@kawareo goes deep how his durge strike suffers from both the urge and orin's attack, and into strike before orin's attack. i love the standalone art and comics, so when i say his writing is my favorite thing he's done that's high praise

@velnna's tav staeve is another very pretty man and i don't know how to describe what i like most about his art other than "very pleasantly textured", it catches the eye in a very pleasing way

@lucklessrat has incredible dramatic and comedic timing in their comics of lethean, and i love what they do with leth being old. you don’t see that often

i have a soft spot for half-orcs and paladins so naturally i think about @everchased's finch constantly. they have several of my favorite bg3 comics ever but the SMITE one is... just gonna say i agree with astarion there

there is so much to say about @jeeaark's tav greygold, from the jokes to the relentless optimism to the visceral (in a very good way) art style, but my new favorite thing is the dark urge (godsdammit) companion series, it's really fun to see DUG and greygold interact and i can't wait for more. also, another half-orc!

@ejoym's durge devlin is wonderfully deranged, i love the dark humor in the comics, the art is really crisp, and the artist makes really great use of colors. i love how pointy everyone is also

@ohpsshaw's durge typhus is going through it at the moment. love his expressive face (and the expressiveness of the whole art style) and puppydog vibe, i can't wait to see how much he... enjoys... the rest of the game as daddy's chosen. also check out the artist's entertaining commentary on her main(?) blog

@taygra5shaon's big scary durge jacq somehow can do adorable and terrifying equally well, sometimes at the same time. this is another artist who has great timing in her comics. i especially like the young jacq ones.

@angiemaniac's tavella and durge companion au presents durge from a different and very interesting perspective. and she does a great job including every companion into the story, while tavella is still a compelling character on her own!

cae is the most beautiful durge you've ever seen and @hellothisisangle's art does such a good job of making him feel dangerous. it's incredibly beautifully rendered, the poses and fashion are always amazing, and on top of it all cae's lore is fascinating too

@wellen-katze's comics are really in a league of their own. their comics vary but my favorites are the ones that hurt to read. my favorite series is this one with ascended astarion and a nameless durge dealing with the tragic aftermath of the story. their comics hurt in an incredible way that i can't get enough of.

ghost, aka niro, by @oathbreakerapologist is wonderfully fucked up. he has a really upsetting presence (/positive) and i can't look away from his relationship with orin. this is probably the least sfw blog i'm linking, which i hope comes off as a complement

with mistercrowbar's @aldiirn it's hard to pinpoint specific things i like because the art and comics are so well-rounded, but if pressed i would point to aldiirn's visual design and the skill with which the artist makes his desire for approval and will to break the rules mesh together. i'm not sure if i want to be his friend or study him like a bug

i love @crocodiller's pining dumbass (affectionate) rowan so much. there's a lot to like about the comics but my favorite is rowan's supportive friendship with karlach. they're also very well-paced and some of the crispest art i've ever seen

i found @ryvenarts and sullen literally yesterday but i'm already very interested and excited to see if there will be more

another recent (to me) discovery, thirkuir by @jayfitzmaurice. i really like his design and the expressiveness of all the characters

@quess-art has an adorable baby durge who still has a compelling backstory i'm excited to see more of. plus the wagging tail is just perfect

@3eefstud's durge Einar is really nice to look at, with amazing colors and gradients. i'm surprised i didn't find them until very recently

i thought @panksage's Ebony Darkness D'urge was just a joke at first but no, the comics are sincere (and also funny) and just beautiful, especially the colors!

i do not know if @arianiziolek's durge has a name. catty little murder lizard (affectionate). has some of the funniest comics but more importantly the best durge facial expressions

@bajablast666 is double dipping with durges kaethan and kelrath. both their art and writing have an intensity that i love (the red outlines they use often are so good) and their writing in particular conveys emotion and visceral feeling so well

karl by @beltart is another on the surprisingly long list of people i initially found from their art, then read their writing and was blown away. i don't think i've seen anyone else depict the weight of the urge as intensely as this and i love it

and finally, a palate cleanser from all the durges, @wirywyrm's tav arthur who's in a sitcom as opposed to a horror story. i really like the texture and detail of their art and also how much of a dork arthur is. least smooth bard(adin) in the realms

incredibly i did leave out a few people, mostly people who draw companions rather than their tav/durge because i sort of locked myself into this format, so i may come back and update this later!

[appocalipse]

good idea — sirius black

Trying to get over your feelings for Sirius, you decide to bring a date to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party this year. But Sirius seems oddly angry about it… friends to lovers, jealous!sirius ♥

"You're bringing him? As a date?" 

To be honest, Sirius doesn't know why he's so irritated by this. Every year he gets invited, and every year he doesn't go to Slughorn's Christmas party because, frankly, it sounds boring as hell—a bunch of stuffed shirts bragging about themselves while stuffing their faces with party food—but now…now all of a sudden, he's feeling downright offended that you'd bring a date and not him.

It's stupid. But that doesn't change the fact that he's furious about it.

You look at him uncertainly, a little frown pulling your eyebrows together. Sirius kind of wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but that's probably not a good idea.

"Um...yeah?" you say, and your voice tilts up at the end like it's a question, and Sirius doesn't know if you're asking him or yourself, but he does not like it. "I mean, Slughorn said we could bring a plus-one, so... I'm bringing Ollie."

"Ollie," he repeats, derision dripping from the word like the name itself is rotten. Then, because he's bitter and a bit of an asshole, he adds, in the most disparaging tone he can muster, "Seriously? Ollie? The guy who once nearly exploded a classroom because he couldn't transfigure a knife and fork properly?"

Sirius didn't think your frown could get any deeper, but apparently it can, and now he feels kind of bad for putting it there. 

But then you scowl and cross your arms, and your lovely blue dress tugs at your lovely hips, which draws his eyes to your thighs and forces him to look away and think about Quidditch and essays on different varieties of unicorn blood and exploding potions.

"He wasn't going to explode anything," you snap. "The cauldron had a hairline crack. All he did was—you know what, I gotta go!"

You brush past him, and Sirius smells that delicious, honeyed fragrance you always wear, and he just…he just…

His hand snaps out and grabs your arm.

You stop, glancing back at him, and Sirius would normally never manhandle you like this, but now that he's doing it, he doesn't want to let go. You look so angry, though; your chest heaving with your quick breaths, your skin warm under his fingers, soft and plush.

But you've obviously had enough of whatever this is, because you raise your eyebrows and say flatly, "Let me go."

It feels like his hand doesn't want to obey him. "Sorry," he mutters, and it's sincere, but he doesn't release you. "I'm sorry. Just...what's so great about Ollie?"

"I like him."

"No you don't."

"What?"

Sirius blinks, trying to figure out what's coming out of his mouth. He just...he doesn't like this. The mere idea of you going out with Ollie makes his skin crawl. Not because he likes you or anything, no. You're pretty, yeah. And funny, and smart, and when he first met you, being your friend was the last thing on his mind, sure, but then he got to know you, and—fine. Maybe he does like you a little bit more than he probably should.

But you're way too good for him. You're certainly way too good for Ollie. 

"Ollie sucks," Sirius says. It's not an eloquent statement, but it's a true one. "He's boring. He's an asshole. You're..."

His words trail off as he stares at you. His eyes fall to your lips, lipstick-red and soft-looking and parted in surprise, and they're just right there, and maybe he could just…just once…

"I'm what?"

He kisses you. He can't help himself.

Sirius has kissed a lot of girls, but this...this is different.

One hand is still holding your arm, but the other comes up to touch your cheek, trace your jaw, skim down the side of your neck, feeling the way your pulse is pounding beneath your skin and under his fingertips as his mouth moves over yours. Your lips are soft, the little noise you make in the back of your throat even softer, and he wants to hear it again.

And again. And again.

Sirius breaks the kiss first.

You stare at him. Pupils blown wide. Lips red and glistening. "You kissed me."

Sirius brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

"I did."

"You...did?" Now you're sounding breathless. Like you can't quite catch your breath.

"I did." Sirius moves in closer, crowding you against the wall yet not quite touching you. "You didn't stop me."

For a moment, your gaze drops to his lips, and Sirius feels a surge of triumph. "What—what was that for?"

His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back. You smell like flowers. Like honey. Like something he wants to devour.

"Don't go to the party with Ollie."

It was, apparently, not the right thing to say.

You duck under his arm, and Sirius is so surprised, he doesn't manage to stop you from escaping.

"Don't kiss me just because you want to sabotage my date," you say, and boy, you sound angry. "Especially don't kiss me and then not tell me why."

"I wanted to kiss you."

"That's your excuse?"

"Is it not a good one?" 

Sirius is feeling slightly out of his depth here. He thought the kiss would be pretty self-explanatory. But apparently not. This hallway, with its tapestries and old portraits and suits of armor and half-dressed witches, is beginning to feel stifling.

He tries a different tactic. "I think about kissing you a lot."

"Stop."

"It's true."

If looks could kill, Sirius would be ashes on the ground right now.

"The first time I thought about it was after Potions," he says, pressing his advantage. You're listening, at least. And you haven't turned to leave yet. That has to mean something. "When you spilled that solution all over yourself and started laughing about it. You have the best laugh."

"Seriously—"

He steps closer. "And your mouth...fuck, it drives me crazy."

"Don't—"

He backs you up against the wall again. Now, he's touching you, one hand on your waist, feeling the way your body curves so nicely beneath his palm, the other splayed on the wall next to your head.

"Take Ollie to the party," he says. "See if I care. But you're going to spend the whole time thinking about this."

He leans in close, then pauses, mouth inches from yours, your breath mingling together. He feels you swallow, watches the way your pupils dilate.

Then, before he can change his mind, he dips his head and kisses you again. 

Harder this time. 

Less tentative. 

He wants to remember this kiss.

"Was that a good excuse?" he whispers when he pulls away.

Your mouth works soundlessly for a moment, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Sirius wants to hear you say something, but the words aren't coming, so he tilts your chin up with his thumb and leans in.

"Are you thinking about it now?"

Your lips part, soft and silken, and you exhale a small puff of breath. "I hate you."

"You don't hate me," he says, his mouth still almost touching yours. You taste like honeyed tea. Like a cozy summer afternoon spent lounging on the grass. He could live in this feeling forever. He could die in it. "You're thinking about me. You're thinking about this. My hand on your waist."

He squeezes, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip.

"My lips on your neck."

He kisses the skin under your ear, then drags his mouth down the side of your neck until he reaches the curve where your shoulder begins. 

You make a soft sound; a moan, a sigh. Sirius can't really tell. But, fuck, does he want to hear it again.

He pulls away and waits for you to look at him, to really look at him. Your eyes are so lovely. And your face...he wants to memorize it.

"Don't take Ollie to the party." Sirius slides his hand down your arm until his fingers lace with yours. "Take me."

Well...it certainly feels like a good idea.

[strawberryblue-blog]

Please can u do barca boys being clingy with the reader? (add hector fort plss!)

Super clingy —FC Barcelona.

summary: request.

warnings: none. cute, soft, excess of romanticism.

words count: +1.1k

Pedri González.

Endless hugs.

He always finds an excuse to hug or touch you, even when there is no apparent reason. If you're sitting on the couch, he settles in behind you, wrapping his arms around you while resting his head on your shoulder.

"It's just that I'm more comfortable here" he tells you, even though you know he just wants to feel you close.

If you move, he adjusts his embrace without complaint, as if you are a puzzle piece that needs to fit perfectly with him. If you walk the other way around the house, he will follow you, trying to catch you again.

Ferran Torres.

Kisses all the time.

Not an hour goes by without him giving you a kiss. Whether on the forehead, on the cheek, on the tip of the nose or on the lips, his gestures are constant. He approaches without a word and leans in to kiss you anyway.

"I just can't help it, you're too cute" he says whenever you protest.

Even in public, he finds ways to drop you a quick kiss, if only to remind you how much he adores you. Sometimes it's accompanied by a hug from behind and he'll linger for a while until you ask him to move (in a good way)

Pablo Gavi.

Sticky hands.

If they're watching a movie, their fingers gently run up and down your arm, drawing little circles without you noticing. If you have loose hair, he takes it between his fingers and caresses it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Sometimes, he touches your face, gently tracing the line of your jaw or your nose.

"I just like to memorize you" he tells you when you ask what he's doing. His hands don't hold back and will touch you for as long as he has the chance.

Fermín López.

Enchanted words.

He tells you "I love you" with a frequency that seems exaggerated, but it never feels forced. "Did you know you're the best thing that ever happened to me?" he asks you at least once a day.

"Did I tell you already that you look beautiful today? Because you are. Always" Even when you're disheveled or in your pajamas, he finds a way to remind you how much you mean to him.

He chases you with compliments, anywhere, any time, he is tender and delicate, telling you how much he loves and appreciates you.

Alejandro Balde.

Faithful companion.

No matter what you are doing, he wants to be with you. If you are cooking, he stays in the kitchen, even if it's just to lean on the counter and watch you. If you're studying, he's your moral support by your side, never leaving you alone.

If you have to go out shopping, he insists on going with you, if you visit the doctor, if you have dinner with your parents, even if you do something simple like go to the bathroom.

"I don't want to miss a second with you" he says with a smile, as if it really is a luxury to be by your side even in the most mundane tasks.

Hector Fort.

Annoying romantic.

Suddenly, without warning, he takes you by the hand and starts dancing with you, even though there is no music.

"Listen, there's a song in my head and it's perfect for us" he says as he guides you with awkward steps around the room.

He hugs you, lifts you up, throws you on the couch to tickle you, undoes your hair,olesta practically but romantically. Even if you laugh at his witticism, you can't help but feel special as he's obsessed with you.

Lamine Yamal.

Personal protector.

If you're tired, he carries your bag without you asking. If you're in a crowded place, he holds your hand firmly, as if he wants to make sure you don't get lost.

If someone speaks to you in a way he considers inappropriate, he discreetly places you behind him. "Don't worry, I'm here" he says with a security that makes you feel completely protected that even seeing seems annoying but isn't.

He takes care of you in front of others and gets extremely affectionate to protect you from anything.

Pau Cubarsí.

Deep glances.

Maybe he is the least annoying in terms of affection. But he loves mirartc When you fall asleep, how peacefully you rest next to him, while he admires you in love.

"You look so peaceful like that" he says when you wake up and find him looking at you with a smile.

If you move, he arranges the blanket over you, making sure you don't get cold. If you come up, he carefully pulls it down, if your hair gets out of place, Pau rearranges it. Sometimes, he even leaves you little notes that you find when you wake up.

[heliosunny]

Since I'm feeling really depressed rn, can you make a fyodor x reader but reader is really depressed, like they believe they're ugly, worthless and most importantly easily replaceable, so they always think fyodor will replace them with someone else that's why they always push him away.

- 🐢🐢

It didn’t matter how many times Fyodor whispered your name like a prayer, how often his lips brushed against your knuckles with something almost reverent, you always knew this wouldn’t last.

Because you were disposable too.

And soon, he’d realize that.

That’s why you never let yourself get too close. Never let yourself bask in the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. Someone else, someone better, would come along—someone beautiful, someone worthy.

So you pushed him away.

Tonight was no different.

"Leave" you muttered, staring at the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. "You don't have to waste your time here. I'm sure there’s someone else you'd rather be with."

A silence stretched between you like a noose tightening around your throat. You didn’t dare look up.

"Ah... love" Fyodor murmured. "Again with this nonsense."

"You seem to forget that I do not keep what is easily replaceable."

"I chose you" Fyodor continued, "And I do not make mistakes."

----

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of conversation filling the space. You stirred your drink, barely listening to the person sitting across from you. You hadn’t wanted to come here, hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea of someone new—but your relatives had insisted.

“You need to put yourself out there” they had said. “He’s a nice person. You deserve someone who makes you happy.”

Happy huh...As if that was even possible for someone like you.

"You're awfully quiet" your date commented, eyeing you with mild disinterest. "I guess I should’ve expected that. You’re not exactly the most interesting person, are you?"

It was subtle, the way your fingers tightened around your glass. You forced a small laugh, hoping—praying—that maybe you had misheard. But he only smirked, leaning back in his chair.

"Don't look so offended" he chuckled. "I mean, you’re not ugly, but you're not much to look at either. And you barely talk. No offense, but I don’t get why your relatives were hyping you up so much."

His words sliced through you, sharp and effortless.

You swallowed thickly, your chest tightening as that familiar, suffocating feeling crept in—the one that told you you weren’t good enough, that you never had been.

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was just proof of what you had always known.

You barely tasted your food after that, barely heard anything else he said. The night ended with a cold goodbye, and you found yourself walking aimlessly down the street, arms wrapped tightly around yourself.

You had wanted to escape. Had wanted to run from Fyodor before he could push you aside like this man had done so easily.

But now, standing alone in the quiet of the night, a single, terrifying thought echoed in your mind.

What if he already has?

A soft gust of wind sent a shiver down your spine.

“You wound me, my love."

Slowly, you turned.

Fyodor stood beneath the glow of a streetlamp, the shadows stretching long behind him. He was smiling.

“You left me” Fyodor murmured, taking a slow step forward. “For that?”

You wanted to run, to tell him it wasn’t what he thought. But what did it matter? He was probably planning to leave you anyway.

“I—” Your voice faltered. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words got stuck in your throat.

“Go on,” he urged. “Tell me why you thought this was a good idea.”

The weight of his gaze was unbearable. “I just… I thought…” You swallowed hard. “You were going to replace me.”

"Replace you?" Fyodor echoed, his tone dripping with mockery. "Oh, love… is that what you truly believe?"

He took another step forward, and you stepped back, only for your back to hit the cold brick wall of the alley beside you. Please, anything but confronting him at such moment.

Fyodor was in front of you now, his slender fingers reaching out to tilt your chin up.

“Let me be clear,” he murmured,“There is no one else. There will never be anyone else.”

"And yet, despite my patience… you ran to another man.” Fyodor sighed, almost disappointed. “You let him speak to you like that. Belittle you. Humiliate you.”

“Fyo—”

His grip tightened at your jaw.

“Tell me, do you think he still deserves to speak?”

“Wait—you don’t mean—”

Fyodor chuckled. “Oh, my love… I mean exactly what you think I do.”

---

Fyodor’s apartment was quiet when you arrived, save for the faint sound of a record playing in the background.

After everything, after the cruel words your date had thrown at you, after the way Fyodor had looked at you last night—you couldn’t take it anymore. So you have to come here. Then you would tell him that you had to leave. Before he decided you weren’t worth the trouble.

Your hands trembled as you stood in front of his desk, watching as he carefully set his pen down, his gaze lifting to meet yours.

“What brought you here, love?”

“I—I just came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” he echoed, as if tasting the word on his tongue.

You forced yourself to keep speaking, even as your voice wavered. “This… whatever this is. I can’t keep doing this, Fyodor. I—I’m not enough for you, I know that. So before you get bored of me, before you find someone better, I just—”

Fyodor stood, moving around the desk in deliberate, measured steps.

"Before I what, exactly?" he asked, voice like silk laced with steel.

“You—you were going to replace me. I know it. You don’t have to pretend.”

You did a little jump out of surprise, a gasp escaped your lips as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward until you stumbled against him.

“You truly are cruel,” Fyodor whispered, his voice sickeningly sweet. “To think so little of me… to try and run from me.”

“F-Fyodor—”

“I, myself, chose you, I know what you're capable of.” he murmured, his fingers trailing up your spine.

You felt dizzy, your body betraying you as you leaned into his warmth despite the suffocating air between you.

"But since you insist on doubting me…" He pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face, tilting your chin up.

“I suppose I’ll just have to take measures.”

“Measures?”

Before you could say another word, he pulled you forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

“You’ll never leave me again.”

The moment Fyodor’s lips pressed against yours, you felt something—a faint bitterness, seeping into your skin. You barely had time to react before your body suddenly felt… light. Your thoughts, once tangled and suffocating, seemed to quiet, the anxiety that had gripped your chest moments ago fading into something calm.

Fyodor held you steady despite your weaken legs, his hands firm as they guided you into his embrace.

“No more doubts, my dear. No more pushing me away.”

“What… what did you do?”

Fyodor simply smiled, “Just a little something to ease that restless mind of yours.”

“You think too much,… and I simply cannot have that, now can I?”

Your lips parted in protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Your body felt heavy, but your mind—your mind felt so soft, like it was wrapped in cotton.

And Fyodor… he was still there. Still holding you, still looking at you like you were something irreplaceable.

For the first time, you didn’t question it.

You simply let him hold you.

—---

In the days that followed, you found yourself listening to Fyodor more. The creeping paranoia that had once consumed you, the desperate need to push him away, had dulled into something distant, something manageable.

He never let you too far from his sight, and strangely, you didn’t mind. If anything, you found comfort in the way he kept you close, in the way his fingers would idly play with yours when you sat together, his voice a low murmur as he spoke of the world, of people, of the uselessness of those who did not understand.

He never let anyone near him, not unless they were one of the few he trusted. It was proof, he told you, of how selective he was. Of how rare it was to be in his presence.

Of how special you were.

And you believed him.

For the most part.

Until her.

You weren’t sure what it was about the woman named Lila that set something off in you. Maybe it was the way she smiled too sweetly, the way her gaze lingered just a little too long when she spoke to you. Maybe it was the way she inserted herself into your space, into his space, a little too freely.

It made you uncomfortable.

That night, as you sat curled up on the couch, his fingers combing idly through your hair, you hesitated before speaking.

“She…” You swallowed. “She was too close.”

Fyodor hummed, fingers stilling slightly before continuing their slow, rhythmic movements. “Ah. Her.”

You nodded. “I… I didn’t like it.”

A pause. Then, a soft chuckle. “I see.”

You looked up at him, uneasy. “You don’t… you don’t think I’m just being paranoid, do you?”

He tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip.

“No, love,” he murmured. “You are simply learning.”

The next day, she was gone.

And no one ever spoke of her again.

[hy6erion]

Heyyyy, so I'm new here, and I love your fics, but your work unspoken rivalry? Fucks me uuuuup

I wanted to know if there was any way at all I could beg for a part two? Maybe with either a threesome where they're like, competing who can make reader feel better, or just a date out with a fluffy little polyamorous resolution? Sorry if this isn't okay to ask!! Mwah mwah

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

✰⍣..𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞- 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, ,,𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞" 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐱𝐱 (´-ω-`)

It takes longer than it should for the three of you to actually plan a date.

Not because you’re unsure—by now, it’s painfully obvious that you’re all in too deep. It’s not even because of their bickering, though that certainly doesn’t help. No, it’s because neither of them will admit to wanting the date in the first place.

The realization comes to you in the middle of yet another argument, this time over something completely trivial.

“We should go to the observatory,” Jayce insists. “Great view, great drinks. Romantic.”

Viktor snorts. “Hardly. It will be crowded, and you will spend the entire time trying to impress them with your very limited knowledge of astronomy.”

“I do know astronomy! I built a hextech telescope, Viktor.”

“Yes, and you spent two months unable to align it properly.”

Jayce groans. “Okay, genius, what’s your big idea?”

Viktor shrugs. “A quiet evening. Somewhere peaceful. Good conversation. Less chance of hearing you embarrass yourself.”

Jayce crosses his arms. “That’s boring.”

“It is thoughtful.”

They stare each other down. You sigh, finally snapping your notebook shut.

“You both want to take me on a date,” you interrupt. “That’s what this is about, right?”

They both freeze. Jayce opens his mouth, then closes it. Viktor clears his throat and pointedly avoids your gaze.

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “And instead of admitting it, you’re turning this into another competition?”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “Not another competition,” Viktor murmurs, “so much as a continuation of the previous one.”

Jayce gives him an incredulous look. “Sure.”

You shake your head, fighting back a laugh. “Alright. We’re all going out. Together. That’s the final decision.”

Viktor hums. “A… shared hypothesis?”

Jayce snorts. “More like a group project.”

You roll your eyes, standing. “You two are exhausting.”

Viktor smiles. Jayce slings an arm around your shoulder. And just like that, the date is set.

—

The night of the date, you make exactly one rule:

“No fighting.”

Jayce scoffs, tugging at his sleeves. “We don’t fight.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What, then, would you call it?”

“Passionate debating.”

You groan. “You are not proving my point.”

The night starts at a quiet little restaurant—one of Piltover’s hidden gems, tucked away from the usual bustling streets. Jayce, for once, doesn’t argue when Viktor suggests it. Viktor, for once, doesn’t critique Jayce’s drink order.

The first twenty minutes are suspiciously normal. You almost think they’re behaving.

Then Jayce starts cutting your steak for you with entirely too much enthusiasm.

“I can do it myself,” you say, amused.

“I know, but I have bigger hands.” He winks. “Efficiency.”

Viktor scoffs. “Yes, because size always equals skill.”

Jayce sets down the knife, giving him a look. “Did you just—”

You sigh, shaking your head. “And there it is.”

The bickering continues, but it’s… softer. Playful. They don’t really mean it, not this time.

It’s in the way Jayce leans in close when you talk, as if memorizing every word. It’s in the way Viktor keeps refilling your drink before you even notice it’s empty. It’s in the way they both sit just a little closer than they need to, shoulders brushing against yours like they can’t help it.

And it’s in the way they both glance at you when they think you aren’t looking, warmth in their eyes.

Eventually, after much negotiation (and one very dramatic sigh from Jayce), the night ends at a quiet overlook above the city.

The three of you sit together, the soft hum of Piltover’s streets below, the distant glow of hextech lights flickering like stars. Jayce sprawls out beside you, stretching his arms behind his head. Viktor leans against the railing, pensive but content.

“This worked out, huh?” Jayce says, glancing between you.

Viktor hums. “Surprisingly, yes.”

Jayce nudges your shoulder. “So. Did science win, or did I?”

You grin, leaning back. “I think the real winner is me.”

Viktor smirks. “A fair conclusion.”

Jayce groans, but he’s laughing. Viktor, for once, doesn’t argue.

You exhale, letting the night settle around you. Warmth on either side. Fingers brushing, just for a moment, before they both pretend not to notice.

This is good. This is right.

Jayce stretches again, then grins. “Alright, since we’re all on the same page, I vote we make this a regular thing.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Ah. So you are already planning the next experiment?”

“Duh.” Jayce winks at you. “Gotta keep collecting data.”

You laugh, leaning into both of them. “Fine. But next time, I pick the place.”

Viktor chuckles. Jayce grins.

And for once, neither of them argue.

[withahappyrefrain]

More of Peter being a bumbling fool 🤭

Going back to fuckboy/childhood best friend Peter. You've just finished grad school, you're working your dream job, and you're finally FINALLY starting to date after years of focusing on school.

You've been talking to a guy for a few weeks, and decide you're ready to start testing the waters with risqué stuff. So, naturally, you send a picture of you in nothing but a t shirt and lace panties. The shirt is oversized, mostly white with a print in it, but most importantly *Peter's*.

The picture you take is *chefs kiss*. Nipples hard and obvious through the thin material, you pulled up one aide to show the lace panties, your blankets are a mess and there's a peep of a vibrator under your blanket.

You quickly send it to the boy you've been talking to. Or... so you thought. You actually send it to Peter, but don't realize until he responds

I'm coming home. Do not move.

Confusion hits you first. Why would this guy refer to your place as home? That was quite bold of him.

Then you hear the thump out on the fire exit, which is how Peter prefers to enter when he's rushed.

Wait.

You look back at the text, specifically the top where the name Peter is clearly displayed.

Not Dan.

Before you can think, the bedroom door slams open. There's Peter, visibly out of breath, chest heaving as he points to his phone.

"What the fuck?" He sounds like he just ran a marathon. Peter only gets like that when he's put through the ringer on patrol.

Not with you.

"Peter, I-"

"This is how you tell me?" His pupils are so overblown you can barely see the whiskey casted irises you adore so much.

"Look, Peter, I-" you stop, realizing you haven't pulled the bed sheet up yet, so those white lace panties were still very visible.

"No, I have had to push down my feelings for you for years. Fucking years. And you tell me with a picture? While I'm at work?" He points to his phone, exasperated, "You couldn't have waited until my lunch break? For fuck's sake, Eddie nearly saw ya."

Wait a damn minute.

"Did you say years?" It was the first coherent sentence you could get out.

Peter made his way to the bed, his body now inches away from yours. The scent of cinnamon flooded your nostrils. His whole being was usually so comforting. But now, it was overwhelming, your mind buzzing with revelations.

"If you want specifics, since I was fifteen. Do the math, you're good at that." His hands linger, as though he wants to touch you but some unknown force is holding back.

"I have you beat by two years." The confession is quiet as it hangs over you two. His eyes soften, it's all you can observe before his lips crash against yours. They're soft, no doubt due to the amount of chapstick you watch him apply. His hands reach up to cup your face, deepening the kiss.

You've put a lot of time into imagining what it was like to kiss Peter Parker. Nothing could compare you to reality. His beard was soft, brushing against your skin. He rubbed a thumb against your cheek and you practically melted into the bed.

Peter could hear your heart racing, could sense the nerves running through your body. He brought one hand to the middle of your back, steadying you as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip.

Grasping at his jacket, you let his tongue into your mouth and God, why did you wait so long for this? All the feelings you thought were gone came rearing back. But instead of feeling, discouraged, like normal, you felt invigorated. Brave even, given how your hands tangled themselves in his dark hair.

Leaning back until your body was pressed against the mattress, you forced him on top of you.

"F-fuck, wait," Peter propped himself up with his arms, his body hovering over yours.

"Wait? We've both been waiting fifteen plus years for this." You barely registered your own words, too focused on his slightly swollen lips and messy hair.

"Y-yeah, that's why," Peter ran a hand through his hair, as though it would help me become coherent, "W-why I need to take you out."

You arched an eyebrow, "Take me out? Since when do you care about going on a date first, bed second?"

Somehow, Peter's face was able to turn even redder, "S-since it's you."

[transformers-spike]

Sharing or giving food/energon is a big show of courting or affection in Cybertronian life and no I will not take any obligations with how sparse energon has gotten for them!

The Autobots are more open to trying to understand human customs and brush it off like: "It's different...their culture is very different from us, I'm sure they're just close...hopefully." but still very flustered and somewhat jealous if they share it with the other humans.*Cough* Ultra Magnus & Ratchet specifically *Cough*

Meanwhile the Decepticons just think they are a slut, which yea they are but you don't have to be so mean about it! Especially with a human charge who bakes and shares it with others (I'm not self projecting I swear...) They're gonna be gnawing at the bars of their enclosure, cause not only do they share food, the make sweets to share with other humans in mind?! How is that not a declaration of marriage for humans, how are they single?! How are they without a Sparkmate?!?!?

Continuation of the food coma post: I think Knockout would be considering forgiveness if the captive human gets him energon or offers to just eat at the same time he'd be flattered, even though he knows human customs that's not gonna stop this diva from believing everyone is attracted to him. (Which he's right of course)

iefuifeiueuefiufe yes - yes this is so good All the Autobots manage to be kinda normal about it. Ratchet can't deal with this because he has 1 good thing in the world, he was aghast they were into him, then found out it's a cultural difference and was absolutely crushed. Bro did not expect to care this much but low and behold he fucking does. Ultra Magnus is still coping with the culture shock and you can tell he nearly had a system shutdown when a human shared stuff with him.

Megatron is a certified freak, if they court him by accident, he's going to be first amused, then possessive once he realizes they're doing this to others too. He likes being cucked by his terms, thank you very much! Right now he wants to ensure the human is his first and foremost, then the cuckening can take place

Starscream is the one who treats them like a whore. They can almost see him clutching his pearls while he goes on and on about how vile their species is. Bruh chill. The ones they can fluster most through this are Breakdown and Dreadwing - Breakdown is disappointed when he finds out they do this for everyone - while Dreadwing is trying to remember when's the last time someone courted him

[bellaxgiornata]

Because I've been sick almost nonstop since September, I decided to make headcanons this morning for all of our men about when they're sick that absolutely nobody asked for. So below the cut are some of my thoughts on how Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Jax Teller, and Michael Kinsella would act/react to feeling under the weather and being taken care of.

Matt Murdock

Matt would never admit to being sick when he first started coming down with something. Doesn't matter how many times you called him out on it, he would play it off like he's just fine. "Sweetheart, you know I don't get sick."

Despite your protests, he'd still throw on the Devil suit and go out at night running around on the rooftops trying to keep Hell's Kitchen safe, even if he's got a runny nose and the beginning of a sore throat - and his Devil voice would be even more painful to put on because of that.

But in the morning when Matt woke up, he'd be a miserable mess. He would become a full on baby Capuchin monkey, wrapping himself around you in bed in search of comfort almost immediately. And when he'd hear you open your mouth to tell him "I told you so," he'd stop you with his nasally, "Don't even say it, sweetheart" before he buried his face against your neck and groaned in agony.

And he would be in agony because of his heightened senses, but he'd also be a bit disoriented when he really came down with something. The illness symptoms would mess with him - head/sinus congestion would throw off his sense of smell, taste, and hearing, all things he's used to using in order to navigate the world around him. On top of all of that, sore throats would feel like he was genuinely swallowing glass, and while he's already used to his whole body constantly being in pain from what he puts it through, the whole body ache from illness would just be another thing to make him desperate for comfort.

Matt is so used to no one caring for him since he's always the one looking out for the whole of Hell's Kitchen, that you'd most likely see a few genuine tears shed as you brought him glasses of water and medicine throughout the day (that he would make the most ridiculous faces at the flavor of). And you'd be subjected to repeated thank you's murmured against your skin because he'd be clinging to you wherever you went in the apartment for the duration of his illness.

Frank Castle

It would always be difficult to tell when Frank was coming down with something because the man would never admit to it. He'd still be waking up at the ass crack of dawn making a pot of coffee and going about his day like usual without giving a single thing away that let you know that he wasn't feeling good. So you'd have to learn the signs yourself - extra tissues suddenly filling the garbage, the sight of him wearing hoodies around the house when you know he already runs hot, showers that last just a few minutes longer than usual as if he was using the steam to clear up his congestion.

He'd deny it vehemently if you called him out on coming down with something, getting a deep furrow between his brows and that particular tone to his voice that always gave him away because it was just too sharp. "I'm not goddamn sick, honey. Stop fussin' over me, would ya?"

And he absolutely would hate it if you fussed over him. Trying to get him to take some medicine? "Don't need that shit. Told you I'm fine, alright?" Trying to take his temperature? You'd have to fight him to put the damn thing in his mouth for at least five minutes first and he'd be grumbling the whole time (and you'd have to keep reminding him to keep his mouth shut so you could get an accurate reading). Telling him to stay in bed or on the couch to rest for the day? You'd catch him out of the corner of your eye carrying a tool box through the house and have to do a double take and tell him to go sit down. "Tired of sitting down, doll, I've been doing it all damn day! "It's been twenty minutes, Frank! GO LAY BACK DOWN!" Bringing him tea with some honey and lemon in it to soothe his throat? "The hell is this shit? You know I only drink black coffee."

Frank is used to just powering through illness because of his time in the marines. His mentality is that he's got a job to do and he's going to do it, he doesn't want to sit around all day taking medicine and sleeping, he wants to be up and taking care of you and things around the house and something so small like being sick isn't going to stop him from doing exactly that.

Jax Teller

Even sick with a cold, Jax would still be stubborn as hell. He'd wake up in the morning and roll out of bed before hopping in the shower with every intention of going to the clubhouse to deal with business for the day like nothing was wrong. Except he'd be moving slower than normal and communicating in strictly grunts and grumbles instead of his usual "Mornin', baby" sleepily and affectionately muttered against the back of your neck which you usually always either heard in bed as he's spooning you when you woke, while you're making the morning coffee in the kitchen, or as you're getting dressed for the day.

The only way you'd get Jax to stay home, take care of himself, and relax would be to out-logic him. "You know I gotta go in, darlin'. The guys need me, I've got shit to run. Can't just take a goddamn sick day, SAMCRO ain't like that." "And what happens when all of the patched members get sick, hmm? Or when all the girls at Diosa or Redwoody get sick and they can't film or fuck? Then what, Jackson? Chibs and Bobby can handle things today."

Jax would absolutely hate having to make the call to tell the guys he was taking a day at home because he's sick. He'd be sitting out on the back porch talking on the phone with a cigarette in his hand, rolling his eyes in irritation as they called him a pussy. But instead of some insult in return, you'd overhear him snap back with "Gotta problem with it? Then I'd like to see you take it up with my ol' lady, brother." And you'd know damn well that would have the guys quieting down because they knew better than to mess with you when it came to Jax's wellbeing.

Despite the fight he'd put up in the morning, Jax would actually love a whole day sitting around at home with you fussing over him. He'd be sprawled out on the couch with a lazy little grin on his lips as you brought him glasses of water, medicine, and soup all day. He'd chuckle warmly and always give you a "I'm fine, darlin', really," but deep down he'd be so goddamned pleased to have your constant attention. And he'd find any excuse to grab you and force you down on the couch to cuddle with him, sighing softly when your fingers gently carded through his hair as he held you close. But you can damn well bet that even sick, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to slide his hand down to palm you over your pants at some point, chuckling when you shot out a "You're sick, Jackson!" and responding with "Never too sick for that, baby."

Michael Kinsella

Michael would be the literal suffer in silence type. You'd know he was sick - he wouldn't deny it if you asked because he'd never lie to you - but he also wouldn't ask for any help. He'd still get up and try to do the laundry and dishes even when you tried to shoo him away to his bed. "M'fine, pet. Don't wanna leave ya to do everythin' fer me 'cause I'm comin' down with somethin'. S'no big deal, really."

He's not used to having someone wanting to fuss over him and care for him because no one in his family ever really has besides Birdy. Trying to take his temperature, bringing him soup that you made, and making sure he's taking medicine around the clock would have him feeling awkward, which would result in him always trying to brush you away because he feels like he's just adding to your list of chores for the day. And if there's anything Michael would hate, it's feeling like he's a burden, so you'd have to repeatedly reassure him that caring for him when he's sick is normal.

Michael would try to avoid you throughout the day as much as possible because he'd be worried about getting you sick, so much so that it would drive you nuts. "Sofa is fine, love. Don't wanna get my germs in the bedroom sleepin' in there." "Shouldn't be tryin' to kiss me, pet. Don't want ya catchin' what I have." "Ya shouldn't be sittin' out here with me watchin' television. I'd feel like shite if ya got sick 'cause of me, pet."

The Kinsellas would still be calling him while he was trying to rest at home and every time you heard the phone ring, you'd feel compelled to pull it out of his hands and tell them to leave him alone for the day. Because you know even sick, Michael would pull himself together to go help with whatever was asked of him for his family. But you would delight in telling them off for his sake - especially if it was Amanda.

[hug-me-hard-so-i-dont-forget-you]

As soon as Buddie becomes canon I want to see ALL the domestic moments between them:

Eddie jolts awake from a nightmare (about Shannon or his time in combat) and Buck just rolls over and holds him tight, foreheads pressed together, whispering calming words until he falls asleep.

I don't think they'd have pet names. Other than when they're teasing each other. But I do think someone (probably Buck) would try one out.

"Thanks babe." "Ew— what? No. Stop that." And that was the end of that. Yet (and Eddie would never admit this) he doesn't seem to mind certain terms of endearment during sexy times.

They still have their ✨kitchen moments✨, they're just cuter now. They talk about their problems while doing the dishes together, if one of them is doing something like chopping vegetables or stirring a pot the other most likely has their arms wrapped around them from behind with their chin on their shoulder, one of the cabinet doors is now broken due to being shoved into it while making out one too many times.

Buck LOVES when Eddie speaks Spanish. Whether it's first thing in the morning in a groggy voice or shouted at him during a fight. And Eddie has learned to use it to his advantage, getting Buck to do things by buttering him up in Spanish. Though he could literally just be reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and Buck would never know.

So they start to do little daily Spanish lessons. Starting with words or phrases of the day on the way to work (think similar to when May and Eddie would discuss the word of the day). But Buck has a hard time rolling his R's and it just makes Eddie laugh and stare at him fondly. One time he was so amused that he pulled a Fez from That 70s show: ("You know how Fez sometimes rolls his R's? Well that's what he did in my mouth!") and smirks, saying "Do it more like that." and Buck is stunned silent for a full minute. Eddie gets out of the car, opens Buck's door and had to unbuckle his seatbelt before Buck realizes where he is.

Whenever one of them is fuming from a fight with their parents the other pushes them down into a chair or the couch and stands behind them to rub their shoulders

One day Buck accidentally grabs the wrong 118 shirt and ends up wearing 'DIAZ' on his back all day and once he realizes he starts to strut around with a proud grin. Since then, he starts to purposely wear Eddie's clothes to tease him, knowing full well that it gets Eddie all hot and bothered.

Buck also gets more handsy at home since they're not allowed to show PDA at work. Sometimes he literally waits until the second they've stepped foot off the 118 property to grab Eddie's ass.

When Buck starts spiraling, going on and on about how he's not good enough and that's why everyone leaves him, Eddie will just subtly place a hand on his thigh or lower back. And it usually immediately calms him down.

If Buck can't sleep Eddie will wake up in the middle of the night and find him baking in the kitchen. He just sits at the table watching him, asking quietly, "Do you wanna talk about it?" Sometimes he does and other times Buck just shakes his head. So, while in comfortable silence, Eddie measures out the ingredients and hands them over when needed.

Eddie is embarrassed about just how many times he's tried to reach for something on a high shelf, tippy-toes and all, only to have Buck either lift him up so he can get it OR grab the item and hold it captive until Eddie gives him a kiss.

Very dramatic declarations of love or betrayal:

"I can't believe this." "Buck..." "I thought you loved me." "I do." "I once saw a long life together in the future. Now I'm not so sure..." "Okay, I'm sorry I watched the new episode without you!" "...I'm gonna need a minute."

"Buck, have I ever told you how goddamn perfect you are?" "Maybe. Might as well say it again. ☺️" "I'm serious. You can do nothing wrong and anyone who says otherwise can fight me." "Okay calm down. Do you fall in love with everyone who gives you an orgasm and then cooks for you afterward?" "...yes."

[teyrnacousland]

I'm going to ramble to myself about Cassia for a way too long now, okay, this is mostly for me. I tried to do it in tags out of everyone's way and learned there's a limit to how many tags you can have.

As someone who also chose to make my Mercar an Altus mage (or rather, chose to make the Altus mage I made for DA4 back in like 2018 a Mercar) I want to ramble about my thoughts about Cassia specifically.

It's definitely not just about being a saviour for Cassia. It's kind of more about realizing that EVERYONE is making a choice whether they acknowledge it or not. (You can't just not make a choice about activism or politics. Ignoring it IS a choice. Whether you like what that aligns you with or not, that's what choosing not to care means.)

For Cassia she was put in a position where she had to face that choice and actively make it one way or another. She could either keep her head down and play her role as an oppressor, or give that and the luxuries it comes with up to try for a world where no one is forced into the role of either victim or perpetrator. (Which is not at all me trying to say 'Cassia is a victim here too' or anything, just that oppressive societies aren't good for almost everyone in them. And that being a bystander is always a choice.)

When I made Cassia I was thinking how far does bystander effect go in the context of societal things like Tevinter, and at what point do you break out of it and how. Cassia isn't One Of The Good Ones. She's not Not Like Other Magisters. She's exactly like everyone else. She is a member of the crowd and she's moved with it her whole life. And I don't believe most people in any given crowd are cruel. Active cruelty, or even apathy, is not why most people allow suffering. I don't think we're naturally all just selfish. I think selfishness is just like, a stress response. Self-preservation.

Cassia is only special in that she was forced into a situation that she realized meant she had to actively decide to either be cruel or Not Do That, and because someone directly offered her another path with the Shadows (Which is how Ashur got involved in her story.)

The biggest thing that breaks people out of that mindset is being directly asked to help, and also seeing someone else help. People are more likely to help others help than to start helping someone themselves. Cassia would never have started a resistance group herself. She might not have even sought them out and joined herself. But she's given an option to help and she chooses to take it.

Basically, Cassia becomes a Shadow Dragon because she doesn't want to fill her role in Tevinter society either, even though her role was better than others. It's not something she wanted for herself, or the world she lives in.

Her being ace and bi also has a role in it, too. She could just hide her bisexuality and ignore her asexuality and she could play her role in society as an Altus mage woman. She could get straight married and have sex and have children. That's her only option in Tevinter. To stay in the closet and do things she doesn't want to do. Forever.

I also have decided that I now like that the Shadow Dragons are led by ruling class Altus mages, actually. My first reaction was wishing the organization was more run by the people for the people kind of thing, like a community organization vs a saviours from on high thing. But this makes them messy. All the other factions are messed up in some way, this is the Shadow Dragons mess. It'd be neat if they explored that more in the game itself, because the line up there about a bunch of Altus mages telling Nazri they're Revolutioning wrong is so interesting and good.

As for why, for Dorian specifically, I think he's similar to Cassia. Once he became aware that it's a choice, he made one.

The specific DAI line that stands out to me is the banter where Solas tells him something like "if you were truly sorry you'd free every slave in Tevinter". His initial response is "I don't know that I can do that" (which is kind of where he's been at for most of his life. It is how it is, even if I don't like some of it, I certainly can't change it) and Solas responds "then how sorry are you?"

And I think he took that one to heart. He can either go back to Tevinter and decide/admit that he doesn't care, and just go back to complaining about things and not doing anything about it. Or he has to care (which he does, he's a very empathetic person) and do something. So he did! Not to be a saviour or a hero, but because he loves Tevinter, and there's a better Tevinter in his head, for him and everyone else, and it's worth it to at least try and make it happen.

I keep harping on this but the Shadow Dragon's rebuke of rook when rook is a shadow dragon who picked treviso is so like. whole and unending. you save viper from the venatori and he talks about the shadow dragons like you aren't one of them anymore. you dont see tarquin or dorian or mae again until the end of the game. the companions say "it must be hard for the shadow dragons in minrathous" to you. neve says "I don't expect you to show up for dock town, rook" and it hurts because nobody else does either. nobody else WANTS you to anymore. but they'll take what you give them!

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu crack fic!!!!!

a/n: wrote this as a twitter threadfic,, and the difference between writing for twitter vs tumblr is comically insane. this is so unserious and shittily written, but that's what makes it fun ;) poorly written smut at the end:)

satosugu who know that they have feelings for one another, but being the first to admit it would just be “too gay.” so instead, they resort to a game of chicken, trying to make the other jealous enough to break first. the lengths they (mostly gojo) go to are insane.

gojo pays shoko $1,500 to give him hickies. ("$500." "who the fuck do you think I am?" "$1,000?" "double it and give it to the next person." "$1,500?" "fine. you spoiled rich bitch.") they are both literally gagging as it's happening and shoko actually barfs after, but gojo is left with a giant purple bruise on the nape of his neck, so he's happy.

gojo runs into geto in their shared kitchen the next morning, wearing an off-the-shoulder comfy t-shirt of course. did he cut the neckline of one of his shirts? doesn't matter. and gojo is so annoyed when geto says nothing even after his eyes clearly drift down to his neck. whatever, at least he saw it.

"what are you doing today, suguru?"

"nothing much. have a coffee date at noon but i'm free the rest of the day after that."

he's joking, right?

"with who?"

"you wouldn't know her," geto comments as he grabs his plate and heads towards the living room to eat on the couch. he can't help but smirk when he hears the patter of gojo's footsteps following him.

"what's her name, suguru?"

"doesn't matter. you don't know her."

truth is, obviously geto doesn't have a date. but around 11:30am he walks into gojo's room with his hair pulled up into a neat bun (gojo's favorite hairstyle of his), tight dress pants, and no shirt. because it's wrinkled and he needs the iron from satoru's room, obviously. gojo's face is priceless, aquamarine eyes widening in shock before scoffing and calling geto a slut.

"since when has the iron ever been in my room. go check the linen closet." thank god suguru listens and leaves his room because wtf is that growing in his pants. (this is what i mean, sooo unserious im sorry).

geto now has to find some way to pass the couple of hours he allegedly has a date. so he goes to shoko's who demolishes him for what he's wearing. he talks to her about the hickies he saw on gojo's neck and asks if he's mentioned anything about seeing someone.

gojo promptly gets a text that reads "send me $500 right now if you don't want me to tell suguru about who you gave you those hickies."

the money is sent before gojo realizes that, wait? suguru is with shoko?

"where are you guys right now?"

"my house. you're not invited. don't show up."

now that would be too good. but gojo isn't going to let geto know that he know he's lying.

instead, when geto gets back, gojo is all over suguru asking how it went, what is she like, show me a picture, why won't you suguru, were you lying about the whole thing? the most geto says is that it went well and he has plans with her next weekend.

"what if we have a double date instead? I can meet this mystery woman, and you can meet mine," gojo says, pointing at the fading hickies on his neck. cringe.

suguru agrees, he's not sure why, but now they're both fucked. what they don't know is that both of them resort to the same solution - finding a girl on the streets that's attractive enough and explaining that they need help making someone jealous and 'i know this is so awkward but please.' gojo's girl agrees after being offered an obscene amount of money, of course, and geto's girl agrees just because he's pretty.

the week passes and the girls come over to their place for dinner. everyone is in a little bit of shock when geto's girl is pale, blonde and blue-eyed, and gojo's obviously a long-haired brunette with brown eyes.

(the girls excuse themselves to the bathroom to have a giggle fest, and oh my god they're so into each other so let's devise a plan to make this happen. they're fujoshis what can i say)

the girls take the lead, each being so touchy with their respective 'dates' and laughing at their unfunny jokes. the dinner goes fine save for the awkward stares that gojo and geto give to the girls sitting across from them. the girls pryyy, with "hey, it's almost like your each others type!" and all they get are awkward chuckles because wtf. whatever whatever.

after dinner, the 'couples' retreat to their rooms. the conversations each 'couple' has go about the same. "oh my god, you're in love with him aren't you. you know what would really make him jealous? if we pretend to have sex." (totally definitely not planned by the girls earlier.)

cue obnoxious moaning noises from each room, and the sounds of beds creaking (its them at the foot of the bed trying to hide their giggles as they jerk the bed back and forth). the plan is failing, because the respective girls admit to gojo and geto what they spoke to each other about earlier and now everyone in that house knows that the noises coming from the other room are fake.

a while later, satoru and suguru walk the girls out at the same time (plot device). gojo and geto receive friendly glares, the girls' eyebrows comically raised and eyes going back and forth between the two as if saying bffr and get on with it. when the door clicks shut, gojo and geto turn to one another, mouths slightly open and each one trying to figure out what to say. geto speaks first.

"really, gojo?"

"don't 'gojo' me. really what, suguru?"

"do you think i'm stupid?"

"yeah, i do. stop being elusive, what are you talking about, suguru."

"the hickies, the girl you've been seeing who didn't know what digimon was (this somehow came up at the dinner idk), your whole charade?"

"i know you were at shoko's during your alleged coffee date. idiot," gojo blurts.

"yeah well shoko told me who gave you those hickies."

"what! i paid her $500 not to tell you."

"and i'm $250 richer, satoru."

gojo scowls because this whole thing is so stupid and they're both so dumb. he doesn't really know what to say to that. but fuck shoko, he thinks.

"are you done, satoru?" suguru says as he takes a step closer to gojo.

"done with what?" gojo says, eyes drifting and voice softer than normal because suguru suddenly seems so so close, and he smells so good, and he looks so pretty.

geto takes two fingers and places them under gojo's chin, tilting his face up and leaving him with no option but to make eye contact.

"satoru, come on. stop pretending."

"stop pretending what?" god he is so annoying.

"that you don't want this" gojo winces because god geto is so sexy and so onto him and there's no avoiding this.

"want what?"

ok, geto has had enough of satoru answering him with questions and you know what, they both want this, so fucking fine he'll make the first move.

"i hate you," geto says, leaning in so the tips of their noses are barely touching, his breath ghosting gojo's face, his lips, as he speaks.

"clearly," gojo whispers with shakey breath as his eyes drift down towards geto's lips.

geto can't help but roll his eyes because of course gojo would still be an annoying brat while this is happening.

they're unsure of who leans in first, but it doesn't even matter because suddenly they're kissing and it's just so sweet. their hands frantically roam each other's bodies and soft groans escape their mouth as their kiss deepens and suddenly gojo is pressed against the door, suguru's hands gripping his waist and his thumbs digging into his hip bones.

geto pulls away briefly just to tease gojo with a "is this what you wanted, satoru?"

gojo shakes his head.

"no? so you want me to stop?"

gojo whines and it's the sexiest thing geto has ever heard.

"tell me what you want 'toru."

and all he says (whines) is "more."

geto lets out a mocking 'tch' before sliding his hands up the sides of gojo's body, fingers suddenly perched and tugging at his silky undercut. gojo is so pliant, immediately tilting his head to give geto access to his neck.

"ah, so you want this," geto says while dragging his tongue up satoru's pretty, pale neck. gojo moans like a bitch which only encourages geto to sink his teeth into his skin and start sucking.

"want me to give you hickies?" and geto's question is stupid because of course he already knows satoru's answer.

anyways, they are both so turned on and things escalate when geto instinctually ruts his hips forward into gojo's. and omg they can feel each other's boners and holy shit both of them are huge.

"more, more, more" gojo repeats like a sacred mantra as geto peppers kisses along his jaw line.

geto gets the point. and his lips are back on gojo's and his hands are wrapping around to squeeze gojo's ass before wrapping them around the back of his thighs - a silent demand to jump. gojo does, obviously, but his legs don't wrap fully around geto's waist. geto hooks his hands under gojo's knees, forcing his legs to stay open and giving geto just the perfect access to thrust his hips fowards and upwards creating the most perfect friction as their cocks grind against one another.

"want me to take you to the bedroom, and have real sex?"

"not funny, you were faking it too, suguru."

suguru chuckles and carries him to his bedroom, and anyways they have sex and it's the best thing either of them have ever experienced. and gojo being gojo says "i hope you know we're dating now" as the two cuddle and catch their breaths afterwards.

"i know, satoru."

and the two talk and giggle about how disgusting it was that shoko gave gojo hickies, and how long they've both wanted that and "suguru, can i try being on top next time?" "no." "ok." and once they've rested they go again and again all night.

the two become good close friends with those girls, who are obviously sat front and center at their wedding.

[that-hazbin]

I've been thinking about the Media Demon AU and how things would be different - for starters I don't think Charlie's interview would be so bad. But rather then questioning if Sinners can be better Also, people would be questioning her why they would WANT to go to heaven - they don't want to be around those monsters, they want them to stop murdering them in yearly genocides! People would rather fight back then go to heaven - which means things might be different once Carmilla kills that Exterminator. Also at what point would Lucifer and Lilith reveal themselves as themselves to Alastor? Especially considering they've undoubtedly fallen for him by this point but they also know how badly people think of the royal family that signed off on Exterminations. And they've seen how different hell has become through Alastor's efforts - a sinner, not them. (Honestly, the average sinner probably thinks of Alastor more as a ruler then the King and Queen of Hell....)

You're right about Charlie's interview. Alastor specifically set up everything in Hell with the intention of Charlie not being treated like a total joke. It helps that he's in charge of the news in both radio and tv broadcasts, so characters like Katie Killjoy aren't going to be around.

There will be sinners questioning why they would ever want to leave Hell, but people aren't going to think Charlie's dumb for suggesting it, since there are sinners willing to go through with it if it means seeing their families again.

There's also one more thing. Exterminations are still happening, and overpopulation in Hell is still a problem. Everyone can see where Charlie is going with this and why she's doing this. Honestly speaking, Charlie probably wouldn't even bother with this project if it weren't for the fact that her people are being slaughtered once a year. They know that, and I'm pretty sure they're all aware that exterminators aren't the entire population of heaven. Again, their families are up there.

Sure, death rates are low in comparison to the other timeline since Alastor partnered with Carmilla and Sir Pentious for distributing security systems, but it's still happening, and it's still terrifying. In fact, it wouldn't be farfetched to believe that the exorcists would try to increase the extermination rate simply because the sinners got too good at keeping themselves safe.

I think Lucifer and Lilith wouldn't even need to reveal themselves to Alastor, because as soon as Alastor makes the connection that Charlie is the disguised half-imp he's basically took under his wing, he's going to know exactly who her parents are.

I think Alastor would make a dramatic scene about the reveal in front of Lilith and Lucifer, but internally, he doesn't actually care that much. He's already let go of his previous animosity regarding Lucifer because, again, his last memory before dying was Lucifer genuinely trying to save his life.

There's also the fact that the king and queen have actually been much more politically active than the previous timeline. They're going out more often disguised as an imp and succubus, and wouldn't you know? Imps and succubi deal with SO MUCH SHIT. Completely undeserved bullshit. This is to say that in this universe? The Helluva Boss trial just Would Not end the way it did, because the accusation on Blitzo would have been investigated.

Lilith and Lucifer are cracking down on prejudice so much more, now that they can actually understand it; because obviously they couldn't understand before, how could they? Lilith existed before different skin tones even did, and Lucifer is a fucking angel. Then, they were cast out and became royalty. They never once were in a position where they could understand prejudice, but now they've been hanging out with the media demon as hellborn for years.

So, yeah, Lucifer and Lilith would be scared of what Alastor would think about them given the uhhh, still Not Good reputation of the royal family. But Alastor would only give them shit about it to tease them, really. He's not actually upset with them and still quite likes them as individuals. (Especially knowing that they valued his opinions and point of view enough to make actual changes to the law when he complained about things. The fuck.)

(And yeah, the average sinner has way more respect for Alastor than the actual royal family. I wouldn't say all of hell thinks he's the actual ruler, but the Pride Ring? Yeah, despite Lucifer being the Sin of Pride, people look to Alastor for leadership.)