#for both forgetting and my low iron

[pain-is-too-tired]

Just realized that I think I've been forgetting to add my iron when I do my meds

Dang it hshsg kinda need that.

[lowkeyren]

—my muse, my cure.

in which : both you and jiaoqiu are deeply concerned about each other's health but have an unconventional way of showing it.

pairing : jiaoqiu x gn!reader

wc 850, established relationship, 2.5 spoilers woops (but this isn't angst trust), also ib by an iconic line in 2.5 iykwim, art by @/Lianzi_ on x, reblogs r much appreciated!!!

how do we get a picky eater to eat green peppers?

being a picky eater isn't easy, especially when you have a sly fox like jiaoqiu in your kitchen.

you think you're safe when you see a simple, mouthwatering dish; but with him, there's always a catch. beneath the savoury aroma of perfectly cooked meatballs or the comforting warmth of a soup, he hides the things you avoid —finely diced peppers, a hint of spice, or icky vegetables you swore you’d never touch.

jiaoqiu doesn’t say a word, but the way his ears twitch gives him away. he watches with a subtle, knowing grin as you take a bite, waiting for you to realize what he’s done. though by the time you do notice, it’s already too late. despite your best efforts, the subtle icky flavour of green peppers have already permeated your taste buds.

“you didn’t even notice, did you?” he teases, his voice laced with mischief.

you shoot him a glare as you reluctantly finish the dish, the flavours blending together so seamlessly that you almost forget what you were trying to avoid in the first place. (seems like his culinary skills managed to win you over once again)

“that’s not very polite of you, doctor.” 

jiaoqiu’s smile widens at your response. “ah, come on now,” he says, feigning a hurt expression. “it's all in good fun. besides, you know those peppers are packed with vitamins. it’s good for you.”

you let out an exaggerated sigh, your irritation still simmering. “well, just because your dish turned out good, don’t think i’m letting you off the hook that easily,” you say, rolling your eyes, though a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

jiaoqiu only chuckles at your response, clearly amused. “i see how it is,” his tone taking on a teasing lilt as he steps a little closer, “you best stay on your guard then, dearest.” 

“how do we get a picky eater to eat green peppers?” the answer is quite simple. chop the peppers and mix them with minced meat to make meatballs, allowing the meat’s flavor to mask the peppers so even your fussy spouse can enjoy them.

how do we get a stubborn doctor to drink his medicine?

being a doctor isn't easy, especially when you’re injured and your partner is more worried about your own health than you are.

“qiu’er, i’m back!” the sound of your voice instantly draws his attention, he turns his head in your direction, the subtle rustle of sheets accompanying his movement. the bed dips slightly under your weight as you settle beside him, the warmth of your presence soothing. “here, i brought you some tea,” you murmur. 

“careful, it’s hot.” you gently lift the cup to his lips, the steam rising and carrying with it the sweet, spiced scent of cinnamon —he immediately notices the strong overpowering smell right away.

ah… cinnamon? so you took his advice from years ago, but unfortunately a fox’s senses are sharper than most. 

his nose scrunches slightly as the liquid gently brushes against his lips. “spiked my tea with something, dearest?” you pause, setting the cup down with a soft clink. though just as you’re about to retort, his hand reaches out, searching for you with a gentle touch. his fingers graze your arm, then find your hand, which he clasps with a tender grip.

“cinnamon is excellent for masking strong odors and is even used to conceal the scent of poison... but you wouldn’t be so cruel to me, would you?” he remarks with a playful smile, though there’s an ironic edge to his words, given his current condition.

you let out an exasperated sigh, “you wouldn’t take your medicine, qiu’er. i never thought you’d be such a stubborn doctor.” 

he chuckles softly, the sound low and a little raspy. “stubborn? i prefer ‘selective.’” his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. “and i chose to have you as my doctor.” 

“if it means i get to be the one who takes care of you, then i’ll gladly accept that,” you reply, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “now get some rest —doctor’s orders.” you help him settle back on the bed, careful not to accidentally press on his bandaged wounds, before gently pulling the sheets up to cover him.

you lean down to kiss the crown of his head, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion. “i’m only following your orders, baobei,” he mumbles softly, his words trailing off as he drifts into a peaceful sleep.

today the sun may blaze brightly in the sky, but its brilliance fades next to the warmth of your smile, a light that, though he may not be able to see, touches his heart more profoundly than the brightest day ever could.

how do we get a stubborn doctor to drink his medicine? easy. disguise it in a comforting cup of tea, masking the bitterness with cinnamon, so even he won’t notice until it’s too late. of course, your tricks never really fool him, but he lets you win anyway.

homeboy has been through so much

MASTERLIST.

[moonstruckme]

Hi so sorry I was t clear in my earlier request! Emt!marauders and reader in an established relationship who’s anxious about either being poorly or being injured - perhaps she breaks a bone and it’s the first time she’s done so? So not only is she hurting but she’s nervous?

No worries lovely, thank you for your request!!

cw: broken bone, nothing graphic, I'm not very happy with this but I can't figure out how to fix it so here you go sorry <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s one of those mind-numbing, paperwork-filled days that makes James feel unproductive and twitchy and makes him forget the fact that no one calling them about severe injuries or death is, in an objective sense, a good thing. He’s moved outside to the ambulance to try and get some sun while he works, and his boyfriends have followed. Sirius is tapping his pen aimlessly on a half-filled out form while Remus is diligently working through his pile, when they’re all gratefully distracted by Remus’ phone ringing. 

“Hello?” 

James catches the way his boyfriend’s expression tenses upon answering, and Sirius looks up when his voice turns gentle and soothing. Ironically, Remus’ calmest tone is an alarm bell for them both. 

“No, don’t worry about it, lovely. What’s going on?” 

“Put her on speaker,” Sirius whisper-shouts. 

Remus waves him off with a hand, brows sewing together as he cradles the phone close to his cheek. “Okay.” He starts moving with hurried steps towards the front of the ambulance. James’ stomach hollows out, and he and Sirius hop down and start closing the rear doors. “Okay, where are you now?” 

James steals his chance to ride up front with Remus, forcing Sirius to ride in the back. The other boy shoots him a sharp, half-hearted glare before shutting himself in. 

“Alright,” says Remus, still in that measured tone. “Just take a breath, sweetheart. We’re coming to get you. I’m passing the phone to James so I can drive, okay?” James holds his hand out eagerly. Sirius has all but jammed his face into the window connecting the driver’s compartment to the back. She’s crying, Remus mouths to them both. “Okay. Love you.” 

Remus doesn’t so much release the phone as James snatches it away. “Hi, angel,” he says, squeezing his boyfriend’s fingers in belated apology. “You alright?” 

There’s a shaky breath on the other end of the line, like you’re trying to do as Remus said and steady yourself. James finds that his heart trembles with it. “I’m okay,” you reply tightly. “I, um, I fell off my bike, and I think I’ve really hurt my wrist.” 

Panic laces your words, and James feels like his own blood is moving quicker just at the sound of it. He leans close to the window so Sirius can hear, doing his best to make his own voice easy and cheering. “Aw, that’s shit. But no worries, yeah? We’ll be there soon to help with that. You’re not still in the road, are you?” 

“No, I’m in the grass.” Another big inhale. “I moved my bike out of the way, too.” 

He finds himself nodding encouragingly as if you’ll sense it through the phone. “Good idea.” 

“I’m worried it might be broken.” 

“Your bike or your wrist?” 

“My wrist.” Your voice wobbles. A low pitying sound comes from the back of Sirius’ throat. 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” James reassures you. “If it is, we’ll deal with it. We see that sort of thing all the time, you know? Just sit tight, we’ll worry about it when we get there.” 

He keeps you on the phone up until they can see you down the street. Sirius hops out of the back while they’re still rolling, causing Remus to sigh and mutter something about accident-happy partners. 

“My poor darling,” Sirius croons, keeping one eye on the arm you’re holding in your lap as he kisses a path down your nose to your lips. “I knew this fucking bike was out to get you.” 

“It’s my fault, I took the turn too fast,” you say. Your eyes move past him as James and Remus start toward you, guilt making its way into your expression. “Sorry for calling you all at work. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Remus tsks. “I already told you it’s fine. And this is exactly the sort of thing you should call our work for.” 

James nods his agreement vehemently. He crouches in front of you, holding out his hands. “Can I have a look?” 

Tentatively, almost warily, you give him your arm. 

“You scraped up your leg pretty badly,” Sirius notes, brushing some gravel away from your knee. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

“Not really, just my hands and my—ah!” You hiss in through your teeth, tears springing to your eyes as James palpates your wrist. He stops. 

“Sorry, angel.” He leans down to kiss your knuckles lightly. “Yeah, I think your distal radius is fractured.” 

Though he’s careful not to move your wrist or touch it any more, you look even closer to tears. 

“What does that mean?” you ask tremulously. 

“Only that there’s some kind of fracture in the big bone here,” Remus explains, running his finger gently over your forearm. “It’s a good sign that there’s nothing poking out. It could be small yet, but we won’t know until we get an x-ray.” 

You nod, looking largely uncomforted. “And so what do we do?” 

“You don’t do anything, gorgeous.” Sirius pecks you on the cheek. “You only need to sit pretty while we get you all cleaned up and in a splint, and then we’ll take you to the hospital to get that x-ray. Sound doable?” 

You hesitate for a handful of seconds. “Yeah,” you say, but your voice is tightening and your face pinching with nerves. James rubs his thumb over the unhurt part of your forearm. You let out a stilted little laugh, blinking hard. “Sorry, I’ve just never broken anything before.” 

“It’s alright,” Remus soothes. “It makes sense to be nervous, but we know how to handle this. You’ll be fine.” 

You nod with more conviction this time. “Okay,” you exhale. 

“That’s it, love. Take a couple more breaths like that.” 

You do. When you’re finished, your expression is more even. “Is it going to hurt?” 

“A little bit, probably,” James says honestly. “But not nearly as bad as when it happened and not for long.” 

You chew your lip, and Sirius smears a kiss across your temple. “We’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.” 

“I know,” you say in a small voice. “Could someone maybe hold my hand?” 

All three of them melt, but Remus volunteers before either of the other two can. “Yeah,” he says, scooting closer to you and picking up your good hand. “I can do that, lovely. Squeeze if you need to, alright?” 

Sirius brought the splint down from the ambulance with him, so he and James ready that while you lean your head on Remus’ shoulder and he draws slow patterns into the back of your hand. You’re suddenly calmer than you have been since they got you on the phone. They get the gravel out of your palm before splinting your wrist, and you don’t seem to mind the process so much with one of your boyfriends pressing his lips to your hair and the other two praising you amply after every adjustment. 

In fact, by the time they’ve cleaned all your cuts and Sirius is bandaging your thigh, James thinks you might have found a silver lining to your injuries. 

[dieseldame]

𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗔𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝗪𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗜𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲:

Ambessa does not choose lightly. The goddess of war demands more than service; she demands complete devotion. Her mark, a sigil of intertwining blades and flames, rests somewhere only she can admire—hidden, intimate, and undeniably hers. It burns when you stray too far, a reminder of who you belong to.

“ Her hands brushed the edge of your robes, exposing the skin where the mark lay—a place sacred, unseen by any but her.

— Mine. — she murmured, her fingers tracing the pattern etched into your flesh. The heat of her touch mirrored the fire of the mark.

— Always. — you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of her claim. ”

Ambessa is a goddess who revels in both carnage and opulence. She accepts offerings of blood from enemies slain in her name and treasures—gold, weapons, and rare jewels—that speak to her insatiable appetite for dominance. But what pleases her most are the songs and prayers you craft with your own voice, raw and unyielding as a battlefield anthem.

“ You knelt before her altar, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. The melody you sang was ancient, a hymn passed down by priestesses long before you.

Behind you, the air shifted. A presence loomed.

— You honor me well, — Ambessa’s voice resonated, low and commanding. — But next time, bring something sharper. ”

Her temple is not a place of peace. It is a fortress of stone and iron, adorned with banners of crimson and black. Statues of Ambessa tower over the halls, each one capturing her in battle—blade in hand, a triumphant snarl on her lips. The walls are lined with weapons gifted by her most loyal followers, and the scent of incense mingles with that of steel and leather.

“ You scrubbed the altar, careful to avoid spilling even a drop of the sacred oil. Ambessa’s eyes seemed to watch you from the statue above, carved in gleaming obsidian.

— You’ve missed a spot. — her voice broke through the silence, smooth and sharp.

Turning, you found her leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk on her face.

— Perhaps you’d like to clean it yourself, my goddess? — you dared to tease, and her laughter was low and dangerous. ”

In addition to her mark, Ambessa demands a visible token of her presence. Around your neck hangs an amulet—a blade encased in amber, forever poised to strike. It is both a weapon and a reminder that you are always armed with her favor.

“ The chain rested heavily against your collarbone, its weight a constant comfort. When you faltered, when doubt crept in, the amber caught the light, blazing like the fire in her eyes.

— Do not forget, — she had said when she placed it around your neck, her fingers brushing your skin. — You carry me with you, always. ”

Your worship is not passive. Ambessa expects action. She sends you into battle, demanding victories in her name, and tasks you with maintaining the sanctity of her temple with ruthless precision. Every prayer is accompanied by movement—a dance with blades or the sharpening of steel.

“ You stood in the training yard, your hands bloodied from wielding the sword she had blessed. Ambessa’s presence loomed behind you, watching your every move.

— Good, — she said as you disarmed an opponent with a swift strike. — Now again. And do not disappoint me.

Her praise was rare, but when it came, it burned brighter than the sun. ”

Ambessa does not soften easily, but when she does, it is in the way she speaks your name—or doesn’t. Instead, she calls you "little flame," "my blade," or simply "mine," her voice turning these simple words into promises laced with dominance and desire.

“ — Come here, my little flame. — she purred, beckoning you closer with a curl of her finger.

You obeyed, heat rushing to your cheeks as her hand found its place at the nape of your neck.

— You’ve been loyal, — she murmured, her breath warm against your ear. — And loyalty deserves its rewards. ”

Ambessa’s discipline is as sharp as her blades. To serve her means you must meet her expectations, and failure carries consequences. Her punishments are never cruel for cruelty’s sake, but they are unyielding—meant to sharpen you, to mold you into the weapon she requires.

“ — On your knees. — she commanded, her voice a blade slicing through the silence of the temple.

The weight of her gaze pinned you to the stone floor. You knelt without hesitation, your breath caught in your chest as she paced around you.

— You think I tolerate weakness? — Her fingers traced your chin, lifting your head to meet her eyes. — I do not. But I will make you stronger.

Her touch left behind a burn that lingered long after she turned away. ”

Before every battle, you lead the rituals in her name. These are no quiet ceremonies—they are roars of defiance, chants that echo with the clash of swords and the cries of warriors. Your voice carries her will, and her favor surges through you, a power as intoxicating as it is overwhelming.

“ The temple was alive with sound, the warriors kneeling before the altar, their fists pounding against their chests in time with the rhythm of your chant.

— Ambessa, goddess of war, take this blood, take this steel. Guide us to victory! — you cried, raising your arms as the flames on the altar flared.

From the shadows, Ambessa watched, her golden eyes glowing with pride. — They will fight well, — she said, her voice a low hum in your mind.

— Because they fight for you. ”

For all her ferocity, Ambessa’s love is overwhelming in its intensity. She does not love lightly or gently; she loves like a storm, fierce and all-consuming. She demands all of you and gives all of herself in return, leaving no room for doubt.

“ She pulled you close, her armor cold against your skin, her strength enveloping you like a shield.

— Do you know why I chose you? — she asked, her voice a low murmur against your temple.

You shook your head, unable to speak.

— Because you burn brighter than any flame, — she said, her lips brushing your ear. — And I would raze the world before I let that light go out. ”

Ambessa’s presence is a constant push and pull—fear and adoration entwined. To serve her is to walk a razor’s edge, knowing that she could destroy you as easily as she lifts you to greatness.

“ She stood above you, a vision of power and dominance, her eyes gleaming with something that made your knees weak.

— Do you fear me? — she asked, her voice quiet but laced with danger.

— Yes. — you admitted, your voice trembling.

Her smirk was slow, predatory. — Good. Fear keeps you sharp. But remember this, — Her hand cupped your cheek, surprisingly gentle. — I do not destroy what I cherish. ”

Squint and you'll see something. Just suggestive.

For Ambessa, intimacy is another form of worship. She revels in the sight of you kneeling before her, not just out of duty but because you crave her touch, her approval. The temple becomes your sanctuary, and she, your altar.

“ The stone floor was cold beneath your knees, but you barely noticed, your focus entirely on the goddess before you. Ambessa sat on her throne, legs parted slightly, her commanding presence filling the sacred space. Her fingers curled beneath your chin, lifting your gaze to meet hers.

— Do you know why I chose you? — she asked, her voice a velvet purr.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. — Because I'm yours. — you whispered.

Her smirk deepened, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against your ear. — Good. Show me. ”

Ambessa's dominance is undeniable- she takes what she wants without hesitation, her every action deliberate and calculated. Yet, her touch is never careless; it is a blend of raw power and exquisite precision, designed to leave you trembling and craving more.

“ Her hands pinned yours above your head, her grip unyielding as her body pressed against yours.

— You're trembling, — she murmured, her lips ghosting along the curve of your neck. — Is it fear? Or anticipation?

— Both. — you admitted, your voice barely audible.

She chuckled darkly, her teeth nipping at your skin. — Good. Let me show you what it means to surrender to a goddess. ”

When you've pleased her-truly earned her favor-Ambessa rewards you with indulgent pleasure, drawing it out until you're left breathless and undone. She takes her time, savoring every moment as if she's claiming not just your body but your very soul.

“ Her hands roamed your body with a surprising tenderness, her touch slow and deliberate as if she were memorizing every inch of you.

— You've done well, my little flame — she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. — And I always reward loyalty.

Her lips trailed a path down your body, her kisses lingering, her breath warm against your skin. Each touch sent sparks racing through your veins, building until you were begging for release.

— Patience, — she chided, her smirk wicked. — I'm not finished with you yet. ”

Ambessa's voice alone is enough to unravel you. Her commands, her praises, her teasing-all carry a weight that leaves you helpless to resist. She delights in using this power, knowing the effect she has on you.

“ — Look at me, — she ordered, her tone firm but enticing.

Your eyes met hers, and the intensity of her gaze made your breath catch.

— Good girl, — she said, her smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. — Now, let's see how well you obey. ”

Though she rarely speaks of love, Ambessa's actions make her feelings clear. She protects you fiercely, her possessiveness extending beyond the walls of her temple. In her arms, you feel both safe and utterly consumed.

“ After the rituals were complete, she pulled you close, her armor cool against your bare skin. Her hands traced your body with a gentleness that contrasted with her usual ferocity.

— You are mine, — she whispered, her voice soft but unwavering. — My priestess, my flame, my everything.

Her lips claimed yours, the kiss a perfect blend of passion and control, leaving you breathless and utterly hers. ”

ㅤㅤㅤ

[msriri030]

Dad! Crowe x Mom! Reader

I was going to sad end, but i couldn't bring myself so simple and sweet one-shot

“Where is my handsome boy?” you cooed, stepping closer to the bed where your baby boy lay. His deep blue eyes locked onto you, and his tiny hands reached up with an excited gurgle.

“There you are, Hisham!” you exclaimed, scooping him up into your arms. A wide smile spread across your face as you leaned in and blew a playful raspberry on his chubby cheek.

Hisham squealed with laughter, the sound bright and infectious, while his tiny hands shot up to grab at your hair.

At first, you giggled along with him, but then your smile wavered as you realized something.

He wasn’t letting go.

“Hisham…” you said carefully, trying to gently untangle his fingers. But your little boy only giggled louder, tugging your hair with surprising strength.

“Okay, okay, let’s not pull, sweetheart—ow, ow!” you muttered, awkwardly trying to maneuver his grip without making things worse.

Hisham just cooed happily, completely unaware of your growing panic as his iron grip tightened.

“Alright, handsome boy,” you said nervously, glancing around the room for a solution. “Let’s play a new game… called Let Go of Mommy’s Hair!”

Laughter filled the room, drawing your attention to the doorway. Standing there, leaning casually against the frame, was your husband—Jericho, or Crowe, as you'd called him in your college days. Dressed in a sharp violet suit, he looked every bit as confident and dashing as he always did.

You pouted at him while he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Are you being a bad boy, Hishy?” he teased, his voice warm and playful.

Hisham squeaked in delight at the sight of his father, his tiny hands releasing your hair to reach for him eagerly. Relief washed over you as you smirked and held out the baby toward him.

“Yes,” you said with a mock glare, “and now he’s going to pull on your hair for laughing at Mommy.”

Crowe’s lips twitched into a grin, and he took Hisham into his arms, cradling him with ease. “Oh no, what will I do?” he said, his voice taking on a playful, dramatic lilt. He pressed a kiss to Hisham’s forehead, his love for the little boy evident in every motion.

Hisham giggled, instantly distracted as he grabbed at Crowe’s braid, tugging at them curiously. Crowe winced slightly but laughed, gently swaying him to keep him entertained.

As Crowe played with your son, you turned to the mirror, quickly fixing your hair into an elegant updo. But as your fingers moved, your eyes caught a glimpse of the faint scar running along Crowe’s neck—a painful reminder of the time you'd almost lost him.

Your breath hitched, and a pang of guilt settled in your chest. If only you’d gotten there sooner… maybe you could see who had done it.

“(Y/N),” Crowe’s deep voice broke through your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed him step up behind you until you felt his lips press softly against the curve of your exposed neck.

You gasped, your cheeks heating as his arms circled your waist. His lips moved gently against your skin, and then he traced along your neck with his teeth, making you shiver. Meeting your eyes in the mirror, his gaze was steady and full of love.

“Don’t ever forget,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, “that you saved me. I love you more than words can ever say.”

Before you could respond, Hisham let out a protesting wail, his little face crumpling into tears as he reached for you both.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Crowe sighed dramatically, giving the baby a mock look of betrayal. “Jealous already, huh?”

You both chuckled as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to Hisham’s pouty little cheeks. Crowe followed suit, covering his son’s face in kisses until Hisham sniffled and finally nuzzled shyly into his father’s suit, soothed once more.

“Alright, little man,” Crowe said with a laugh. “Let’s not steal all of Mommy’s attention, okay?”

“Haha,” you chuckled, adjusting the baby’s tiny bowtie before standing straight. “Well, we should start heading to the restaurant for dinner. We don’t want to lose our reservation.”

Crowe smiled at you, Hisham tucked securely in his arms, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through you. Whatever had happened in the past, this moment was yours—this family was yours.

[freelancearsonist]

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile. 

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face. 

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality. 

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

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[peppertaemint]

Jikook & "Are You Sure?!" : The Beauty of Mundane

The much-maligned reality-TV format deserves most of the criticism and ire it provokes. Schlocky production values and pre-tense often lead to melodramatic fakery that people want to believe because they're bored. We've all succumbed to it; I've seen more than my fair share of Big Brother seasons. But the thing that reality can do, if it doesn't try too hard, is give us a window to life that sits between documentary and that unscripted faux-world, and I think Are You Sure?! makes a wonderful example.

The situations are both planned and imposed on this show, from Connecticut to Jeju to Sappparo. Jungkook and Jimin planned the trip along with producers and agreed to film it as content, a loathsome word if there ever was one. What we see is not genuine real-life, despite what Jimin states in Sapporo; it's a mediated view into the pair's life on camera together -- a life they seem to want to share together and with fans.

What makes AYS work so well is their naturalness on camera and together. I'm struck by how comfortable both facets of their lives seem after just over ten years of vlogging together under agency Big Hit.

We see how much they enjoy existing together, grappling with the highs and lows of the mundanity of travel. I say mundanity specifically because so much of travel is just that -- your life simply transported to a pretty view. It's still full of stomach aches and flus, good and bad food and wide-ranging moods. Seeing Jungkook patiently take care of Jimin, ensuring he took his medicine, and then creating a doltap, the traditional practice of rock stacking to ward off bad luck and bring in good energy, was a healthy glimpse into the everyday of their shared life.

The most telling part of the show is, rather ironically, the worst part -- the three-episode interlude with their unexpected guest in Jeju, Taehyung. Our duo made no bones about the fact that the guest invited himself to their trip -- their special time -- and took every possible opportunity to remind him of his status as unwanted guest.

The entire vibe of the show changed because of Taehyung's presence, and not just because JiKook were put out by the whole thing. His presence changed their dynamic toward one another as well, seemingly disrupting their status as a duo. It was as though there was a need to cater to the guest, to an extent, and to put aside their interest in one another to a marked degree. That in itself is incredibly telling for their relationship.

Luckily, the show bookended itself with JiKook solo trips, and it ended in Sapporo where the duo seemed to be most comfortable and in their element, embracing the romance and magic of the snow resort in Japan. This was a welcome contrast to the funny, fish-out-of-water vibe of NY and Connecticut.

What will stay with me is the joy in the mundanity that the two showed throughout the show, but especially when left alone. The fun of grocery shopping when you're with your person. The enjoyment of playing cards, cooking, or simply going to bed when you're with your person. It's easy to forget there is a team of people watching over them for the majority of the show, filming or simply observing. And I wonder if sometimes Jungkook and Jimin forget, too.

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au 3

authors note: well. this got freaky. some smut ahead, folks. this really is starting to feel like a completely different story, low key.

part one // part two // au solana instagram

warnings: smut

taglist: @sayyestoheav3nn @fearlesschimera @cyberdejos2 @annfg8 @trentybenty @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @zoeyybellex3

word count: 4.3k

"I need to talk to you."

Solana should have been talked to someone about this.

But, she's felt torn.

Torn on just who she can talk to about it.

And lack of options hasn't been the issue.

If anything, there's a copious amount of resources and trusted confidants she could go to. Courtesy of her large family, host of cousins, and other good friends.

It's actually easier to start with who would absolutely be the worst person to go to.

And her mom, interestingly enough, is that person. Ironic given how close she is to her madre. One of her best friends, in many ways.

But, not for this. Because Nina will go to Xavier, Solana's dad, and somehow Wes, Solana's brother, will get involved, and it'll just be a whole mess.

Beyond that, there's her cousins. Jade and Anriel will scold the living shit out of her and probably confide in their mom, Solana's aunt Sharmell, out of concern. Aunt Sharmell will go to her husband, Booker, who won't hesitate to literally fly out to Miami just to tell his brother, Xavier, Solana's dad. Thus, the whole damn family knowing.

Then there's her cousin, Roxanne. Roxanne would be great if not for her inability to hold water. And Solana definitely doesn't need her mom's side of the family knowing. They'll kidnap her and force her to live in Mexico for the rest of her life, believing she's gone mad.

Might not be too far off though.

Rhea will just kick her ass for being so 'fawkin stoopid'. Jaida will encourage it, because Jaida encourages all things questionable. But Kayden....Kayden could be the one.

She's also bound to not respond well, but still, someone Solana knows will ultimately keep this between the two of them.

Kayden Carter looks over at Solana with intrigue. With over 15 years of friendship, she knows when her roommate and best friend is truly in a dilemma, that nervous, panicked voice she typically uses present already. This is definitely one of those times.

"Okay." Kayden motions for Solana to sit down on the other end of the sofa, waiting until she does so to ask, "what's going on?"

Solana takes a deep breath, both hating and needing to share this. "You know the event I attended with my family this weekend?" Kayden nods. "I—I met someone there."

At that, Kayden lifts a pierced brow. "Oh?"

Solana looks away, explaining, "I was trying to get away from Ethan and ran into this man by accident, and he ended up helping me out. Pretending to be my date or whatever. It got Ethan to leave me alone, so that was good."

"Forget about Page's annoying ass, what about the man? Is he attractive?"

Solana scoffs. "Very." She's not quite sure how to describe just how fine Roman Reigns is. "But—"

Kayden's expression sours. "He's an asshole, isn't he?"

"Notorious." Though Solana does her best to stay tucked away in her little corner of the world within that's away from the mafia life, she's not stupid nor entirely disconnected. It's common knowledge that Roman is a dick.

And yet....

"But, he was nice to me. He's been nice to me." Kayden's expression shifts into confusion, Solana clarifying, "he—he came to my job this morning."

"Holy shit, he's serious about this." Kayden scoffs and smiles, clearly intrigued by the mystery of it all. "Wait, who is this guy, Sola?"

And now, here comes the part that Solana has been dreading since decided she would confide in Kayden. "It's....it's Roman."

Kayden blinks, not catching on. "Roman who?" And it's just one 'you know' look from Solana that has her eyes widening. "No." Solana closes her eyes. "Please tell me you're kidding." More silence provides the answer she's certain her roommate didn't and doesn't want to hear. "Roman fuckin' Reigns? Solana, have you lost your mind? Do you know who he is?"

Solana leans back into the sofa, murmuring, "of course."

"No, you must not, because this man is the devil himself. He's a monster, Solana. If you heard half the things he's done, you'd be running the opposite way. You'd be on the other side of the goddamn world to get away from him." Kayden continues to freak out, lecturing and chiding Solana for what she clearly feels is a bad call. "I just-I don't understand. Solana, you've always been so against our world. You've essentially lived in seclusion just because you don't want to be a part of it, and now you're entertaining the literal embodiment of said world?"

Solana runs her hands over her face. "It's not—it's not like that."

"Then tell me what it's like, because maybe I'm just confused, but I'm pretty sure you're telling me that you're talking to Roman Reigns?"

That's exactly what she is, but Solana is lost on just how to express that despite everything that's been said about this man, in the two interactions she's had with him, he's been nothing but kind. In his own way, of course.

"He....he hasn't been that way with me," she finds herself defending while also recognizing that it truly is a weak defense. "He's been....nice. He helped me out with Ethan. He came to see me at my job just to ask me out--"

"Wait, he already asked you out?" Kayden looks like she's about to spazz out even more. She shakes her head, taking a second to calm down. "Solana, you're my best friend, and I love you, but he's probably just trying to fuck you. You're gorgeous with a great body, and he obviously sees how innocent you are. It's just a chase."

It makes sense, and Roman more or less confirmed as such with his comment about wanting her with no clothes on. That should be enough evidence for her to find a way to ward off his advances.

But.....

There's this part of her that's absolutely intrigued by him, as he so smugly pointed out. A part of her that wouldn't mind to get to know him more. Even if it makes no damn sense to her.

"I can take care of myself." It doesn't come out as confident and assured as she would like it to be, nor is she entirely certain of her assertion herself, but it's expressed regardless. "I—I can handle this."

Kayden looks just as unsure as Solana feels. "Your family doesn't know, do they?"

"No." Her eyes widen a bit. "No one does, except you now. So please, please don't say anything to anyone." Solana needs to at least figure out just what's going on before she has to face the inevitable backlash from her family and others.

Kayden shakes her head. "You know I got you, girl. Even though I do think you're fuckin' crazy, you've always supported me in my fucked up relationships, so I'll do the same with you." Kayden suddenly gives her that teasing expression, poking her arm. "Besides, it's not like he's ugly, am I right?"

So right.

"I get so nervous around him," Solana whines, laying her head back against the sofa. "He's just so....he comes on so strong."

Kayden smirks, leaning over and playfully nudging. "He wants him some Sola, girl." She laughs as Solana covers her blushing face. "Who could blame him? You're gorgeous, babe."

It's such weird experience. Solana is still trying to heal and learn to love herself again after calling off her engagement, so a man like Roman Reigns coming into her life out of nowhere and being so intent on just....her....it's a lot to digest. Because taking away all of the things about him that make him dangerous and avoidant worthy, he's still, hands down, the most handsome man she's ever seen.

"So where are ya'll going?"

Solana bites down on her bottom lip. "He invited me to WarGames. Said he'll send a car for me."

There's obvious surprise on the face of her best friend. "First date is watching him beat the shit out of other men?" Kayden says aloud, nodding and shrugging. "It tracks." Solana rolls her eyes. "Well, what are you gonna wear?"

She shrugs, truly unsure when she remembers what he said. "Something....something red." Kayden is curious, as Solana shares a version of what Roman said. "He....he asked me to wear red."

Told. He told her to wear red, but Kayden doesn't need to know that part.

Smirking, Kayden nods, impressed almost. "Damn. He already wants you wearing Bloodline colors? First lady type shit." Solana grabs a pillow and throws it Kayden's way, her friend laughing and then gasping. "Holy shit, you have to wear that red dress I got you last year for your birthday!"

The mention of that little piece Solana swore would never see beyond the back of her closet has her eyes widening. "Kayden, no, I can't. That's way too revealing."

"That's the point, duh." Kayden tosses the pillow back and stands up off the sofa, pulling Solana up with her. She then looks over at Dulce who's been sleeping peacefully as her mama stumbles into one of the most questionable decision of her life. "Come on, Dulce. We gotta get mama ready to get dicked down."

"Kayden!"

--------

Solana is a nervous wreck.

She hasn't been this anxiety ridden since taking her NCLEX-RN, and that was a damn near traumatic experience.

This is literally just a date.

Kind of.

Cause she's never actually been on a date before where the man will be preoccupied the whole night.

But, she's also never been on a date with someone like Roman before either. It's just all around a brand new experience that has her so in her head. She's in it during the car ride and especially when she arrives at the Warehouse and is escorted to Roman's locker room.

She nearly has a heart attack when the door is opened and she expects to see him waiting, but it's postponed, God looking out for her, when she sees he's absent.

The security leave her alone without any guidance or clue as to just what she's supposed to do, so Solana takes that time to text Kayden and let her know she's arrived and that she's safe.

For now.

Not wanting to focus too much on the unknown of it all, she takes in his locker room which is much nicer than what's probably necessary. Craft table. Weights section. Sofa. Flat screen TV. A trainers table. The works, essentially.

It makes sense when she thinks about it.

Roman seems like a man who only accepts the finer things in life, if not the finest.

But, it's the section on the craft table with a bottle of wine that keeps snatching her attention.

Drinking is probably the last thing she needs to be doing, but that's exactly what she does.

She quickly grabs the bottle and and a wine glass, filling it up halfway before downing almost all of it. It's the perfect combination of sweet and bitter and hopefully helpful in taking some of this edge off.

"You sure don't disappoint, do you?"

It's a pure stroke of luck that she doesn't drop the glass in her hand at the rumble of his deep voice behind her. But, it's truly a miracle that both the glass and herself don't fall to the ground when she turns around to look at him.

Mio dios.

Roman is standing by the door, his hair down and clearly wet, water droplets sliding down his bare chest, Solana unable to take her eyes off his bulging muscles and the intricate tribal tattoos that somehow add to the magnanimity and beauty of this man. He's wearing black cargo pants tucked into black boots, with the sacred, red ula fala resting around his majestic neck.

Roman Reigns in a suit is one thing.

But Roman Reigns shirtless is something entirely different.

She's almost certain the ground underneath her shakes a bit, also deeply impacted by the god among mere mortal men.

If not for Roman initiating something beyond her embarrassing gawking. she would continue to stare. For a long time. A very long time.

He walks toward her, every step bringing her closer and closer to melting into the ground. This man is a giant. In every sense of the word.

But, it's when he takes his finger under her chin, lifting her head a little and has the audacity to say, "you can do more than just look, if you want" that Solana just about spontaneous combusts on the spot.

He's maybe said a total of 8 to 10 sentences to her in the entire time they've 'known' each other, yet even in the midst of that brevity, he still gives her more of a visceral, bodily reaction than her ex ever did.

"I—" Words are a thing of the past, something she was once capable of but not anymore. The sight of God himself has a tendency to rob anyone of the right to verbalization.

Roman chuckles, his other hand moving to her hip. "You listened."

Solana is certain it's her that's trembling and not the room around her. It takes her a minute to process he's referring to her dress. "You—you said wear red, didn't you?."

"I did." He acknowledges, once again giving her a one over as he bites on his bottom lip. "Good girl."

Oh, fuck.

Solana has to get the hell out of here. The room is freaking in shambles at this point.

Or, maybe that's just her.

She's a stuttering mess trying to communicate with this man. "I—you—probably have to get r—ready."

Roman smiles, and her entire world flutters. "Do I not look ready to you?"

Hardly. This man probably doesn't even know what it's like to be unready. Never experienced that. That's a mortal thing.

"No—I just.....S—sorry."

Similar to their last two interactions, Roman brings his hand to her back and tugs her into him. Solana, once again, places one hand on his chest, not even thinking about the fact that the water from his hair continues to dampen his body.

Until water hits her palm.

Solana is on fire. In all areas. She stammers out, feeling stupid as all the outdoors for stating the obvious. "You're wet...."

His gaze flicks to the space between her legs. "I'd bet you are too."

What the hell?

How is he so.....raw?

She absolutely refuses to move an inch, refuses to cause any kind of movement with her legs that could alert her to the fact that he's probably not wrong.

Not wrong at all.

If only Roman was on the same page.

"You are, aren't you?" His eyes narrow slightly, hand gradually starting to move down from the her back to the sizable swell of her ass. "I bet that pussy dripping for me already."

Solana's eyes shut, her nails clawing against his chest. "R—roman." Her breathing is labored, heart beating a mile per fucking minute, and that only intensifies when he squeezes her ass. Her natural reaction being to arch into him, her breast pressing against his solid body. "Oh my God....."

"God can't do for you what I can, sweetheart."

Blasphemy. Filth. Pure disrespect, and yet her head drops against his chest as he slides his hand to the front of her, wiggling it between her thighs.

Solana means to stop him, means to push him away, but her body seems to have a mind of its own, because she finds herself widening her stance, giving him all the access he needs.

The go ahead.

And he takes full advantage of that, Solana gasping loudly when he moves to cup her through her underwear. Her soaked underwear. "Dripping." He taunts, and it's true. Legs no longer mushed together, she absolutely feels the wetness dripping down, soaking her panties. "I'm taking you out to dinner after the match, but I think we should just skip to dessert right now."

Eyes widening, she gasps again when Roman removes his hand and picks her up, her thighs naturally wrapping around his waist. He carries her over to the trainers table, plopping her down on the edge.

"Lay back."

Her stomach is all kinds of twists and turns. She's not stupid. Far from it. There's only one place this is headed. "I—what?"

Roman, however, looks bored, stating so plainly. "I don't make it a habit to repeat myself, Solana. Even with a pretty thing like you, so do me a favor and just lay back."

If someone told her this is how the night would kick off, she'd call them crazy as all the outdoors. There's no way in hell this man is about to do what she thinks he is.

Is he?

Voicing her thoughts, she struggles with just how to word what is an otherwise simple thing to ask. "Are you...."

His gaze is piercing. "Can I?"

What a fucking question.

Once

Once has she had someone go down on her, and it wasn't even her ex-fiance. It was a guy she dated in college for a few months. To say it was......disappointing would be an understatement.

She didn't even finish.

Back to the borderline crisis at hand, she finds herself oversharing. "My ex. He didn't—he wouldn't....."

"Well, he's a fucking idiot." Roman's cruel but accurate remark is accompanied by his big hand moving up the sides of her dress until its scrunched by her stomach. "Eating pussy is a delicacy."

Her eyes shut again. He's so nasty.

So why is it only making her wetter?

Roman's fingers lightly tugging the waistband of her underwear reminds her of the proposed question.

This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. She doesn't sleep around. Doesn't let random men go down on her, and yet, the minute Roman licks his lips, the decision is almost made for her.

"Y—yes."

That alluring, small smile is back as he moves his hand to her stomach, pushing down just enough to get her in position. "Lay down, and let me show you what it's like to be with a real man."

Sweet baby Jesus.

Solana is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, back flat against the cool table when he goes to pull down her panties, leaving her open and exposed.

She hears Roman make a sound. "Mmm. Pussy just as pretty as I imagined."

Her hands clench at her side. He's thought about this? About her? About her—

"Ahhh." Her back is almost entirely off the table the minute his thick tongue gives one full, sensation stirring lick up her cunt. "Roman...." she moans, hands planted on the table, head thrown back as his cool breath blows against her pussy.

Seconds later, his tongue is back on her, fingers spreading her lips while his tongue teases a languid circle around her clit. "Oh my....."

The sound of his deep chuckle travels from his space between her legs. "I'm gonna make a fucking mess out of you."

And before she can process that, he tugs her by her thighs, diving face first into her cunt. Solana is a mewling, writhing mess as he sucks on her pussy like its the fuel and energy he needs for the fight to come. Laps at her with a hunger and desire that nearly matches her own, because whatever her ex did to her that one time is nothing compared to what he's doing to her right now.

"Shit...." Her body is hot, her nipples hardening by the second, and Solana can't help the way her thighs squeeze against his head, her lower half coiling and twisting from pleasure she's never experienced.

"You like that, don't you?" He hums, voice haughty and knowing. "Like me eating this pretty pussy, don't you, sweetheart?"

Her answer is an obvious one, breathed out over and through heavy pants. "Shit, yes." He sucks on her clit, the slurping sound practically filling the room and egging on her moans.

He pulls away, the absence something that's so much more noticable and painful than it should be. Only for her to arch again when his finger plays around with her nectar that feels like it's spread all over her lower half at this point. "Look how wet you are. I can tell she been neglected." Roman swirls his finger in circles around her clit, thumb applying just the lightest pressure. "Can tell she been needing me."

Solana can't and won't disagree. Not that she could anyway. Logic is very much a thing of the past. The only thing on her mind is ecstasy, and he's giving her more of that than she's ever had in all sexual interactions with all of her ex's put together.

"Goddamn, you taste good." He goes back to licking and sucking on her again, groaning almost. "Would stay down here all night if I could."

Solana nearly comes right then and there.

She wouldn't be opposed.

At all.

He stays with his head between her legs for what feels like inhumanly possible, long enough for that feeling she's only ever been able to give herself starting to rise. Toes curling and stomach twisting, she manages to whine out, "Roman, I—I'm gonna—"

He kisses her clit, coaxing her, guiding her, encouraging her. "I know, baby." She can practically visualize the smirk on his face. "Now be a good girl and come in daddy's mouth."

It's disgusting how that one filthy command manages to evoke her orgasm from her, Solana nearly sitting all the way up as her release shoots through her entire body. Roman continuing to suck on her and lap up every bit of it until there's not a fucking drop left.

Solana's practically lifeless body collapses against the table. Everything below her belly button is numb. Eyes shut, pulse probably in the danger range, she has no ability to do anything other than lay there and recover.

She's never come that hard, that much, that long.

Who is this man?

Solana whimpers a bit when she feels something against her, wiping her. A towel most likely. Strong but surprisingly gentle hands help her body to lift up only for her to fall against a solid chest, her forehead against Roman's shoulder.

She clutches onto him as he kisses her temple. "That's my girl." His girl. His anything. She's whatever he says and more. That's how fucked out he has her. "I'll see you after the match, okay?"

Sure. Fine. Whatever. Her ability to agree to anything was sucked out of her by that dangerous tongue of his, so the most she can do is nod against him.

Roman chuckles and gradually pulls away, Solana gripping on the edge of the table, eyes opening just enough to see that strong, muscular back of his as he walks out the door, closing it behind him.

She isn't sure how long she sits there, dress pulled up, towel covering her bottom half. She just knows that even after sitting for what should be a long enough time, her legs are still wobbly. Even as she moves around the room to look for her underwear only to see they're nowhere to be found, leaving her with one conclusion.

Roman took them with him.

The thought shouldn't make her pussy flutter. It really shouldn't and yet, here she is.

God, what did he do to her?

Swallowing, she does her best to maintain her pride and walks out, guided by the same guard who escorted her to Roman in the first place. He takes her up to what must be VIP seating. It's the perfect view of the celled ring and cages on the side intended for the participants.

Sitting there alone and with nothing else to occupy her mind, Solana's mind starts racing. That shouldn't have happened. She should have stopped him. Should have said no.

Even if she did want it just as much as he seemingly did. Nevertheless, that shouldn't matter. He's him. She's her. They're very different people. She's supposed to have morals and standards. Women who have that don't let men who are practically strangers go down on them.

But, that's exactly what she did, and she feels terrible about it.

"You must be my brother's flavor of the night."

Solana is already nervous as all the outdoors, yet somehow the interruption of her overthinking only serves to exacerbate that anxiety.

But, when she looks over and sees the source, Solana is unsure which is worse: what's said or who said it.

Rosalia Reigns isn't as tall or built as her twin brother. Not at all. A given considering their different sexes, but she's every bit as intimidating as him, and they do share some similar features. Same set of pretty brown eyes. Those full, pink lips and that overall powerful aura.

You know just by looking at her that she's an important person.

And she is. She comes only second to her brother.

Roman

Solana swallows and adjusts her dress as Rosalia gives her a oneover, not even trying to hide her distaste. "H—hi. I'm—"

"I don't care." Rosalia interrupts, a level of venom in her voice. "You'll be an afterthought come tomorrow morning when you join the rest of his whores on the island of forgettables."

Sting.

Solana shouldn't be surprised nor hurt by such cruel words. Rosalia, much like her brother, has never been known for kindness. Regardless, that knowledge doesn't stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.

Cause the words hit way too close to home given what just happened.

Something noticed by the other woman. An equally cruel smile growing on her face. "Aww, did I hurt your feelings?" Her smile deepens as she scoffs, sitting down in her chair. "Yeah, Ro definitely dropped the ball with you. You're dumber and more naive than the other stupid bitches my brother loves to entertain."

A stupid bitch. Any other time, Solana would disagree. She may not verbalize as such, but she would inwardly reject such a thing. But, she can't. She can't because it's true.

She gave Roman exactly what he wanted. Fell into his trap. Another of many nameless, faceless, forgettable conquests.

She's no different or better than any of the other women Roman messes around with.

She's now one of them.

And she feels disgusted with herself.

Not wanting Rosalia to see her cry, or anyone else, Solana mumbles a quiet 'excuse me' and rushes past the smirking woman. She needs to get out of here. Needs to go home.

Needs to never see or speak to Roman Reigns ever again.

This was a mistake. All of it.

And it can never happen again.

[ginax0916]

Can you do a story where the reader has low iron or something of that genre and she passes out and chris comforts her? 💗

･:*:｡𝐈’𝐦 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞ೃ࿔*:･

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!reader

Genre - Fluff

Synopsis- reader has low iron and passes out but Chris is there to comfort her :)

I’ve been hanging out with the triplets all day. We have been watching movies and we even filmed one of their Wednesday videos and pre filmed a Friday car video. Which all took a lot of time and energy. I’m guessing that explains the reason to why I feel so tired. I just feel like my bones are giving out. Like I have no strength. Not to mention every time I stand up I feel the need to grab on to something because everything is spinning. I keep getting dizzy and my vision is starting to blur and then come back. But I really just think I need a nap and I’ll be fine.

“Hey you in there??” Chris snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Hm? What’d you say?” I question him.

“I asked if you wanted to to go out to eat with us, we’re gonna go to the diner downtown” Chris said smiling.

“Yea sure I’ll go” I answered.

I stood up and immediately felt dizzy. The room was spinning in endless circles and my vision kept blurring out. I felt two arms grab me to keep me from falling.

“Woah you ok?” Chris asked with a worried expression as he kept his hands on my arms making sure I wouldn’t fall.

“Uh yea yea just felt dizzy but I’m fine” I replied trying to ignore what just happened to avoid any more questions.

As Matt drove us all to the diner I stared out the windowing thinking to myself. Could this all have something to do with my anemia? I’ve had low iron my whole life and just recently I had gotten diagnosed with anemia but I really don’t think much of it. I usually forget I even have it because nothing ever happens.

“We’re here” Matt said already getting out of the car.

Focused on unbuckling myself and grabbing my phone I didn’t realize Chris had opened the door for me. I thanked him before getting out of the car. And there it is. That feeling again where I feel like my knees are giving up and my visions is fading. I grab onto Chris’s arm to try and stable myself. He grabs my hips helping me stay still. My body feels weak and I lean on Chris for support. He wraps his arms around me helping me gain stability.

“You sure you’re feeling ok ma? You keep losing your balance when you stand up, something wrong?” He asked frowning. His eyes searching my face for any uncomfortable expression that could possibly give him answers.

“I just keep feeling dizzy when I stand up but I’m good” I smile at him. Though deep down I know somethings wrong I just don’t wanna burden anyone with my problems.

“You guys coming or what!” Nick suddenly yells snapping us out of our conversation.

We all ordered and ate our food and we were just waiting on the check. Nick and Matt were having they’re own convo about some video ideas they were both laughing about. Suddenly I felt a tap on my thigh and looked up.

“Ok what’s wrong? You look tired, you haven’t said a word, and you keep getting all dizzy y/n” Chris asked really starting to worry now.

“You won’t tell anyone?” I shyly asked looking down.

“Not a single soul baby” He chuckled, the nickname making me blush.

“I’ve been feeling off lately and I think it all has to do with my anemia” I said embarrassed. Chris noticing it.

“Why’s that embarrassing? It’s pretty common y’know?” He said rubbing my arm soothingly.

“I just don’t wanna burden you with my issues” I admit.

“Y/n are you insane? You’re not burdening anyone with anything. If anything I’m here to help you ok?” Chris said with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you Chris”

“Alright you guys ready to go?” Matt asked as he left a tip for the waiter on the table.

“Yep let’s go”

That’s when things started to go down hill. The car ride felt like hell. I was sweating like crazy but I felt cold. Then my hands were shaking and my teeth were chattering but I felt like I was boiling. My breathing started to become unsteady. I felt nauseous too. Every possible feeling you could have I was experiencing it. As soon as we arrived I opened the door to get out, and my knees locked. My vision started going black. Like everything was being painted black. I held onto the car trying to get support but it was no use.

“Oh fuck” I heard Chris say before everything went dark.

Chris Pov:

“Oh my god oh my god what do we do? Is she dead? Do I call 911?” Nick panicked like always.

“No it’s fine it’s just her anemia it’s happened before we just have to bring her inside and lay her down. Matt go open the door” I said as I grabbed her and carried her bridal style inside the house.

I knew something was wrong. Since the second we finished filming those videos I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. I just wish she would’ve told me instead of feeling like a burden.

I laid her down on the couch and put a blanket over her. I felt her forehead and it was really cold so I went and wet a towel with warm water and placed it on her head carefully. I gently held her cheek in my hand rubbing it softly with my thumb.

“Oh poor thing” I said quietly.

I got the towel off her head and sat next to her waiting for her to wake up. Its been around 5 minutes and I’m starting to think maybe I should call 911.

“Chris?” I quiet and fragile voice said.

“Oh my god y/n you’re awake” I said, careful not to startle her.

“Are you ok baby? Does anything hurt?” I asked holding her face in hands as she sat up. She sniffled and tears started to slowly fall down her delicate skin.

“Oh ma c’mere. It’s ok I’m right here. I got you, you’re ok pretty girl” I softly talked to her, rubbing her back soothing as I cradled her in my arms.

“I hate when that happens” She managed to get out between cries.

“I know I know I do too” I agreed with her and wiped tears off her face.

“Take deep breathes ma, can you do that for me?” I moved her body so she was now sitting on my lap comfortably.

“Yes” Y/n mumbled snuggling her head into the crook of my neck making me smile.

“Good girl” I praised her.

Soon enough the tears stopped and her breathing was back to normal.

“Thank you Chris” She said as she planted a soft kiss on my jawline.

“I told you I’m always here”

Was this too long? Ty for the request by the way I hope what I wrote is somewhat what you meant 😭 Also Tysm for all the support on my last post it means the world to me. Pls keep requesting it rlly helps 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[astaroth1357]

The OM Cast as Househusbands

Inspired by my recent rant about domestic Solomon.

Contents: Pure fluff and unhinged roasts.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

A-tier. Generally a solid choice skill-wise.

Cooks decent, cleans well, budgets FANTASTICALLY, has a good list of connections/spells for all home repair, and even has a stern (but caring) parenting-style if so desired.

In short, Lucifer can run a house very well. He practically already does! Hope you like having a big, extended family because the brothers are coming with.

Really, the biggest downside to Lucifer is that you'll be constantly worried that he's bored... Man can run a house and then some. He probably has the daily chores done by noon, and then what?

He just has so much extra potential, is what I'm saying. Very "big, beautiful bird in a cramped cage" energy. But then again, maybe making him chill the fuck out and have a low-maintenance lifestyle for once is better for his blood pressure in the long run. Your call.

Mammon

B-tier. He ain't perfect, but he can learn quick.

If you can give Mammon anything, it's that he's a capable guy when he wants to be. He may not be good at cleaning up, cooking, or anything like that on his own, but with some encouragement...?

Big improvements made practically overnight! Shower him in praise and "thank you's" for every little thing he does and he'll start get greedy for it. Then he'll do even MORE around the house and he gets better each time.

Show him how to cook what you like, and he'll never forget. Remind him to fold up the laundry, and he'll get it done. Praise him for keeping the floors clean, then suddenly he's nagging YOU about tracking dirt on the carpet...

And he'll get so proud about it too... Like, he's your first man and you NEED him now. What would you ever do without him?? Now hand over your shirts because he has some ironing to do, dammit!!

The only downside is you'll have to handle the finances... The words "Mammon" and "budget" go together about as well as "grainery" and "match." He'll blow through it and then some. Earners beware.

Leviathan

Hovers around C-D tier. Levi can play the role of good househusband for a VERY particular kind of partner, otherwise he's a lost cause.

He is a surprisingly decent househusband ONLY when sufficiently motivated and playing out his "domestic slice-of-life" fantasies are that motivation.

He can cook (anime-inspired dishes), he can clean (if you convince him to treat the house like he does his figurine collections), he can even sew/mend (though the majority of what he makes may be cosplay related)!

He won't leave the house to shop, but deliveries are fine. He also can't keep to a budget that doesn't include a MASSIVE chunk carved out to maintain his otaku lifestyle. He'll throw a fit otherwise.

Really, Levi's biggest problem is that once those "domestic fantasies" become mundane, he'll get bored and go back to his shows and games again.

Anyone with him would need to keep feeding into his role with new "quests" or different tropes to try out like a DM running an irl campaign. Could be fun for a little while, but it'll be too much trouble for you both long term. Best give him a skip.

Satan

S-tier. Very good choice, and he's proud of that fact.

Cooks well, very conscientious of your needs, knowledgeable on many topics from recipes to home repair, actually knows how to do laundry in a timely manner... a very good man indeed.

100% the kind of husband who sees that it's going to rain, so he treks out to wherever the hell you are to make sure you have an umbrella. Can't have you getting sick.

Get him a cat and the house will become his own slice of the Celestial Realm. He'll even text cute pics/updates on what your cat is doing like they're your literal child.

Only downside is cleaning. He's a book horder and will argue until he's blue in the face to keep Every. Last. Pamphlet. An in-house library is a MUST and expect to need expansions. Otherwise, perfect man. Much approval to be had.

Asmodeus

B-A tier. Another decent choice, just a little eccentric at times.

Asmo is that partner who will happily play the part of the trophy househusband buuut he absolutely won't do anything too strenuous or dirty.

Cooking? Totally fine! He isn't amazing, but he's not awful either. Laundry? Say no more! Your clothes will never have a wrinkle again. But cleaning...? Like the floors, attic, or ESPECIALLY the bathroom??

Nope. Nuh-huh. His cute-ass hair and his cute-ass nails in his cute-ass clothes will not stand for it! He's going to beg for a maid immediately.

I guess in exchange you'll be hosting some killer dinner parties, though! Asmo has that "suburban wife who flaunts her amazing life" energy. Also keeping his influencer game alive with tutorials galore.

In short, Asmo is willing not just to spoil you, but elevate you as well. You just need to give him a little pampering in return, kay?

Beelzebub

B-tier. Most of his problems are, predictably, food related...

Beel really, REALLY tries but you are probably never going to have a meal on time (if there's somehow any food left at all).

It isn't that he won't cooking, arguably, he spends TOO much time cooking because he'll spend just as much time eating! Or running to the store because he ate the ingredients again...

Surprisingly, though, he's actually very good at cleaning and caring for another person. That's because it's what he does for Belphie. You think the seventhborn is picking up their room AT ALL? Don't kid yourself...

Probably a good time to point out that another downside (or perk??) of husband!Beel is you also get Belphie! But he's just as spoiled as ever so... Hopefully Beel's overwhelming amazingness will make up for that.

If you like Belphie and don't mind an empty cabinet, Beel is a good choice. If not, there are better options available, I promise.

Belphegor

D-tier. Shit househusband. Doesn't even try.

Won't clean, won't cook, won't shop, can't fix, can't budget, and don't even get me STARTED on the state of the sheets!!-

He is a decorative plant of a househusband. Meant only to make the room look nicer by his presence. I've seen dogs more capable and self-motivated to maintain a household than this man will ever be.

Should you somehow get him to exert the effort, he will whine and complain the entire time. And even then, he won't do much more than put some things away and order takeout.

The only upside to Belphie is that since he's always asleep, it's not like he's making the house any dirtier. Vacuuming around his unconscious ass is home life now. At least you probably get Beel too.

Diavolo

C-B tier. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

So... he basically can't do anything but since he's never had to, you can cut him some slack. He loves the idea of TRYING though, so you have an eager student!

He finds cooking to be a fun challenge and he isn't terrible at it. Cleaning is a drag but he likes to see you happy. You'll have to teach anything laundry/clothes related, unfortunately, and sending him to the grocery store without a very detailed list may result in him buying an entire aisle if he doesn't know what to get.

At least he'll genuinely love to hear about your day and have the biggest smile and warmest greeting for you every time you come home. He's like a big'ol puppy, just thrilled with your existence!

(Honestly, if something has him stumped, he'll call for Barbatos to help. He'll try to hide it because he wants to show that he can do things himself, but at the end of the day your happiness wins over his pride. Now let the butler fix your plumbing.)

Barbatos

SS-tier. So good, it's literally not fair.

He's been caring for another person for centuries. He has every possible skill he would need permanently etched into his DNA. He is the Grand Master of Domestic Life that all others should strive for.

Meals are at perfect temperature by the time you sit at the table. The house is so spotless that you could eat off the broom closet. Anything that breaks gets fixed/replaced within the day. He even leaves words of encouragement in the little notes packed up with your lunch. You'll start to wonder if he's an angel who's infiltrated too deep....

Barbs also seems to have a sixth sense for whenever you've had a bad day. You come back dragging from exhaustion? You favorite meal is already cooked, the bath is ready to be drawn, and would you like a shoulder rub on top of that? Feel free to vent, he loves to listen to whatever stories you have to share!

There are only two downsides to Barbatos: the first is that you are absolutely sharing him still with Diavolo and the young master is his top concern. So sorry.

The second is that moment he gets even the hint that there may be a rat in the house, he'll nuke the place with all of your stuff still in it. So keep some traps out and keep'em fresh, yeah? You'll be fine.

Simeon

S-tier. He even comes with pre-installed parenting skills! (If you're into that kind of thing).

Simeon may not have Barbs' "live to serve" mentality, but he is truly an angel to a fault. The man already acts as Den Mother of Purgatory Hall, so what would you expect?

He cooks well enough to own his own business and you can't run a business without being good with your cash. He probably has book royalties too... Plus, he cleans up after Solomon's messy ass in canon, so-

He's gonna be that husband you take to the office party and nobody will leave you alone about him for the next week. People are going to ask if he has a brother or some shit (give them Raph's number, I dare you)

Admittedly, home repair (especially of the electronics he's guaranteed to break) should probably go to someone else. Also, he is a package deal with Luke. That child is your unspoken son now, and you'll just have to deal with that.

Otherwise, he's trophy material. Marry him and carry him over that threshold! He's worth it, truly.

Solomon

I've already ranted about Solomon here. But if you aren't aware, he's D-tier saved only by the fact that he's really trying his best.

800 year-old bachelor be like: "Oh, you're supposed to change those...? They don't smell that bad after a month."

"Of course those dishes are clean! Yes, I can see that there's still food on them, but I washed them with soap. That's what makes them clean."

"What do you mean, 'Don't set the table with beakers on date night?' Isn't this one your favorite??"

"Dinner's almost done, honey! Just let me finish clubbing this octopus!" 😁

Disaster husband. Just leave him to his delusions and get used to takeout...

[xo-cod]

a/n: enemies to lovers with simon lmao. full of angst 🤍

continued from this drabble

forget me not

"note to all teams the target is incredibly dangerous. once located do not engage and call for backup"

the message was loud, clear over the comms but you couldn't hear over the thundering of your heartbeat. you couldn't focus on much, the crushing weight on your chest squeezing your heart made it that much more difficult to focus on the task at hand. dread filled your veins at the thought of staying in the car longer than you had to, looking for any suspicious activity outside. his smell invaded your space as you resist to try and hold onto it. since the attack and the kidnap, he hadn't been the same. he usually was reserved when it came to you but this time it almost seemed like he hated the very ground you walked on

regardless you don't think you've ever been in the middle of such an awkward and tense situation before

he was seated in the passenger seat beside you. completely stoic, face and body covered in his usual gear with just the whites of his eyes peeking out from his balaclava as he sat stiff, his hands locked on the binoculars while his trained eyes focused on the house. you could practically feel the tension vibrate from his muscles around the car as you sigh softly. your hands on the wheels looking back at the scene silently cursing price for pairing the both of you together, it was too soon

you knew simon wasn't used to sitting around. he was the first to go guns ablazing into the fight. actions first, words later. you knew it was taking everything in him to sit patiently, to even be next to you in a cramped car. but alejandro and rudy called you all in, needing the extra pair of hands to handle the target delicately as they planned the best way to take them down. you'd only been back for a month and been involved in an attack, a kidnapping, several missions all within a few weeks.

sitting next to him like this, you almost feel the same fear and nerves you had done when you first met him. you glance back at him, eyes slightly narrowed as the frustration bubbled inside you. the contast feeling of being in edge, of waiting him to bite was enough. he was still hurt, rightfully so. but it felt like judgement day the way he kept you waiting deeming just how severe your punishment should be.

simon riley was a big burly man, standing tall at 6'4 and a wall of pure strength and muscle. he was unbeaten in his work, he was powerful in his skills but you had been the one thing that made him crumble to his knees. and god how he hated it.

the rage practically rolled off from him in waves, his hand gripped firmly around the hilt of his gun until the knuckles whitened fighting the urge to make any irrational decisions. and all you could do was just sit there, sinking into your seat and observing the camera footage. you didn't even know what to say now ironic because you could never stop talking when you were around the others

but now not a word could pass your lips

"three years" his deep voice snaps you out of your trance, the familiar voice blowing through you as you caught your breath. the low baritone of his tone caressed your senses, it was just as beautiful as you had remembered. and then the coldness in his voice cuts deep through you like the dagger coiled with pain

this wasn't the simon that you knew. this was the ghost that they feared.

"three years of being your friend, your lieutenant, someone who i cared for so goddamn deeply. three years and you cut me off, cut us all off, so easily as if it never meant anything at all. you didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face" the scoff was harsh, he could've laughed in pure bitterness at the thought of it.

simon wasn't one to open his heart so easily, god knows how difficult it had been for you in the beginning of joining the taskforce. he kept to himself mostly, only ever interacting with you for the sake of the mission at hand.

but overtime you had managed to weasel yourself in his heart, you were everywhere you shouldn't have been. in books, in songs, in random conversations, in alcohol, in his dreams. in his veins. all these places you shouldn't have been. and the sheer irony of you still lingering even though you were gone, a paradox indeed

there was nothing that you could've said to defended yourself, a resigned sigh leaning your lips as you leaned back in your seat. almost two years ago you had requested price to move you to another team across the sas. the only reason you had offered him was that it had been personal and he nodded, pressing a hand to your shoulder before he filed the paperwork.

everyone else seemed aware of it, you had begged the rest of the 141 not to say anything to simon. figuring you'd tell him in your own time, with the correct words. but the time never came, you had to go and the memory of your departure only served to haunt him further.

it had been friday, the usual movie night as he readied himself. he could never forget the feeling of his heart dropping at the small note in your empty barracks, stomach lurching at the popcorn he had bought specially for you. heart pounding as he hoped and prayed it was all some kind of sick joke.

it took him a while to forgive the rest of them but you hadn't been extended that same courtesy. so seeing you there tied up beside him brought up the same feelings and emotions he had tried to bury back then but they were potent, penetrative, stronger than he had anticipated them to be. it was too soon to see you. too soon to come to grips with the fact that his hurt had ran too deep for him to move on

"i'm here now" your voice had dropped slightly, a hint of a plea for him to understand but he rolled his eyes in your response his hand clenched tightly around the gun resting on his knee

"oh congrats. you're here now. until you find something else and you're running off again" he spoke harshly, shaking his head as he looked out the window to calm his heart and his thoughts.

he should've listened to his own advice, it was always the ones closest that caused the most pain. he expected to be hurt, he expected the pain but from anyone else. not from you, never from someone he had spilled his deepest darkest secrets to. never from someone who he held in such a high regard, from someone who he cherished so incredibly hard. and your heart hurt the more he spoke, the voice you had missed terribly for years was now echoing in your head but it was the most painful thing to listen to.

"you know it was the best thing to do-" you started but he snapped, glancing at you for the first time full of pure anger. "for you. best thing for you. don't act like i had any say in that decision you made for the both of us" he cut you off harshly, his hands thumping against his thighs in frustration as if the small space of the car was suffocating him and he couldn't get out in time. this time he allowed some of the hurt to trickle in his words, the words he had suppressed for so many years were now cracking, spilling out from his scarred lips.

simon shifted to face you, his face was still, unreadable, observing every little detail and every expression. he could feel his own heart thump heavily with how much he realised he had missed you, how much he had yearned for you. he dreamed for the moment where he would see you again in the flesh again, to smell and touch you like he used to.

every part of his being ached when he took a good glance at you. you'd change so much and yet you still looked the exact same. he wondered if your preferences had changed, whether you still slept in the same pair of pajamas that had been his favourite, whether your food preferences were different now.

you see in his eyes the sea in his eyes churning beneath. the waters ready to drag you from the surface, plunging you in the darkness that lay just below. his gaze lingers briefly upon your lips, slowly following the arch of your mouth, grazing your cheekbones before they finally meet yours. it makes your heart squeeze that much harder, restricting your breathing when your eyes meet. the pain was so heavy, you could've reached out and touched it.

everything you had ever missed came rushing to light, you had to hold back your hands back from wanting to touch his face. to feel the skin you had been restricted from touching for so many months. even when simon was in front of you, even when he was here in the physical, you still missed him.

"bloody hell, you were my whole world. you fuckin knew that. i waited for you every night, sat by your door every damn day just hoping you'd come back" his voice cracked the slightest at the end of his sentence, coughing to rid the tremble but you had heard it all. he didn't think he could sink any lower but you proved him wrong, you shattered his whole world and he was left to pick up the pieces again

"simon i-" "lieutenant. it's lieutenant to you. rookies refer to superiors with their rank" his snarl was biting, a tone he usually reserved for enemies. just as it had come, he was back to being the ghost again. it makes you want to cry, makes you wish the ground could swallow you whole just seeing the amount of pain in his eyes. how they used to twinkle and sparkle under the lights whenever he spoke to you, irises dilated ever so slightly only now they were dull and flat. impassive and empty

the walls that you had broken with great care and gentleness were now standing strong as ever, all because of you. the heart that once craved to be next to yours, the heart that was once placed in the palm of your hand had been snatched away and hardened until it was stone. impenetrable and inaccessible.

you were back in the 141 like you had desperately wanted to be, he didn't know anything more. he thought you had been a willing participant throughout it all. the lump only seemed to grow as you look at him helplessly, he doesn't seem to want to listen anymore and you could only wish that he could understand your reasoning behind it all. that you were in pain by the departure just as much as he was.

i loved you, i loved you, i love-

the camera beeped, indicating activity inside the warehouse. the pure relief for a moment on focusing on something else other than the burning relation between you both was a welcome respite.

though in typical simon riley fashion, he watched the camera carefully before he reached over for his gun and the bullets barely even giving you a glance

"stop we need back up, please. you'll get hurt" your voice was soft, heavy as you try to reach for his arm but he pulled away. the tips of your fingers just barely grazing his tatted arm, heart caught in your throat at just how much you missed his skin. how much you missed his scent, his comfort, his love.

how you'd lost it all in a heartbeat

"i don't know how they taught you to fight back there. but this is my operation, i know what the hell i'm doing. just leave, you're good at doing that" his command was sharp before he left the car, the door slamming behind him as he stormed off to the target. you watched with the tears shining in your eyes, wondering just how horrible everything had gone.

one wrong move and your past would've blown up in your face, one wrong move and everything you had tried to keep hidden away would reveal itself. only this time you didn't have the luxury of having simon in your corner this time around. your rank back there meant nothing now to him or to the 141, you were just a recruit in his eyes. an annoyance, a burden. it makes the pain deepen as you suck in a soft breath and steady yourself before you head inside the house.

you broke him and in response, he watched you break.

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 1: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Summary: After the death of her husband, Aurelia must make a decision to either die or marry the new ruler of Rome.

Warnings: 18+, talks of execution, talks of murder, Rome is in chaos, Lucius being Lucius, nothing too crazy right now

A/N: Hello! I decided to name the OC but honestly, you can replace her name with your name if you want to be a reader insert. It doesn't matter. Art is flexible. Anyway, this is for fun, not historically accurate. Also not bet read or proofread but I write for fun. Hope you enjoy! Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Aurelia had been standing on the balcony of her chambers in the imperial palace, her thoughts consumed by the heavy, oppressive silence that had fallen over Rome. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, but she didn’t notice the beauty. She hadn’t noticed much of anything for days. The death of Geta—her husband—had shattered her world. The sudden violence, the brutal murder of both Geta and Caracalla, had left her numb.

The door to her chambers had crashed open, and there they were—storming in, their swords drawn. Aurelia's body had gone cold at the sight of them.

She had tried to flee the guards. Tried to run. Tried to make it out of the palace before they could seize her, but the soldiers were fast, their hands grasping her wrists and dragging her back as if she were a criminal.

There had been no mercy for the widow of an emperor.

The next thing she knew, she had been thrown into the cold, damp cell, the iron bars of the tiny window casting a faint shadow on the stone floor. She had fought them, of course, her pride burning like fire in her veins. She had called out for help, for someone—anyone—to come to her aid but no one had come. No one would come.  Not even the guards at the door, who she had once known, now looked at her with suspicion and fear, as if her very blood made her guilty by association.

She had spent days in that cell. Alone. Hungry. The flickering light from the torch outside the bars offered little comfort, and the cold stone walls pressed against her, making it hard to breathe. There was a part of her that wanted to give in to despair, to let herself curl into the shadows and forget everything—forget who she was, forget what had happened. But she wouldn’t. She couldn't.

The door to the cell creaked open, and Aurelia’s sharp, ice-blue eyes snapped up. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, but then the figure stepped inside. A man in a dark toga, his face unreadable, his eyes cold. Aurelia’s stomach churned. The new emperor, Lucius Verus, stood before her now.

He wasn’t what she had expected. Lucius, the gladiator, the son of Lucilla, now the ruler of Rome. She had heard whispers in the halls—how he had killed Macrinus, how he had taken the throne in the wake of the murders. She had never imagined he would come for her, never imagined he would see her so low, so utterly powerless.

He surveyed her silently, his piercing blue eyes studying her as though she were an object of curiosity, something to be analyzed.

“You’re still alive,” he said finally, his voice low but commanding. “I had thought the guards would’ve killed you by now.”

Aurelia remained seated on the cold stone floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. She didn’t answer him immediately, just glared at him with defiance, her back straight despite the pain in her muscles.

“You were married to Geta,” he continued, the faintest hint of disgust flickering in his gaze. “It seems the Senate is unsure what to do with you. You’ve been a widow for only a few days and already they want to… settle this matter.”

Her lip curled in a bitter smile. "Settle what matter?" she spat, her voice hoarse but sharp. "You think this is about some matter? The Senate will decide my fate like I'm some common criminal, won't they? Just like Macrinus decided my husband's fate. My brother-in-law's fate."

Lucius gave a slight nod, though he didn’t look sympathetic. “The Senate is divided. Some say you should be put to death, to cleanse the last remnants of the old regime. Others suggest you may have been complicit in your husband’s death. After all, it was your family’s legacy that fell with Geta.”

She scoffed. “Complicit? You think I had a hand in killing my own husband?”

“I don’t know,” Lucius said quietly. “But that’s not my decision to make.”

He paused, and Aurelia could feel his gaze on her like a weight pressing down on her chest.

“I have come to offer you a choice,” Lucius continued, his tone cold, detached. “You will be tried in front of the Senate, but I’ve decided to intervene. You’re… valuable, despite the chaos surrounding you. You are the widow of an emperor. You have connections to the old regime and some factions within the Senate believe your marriage to me would solidify Rome’s future.”

Aurelia’s eyes narrowed. Her pulse quickened, the confusion and bitterness swirling in her chest. “Marriage to you?” She laughed, though the sound was bitter. “So now you want to use me too? Use my name, my blood, my title? Is that it, Lucius? Is that how you plan to secure your throne?”

Lucius stepped closer, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the cell. His eyes were as cold as the stone walls surrounding them.

“It’s not my plan,” he said, his voice low. “It’s Rome’s plan. I am offering you a way out, Aurelia. A chance to live. To keep your dignity intact.”

“Dignity?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. “Do you think I care about dignity? Death would preserve my dignity more than marrying you to secure your throne, to put another puppet on the imperial seat? To sit beside you like some obedient wife?”

Aurelia stood, her body trembling with rage, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I never wanted this!” she shouted, her voice rising. “I never wanted to be a pawn. My marriage to Geta was a nightmare and now you want me to marry another emperor?”

Lucius regarded her quietly, as if studying her fury with the detachment of a strategist. “The Senate does not care about your wants or needs, Aurelia. They care about power. They care about stability. If you do not marry me, they will find another way to dispose of you. If you do not marry me, you will be executed.”

She swallowed, her throat tight, her pulse roaring in her ears. He was right, of course.

Lucius watched her carefully, his gaze unwavering. “You may not like it. You may not want it. But you have one choice: death… or marriage to me.”

Aurelia's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on her with crushing force. She looked at him, then looked down at the cold stone floor beneath her feet. The choice before her was cruel, stark, and suffocating.

She could die. Die with her dignity intact, die with her pride as the last remnant of her old life.

Or she could marry him.

Marry a man who had come to power through bloodshed and violence. Marry a man who didn’t love her, who would never love her.

The silence between them stretched, long and heavy. 

"I'll think about it," she said finally, her voice low, almost broken. It was all she could say. Because the choice wasn’t hers to make. Not really.

Lucius inclined his head, his face unreadable. "Take your time. The Senate expects an answer soon."

And with that, he turned and left the cell, leaving Aurelia alone in the darkness, the weight of her decision already pressing down on her like the chains of fate.

The grand hall of the Senate was filled with the murmurs of Roman senators, their voices a low hum of power and fear. The marble columns stretched high, reaching up into the vast ceiling, echoing the weight of centuries of rule. The Senate chamber, once a place of noble discourse and decision, now felt cold and suffocating to Aurelia. It had always been a room of intrigue, but today, it was a room of judgment.

Aurelia stood at the center of the chamber, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Her heart beat loudly in her chest, a sharp drum in the silence. She could feel the eyes of the entire Senate on her, watching, scrutinizing, waiting.

She had been brought here under guard, her wrists bound in chains, but even now, they were nothing more than a symbol. She was a prisoner. A prisoner of Rome, of the Senate, of her own fate.

Behind her, the throne was empty.

The throne her late husband had sat in.

 Lucius Venus had not arrived yet.

The murmurs grew louder as the senators took their seats, each one wearing their finely crafted tunics, their faces a mixture of indifference, curiosity, and judgment. The men of the Senate had always been ruthless in their pursuit of power and the death of Caracalla and Geta had left the empire vulnerable. Macrinus and his plot had sent Rome into chaos. 

For the Senate,  it was not about justice—it was about control. Aurelia was a relic of the old regime, an obstacle, and now she was to be disposed of. But in what way? In what way could they control her? 

The doors to the Senate chamber opened with a heavy thud, silencing the room instantly. Lucius Venus, now Emperor of Rome, entered. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, his expression unreadable as he moved to the center of the floor. His presence was undeniable. The senators, who had once ruled Rome, now watched him with a mixture of respect and fear. The gladiator turned emperor was an anomaly, a force to be reckoned with.

Lucius ascended to the platform, standing beside the podium where Aurelia was forced to kneel. The contrast between them was stark. He stood tall, composed, his posture regal despite his origins. Aurelia, on the other hand, knelt on the cold marble floor in silence, her eyes still lowered.

A low, deliberate murmur passed through the Senate as Lucius raised his hand to silence them.

"Senators of Rome," Lucius’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “We are gathered here today not to deliberate on the future of this empire, but to settle a matter that will define the future of Rome itself. The widow of the late Emperor Geta, Aurelia Carina Cassia, stands before you today as both a symbol and a question. A symbol of the old Rome, the old blood, and a question of loyalty. The question of whether we allow the remnants of the past to threaten our future.”

Aurelia felt her pulse quicken at his words, her mind racing. A question of loyalty? She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked to be married off to Lucius, nor had she asked to be placed in the center of this political struggle. But here she was, forced into this trial, caught between the old regime and the new one.

Lucius turned his gaze toward her, and for a moment, their eyes met. His gaze was cool and distant, but there was something more beneath it—something she couldn’t quite grasp. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw a trace of sympathy in his eyes, but it vanished almost immediately.

“You stand accused of complicity in the deaths of Emperor Geta and his brother, Caracalla,” Lucius continued, his voice echoing through the chamber. “It is said that you, as the wife of Geta, played a part in the conspiracy that led to their deaths. Do you deny this, Aurelia?”

Her voice was steady, though it trembled with the weight of the question. “I deny it. It was Macrinus. I saw it…”

There was a murmur in the room at her response, some senators exchanging glances, others looking down at their scrolls in preparation for the next statement. Lucius didn’t seem surprised. His expression remained impassive as he looked back at the senators.

“The Senate will now deliberate,” Lucius said, gesturing for the first speaker to approach.

An older senator, his face lined with the marks of years of manipulation and power, stood and addressed the assembly with a voice that held no softness.

"Empress Aurelia, you have been a figurehead of the old regime. Whether or not you directly plotted the deaths of Geta and Caracalla is immaterial. You were Geta’s wife. You were complicit in their actions, and you knew the risks of such alliances." His words were harsh, accusatory, but there was no fury in them—just a cold, calculated desire to secure his place in the new order.

“You are a widow. We understand the grief of losing a husband, but you should know better than anyone that this is not a matter of emotion. This is a matter of stability for Rome. Your presence here is a threat. Your family’s bloodline is a reminder of a Rome that no longer serves its purpose.”

Aurelia’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The senator’s words hit her like a blow, and yet, she held her ground. Stability for Rome? What was the point of Rome without love, without people who truly cared for the well-being of its citizens?

“Empress, the Senate proposes that you be executed for your role in this treason,” the senator continued. “For the good of the empire.”

Her heart pounded, but she did not flinch. This was not about her. This was about politics. This was about control. They would say anything to justify their thirst for power.

Another senator rose, younger than the first, with a look of thinly veiled disdain on his face. He glanced at Aurelia with a slight sneer.

“Though I do not fully support the accusations of complicity, the death of two emperors and the subsequent collapse of their line cannot be ignored,” he said. “Her very existence challenges the new order of the empire. If she is not put to death, then what is to prevent others from following her path? I suggest we put the question to the emperor: If not death, then marriage. Let her be a bride to the new emperor, a tool to bring the people of Rome together, to prevent further dissent. What better way to silence any rumors of betrayal than to unite her with Emperor Lucius?”

The words struck Aurelia like a blow to the chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her knees tremble slightly as the full weight of the situation pressed down on her.

Lucius stood silently beside her, his gaze fixed ahead. She could feel him watching her, his presence a constant reminder that, even in this moment of supposed judgment, he was the one who held the final say. He had given her the choice before, but now it seemed to be a cruel trap—a way to dispose of her without the bloodshed that would come with execution. A way to use her as a pawn, to bind her to him, to secure his claim to the throne.

Aurelia’s voice, though barely a whisper, broke through the growing tension in the room. “You think marriage to him will erase everything?” she spat, her eyes now blazing with anger. “You think that will make me a loyal subject of Rome, after everything you’ve done?”

Lucius’s gaze turned toward her, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, but the weight of his presence seemed to fill the room. His silence spoke volumes. Aurelia knew that, in the end, her fate would be decided by him.

The senators shifted uneasily, waiting for his verdict.

Finally, Lucius raised his hand, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm. “The Senate has spoken. I offer Aurelia the choice of her fate: death, or marriage to me. If she chooses to live, she will be bound to me, not only as my wife but as the symbol of the stability I will bring to Rome. And if she chooses death…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he turned away. “So be it.”

Aurelia looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and sorrow. This was it. This was the end of everything. Her heart, which had once been full of hope and love, now felt empty, hollow.

Her life would never be her own again.

The Senate waited. The room held its breath.

And Aurelia was forced to make a choice.

“Give me an hour and I will give my answer to Emperor Lucius myself,” Aurelia says. “You’ll have your answer no later or no earlier than that.”

Aurelia stood before the great marble columns of the Imperial Palace, the cold stone pressing against her back as if it could steady her trembling bones. Her mind raced, her heart a fluttering bird caught in a cage. Everything that had happened in the last few days felt like a blur—a dream, perhaps, or a nightmare. The death of Geta and Caracalla. The rise of Macrinus and his ultimate betrayal. And now, the demand to marry Lucius Verus.

The Senate had spoken. The Emperors had been murdered, and the city of Rome was in turmoil. But it was Lucius, not the Senate, who now held power. He was the son of Lucilla, and by blood, he had the right to rule. And yet… he was not the one who had killed Geta and Caracalla. The murder had been orchestrated by Macrinus, but now, the world had spun into chaos, and Rome needed stability.

And so, the question had been asked.

Would she marry Lucius Verus to solidify his claim to the throne? Or would she die just because she was the wife of the previous emperor? 

Was she lucky to even had the choice?

The air in the room was thick with expectation. The door behind her creaked as it opened, and Aurelia didn’t need to turn to know who stood there. She could feel his presence as if it were a tangible thing, heavy like the weight of the empire itself.

Lucius Verus.

The man who was now the Emperor of Rome, not by his own doing, but by circumstance. The gladiator who had risen from the sands of the arena, who had fought for his freedom only to be forced into the throne by the whims of a crumbling empire.

“Do you know why I am here, Aurelia?” His voice was deep, steady, but there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps a sense of duty. Or perhaps… uncertainty.

She didn’t turn to face him immediately, though she could hear the soft echo of his footsteps as he crossed the room. It felt almost like a finality. She could already hear the whispers of the Senate, the people, the court.

It was already decided.

Turning slowly, she met his gaze, her eyes steady. He stood confident with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to always know more than they should. Today, however, there was something else in them, something that perhaps even he didn’t understand: a flicker of vulnerability.

“I know why you are here, Lucius,” Aurelia replied, her voice cold, controlled. “You want your answer. I promised you that in the senate this morning.”

She didn’t let her anger spill over, though it burned at the edges of her words. Instead, she forced herself to focus, to look at him as though this were just another political arrangement, another moment where she could maintain control. She was used to power plays—she had been married to Geta, after all. But this… this felt different.

Lucius’s expression softened, as if her words had stung, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he took another step closer, lowering his voice.

“No one is forcing you, Aurelia,” he said. “You still have a choice. I won’t have you marrying me out of fear. It’s not just your life at stake now. The future of Rome is as well.”

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of disbelief and bitterness. “And you think I care about Rome’s future? Rome’s future died with my husband. And my brother-in-law.” Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained control.

Lucius watched her silently, his jaw clenched. He could see the weight of grief in her eyes, the anger—familiar, raw, the same kind of anger that had been in his own heart when he first stepped into the Senate after the deaths of Caracalla and Geta. He had learned to control it, to channel it into something else. For Aurelia, that was still a battle she hadn’t won.

“You’re angry,” Lucius said softly, almost as though he were stating a fact. “I understand that. But if you don’t marry me, Rome will spiral into chaos. This empire needs unity. It needs strength. I can give that to it, if you help me.”

“And you think you can just take this position, Lucius?” Aurelia snapped, stepping forward, her hand gripping the edge of the table in front of her. “This is not something you can simply inherit. This marriage is a farce. You think Rome will rally behind the son of Lucilla? A man who was raised in Numidia, a gladiator, forced into the games, used as nothing more than a pawn?”

His gaze flickered, but he didn’t move. “I am not a pawn and neither are you, Aurelia.”

She scoffed bitterly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Aren’t I? Tell me—what happens to me if I refuse? Do you execute me in front of the Senate? Do you have me dragged through the streets like a common criminal? Because that is all I am, isn’t it? A widow with no place in this empire.”

Lucius’s expression darkened for a moment. There was no cruelty in his eyes—no harshness—but there was a kind of desperation there, buried just beneath the surface. His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it now, an urgency she hadn’t expected.

“I will not kill you,” he said. “However if you don’t marry me, the Senate will see you as a threat. You know that as well as I do. They’ll find a way to dispose of you. If not through execution, then through a thousand other means. I’m trying to protect you and Rome.”

Her eyes narrowed, studying him carefully. She had always been good at reading people—good at seeing through their facades, their masks. But Lucius was different. His words, his actions, his very presence were all so… contradictory. There was something about him that felt real. Something that felt honest. He wasn’t just playing a role. He was truly trying to protect her—and Rome—but at what cost?

And that was the question she had to answer now.

Aurelia looked down at her hands, fingers trembling slightly as she worked to control her emotions. There was no real choice, was there? Either she married him, or she died. Either she helped Lucius rule Rome or die, erased from history.

There was something else in her mind. A flicker of realization. If she married Lucius, she would remain at his side—able to influence his decisions, to perhaps steer him away from the path that had already been carved out for him. If she married him, she could still be somebody in this empire. She could still matter.

“Why me?” she asked, her voice quiet now, softer than she intended. “Why not someone else? Someone who truly loves you, who wants to share this life with you?”

Lucius hesitated, his gaze steady, and for a moment, Aurelia could have sworn she saw a flicker of something deeper, something more intimate.

“Because you are the empress of Rome,” he said simply. “And despite everything that has happened, you have strength. More than anyone else in this empire. I need that strength by my side.”

The words hit her like a stone. Strength. Not love. Not affection. But strength.

And yet, in that moment, Aurelia knew what she had to do. There was no escape. No retreat. She could fight it all she wanted, but the only path forward was through him.

“Fine,” she said, her voice flat. “I will marry you. But don’t think for a second that I will ever love you. Not like I loved Geta. And not like you want me to.”

Lucius’s expression softened, but there was no joy in it, no relief. He merely nodded, as if he had expected her answer, but it did not lessen the weight of it.

As he stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder—an uncertain gesture—Aurelia stood still, rigid, her eyes hard, her heart closed off.

Rome had taken everything from her.

And now it had taken her heart, too.

[mochie85]

A Reunion

One Shots Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: A chance meeting with someone from your past makes you relive the worst moments of high school. Luckily, your best friend, Bucky is there to help you forget. Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Female reader. Word Count: Over 4k Warnings: Fluff. Flirtatious Bucky. Use of Y/N (only once) Taglist: Join here Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

“Oh god! No, no, no.” You exclaimed as quietly as you could. You turned around and hid behind your hand, covering your face. Bucky was confused- chuckling as he watched you try to make yourself smaller, unnoticeable. As if that were ever possible, he thought.

“What’s wrong? Wh-why are you hiding?” He asked as he tried to follow your gaze.

“STOP IT! SHH!” You tried to shush him. Trying to make him stop jerking his head around and calling attention to your table.

“Why are you HIDING?!” he yelled louder to annoy you. Your eyes grew big with anger, and you kicked him under the table. He laughed and pretended to be hurt as he rubbed his poor shin.

“Ok. Don’t look now, but the woman to your seven was someone I knew in high school.” You whispered to him. Bucky turned his head to see the lady in question. “I SAID DON’T LOOK!” you whisper-yelled as you kicked him once again.                     

“Doll, if you keep that up, I might need a metal leg to match my arm.” He said rubbing where you kicked him.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…she brings out the worst in me. Whatever I got, she got, but better. Always better,” you said with a sneer. “When I got tickets to go see my favorite band, she got premiere passes.” Bucky smiled and shrugged. “She hated The Gorillaz! Said she never got the whole cartoon thing.” His demeanor gave you the impression he didn’t think it was that bad.

“I worked for two years to buy myself a used car. What did she get? A brand-new Lexus with daddy’s credit card. The same weekend I bought my car! She didn’t even know how to drive! Her older brother dropped her off at school every morning. Everyone had a crush on him. They all wanted to be her friend because of Bryce. And she knew it.”

“Everyone…had a crush on him?” Bucky raised his eyebrows at you. You simply narrowed your eyes back at him.

“Not the point, Barnes. When I applied to CalTech for college, she said she wasn’t interested in West Coast schools. A few months later, she showed me an acceptance letter from them! I didn’t even know she had the grades or the extracurriculars to pull it off. Turns out, there was a sizeable donation to the school’s robotics program made so generously from her family.”

“Sounds like she just really wanted to be you,” Bucky said smirking.

“Ya. So much so, that she stole my boyfriend senior year!” you spat out.

“Ouch,” Bucky hissed. “Ok, ya. That one’s a low blow.” He turned his head inconspicuously again to get a better look at your so-called friend. She was beautiful; in the sense that everything was well-manicured and put together. Not a hair out of place. She had an aura of money- evident by the sparkle of her well-placed jewelry.

Bucky turned back to you. You had a more natural beauty. You didn’t try too hard, it just shone out. He’s seen you undercover before in one of the missions where you had to be dolled up. God help him, you knocked everyone out. Even Loki took a break from his brooding to look at you. Bucky has never been the same since.

“Look. It was a long time ago. I tried to go my separate way after high school. I honestly don’t even know if she attended CalTech or not. But what I do know is that I don’t want to see her.”

“Y/N is that you?!” you heard a shrill voice come closer.

Shit.

You put on your show smile. The smile you reserve for undercover missions. “Rachel! What a lovely surprise.” She went up to you along the iron fence of the café’s patio and tried to hug you.

She kissed you on both sides of your cheek as she said, “I didn’t know you were back in New York. I thought you would’ve stayed in California.” You didn’t miss the way her eyes scanned you up and down, homing in on things to probably critique you with.

Her eyes also kept drifting back between you and Bucky. “Wait, I’ve seen you before.” She said pointing to him. “Aren’t you an Avenger?” she squealed.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky answered, saluting casually with a smile.

“Rachel, this is James Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky, this is a friend of mine from high school, Rachel,” you introduced.

“Wow,” Rachel said, shaking hands with Bucky. “Bucky, is it?”

“James. Bucky is for close friends only,” he said with a practiced smile.

“I’ve never met a superhero before,” she charmed.

“Of course, you have. Dollface over here.” Bucky said pointing to you. Your smile faltered slightly at having the attention thrown back your way.

“Oh my gosh, that’s right! I’ve seen some of your heroics on TV! Amazing work.” Rachel said to you.

“Thank you.” You said surprised. Maybe this happenstance might not be so bad after all. Maybe she has changed.

“All that training and the time outdoors have done wonders for your body and your complexion. You look so much healthier now!”

Nope! She’s still horrible!

“She’s always been lovely,” Bucky interjected, giving you a half smile.

“Oh. My. Gosh. That’s so cute!” she said in a mock baby voice.  “How romantic. How long have you two been together?” Rachel asked, prying and pointing in between the both of you.

“Oh, we’re just friends.” You were quick to throw in. You didn’t want Bucky to feel uncomfortable around you and have to explain anything he didn’t need to.

Rachel just looked between you and Bucky. Her eyes delaying in his direction. “Well, now that I know you’re in town, you must come to the charity event my dad is hosting next week. I know for a fact that your boss is going to be there!”

“My boss? Fury?”

“Fury, who? Is that what he’s calling himself nowadays? Yes. He and his wife Pepper have already RSVP’d.”

“Oh, you mean Tony?” you asked.

“He’s not our boss,” Bucky corrected with slight irritation.

“Oh, well, sure. Ok, I can send him the invite and let him know to forward it to you,” she smiled sweetly at you. “And maybe a plus one…” she said, her eyes darting to Bucky quickly.

“We might be busy. You know…saving the world and all,” you quickly declined. The last thing you needed was to be stuck in an event with her and some of her uptight friends.

“Already sent!” she said ignoring you and tapping on her phone. “I hope to see you both there!” She smiled at you and gave Bucky a wink. “We’ll be friends in no time, Bucky!” she said to him as a promise. Not if I have anything to do with it, you thought.

“Ugh. If she thinks that Tony can tell us what to do and go to this party, then she’s just as self-absorbed as she was in high school. You can’t just tell people what to do because you have money!”

“You have to go!” Tony ordered.

“No!” you answered back.

“Pepper and I can’t make it. Morgan’s got a play and Peter is competing at a science fair. You guys are the only other ones invited. You have to go.”

“What do you mean, have to? I don’t have to do anything! Especially go to an event where I won’t know anybody except for my mortal enemy!” you argued.

“Mortal enemy?! Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic now? Besides, you go to my parties all the time. I don’t see you ever complaining about going.”

“That’s because I like the people I’m with and you have an open bar for all the Avengers!”

“Not to Asgardians!”

“Only because they can outdrink everyone IN THE STATE!”

“Why are you YELLING?! WHAT ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING ABOUT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” You and Tony squared off, looking at each other with your arms crossed.

“Look, her family are big investors in Adamantium. Her mother is in a council to help get in favor with the Wakandans to get Vibranium…” Tony tried to reason.

“Do you even need Vibranium? I’m pretty sure Steve could just call King T’Challa right now.”

“Not the point…” Tony tried again.

“Heck, Bucky over there probably has Shuri’s number!” you quarreled back, pointing to Bucky lounging on the sofa.

“The princess? No. But I do have Okoye’s. She checks in on me from time to time,” Bucky admitted, knocking on his metal arm.

“You’ve been awfully quiet this whole time, Barnes. Don’t you have anything to say about it? Don’t you want to go? You’re invited too.” Tony addressed him.

“I’ll go if dollface over here goes. And only then.” He stretched out and placed his arms behind his head, pulling his baseball cap over his eyes, signaling the end of his input into the subject.

“I’m not going, Tony. You can’t make me!” you yelled petulantly.

“Consider this an undercover mission. Okay?” Tony placated. “Go. Mingle. Charm everyone in the room. Gather some intel on your mortal enemy. Wine and dine them, then come home.” You squinted your eyes at him.

“Do it for Morgan. She would be so upset if mummy and daddy weren’t there to see her debut as apple tree #2…or was it #3? And Peter! He worked for months on his science project! Think of the sad teary eyes he would have when he sees we’re not there to support him. You don’t want Spider-Man to have sad, teary eyes, would you?!”

“Ugh, it’s not fair you’re using the munchkins as your excuse!”

“I don’t play fair. Especially when it comes to the kids, I would do anything to make the munchkins happy. You know this. Even putting you in the hands of your mortal enemy! Mwuahaha” Tony wrung his hands like a classic villain bent on world domination.

“For Morgan!” you pointed to his chest. “And Peter! Not for you. Not for all the Adamantium in the world. Understand?!”

“Completely!”

“And you’re paying for my dress!”

“Ugh, fine,” Tony said with a sigh.

“And shoes!”

“What happened to the last pair of Louboutins I got you?!”

“I had to be resourceful,” you said lifting your chin. “I used it to stab a HYDRA agent in the neck,” you smugly admitted. Tony and Bucky winced.

“Fine. Shoes too,” Tony conceded. “And you, Manchurian Candidate? Need anything?” he turned to Bucky.

“Ya. My gun is jamming even after I’ve already cleaned it. Do you think you can get me a different type of lube?” Bucky asked with a straight face. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but suppress your laughter from behind your hand.

 “I’m dealing with children,” Tony mumbled under his breath as he started to leave.

“Buck!” you chuckled.

“What?! It’s for the gun! I swear!” he shrugged, proudly smiling that he made you laugh.

You sat next to him on the couch. Your whole body turned towards him as he rested his hand on your knee. “Are you really gonna go with me?” you asked timidly.

“Honestly, I thought you’d never listen to Tony and just flat-out refuse. I was counting on it.” You gasped looking him dead in the eye. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight!” he laughed as you grabbed a throw pillow and repeatedly hit him in the chest. “Ow! Dollface. Stop it!” he chuckled. “Jesus, you’re violent.”

“I could’ve used your help! If you didn’t want to go, you should’ve said something! He couldn’t make both of us go! Big help you were!” you huffed as you settled on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” he said still chuckling. He pulled you in closer to him as you cradled his body towards yours. It was effortless. He wrapped his left arm over your shoulders and you lost count of all the times he would hold you like this, in the safety of his arms. It never made you feel cold or shiver. It made you feel safe. Protected. Like you could take on the world (and your mortal enemy) as long as he was with you. “It can’t be that bad, can it? You, me, all dressed up with a night on the town. All on Tony’s dime,” he answered looking into your eyes.

Whenever you caught his eyes, you always got lost in them. Blue- like a sunny sky on a cloudless beach. So, when Bucky painted this wonderful fantasy, you could vividly picture it. Little flutters in your stomach sprung forth at the thought of Bucky all dressed up. Looking as menacing as ever. “I hate that you’re being dragged into this. I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Why are you sorry? I’d never leave a man down. Especially you.” You suddenly felt the weight of his body pressed next to you.

“Ok. I guess I feel better about going.”

“Geez, she’s gonna kill me!” Bucky cried as he punched another agent in the face.

“Come now, soldier. What could she genuinely do?” Loki asked, trying to make Bucky feel better.

“You don’t know how resourceful she could be. What she could do with a pair of pointy heels!” Bucky answered.

“Oh, I know. I was there on that mission,” Loki chuckled. “You’re not that late. Besides…” he trailed off as he sunk his dagger into the oncoming HYDRA agent. “This was an emergency: life and death and all that. I’m sure she’ll understand,” Loki said dismissively.

“I don’t even have a suit! I forgot to get one! Oh, man! I can’t show up looking like this! I’m gonna embarrass her in front of her friends!” Bucky spread his arms out, looking down at his leather uniform splattered with ash and blood. His bright metal hand, flexing, as he brought his arm around again to deliver a final blow to the last agent standing.

Loki huffed, cleaving his dagger off some unsuspecting enemy. “Fear not, my friend, for we are finished with our chores, and I think it’s time for Cinderella to go to the ball, yes?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll be your proverbial godmother,” Loki spread his arms with a wide grin.

I’m gonna kill him! NO! First, I’m gonna take his metal arm and bash him over the head with it. THEN, I’m gonna kill him!

Bucky had stood you up. You spent the better part of the afternoon getting dressed and working your hair and make-up to go to this party that you didn’t even want to go to. Only to have Bucky be a no-show.

You thought back to what could’ve gone wrong. Did he forget? Was it your fault? You spent so much time dreading this party that you forgot to set any details with him. You didn’t want to think about it or give it any power over you. So, discussing the particulars with him might’ve slipped from your mind.

When you went to his room to leave together, he wasn’t there. FRIDAY said he had already left. So, you assumed that he took a separate ride to the party. Slightly crestfallen, you had Happy drop you off at the main entrance to the museum where the party was being held. Hoping you would catch him on the way in. But he wasn’t here either.

Now here you were, three canapés down with a flute of tepid Riesling, pretending to look at the portraits and paintings rather than engage with anyone else in conversation. You were seething. Your anger must’ve been evident because people avoided you all night. One look at you and they quickly turned as if you were the plague incarnate. Just like high school all over again.

“Y/N is that you?!” Rachel’s shrill voice echoed in the vast room. You closed your eyes, stilling your already fraying nerves. You turned to face her and were met, not only by her but by a crowd of people following her as well. “I hardly recognized you! You clean up so well.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” you said with sarcasm dripping out from every syllable.

“You remember my brother, Bryce,” she said gesturing to the guy standing next to her. Bryce looked handsome and dashing in his tailored black tuxedo. And he knew it too! He had the air of someone who was used to getting whatever and whomever he wanted. Evident by the not-so-subtle way he looked you up and down and leered.

“Of course. Bryce how are you?” you asked, offering your hand for a shake.

“On-shan-tay,” he said with a haughty fake accent. He took your offered hand and kissed the back of it, feeling the sticky Chapstick from his lips. God, at least you hope it was Chapstick. The whole act made you cringe. It wasn’t as smooth or as charming as Loki would’ve done it. It definitely wasn’t the comforting hug and kiss Bucky would’ve left on your cheek. He would’ve squeezed you tight till you went limp in his arms.

Thinking about Bucky made you miss him. You only hope he had a good reason as to why he stood you up tonight. You tried to hide the snide in your lips as you pried your hand back from Bryce. You wiped it behind you, surreptitiously stepping to the side, giving more space in between you.

“Are you here by yourself? I thought you would’ve brought your handsome friend with you.” Rachel said loudly enough for her crowd to hear. “Oh Y/N, you always were the lone wolf. Never one to have any serious relationships. Even in high school,” she chuckled lightly, prompting her friend group to smile and jeer behind her.

“Yes. It was difficult. Especially when someone stole my boyfriend senior year,” you criticized.

Rachel chuckled with a tight look on her face, “I can’t believe you still remember that?! That was so long ago. We were children! And besides, I did you a favor. He would’ve broken your heart anyway. Like he did mine. All he talked about was school and getting into college. He never had time for me. Ugh, men! You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them,” she laughed, signaling her flunkies behind her to follow suit.

You balled the napkin you had in your hand and clutched it tightly. If your hands are busy, they can’t punch anyone in the face, right?

Right?!

“There you are! Sorry, I’m late, dollface. I got held up at work.” Bucky’s voice cut through the nightmarish gaggle of taunts and laughs. They parted to let him through and stared as he passed every one of them, leaving them to gawk in wonder.

Including you! You were right. Bucky did clean up really well. His usual disheveled hair was styled. His black tux had satin lapels that shone under the museum spotlights. But what pulled it off even more, and what made him look so dangerously tempting, was the slight cut in his lower lip. Coupled with the faint sheen of his exposed metal hand, made him look menacing and downright sinful.

When he reached you, he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck. He kissed your cheek as he inhaled your perfume.

“Bucky, what happened? You’re hurt!” you exclaimed wiping his lower lip with your thumb. He winced slightly when you touched his gash, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I’m sorry I was late, but there was an urgent mission I had to take care of. I would’ve gotten word to you sooner, but it was all very hush-hush. You know how these things are,” he apologized, taking the palm of your hand and kissing it.  

You looked him over after hearing the news, making sure he wasn’t injured. He should be at home resting. Not here, pretending to have a good time so you could save face for a bunch of nobodies from high school.

“Don’t fuss over me, sweetheart. I’m fine, really!” he insisted.

“But-”

“Don’t worry about me…let me look at you!” he said nudging you gently from his embrace. He twirled you around making you smile at his playfulness. “Wow! Gorgeous, dollface! You look good!” his smirk ignited something inside you. A momentary predacious look from his eyes had you feeling shy and flustered. “You look real good!” he said subconsciously licking his lips.

“One question though,” Bucky said, interrupting your sinful thoughts about what he could do with that tongue. “Whose this guy?!” he asked, pointing his thumb to Bryce. Bucky’s tone was serious and possessive. He hadn’t even looked at anyone else since you locked eyes with him. And frankly, you had forgotten anyone else was in the room.

You looked over to Rachel and Bryce, along with her adoring minions, who were now curious as they watched you and Bucky have your own intimate reunion.

“Bucky! You remember my classmate Rachel from the cafe,” you said pointing in her direction. “This is her brother, Bryce.”

“Bucky! It’s so nice to see you again!” Rachel sweetly spoke as she touched his shoulder and let her fingers trail down his arm. Bucky stopped her hand and shook it in greeting.

“It’s James,” he corrected. “Mr. Barnes, if you’re dollface over here,” he winked at you. “Nice to meet you Bryan, but if you will excuse us, I need to make up for my absence by giving this beautiful woman here all my attention.”

“It’s Bryce!” he shouted back, but by then Bucky had gotten you halfway across the floor as you looked back and gave both Rachel and Bryce an exaggerated apology. Bucky twirled you once again and held you close to his chest. Leaving you giggling as you wrapped both your arms around his neck.

“You made it!” you breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that familiar safety and security of being in his arms. “I thought you- never mind. I guess it doesn’t matter now that you’re here.” You looked down straightening his bow tie and fixing his lapels. Embarrassed about what you were about to confess.

“You thought I’d forgotten about you? You of all people?” He hooked your chin as he led your eyes to look at him. “Never!”  The promise in his voice never wavered. And the teasing in his eyes made you lose your inhibitions.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” you whispered as you leaned in and kissed his soft lips. He stood there frozen, wide-eyed, and watching, as you kissed him for the very first time.  

This kiss would change everything between you. He knew that, but did you? He’s imagined kissing you like this for so long. To finally make you his. But he never acted on it, afraid that you would reject his advances. He froze, wondering what this could mean for your relationship. You felt him stiffen. He stood still, letting you kiss him and not reciprocate any affection back.

OMG, I made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t-” You pulled away as tears welled at the bottom of your eyes. You had taken a chance and it didn’t pay off. He didn’t feel the same way. You were blindsided by his whole entrance. His whole presence, that you mistook it for interest.  The memories of high school came full circle with the feelings of rejection that sprung forth, heating your body in embarrassment.   

He pulled you back into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around you tighter, held you just a bit closer, and kissed you back with the hunger and ferocity you had only fantasized about late at night.

He opened his mouth to moan out your name and you didn’t care who was watching at this point. You were finally kissing Bucky, and just like everything else about him, it was better than you had ever imagined.

He winced slightly at the tug of your mouth, and you quickly stopped to see if he was ok- remembering his cut lip.

“No, do it again. I liked it,” he blushed.

“Well, well, well. I learn something new about you every day, Mr. Barnes.”

“Keep calling me ‘Mr. Barnes’ and you’ll learn a whole new side of me,” he teased.

A/N: Inspired by a chance meeting I had with my mortal enemy. This has been sitting on my editing notes for FOREVER. And if I don't publish it now, I fear that I will just keep adding onto the story.

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[stormbornwitch]

"Go to warren, my childe, and no harm will befall you"

The thing with coming from a family that practised 'little' or 'low' magic is that there are sayings and stories that none of my friends ever knew. This is one of them, and it's a tale of a family that was too open with their workings and was shunned by their local community.

~

A mother and her young daughter were standing in the kitchen of their cottage, cooking porridge, when the mother turned to her daughter.

"If they come, you must run into the woods and take your younger brother with you."

"But what of you and father?"

"You must leave us and go to warren, my childe, and do not emerge no matter what you hear. You will be spared if you leave us."

"No mumma! You must come with us!"

"I can't, my dear. My place is beside your father. If they come for us, I will suffer the same fate."

You must promise me, my dear-heart, that if they come for us, you will stay hidden for three days, and only on the third night will you emerge. Then you can come home, grab some belongings. Don't forget to grab the book from the bottom of the chest!"

The tale continues, and the villagers come for the parents, and so the daughter grabs her younger brother, and despite his cries, drags him into the nearby wood. They hide in an old fox's den tucked inside the roots of a hollowed out tree for three days.

Her brother cries and repeatedly says he wants to go home; "I don't want you! I want mumma! I'm hungry!"

But the daughter was also hungry and thirsty too. So she made her younger brother promise to stay inside the den, and she would go get them something to eat and drink. "You must promise me, you will stay. You may die if you leave. So you must stay. I will be back for you, I promise."

After a few hours of searching, the daughter was able to find a small stream and a handful of dandelions and acorns. Taking off her skirt, she flung it in the stream until it was sopping wet. Then, wearing only her shift, the daughter returned to her brother.

When both siblings had drunk their fill, the daughter hung up her skirt over a branch and sat down next to her brother to gorge on dandelion greens and acorn meat.

Twas to be a cold night, but curled up together, the siblings were warm enough to wait until the moon was high up above the treetops. Twas only then that they emerged from the den.

Pulling on her still-damp skirt, the little girl hauled her brother half-alseep onto her back as she began picking her way back in the direction they had first come. The journey was long, as the little girl lost her way many times, and it was not till the moon was beginning to sink back towards the horizon that she spotted their home through the trees.

The door was wide open, and the yard was a mess. The barn doors were also wide open, but there was no sign of any of the animals. Scurrying inside, the girl took in the sight of their destroyed home. Chairs were toppled and strewn, and the table broken in two. Her mother's favourite pot, the cast iron one they used to cook porridge in every morning, was cracked down the side, laying strewn on the floor.

Placing her brother on the ground, the little girl scrambled up the ladder to her parents' room. It was in a worse state than downstairs. The bedframe shattered, and the mattress ripped, its wool and straw stuffing scattered about.

The little girl scampered quickly over to her mother's chest. It had been the only thing she brought with her when she had married the little girl's father. Now, the lid looked like it had nearly been torn from its hinges, her parents' clothes and belongings torn and left in ruins. The only thing that looked like it survived was the quilt the little girl's grandmother made for her mother as a wedding present.

Grabbing it, the little girl wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. Then she reached into the bottom of the chest and pressed firmly on the left side, the bottom of the chest pushed down and with a click, unlatched. With some difficulty, the little girl lifted the heavy false bottom from the chest. There, safe and sound, was her family's book, some of her mother's jewellery, and the leather case that held her father's dowsing rod. Grabbing the lot and bundling it up in the quilt, the little girl descended the ladder once more.

Adding some food from the larder, the little girl snatched her sleepy brother's hand and once more hauled him onto her back. Then, back into the cold night air, they went; they were never seen or heard from again by anyone in the village.

-

My Nanna used to tell me this story when she would watch me as a child, and I never understood why the whole family from the story couldn’t just run away together.

Now, as an adult who practises witchcraft, I see the lessons in the story. The mother in the tale is trying to save her children because she knows that if the whole family runs, they will be hunted and made outlaws. And likely both her children would perish as well.

The mother is also trying to preserve as much of the magic of the next generation as possible. The scraps of paper, with small writing scratched across the page detailing the little bits of magic the family has been able to cobble together over the years.

Lessons like these stick, and while it is safer to practise witchcraft nowadays than it was in the past, it is still dangerous in many parts of the world. This is part of the reason why I use the url @stormbornwitch and go by my middle name (Marcielle / Marci) when I discuss witchcraft online.

Anyway, enough rambling. Does anyone else have witchy stories /lessons they remember from when they were little they would like to share?

[satoruhour]

🐇 hi t!!! i currently have this brainrot and i don't know who else but to share it and i thought HEYYYY what if i share this to one of my favorite satoru writers hdjfhdkdhdj don't mind me but omfg i've been listening to i know from travis scott's new album and i couldn't stop thinking about angsty(?) fucking with satoru, him cutting off the friends w benefits set up with you because he's scared of confronting his feelings with falling in love with you and he thinks he'll hurt you because he scared of the unfamiliarity of love to him,,,, but he's so into you, the way you momentarily stare into him after you pull away from a heated kiss, the way you wrap your fingers and hold his hands when you slowly grind on his cock, the way you look into his eyes with clouded lust when he's gripping your hips as he bullies his cock into you, the way you hold onto his wrists when he fucks his fingers and plays with your clit tenderly while he has your back on his pounding chest.........he just can't forget you and the chemistry so he pulls up at your residence, knocking at your door at 2 am intoxicated and high, and he's aware he isn't supposed to do this anymore but satoru always knows you'll be opening up the door for him and him only like his good girl with nothing under your velvet babydoll dress you'd always wear when he's around........he always finds a way to make you cry and begging in bed but this time it's different when it's you feigning hurt with the way he cut things off and left you, reminding him “you're just drunk right now,” or “it's just the drugs, satoru...” while he holds your leg onto his broad shoulders and his right hand rubbing your clit while he pumps his cock inside your warm pussy but he softly chuckles at your protests, his tongue licking your neck before he comes closer to your face, his thrusts slowing down as his eyes glances at your lips before settling his blue eyes on your low lidded eyes, telling you “i know baby, i know,” then kisses you momentarily just for him to bite your lower lip tenderly. he looks back at you, you practically have heart eyes all over, all dumbed down with the way he fucks you, a constant reminder that he has you wrapped around his fingers and he can't help but to bite his lip back,,,,,, he isn't yours, but he knows at the back of his mind that you're always his.

PROTECTED VULNERABILITY / STUBBORN HEART

a/n: anon ur MIND ! i need to tell u i had fwb gojo in my drafts 4 the longest time but i never continued. but also i cant tell if i like this or not, i hope i didnt disappoint u anon 😭 also i couldn’t handle the angst so i made reader also want gojo, but written not so obviously as him! cant put my baby thru all that and also ! i may have missed the angsty fucking part so it’s just gojo pining like an idiot

wc: 6.6k

warnings: fwb!gojo, gojo is crazy over u, dom!gojo but hints of whiny gojo, m! masturbation, oral (f and m receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, praise, pet names, reader and gojo are both high in the last scene, finger sucking, face-fucking, deepthroating, tongue-fucking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable.

he understands it fully when he’s got you on top of him for the first time, staring down at him, unaware he’s one of the strongest people in his line of work. you’re unknowingly setting every part of him ablaze, caged in like your body’s a branding iron and he traces over the crescent marks and the lines you made later in the bathroom.

gojo doesn’t recover after that, pondering over this vulnerability which only you could make him feel — the lilt in your voice, the softness of your eyes — it felt almost like it was just for him. his delusions don’t escape him, and rather it only grows worse each time he meets you. 

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way his skin singes under the sun or the unfamiliar feeling of infinity being turned off. it was like standing bare like venus in her birth, eyes forcefully turned onto her while on her scallop shell. it was like sitting on the steps of jujutsu high and getting a ridiculous question of why he didn’t chase after his best friend.

it was like turning his head to meet your sleeping form, calm and undisturbed in the late morning while he wishes you’d turn into a curse, bare your teeth at him and give him a reason to just flee. gojo felt so vulnerable he wanted to do anything but be here. he knows it all too well when it claws at his throat and makes his head spin. it takes the breath out of him and sends tremors through his fingertips. they’re just some of the uncomfortable feelings satoru braces himself for before he’s interrupted by your fingers unzipping his pants, and he loses himself to your skillful hands.

“baby— c’mon,” gojo laughs, tugging lightly on your hair that you moan, and you’re making quick work of his uniform, tugging it off and coming face to face with his bulge. it’s been plaguing him since the mission earlier, but with a quick call to you, you’re quick to show up in a t-shirt and pants, crashing his lips onto yours right at the door.

“okay, i’ll stop teasin’.” your sly smile told gojo everything he needed to know, a shaky breath leaving him when his cock finally leaves the confines of his underwear. his eyes can’t look away from the way your manicured nails wrap around his length as you’re circling your tongue around his tip. you pull him in with just your stare, collecting his pre-cum before you spit on his dick, taking him slowly.

satoru’s head falls back against his sofa, but it’s not for long when he knows you taking his cock down your throat is the hottest thing he’s witnessed. sure, he’s gotten blowjobs before, and he’s moaning as he is but gojo never quite feels the rush of adrenaline throughout his whole body, never the shortness of breath that catches in his lungs.

“love your cock in my mouth, gojo— mhm…” he’s hoping you can pick up on the fact that he does not want you to say that, because it makes everything harder for him, a high-pitched yelp leaving him when you start to suck on his balls, hand still pumping his shaft and you love the way gojo’s hips buck into the air, juices pooling in your panties.

everything feels just right when you bring his hands to your head and get almost all of him into your mouth, nose buried in his pubes and taking in the musky scent of his body — gojo lets out a drawn out whine when he lets himself loose and your eyes are rolling back further and further into your head as the hours pass. his hands are so large on you it drives you crazy as well as it does to the other when you’re twining your fingers with his while you sink down on him, when he squeezes your hand when he’s about to cum. your giggles are muffled by the kisses you share in the late night, unknowingly giving into your questions about him.

the next day is blurry as gojo finds himself handing his card over, in a haze since the previous night, the only thing standing crystal clear was the cutest babydoll dress hanging on a rack.

so the next time you meet, he’s passing you the gift with a whisper in your ear that he expects you to wear it every time he’s around and you have half a mind to smack him on the arm. i’m not like you! reusing outfits and stinking them up! gojo only laughs hard before your snarky remarks are swallowed by the sorcerer, soft moans and pants weaselling out from your lips while you let him use you in a changing room; he doesn’t tell you how your sounds make him dizzy.

in between you’re accepting his calls with a cheery voice, sticking through to your babydoll dress promises. a culmination of feelings building up until gojo truly feels like he can’t breathe — he manages each time which makes even him impressed with himself. but then you’re meeting his kiss halfway when he’s rubbing at your clit gently from below you, drawing out the most lewd sounds from you, the buzzing feeling of your body against him — it’s too much for gojo sometimes.

and the last, before gojo satoru is finally stripped down to his core and that recurring impulse to push people away starts bubbling up again, and yet he tries to find an excuse each time to even catch a glance at you. he knows despite his inability to admit it to himself.

he knows this like he knows many things — the ins and outs of his technique, what food megumi liked, your favourite fruit — but not even the sweetness of an Amaou could convince him of the very feelings he’s swallowed and buried under the very soil he wishes to grow strawberries from. at least he knows he’s fucked.

but the knowing halts when it comes to when? was it when you’re no longer rushing to leave his place after hookups? was it when he sees traces of you in his home? was it when he’s handing over his card to pay for a dress he wasn’t even sure was in your size?

your whisper of his name brings him back, and his bright eyes seem to lighten just a little; in it you can see the crash of the oceans and the scent of it. gojo smells like that — saltiness tinged with caramel and sweetness, scent lingering in and around you whenever you’re not with him. you’ve been making new discoveries about him ever since, even more so today when your heart pounds with the way his hands are on you, feeling a little foreign from how long he hasn’t contacted you.

“are you alright?” you mumble, hips halting at the stupor gojo seemed to be in, until he silently nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and lifting you off of him. it confuses you a little before he settles you on his chest and you shiver at the vibration of his chest.

“spread your legs, baby,” you sigh when his hands trace over your thighs, the coldness of his hands against the warmth of your thighs feeling so good, even more so when he coos in your ear at just how wet you are, drawing languid circles around your clit. “so wet, hm?” you hum whilst turning your head to face him, eyes flitting straight down to his lips when he licks them.

“just f’r you, pretty boy,” your giggles are consumed by gojo’s eager lips, meeting yours halfway in a rough kiss as he starts to rub at your bundle of nerves. even your moans are swallowed, muffled by gojo’s own needy ones before your hands fly up to clutch at his.

“g-gojo! f— fuckkk…” at this point, you’ve completely succumbed to the man behind you, body limp to his ministrations; they’re relentless even when your hands hold his wrist captive. 

“right there?” gojo chuckles into your ear, hot breath fanning across your ear. it trails into giggles when a drawn out yeahh… makes its way out of you, “my good lil girl.”

you preen at the praise you’ve heard multiple times before, but for some reason your heart only

jumps at gojo’s words no matter how you look at it. with his other hand, he’s positioning it at your entrance, slipping in his finger with a groan that reverberates through his toned chest. there’s moans and whines exchanged, the musky scent of sex flooding every corner.

before long, a second finger joins his first, eyes locked on the way your drooling cunt sucks him in easily while your juices coat his palm, a glistening, filthy sight as he sets a pace. gojo laughs again when your other wandering hand wraps around his wrist, too.

“s’too full,” you whimper, head thrown back across his shoulder, thinking your tightly clenched hands did any work, but if anything, it only spurs him on further. the abuse on your core is endless, feeling with a shiver down your back, the lazy circles on your cli  and the spread of his hand widening to fit more of his fingers in you.

“you’ve taken my cock before, darlin’, you can do it.” satoru coats your shoulders and neck with kisses, that lone sentence making it clear to him he wants you more than just this one time. he wants this over and over until you’re crying and the sheets are soaked, until he’s made so many cups of morning coffee for you that he can’t count them on one hand. there’s a brief falter in his movements when he realises this, an uncomfortable stifled gulp until you’re whining into his ears, hands beckoning him to continue and he brushes it away like he always does.

you’re cumming easily with the arch of your back, but gojo is still in a daze about your life together. maybe you’d gift him a box of kikufuku when he’s back from trips, maybe you’d patch him up after a difficult mission even if you didn’t know what his job entailed. there was too many maybe’s, something gojo wasn’t willing to bet on. for now, he’d focus on the way—

—the way moans lingered on your lips when you came as your body reacted so well to his fingers, clutching on his lanky frame while he pumped you full. he watches when your eyes roll back and your neck reveals itself and he laughs into it, telling you how he’s the only one to make you feel this good and you’re nodding frantically.

gojo’s heart warms at that while his throat dries and it’s like he loses confidence and he feels like a virgin all over again — so blessed to have you under him while he’s suddenly hyper aware of how your cunt feels around him. it’s divine, you’re divine; he stifles a small confession and masks it with a cry. a cry that was of pure desire which couldn’t be expressed, and he blinks away the tears before they could come because you feel too damn good; and if he looks at you one second more he would confess everything.

“you okay?” gojo brushes the sweaty hairs that stick to your forehead, getting a blissful smile from you afterwards while you merely pull him down for a kiss and satoru feels bile creep up in his throat at the tenderness which you connect your lips to him. you’re leading the kiss so slowly and sweetly he wonders if you ever prefer his lips over your Amaou strawberries.

“’m okay, gojo.” the last name is reminiscent of the stagnant distance between you, “are you?”

satoru sniffles just a bit and nods, “y-yeah. let me go get a rag, ’kay?”

you don’t answer after because of your fatigue, merely letting him slip away from your fingers while you calm your heartbeat, rather settling for his scent on the bedsheets and you ignore the redness of his eyes, letting him take care of you as the night falls into an uncharacteristic quiet.

words are difficult in this arrangement after the rules have been set. we’re here to fuck, not to solve each other’s problems, and you’re giving him a curt nod and a sultry smile before you taste gojo satoru for the first time. it has been like that since then, although gojo has been more silent than usual, but words—

words are difficult, and so you leave it be with a deep sigh and a dreamless slumber, not aware of the other.

it’s when the rush of water hits the pail, gojo realises he can’t carry on much longer, of the pull you have on him, on the chemistry, the words dying on his lips when he sees you already passed out. with a gentle hand he glides the rag over you, careful not to wake you, and it’s getting difficult separating love from lust when he’s wiping you down so gently like this.

gojo is gone when you awaken, his side of the bed cold that signals to you he’s been gone for a few hours now, and you’re hoping to get a greeting of him posing beside mochi, or a trinket from a neighbouring district. his work made him travel a lot, you heard, but the specifics are a hushed topic — he wasn’t yours to know intimately anyway.

you’re halfway changing into a babydoll dress he got you, the material sleek and comfortable enough to be worn at home, glancing at the phone with one arm in the arm hole. you frown.

[11:12, gojo satoru]: hey. i think we should stop this thing we have goin on

gojo’s fingers regret the very moment he’s sent it, because you do nothing but type and stop and linger online. he makes it worse with a second message, and multiple more.

[11:14, gojo satoru]: i have uh… a work thing that might interfere with this. 

i’m sorry y/n, you were.. great. i loved every second i spent…|

he let his feelings run and accidentally clicks ‘send’ and panics, unsending it almost instantly. he has to catch a breath before he types it out again.

[11:15, gojo satoru]: i’m sorry (y/n), you were.. great. thank you for the arrangement fr

had a lot of fun while it lasted, also sorry i used all ur face wash hehehe ~

gojo groans into his hands at the way he easily reverts back to his playful disposition, a coping mechanism he’s picked up since high school and he hates how he already misses how he was with you.

“what the fuck are you moaning about now?” shoko asks, obviously irritatedly as she dissects another transfigured human, and her private time on studying the oddness of the disfigured curse is undoubtedly ruined by her friend’s incessant groaning.

the sorcerer is spread out on one of the seats in the morgue, “nothin’.”

“is it that friends with benefits thing you have going on?” he rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. years of dissecting people probably granted shoko with the ability to see through people, both literally and figuratively. gojo simply waves a hand and takes his leave, phone already on do not disturb to avoid seeing your reply. that’s the first time shoko catches onto his inner turmoil, the tear between wanting to protect his heart and the desperation to let someone in.

[11:20, delivered]: oh

but you know when it’s started for him. you think it was the moment you’d seen the change in gojo’s eyes. there wasn’t just carnal need for you, not just lust. amongst little specks of darkened azure you can see the softer hues of baby and lapis; but what do you know, right?

those same eyes stare back at you in the profile picture he set after a drunken night together. you reply with the only thing you can manage as you try to convince yourself it’s what you want. 

[11:21, delivered]: oh okay

you feel like a schoolgirl throwing a tantrum again, the pounding in your heart reaching your ears like a droning drum and you feel like you cannot breathe. your pillows are the victim of your unfiltered scream, paired with multiple profanities until you’re left with no more fire in you. gojo satoru had taken all of the heat with him.

that was friday; on sunday there’s a notification at the end of the week that tells you your screen time went up by 9%.

nanami and shoko were never one to reject a drinking night on a monday, sharing an unsaid (and reluctant) conclusion that maybe they should bring gojo along even if he’s only going to be sipping on apple cider. but while usually gojo is boasting about his terrible alcohol tolerance, tonight he’s buried in an arm he wishes was your neck, the burn of the whiskey nanami begged him not to drink reminding him of your touch.

“thousand yen and a new dissection set for when gojo goes back to his friend with benefits within one week.”

“ah, when, not if? you seem pretty confident,” nanami comments from across the table in the fairly busy bar, leaning back with an unreadable expression upon his face.

shoko only shrugs, “something tells me he’s definitely moping in his—”

“can we please stop talking about me like i’m not in the middle?” his words are muffled by the dark blue uniform he dons, white hair looking strangely duller as he tries to get some shuteye in a damn bar; foolish enough to lose sleep over you that he’s been messing up on missions. even nanami was surprised to be assigned to harder missions upon learning about gojo’s mishaps.

his grumbles fall on deaf ears, the clink of their glasses only highlighting satoru’s torment, the mediocre performance of the band on stage only adding to the headache that was forming — and it’s not long before gojo loses all senses. he has to be lugged out of the bar by nanami as shoko just grins, still as fresh as she arrived as she shouts a good luck! and the stoic sorcerer is left to deal with his senior. by now, gojo has already talked his ear off while he decides what to do with the lanky man, a call to ijichi halted when the strongest sorcerer starts to mumble out incoherent words.

“she’sss… she’s so beautiful i— i don’t… nanaminnn i don’t know what to fuckin’ do,” gojo mumbles into the lapels of the other’s suit. “i feel like i might— i wanna die whenever i’m with her because…”

gojo sniffles. he’s driven to tears easily, the liquor in him intensifying anything and everything. his last confessions are slurred, albeit softly. “i can’t breathe around her.”

there’s a tense silence that circles them for a few minutes, nanami considering his next words carefully even with the soft whispers of your name leaving his lips, and then, there’s also the awkward hard-on nanami can feel on his thigh and he’s trying so hard not to wince — at least gojo’s pants were darker in colour. he can only muster sighs when people on the sidewalk give him looks.

“gojo. i’m not a stranger to your… tendencies,” nanami’s voice cuts through harshly, thinking that his senior may be napping, but he’s surprised to hear a hum leaving his throat, “but you’ve been lacking. in missions, in teaching. it’s never this bad.”

monday. it’s monday and it’s been three days since he broke it off. all it takes is some whiskey and nanami kento to break you down, but he doesn’t say anything after, standing in silence with him until the alcohol wears off just a little more and the sorcerer’s able to gather his cursed energy to teleport. but all gojo can sense in his home are the residuals of your cursed energy. it stings his nose like an odour, something he should be repulsed by, like the pungent smell of copper after visiting shoko or the strong tang of the fermented tofu you’ve tried making for him.

weirdly it only makes the ache in his pants worse when the cursed energy fills his head and messes with his; it reminds him of when you’d be too impatient to make it to the bedroom, letting gojo take you on the couch, to the ride of his shirt up your hips when you first wake up. plopping onto the sofa, he almost succumbs to sleep, alcohol breath and all, but manages to flip himself over, fingers stumbling over his zipper.

your name is the first thing that leaves his mouth as he palms his bulge, soft grunts sounded out in the quietness of his house. his head digs far into the couch as he focuses on you atop him working your magic, grinding onto his front like a tease with your hands on his chest. he removes his underwear with a sigh, hand immediately starting to stroke himself.

“oh— shit, y-yeah,” satoru has no restraint, no decorum, whines filling the room while the slick noises of his fist increase in volume. he thinks of every bit of your body moving against him, water against rock, icarus against the sun.

gojo squeezes his shaft and remembers all the times you’ve wrapped your own hand around him, nails newly done and paid from his pocket as the baby blues move up and down his dick. he rubs a thumb around his tip, and the way his tip leaks pre-cum is almost sinful.

“baby, oh fuckk—” his head pounds from the bright light and the alcohol, and the way his eyes are scrunched tight. “you feel so fuckin’ good.”

satoru’s hips are lifting off his sofa, humping into thin air while his hands speed up, and he’s close, getting some notification from nanami which draws his attention to the wallpaper he set of you: sheets dangerously low on your chest, eyes resting from the long night. it makes him sob out your name because you don’t know what you do to him, until.

until gojo reaches an unsatisfying peak, a cry on his lips and spurts of his cum staining his hand, but it feels nothing like you. the liquid’s spread across his hand like hot water, the guilt burning his body before he chucks his phone to the side and prays to any god that they would have mercy on him.

a gasp is heard. your figure shows itself through the babydoll dress, looking stunning as always with your doe eyes. he knew you’d always open the door.

“gojo.”

alcohol is prevalent on the man standing across from you, and you’re partially surprised to see him in front of you after just one week calling your whole arrangement off — somewhere, someone you don’t know is gifting another unknown person a new dissection set with a mere ��1000 bill on it. something tugs at your heart at his flushed face and messy hair, maybe it was your feelings, maybe it was the wine you drank before this. you also take note of the unbuttoned dress shirt he’s got on, the wrinkles and dishevelled state of it driving you a little insane.

“baby…” gojo smiles like it was a late night drinking with the boys and it was you welcoming him home, but it’s different when you’ve fucked and received kisses like he loves you, all while he’s standing at the corridor of your apartment building. you’re hoping he’s only a figment of your imagination, because you’ve banished him from your mind since last week. oh well, you tried anyways.

“what. do you want?” there’s a slight buzz from the wine you drank, amplified when he slowly makes his way into the familiar space.

“you—” the other hiccups, and he has to keep a hand on the doorframe from collapsing. if he’s strong enough to do that, you think he’s probably one drink in, bordering on the line of being high and slowly descending into drunkenness. in his hand there’s a bottle of apple cider to quell the alcohol; you stifle a smile.

“i’m not the one who called it off.” you hold your ground, not even noticing the attachment you have with the velvet on your body, feeling satoru’s fingers play with the soft fabric of its hem.

“and yet you— you wear this dress like it’s your underwear, always opening the door f’r me a-and… fuck,” it comes out softly upon feeling up your thighs and settling on your ass cheeks, void of any panties. he gives it a good squeeze and a small whimper leaves you, forced to cosy up to his chest when you stumble forward.

“you’re just drunk right now, gojo, sayin’ shit like that…” you trail off, finding any excuse to not open up the scab on your heart again, pushing at his chest like you didn’t want to taste the rum on him, like you didn’t want his body on yours and taint him with sauvignon.

gojo proves you wrong over and over again at how he’s got your dress flipped up later, neck bent up to accommodate his tall stature while you’re supporting yourself on the flimsy shoe rack as he pulls your body flush against him and toes off his shoes — he’s skilled at multitasking like that.

“need to be inside you, baby,” he groans, fingers fumbling with the dress he bought and he almost cums just from feeling up your body, “but first.”

you’re swept off the floor and your hands are quick to wrap around his neck, following the route to your bedroom like he’s done many times before. this time, there’s a different kind of thrill, looking down at your hazy eyes as you’re both intoxicated on liquor. it’s different from the time he took the current picture of his contact in your phone (you hadn’t deleted his number), it’s different from every other day.

“gojo…” is all you can muster when he plops you down a little roughly on the bed, and you have the privilege of seeing him strip out of the button down shirt, forearms flexing against the shirt as he reveals his toned body bit by bit. you can’t help but refuse to lose, legs spreading just a little to show him all the wetness you’ve gotten just from kissing him.

“angel,” he looks a little starstruck by the sheen of your pussy, swallowing until he’s finally out of his shirt, “you look fuckin’ beautiful.”

your small smile tells him you already know that (“pretty girl, takin’ me so well like this.” a whisper into your ear in that changing room) like you know how you’re probably the only one to get him like this: panting, mouth parted, cock aching to be in you — you’re just better at hiding your own.

wordlessly, you swipe two fingers along your folds, collecting your slick before they come to rest upon his lips, taking it into his mouth willingly. they swirl around your digits and he hums at the taste, divine as always, teeth scraping your skin when you easily unbuckle his pants and peel the underwear off of him.

“can i call you satoru?”

you don’t even have to fucking ask, he wishes to say but all he answers with is a shaky “yes”, and he never wants anything to do with the gojo clan any more. if you asked him to quit being a sorcerer, he would, because all he wants to be associated with is satoru and the cadence of it falling from your lips.

even one week was too much for you, so you’re quick to get to your knees, going straight to putting his fat cock in your mouth. the moan gojo lets out is straight pornographic, and he’s missed this as much as you did, knowing nothing could compare to his hand when your mouth was second to your cunt. lovingly, his hand caresses one side of your cheek, filled to the brim with his length.

“so fuckin’ warm, holy fuck—” bobbing your head, you keep a steady hand on his thighs, because with one look to him, he’s whimpering out, hands loosely tangling in your hair. you moan as his hips start to buck into your mouth, and with a small nod from you, the hands on your head tightens before he starts to thrust into your cavern, bringing you down to his pelvis ever so slightly.

there’s guttural sounds coming from the back of your throat as you deepthroat him, eyes brimming with tears before he lets up. his thrusts don’t stop, though, and he fucks your mouth like an animal, lewd noises flooding the room as drool falls from your mouth. you’re moaning as you play with yourself, the vibrations causing the other’s hips to stutter.

“g’nna c—” it’s a shame how fast gojo cums, but it’s only fair because of the way your mouth feels on him, tongue flexing against the underside of his shaft every time his cock disappears into you and he’s shooting hot liquid down your throat after, unloading into your throat as you swallow easily. you’re used to the bitter taste by now.

“s’big,” you giggle, naturally taking over as your hands squeeze out the last bits of cum from his cock, and the way it drips onto your tongue is orgasmic, “love your cock s’much, satoru.”

gojo brings you up by your arms, and he has to taste himself on you first before he’s fully taking off his pants, smiling just a bit when your legs spread again and your pussy is practically begging for him. “enough of me, let’s focus on you.”

you raise an eyebrow while he’s inches away from your cunt, ignoring the rasp of his voice like it hadn’t made you shiver, “me?”

“yeah, you, my pretty lil thing.” you hardly digest what he says before his mouth engulfs your core, and you let out a deafening moan, hands closing around your bed sheets as he starts to suck on your clit. his tongue is ruthless, flicking at your nub and wrapping both arms around your thighs, tugging you into his face like he wasn’t close enough already.

“oh g-god— satoruuu…” his name falls from your lips countless times and gojo’s eyes can’t help but shift to your face at the pretty sounds that come from you, zoned in on eating you out until his chin is wet with your slick.

“look at me, princess,” gojo is taken aback from the blissed out expression on your face, but it doesn’t falter him, a resolve settling in his bones, “thaaat’s it, baby.” and you struggle to hold his stare when those familiar blues comes flooding back into his irises while his tongue doesn’t stop any of its movements, knowing your ins and outs. you can feel the fabric below you starting to soak, pussy dripping endlessly.

he gives you one last lasting look before he moves down to your entrance, tongue slipping inside while his nose nudges your clit and your hands fly to his hair. gojo hums into your cunt, affirmations of good girl mixed in with moans that send chills up your body.

“close, aren’t ya?” you roll your eyes at how he’s so confident now, sobriety coming to light a bit and rum leaving his system the moment he’s got your pussy in between his lips, but he’s not wrong because you can feel the coil in your stomach twisting and turning, hearing him groan out when he uses a free hand to stroke himself.

his tongue returns to your clit and gojo sucks hard until you’re pulling on his stark white hair, screaming out his name and profanities as you cum, leaking so much juices that it’s made a dark red spot on the inside of your dress. he laughs softly into your core before he’s back to slurping all of it up again and your legs close involuntarily; all he does is tut and spreads them again and he’s on a mission to make up to his mistake of ever thinking of leaving you.

your body is limp by your third orgasm, grasping at satoru to feel him and he takes your hand to plant kisses on them, and to tell you to wait. but that almost proves difficult for you when he’s got you all spread out like this and the quiet, dazed gojo is gone momentarily because he finally knows what he wants.

even if he had to fuck you silly and plant strawberries himself and make more coffees and open up old wounds again, gojo is going to do it all, because the call of his name is sounding more and more like heaven each time and he’s tired of burning at the side when he’s willing to fight fire with fire.

“satoru,” you whine out when gojo places your legs on his shoulder, and it gets him so much deeper in you, buried to the hilt. by now, you’re getting bent into half as he eases his cock into you with a groan, your soaking core laced with juices acting as lube.

“what is it, sweetness?” he asks breathlessly, pressing a soft kiss to your ankle and you’re mewling out again. god, he wanted you like this every minute of the day.

“f-feels s’good,” you moan out, fingers wrapped around his forearms as they grip onto your waist.

the other leans forward and you clench up at how your body folds even more, eyes hooded and soft pants leaving your lips.

“i know, baby, i know,” the glimpse to your lips is brief but you catch it as he coos, and you close the gap as satoru starts his pace, sinking into your warm pussy like it’s a drug. your lips intoxicate him more than rum ever will, slipping his tongue in you and he can’t help but nibble on your bottom lip, a grunt of how tight you are whispered against you.

as gojo continues to rut into you, your lips are continually captured by the other’s, small, sweet kisses leaving your heart beating as his eyes bore into yours before his hand reaches down to rub at your clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

the room is filled with the scent of sex paired with the squelching noises of your cunt, sucking him in so well that his hips falter and he loses his speed whilst admiring you; the you whose pupils look like they’ve morphed into hearts and your jaw remains slack from how good he rails into you.

a man whose feelings weren’t this strong wouldn’t fuck into you like this, wouldn’t make you cum thrice like you’re his baby and then fuck you nice after. a man like that won’t get up fifteen minutes earlier to boil water or swap out an old tube of face wash when it runs out.

but are you even ready? even with the undeniable pull satoru has on you, you cannot get the feeling of being thrown aside when you’ve done your part out of your chest, the weight crushing you worse than his body weight in the morning.

“s’toru! s-shit,” you whimper, legs tightening around his shoulder as your hands scramble to grab his hair, feeling already so fatigued and yet, you’re dizzy on the way gojo satoru makes you feel. satoru is no different, an immovable haze settling over his eyes when he stares and he’s so caught up in everything — your eyes, your hips, your hair splayed out below him that he’s blurting out the first thing in his mind. “i love y— this fuckin’ pussy, fuck.”

his heart is pounding, and he stops abruptly at the stifled slip-up, mouth dry when you shoot him a confused look and a small satoru? you okay?

“y— yeah.”

i couldn’t do it.

gojo gulps and he feels tears well up in his eyes. it’s weird, for all his confidence at the start begins to dwindle at such simple words that he can’t mutter out and he shakes his head, burying himself into the crook of your neck and you’re brought back into bliss when he continues, taking note of the slight turmoil he’s going through.

gojo feels like he cannot breathe when you pull him from your neck, albeit with difficulty; both your eyes flutter close as his forehead collides with yours, and he just savours this moment with (hopefully) no judgement from you. he breathes in your scent, takes in your moans in his ears as his pace slows and he angles his hips and his eyes open to meet yours again right as you both cum, pumping you full with mingling moans as you gush all over his cock.

and just like the first night, you’re drawing him in with everything — he falls harder when he sees you reluctantly ignore the tears in his eyes, knowing he didn’t want to talk about it, knowing you’d be asking about it later. with your gentle voice, your fiery touch.

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable, but at thirty he thinks it’s time for a change when you first embroiled him in this complicated arrangement of quiet, yet tumultuous feelings. he can feel the three words weigh his lips down when you’re brushing away the tears later with a sad smile, scooting yourself closer to the chest that’s doing a bad job of hiding his heartbeat.

“what’s gotten my satoru cryin’, hm?”

gojo sniffles at my, holding onto one of your hands, and he says nothing but only succumbs to your arms when you tuck him under your chin, feeling safe in your chest as you both fall into routine. silence befalls the night, a certain dread taking over him that you’d be gone by morning as his breaths even out.

but when birds sing in the morning, his heart sings louder at the sight of you reading a book beside him in an old shirt he was convinced was lost, the faint smell of toast waiting for you outside. he’s tucked into your side and his arms have naturally wrapped around your body, your own playing gently with his hair and gojo thinks not all is bad when you read between the lines of his feelings. because as much as he knew you, you knew him and his habits, his quirks, too, and there’s an unsaid rule about how—

satoru never liked to feel vulnerable.

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way he accidentally burns himself while cooking pancakes or feeling the heat of the coffee radiate off your cup. it was like standing bare in your shower, eyes locked onto yours while he cleans you up. it was like letting his heart be stripped away by you who peels away the layers like you do to his underwear and the hard-boiled egg on the stove and the orange in the grocery bag.

it was like loving you, even if it tears at his technique and mocks the very powers he’s perfected to be untouchable, but you’re able to permeate his barriers and neutralise his infinity with something as simple as a kiss to his forehead.

that, gojo satoru may never be able to understand, but like himself, he doesn’t need to know every single thing.

all he knows is that with the way you capture his heart, he knows freedom from your embrace is something unattainable, but he wouldn’t have it any other way — that in itself is enough for his stubborn heart.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

can you do a renee or regina x diabetic reader, fluff/hurt/comfort please! i've been loving your fics

You're Okay, You're Okay

|| Reneé Rapp x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; some swearing, diabetic reader, reader struggling with low blood sugar, anxiety mentions, fluff/hurt/comfort

|| Summary; Reneé surprises reader with a concert to their favourite artist. The excitement gets away from them and they forget to check their sugar levels..

Requests open!

Started; october 18th

Finished; october 18th

~~~

Reneé had decided to surprise you with tickets to your favourite artist. She was off tour now, so she had some time to just be her. And that included spending as much time with you as humanly possible. The first thing she wanted to do? Surprise you with a concert. Probably ironic; given that she wanted to spend her off time from performing concerts to watch someone else's concert... but hey, she loves concerts, what can she say?

That evening Reneé went to your place and picked you up, not even letting you know where she was taking you. Just that you should dress casual. The car ride there was full of lots of conversations, the topic switching pretty frequently but you were used to that with Reneé. You found it pretty adorable, too. Especially with how passionate she seemed to be about everything. The way her smile never left her face.

"Before we go in.. how's your blood sugar doing, baby? Do you need anything?" Reneé asked, she was pretty good with checking in on you frequently. The last thing she wanted was for you to have a medical emergency, so far they've been doing pretty good. You haven't had one the entire time she's been dating you and she'd like to keep that track record going.

"I'm okay, Neé. I made sure to have stuff before we left and I got some jellybeans in my bag if I really need them." You assured her, knowing how much Reneé worried about you.

"Okay, good. C'mon then, baby." She gave your ass a playful squeeze as she you down, making you gasp a little and swat her arm. Getting a laugh out of her as Reneé took your hand, the two of you running into the concert together.

It was everything you ever imagined it to be, your full attention was on the performance the entire time. Never taking your eyes off the stage as you and Reneé sang along together, the vibes were good. Everything was perfect.

But that can't last forever, can it? You'd both gotten pretty into the concert that you didn't think to check your blood pressure. You didn't notice the headache, or the dizzy feeling that started to overtake you. Until you'd nearly blacked out. Nearly, though. You only lost your footing, Reneé was quick to react and caught you.

"Hey, hey hey. Easy. Baby, what's wrong?" Reneé was trying to keep the anxiety out of her tone as she looked at you, then grabbed your monitor to check what you were at. Shit. She set you down on one of the chairs in the VIP box, immediately going to your bag and skimming through it until she found the jellybeans you'd brought." You're okay, you're okay." Reneé repeated the words over and over like a mantra, both for you and herself. She was freaking," mouth open, baby. Come on."

She urged you to open your mouth, you weren't fully there. So it didn't register at first what she had wanted you to do, but then it did and you listened to her every instruction. Reneé got you to eat the jellybeans, then got a bottle of water for you too from the cooler in the room. She helped you to drink it, staying next to you the entire time. Frequently checking your monitor to make sure you were going back to normal and not getting worse.

When things were okay again, Reneé still didn't let herself relax. Staying on guard, watching you like a hawk the entire time. You took some breaths to calm your own nerves, then looked to Reneé and placed your hand over her own. Bringing it to rest on your lap." I'm okay." You murmured. She just nodded, you could tell she had been trying not to cry. The way her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Your hands went to her cheeks and pulled her in for a gentle kiss.

"See? Okay." You assured her again, whispering against her lips and keeping her gaze on your eyes.

"Promise?" She asked. This time you nodded and you could see as she finally relaxed.

She didn't take your eyes off you for the rest of the night, even after the concert. Always checking your monitor, giving you a couple of jellybeans every now and then. That had terrified her, she was almost sure you were going to pass out on her back there. But you were okay. You were okay and that's all that mattered to her.