#like the TROPES the GENTLE TOUCHED the way it ALL COMES TO A HEAD and they just!!!! give in!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckysleftbicep · 14 days ago

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what home feels like 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (5 + 1 trope)

warnings: loads, like mountains of fluff, soft!bucky, some angst, bucky in an apron, team shenanigans

summary: the 5 times bucky thinks of proposing to you and the 1 time he does

word count: 6.1k (i couldn't help myself 🥹)

author's note: hi loves! i am in the middle of my vacation and i had this written during my layover, and i just couldn't wait to let you guys read it, so here it is! i hope you'll love it as much as i do! love ya and stay safe out there! 💌

The first time Bucky thought of proposing to you, you were asleep on his chest, and the world was still.

The sun filtered softly through gauzy curtains, turning the room to gold, that liminal hush between dawn and morning, when the world had yet to stir.

The compound was silent. Peaceful. A rare luxury. And in the center of it all was you, curled in the tangle of Bucky’s arms, your face pressed to his chest, your breath warm and even against the fabric of his shirt.

One of your hands was fisted there, right over his heart, like you’d been afraid he might drift away in the night and needed something to anchor you. As if your body, even in sleep, refused to let him go.

He didn’t mind. He never minded. In fact, if he had it his way, he’d never move from this moment at all. He could stay like this forever. And maybe, for once, he actually believed he deserved to.

Alpine lay nestled between your legs, a puddle of white fur with her chin resting lazily on your calf. She let out a soft mewl, stretching languidly, paws reaching toward the warm patch of sunlight spilling across the bed before curling tighter into the cradle you made for her.

Bucky watched her for a beat, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then looked back down at you, the way your lashes flickered in dreams, the way your lips parted with each slow breath, your features soft and at peace in the golden quiet.

There was a kind of stillness in the air that made everything feel sacred. Like nothing bad could touch the room you shared. Like the outside world, the violence, the ghosts, the endless fight didn’t exist here.

Just you. Just him. Just this.

And his heart ached a little with the weight of it, of how far he’d come, of how long it had taken to get here. To something this gentle. This good.

Because this life had once seemed impossible.

Germany, 2016.

The first time Bucky saw you, he had been standing at the far end of the airport carpark in Berlin, still learning how to breathe in spaces that weren’t cages.

Still unsure of who he was supposed to be outside the Soldier. Still half-listening, half-drifting.

Steve had brought you in, voice warm, saying you’d be helping with strategy and tech coordination for the joint ops.

There had been a familiarity in how he spoke to you, like you were someone he already trusted. That alone had caught Bucky’s attention.

And then… then you walked in beside him.

Wearing jeans and a simple button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in some easy style like you hadn’t even put much thought into it.

You had a notebook in one hand, and your eyes were wide, bright. Like you hadn’t yet learned to keep your guard up in this line of work. Like the job hadn’t bled the softness out of you.

And Bucky… Bucky had stared.

Not out of rudeness—not really. But because you’d laughed. Full-bodied and unfiltered.

Scott had said something dumb—some half-witted quip about old men and bluetooth—and you had tipped your head back, laughing like it was the best thing you’d heard all week.

The sound of it went straight through him.

It didn’t just catch his attention. It wrecked him, a little. That laugh landed somewhere behind his ribs, somewhere he hadn’t even realised was still raw. And for the first time in a long time, something in him stirred. Something slow and silent and stupidly hopeful.

Then you turned to him. Your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Held out your hand.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you’d said, your voice warm, effortless and kind. The kind of voice that made people feel safe. The kind of voice that felt like a hand resting lightly on a wound.

“You must be Bucky.”

He hadn’t said a word at first. Couldn’t. His brain had short-circuited under the weight of your gaze and the gentle curl of your mouth. His pulse roared in his ears like it did in combat zones—sharp, hot, all-consuming.

But then, somehow, he managed a smile. A real one. Small. Tentative. But genuine. And when he took your hand in his, shaking it carefully, cautiously, something in his chest locked into place.

He remembered how soft your skin had felt against his calloused fingers. How you hadn’t flinched at the sight of the metal. How your touch had lingered just long enough.

You didn’t seem put off by his silence. You’d just nodded, eyes full of something unspoken, and walked off with Wanda, the two of you giggling about something he couldn’t hear. Just like that, you were gone. But the space you left behind stayed.

That’s when Sam had sidled up beside him, elbowing him just hard enough to knock him out of his daze.

“You know if you keep staring, it’s gonna get reak creepy,” he said, smirking.

Bucky had scowled at him. Sam had just grinned wider, all smug and knowing, before turning back.

But even then—Bucky knew.

Knew he was already in trouble.

Because something had shifted. A compass needle inside him, snapping north.

And from that moment on, he’d been tilting toward you.

Now, as he looked down at you all these years later—your lashes fluttering in dreams, your nose scrunching as Alpine adjusted herself—the same flutter stirred in his chest. The same ache, the same quiet kind of awe.

The kind of wonder a man feels when he realises he’s been given the one thing he never dared to ask for.

You shifted in your sleep, barely a breath of movement, but your hand remained curled tight in his shirt, right over his heart.

A reflex, even now. And Bucky let his vibranium fingers trace along your spine, the weight of them light, slow, gentle. Careful not to wake you. He wanted to hold onto this moment just a little longer.

That’s when he thought about the ring.

The one you’d pretended not to look at in the window of that little shop in town last week, red velvet box, delicate curve of diamonds catching the light.

You’d been with Yelena and Bob, arms full of coffee cups and teasing each other about something John had said.

But as you passed the display, you slowed.

He’d noticed it. The way your gaze had lingered. The way your fingers shifted slightly on the cup, like you were reaching for something you wouldn’t admit to wanting. The way your smile curved at the corners, quiet and wistful, like a secret you didn’t plan on sharing.

He saw it and tucked it away.

And now, with you asleep in his arms, your heartbeat matching his, the sun painting gold into your skin, Alpine’s fur warming your legs and that familiar weight of your hand pressed into his chest—he made the decision he’d been dancing around for weeks.

He was going to buy it.

Because this—this lazy Sunday morning with your body draped over his, your love stitched into the silence—this was it.

This was forever.

The second time Bucky thought of proposing, the kitchen had smelled like toast and sunlight.

It was late morning when he found you in the kitchen, barefoot on cool tile, hips swaying to the distant echo of Taylor Swift playing from a speaker;

The track was barely audible—warbled through the walls, a little staticky at the edges, but you didn’t seem to care.

You moved with it anyway, letting the music carry you from one counter to the next like it had been written for this exact moment—lazy, sun-warmed, still wrapped in the quiet of sleep.

You were wearing his shirt—that old red henley he loved and you’d stolen without apology—sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the hem brushing mid-thigh and clinging in places where the steam from the kettle had warmed the air.

Your hair was still mussed from sleep, strands curling at your temples, and one sock was scrunched halfway down your ankle like you’d forgotten to pull it all the way on.

You held a wooden spoon in one hand like a microphone, lips parted, eyes closed, your voice rising with the chorus as you spun in a loose, lazy circle in front of the stove.

You were completely at ease. Utterly unbothered. Just lost in the song and the morning and the rhythm of your own joy.

Sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor and lighting you up like something out of a dream.

You looked like every warm Sunday morning he’d ever wanted, the kind of morning he didn’t believe he’d ever actually get.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching the way your feet padded across the tile, how your hips swayed, how you bobbed your head to the beat like no one was watching—because you didn’t think anyone was.

And maybe he should’ve said something—greeted you, teased you, but the words stayed lodged in his throat, caught somewhere behind the knot that had formed in his chest. Because there was something about you like this that undid him.

Completely.

You were radiant in a way he didn’t think you realised. The kind of radiant that came from joy—unfiltered, unguarded. The kind that wasn’t curated or calculated or polished for the world.

The kind of beauty that only existed in the in-between spaces—in the stretch of a yawn, in a wooden spoon masquerading as a microphone, in the way your laugh cracked when you hit the high notes wrong.

And god, he thought, watching the sway of your hips, the grin playing at your lips, this is home.

You.

You were home.

He thought about the way you’d slowly, gently introduced him to pop culture like it was your personal mission to drag him into the 21st century.

The curated playlists you made, some with real titles and others labeled “Bucky’s Soft Bitch Era” just to get a rise out of him. The back-to-back movie nights where you made him swear, hand over heart, that he wouldn’t fall asleep during The Notebook.

He remembered the first time he said TokTok by accident and you’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing, giggling so hard you landed half in his lap.

He’d rolled his eyes and muttered something about the whole app being made by “brain rot,” a term you taught him. but you’d refused to correct him, smirking every time he repeated it wrong.

You’d made it all so effortless. The joy.

He hadn’t known it was happening—not at first. Not until it was already too late to stop. Until you were part of everything. His mornings, his evenings, the space between missions, the quiet between nightmares. The laughter between breaths.

You hadn’t forced him to change.

You’d just given him something worth changing for.

He smiled to himself, one hand curling loosely around the coffee mug, now half-cold in his grip.

You were singing now, his shirt shifted with every movement, slipping just slightly off one shoulder. The sight of it—your bare skin against his worn cotton, the easy claim of it—made his stomach twist.

And maybe it was stupid.

Maybe it was too soon.

But the thought still rooted deep in his chest and bloomed like something inevitable.

I want to come home to this for the rest of my life.

He could see it, so vividly it ached. This kitchen, your voice, that damn wooden spoon. The rest of your lives written in sunlight and bad karaoke, laughter and bare feet on tile. He wanted to memorise this, frame it. Carve it into stone so it would never change, never fade.

Because at that moment, it wasn’t just love.

It belonged.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Because the moment felt too perfect, too suspended in its own little pocket of magic, like one wrong word might startle it, might shatter the stillness and send it fleeing out the window with the breeze.

So he let it be.

Let it unfold in golden quiet, you twirling in his shirt, bathed in sunlight, the world narrowed down to the music and the soft clatter of silverware in the drying rack, the steam rising from your forgotten tea on the counter.

And Bucky stood there, still and quiet and entirely undone, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and the sharp, aching certainty that one day, maybe soon, maybe not, he was going to ask you.

The third time Bucky thought about proposing to you, you were laughing in the golden light, beer in hand, surrounded by people who loved you almost as much as he did.

The sky had started to turn.

That soft stretch between afternoon and evening where the sun melted into everything it touched, bathing the world in a low, amber haze. The backyard was warm with the glow of it—fairy lights strung lazily along the rails of the compound’s rooftop.

Smoke curled up from the grill, rich and familiar, while laughter rippled across the patio like music. Somewhere in the corner, Bob’s speaker hummed with old rock music and the occasional burst of static.

It didn’t matter. Nobody seemed to mind.

You were laughing again.

That soft, breathless kind of laughter that tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth every damn time he heard it. Like some part of him lit up in response—quiet and instinctive, like your joy flipped a switch inside him that nothing else could.

He stood just outside the patio doors, a paper plate in hand—barely touched—but his eyes were on you.

Only you.

You were perched on the arm of John’s chair, elbow resting on his shoulder like it was second nature, beer bottle tilted carelessly in your hand. John was mid-sentence, half-defending himself from whatever teasing you were throwing at him, and you were clearly winning.

Your smile was crooked, mischievous. Familiar. The same one you always wore when you knew you were about to land a joke that would ruin someone’s ego for the rest of the week.

“You’re just mad because I’m funnier than you,” you said, clinking your bottle against his in mock sympathy, your tone soaked in smug satisfaction.

John groaned dramatically. “Please. I’m hilarious.”

Yelena snorted from the grill without even looking up. “You are a tragedy.”

Bob raised his hand like he was in a courtroom. “She’s not wrong.”

“You people have no taste,” John muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

“You overcooked the burgers,” Bob added casually.

“Exactly,” Yelena chimed in, jabbing a fork in his direction with finality. “He’s lost all credibility.”

Over by the cooler, Alexei was deep in what could only be described as a passionate retelling of something that definitely hadn’t happened—this time about his red guardian days and a hand-to-paw brawl with some Siberian bear.

He waved his arms dramatically, chest puffed out, his voice rising with each sentence like a man delivering a one-man play.

Ava had tuned him out completely, scrolling through her phone with surgical focus and only humming in vague acknowledgment whenever he shouted the word “bear” a little too loud.

It was chaotic, the kind of mess Bucky never would’ve imagined himself a part of—let alone something he could belong to.

But he wasn’t listening to any of it.

His eyes were on you.

The way you leaned into the warmth of the moment, head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges like sun lines. The way you had this unspoken ease with the people around you—even the ones who hadn’t always been easy to love.

You fit into the team not like glue, but gravity—like you kept everyone tethered without even meaning to.

He shifted, let his free hand drift toward the pocket of his jeans. His fingers brushed the small velvet box tucked there.

He remembered the aftermath of what happened in New York, it had been brutal.

For everyone. But especially for John.

No one really knew what to say to him. No one quite knew how to reach him, not after it came out that Olivia had left. That the wife and baby he said was waiting back home had already left months before.

He was splintered.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated.

You’d found John on the compound steps the night he returned, still bloodied and shaking, the seams of his restraint barely holding—and sat beside him.

No grand entrance. No fuss. Just a quiet presence. You didn’t offer him pity or force conversation. You didn’t tell him it would be okay, you didn’t lie.

You had reached over and took his hand.

Held it, steady and solid—while the others kept their distance. It was simply, completely unremarkable on the surface.

But it worked. Somehow. Quietly. Without demand.

And Bucky had watched it unfold, breath lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Because that was the thing about you. You never tried to fix anyone, but somehow, you still managed to help them heal.

You were everyone’s lighthouse in the dark, even the ones who pretended they didn’t need one.

Especially them.

It was only a week later when the compound had gone still when Bucky had found himself at the dining table, elbows braced, shoulders tight, knuckles white around the edge of a ceramic mug he wasn’t drinking from.

He sat there for a long time, unmoving, eyes fixed on nothing, haunted by something he couldn’t name. The image of what he saw in the void still crawled under his skin—loud in the quiet, vivid behind his eyes.

He hadn’t noticed you until you spoke.

You padded in barefoot, still warm from sleep, wrapped in his shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your hair was tangled, voice soft and low like you hadn’t used it yet that day.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You didn’t need to.

You just pulled out the chair beside him, sat down, and reached for his hand. No preamble. No questions. Just your fingers curling gently around his.

“I’m here, James,” you whispered, voice so quiet he barely caught it. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

And that—that was all it took.

He hadn’t said anything. Just nodded once, jaw tight as the tears came fast and quiet and unexpected.

Your grip never loosened.

And then Bucky blinked, too, like waking from a dream.

The memory dissolved around the edges, softening into the golden blur of now.

You were still laughing with John, chin resting on your hand, your bottle now empty and forgotten.

The sky behind you had turned a dusky pink, streaked with orange and fading blue. The fairy lights blinked overhead like slow, lazy fireflies.

Bucky swallowed hard, throat thick, heart heavy with something he didn’t quite know how to hold. Something fragile and infinite.

The ring burned in his pocket.

Yelena sidled up beside him, two plates balanced in one hand, her eyes trailing the line of his gaze before she leaned in just enough to bump her shoulder against his.

“She’s good for you,” she said simply, like it was fact, like it had always been obvious.

He blinked, pulled his eyes from you long enough to glance at her. She was right.

“I know,” he said softly, mostly to himself, his fingers brushing the velvet box again, like the shape of it grounded him.

Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just stood there in the glow of fairy lights and fading sunlight, and let himself love you in silence.

The fourth time Bucky thought of proposing to you was during that one particular movie night.

The rec room buzzed, the lights were dimmed, shadows stretched across the walls in flickering shapes, and someone had dragged in extra bean bags and pillows from the training room—turning the entire floor into a makeshift nest of mismatched blankets and old couch cushions.

The screen glowed in the dark, casting soft blues and golds onto lazy limbs and half-finished bowls of popcorn.

You were curled beside Bucky on the couch, shoulder pressed into his side, legs tangled loosely beneath a shared blanket.

One of your socks had slipped off sometime during the first act. He didn’t even know when. He just knew your toes were cold when they nudged against his shin—and he hadn’t moved away.

He didn’t think he ever could.

The room smelled like buttered popcorn and worn fabric, like sleep and safety and leftover takeout from the kitchen.

Ava was stretched out across two bean bags with Alpine curled on her stomach. Bob had his head tipped back, already snoring softly, while Yelena and Alexei were still arguing in hushed voices about who cried harder during The Lion King.

It was quiet in a way that only felt possible when you were all together. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—just easy.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand beneath the blanket. And then, without thinking, you began to trace the ridges of his knuckles. Absentminded. Familiar. Like muscle memory.

Like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had.

It was your comfort habit. Your way of grounding yourself when the day had been too long or your eyes were growing heavy.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

Your breathing slowed and your head dropped against his chest.

Bucky watched you as your eyelids fluttered, your face softening in sleep, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. Your lashes twitched like you were dreaming already—and god, you looked peaceful. Completely undone by comfort and warmth.

You drooled a little. Right there on his chest.

And he chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head like it didn’t knock the breath out of him. Like it didn’t make his heart twist with something so fierce and tender he couldn’t look away.

Because this—this stupid little moment, your drool soaking into his shirt and your body heavy against his side—this was it.

This was love.

This was the kind of night that carved itself into your bones without even asking.

The movie ended in the background—soft fade-to-black and swelling music—but Bucky didn’t move. People started shifting. Groaning. Standing.

Bob staggered to his feet, mumbling something about a sugar crash. Alexei wandered off in search of leftovers.

Even Yelena, who usually never missed a chance to call Bucky a “domestic menace,” didn’t say anything this time. She just shot him a look, eyes soft for once, and tugged Bob toward the hallway by the sleeve.

Eventually, the room emptied.

But he stayed right where he was.

Blanket pooled over both your legs. Your body curled into his. One of your hands still loosely wrapped around his.

And Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I want every night like this,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t even a thought—just something that slipped out, something too true to hold in.

He looked down at you again, the words still blooming on his tongue, soft and certain.

He nearly asked.

Right then.

Nearly reached into his pocket for the ring that had never left his side since he’d bought it. Nearly tilted your chin up, brushed your hair out of your face, and told you he never wanted to do this life without you.

But then—

You snored.

Not loud. Not obnoxious.

Just enough to break the spell.

And Bucky laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that cracked his chest open a little. He dipped his head, pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, and breathed in the soft scent of your shampoo, your skin, the safety of you asleep against him.

“Soon, baby,” he whispered, lips against your temple. “I’ll ask you soon.”

And in that quiet, golden stillness, as the credits rolled and your breathing evened out again, Bucky knew he could wait.

Just a little longer.

The fifth time Bucky thought of proposing to you, it was in a hospital ward.

Sokovia had been burning.

The sky was thick with smoke and dust, buildings gutted by fire and shrapnel, streets vibrating beneath their feet as another explosion rocked the earth in the distance.

The air was chaos—civilians screaming, radios crackling, the stench of blood sharp against the tang of ash and diesel.

And through it all, Bucky could still hear your voice in his ear—calm, clear, steady, a tether in the madness as you moved beside him.

“There’s two trapped in the north alley,” you’d said, breathless from the sprint, dirt streaked across your cheek. “I’ve got them Buck, go cover the evac point.”

He should’ve listened.

God, he should’ve listened.

But you were always the brave one. The reckless one when it counted. The one who would throw yourself into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out. And before he could stop you, before he could argue, it was already happening.

The shot came out of nowhere—a single, clean crack that split the world in half.

Then motion.

You.

Slamming into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs — all instinct and desperation. The bullet was meant for him, but it found you instead.

The sound it made when it hit you would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Not a scream. Not even a gasp.

Just a sickening, solid thud, and the look in your eyes, just for a second, before your legs buckled and you collapsed into him like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground.

He hit his knees with you, arms tightening, hands already pressing hard against your chest, where blood was blooming fast. Too fast.

The warmth of it soaked his fingers, thick and terrifying, spilling between them like time slipping away.

His breath stuttered. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking—both of them slick and red—no line anymore between man and machine, just one desperate body trying to hold another together.

“Nonononono—baby, stay with me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Look at me. Come on, just look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered.

Barely.

You were gasping, breath catching on every inhale, body struggling against gravity and pain—but still, somehow, you found his hand. Still curled your blood-slicked fingers into his like it mattered. Like he mattered.

And then—the whisper.

Barely a breath.

“It’s okay, James.”

You tried to smile. You tried. Even as your chest heaved, even as your face paled. You were still trying to make him feel better. Even then.

And then your eyes slipped closed.

Your hand went slack in his.

“No—” His voice broke. “No, baby, please. Please—stay with me. Stay.”

He screamed for help, hell he shouted it until his throat tore open.

It wasn’t words anymore. It was a sound. Something raw and helpless, a sound he hadn’t made in years—maybe ever. The comms burst to life in his ear, voices overlapping—Alexei calling coordinates, Ava yelling his name, John barking into his comm and Yelena screaming at Bob to send a medic to your position.

But Bucky heard none of it.

Just the ringing. Just the static in his head. Just the crushing silence of your body going still in his arms.

Blood on his hands, blood on his knees, blood on your lips.

And you weren’t moving.

The hallway outside the operating room was too clean. Too bright and way too quiet.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and Bucky sat slouched against the wall, the chill of the tile seeping through his suit as he clutched a cup of coffee gone long cold. It had stopped steaming ages ago, untouched, forgotten. He didn’t even remember someone giving it to him.

His front was still damp. His knees stained, his fingers raw from scrubbing your blood off in the sink—not all of it had come out.

Yelena sat nearby, arms folded, her head bowed in a silence she never wore. Bob paced. John stood against the far wall with his arms crossed tight over his chest, unmoving. Nobody had spoken in what felt like hours.

Then the door opened.

And Bucky was on his feet before the surgeon even stepped fully into the hallway.

“She made it.”

Three words.

Three impossible, world-shifting words.

Bucky didn’t remember moving, he didn’t remember dropping the cup or pushing past the doctor or the sound of someone calling after him.

He only remembered one thing:

Your name. In his mouth, in his heart. Like prayer.

You had looked so small in the bed.

The hospital sheets were too white against your skin, the steady beep of the monitors barely loud enough to be real.

Your chest rose and fell beneath the thin blanket, each breath shallow but steady. Your face was pale, lashes resting against your cheeks, an IV threaded into the back of your hand.

But you were breathing. Alive.

Bucky stood at your bedside, his hands hovering before he let himself reach—let his fingers wrap gently around yours, careful not to jostle the wires and tubes. He brought your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles like you were made of glass.

Only then did he let himself breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. “God, I thought—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t shape the rest of the words around the tremble in his throat. His eyes stung, vision blurring.

He sat down slowly, legs folding under him, and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

And there, in the soft hum of hospital machines and the scent of antiseptic and blood and you, he whispered:

“I can’t lose you.”

And in that moment, Bucky knew with more certainty than he’d ever known anything that he didn’t want a life unless it was with you in it. That love wasn’t a question anymore.

It was you. It had always been you.

The day Bucky proposed to you, it didn’t go as he had hoped.

The plan had been simple.

Well… sort of.

Bucky had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with Alpine circling his feet and panic setting in somewhere between how hard can it be? and why is this bread still doughy on the inside?

He had bribed Bob and Yelena with a full month of coffee runs to get you out of the compound—bought himself a few uninterrupted hours. Just enough time to pull together something romantic.

A quiet night with a dinner he made just for the both of you. Something that felt normal—something that felt like home.

You deserved that.

You deserved wine, and music, and a man who tried.

And god, was he trying.

He’d even worn the apron you got him last Christmas—Kiss the Cook (or Else)—tied it on with absolutely no protest, even though he had grumbled when he found it.

The fabric was too pink, the font was too aggressive. You had giggled when you gave it to him and well, he had never actually worn it.

Until today.

It was stupid. It was stupidly perfect.

And then everything went sideways.

The sauce burned—thick and bitter and clingy, turning the pan black and smoky before he could scrape it off."The bread didn’t rise right—not the first, second, or even the third time. Each loaf slumped in the center like it had given up halfway through baking.

Bucky had followed the recipe twice. Nothing worked. The wine bottle tipped when he reached too fast for a spoon. It spilled across the counter, down the cabinet, pooled under the fruit bowl. Then he dropped a fork into the pan of sauce, tried to fish it out and burned his hand. Swore loudly enough that Alpine hissed and darted under the kitchen table like he had somehow betrayed her on a spiritual level.

The smoke alarm nearly went off.

He hit it with a dish towel and muttered threats at it.

It was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

And that was before he heard the front door creak open.

His whole body froze.

He turned slowly, eyes wide, just as your footsteps reached the edge of the hall—too light to be Bob, too quiet to be Yelena. He knew your walk by now. The soft padding of your soles. The way you always slowed down when your hands were full. The way the silence always shifted when you entered a room.

And his stomach sank.

You were home. Too early.

The clock on the oven blinked at him uselessly, and he barely had time to wipe his hands on the apron when you walked into the kitchen.

You stopped short.

Still holding your coat, still glowing faintly from the wind outside and the laughter that hadn’t quite left your face.

And then you saw it.

The smoke, the scorched pan, the puddle of wine dripping a slow trail toward the floor. The half-risen bread like a sad little crater on the counter.

And in the middle of it all—Bucky. In the pink apron. Covered in flour and tomato splatter, clutching a wooden spoon like it might just attack him.

You blinked.

“Was this all for me?”

Bucky looked like a deer caught in a trap.

Or maybe more like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar—big and awkward and helpless, covered in guilt and powdered sugar.

“I—” He swallowed. “I realised I haven’t taken you out on a real date.”

He shifted, the wooden spoon still in his hand like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I just… I wanted to make tonight special.”

Your lips twitched.

The kitchen smelled like defeat and oregano. The oven was beeping at nothing. Smoke hung faintly in the air like an accusation. And still, your heart cracked wide open.

You stepped toward him—slowly, gently—and rose onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Buck,” you murmured, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “I’ve got leftover cereal.”

Your tone was teasing, warm, affectionate in the way only you could be. Forgiving. Soft. Home.

You turned, half-laughing, reaching for the cupboard above the microwave, the one that always held your comfort stash. Granola and that one sugar cereal you swore was for cheat days and ate every Sunday anyway.

You reached for the handle.

And Bucky’s heart stuttered.

He watched your hand move in slow motion, watched as your fingers curl around the cupboard door, the hinge creaking faintly.

His stomach dropped.

“Baby, wait—no—”

But it was too late.

You opened the door. Your fingers paused.

And there it was.

Tucked behind a half-finished bag of granola and an emergency box of toaster waffles sat a small red velvet box. Not fancy or flashy, but unmistakable. The kind that didn’t belong next to cereal.

The kind that meant something. The kind that meant everything.

You didn’t move.

Just stared.

And across the room, Bucky stood frozen, apron crooked, hair still damp from the steam, sauce on his cheek, and absolutely no words left in his mouth.

“I was gonna ask later,” he muttered, voice low, thick with something heavy. “There was a whole thing. Music. Dessert. A ring not hidden behind cereal.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I ruined it.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. At the mess behind him. At the pink apron barely clinging to its dignity. At the way he stood there like he still expected the floor to swallow him whole.

And your eyes welled up.

Your smile tugged softly at the corners of your mouth, cracking you wide open like a sunrise.

“Yes,” you said.

Bucky blinked. “But… you didn’t even open it.”

You closed the cupboard gently and turned to face him. A breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you stepped forward.

“I don’t have to.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in three slow steps, reached for your face with both hands like you were made of something precious—fragile and entirely his.

He kissed you like he was carving the moment into memory. Like nothing else existed but the space between your lips and his heart.

Then, wordlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs, hands braced on your thighs like they were the only anchor he needed.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking. “You have no idea.”

You laughed, watery and real, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

“I do,” you whispered. “Me too.”

The kitchen was still a disaster.

The bread was half-baked. The wine was staining the grout. The sauce had scorched itself into the pan so deeply it might never come out.

But none of it mattered.

Because this—this—was perfect.

And it always would be.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it!! if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog! thank you my love 💖

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gimmethatagustd · 1 month ago

Text

antidote; jjk

You know exactly how to make your boyfriend feel better when he's feeling down, but he has his own plans.

Pairing: Sub Jungkook x Soft Dom (f)Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Established relationship, pwp, fluffy smut

Word Count: 2,265

Content Warning: Light D/s, mommy kink, praise kink, nipple play, jk has a tongue piercing, jk is the babiest of baby boys but he's also a lil bit of a brat, fingering, cockwarming, vaginal sex

A/N: I wrote this for a lovely anon for their birthday 💜🎂

Soundtrack: mmh - kai

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Kinda sad,” Jungkook whispers. “Dunno why.”

The two of you are cuddled in bed, Jungkook lying in between your legs to rest his head on your stomach. You’re not sure how long you’ve been there, all tangled limbs and gentle touches.

It’s not unusual for your boyfriend to fall into moods like this. While he has always been a bit shy, sometimes feelings overwhelm him. You try to be attentive and you never force him to talk about his feelings unless he wants to. Sometimes it even makes him feel physically unwell, especially when he overworks himself.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You offer, just in case.

Jungkook shakes his head. The two of you lie on the bed in silence for a few minutes, only the sound of your breathing heard in the room. Jungkook twists his fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, his knuckles occasionally brushing against your skin.

“Need you close.”

You almost don’t hear his whisper, but he’s so close and the rumble of his chest against your body signals that he’s talking. When you peer down, he’s avoiding your gaze. You know what he’s asking for without him having to say it; his unwillingness to remove his face from hiding behind his sleeved arm is telling.

With a small laugh, you give in to his silent request.

“Come here.”

Jungkook lets out a small whimper of satisfaction as he scoots closer to you. One of his arms slips beneath you so he can press his hand against the small of your back. The placement forces you to arch your spine and you allow yourself to loosen up in his hold. It feels nice to be enveloped in the warmth of his embrace, lost in the heavy scent of his cologne that makes your nose tingle.

The thin material of your t-shirt clings to your body, doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden under Jungkook’s touch. Except, he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not there.

He must not feel that bad because he’s wearing a cheeky little smirk as he brings his face to your chest.

“It’s cold in here,” you snap with a playful roll of your eyes, already knowing what he’s thinking. “Don’t give me that look.”

An unspoken threat you’re both all too familiar with lingers in the air.

Jungkook’s lips pucker into an innocent, albeit exaggerated, pout. From the moment you met him, you knew by his pouty lips that he’d cause you trouble. Those sparkling Bambi eyes are the final nail in the coffin.

But what’s worse than all of his innocence combined is the way Jungkook’s face easily morphs into a sly grin half obstructed by his teeth capturing his bottom lip into a bite as he practically moans, “Yes, mommy.”

You don’t want to admit that you don’t know what to say. Jungkook never teases you. He’s always so compliant and eager to the point of being whiny. You’re the one who finds pleasure in teasing him.

Stunned into silence, you watch Jungkook lean into your chest. His eyes flutter close as he presses his cheek to your tits before slowly turning his face to run his nose along each mound. His bottom lip gets caught on the fabric of your t-shirt, pulling downward as he moves his face. It’s cute how it exposes his bunny teeth.

You let out a shuddered breath when Jungkook reaches up with his tattooed hand to squeeze one of your tits— the one he isn’t currently smothering himself with.

“So soft,” he mumbles, nuzzling your chest. “You’re so warm and safe.”

Your body tenses when his nose brushes over one of your nipples and Jungkook tightens his grip around your waist.

“Can I, mommy? Please?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when those big, sparkling, innocent eyes shine up at you. He always looks so precious begging, even when he’s being a little shit about it.

“Mmm, of course. Want my baby boy to feel better.”

Though, what really has you speechless is the way Jungkook can look at you with such innocence while his teeth graze your hardened nipple through your clothes. He maintains eye contact with you as he unwraps his arm from your waist. Using both hands, he slowly pulls your t-shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

Jungkook looks tired; now that you’re up close, you can see the bags under his eyes. They make guilt wrack your heart. You haven’t paid enough attention to your baby, somehow letting him work himself ragged.

There’s no time for feeling sorry, though. Jungkook immediately attaches himself to you. His tongue is hot and wet as he runs it across your nipple. He makes sure to flatten his tongue as he licks you. The technique means he’s able to flick the small, stainless steel ball of his tongue piercing against your nipple. You let out a breathy moan at the sensation. It’s a new one; Jungkook had only recently gotten the piercing. Now that it’s completely healed he’s been having a fun time learning all the ways he can use it beyond just looking pretty.

Tilting his head, he swirls his tongue around your nipple, puckering his lips to suck your tit into his mouth. He continues massaging the skin with his tongue, every suck of his lips making his lip piercing scrape against your sensitive skin. It doesn’t hurt, only serves as a reminder of how fucking hot your boyfriend is.

“You’re so adorable, baby boy,” you say softly. When you run your fingers through his fluffy hair he hums against your skin.

Encouraged, Jungkook snuggles closer to you, one hand gently holding your waist while the other massages the tit he isn’t suckling. You know he loves the praise without having to see how pink his cheeks are, but it’s still nice to see the effect you have on him. It isn’t the only way for you to receive validation, though. Jungkook shifts his body weight and you feel his hard cock press against the inside of your thigh.

“Mommy.” Jungkook lifts his head to watch you with bright eyes. His lips are swollen and pink. When your eyes drop to admire them, he squirms in your embrace. “Let me be inside you, please?”

“Will that make you feel better?” You question him with a raised eyebrow, not ready to give in. He squirms again. “Or are you just trying to trick me into fucking you?”

“No!” Jungkook whines.

“Are you sure?”

He nods his head hard enough to make his bangs fall into his eyes. You run your fingers through them, brushing them away from his face so you can see his eyes properly again. They’re bright and, paired with his furrowed eyebrows, make his desperation obvious.

You fight the urge to rip his clothes off right there. Instead, you lean back against the pillows and give him a small smile.

“Take my underwear off for me?”

It’s posed as a question but you both know it’s not. Jungkook scrambles to pull the clothing down your legs. His eyes flit between your parted thighs and his own crotch as if he’s trying to decide what to focus on first.

“Come on, baby boy. Mommy’s cold without you.”

That gets him moving.

Jungkook pulls off his sweatshirt and joggers, his briefs flying with them onto the floor. Sometimes you push him to spend more time begging, but today you just want to remove the frown from his beautiful face.

You try to keep in the moan that builds up in your chest when Jungkook slips a finger inside your pussy. The surprised sound he makes when he finds you already soaking wet is too delicious to not react to, but you keep it together. Even after he slides two more fingers inside of you. Luckily, he keeps a hand on your waist, pressing you into the bed to prevent you from moving if you try to buck your hips. You don’t, though. You know all he’s doing is making sure you’re relaxed enough for his cock. Still, he’s suspiciously maintaining a steady rhythm against your front wall. You’re not complaining, but you know if he keeps it up, you’re going to cum and this is supposed to be about him.

“Jungkook,” you scold. His eyes widen from getting caught.

“Sorry, mommy. You’re just so wet…” There’s that cheeky smile again, so sly and deceiving.

“Don’t make me change my mind, baby.”

He nods quickly, but you’re not convinced he’s going to behave when he leans forward to roll his hips into yours. Again, you know he’s just prepping by smearing your arousal onto his cock with every movement, but he’s pushing it. A raise of your eyebrows makes him reach between your bodies to finally line his cock with your entrance. It’s cute how his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he slowly bottoms out.

A soft moan slips out of you despite your efforts to stay quiet, but Jungkook only smirks.

“Feels good,” he says softly as he settles back on top of you. His face finds your chest again, lips wrapping around one of your nipples while his arms wrap around your waist.

“Good,” you say with a sigh. You return to playing with his hair. “You’re doing so good for mommy, hmm?”

As much as having Jungkook inside of you while you cuddle is meant to make him feel comfortable and safe, you can’t deny that it’s good for you, too. You like feeling full of him, as close as you possibly can be to him. Coupled with the weight of his body against yours, there’s not much you love more than this.

The silence between the two of you is comforting, though you occasionally break it to give Jungkook more praise. He hums with satisfaction, and it’s nice to be gentle and vulnerable.

After a while, Jungkook shifts to adjust the way he’s holding you. The movement forces his hips to press into yours, driving his cock a bit deeper inside of you. The suddenness makes you gasp.

“Sorry,” he whispers against your throat where his face has migrated. “Arms were falling asleep.”

You open your mouth to accept his apology, but a moan tumbles out instead of words. Instinctually, you dig your fingers into Jungkook’s scalp to hold onto his hair.

“Jungkook,” you scold with another gasp.

He ignores you and continues subtly thrusting into you. It’s slow and deep, his hips barely lifting from yours to dive back into your pussy. He reaches deep inside you, grinding into you with the small circling of his hips.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants, lips wet against your throat, but he doesn’t stop moving.

The slowness of his movements is driving you mad. Your clit has already been throbbing and hot pressed against Jungkook’s pelvic bone while you lay in silence. It doesn’t help that his hands start roaming your sides, squeezing your waist to hold you in place.

“Mommy, just, please, please let me fuck you.”

His panting is getting whinier and more high-pitched. Every slow thrust is companied by the neediest chanting of “ahh, ah, ahh” in time with the movement of his hips.

“Fuck, Jungkook.” You throw your head back when his hips start slapping into you harder. He pulls back, pounding into you with more fervor.

“I need you,” he practically sobs. His lips scatter kisses down your chest, eventually finding your nipples to suck again.

By this point he’s fucking into you with full force, one hand squeezing your thigh to hold your leg against his hip. His blunt nails dig into your skin, but you don’t care. You’re a moaning mess beneath him. Your plan of having a peaceful moment of intimacy with your boyfriend is shattered.

“Harder,” you moan, tugging his hair.

You rip him from your tits to bring his face to yours, crashing your lips into his. It’s nowhere near a proper kiss. The two of you are moaning too much. You keep your mouths hanging open to at least brush against each other, occasionally licking into each other. Jungkook does his best to keep you from inching upwards, but with how hard he’s fucking into you it’s inevitable.

“Wanna, wanna,” Jungkook digs his teeth into your shoulder. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You’re already close, so hearing Jungkook’s sweet, whiny promises is all it takes to have you clenching around his cock. You arch into his chest as you cum, doing your best to encourage him to let go, too, in between moans of his name.

Like the good boy that he is, Jungkook holds out until you’re laid back and boneless in his arms before he cums with the cutest sob of a moan into the crook of your neck. He collapses onto you, arms once again wrapping around your waist to hold you tighter against him. Little hums against your skin tell you that he’s satisfied, but you still ask.

“Are you feeling okay, baby boy?” His bangs are sweaty, but you don’t stop running your fingers through them. He leans into the touch, so you keep it up.

“Mhmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss against your neck and raising goosebumps over your already hot skin. “Thank you, mommy.”

He promises to clean you up after he’s done getting his fill of cuddling. His cock softens inside of you; you’re happy he doesn’t pull out. You both crave closeness, and you’ve got all the time in the world to bask in it.

#bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #antidote #gimmethatagustd

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evieelyzabethh · 7 months ago

Text

"soft"

⭒"baby do you wanna touch? look at how you make me blush"⭒ Arcane characters as different romance tropes {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞ slightly pervy jayce, lots of fluff

♞Vi ~ Opposites Attract♞

♞Vi really likes being able to be the protector. It's a bit too much pressure having to be a good role model, she struggles with the idea of people looking up to her. She's brash, she has a foul mouth, she can never seem to make the right decision, the only thing she feels like she's capable of is fighting. She's always rough, her hands are perpetually bloody and bandaged, her lip is cut, her hair cut is choppy and haphazard, she stomps when she walks. No one expects her to be with someone so soft

♞Not Piltie soft, not softness afforded to you because you'd never know suffering. Not soft like a downy blanket or a stuffed animal, soft like a worn t-shirt or like the petal of a flower. Something worn and broken down, something that rather than becoming hard or wilting away, it remained. Soft doesn't have to mean innocent, sometimes the softness is out of spite; out of determination to thrive. Softness as a form of rebellion.

♞ She would be in awe of you. Everyone in the lanes ends up fucked up. Overrun with shimmer, Grey, and cycles of violence, you don't have a choice in being hardened. Theories of evolution don't support softness; no good armor is gentle. And yet, the way you patch up her wounds, the way you communicate, the way you move, is all languid and smooth. You're like water and, for the first time, she isn't oil, she's ice. You aren't all that different, all she has to do is be willing enough to melt into you.

♞This isn't to say your helpless. You can throw a punch just fine but defense may just be the best offense. Turns out, knowing how to punch isn't as important as knowing when. You play defense, you bob and weave through physical situations and have a way with words that isn't often appreciated down here. In a world where everyone is always on high alert, shoulders tensed and fists clenched, you just breathe. It sounds simple, what if you just didn't fight? Not just through actions, but also through how you move. If stealing is inevitable, why not learn to grow? It's not just kindness, it's awareness. Why is stealing inevitable? Why do all of us starve? Why do we fight the neighbor; because the people who built the complex are too far.

♞Your softness brings out domesticity in Vi. Even though she still enjoys pit fighting on the side and the occasional bar fight, it's only because she looks forward to coming home. She enjoys the warm bubble baths and the shoulder massages, she's satisfied to see all the dirty and grime wash down the drain, she likes feeling not just clean but lighter. It's safe. Usually, she's the bigger spoon, but in your admittedly cramped tub, you sit behind her, and she allows her head to sink into your chest, the warm water sitting at her chin as she listens to you giggle as you kiss her sudsy neck and ask how her day was.

♞She indulges you when it comes to your self care days. She rolls her eyes as you slide the fluffy headband over her face, but she can no longer hide her content when you hold her hand to paint her nails after you use some sort of wooden tool to dig the dirt from beneath him. Every night with you feels like heaven after she just dug her way out of hell.

♞The perfect end to these nights is requesting you read something to her. It doesn't really matter what, it could be some cheesy romance or sciency textbook you swiped from Jayce's lab. She forgets how much she likes to read; she often doesn't have the time for it. And sometimes the words tend to swim around, floating through one ear and out the other, fighting to stick into the grooves of her brain but ultimately slipping right out, but even that does matter. It's the time spent. It's the hard cover and the soft pages. It's you and her.

★Ekko ~ Time Travel Romance★

★He is convinced you were made in a lab. He thinks it is impossible that you were just made that way, seemingly made just for him. Sometimes it's like you share the same brain, you think of the same jokes, you have the same ideas, it's like there some sort of bridge between both of your brains where even your synapses connect and blink in unison

★He's sure there's some sort of sappy saying that applies, one or two times of these occurrences just being a coincidence but after ten it's fate. What does it mean if these instances are innumerable, these moments of connectedness. Meeting you was a coincidence, sure, but you were always you before you met him. You laughed at the same things, you laughed in the same voice that from the start seemed to be in perfect harmony with his, the sound came from the same lips he's kissed thousands of times that practically fit together like puzzle pieces. In his mind, maybe even meeting wasn't a coincidence, with how perfectly you slot together, maybe even that was fate

★He was never even a big "fate" guy. He likes to believe that every one's choices are their own just as every one's consequences should be their own. The idea that his forever was already planned and picked for him, even if it was the most perfect pairing he could ask for, wasn't appealing because it wasn't his pick. His choice matters. His actions matter. He doesn't think of it in a "fate" way, he doesn't think he was always destined to pick you, he hardly even thinks of you as a separate entity

★Not to get existential or anything, but people are born from a hole and get placed into one after they die. Stars hit the end of their life cycles and from their ash come new stars. Every second someone dies and someone else is born. It's all so incredibly cyclical. Everyone ends up back where they started until forever. I mean, there's no proof for it, but surely the heat death of the universe would cause the spark that creates a new one, to be alive is to make life. The very act of breathing gives life to trees, the life of everything is in some way dependent on the life of another, all of which provides life to the whole. And surely our ash won't disappear, just as even the tiny neurons in our brain remember those whose voices, scents, and touch we can't remember. Essense never seems to leave. Your own is your own and it seems to have a never-ending magnetic urge to come back together and be whole. The cycle never ends because everything desires to be whole.

★That's how Ekko feels. With everything desiring to be whole, time is the throughway. It's the channel that brings everything together, not fate. You weren't destined to be together, you were made to be together, you had always been together. Two parts of the same whole which is part of an even bigger whole that has yet to be discovered and found, but you will together. The larger the magnet, the bigger its field of attraction, and you two will grow and grow until either you have become completely whole, or you shatter from passion in the process, the pieces of you mixed and spread to be reunited even stronger just a few moments later. Moments that could be seconds or millennia. When time is the only infinite and the desire to be whole is constant, what significance do those moments matter.

★Ekko knows better than to push the limits of time, so I use this trope very lightly. He does travel through time, but in much smaller ways. 4 second ways. It's a beautiful thing to not be confined to the parameters of time, even better to understand the sheer power of the second. This isn't to say he's never felt the urge to go back further, only that he knows that the universal and personal consequences would be even greater

★Thinking of it less like time travel, it's more akin to a replay feature. To go back further and change too much maybe wouldn't be a sci-fi disaster, but it certainly would be a disaster in his mind. Sure, bringing stopping Powder from blowing up that factory would have maybe prevented the death of Vander and even further instability in Zaun, but he would remember. The weight of his time would never leave him. What he changes in a matter of 4 seconds has changed the outcome of his entire universe, he knows that small time can matter just as much as big time. That big change certainly would change how you meet. If you two ever meet. He cherishes what you two have to even risk knowing what he left behind for the potential to make everything better. In his whole life of being selfless, this minutely selfish act he believes he's owed. He has absolutely no desire to push forward.

★Instead, he replays his little moments with you. Sometimes it's to prevent small mishaps, like dropping your favorite mug or the embarrassment of tripping in public. Sometimes it's just to relive you. It's a guilty pleasure of his when he can't stop you from leaving to replay your goodbye kiss at least once more until he's ready to let you go. Some may say he abuses his control of time, but he never takes what isn't his, so what can be the harm in elongating what's already eternal.

❂Jayce~ She Fell First, He Fell Harder❂

❂Jayce is hard not to love when you understand him. Just visually he's appealing enough, but internally he's very endearing. He's dorky, and sweet, and one of the most intensely loving people you've ever met. It's a real skill to so thoroughly have faith in humanity. Yes, he's naive, and rather dependent, and maybe a bit of a perv, but he's also touch-starved with a deep desire to be affectionate. He's touchy; emotionally and physically.

❂ Things are always sweet, even before he really falls. He does all the gentlemenly things, he holds open the doors, he ties your shoes, he gives you his jacket when you get cold. They're noticeable actions, his consuming hand on your knee as he steadies himself while double knotting your laces, his large jacket swallowing you in his scent and warmth. Eventually, it gets smaller. He keeps hair ties on his wrists, when you can't decide on what you want for dinner, he knows for you, your music recommendations being to pop up on his playlists. Rather than consuming you, he's being consumed.

❂There is no such thing as being too close. He actually gets frustrated that he can't be even closer. His favorite moments are when he's wrapped in you, when he's listening to your music, when you hug him, when your thighs are wrapped around his head. He likes being consumed. He likes knowing how your brain works; what makes you tick. He likes to know what you like, what you don't like, what you think of his haircut, what you think of his projects, what you think of him. He's probably asked you that a million times. What was your first impression of him? Did you love him at first sight? Did you think he was handsome?

❂If he could crawl into your skin he could. Being a very touchy person, it's not a surprise to anyone that he enjoys having sex with you. It's how he feels most intimate; he likes to be inside you, it's how he feels most connected. It's not the simple fact that you feel good, he likes the warmth, he likes how you suffocate him, he likes to make you feel good, he lives for it, it's the fact that there is no clear separation between the two of you. It's not clear where you end, and he begins, whether it's his cum or yours leaking out of you, whether it's his moans or yours bouncing off the wall. He likes there being ways of separating the two of you, so thoroughly mixed, there's no point in pulling him out of you.

❂While you fell first, there was never a moment where he didn't love you. Certainly never a moment where he didn't notice you. It's kinda like you were always there, and eventually you coagulated into something so great he couldn't just ignore you anymore. You were always in his lab, always in the corner of his eyes, always looking out for him, always lingering. Your scribbles on his notes, the clicks of your shoes, your fingerprints on his machines. He never didn't like you, it's just that the like accumulated to love and, if you can believe it, the love became something else entirely. He's a scientist; The Man of Progress. If nothing else, he is an inventor. He used science to make magic, surely, he can make love into something even greater.

❂He draws you constantly. Your name lives in the margins of his notes, your face can be made from his pointless scrawls, your voice can be heard through his. Even when he's not thinking, he's replicating pieces of you. You are his brain's base state, that is how totally you consume him.

☽Viktor ~ Oblivious☾

☽Viktor is someone who never put much emphasis on a relationship. He liked to focus on his craft, spend all day in his lab, and go home to his empty apartment, maybe crack open a bottle and read near his desk lamp. He just never thought he needed it. Obviously, relationships with others are important, but he never expected to find what he wanted in a partner from Piltover

☽It couldn't be clearer that he was from Zaun. The way he dressed, the way he spoke, hell his illness is a byproduct of him living in Zaun. You can take the man from his home, but you will never take his home from him. This being said, he's no stranger to the cold looks and the effort put in to minimize his efforts. Jayce's name is on the patents, Jayce speaks to the people, Jayce is the man of progress, not Viktor. If he wanted affection and appreciation, he wouldn't think to look where he was at.

☽This being said, he is completely oblivious to you crush on him. It's not even a complete focus on work, it's because he wouldn't assume that of a Piltie. It's also not a self-worth thing, he has never been insecure of his home, and he has even less felt a desire to assimilate better within Piltover and beg for their approval. He is as prideful as he is stubborn, he has never thought he was less than. Due to the arrogant attitudes of the world around him, he assumed you were the same

☽He takes your kindness for pity as for. He assumes you tidy his space as a passive aggressive way of telling him he's a slob. He thinks your warm greetings are all part of some large joke. He assumes the snacks you try and share with him are out of obligation rather than sincerity. He never listens to Jayce when he tries to tell him that you're just nice. What would Jayce know? Everyone is nice to him because he's...well, Jayce. He's been to council meetings, he's seen the Lanes, he's heard the snide remarks since he got here, he knows that kindness to people like him is never just kindness.

☽Still, as you persist, he softens some. He finds that you're quite nice to talk to. The more you come around, the more he expects you to. Almost anxious, he's filled with something in his chest, maybe anticipation. He wants to know the ideas you have on the new blueprints he just drafted. He wants to hear about your studies. He wants to hear about that book you started reading. It's a breath of fresh air to have someone to talk to about non-work matters. A friend is what he thinks of you, and how he thinks you see him. Never mind how your eyes seem to dodge his gaze and your cheeks redden on the rare occasion that his hand brushes over yours or his knee grazes your thigh. He doesn't even try and make excuses for it because he doesn't even notice it.

☽He also doesn't notice a few things about himself. Mainly about how he puts a brush through his hair in the morning or how he straightens his tie while he waits for your knock at the door. His thigh bouncing is surely just because it's colder than usual in the lab. He doesn't notice how much he talks about you. How much he looks back over the notes you leave, both the meaningful ones and the small hearts and stars you leave on his pages. Even worse, he doesn't notice when you ask him to be your date to an upcoming gala

☽He thought you were kidding. Galas weren't at all his thing, he wasn't that smooth on his feet, and to be quite honest, he found most of those around him to be insufferable. He knew you enjoyed things like this, and strangely after mentioning his mind would infrequently wander to images of you all dolled up, but he didn't picture himself with you. Oblivious to your very obvious crush on him, he doesn't see himself as someone you would want in your happiest moments. So, when you asked if he had any plans that night, and he mentioned his lab, and you asked if you could meet him there to escort him to the party, he thought you were kidding. You were not kidding.

☽You looked beautiful. Viktor isn't often at a loss for words, but when he heard you knock and walked over to open the door for you, his bad leg nearly gave out, pushing himself further into his cane. He looks...disheveled. Glasses perched low on his nose, ink on his hands, hair in a state of disarray, wrinkled clothes. Even worse, you looked disappointed. You tried to make a joke of it, asking if that's what he planned on wearing, and he replied in a confused tone that he didn't think you were going to go at all.

☽You cry and for the first time he recognizes that the way he feels may not be as uncaring as he thought. He's bad at comfort, lightly tapping your shoulder as you confess through labored breaths that you really liked him and you thought he liked you back and if he really didn't want to be bothered with you, he could've just said as such. You push away from him, surprisingly, eyes puffy as you notice his shocked impression for the first time. "I didn't know." is all he can muster. He didn't know you liked him, and he certainly didn't know he liked you.

☽Even more surprisingly, as you dust yourself off to spend the rest of your night alone with a pint of ice cream, he pulls you in for a kiss. It's awkward and stiff, but when he realizes what he's doing, his eyes finally close and he holds your face as he wipes the tears from your eyes. He apologizes about the gala, not that it mattered all that much now. You had only wanted to dance with him, which you did all night long anyway.

☼Mel~ Friends to Lovers☼

☼Affections is something that has never come all that easy to Mel. She was always told that she needed to be the wolf, she was supposed to be cold, unfeeling, and ruthless. And while that never would've been her, affection is not her first instinct, receiving or giving. She has gotten quite comfortable with you over the years.

☼The friends to lovers would be so smooth that there is no place you could pinpoint when the friends became lovers. Even as friends, she spent more time with you than anyone else. You took your meals together, you practically lived together, you worked together. So many nights were spent just casually in each other's presence, slowly getting closer as you would move from her couch, then the chair by her bed, to being halfway up under her as you fell asleep sprawled on top of her sheets.

☼Even more than the close proximity, was the emotional and physical intimacy. Learning about her mom, her brother, hearing her question what she's even doing here in Piltover, listening as she dreams of a world with no rulers and no warring countries and just peace where she can live on her own little island and just sleep. A world where her mom feels at peace enough to stop making war, a world where there is no undercity, no topside, just the sun, the land, and peace.

☼And she tells you all of this and more. Simpler and lighter things, that new dress she saw when window shopping, the latest gossip, this new tea she tried a week ago, and she tells you with her hand casually thrown over yours or her head on your shoulder. She doesn't notice when she starts, but eventually her hugs become less sporadic. It's no longer startling for her to just come up to you and hug you, and when you ask her why, she just replies with a smile and says because she wanted to. She does a lot of things because she wants to, lightly running her hands through your hair, lightly bumping into you when walking side by side, plopping down right next to you as you finish work.

☼You two had been inseparable for a while now. While not sharing every moment of the day together, the moments that matter are always spent in each other's company. The hard moments after meetings with her mother, the tiring late nights after a long day of having to be social, the happy times of enjoying the hard work of a new recipe. Even before people started speculating if you had been dating, it was always Mel and You. You two were almost defined by each other, traits being compared in relation to who the other was. You were nicer but Mel was more talkative. You were always linked together in conversation.

☼Ambessa wasn't a fan of this, of course. She knows what it feels like for others to make you weak, and she may have a point when she tells Mel that to protect herself, she also had to protect you. However, Ambessa underestimates her daughter. She underestimates your bond. Mel has no qualms with being your protector just as you don't mind being hers. Mel understands love far better than her mother does, love isn't only having someone to protect but also having someone to protect you. You aren't some princess in a castle, and she is no knight who must keep the dragons from your tower, you can take care of yourself. If you need her, she's there. Love is her willingness to be there, it doesn't force her

☼Mel doesn't question anything about the two of you. She loves the way you both flow. She cares for you deeply. That's all there is to it. She never saw the point in putting any sort of label on it, she's been telling her she loves you since she realized that she did. There's never been any shame in that, because she does love you. What's the point in saying I love you as a friend or as a partner, she loves you in a way that transcends both those terms. She loves you deeply. So deeply it fills her, it fuels her, it makes her feel whole. Though, you've always made her feel whole.

☼So, when she starts referring to you as her lover, there is no big fanfare. The relationship had never really changed, how you felt certainly didn't change either, just the name you told everyone else to put on it.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #arcane x you #ekko arcane #ekko x reader #jayce arcane #jayce x reader #mel arcane #mel x reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane headcanon

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writingsbytee · 8 months ago

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HE'S NOT YOU - AARON PIERRE X BLACK FEM (AFAB) READER

WARNINGS: 18+; minors don’t interact

PAIRING: Aaron x Lauren, “Lo” (reader)

SUMMARY: You and Aaron are roommates and he gets jealous when you get hit on by a client. It switches POV’s throughout, so if that’s something you don’t enjoy, this might not be the one for you.

TROPES: friends to lovers; mutual pining; soft-dom; use of pet names; mostly a lot of dialogue and fluff

WORD COUNT: 3,611

A/N: Ok y’all created a monster! I’ve been hooked reading what everyone’s been writing about Aaron. You guys are so creative! I’m a little sensitive about my writing because I’m just getting into it but I do accept constructive criticism/feedback. Happy reading! Muah <3 p.s. this isn’t proofread.

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

“Lauren?!” Aaron shouts entering your shared condo. He was so excited, Aaron got the call not too long ago that he’d just landed a major project. It's probably the biggest one he’s ever done so far. On his way home to share the good news, he picked up your favorite Indian takeout to celebrate.

Eyes frantically searching the common area, Aaron moved his search deeper into your home. ‘Where is she?’ he thought to himself. Finally, making it to your bedroom door he knocked twice. When he got no response after about 30 seconds he tried twisting the doorknob—the gentle click alerting him that the door was unlocked. Aaron peeked his head in the door, swiveling from left to right looking for you.

He could hear the shower now, and your gentle humming some song that you’ve been singing around your home for days. Aaron let out a gentle sigh before retreating out the door. That is before something on your bed caught his eye. Not thinking, Aaron pushed your door open and barged into your room. The black lingerie set with matching garter laid flat on your bed as if it took you all day to find the perfect set.

Aaron was at war with his emotions. On one hand, he was turned on. The idea of his sweet, innocent Lauren on her knees waiting for him wearing this was almost too much to think about. On the other hand, he was pissed. Who was she wearing this for? Where is she going? Aaron reached out to touch the material. The lace was soft and delicate in his hands like it had been well taken care of. How was he supposed to even look at you knowing you had this on under your clothes?

Aaron’s attention turned back to your bathroom door as he heard the water shut off. Quickly exiting your room he made it back to the kitchen to start unpacking the dinner he bought for you both. It was getting harder and harder for him to hide his true feelings about you. You both had met right out of college, completely on a whim. Aaron was looking for a roommate and posted an ad online. When you replied, you had no idea what’d be in store for you.

“Aaron you’re home!” You shouted as you made your way into the kitchen. You looked fucking phenomenal in your all-black ensemble. Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off you, figure accentuated in your slacks and button-up. Hair styled impeccably in a messy but neat low bun. Looking like a boss bitch in your power suit had Aaron a bit turned on.

“Don’t tell me you’re meeting a client,” Aaron groaned. He should’ve known that after seeing what you had laid out in the bed. You’re a PR agent for a few celebrities and big-wig politicians but you’d been going back and forth recently with some cocky CEO asshole. He’s been giving you the run-around, pitting you and another agent against each other. When you finally drew your line and decided that the money wasn’t worth it, your client had his team calling you nonstop.

“Just a quick dinner. Put your shoes on and come with me. I’ll pay for all your drinks,” you persuade batting your eyelashes at him. How could he say no to you when you looked at him like that?

“Fine but we’re taking my car,” Aaron says. You finally take notice of the dining room. Table set with candles and low lighting.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you ask as you spin around to look at your roommate.

Aaron takes on a sheepish expression, “I had some good news, and I wanted to celebrate with my best girl.”

Your heart warms at the boyish expression on Aaron’s face. Then you realize what he must be celebrating.

“Wait! You got the part didn’t you!?”, your heart rate accelerates as your excitement gets the best of you.

“I got the call today,” Aaron grins, all 32 of those perfect teeth on display. You let out a squeal before launching yourself into his arms.

You begin to smother his face in kisses.

“I’m so proud of you! You worked so hard for this opportunity Aaron. This was meant to be! I knew you had it in the bag! You have to come out with me now! We’re going to ‘the Flamingo Room’, it just opened.”

Aaron feels his face warm, “Nah, I don’t want to get in the way. You’re going there for work, not to party”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not taking no for an answer Aaron. If I have to drag your big ass out of here myself you’re coming with me. This meeting should be no longer than an hour, just finalizing a few details in my contract. Please come, I want to celebrate you.”

Aaron looks down at you, a small smirk forming, “How long do I have to freshen up?”

A small squeak leaves your lips as you run towards his room, “Forty-five minutes! Go shower, I’m picking out your outfit!”

A small chuckle leaves Aaron’s lips as he watches you dash down the hall. Tonight is the night, he’d decided. He would finally tell you how he felt about you. You were the first person he wanted to tell his good news to. The first thing on his mind when he woke up and the last thing before bed. How could he not fall in love with you? You’re beautiful, successful, a comedic genius, had a body to die for. He knows you’d caught him staring at that round plump ass more times than he could count.

Aaron had his hand on your lower back as he led you two into the lounge.

“If it wasn’t obvious, you look beautiful princess,” Aaron said looking down at you. Your cheeks warmed a shy smile forming on your lips. Doesn’t he know that he can’t say these things to you? You’d been hopelessly in love with your roommate for almost as long as you two had been living together. Did he know that? Obviously not.

“Thanks, big guy,” you say, kissing his cheek and wiping the excess lipgloss off. Aaron loved it when you doted on him like that. He didn’t want you to wipe the gloss off his cheek, he wanted to wear it like a badge of honor.

You flag the bartender giving her your card to start a tab. “Anything that big guy wants just put it on my tab, thanks gorgeous,” you said winking at the bartender. Not that she noticed, she was too busy staring at Aaron. Not that you can blame her he looks fucking delicious in his all-black ensemble, the semi-sheer button-up being the star of the show. You could see your client waving at you from across the room. Putting a finger up to signal ‘one minute’ you turn to Aaron.

“Ok, I shouldn’t be too long. He’s only getting an hour and fifteen minutes, and then I’m all yours.”

“Mm I like the sound of that, hurry back,” Aaron said smirking over the rim of his glass, which got to him surprisingly fast.

You feel your cheeks warm, a dreamy sigh leaving your lips before muttering a goodbye and heading to your client. You had to get your head on straight, mind turning to mush whenever Aaron was around. In your mind, you decided that you were finally going to tell him how you felt about him. You wanted him like you’d never wanted a man before. Not wanting to disrupt the bond you two already had, but something had to give.

“Lauren, can you hear me?” Your client said.

Snapping back to reality you plastered a fake smile.

“Yes Charlie, I’m listening. Just enjoying the view,” you say glancing toward Aaron again. He looked so fucking sexy leaning against the bar. With his 6’3 frame and impressive build he towers over most people.

“So have you read over the file I gave you?” you ask taking a sip of the red wine he’d ordered. It was strong and bitter, which wasn’t your taste, but you were being polite.

“Yeah, everything seems in order. Legal finally agrees with all the changes you’ve proposed. I have it ready to sign”, Charlie says.

“Great!”, You beam. You could sign and get back to Aaron. You wanted to let loose and have fun, you’d been working nonstop with finalizing your contract and a break is within your reach. After signing, you slid the contract back over to Charlie. You glance back in Aaron’s direction, a small frown forming on your lips as you see the bartender flirting with him. A small huff leaves your lips as you re-focus on your client.

“So we’ll be spending a lot of time together? You better get used to seeing this ugly mug” Charlie asks with a smirk on his face. Charlie was fine, the best way to describe him would be a Paul Walker doppelgänger. He’s the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and has recently had to have a change in PR firms due to a conflict of interest.

“Me or someone else from my team at the firm,” you say with an awkward smile. Charlie’s fine that’s not the issue, the issue is standing across the lounge looking like Scar personified. Aaron shoots you a small smirk before mouthing ‘Hurry up!’. You bite your lip to contain your grin, you were so far gone for this man.

“I’d prefer you if I’m being honest, not too often my PR agent is so easy on the eyes,” Charlie smirks, topping off your glass.

“Oh Charlie ever the charmer,” you squeeze out a fake laugh. Ok, it was time to end this meeting now.

“Well, if you have no other questions or concerns I have a personal obligation I need to get to”, you say rising slowly. Charlie shoots out of his chair coming to your side to pull the remainder of your chair out.

“Of course! My driver’s right outside. Walk me out?” He asked offering you his arm. You finish your drink before grabbing your purse and his arm. Leading you two outside. You sneak a glance in Aaron’s direction to see him with an annoyed frown on his face. Charlie guides you the rest of the way out of the club, you two approaching a blacked-out suburban. You spot Charlie’s driver get out to open his door. He stops short turning towards you.

“I look forward to working more closely with you,” Charlie said grabbing my hand. He brought it up to his lips, placing a kiss there.

You open your mouth to reply but before you can an arm snakes around your waist.

“Hey, baby you almost finished?” Aaron's voice takes you by surprise as his hand spreads across your hip.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at your usually gentle giant.

“Just about. Aaron this is my new client Charlie. Charlie this is Aaron, my boyfriend”, the lie slips so easily from your lips. It feels natural.

“Oh hey man, nice to meet you. I’m a big fan,” Charlie says reaching his hand towards Aaron. They shake and an awkward silence settles among you all.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer than I have to. You guys have a good night. Nice to meet you Aaron,” Charlie has a slightly frightened look on his face as he retreats toward his car. We watch him get in and drive away before you spin in Aaron’s arm, an accusing smirk on your face.

“You couldn’t wait five more minutes?” you asked chuckling slightly.

“Nah, motherfucker was getting too handsy. He needed to know his place.”

You were barely paying attention to what he was saying. Aaron’s chest is puffed out, his face in that beautiful scowl you love, and his voice has dropped a pitch. Oh god, he’s hot when he’s being all possessive.

“What’s the matter? You jealous big guy?”, you ask looking up at him.

Aaron looks down at you, something flashes in his eyes.

“You know what? Yeah, I was getting pretty pissed off at watching him make googly eyes at you and you laugh at all his jokes. I don’t want to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you anymore. You can’t deny our chemistry. When I got the call today, you were the first person I thought of calling. I’m sorry if I jumped in and messed up the end of your deal, I was just tired of seeing him touch you,” Aaron exhales his face softening.

“I wish you’d told me this sooner. We could’ve been dating by now! I never wanted Charlie Aaron, he’s not you” You laughed launching yourself into his arms.

“So I take it you feel the same way?”, he’s smirking down at you, gaze lingering on your lips.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. Surprised I didn’t give myself away,” you say rolling your eyes playfully.

“ I should’ve said something to you sooner, you’re right. I just would rather have you as my friend than nothing at all. Come on let’s go inside, we still need to celebrate”, Aaron places a kiss on the corner of your lips before grabbing your hand and leading you back inside.

You were on cloud nine. That all happened so quickly that it seemed too good to be true. You forgot who you were dealing with, Aaron is so emotionally intelligent and articulate with his thoughts. Effective communication was such a turn-on for you. You allowed Aaron to lead you inside, turning your brain off.

You loved the fact that Aaron’s a real man, no coaching, no faking, just a real man. He knows how to communicate, he’s thoughtful, caring, and sweet. He never lets you walk on the same side as traffic. Always seem to know what you need before you know it yourself. He’s always been in-tune with you and your emotions and vice versa.

Aaron’s heart rate hadn’t slowed down yet. He was scared shitless that you were going to reject him. When he saw the way your eyes lit up when he made his confession he didn’t know why he was so scared in the first place. He’s in love with you. Is he going to tell you that now? No, probably not, soon though. Now he’s just going to enjoy the night and hopefully finish it with his face in between your thighs.

You wanted Aaron. Your back pressed against his front as you two danced. Aaron’s hand snaked around your waist pulling you closer, the action making your tummy flutter.

You spun in his arms taking in the tall drink of water in your arms. “You look so fucking sexy in your outfit. I did a good job”

Aaron tilts his head back, a bark of laughter leaving his lips. “Thank you, princess. I love being dressed by you.”

Your cheeks warmed and a soft smile formed on your face.

“Yeah? you like it when I call you that don’t you baby?” Aaron asks his hand reaching up to caress your cheek. Your mind goes blank, did he just..

“Answer Daddy when he asks you a question princess,” Aaron says his voice taking on that low rattle that does shameful things to your imagination. You look up at him, this Aaron looks completely different from the Aaron you arrived with. Pupils blown wide, eyes the color of a foggy Oregon forest, and his lips partially upturned into a devious smirk. This man looks like sex.

You nod slowly, “Yes Daddy,” you whisper. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the atmosphere in the club but you’d do anything right now to please this man.

Aaron hums happily, “That’s my good girl. You look so pretty tonight, you wanted us to match huh?”

“Mhm, I love that shirt on you, it brings out your muscles. You couldn’t be sexier if you tried,” you said rubbing your hands up and down his arms.

“Mmm, trying to sweet talk me, princess?” he asks pulling you closer. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. Even in your heels, your 5’3 frame was dwarfed by his size. You loved how big he was, but he didn’t show it. His size is a byproduct of his commitment to his health and well-being.

“Maybe I am. Who can blame me? You’re the most handsome man here, and that’s just looks. Nobody here knows how funny, sweet, caring, emotionally articulate -,” you were abruptly cut off by Aaron pressing his lips to yours. It was like the world stopped. Of course, you’d imagined kissing Aaron but that was nothing compared to the real thing. His lips are as soft as they look, providing the perfect amount of pressure. A soft whimper leaves your lips as Aaron’s hand grips your waist. Aaron pulled away and you chased his lips drunk on the feeling of kissing him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he chuckles. You look up at him a little dazed.

“C’mon baby, let’s get out of here. I’m ready to have you all to myself,” Aaron leads you back to the bar to close out your tab (of course he gave his card to the bartender the minute you turned away) before heading out.

You can feel the charged energy between you both as you leave the lounge. You feel like a kid on Christmas, waiting and waiting for Santa to come and now that he’s here you’re ready to unwrap your present. Aaron opens your door and helps you in, the 3 glasses of wine you had finally catching up to you. You’re not drunk, just a tiny bit buzzed. Butterflies driving monster trucks are roaming around in your belly. You can smell the citrus and sandalwood of Aaron’s cologne and you hum happily.

“You smell so good,” you sigh whimsically.

Aaron reaches across you to buckle you in and chuckles, “Thank you, princess. Let’s get you home yeah?” You nod before leaning up and placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah Daddy, take me home.”

“Fuck, I need you princess,” Aaron groans as he pushes you through the front door with his lips attached to your neck.

You turn in his arms, deft fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I would rip this off you but, you look so good in it,” you smirk up at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re testing me here. I’m trying to be patient but keep it up and watch what happens,” Aaron said pupils blown so wide his eyes look like a storm cloud. You take your fingers off his top before taking a small step back. Your fingers now coming up to your own blouse. Fingers working through the buttons one by one.

Aaron leans up against the wall biting his lip as he watches you undress for him.

“Slower,” he says kicking off his shoes.

Your blood ran hot, you had no idea how to be sexy. Lacking in sexual experience, your last boyfriend breaking up with you because it, you were now in your head more than ever. Fingers hovering over your third button you begin second guessing yourself. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if you’re not as experienced as he likes?

The negative thoughts start swirling around in your mind so rapidly, you don’t even realize when Aaron makes his way over to you.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours hmm?”, Aaron reaches up to your blouse his hand gently moving yours aside.

You shake your head avoiding eye contact, “Nothing.”

Aaron grabs your chin tilting your head back to look into his eyes, “Lauren if we do this, I need to know what you’re thinking, and I need you to be honest with me. I’m not here to judge you so tell me. What’s got your face all frowned up?”

“What if I’m not what you expect? When I take my clothes off. You work with models, beautiful actresses. My body doesn’t look like theirs”, you say all your insecurities spilling out. Your hands clasped in front of you wringing them together (a nervous trait you have).

Aaron’s face hardens, he couldn’t believe you’d say those things about yourself. How couldn’t you see how unbelievably sexy you are. Now he was going to have to show you.

“Lo, do you trust me?”, Aaron asks.

You nod your head giving him a positive answer, “Baby, of course I do.”

A sinister smirk takes over Aaron’s face, “Then be a good girl and go upstairs, take everything off except for your underwear, and wait for me on my bed.”

GOTCHA!!! If y'all want a part 2 PLEASE like and comment. As always constructive critisism is appreciated but, please be gentle.

@simplyzeeka

DIVIDER: @cxrrodedcoffin

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #aaronpierre #aaronpierresmut #rebel ridge fanfiction #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader

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mischievousmoony · 1 year ago

Text

𝚑𝚊𝚢𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: you have trouble sleeping when you unexpectedly have to share a bed with james on your holiday . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁3.5k

⟢ warnings/tags: one bed trope, bit of wolfstar, fluffy, nervous!reader

⟢ requested

⟢ masterlist

note: love me some out of touch with money sirius and james

"Oh! I see it now! Your booking is for this date!"

"Perfect." James lets out a sigh of relief.

"Next year." The desk agent adds after a rather cruel pause.

All eyes fall on James, the one you all left in charge of planning your getaway. A decision that feels idiotic now.

James looks like he is trying very hard to not meet at your piercing gazes, as if any of you might have summoned the power to turn him to stone.

"Is it?" James' voice is strained as he speaks, "Okay, my fault, my fault. Honest mistake. I'm sure this happens all the time, yeah?"

"Not really." The desk agent says, a hint of judgement in her tone.

James, with his lips pressed into a flat line and eyes squinted, is failing very hard at not looking peeved at her.

"We should've let Rem do the planning," Sirius says through a yawn, letting his head fall on Remus' shoulder. It was already very late when you arrived at the hotel, and all four of you just wanted to crash in a warm bed. Remus slung his arm around Sirius' shoulders, rubbing his arm as a comfort.

Meanwhile, you shift your footing as you move your heavy bag from one shoulder to the other, your impatience and fatigue clearly growing.

James paid Sirius’ comment no mind, his attention all on you as eyes flick your way when he notices your discomfort in his peripheral vision. Wordlessly, he takes your bag off your arm and slings it over his own.

"We can fix this, can't we?" James asks, "Can we move that booking to today?"

"We don't do that for bookings that didn't pay the insurance fee, and it says here that you didn't pay the insurance fee. That also means the trip is non-refundable as well."

"Okay!” James feels an eye twitch coming on, “Fine, what rooms aren't booked? We'll just book new rooms, no big deal," James' says, his own growing impatience evident in his tone. He pulls a credit card from his wallet and taps it restlessly on the stone counter.

You and Remus stand there wide eyed, about to protest, while Sirius begins to look for his own wallet. James waves Sirius off and reassures you and Remus with an "I've got it."

The desk agent ignores the slight commotion as she reads from her screen, "Well, you're in luck. We have two queen rooms left."

"Wait," you interject, "Queen rooms? Because one of them needs to be a double."

"Those are the last rooms available." She confirms.

"Well, is there a pull-out sofa in either of them? A regular sofa? Anything?" You ask, desperation growing as the agent shakes her head at all of your suggestions, "A cot we can roll into the room even?"

"We ran out," she says, tone laced with faux sympathy.

"Well, one bed is fine with us, obviously," Sirius smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. Yet again, he is ignored. Well, not by Remus, who squeezes his shoulder.

James faces you and puts a gentle hand on your arm, "Hey, it'll be fine. We'll figure it out when we get up there, yeah?"

You sigh, but digress with a simple nod.

As soon as James says "We'll take them" the agent is listing off the price for the rooms for the duration of your stay.

"Wait, wait, wait!" James tries to stop her.

You jaw goes slack, "What?"

"Sorry?" tumbles from Remus' lips at the same time.

Sirius is the only one who looks unbothered, his eyes flicking between you and Remus as he asks, "Is that supposed to be a lot?"

"That's wildly more expensive than what we paid originally,” you protest. "The old price is only worth one night of this new price!"

"Oh, I remember why we didn't let Moony do the booking," Sirius comments, and the reason for the price difference suddenly dawns on you.

James looks at you with a sheepish grin as the wheels turn in your head. James and Sirius clearly took the brunt of the expenses, letting you and Remus only pay your share for a single night, passing it off as the full price.

"James!" You ridicule.

"We wanted you guys to be able to stay somewhere nice for once!" He defends stridently.

"First of all, offensive. And second of all, there are nice hotels that don't cost over a thousand dollars a night!"

"It's endearing that you think that's a lot for two rooms."

"Once again, offensive!"

"So, will you be taking the rooms?" The agent interjects.

James doesn't break eye contact with you, his lips molding into a cheeky grin as he slides his credit card across the desk, "Yes, we will."

When you reach the room, the site of the single bed makes you huff indignantly, but you had to admit that the room was pretty nice. And just by looking at the bed you could tell it's comfortable.

"They could have totally fit a couch in here," you take notice of how spacious the room is. "Five hundred dollar rooms should come with couches. You're getting scammed, James."

James chuckles as he places both of your bags on the floor.

"We have a desk," he says as if it's helpful, "a TV, wardrobe..."

"None of which are particularly useful right now," you comment.

James shrugs, approaching the inviting bed. He starts picking up pillows and dropping them on the floor.

"What are you doing?" you ask, moving to stand next to him.

"Makin' a place to sleep," he answers.

"No! No way, you're not sleeping on the floor!" you protest.

"You made it pretty clear you wanted separate places to sleep," James says.

"Well yes, but you should have the bed. I feel bad enough as it is that you've paid for this whole thing twice, I couldn't live with myself if I let you sleep on the floor."

"And I'm too much of a gentleman to let a lady sleep on the floor," he says as he lowers himself to the ground, laying his head on the pillows, "I've always been partial to a firm bed anyway."

"James! No way!"

"Listen, the only way I'm sleeping in that bed is if we both are, otherwise-"

"Fine,” you say sharply.

"Wait, what?"

You put your hands on your hips, "I said fine! But keep those pillows on your side, you've tainted them with the floor."

James watches as you saunter off to the bathroom, retrieving your toothbrush and pajamas from your bag on your way. The whole time, he remained on the floor, too stunned to move.

Of course, when James heard there would only be one bed, he was secretly a little excited, which may or may not have to do with the little (not so little) crush he has on you. But when you expressed concern over the situation, he knew immediately that he'd be sleeping on the floor, and sharing a bed with you would have to remain a lovely little dream. When he suggested otherwise just now, it was just banter and a way to get you to agree to him sleeping on the floor. He didn't actually mean it. But then you said fine.

James' fingertips fiddle with the fibers of the carpet as he contemplates this, still lying on the floor. He replays the moment in his head, checking his memory for your tone. Did you sound annoyed? Uncomfortable? James really does not want to make you uncomfortable. Even the possibility that he has makes him want to punch himself.

You were suddenly standing over James again in a fresh set of pajamas, "Why are you still on the floor?"

"You meant it?" The words tumble from James' mouth as if they were one.

“Yes, James, I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor.”

“But are you okay with it?” James clarified.

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t gonna be uncomfortable for you? You were really concerned about the prospect of sharing a bed. If this is gonna make you uncomfortable, well, I’d rather beg Sirius and Remus to let me sleep on the foot of their bed like a dog.”

You chuckle at the image of James curled up by Remus and Sirius’ feet.

“Yes, James. I’m okay with it. What would make me feel uncomfortable is you sleeping on the floor whilst I’m alone in a bed big enough for two. Honest.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Now would you please get up from the floor?”

James sticks his hands up like a child, wiggling his fingers at you. You roll your eyes, but the way your lips curl up at the corners reveal you’re not truly annoyed with him.

You grab hold of James’ hands and heave him up, stumbling back a bit once you’ve got him upright. James helps steady you before he goes off to get ready for bed.

Meanwhile, you begin to tuck under the covers.

Lying in a bed has never felt so unnatural. You try fluffing the pillows, lying on either side and your stomach before returning to your back, taking the covers off of one leg then putting them back on—nothing feels right.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t the bed that was the problem but rather your nerves. The reason you were originally so concerned about having to sleep in the same bed as James is your little (not so little) crush on the boy. Just thinking about it made your heart race and you were sure you wouldn’t survive the night. You couldn’t even believe it was really happening until James pads back into the room from the bathroom and begins to join you.

You watch as he picks the pillows up from the floor, brushes them off, and places them back on the bed. Your body stiffens when he climbs in after them.

James is getting under the covers when he freezes, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, James. If I start to not be okay with it I promise I’ll kick you out.” You were lying but apparently it was convincing enough for James to resume settling into the bed.

Before completely settling in, James reaches towards the switch for the lamp. He pauses as he asks, “Ready for lights out?”

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak in case your voice might be high pitched and riddled with nerves.

With your confirmation, James hits the switch and you’re engulfed in darkness.

Your eyes screw shut as you feel the bed creak and shift while James gets comfortable. When he stops, you feel the hairs stick up on the back of your neck.

You open your eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness before you strain them by attempting to look at James without moving your neck. You can just barely see the position he’s chosen.

“Are you-? Are you facing me?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you maybe not?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah sorry.”

You feel the bed creak again one final time as James settles down on his back.

Upon some reflection, James realizes it is probably weird to face the person you’re platonically sharing a bed with. He just couldn’t help it. In his fantasies, you’d both face each other and have hushed conversations that would keep you up late. You’d be laughing and giggling with each other through the night, scooting closer as you did, until you found yourselves drifting off in each other’s arms.

Instead, you both lay stiffly on your backs, as close to your respective edges of the bed as you could get. It’s not James’ ideal situation, but he’s giddy nonetheless, craning his neck to steal glances at you often until he falls asleep.

You assume James is a restless sleeper, not thinking anything else of the way his head keeps moving back and forth, making shuffling noises against his pillow.

When there hasn’t been any shuffling noises for a few minutes, you let out a breath you’d been holding back. You didn’t want to make any noise at all while James was still awake, as if that would make it seem like you weren’t there at all.

Now that James is asleep and can no longer perceive you, you let your stiff muscles relax into the mattress and take a deep breath. You try to close your eyes and drift off, but they frustratingly shoot open a few moments later. Sleep would not be possible so long as your heart keeps beating the way that it does.

You look at James through the corner of your eyes, noticing the way his chest rises and falls steadily. You try to match his breaths, convinced that if you breathe like a sleeping person you’ll be able to fall asleep to.

Unfortunately, it was useless. Nothing could soothe the knots in your stomach, nor dull the sensation of James’ presence burning like a steady flame at your side. You’ll have to just accept it—so long as the boy of your dreams is next to you, you won’t be getting much sleep.

By the third day of your trip, your exhaustion was painfully obvious.

On the first, you were yawning all day, but you were able to brush it off as no big deal.

The second day you fell asleep on the beach the moment your back hit the sandy towel. Sirius and Remus had to endure all of James' fussing over the fact that you could get sunburnt. When James was spraying aerosol sunscreen over you, both concerned that you hadn't reapplied yet and wanting to let you sleep, the wind blew the spray right into Sirius' face. He snatched the t-shirt you were using to cover your face from the sun at once, startling you awake with a shout that it was time to reapply.

Today, day three, is a pool day, and you were nearly drifting off again. This time, it was happening while you’re in the water, your head resting atop your folded arms that drape over the pool's edge.

James is watching you carefully from his spot on a pool chair, making sure you didn’t actually fall asleep in the water. His concern for your safety and need to rest clashing yet again.

Sirius and Remus join James in adjacent pool chairs with drinks from the hotel’s Tiki Bar, but James pays them no mind as they sit down.

“Alright, James?” Remus asks.

“Yeah,” James responds, not taking his eyes off you.

“You seem tense.” Remus points out, “You do know we’re on vacation, right?”

“I’m worried that if I look away she’ll fall asleep and drown.” James voices his concerns.

“Eh, but if you let her you'll get to give her mouth to mouth,” Sirius jokes, and he’s the only one who laughs at it. Though, Remus does give into an amused head shake.

“Why’s she been so tired anyway?” Remus asks.

“Dunno,” James replies, “I don’t think she sleeps much. Every morning I wake up she’s already up and out of the bed, ready for the day.”

“How is the single bed life treating you?” Sirius teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

James purses his lips, “It’s… not exactly how I pictured it.”

“Ooh and how’d you picture it?” Sirius asks suggestively, earning a slap on the arm from Remus.

“I may have been holding out hope for the morning we’d wake up wrapped up in each other’s arms. Or the night where we’d stay up talking and we’d scooch closer and closer until we couldn’t deny the tension between us anymore and we’d kiss and fireworks would go off outside our window.”

“Oh. Wow.” Remus’ comments when James concludes his wistful rambles, finding them to be... interesting.

“Quite the hopeless romantic, are you?” Sirius teases.

James sighs, frowning, “Wanna know what happens instead? We lay stiff as boards, as far apart as possible, staring at the ceiling in silence until I fall asleep. No late night chats and no surprise morning cuddles.”

What James doesn't know that you have woken up curled up against him, his arms comfortably at around your waist, holding you flush against his side. It happened after the first night, and you quickly but carefully peeled yourself out of the bed the minute you came to. The possibility of that happening again and James being the one to wake up first terrified you, making it that much harder for you to get sleep at night. When you did sleep, it was extremely lightly, and you often woke up constantly to make sure you hadn’t accidentally drifted over to his side of the bed.

Remus squints at James, finding his longing quite painful to watch. James should just talk to you, Remus thinks.

"She looks like she's really dozing off, now," Remus says to help him along.

James' spine straightens with alarm, "You think!?" he asks, standing at once to jog to your rescue.

When you hear James' feet pad against the ground, you look up, eliciting a sigh of relief from him.

"Hey," he said softly as he slows his approach, "you're scaring me, over here."

"Scaring you?"

James sits on the edge of the pool next to you, letting his legs dip into the water, "This just isn't the safest place for you to fall asleep."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protest, but a yawn betrays you.

James shakes his head, light chuckles falling from his lips. When he settles with a sigh, he says, "You're exhausted, love. Can I ask what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," you say, your eyebrows twitching together in confusion.

"Then why aren't you sleeping at night?" James' lips tug down in the corners.

"I am sleeping," you insist softly.

"Not enough, clearly. What is it? I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? Because you can still kick me to the curb."

"No, I'm not uncomfortable, James," you look away from him bashfully. You really wish James wouldn't pry about this, you had no excuse, besides your feelings for him, which is one you definitely couldn't use. You chew your lip as you attempt to think of another.

James raises an eyebrow at your behavior, "You're certainly acting uncomfortable. Did I do something wrong?" His tone is dejected, like he's sad that you don't feel at ease around him.

You feel bad instantly, not wanting to be the cause of his low spirits. Your head snaps to look at him, "No! It's not that!"

"Then what?" James shakes his head. He studies you, trying to determine what could possibly be wrong. His eyes bore into yours and you feel yourself instinctively shrinking away from him. Your fingers start to fiddle with the string bracelet that you're wearing, arms still resting on the edge of the pool, though you have stood up straighter now.

His features smooth over in realization as he notices your behavior isn't exactly coming from a place of discomfort, although, he was close.

"Oh. You're nervous around me, aren't you?"

"What!? Of course not," you say quickly, yet your head dips down and you won't meet his gaze once again.

James decides to test the theory. He pushes himself up with the heels of his palms and lowers himself into the pool next to you. He stands in the water, close enough for his chest to lightly brush against your arm.

His voice is low when he speaks, "Look at me."

You barely move your head, just enough to see him comfortable if you look through the corner of your eyes. James' hand settles under your chin to guide your head the rest of the way. His gaze feels scrutinizing, and James catches the way you chew on the inside of your cheek.

"You're absolutely nervous," he decides, and there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Why?"

"It's like you're trying to make me uncomfortable. Do you want to sleep on the floor or something?"

"No, I just want to sleep with you," he blurts without thinking.

You veer back from him and his hands immediately fly up in surrender.

James, suddenly the more flustered one of the two of you, speaks frantically, "Not like–! I didn't mean it like that!"

"And how exactly did you mean it?" you ask, taken completely aback.

"I want to hold you. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms," he rambles, "I- I want to be with you, god, I like you."

You're shocked into silence. James' eyes desperately dart across your features, looking for any kind of reaction or sign.

Once he starts looking a little hopeless the words are ripped from your throat, "I like you too. I want all of that too."

James puffs out a breath in disbelief. His lips begin to tug up into a mischievous grin, his hand finding solace on the bare skin of your lower back below the water.

"And if I said I want to kiss you?" he asks quietly.

You swallow your nerves, "I'd say I want that too."

James' free hand finds the back of your head in an instant, using the leverage to pull you into him as he laces his fingers through your hair.

Later that night, James is the one who doesn't get much sleep, too giddy over the fact that he finally gets to hold you.

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celuere · 3 months ago

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Just thoughts but Arle w wife who picks up cats n animals off the streets like she does w kids at the hearth😭 she comes home at like 2am tired as hell and wife has 3 more animals in her hands and they've already been named. Wdym the house isnt big enough for more cats. :(

(...they end up staying. Firm believer that arle is a cat person moreso than dogs)

Also omg ?? Hello ??? i eat ur fics up like the last supper i love ur blog :333 sends u virtual love /p

another one, thank you!

pairing: arlecchino x wife!reader

cw: none, just arle being a sucker for her wife

that is such a cute concept i literally LOVE this kind of trope and it fits so amazing too with arle because she‘d be exactly the type to act like she despises cats only to collect them all when it is time for bed😭🙏🏼 and ty for enjoying my works it means the world to me <3

„absolutely not.“

„but why? it‘s not like we don’t have pets already… three more cats wouldn‘t hurt us in the slightest…“, you pressed a soft kiss to the head of a black furred kitten. in your lap were playing the other two hairy rascals. a set two orange kitties, probably twins you picked up on your daily evening walk through the neighborhood, carelessly dumped into a dirty alley inside a box. you almost overheard their cries for help.

yet your husband didn’t seem impressed.

„that is exactly why you’re handing them over to the shelter tomorrow morning. we‘re an orphanage and not a… zoo. they cost money, our cleaning staff is complaining about the excessive amount of hair and they-”, just then you saw the little rascal dangling side to side from her coat by its tiny claws.

the knave could claim her distaste for these little creatures all she wanted but the way her cursed hands scooped the ball of fur up from her clothes- as if she were to pick up a crystal- gave it all away.

„…“, crimson crosses for pupils mustered the meowing kitty, squirming around in her gentle touch before they found you again.

„you like them.“

„i do not. i‘m simply tolerating them.“, her eyes softened just for the shortest moment as the kitten pressed its head into her palms when she let her nail scratch over the spot behind its ear.

„you are a terrible liar, peruere.“

„the cats will stay until we find a fitting home for them.“, she was clever enough to ignore your prior accusation.

(the cats did in fact not leave)

#𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ⋆·˚ ༘ *#arlecchino #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x reader #x reader #genshin x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader

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vantelover07 · 3 months ago

Text

⋆. 𐙚 ˚yan!biker!Jungkook x vet!reader⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Just an idea I've had for a while, sorry for all the grammatical and structural errors, english is not my first language. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ I think it would be such a cute grumpy x sunshine trope, but like he is a grouch around everyone else, but turns soft and loving only with the reader. And he's whipped. And I mean really, really whipped like he will do anything and everything for you, and I mean it. He's a yandere after all.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He's definitely the type of guy who lives by the words "I would let the world burn for her" and "she's the ray of sunshine in my life", while the reader, on the other hand, is a cutesy, cheerful, animal lover. You work in a vet clinic, and that's how you guys met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook came in with his Doberman for a check-up. Immediately, he was drawn to your presence, your smile, and the soft way you handled Bam. He's smitten with the way you talked, walked, well, with your whole existence basically. He felt as though he was under some spell, as if the whole world stopped moving the moment you met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Later that day, when he came home with a dopey smile on, he couldn't think of anything else but you. He decided then and there that you were his true soulmate and he had to make you his.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ By pure coincidence, you guys met again at the park that he visits with Bam for walks. You were sitting on a bench on a particularly sunny and beautiful day, wearing a cute white dress with little pink flowers on it and a baby pink cardigan to match. You were reading a book when suddenly a familiar Doberman approached you with a wagging tail. Right behind him was a jogging Jungkook who couldn't believe his eyes. It's you in your cute, coquettish little outfit with that dazzling smile and warm, glowing aura. He made a mental note to buy Bam extra treats for being such a good boy by finding you for his dad.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He was all smiles with you, despite looking so rugged and dangerous with all the tattoos and piercings, he acted so soft and gentle with you, as if afraid that you'd run away. You guys exchanged numbers, and he made you promise that you would go out soon.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You guys text, finally set the time and place, and he picks you up in his car for the dinner date. You wore a long red dress, and he wondered how he would last all night without touching you when you looked this divine.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You two had an amazing time together, you laughed, got to know each other more, and by the time the date was over and he drove you back home, you parted with him with a sweet kiss. Jungkook swore he'd heard wedding bells in his head and felt drunk despite not drinking anything.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ With how inpatient and invested Jungkook is, you guys start dating not long after (probably around the third date).

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is all in in this relationship and I mean ALL IN as in getting you two custom helmets and jackets for his bike, visiting you at your lunch breaks at the clinic and either coming with a homemade lunch or taking you out, having you over at his place and letting you wear only his clothes there, texting you good morning and goodnight which makes him the first and last person you message everyday, buying you a cute pink set to go to the gym with him when in fact it's mostly either you watching him work out or him helping you with the exercises (honestly just looking for excuses to touch you), etc.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook is very big on pda, and he absolutely has to touch you in some way at all times. He loves to kiss you, and he's baffled how he could survive without you before. He swears he's never felt this much love for anyone in his entire life. He loves spooning you in bed, kissing your neck and breathing you in, or having you lie down on his chest completely, feeling your weight on him being the best reminder that you are here with him, safe in his arms and utterly and completely his.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is very protective and easily triggered if anyone even dares to look your way for too long. He believes that only he gets to admire you and look at you freely (even tho he knows you're a beauty and unfortunately for him others see that too). He might or might not have threatened or beaten up a couple of guys who (by his standard) acted disrespectfully towards his relationship, but in his eyes, it's fine, as long as you'll never get to know. You would probably worry and get worked up, and he doesn't want that. Jungkook just wants to keep you safe, and what's safer than being with him?

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Despite his jealousy and possessiveness, he's the most caring, loving boyfriend ever, and he would probably rather cut himself open than let anyone or anything hurt you. Jungkook treats you like a princess, and whatever you ask of him, he's ready to deliver. You're hungry? Baby, a three-course meal is already on the table. You're feeling stressed and insecure? Let him cuddle you and pepper your face with kisses, telling you every little thing he loves about you. You're feeling sick? He's there to take care of you, cooking you soup and making sure you take your medicine. You wanna go shopping? He's already on his bike, ready to go with you, see you model all the clothes, and buy you whatever you like. You're the love of his life, his soulmate, future wife, and mother of his children and he would be damned if he ever let you slip through his fingers. You're it for him today, tomorrow, and forever.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

Let me know if u guys liked this headcanon with yandere biker! JK and if you want more! Till next time, then!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 4 months ago

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Hello!

I hope you are doing well.

Could I request a fem!reader x Miguel imagine where reader is a medical doctor and relatively new to the spider society. Rather than fight against anomalies, she's taken on the task of healing these spiderpeople after they get injured because she is the only one who really can due to their unique physiology. She's known for her venomous sarcasm and biting wit, trading insults and quips like they're her love language. But in striking juxtaposition to her usual behaviour, her bedside manner is extremely comforting, gentle, and maternal. This is the first time that the head of the spider society himself, Miguel, has been one of her patients. He came in with really awful injuries from a mission gone awry. This is the first time he gets to see this side of reader. Because I am such a slut for the "playing nurse" trope. Bonus points if she gently refers to him as "good boy" at some point 😫 And because our boy could really use a comforting touch

Thank you so much!

This is amazing, I love this idea! I'm so sorry it took so long!

Sharp Words

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader • Rating: PG pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: surprise kiss, injury, brief mention to a spider backstory, overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 864

Miguel had been so close to not coming in at all, his mind practically already made up.

He wouldn’t die. He would heal. He could do this on his own.

And while most would think he was either just not taking care of himself, or dismissing how bad his injuries actually were, it was Lyla who hit the metaphorical nail on the head.

“Just admit you’re scared of seeing her.”

“No.” He’d winced, his voice sounding childish even to his own ears. And obviously lying.

“Prove it.” Lyla folded her arms across her chest and, of course, that gave Miguel little choice in the matter.

He’d expected your tuts, eye rolls and sharp words, including a fair few comments on ‘how stupid he had been to get his messed up’. Even as he walked to the med bay he’d been mentally rehearsing his answers.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“People were in trouble, it was either get out the way and let them get hurt or stay where I was.”

“This Green Goblin had a teleport glitch that made evading attacks pretty difficult when you don’t know he has that yet.”

Maybe he’d just stay completely quiet.

But none of that had happened.

Your eyes had widened when you’d seen him and ushered him to a bed. You’d fussed over him quietly, only asking questions that were pertinent to his care.

Your hands were warm and your expression soft.

And weirdly, it hurt.

“I just need to run a few blood tests, okay?” You say gently, waiting for him to nod.

Miguel gives you the go ahead. “What for?”

“Well,” You take the samples quickly, the actions practised to an art form. “First time I’ve treated you, I just need to check your physiology is what I think it is…” You trail off for a few seconds as you focus. “And second, I want to make sure there’s no contamination.”

“Contamination?” He frowns.

“Don’t worry,” You lay your hand on his uninjured shoulder and he shivers. It shouldn’t feel as nice as it does, as safe. It shouldn’t make his heart rate spike.

“Some Green Goblins have a toxin on any bladed weapons, I don’t think this one does,” You pull up the information the Spider Society has gathered about this particular iteration on your holo pad and skim through it. “But I just want to be safe, rather than sorry.”

He hums quietly, and laments the loss of your touch when you move away, his shoulder cold now that your fingers had left his skin.

Miguel lets you work in silence for a moment, trying to quell his racing mind. To think of nothing.

“Is the Green Goblin the reason you didn’t come here straight away?”

Your voice catches him off guard, “I…”

You move closer, pulling over a chair and sitting before you spray the largest gash on his chest with numbing spray before you start to clean and stitch the wound.

There’s a moment of quiet once more before you glance up at him from under your lashes, “Because that’s not…” You sigh and look back to your work. “That’s not something you need to worry about, I’m not made of glass.”

“I know you’re not.” He says softly.

The Green Goblin from your universe had been responsible for many tragedies in your life, including how you became a spider person to begin with. It was only when he’d died - something you were partly, if not wholly responsible for - that you’d discovered he had been your Uncle Ben. A canon event in your timeline.

“Then why did you wait seventeen minutes to come to med bay?” You sit up fully and fix him with a stern look.

And to your absolute amazement, and secret enjoyment, Miguel O’Hara blushes.

“I…” He looks at his hands intently. “Wait, you were timing me?”

“I was rounding up, sixteen minutes and forty eight seconds if you’re interested.”

“Why…?”

“Lyla told me you’d been hurt bad and when you portaled back, to be honest I was expecting you to portal directly here.” You motion to your surroundings.

Miguel swallows. “It’s not that bad-”

“Don’t give me that.” You stare at him, letting him squirm for a moment. “You know I have the medical clearance to ground you.”

“That’s-”

“You’re the one that gave it to me, if I’m not happy with someone’s physical or mental condition I can stop them from working until they’re recovered.”

Miguel looks ashen. “You’re-”

“Why didn’t you come straight away? And I can tell when you’re lying.”

He groans and closes his eyes, certain that he’s regressed to a ten year old at that moment. “I was… I didn’t want you to get angry.”

You pause. “What?”

“Or snap at me,” he continues, his eyes still closed. “I know we’re both usually pretty sharp with each other and I didn’t want to disappoint you and-”

You smile and lean forward lightly pressing your lips to his.

Miguel groans, kissing you back as he opens his eyes in surprise. “I…?”

You pull back a fraction. “Good boy.”

He pauses, staring quizzically at you.

“For telling the truth.”

Thank you for reading!

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pomefioredove · 6 months ago

Note

May I please have a sugar cookie, order number 15, with sprinkles & chocolate chips?

I'm super excited I came in time for this event, I adore your blog & am excited to see what comes of this.

(Pardon me as I cross my fingers in hoping to get one of my babygirls or just one of my faves)

—🐈‍⬛

you get one of MY babygirls. praise mana-sama for helping me through requests today

order #15, sugar with sprinkles and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ unlike yourself

tropes: hurt/comfort, fake dating characters: rook additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, short and sweet, probably ooc

It's strange, you think.

Rook Hunt, the mysterious, distant vicewarden, loved you more in an evening than anyone else had in months.

Only an act. You had to remind yourself of that, every time he squeezed your hand or pulled you closer to him.

Every time he whispered something silly in your ear, every time he kissed the back of your hand. Only an act.

"I could write a thousand poems of you, mon amour, and never become bored of it,"

At some point, you had stopped looking at the others. You had forgotten they were there altogether.

It's only an act.

It felt like a fairytale, glittering, iridescent and silver, yet one that still ended at midnight in rags and pumpkin seeds.

You didn't want to think about that.

That by sunrise, the event would be over, and you would be back to your life. Back to your drafty dorm and secondhand clothes, back to your cold, lonely mornings. Back to yourself.

Back to the person you so hated.

Rook made you feel something unlike yourself. You were someone beautiful to him, someone interesting, someone loveable, someone worth teaching to dance, no matter how many times you stepped on his toes.

He only smiled.

You had asked him to be your date, to lie with you, to act with you, to prove to everyone that you were that someone, so unlike yourself, that you were beautiful and interesting and loveable, and worthy.

It had been your request. Just two hours, you said, and now you selfishly want more. You want years.

You want to make him feel the way he makes you.

"Your eyes are watering," Rook whispers, holding your face and drying your tears with the gentle touch of his gloved thumbs.

"Why are you sad, mon ange?"

You can't tell him. It's only an act. It's only an act. You want him to stay. He can't. He won't.

You can't ask him to stay.

"You are tired," he says, smiling sweetly, his cupid's bow curving. "Let's get you home, Trickster."

He's right, of course.

And you don't want to leave, you don't want to lose something on the velvet steps of the dorm, but you do, for him.

He walks you back to Ramshackle himself. He tucks you in bed and makes you something warm to eat since you both know the silver-plated hors d'oeuvres weren't enough.

You don't want to close your eyes. But he asks you to sleep, and you do, for him.

And so you wake up in your drafty dorm and your secondhand clothes in a bed that isn't really yours, feeling like yourself again.

But today, on this cold morning, he's sitting with you, and it isn't lonely.

"Oh, Trickster," he whispers, leaning over your, holding your face and gazing at you with something like softness.

"You did not have to ask me to stay. The answer is always yes."

And he kisses, again and again, your lips, your cheeks, your nose and head. He kisses that person, the one in rags, the messy one, the lonely one, you. He kisses you. He wants you.

And you think, perhaps this person, this yourself, isn't so bad.

Rook loves them, after all.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rook hunt x reader #🐈‍⬛

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puck-luck · 2 months ago

Note

might i request a chai latte with whipped cream for jack hughes please? (sub jack trope pretty please!)

feeling a little feral over this one. had to end it where i did before i turned into a whole animal.

You have to give it to him– retroactively speaking, Jack has been such a good boy. You wanted to see how far you could push him today and he hasn’t broken yet.

He’s slinged up, one arm already out of commission. You’d been generous when you decided to leave Jack’s other arm free, often opting for tying it out of the way since he’s so prone to trying to take more than he deserves. Its place is on your thigh, crossed over your body and keeping your legs securely over his lap.

You’re both fully clothed, joggers and a sweatshirt on Jack since the straps of the sling bother his bare skin, whereas you’re in some booty shorts and a big t-shirt. You’re in the early stages of this, planning to make Jack beg for everything more he needs. His day of edging starts with begging for a kiss.

Your cold fingers have already dipped below his waistband. They’re warming up against the soft, often hidden skin of his abdomen and Jack has relaxed visibly because of their proximity to his cock. He has absolute certainty that you’ll touch him when it’s the proper time. It’s taken a while for Jack to accept that you know what’s best here, that you’re the one who will think through every action, motion, or play. Now that he has, he’s utter putty in your hands.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his scalp and playing with his brown waves. He’s breathing steadily, steadily enough that an outsider might think that he’s asleep, but you can tell he isn’t. While his hand remains on your thigh, it has started to mirror your touch.

You’d be lying if you said the gentle caress wasn’t tempting you to start doing more, but you hold steadfast.

Whenever you stop moving your hand in his hair, Jack nudges you with his head like a cat. He wants you to keep moving and eventually, he’s pulled you close enough that your body is cradled into his side. It’s the perfect set-up, with Jack designing his own infuriating trap to fall into, given that all you have to do to kiss him is tilt your chin up.

You lift your head enough that your lips brush his, a fleeting pass, just enough for Jack to know that it wasn’t the wind interrupting this impromptu cuddle session. Sometimes he just needs you close, especially when he’s freshly injured, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get to have fun with you as well. He needs both in his life. It’s a little twisted, but you want to keep him in this liminal space for as long as you can before he bursts. You love when Jack whines. You love when he needs more. At the same time, you love when Jack is soft like this.

The softness is reflected in his hazy, sleepy eyes when his pretty lashes flutter open and he looks at you. His drunken need for you shines in the curve of his bottom lip, dropping slightly in reaction to your kiss. He looks like he wants to say something, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth, so he settles for looking at you instead.

Drawing a beg from him might be harder than you think, but you’re persistent. You bide your time. You wait for him to relax into your touch again, sliding your hand over his waist as you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. It’s then that you slot your lips with his and give him a taste of something more real.

When you pull away, his head follows yours. His eyes are still closed, lips pursed and head tilted to the side, feeling the phantom touch you left behind.

His eyes open with a bit more alertness behind them this time. Jack looks at you and licks his bottom lip. His fingers are twitching on your thigh, pads of his digits pressing into your bare skin in an effort to either steel himself or encourage you to come even closer.

Your hand beneath his sweatshirt passes his ribcage and your thumb swipes over his nipple.

Jack straightens slightly, breathing through his mouth. You ghost your lips over his again, the space between your mouths teeming with wrought energy, but you don’t close it. When Jack attempts to, you shift back.

The first time, he’s confused.

The second, his eyebrows furrow.

By the third, he’s full-on frowning and trying to chase you down.

You remove your hand from beneath his sweatshirt and place your dainty, manicured hand on Jack’s neck. Your thumb is on one side of his Adam’s apple, three fingers on the other, pinkie resting on his clavicle. You tilt your head to the side and watch Jack freeze, feel his throat bob under your fingertips.

The haze in his eyes is back and his gaze is locked on your lips. As it should be.

#1 year of puck-luck!#andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes blurb #jh blurb #jh86 #jh is a sub. he wants to be a dom. so bad. but he is destined to be a sub.

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semisasseater · 4 months ago

Text

I LIKE YOU BEST

like this.

SUMMARY ‘ The hyung line reactions when you unexpectedly show them affection

𓊆 hyung line 𓊇 x gn!reader 㞫⠀⠀ ִ ⠀960 obsession dubious comfort kidnapping affection forced captivity fluff emotional manipulation suspicion yandere themes — 类型 dark romance psychological thriller horror yandere

✴︎ LIBRARY ✴︎

‧˚⠀⠀ 🤍⠀⠀ ɞ 作者注 : i love yandere trope.

Heeseung – Playing Video Games Together

Heeseung narrowed his eyes at you, arms crossed. “you wanna play video games.. with me?”

You nodded eagerly, bouncing on your feet. “yes!! come on it’ll be fun!”

His suspicion grew. You never wanted to hang out with him. You barely even tolerated him. Was this some kind of trick? A distraction so you could try to escape? His mind raced with possibilities, and he nearly refused—until he saw your pout, your lower lip jutting out in disappointment.

“you’re fucking with me aren’t you” he scoffed, but there was hesitation in his voice.

“i’m not! i just.. i thought it’d be fun to play together” you mumbled, looking away.

Heeseung stared at you, studying every little detail of your expression, searching for any deception. But all he found was genuine excitement. His heart squeezed in his chest.

“…fine. but don’t get mad when i win” he muttered, already setting up the console.

Your eyes lit up, and you sat beside him eagerly. His fingers trembled slightly on the controller. He didn’t care about the game—he just cared that, for once, you wanted to spend time with him.

⸻

Jay – Baking Cookies Together

Jay blinked at you in disbelief. “you wanna bake cookies..?”

You nodded, rocking on your heels. “mhm!!”

For a moment, he just stared. You had to be messing with him. There was no way you actually wanted to do something so.. domestic with him. But when you didn’t back down, he exhaled and got up. “alright.. let’s do it then”

Your face lit up, and he felt his cold heart melt just a little.

He led you to the kitchen, washing both of your hands before pulling out ingredients. You measured things wrong on purpose just to see his reaction, and he groaned, flicking flour at you.

“y/n that’s way too much sugar what are you doing” he sighed, but there was a small smile on his face.

“oops?” you giggled, and he just shook his head, amused.

By the time the cookies were in the oven, the kitchen was a mess, and Jay had never felt so.. normal. It was almost like you weren’t his captive. Almost like you wanted to be here with him. And god, he’d do anything to keep that illusion alive.

⸻

Jake – Playing With Your Hair

“jakey can you play with my hair?”

Jake nearly dropped his phone. His head snapped up to look at you, eyes wide. “do your.. hair?”

You nodded, suddenly hesitant under his intense gaze. “yes!! but uhm.. only if you want to we don’t have to..”

Your voice wavered, and panic shot through Jake’s body. “nonono! i’d love to! i was just confused that’s all” he rushed out, almost tripping over his words.

You slowly smiled, and he let out a relieved breath. He patted the space between his legs. “come here”

You hesitated for a moment before laying down between his legs, your head resting against his thigh. He carefully ran his fingers through your hair, rubbing your scalp gently.

You sighed in content, and his heart nearly exploded. He continued playing with your hair, twirling strands between his fingers, his touch so gentle it was almost loving.

And when your breathing slowed, your body relaxing into his, he realized—this was the happiest he’d ever been.

⸻

Sunghoon – Cuddling & Movie Night

Sunghoon’s brows furrowed. “you wanna have a movie night with me?”

“yes!!” you beamed, already grabbing popcorn.

He stared at you suspiciously. This had to be a trap. You had to be trying to catch him off guard. Maybe you’d use this as an opportunity to escape. His paranoia screamed at him to say no.

But then he saw the way you excitedly searched for a movie, the way you set up the blankets just right, the way your eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“…fine” he muttered, sitting stiffly beside you.

You grinned, snuggling into the blankets as the movie started. Sunghoon remained tense, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But as time passed, as you laughed at a stupid scene and nudged him playfully, he felt his walls crumble.

He turned to look at you, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled—genuinely. You were so cute. So perfect. So his. And he would make sure it stayed that way forever.

@semisasseater

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love-toxin · 11 months ago

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anyways.......pillow humping (& object insertion) w/ tommy....

because I love the "good christian boy who's feral but not allowed to jack off" trope, Tommy teaching the sweetheart that Hoyt brought home for him how to grind on his pillow to get off. he insists through gestures you can't do anything dirty or touchy together cause momma says you'll go to hell if you do that, so pillow humping it is. it's the only way he's ever discovered on his own to get some kind of relief and he's glad to show you. ecstatic, really. he should probably change out his pillow case cause it's rank and it's got sweat stains and god knows what else on it, but....it makes him feel hotter knowing you're riding the same pillow he uses when he's pent up and dying for some kind of friction.

Tommy watches you after you've stripped off your lower half and sat up on his pillow, straddling it, your pretty little clit peeking out from the folds of his dark, dirty pillowcase. your shy, soft eyes as you try to get him to look away, trembling as you start clumsily brushing your folds back and forth against the fabric. it's already soaked within a minute or two and Tommy's in heaven. he's not just gonna inhale it when you're done, he's gonna hold that pillow to his crotch and spill all over it while he imagines spilling into you.

at some point he realizes you're not gonna be able to get off like this--you're too gentle--so he has to grab you by the waist and grind your hips down by force. making you really feel the friction that's gonna get you there. he hasn't got experience with women but he can tell it's working better when you start making those soft noises, when you jerk against his grip but you're too delicate and can't break out of it to run away from the pleasure. he can tell cause he's done it a hundred times himself and he knows what it feels like to cum from nothing but cotton and fabric pulling against your needy sex, dragging down wet flesh and slick until it becomes too much.

you're so cute when you run away. tugging and slapping at his hands to let you go when you weren't before, cause you're gonna cum and he knows you're gonna cum but it's coming too rough and it's gonna ruin you--your legs keep shaking and your hips won't stop bucking, mindlessly chasing more pleasure even though your dumb little brain wants you to stop and see sense. you just have to let it go. just let him push you down on the pillow like a doll, cause he knows you're gonna like it in the end. you need it. it's okay. it's not against the rules, you can do it, he's watching.

but it's more of a problem when the cord inside you snaps and you keel over like you're in prayer, hunched forward and gripping him with nails digging into his skin while the pleasure swarms over you. eyes rolling back and your head going blank--you didn't need any thoughts in there anyways--gasping and trying not to scream out cause momma would kill you if she found out what you two were doing under her roof. Tommy clumsily shushing you while still trying to see, lifting you up like your weight is nothing to him so he can watch your parts spasm and drool all over. he wants to touch it so bad but he knows he can't, he just has to make do with watching and committing those twitches to memory as your body bears down around nothing. if he could just put his fingers up there....and what would it taste like?

part of him really wants to sit you on his lap, on his meaty thigh, and have you do the same thing over his pants. but he knows he wouldn't be able to handle it and he'd go over the edge, cum in his pants and then make you feel it on his fingers when he smears it inside you. but if he can't be inside you yet...he could always find other stuff to do it. it might scare you a bit but he needs to know how you'd react.

the end of a hairbrush, the handle of a knife, a tube of lipstick momma bought you, a crochet hook turned around.....anything and everything he can find. once he's coaxed you into the butterknife handle, he gets the idea and wants you to "bless" all of his butchery tools for good luck. picks them out one by one, (thoroughly cleaned, of course, only the best for you) and slowly eases them into you, doesn't stop until you've ridden the thick handle enough to cream all over it and then it's lucky. he takes it day by day--every day is a new tool, a new object he can use to get you off and explore that sensitive area of you where his cock isn't allowed to go yet. it makes him so eager and nervous to do it for real when the time finally comes around....but won't it be so special, though? cause he'll know you so well by then, all you'll be able to do is cry and moan his name as he takes you to the brink over, and over, and over again.

#tommy hewitt #tommy hewitt x reader #slashers #spicy writing #leatherface #leatherface x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre: the beginning #ellie writes

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airbendertendou · 1 year ago

Note

Can you make gyeongsu x reader? Fluff or something like

AFTERNOON TiCKET! ♡ han gyeongsu

synopsis : you aren’t dating. why does everyone keep asking that?

pre-apocalypse

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

a head hits your shoulder as the noise of the cafeteria echoes around you. gyeongsu’s hair tickles your neck as you converse with suhyeok. he looks to your right and smirks before continuing to eat his lunch.

you jostle your right shoulder, only smiling at the unhappy groan you receive. “you have to eat, too, you know.”

gyeongsu lets out a huff, his chilled nose brushing against your neck as he stretches. sleepy eyes barely open, only prying his mouth open just slightly. you grin, holding the food up to his mouth so he can eat.

“so,” cheongsan eyes you both, “how long will it be now? a few months or…?”

you chew on the food in your mouth, placing some in gyeongsu’s right after. “for what?”

the table goes silent as gyeongsu sits up. he yawns, taking a sip of your drink before rubbing his eyes. “what are we talking about again?”

it’s daesu who answers despite the others telling him not to speak. “you’re dating.”

“well—“

the bell rings before gyeongsu can say more.

——♡——

you clean off the desks, eyes bouncing to gyeongsu and cheongsan as they giggle and sweep the floor. onjo nudges you as she walks by, a sly look on her face. isak trails up beside her, a damp washcloth swinging in her hands.

“so…”

you pause from your cleaning to look up at them. isak gestures to the gray hoodie you wear. “it’s official, then? this is how you tell everyone?”

your face heats immediately as you turn frantically, making sure your conversation wasn’t overheard. you pat their arms tenderly yet desperately. “shut up! shush, shhh!”

“sorry!” onjo giggles to herself as she pulls isak away. “have fun!”

gyeongsu stands behind you now, your bag and his slung over his shoulder. he looks over your figure, clad in his own hoodie with a grin. “ready to head home?”

you trek behind gyeongsu slowly, eyeing the way his empty hand swings. you ache to hold it — can feel the phantom touch of his fingers twining into your own. “date me.”

the words come out before you can stop them. gyeongsu pauses and you think you should take it back — say you hadn’t spoke at all. his head tilts and it’s so endearing you could cry.

“officially.” you pick at your nails nervously as gyeongsu stands in front of you. “be my boyfriend, please.”

gyeongsu’s mouth falls open before he snaps it back shut. he’s going to reject you, your throat closes up. you’ve ruined everything. “i— thought we were already dating.”

a confused silence bubbles around you now. gyeongsu stares at you as you stare at him. his fingers inch to yours and he grabs your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze with a smile. “the first time you held my hand on the way home. you were mine, i thought.”

you gulp, “oh.” and then you laugh, tugging him closer as your empty hand clutches onto his chest. “i think we’re stupid.”

gyeongsu deepens his voice dramatically, into a silly tone before placing his forehead to yours. “stupid in love.”

you shove him away with a grin, smile widening when he only brings you closer once more.

——♡——

he’s the perfect person for this trope me thinks <3 thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoyed!! if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any aouad content, let me know! ♡

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#aouad x reader #gyeong su x reader #han gyeongsu x reader #all of us are dead x reader #aouad imagine #aouad fluff #all of us are dead imagine #gyeongsu imagine #gyeongsu fluff #request! <3

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makeitworse · 10 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 ;

ྐ❤︎ f!reader x vamp!jungwon. patch-up trope. blood & pain play. palming. whipped bf won. 18+

the first knock is so soft, you pass it off as wind. but then it comes again: three gentle raps against the glass, and you know it's him.

of course it is. as you pad over to the window, barefoot on the wooden boards, you catch the silhouette of the moon behind the curtains. a pale iris, watchful from the sky. of course, on a night like this, it’s him— begging to be let inside from your sill, hightailing from trouble he instigated.

you pull back the curtain to him: jungwon, bruised and bloody, leaning against the pane like the moonlight led him here. it did.

his lip’s got a nasty split, blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. a sluggish trail seeps from his brow, a tear threaded through his temple. and regardless, there’s something like reverence in the way he’s looking at you. soft, patient. always gentle for you— despite appearances.

your eyes trail over him in silence as you take in the damage, face falling in the frown that he was waiting for. your disappointment shocks through him— it’s like a surge of voltage to his chest, a sharp reminder that he’s not numb, that his heart still beats at your behest. it’s partly why he does it.

jungwon doesn’t even ask anymore; you know when he shows up on your window half-dead (quite literally), it’s because you’re the only one he trusts to see the mess he’s made of himself. to patch him up and still love him all the same. all he needs.

“should’ve seen the other guy,” jungwon murmurs, a crooked grin speckled with blood.

you don’t answer him; just unlock the window, curling an arm around to help him inside. he stumbles a little, lets out a hiss when you brush against his ribs.

“i told you to stay in tonight.” you drone, tired.

“i know.” he exhales, almost a whimper. “but i can’t let someone think they can talk about you like that. thought i’d let it go.”

the growl in his voice doesn’t match his face— not as he glances up at you, eyes aching for your approval. you don’t give him what he wants to hear, what’ll encourage these nightly visits.

you can’t have everyone— you’re constantly reminding him that. but jungwon just can’t make peace with the concept that anyone could be anything but in love with you. it’s why he gets into so many fisticuffs in your honour; even if he comes to your window looking like he lost.

you just watch as he trudges to your bed, the mattress dipping under him as his face contorts with a wince.

you shake your head, reaching for the first aid kit you keep in the bottom drawer of your dresser for nights much like this one.

jungwon’s very protective of the girl he loves, much to his own detriment. a living dead being still very much bleeds. a lot, in fact.

he’s not violent, your boyfriend. not by nature. the cuts and bruises, it’s all armour, not instinct. a hard shell forged to ward off real monsters— to protect that softness he hides from anyone that isn’t you.

you can see it now, in the way he stiffens beneath your touch: your fingers painted red as you brush sticky strands of hair from his brow, his jaw clenching because he wants to look strong for you.

you blot the cut at his temple with linen, gaze flicking down to him when he sighs. his mouth’s parted now, a soft breath fanning your lips as he watches you. you feel it then: the weight of it. the way blood speaks to him, rouses him.

the blood on your fingers belongs to him. and he, he belongs to you. you don’t need it like he does— but you understand what it means. a fresh wound under your palm is jungwon’s way of saying: i’m yours. all yours.

you reach for fresh gauze, and that’s when he does it: sniffles, wipes at his nose too roughly, and splits his lip deeper. fresh crimson beads at the corner, vivid against the pale of his skin. you go still. so does he.

he waits for you to click your tongue, or sigh, or express any disapproval. but your hand reaches out slowly, pinching his chin as your thumb presses on his bottom lip.

jungwon’s watching you. eyes swallowed almost entirely in black, he watches you with that same aching hunger as his blood seeps over your nail. those eyes that say i’d burn the world down for you.

you lean in— lips brushing his, just barely. and without thinking, your tongue flicks out to taste the blood there— copper lighting up your palate. warm and sharp and his.

you hear the sound he makes in the back of his throat, feel the way his body stiffens beneath yours, hands gripping your thighs like he’s scared to break you.

and then he kisses you.

like he’s starving, like your mouth is what’s keeping him alive, jungwon kisses you. it’s messy. it’s desperate. more breath than lips. his blood mixes with your saliva, with the low whimper he lets out when you bite down just enough to sting.

his body presses against yours, the thud of his heart reverberating on your chest. his hands come to your sides, grabbing at you like a plea. your name catches in his throat as you lick a stripe over his lip.

you lean back, just slightly, to take him in. his mouth’s already chasing yours, but you halt him with a warm hand on his stomach. you can feel his abdomen flexes under your touch. jungwon murmurs something as your hand creeps lower, the tent in his pants evident even in the dark of your room.

bandaging him up had never turned out quite like this before. you’ve let him suck the excess blood off a paper-cut before, and it’s no secret how he gets riled up each month on a particular week— but you’ve never indulged in it like this. tasting his. a piece of him, living inside of you. and with the way he’s looking at you, bated breath and fingers twitching on your waist, you know he wants you to do anything but stop.

when your palm cups over the warmth of his crotch, a crude moan rips from jungwon’s throat. you go to kiss him, slowly shifting your hand up on his length; but jungwon whimpers with a desperation you hadn’t heard until now.

“bite me.”

you flick your eyes up, gauging him. he’s never looked more serious— as breathless as he is.

your hand stills on him. “won,”

“just, plea—” his hands fumble with yours, nearly whining that he doesn’t want you to stop. your hand rides up, palm clenching around him, and his lids screw shut. “fuck, bite me,”

you hesitate only a second longer— just enough for your eyes to meet again, to see the way his pupils swallow the light, soft and pleading.

you crane your neck forward, lips ghosting on the curve of his neck, jungwon heaving an exhale at your ear. then you sink your teeth into the skin. not gently, far from a tease. you bite to the point it must hurt— like you mean it, like how he asked for it.

you elicit a sound from jungwon that’s half-moan, half-sob, his hips jolting under your closed palm. and you don’t unlock your jaw. not with the way he’s reacting: his hands bunching in the fabric of your shirt, chest rising fast, pulse pounding beneath your canines.

you leave a trail of love-bites on his neck, palm pressed firmly on his crotch and riding over his length. each time you latch your mouth to the skin, jungwon bucks up into your hand— the blend of friction and sting making him see stars.

your freehand slides down, right over the bruised spot near his ribs. your fingers dig in, soaking in warm red when blood seeps through from the shirt. the pressure makes him jump, head falling back with a gasp that borders on a sob. the pain flashes across his face like a bolt of lightning: it’s sharp, blinding, and he’s never been this turned on in his life.

jungwon chokes out your name, whole body trembling as your hand keeps working him through his pants, the fabric soaked now. “god— please don’t stop—”

and how could you, when he’s asking so nicely? determined, your mouth moves up to the patch of skin just below his ear, and you bite down: teeth clenching till you reach that now familiar, metallic taste of him. jungwon’s voice cracks with something between your name and a plea. your tongue’s hot on his skin as you suck on the fresh blood— and jungwon’s gone.

he falls apart just like that: your nails digging up into his ribs and palm focused on riding over his length. he’s damn near sobbing with your name on his tongue— his blood spilling onto yours. you don’t stop until it’s hot under your palm, cum pooling in his pants. you pull away after planting a gentle kiss on the wound.

the red against his neck glistens in the moonlight streaming in from your window, your bite blooming on his neck like a crown. jungwon’s still catching his breath as you stares at you through half-lidded eyes. he manages a smile, despite how utterly wrecked he is.

“i don’t tell you enough just how much i love you,” jungwon says breathlessly, already reaching for you again.

“you tell me all the time.” you smile, stilling him with a careful hand on his chest and pressing a kiss to his temple— a sweet contrast to the blood leaking from his neck by the very same mouth.

taking in the aftermath of your shared impulses, you realise now he’ll need even more bandages— as well as a fresh pair of pants.

🍷 mlist · taglist 〃 note. dark blood changed me

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @denleave1088

#enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #jungwon x reader #jungwon x you #yang jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #sub!enhypen #sub!jungwon #dark blood #jungwon smut

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