#note to others : please take my note to self very seriously

[chasefoxart]

snack time 🍊🍰🍓

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐗-𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: charles xavier, erik lehnsherr, logan howlett, marie lebeau, and peter maximoff

↳ warnings: x-man type violence maybe? nothing much

↳ notes: just some self indulgent headcanons about how the gang would deal with someone who hates skin on skin contact. this is based on my own personal experiences, so it might not cater to everyone. charles and erik are written to be more of themselves around the first class era, peter is himself as seen in apocalypse, and marie & logan are more set in the first movie's portrayal of them

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 [𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐗]

• Oh this is not one bit of a problem for Charles

• He's never needed physical contact to connect with people. Whether that's because of his powers, or his 'natural charm' as he calls it, you aren't sure, but your strange request for no contact never seemed to put him off his friendship with you

• Charles has his own ways of bonding with you, no hugs or handshakes required. Instead of nudges used to alert the other of a particularly funny joke, he'd just send you flashes in your mind regarding the situation. The end result was always the same; with the both of you grinning at each other while the rest of the room was left to make their own assumptions as to what you were thinking about

• "Seriously, it's creepy when they do that. They could be talking about anything." Alex whispered to Hank one day as you and Charles stood across the room from each other, not caring if the Professor was able to hear him or not. The only sign that you were even talking was the occasional huff of laughter Charles would let out as you scrunched your nose up in a toothy grin

• "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Hanks eyes gleam from behind his glasses as he watches the two of his friends. "Charles tells me most of it is just really bad jokes, if you want to know."

• As if on cue, the spell between you and Charles breaks as you delve into a laughing fit, and Alex and Hank can't help but shake their heads at each other in slight amusement as they watch

• He does an excellent job at speaking for you when you can't quite explain to new people why you are the way you are—as long as you'll let him, of course

• Maybe it's because he's been in your head, or just because he knows you so well that he can say exactly what you're thinking before you even know it. And sometimes, he doesn't even need to explain much at all. One carefully worded sentence backed with that steady tone of his is enough to make even the most ignorant of people understand

• "No handshakes for them, please." Charles had found himself saying that sentence more times than he could count since getting to know you, but he never found himself growing tired of it; even when you eventually found the awkward courage to start speaking on your behalf. Especially when you started speaking on your behalf

• Charles is a very patient man, and he couldn't be happier than to wait for you to open up to the world like you had done for him, even if it does take a while

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 [𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐨]

• I'm going to be completely honest with you. At first, Erik finds your habit of avoiding touch annoying

• It's a weakness in his eyes that you have every opportunity to avoid acquiring. He doesn't see the point in being afraid of something so miniscule

• When he first meets you, he's probably an asshole about it. Erik doesn't go out of his way to touch you on purpose, but he won't take extra steps to stop himself from doing so. If the back of his hand brushes against yours as he storms away from another one of Charles' annoying lectures? Then so be it. Who cares if you pull back from him like you've been burned, clutching your skin tightly as you glare at his retreating form

• It will take a while for Erik to begin to understand you, much like it does for him to understand a lot of things about the rest of the world. I won't say that he ever officially apologizes for his past behavior toward you, but he definitely drops hints that he does regret it

• "Never thought I'd live to hear the Erik Lehnsherr himself say sorry for something he did. Next you'll be telling me you've always liked humans." Your eyes were wide in faux surprise as you stared at him one day, looking like you had just heard the best news of your life. It was a good thing you and Erik had a much better relationship than when you had first met, otherwise he wouldn't have had a second thought about shutting you up

• "All I said was that maybe I maybe could have been a bit nicer to you." He sighed, already regretting this entire interaction

• "Oh, you're not getting off that easy." You were already scrambling for the door, completely missing the way Erik rolled his eyes and flicked his hand up in preparation. "Charles! Charles, you'll never believe what just happened—"

• He ended up using your belt buckle to drag you across the room before you could embarrass him any further

• Once he's warmed up to you, I'd like to think that he's definitely used the fact that lots of people wear rings and bracelets to his advantage to stop people from touching you at bars or in crowds

• He swears up and down he doesn't get attached to anyone, and especially not someone that associates with the X-Men of all groups, but you've definitely have had a few people look at their hands around you in confusion while he's around. Almost as if someone else had a say in their actions

• "Big softie."

• "You do know I could kill you if I wanted to."

• "I'd like to retract my last statement, please and thank you."

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 [𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

• Logan doesn't give two shits about your strange request

• Not in the way that he ignores it like Erik, but rather in the way that he literally doesn't give a fuck if you want to be touched or not. He wasn't planning on touching you anyways, so it's not like he really has to think about it

• If anything, Logan is one of the only people who can even begin to understand your mindset. He's never been too fond of people just outright touching him without a warning first, especially if they were strangers, but that's what you get after being experimented on for years

• He'll have to get to both know and like you before he starts taking your words more seriously. Otherwise, all you're getting from him is a gruff noise of disinterest and a roll of his shoulders as he blows past you

• Or ar least that's what he'd like you to think

• "Watch it, pal." You barely had time to process what that noise was next to your ear before Logan was standing dangerously close to you. You were about to ask him to back away before you saw his hand up, and when you looked at his hand you saw it was closed around a strangers wrist; the likes of which was outreached in your direction and just about to make contact with you

• Logans rough tone and sharp glare had sent the fellow stumbling away with an apology, and left you standing there with a bewildered look on your face. It only grew larger when he refused to look at you afterward

• "Don't let it get to your head." Was all he huffed out in your general direction before walking off to continue the mission the both of you were on. Through the com's in your ears, you could hear the rest of the team asking you what was going on, and with a slow upward tick of your lip you finally answered

• "I think Wolverine here has gone a bit soft on my end guys."

• You were given the cold shoulder for the rest of the week by Logan, and every time he glared at you, you couldn't help but try to hold in laughter

• "See, this is why I'm not nice."

• "No no no I take it all back, I swear. You're so mean. You're the meanest, toughest person here, never done a good deed in your life—"

• "Shut the fuck up."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮 [𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

• She doesn't understand why you'd choose to have people not touch you

• For Marie, not being able to hug someone— to even so much as hold hands with the people she loved —is a curse. She wasn't such a fool to think that her mutation itself was the curse, Charles had managed to drill that thought out of her head a long while ago, but the side-effect that came with it would forever haunt her

• So when she found out that you actively took strides to make sure no one ever touched you (if possible), she was in disbelief

• "I just don't get it." She'd confessed to you out of the blue once. "How can you stand it? If I were you—"

• "But you're not." You cut her off and shrugged, voice devoid of any meanness or annoyance at the turn of conversation. "I get it. I must seem crazy to you. I'd imagine that you'd jump at the chance to be able to touch someone again. But that just isn't me. I can't stand the feeling of being touched. Makes me feel gross; inside and out. I don't ask you to understand it, just that you respect it. Yeah?"

• She had nodded slowly at you, not expecting the sudden explanation. It wasn't unwelcome, however. Quite the contrary. She'd rather understand you than stew in quiet confusion

• From that moment on, even if Marie thinks you're a little crazy in the head, she does her best to make sure that both herself and others take your wishes to heart

• You have to admit, it's nice having her look out for you. And it helps that she's one of the most powerful mutants on campus; one sideways look from her, and she could send anyone in the opposite direction from you if you need

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 [𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫]

• You're constantly having to remind him that you don't like people touching you

• It's not Peter's fault he forgets sometime. His brain is always going going going from one thing to the next. Thinking about the next mission, the quickest way to get from one end of the country to the other, how to beat that stupid kid at the arcade that keeps leaving him and his high scores in the dust—

• Okay so maybe he could do a bit of a better job of trying to listen

• "Peter, reach for the back of my neck again and I'm gonna break both of your legs." You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was itching to latch onto your neck, most likely to take you on a surprise trip a few states over. Or maybe just to the mall. He was spontaneous like that

• When you did manage to look up from your notebook and back at him, you found that Peter was already a good few feet away from you, holding up his hands with a deceivingly innocent smile; but respecting your wishes all the same

• "You sure you're not a secret nun or something?" He poked fun at the way you refused to let anyone touch you, even going as far to squint at you in an unconvinced manner. You ignored his clear misunderstanding of nuns to snort in amusement

• "No."

• "Could have fooled me, babe."

• He sped away before you had the chance to throw your papers at his head

• Peter's probably the kind of guy to constantly tease you to your face, but the moment you're not in sight and someone's ragging on you, he'll shut them down. He's done it many times to stray students in the hallways of the school who talk just a little too loud about your personal boundaries

• "I'm just saying, man, they're a little weird. The other day, I asked to borrow a pencil, and they threw it at me. While standing less than a foot away. It's just strange—"

• Less than a second later, the student was sent falling to the floor over his shoelaces, which were suspiciously tied together in contrast to moments ago when they had been placed in neat little bows

• The only sign that this hadn't been a freak accident was the telltale burst of wind that sped by the student and their friend, a faint laugh following in its wake

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 (𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓) 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞.

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; set during the fairy gala, in which he whips you by accident

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ As the (self-proclaimed) trainer for the Fairy Gala, Vil Schoenheit takes his role very seriously. Every minute detail matters to him, and he’s determined to whip this ‘potato parade’ into shape.

❋ Literally.

❋ Vil’s somehow managed to get his hands on a thin, leather whip, which he uses to motivate everyone (you don’t ask, but you strongly suspect that it’s been borrowed from Professor Crewel).

❋ Jamil and Kalim are (supposedly) meeting Vil’s (impossible) standards, since the whip is hardly aimed in their direction.

❋ Unfortunately, Leona isn’t doing as well.

❋ Understatement of the year.

❋ He’ll slouch, grumble, and roll his eyes, making it clear how he’s reluctantly going along with all of this . . . Anything he can do to get Vil all riled up. A vein is throbbing in Vil’s temple and you suspect that he’s this close to losing his patience.

❋ And in Vil’s attempt to snap the whip near him for attention, the end somehow smacks you right across your ass.

❋ SNAP!

❋ The sound echoes through the room, and your hand immediately flies to your ass, still feeling the sharp sting. After making sure that there’s no lasting damage, you spin around to level an indignant glare at Vil, teary-eyed and flushed.

❋ “Vil Schoenheit, you big pervert!”

❋ Unsurprisingly, your biggest wish at this moment is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, anything to escape the embarrassment settling in. You can see the flicker of surprise on Vil’s face, his usual calm and collected demeanour cracking and giving way to a faint hint of pink on his cheeks.

❋ Vil’s eyes are wide and horrified. He raises a hand to his mouth, clearly mortified. "I assure you, that was accidental!" He’s a gentleman, for crying out loud! As if he’d ever do something improper to you, and in front of an audience!

❋ Meanwhile, the other boys are watching the unfolding drama. Leona, who’s been reluctantly following Vil’s orders all day, starts laughing at you both openly. Kalim is wide-eyed, looking between you both with his mouth agape in shock, and Jamil hides a smirk behind his palm.

❋ Crossing your arms, you continue staring at Vil, your glare less intimidating and more of a pout now. “Sure, accident . . .” You mutter sarcastically, trying to calm yourself down. “But you’re on thin ice, Schoenheit.”

❋ Practice resumes as per normal after that, without any further incidents.

❋ But Vil makes sure to be extra careful with the whip whenever you’re in the vicinity.

❋ (Leona takes a leaf from your book and proceeds to call Vil a ‘perv’ for the rest of the day, still snickering whenever he thinks about it.)

[chrolloluvr]

May you please write Mammon x reader smut. Where the reader is short and has a size difference kink. If you do I give many thanks in advance (Seriously love this blog so much)

♡ Mammon w/ A Size Kink ♡

Note: AHHH TYSM BOOKIE!!! Also yes this has been on my mind for so long... and I have not made a proper NSFW fic yet until now. So here you go! (alot more NSFW coming soon, especially for this man...) So here are my thoughts! Also sorry if its a bit short...

AFAB, Female!Reader

Warnings: Size kink, belly bulge, penetration, overstimulation, size transformation, oral (female and male receiving) ★

The height difference makes him feral. He is at least a couple feet taller than you. So he likes to use this to his advantage. By manhandling you. he will pick you up, grab your waist, literally rip your legs off of its hinges when he pulls them apart, etc. So, he likes when you are shorter than him. It gives him a power influx, and it makes him feel supreme to you. So he will basically use you like a glorified sex doll.

He will purposely make himself transform into a couple feet taller. Like a big, scary spider. So he can intimidate you, and get you riled up. He wont have actual penetrative sex with you in his big spider form, but he will eat you out.

And he delivers very well. His tongue is huge. You feel like your in cloud 9 whenever he eats your pussy, especially because he does not do it very often.

his favorite position, especially due to his size, is Full Nelson. He likes how in this position, he has complete control over you. With his upper hands behind your knees, his hips under your own, and his lower arms circling your sensitive clit, and his other hand pussy slapping you. Sometimes, he will place you in front of a big mirror, while hammering his hips into your vice, little pussy. Also making you look at yourself, being utterly destroyed by his large cock. He will tie your ankles together with his webs when he does this.

His other favorite is picking you up, and putting his hands under your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. He enjoys listening to the skin slapping sounds, and how lude they sound. And seeing your reactions to his every harsh thrust to your G-spot. And how especially cramped you are between his body, his cock, and his arms, with a tight grip on your ass. This position makes you more sensitive and vulnerable, which is just where he wants you.

Belly Bulge. Need I say more? It makes him laugh, and chuckle about how 'your gonna take it- fuck, yeah, you like that don't you- little fuckin' slut-'

It makes him realize just how large he is compared to you. How much he effects you and your body. He craves this kind of dominance over you.

He is a little bastard. When he sees you have a belly bulge from his constant plummeting, he will press down onto it. This, as he is well aware of, makes you see stars. You become a moaning, drooling, babbling mess under his large self. Which is what he wants, of course.

The sheer size of his dick. He cant help but feel aroused, when he compares you and his cock side by side. Every now and then, he will have you sat right behind it, while he holds you, and just admire how small you are. He has to prep you for your first time together, and even every single time you guys do have sex. Simply because of the size of it. And its not just long, its girthy too. So if you dont have some prep, he might end up abominating your poor womb.

He especially likes seeing you struggle, especially when you give him head. you can barely fit your mouth around it. Your jaw gets sore within literal seconds of putting his member in your mouth. So you have to use your hands (which also barely touch eachother), for the rest of his cock.

Overstimulating you. His favorite way of overstimulation you is with his arms and hands. He will have you trapped in between his legs. One of his lower arms will be fingering your supple core; the other one circling harshly around your clit. One of his upper hands holding your waist up; the other one toying with your breast and sensitive, puffy nipples.

He also likes overstimulating you, by having you cock warm him. Its one of his favorite past times. Especially when you two try to be sneaky, like during his pageants ontop of the webbing. (should I make a whole other post about this??) He just loves feeling the warmth of your pussy against his cold self. And he wont let you move. Like at all. Unless he grabs your hips and forcibly bounces you up and down, which is after a while of waiting of course.

Dirty talk. He loves making you feel smaller, so he will talk down upon you. Everything he calls you starts with 'my', because he is very possessive. things like "my slut", "my whore", "my princess", etc. He will never talk about you in a truly bad connotation. So he will say things like:

"You like being my little slut, yeah?"

"C'mon, you can take more. don't be a baby."

"yeahhhh. Takin' it like a fuckin' champ. Good fuckin' girl-"

"Oh fuck... shit just like that"

"Ohh yeah- thats some good shit."

"Dont you dare fuckin' move."

"You feelin' good princess? Yeah I bet you are. Fittin' me like a glove."

"Awww you want more? Your gonna have to wait a bit, m'kay?"

"You want it inside? Ya' want daddy to fill ya' up real nice?"

So overall, he favors when you are small and meek. Just be a good girl for him, and you wont have to worry about his intimidation, okay?

[keikikait]

unfortunately should’ve been me is the last part of that series but i could do a jj fic with this as the plot if you want!!!

Yessss please if you can 🥹

ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀᴏᴏᴍ (ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

read my other jj fic here!

pairing: jj maybank x pouge!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 6.2k

summary: jj is more than happy to cheer you up after an argument with rafe

warnings: SMUT 18+: grinding, blowjob, throat fucking, no p in the v, dom!jj & sub!reader, friends to lovers, reader is…pining u guys… jj too, light angst (some self-esteem issues, nothing too detailed)

a note: am i a jj girl now?

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You knew that JJ hated Rafe, yet you dated him anyway.

Well, date being a very loose term. You weren't Rafe's girlfriend, just one of the girls on his long, long roster. Rafe did care, somewhat, but he wouldn't actually commit to you, especially not after he started seeing Sofia.

You didn't want to be second best, or even third best. You wanted to be his first choice, so you marched yourself over to his new place in Figure 8 and stood your ground, claiming that if he didn't want you completely, you would find someone else. Rafe, as usual, didn't take your threats seriously, sending you off with a curt 'Sofia's coming over. We can talk later.'

You held back tears as you made your way out of Figure 8, arms wrapped around your stomach, fingers digging into your side. How could you be so stupid? As if Rafe Cameron would commit to anything that isn't a beer bottle and a bump off of someone's keys.  

The sun was setting, the wind blowing off the ocean thick and hot, a storm's warning on the horizon. You make your way down the street, heading into The Cut. All you wanted to do was go home, lay down, and wallow in your self-pity. You hear music in the distance, one hand coming up to cover your face from the sun as you squint. The Boneyard is packed, especially for this time of day, a bonfire already roaring, smoke billowing into the sky. 

There, among the Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons, is JJ. 

You stop dead in your tracks, watching him. Your breath catches in your throat, hands clenching into fists as you watch him laugh, throwing his head back before bringing the beer bottle to his lips. He takes a long sip before continuing, talking about something with Pope, gesturing with his hands. His hair shines in the sun, the orange and pink hues streaking the sky illuminating his sun kissed skin in a way that makes your thighs clench--

No. He's your best friend. It would be weird.

It doesn't stop you from turning off of the sidewalk, walking onto the sand and right over to him. Your stomach flips, and you’re suddenly nervous, and you consider turning right back around and walking away. But you don’t, in fact you don't say anything as you grab his shoulder, spinning him around and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest.

“Woah, hey,” JJ says, putting his free hand on your back. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, not wanting to talk. Your eyes well with hot, shameful tears, and you grip him tighter, fingers clenching on the fabric of his t-shirt.

JJ frowns, slowly pulling back and getting a better look at your face. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, putting a hand on your cheek. “What's the matter?” He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, looking you up and down. He knew you had gone to see Rafe today, and knowing the asshole, he had a feeling that it had something to do with that.

You just shake your head again. “Can’t… can’t talk about it,” you sniffle, trying to stop the tears as they start to fall, running down your face. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

JJ’s face softens, reaching down to push his beer bottle into the sand, wrapping his now free arm around you, rubbing circles on your back. “Okay, we don't have to talk about it. Shhh…” he says, leaning down to press his lips against your temple. His left hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even closer so that your bodies are pressed together. You can feel his heartbeat in his chest, a steady rhythm against your cheek as he holds you.

You cling to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as you cry, face buried in his chest. He holds you for a moment, his heartbeat still steady against your ear. As you keep crying, his pulse quickens, his grip on you tightening. “Do I need to beat his ass?” JJ's voice is low, quiet, making sure that only you hear him. You shake your head, resting your cheek on his chest. He just holds you, feeling you tremble as you cry, feeling you cling to him tighter when the sobs get worse. He doesn't say anything, just keeps his arms wrapped around you, swaying back and forth slowly. The other Pogues see you and JJ, glancing over in concern. John B frowns, watching you for a moment before giving JJ a concerned look. 'Everything okay?' He mouths.

JJ nods, reaching his hand up to intertwine his fingers into your hair. “You’re okay. He’s not worth crying over, sweet girl.”

“I just feel so stupid,” you mutter, reaching up to wipe away some tears. “He makes me feel so naïve. I can’t believe I ever thought that he would like me.”

JJ frowns, taking your wrist and gently pulling your hand away from your face, putting your hand on his chest. “You’re not stupid. You’re not naïve. He’s just an ass, and he’s not worth your tears.” he puts his hand on your jaw, tilting your head up so that you’re looking at him. With his thumb, he wipes away your tears, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for the way that he is.”

You sniffle, burying your face back into his chest. You take a deep breath, your chest aching. JJ smells so good and you squeeze him tighter. “I know I shouldn’t, but I still do.”

JJ holds you, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. There’s a beat of silence, JJ’s hand slowly rubbing your back before he speaks again. “Come on. Do somethin’ to take your mind off it,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “How about a swim? Or how about you and I go drinkin’ until you can’t remember what that dude looks like?”

You let out an involuntary whine as JJ pulls away, his hands moving to your hips. You yank him back into a hug, hands sneaking under the hem of his shirt to feel his back. “No. Don’t go, please.”

JJ’s breath hitches as your hands go under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his back. His pulse quickens, his hands sliding up to your hips, fingers curling against your skin, pushing your tank top up a little. “Fuck,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. He’s silent for a moment, his eyes roaming over your face, looking from your eyes to your lips. The feeling of your hands on his bare back makes something shift in the pit of his stomach, sending a shiver down his spine. He bites his tongue, trying to fight the desire to grab your face and kiss you until all you can think of is him. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” he says, pulling you closer, moving one hand off of your hip to tangle his fingers back into your hair. “We could head back to my place. Nobody will be there.”

You nod, pressing your fingers against his spine. “I just wanna be with you.”

The feeling of your fingers trailing down his back cause him to tense up, his muscles flexing under your touch. He pulls his lip between his teeth, looking down at you. JJ’s gaze moves down from your eyes, slowly trailing across your face, down to your neck, and all the way down to the curve of your hips. He wants you. He’s wanted you for months. But he was too scared to say anything, never even allowing himself to think about it. And now you’re looking at him with those pretty eyes, begging him to take you home.

When he doesn’t say anything, you speak up, “Please?”

His eyes snap back to yours, his breath catching in his throat. He swallows hard, the feeling of your hands still under his shirt and the desperation in your voice making him weak in the knees. He’s never been able to tell you no, no matter what, and now is no exception. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out in barely more than a whisper. “Yeah, baby.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you suck in a soft breath. Your hands start to tremble, your stomach filling with butterflies. “Baby?”

His eyes widen, his face turning slightly red. He hadn’t meant to call you that, but it came out before he could stop himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles, averting his gaze down to your neck, feeling embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to say that. Force of habit.” Even though he didn’t really use that ‘force of habit’ very often. Ever, actually. JJ didn’t even call the girls he slept with “baby”, so he didn’t understand why it came out so naturally with you.

Oh. You look away for a second before meeting his eyes, your stomach churning. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind it.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, a smile barely starting to form on his lips before disappearing. “Yeah?” he says, his voice still coming out at a low register. He lets his hand trail from your hip up to the skin under your tank top, his fingers brushing against the curve of your rib cage. “You didn’t mind it?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m your baby.”

JJ feels his heart skip a beat, his face turning redder. He swallows heavily, hearing those words come out of your mouth making him dizzy. 

His baby. Holy shit. 

JJ’s breath catches in his throat, his thumb tracing the curve of your waist through your shirt. The possessiveness in you, saying that you’re his, and not Rafe’s. He didn’t realise how much he wanted to hear that until now. He’s known that he wanted you to belong to him, but he never expected you to just say it, let alone so easily. JJ swallows, his eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up to yours. “You are. You’re my baby.”

You smile softly, standing on your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Can we go to your place?”

JJ swallows hard, feeling your hands on his neck, feeling you against him. He leans down, a hand on your thigh to keep you steady as you stand on your toes. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.” He breathes, barely able to keep his hands off of you. He wants to grab you, pull you closer, hold you tighter, touch you.

He grabs your hand before tugging you out of the Boneyard.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Thankfully, Luke isn’t home. 

You sit down on JJ’s bed cross-legged, watching him as he shuts and locks his bedroom door, just in case. “Thanks, Jay.”

JJ leans against the door, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He feels like he’s going crazy. Being alone in his room with you, so close, is making it hard for him to keep his hands off of you. He knows that right now isn’t the time, that you’re upset, but he can’t stop thinking about kissing you. His eyes flick over to you, watching you sit cross-legged on his bed. His bed. “It’s nothin’.” He murmurs, leaning back against the door.

You pat the spot next to you. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his lip getting caught between his teeth for a moment. He pushes himself up from the door, slowly walking over to his bed. He sits down next to you, sitting cross-legged just like you, leaving only a few inches of space between you. He can smell the coconut conditioner in your hair again, the familiar, comforting, intoxicating smell making his heart pound. JJ glances over at you from the corner of his eye, his leg bouncing up and down on the floor. “So, what, uh… what was the issue with Rafe?”

“I told him that I wasn’t comfortable being an option,” you say, sitting up straight. “And that I didn’t want to continue things with him if he wasn’t going to make a commitment.”

JJ nods, listening intently. “And he didn’t commit?” he guesses, knowing Rafe enough to know that the dude would never make a commitment, especially to someone who was willing to put out without it.

You sigh. “He told me we could talk later. I left after that.”

JJ purses his lips, his gaze turning from you to the wall. “Guy’s a piece of work. Why would you want to be with someone like that anyway?” he asks, his voice taking on a somewhat annoyed tone. “He doesn’t treat anyone like they matter, let alone the women he sleeps with. You really wanna be with a guy like that?”

You shift on his bed, starting to fidget with your hands. “I thought he liked me, and I thought I liked him.”

JJ swallows hard, his chest feeling tight as he watches you. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear you talk about how you felt about another guy. He didn’t want to hear about the time you had spent with Rafe, or your feelings for him. It wasn’t fair. He was the one who wanted you, yet you wanted Rafe. He wanted to tell you that, more than anything. But he didn’t. “Thought you liked him?”

“I don’t know if I do,” you say, shrugging. “I don’t know if I liked him or if I liked the attention he gave me, you know?”

JJ swallows hard, his heart pounding. His eyes move back over to you, his gaze running over your body for a moment before coming back to your face. Hearing you talk about liking the attention that some dude gave you feels like a punch in his gut. He clears his throat, his leg still bouncing up and down. “Were you just with him ‘cause you liked all the attention?” he asks, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall opposite him.

“Probably,” you say. “He isn’t exactly a fun guy to be around when he’s not in like…friends with benefits mode or whatever.” JJ clenches his jaw as you talk about the situationship you had with Rafe. He doesn’t know why he never thought about you and Rafe doing those things, especially when everyone in the Cut knew about Rafe’s reputation. But now that he’s thinking about it, all he sees is Rafe’s hands all over you. Rafe’s hands on you, Rafe’s lips on you, Rafe’s cock in your tight little cu-- 

“You wanted his attention that badly, huh?” He asks in a hushed voice.

“I think I just wanted attention, JJ,” you say, leaning back on your palms. “I just…wanted someone to want me, you know?”

JJ’s breath catches in his chest, his heart aching. He didn’t realise how badly you craved attention until now. He doesn’t understand why you think that someone wouldn’t want you, because everyone wanted you. He wanted you. Why wouldn’t someone want you? He swallows thickly, the image of you with another man making the pit of his stomach ache. He wanted you to be his. He hated seeing another man touch you, kiss you, be inside you. He wanted to be the one with his face buried between your legs, feeling you grind on his face before cumming for him like a good girl.

He glances over at you, seeing you lean back on your palms. His eyes trail down to your body, your shirt sitting a little lower than it was before, showing some of your cleavage. He shifts his legs as another wave of heat washes over him. “Everyone wants attention, baby.”

You sigh, laying down on your back, legs propped up. “I know. I just wish he wasn’t such an asshole.”

JJ glances back over at you, taking in the sight of you laying down, before looking back at the wall. He leans against the headboard, propping his arm up on his knee so he can lean his head on his hand. The way you’re lying there is starting to drive him crazy. He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through his head. “I’m still tryna figure out why you would want to be with him in the first place.” he murmurs, his eyes glued to the wall.

“Because I want someone to want me!” You say, throwing your arms over your head. “I want to feel wanted. I want someone to crave me, JJ.” Your tank top rides up, exposing more of your stomach, and JJ can’t keep his eyes off of it.

JJ swallows, his jaw clenching. That’s how he felt about you. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he craved you. It was like an addiction, wanting to be around you, wanting your attention, wanting you to touch him. He bites his tongue, trying to keep himself from saying what he’s thinking. “Well, you don’t need to be with assholes like Rafe in order to feel wanted, baby. Plenty of people want you.”

“Like who?” You ask, looking over at him. He’s not even looking at you, eyes on the wall, and your chest aches and burns. “You’re not even looking at me, JJ.” Your mind spins and swirls as you look away from him. Did he want you? Did anyone want you? JJ was being so nice and sweet earlier, calling you baby and holding you while you cried, and now he won’t even look at you.

JJ’s heart jumps into his throat as you say that, his breath catching in his chest. He wants to look at you, he does. But he knows that if he looks at your face, his eyes will trail down to your chest. Your legs. Your thighs. And he can’t. Because he’ll do something that he’ll regret. He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the wall. “Trust me, baby. There’s plenty of guys that want you.” 

“Like who?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” JJ mumbles, his jaw clenching. It’s like you can’t even fathom the fact that other guys would want you. He knows he shouldn’t say it. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop the words that come out of his mouth, his voice growing louder. “I want you, sweetheart. I’ve always wanted you. I always will.”

You suck in a breath, goosebumps running over your skin, the hair on your arms standing up. “What?”

It���s like the dam just broke open, his voice coming out in a rush, too quick, the words barely coming together. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for months, and I know that I shouldn’t. I know you ain’t into guys like me, but I can’t stand the idea of someone else havin’ you. I want to be the one touching you. Kissing you. Being with you. Bein’ the guy that calls you baby, because you are my baby.” JJ looks away, his eyes red rimmed with tears.

“JJ…” You sit up, moving to your knees. JJ swallows back his tears, his fingers clenching at the fabric of his shorts. His leg is still bouncing nervously, faster than before, his heart pounding in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous, feeling so vulnerable. He looks over at you as you move, his breath leaving his chest when he sees you on your knees in front of him.

Silence. 

“Do you really mean that?” You ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer, instead, he just looks at you. His eyes run from your face down to your waist, stopping for a moment at your legs before coming back to your eyes. His lip trembles, his chest aching as he sees the sincerity in your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah, baby. I mean it. I want you so bad, it’s killin’ me.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He murmurs, swallowing as he holds your gaze. “Every time I see you with Rafe, every time I see him touch you, it kills me. Because I know that you ain’t mine, no matter how much I want you, I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to be with you. I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, or touch you, or call you mine. It’s like I’m goin’ crazy.”

Fuck, he can’t get enough of the look you’re giving him. Your eyes are so wide, sparkling in the dim light of his bedroom. Your lips are glossy and puffy, and all he wants to do is pin you down and kiss you senseless. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flicking over your body again, his heart racing as he watches you kneel in front of him. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, knows that it’s probably going to go badly. But he doesn’t care. He’s wanted you in so many ways, and hearing you doubt that someone wants you makes him want to take you right here and now. “Baby,” he breathes, his hands shaking at his sides. “Come here.”

You move over to him without hesitation, continuing to kneel on the bed.

God, you’re so obedient. JJ sits up straight when you get closer, his eyes running over you as he looks you up and down, biting his lip when he sees you move in front of him. He reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you to kneel between his legs, his back against the headboard. His eyes are dark when he looks back up at you, his breathing heavy as his chest rises and falls. “Look at you,” he murmurs, shaking his head in awe. “Kneeling in front of me like a goddamn angel.”

Your thighs clench and you reach out to grab him, your hands landing on his biceps. “JJ…”

He grunts as your hands land on his bicep, his muscles flexing under your touch. His hands come up to your wrists, his fingers wrapping around them, feeling your pulse beating fast under his fingertips as he pulls you to sit on his lap. “God,” he groans, biting his tongue, his body tense. He looks up at you with a pleading gaze, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips. “Kiss me,” he half whispers, half begs, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Please.”

You lean forward and kiss him, leaning your chest against his. You go to cup his face, to run your hands through his hair, but JJ keeps your wrists tight in his hands. JJ’s breath catches in his chest when your chest presses against his own, his eyes closing as he feels your lips on his. He has you right where he wants you, on his lap, your chest pressed against his, your hands in his, keeping you from running. 

But he wants more. He doesn’t want you to get away. 

He releases one of your wrists, catching it with his other hand, moving his free hand to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using it to pull you closer. “No,” he grunts against your lips. “Hands to yourself.”

You whimper and whine, grinding up against him, his hardening cock right over your clit. “JJ…”

He moans, his head tilting back as he feels you grinding up against him. Your whining and whimpering makes it so hard to keep his composure, his jeans feeling tighter with every movement you make against him, his cock throbbing in his boxers. He swallows hard, gritting his teeth as he looks up at you, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. “What,” he huffs, pulling lightly on your hair so you’re looking at him. “You think you’re in charge here?”

“No,” You murmur. “I know you’re in charge.”

He groans again, the sound sending a jolt straight through his groin. Hearing you say that he’s in charge, hearing you say that you know he’s in charge, drives him crazy. He pulls on your hair just a little harder, his eyes fixed on yours. “Then be good,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Listen to what I tell you, baby. No touching.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss him again, squirming in his lap. He lets you kiss him, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep his composure. He groans again when he feels your hips moving against him, pulling you in for a rough, hungry kiss, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. 

His hand moves from your hair to cup your jaw, his grip tight and possessive as he keeps your face where he wants it, pulling back from your lips after a moment and looking at you with lust-filled eyes, his voice coming out as a rough whisper. “Stop moving, sweetheart.”

You hold back a squirm. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs, tugging lightly on your hair again when he hears the pleading tone of your voice. “What did I just say, baby?” he asks, his chest rising and falling as he pants. “I told you to be good, and I told you to stop moving. You gonna listen to me, or are you gonna keep trying to act like you’re in control?”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” You say desperately, trying not to squirm again.

“Good,” JJ tugs you closer. “You wanna make it up to me?” He nods along with you, a smirk appearing on his face. “Good, good girl. You wanna do something for me, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You say softly, nodding.

“Alright,” He says, tugging on your hair again. “Get off the bed. Get on your knees,” You don’t hesitate, scrambling down onto the ground as he shifts his position, moving to hang his legs off of the side of the bed. JJ hands you a pillow and you slide it under your knees before pawing at his shorts, rubbing the button with your thumb. 

“Atta girl,” he grunts, his eyes roaming over you, his cock throbbing at the sight of you kneeling in front of him. He slowly unbuttons his shorts, taking his time to unzip them and pull them down, revelling in the desperate look in your eyes. He watches you squirm and whine as he pushes his shorts down, taking them off completely. He reaches down and grabs his cock through his boxers, rubbing the ever-growing spot of pre-cum. “Come on, baby. Show me how good you are.” You’ve been sitting and waiting for his permission, kneeling all cute and pretty like a good girl. You immediately reach out, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down. 

His cock springs out, throbbing and dripping with pre-cum.

He’s huge. A lot bigger than you thought he would be, thick and long and slightly curved to the right, with huge balls to match. Your mouth waters. “Go on, then,” JJ says, giving his cock a few slow strokes. The tip glistens with pre-cum, drawing your gaze. He smirks, enjoying the way you're staring hungrily at his cock. “Wrap your pretty lips around it.”

He lets go of his shaft, allowing it to bob free and twitch in the air between you. His heavy balls sway with the movement, full and ripe. The musky scent of his arousal fills the room, making your head spin with desire. JJ's breathing grows ragged as he waits for you to obey. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he's loving every second of it. “Don't make me tell you twice, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and gravelly with need.

You lean forward, your tongue darting out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock, your eyes never leaving his face as you revel the look on his face, his eyes rolling back as his eyebrows furrow. With a soft moan, you open your mouth wide and take the rest of him, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth.

You start to bob your head, working his length with slow, deliberate movements. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking in time with the rise and fall of your mouth. You can feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue, and it only spurs you on, wondering what it would feel like when he cums in your mouth. As you suck him deeper, you use your teeth to gently scrape along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a low groan from JJ.

“Fuck yes,” JJ hisses through clenched teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily as you work his cock with that sweet mouth of yours. “Good girl.” He can feel every inch of your hot, wet tongue tracing the veins on his shaft, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. Your gentle scrape of teeth sends jolts of pleasure straight to his balls, making them draw up tight.

JJ threads his fingers through your hair, gripping it firmly as he starts to thrust shallowly into your mouth. “That's it, baby... Take it all…” Each word is punctuated by a slight push of his hips, forcing more of his thick cock past your stretched lips. He can see the effort it takes you to accommodate him, and it only turns him on more. As you stroke his length with your hand, his grip on your hair tightens, guiding your head faster over his cock. “God, I just wanna fuck your throat.”

God, fuck, you’ve never wanted anything more. Your thighs clench as you scoot closer. You nod eagerly, relaxing your throat.

“Fuck…” He murmurs, feeling your throat relax around him. He gives one last hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your warm, welcoming mouth. “Fuck yeah... that's it, baby…” He holds you there for a moment, letting your throat adjust to his size. He holds your head still, using your mouth for leverage as he throat fucks you, his balls slap against your chin with each brutal thrust. He can feel his orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in his core. “Gonna cum soon, baby... Gonna fill this pretty mouth up…” JJ's words are punctuated by guttural grunts as he loses himself in the sensation of your warm, willing throat swallowing his cock.

He throws his head back, hands gripping your hair at the root as he fucks your throat, balls tightening at the feeling of your gags and your nails digging into his thighs. Tears sting your eyes, but you take it, trying to relax your throat, trying to be a good girl. JJ grips your hair tight, panting. “Fuck, baby, baby, fuck, I’m gonna cu-”

Someone pounds on the door.

He groans loudly, letting go of your hair. His cock twitches from his delayed release, his balls clenching uncomfortably. “Fucking Christ, of course.” 

You pull off, wiping some of the spit off of your mouth. “Do you want me to get it?”

“No, it’s probably my dad,” JJ grumbles, standing up from his bed. He grabs a pair of sweatpants, stepping into them and tying the string, tucking his cock up into the waistband. “Fucking asshole.” You stand up, fixing your hair and wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You follow JJ out of his room, tailing behind him as he heads into the living room. You lean against the wall, arms crossed across your chest, as JJ opens the door. 

You’re expecting Luke. Maybe even John B or Pope.

But definitely not Rafe.

Rafe stands in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you, then at JJ, a smirk appearing on his face. “There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping away from the wall and approaching the door. You grab JJ’s hand, squeezing it. JJ tenses up beside you as Rafe’s eyes flick over to the two of you, taking in the sight of you holding JJ’s hand. His gaze seems to linger for a split second, his smirk growing a bit wider as he eyes you up. 

“I just wanted to see if you were ready to talk, sweetheart,” He says, his eyes locked on you. “I told you earlier that we would talk after Sofia left.”

“I’m sticking with my decision, Rafe,” You say immediately. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. Not if you’re going to treat me as second best.”

The smirk fades from Rafe’s face as you talk, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he looks at you. He’s clearly annoyed, clearly angry, but he’s doing a good job of keeping his cool, at least for now. “Come on, you don’t mean that--” he starts to say, taking a step forward.

JJ pushes him back out the door. “You heard her. Leave.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a scoff escaping his lips. “Who the hell are you to tell me to leave?” He asks, his voice taking on a tone of barely contained anger. “I’m here to talk to my girl.”

“Oh, your girl?” JJ laughs, looking back at you briefly. “That’s funny, because last time I checked, your girl was in my room, on her knees with my big fat dick in her mouth.”

Rafe’s eyes go wide as JJ says that, his fists twitching at his sides, trying to restrain himself from just swinging at him here and now. He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching, his face going red as his eye twitches. “Watch your mouth, Maybank.” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“Face it, man, she picked me,” JJ says. “She came to me, came into my arms, and let me bring her home.”

“Bullshit,” Rafe scoffs, taking a step forward, only to be pushed back again. He scoffs out a bitter laugh, his eyes darting between you and JJ. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Rafe,” You say, stepping forward. “Go home.”

Rafe looks back at you, still looking frustrated, but some of the anger in his eyes leaving upon seeing your face. “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft. “I think we need to talk, just the two of us.”

“I told you, I made my decision,” You say. “Go home.”

His eyes scan your face as you speak, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Baby, just let me talk to you for a minute, okay?” He says. “Please, just give me one chance to explain myself, and talk it out.”

“No, don’t--” You suck in a breath, trying to not get upset. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby.”

Rafe’s lips twitch slightly as you say that, his fingers twitching again, his shoulders tense. “Please,” he says again, his voice sounding desperate now. “Just come outside and talk with me for a minute, come on.”

“Go home, Rafe.” You say again.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak again, but JJ cuts him off, pushing him back further, getting himself between you and the door. “You’re not welcome here, man,” he says, jaw clenched, shoving Rafe until his back is against the porch railing. “You heard her, she doesn’t want to talk to you. Now get the hell out of here before I make you.”

Rafe hesitates, seemingly embarrassed. His eyes flick from JJ to you, his fists clenching. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. I’ll have you, one way or another.” He looks between the two of you, a look of disgust sweeping across his face before he leaves, heading down the porch stairs and over to his dirt bike. He climbs on, not even bothering to wear a helmet, before pushing the kickstand up and revving the engine. The tires spin, spraying dirt and sand onto the porch before he drives off, heading out of JJ’s driveway.

JJ grunts as he watches Rafe leave, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks over at you once the dirt bike is no longer visible, his brow furrowed. “You alright?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You nod. “Yeah, I'm fine.” You squeeze his hand.

JJ nods, squeezing your hand back before looking back outside, making sure that Rafe is gone. He sighs, the tension in his body leaving his chest as he relaxes. “God, I hate that guy,” he mutters.

“Me too,” You sigh. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

He nods, a small smirk appearing on his face. “You just want me all to yourself, huh?” he says, taking your hand and leading you back into the house.

“Well, yeah,” You say, grinning as you both head back into his bedroom. “I have a job to finish, don’t I?”

JJ’s breath catches in his chest, his eyes growing dark as you speak, his hand tightening on yours. “God,” he groans. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’ll have me on my knees, baby.”

You push him onto the bed, kneeling on the pillow again. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be on my knees, JJ.”

He grunts as you push him, his eyes going dark as he looks down at you. “Yeah?” he says in a low, breathy voice. “You wanna get back down there, baby?”

You nod, palming his half hard cock over his sweatpants. “Yeah,” You smile softly. “I’m your baby.”

JJ nods, pushing some hair behind your ears. “Yeah, you’re my baby,” he grins and leans back on his palms, his cock growing harder under your hand. “Now come on, be a good girl and swallow my cock again.”

You bite your lip before starting to untie his sweatpants.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

let me know what you think!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21 (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

[pearlymel]

Hiii!!

Love your work!! If you’re available, could you please write hc’s of Jing Yuan, Natasha, Kafka, Boothill, Jiaoqiu (OOC is fine!!), Sampo, Gallagher, March 7th, and/or Serval with a reader with low blood sugar? Huge self-indulgent comfort ask, but it might resonate with a lot of other people!

My DM’s are open if you ever would like to learn some major symptoms of blood sugar drops. You absolutely do not have to do all of these characters, just giving you some ideas! Have a wonderful day/night!! ☺️💕

Synopsis: headcanons of the hsr character and reader with a low blood sugar.

Includes: Boothill, Jiaoqiu (might be ooc), Jing yuan, Gallagher, and March 7th.

Notes: i didn't add all of them because i usually write up to 5 characters or so (gonna create my rules sometime this week). But thank you for the request, lovey! I had so much fun writing this, i love writing and exploring new things :) i hope it was to your expectations, and sorry if the symptoms were inaccurate (google was my help i was too shy to dm.)

↳ BOOTHILL.

—we all should agree that this man is a caring lover, although i see him as the type to forget that you're not like him. You're not metal and scraps like him, and that you're a human being who needs a lil extra care.

—he doesn't think much of it when you first tell him that you tend to have low blood sugar, he even asks random strangers at bars he goes to about this sickness.

Boothill loves all types of fun to do with you, and tonight, you suggested you both dance.

Seeing the hint of a smile gracing your lips when you try hiding it by pressing your face on shoulder, Boothill grins. And he makes no attempt to hide his delight, he tightens his grip on your frame, holding you carefully but firmly against his chest.

"Well now, ain't I a lucky devil," he drawls, the evident sarcasm was in his tone, "Looks like I'm gettin' the chance to dance with a lovely person who shares my love for tryin' new things. I must be doin' somethin' right."

Silly, you think. "You were simply just you. And i love being with you."

Boothill grins, his eyes softening at the edges as he gazes down at you.

"Well now, ain't that a sweet thing to say," he replies, his voice gruff yet affectionate. "I ain't used to hearin' such sweet talk, to be honest." He pauses for a beat, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly.

"But hearin' it from you, it's nice," he continued before pulling you a bit closer against him.

You laugh along with him, bringing your hand to brush your fingertips along his hair, your other hand over the metallic surface of his chest before you slow your movements, you feel dizzy. No, it's not from how much you both were spinning, you both were going slow and careful.

It doesn't go unnoticed by him with the shift in your demeanor, a subtle change in your movements that indicates something is amiss.

"You okay there, darlin'?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he looks down at you. He can feel something amiss with you physically.

"Lightheaded." You mumble, holding onto him. "You... You have uhm.. anything sweet i can take?" He gives you a nod, "Reach into my pocket, I'm sure there's a candy sitting there," he explains, guiding your hand to his pocket, taking it calmly.

You give him a small smile when you reach for his side pocket to grab the singular wrapped candy.

Your fingers fumbles with the wrapper before you pop it in your mouth, sucking on the strawberry flavoured candy while resting your cheek on his shoulder.

"Doin' a little better there?"

"Yeah, thanks my hero."

"Don't you go gettin' all sweet on me now," he mutters with that of gruffness, though he smiles. "You're the one who's supposed to keep me from goin' all soft."

↳ GALLAGHER.

—Oh he's ready 24/7 whenever the situation calls for it. He takes this very seriously and will make sure no funny jokes were made about it, because they're certainly not funny to him and he will kick ass if anyone makes it harder on you than it should be.

What a sight for sore eyes. Truly. And no, he's not talking about the view, he's glancing back at you where you sat while looking up at the skies, your head titled as if you're so immersed.

"Anything on your mind?" He was the first to speak as he approaches you, "A lot of things.. clouding my head." You half shrug, watching him as he takes a seat next to you with a can of some carbonated drink on his side, and you hear the slight hiss of it when he open it with his finger. The carbonated drink fizzes a little between his finger and thumb as he pops the tab open, taking a small sip from it before turning his attention back to you.

His crimson eyes were on the direction you were trying to look at but he can't find what's so interesting about tonight's sky.

“I'm willing to stay here all night and listen.” He reassures you.

"Mhm," you stare blankly ahead now, almost zoning out, and you don't notice how sweaty you're starting to feel, or how your heart starts racing.

Gallagher's eyes narrow as he notices your almost zombie like look of a thousand yard stare. The way you look unmoving and not even acknowledging him.

He doesn't say anything and just hands you his drink, gently tapping the can on your arm to bring back your attention. You don't hesitate to grab it, taking small fast sips.

"Careful," he helps you straighten your back, drinking while slouching isn't exactly good.

You sigh when you hold the can with both hands now, letting it rest on your lap, "Thank you—"

"When was the last time you ate today?" He gently cuts you off.

"Earlier."

“And can you confirm that ‘earlier’ wasn’t hours ago?” He asked, his voice now firm but he tries to stay calm.

"I'm sleepy." You brush his question off instead, looking at him while blinking slowly as you lean to rest your head on the side of his shoulder. Gallagher watches you, letting out a soft scoff at how you tried to change the subject. He knew he wasn’t going to get an answer from you, but he also wasn’t going to let you just avoid the problem either.

"We're having dinner after your little nap, deal?"

↳ MARCH 7TH.

—March.. panics when she finds out for the first time. She asks you if you were okay, if you wanted anything, even when you try to reassure her that you felt fine at times, she wouldn't be convinced until you stay under her watch. She bugs Dan Heng to tell her all the possible symptoms so she wouldn't panic more than she should.

Today, you were March's model for photography, well you always are her model because she says you're the best fit for it.

She lets you try out fun clothes and you shyly and awkwardly try to pose in front of the camera at first, but then you immediately gain the confidence after a few more clicks. Smiling and posing while trying out all the fun combinations of colours and clothes.

She looked at you, wearing clothes she had picked out for you. You looked absolutely beautiful.

The enthusiastic girl was blushing a lot as she kept taking pictures of you, giggling behind the camera even.

"March, mind if i sit down for a bit?" You hated to stop her from her enthusiasm, but you feel lightheaded almost. And you were sure it's not from the flashes.

March immediately stopped taking photos and set her camera down when you asked.

She placed a gentle hand onto your forehead, seeing if you had a fever first. "Are you feeling sick?"

"No, don't panic. I just feel lightheaded. Do you have anything sweet i can take?"

Okay, she is prepared for this, "You're low on blood sugar, are you?" She asked, concerned. March then grabbed a small candy—a lollipop, to be exact—from the camera case and offered it out to you.

"And you came prepared." You try teasing, and she nodded with a light laugh. It was a nice-looking sweet lemon-flavored lolliop.

"I carry them with me just in case!" She replied, You both sit down together, she takes out another lollipop for herself so you wouldn't feel left out.

"We can take pictures while eating these lollipops."

March nodded in agreement with your idea, she was happy that you even said that, it meant taking pictures together for an hour now wasn't boring you out.

Then, she pulled out her camera again, a grin forming on her face, "That's a good idea! Alright, on the count of three—" she pulls the lollipop out, posing as if kissing the candy while you smile widely as the camera clicks on both of you.

↳ JIAOQIU.

—sooo, he's a healer. Then that means we all can agree that he's the attentive lover, and strictly cares about your health and diet, but i feel like he'd be playful about it at times.

You don't remember sleeping for so long when you woke up rather confused, shuffling around the blankets and sitting up on the bed while rubbing your head.

Your fault for skipping breakfast and going straight into your work or chores for today.

You fail to notice at first the pink haired figure next to you, sitting beside the bed so silently that it makes you gasp when you turn around to see him.

He was holding a spoonful of some red liquid that you're sure is spicy concoction. He looks at you expectantly, a hint of mischief behind his closed eyes.

“Say ahh,” he says quietly, enjoying the moment. But you almost try not to laugh.

"What happened exactly?" You ask him, refusing to still take that.. extremely dark red soup. It was so dark you can almost smell the spice in the air.

"Someone forgot to eat their meal i prepared earlier," he hums, still trying to pry his spoon closer to your lips, "so i had to find myself misfortune in the of finding you almost unconscious. You're lucky i was carrying some sweet herbs with me." And you frown at his next words, you want to apologize for how he must've been worried.

As if sensing your next words, he smiles, "none of that. Now, open up." He offers you the spoonful again but you pull your face away.

"Are you sure you're not trying to kill me next?"

Jiaoqiu pretends to pout. His fox ears prick and he gives you a slight pout, "You're so dramatic," he says, his tail flicking with amusement. He holds up the spoon again, still waiting for you to open your mouth.

"My soup will fix your blood sugar. Trust me, it's a secret recipe," Jiaoqiu says with a sly smirk.

"What if it tastes bad?" You regret the words leaving your mouth, because he opens his eyes and stares at you with an almost hurt expression. You take the spoonful in your mouth without another complaint, and he hums in approval while closing back his eyes.

The flavours almost explode in your mouth, it.. wasn't spicy at all. It was rather sweet and savoury.

"You tricked me, it's not spicy at all."

"I never said it was spicy, though." He tilts his head, feigning innocence and confusion.

Despite his antics, you instantly feel better, although he doesn't allow you to feed yourself, he'll do it for you.

↳ JING YUAN.

—This man would spoil you rotten. You're feeling unwell? He would love to take the day off and just look after you, although there is a doctor on the side in case anything gets serious. You're simply tired not because of your low sugar levels, but just because you were? He would gladly invite you in his arms or simply sit next to you while you both chat nonstop about eachother's days if that's what will make you feel better.

You were panting when you decided to train alone in the training grounds, Yanqing offered to train with you but you insisted that you needed that full concentration.

After a while, you do feel exhausted and worn out. The spear dropping from your hands as you bend a bit to rest your hands on your knees to catch some breath.

"Now, now, if you want to get stronger, you'll also need a break." Jing Yuan's call for you is what makes you huff out a chuckle. In his hands is what looked to be a bowl of fruits with a water bottle on the other.

"i wanted to build some muscle." You tell him when he gives you that look whenever you start training alone. It's not that he's against your wishes of wanting to be stronger for your own good, but he wishes Yanqing was atleast there to watch you.

"And, I'm not a baby." You roll your eyes playfully and he lets out a deep laugh. "Eat up." You take the orange first, but he was quick to take it from your hands to peel it for you, so you take the grape instead.

You as well take the bottle, gulping down almost the whole thing. Water has never tasted this good.

"You're not a baby, but you drool like one." You almost glare at his words and he only grins while wiping the excess water and fruit juice off the corner of your lips with his thumb. "That was mean, General." You raise both of your eyebrows at him, he only pats your head back, pulling you in with his arm to just hold you.

"when the time comes, you'll be strong enough to protect me."

[kingofbodyrolls]

Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm

You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut. → Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 6,1k → Warnings (general) + triggers: Jimin is just a mean jerk and reader is a brat 😂 Lots of banter, crack and anger towards each other. → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, dirty talk, orgasm denial/delay, hair pulling, oral (female and male receiving), breasts and nipple play. Also, use of a tie 👀 → Author’s note: This is actually a story that I planned to write all the way back in 2017 – better late than never, right? 😂 I had only made the plot with some outline, so I basically started from scrap. But it had been stuck in my mind since FOREVER and now I just miss Jimin a shit ton, so I made this. I hope you enjoy it! Also, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously, it’s just smut with minimal plot and don’t question the characters bad actions or some minor plot holes 😂 (Also, I did not proofread this, just because). Also, merry Christmas / happy holidays – this is my gift to you wonderful people out there 💜AND are you guys looking forward to Jimin’s ‘Closer than This’ tomorrow???? 💜

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can read it here 😀

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

“I can’t believe this…” in disbelief, you mutter, your voice tinged with uncertainty, while you desperately activate the windshield wiper, yearning for even a fleeting glimpse through the thick curtain of falling snow.

“I can,” Jimin declares from his spot beside you in the passenger seat. His playful critique follows swiftly, delivered with a pout and a firm voice, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “You're a terrible driver.”

“Am not!” you retort defiantly, your voice cutting through the air, even as your unwavering gaze remains fixed on the snowy expanse ahead.

A curtain of thick snow descends, veiling everything in an opaque white shroud. The road ahead is swallowed by the relentless onslaught, turning visibility into an elusive challenge.

Your hands clench the wheel with a vice-like grip, the strain evident as your knuckles whiten under the pressure. The tension in your entire body is so palpable that it hurts to fucking drive.

Exhaustion weighs on you heavily, a relentless burden, yet the realization hits that you're only halfway to your friends' Christmas party. Two more hours loom ahead, a daunting stretch of time spent in the company of Park Jimin, your sworn enemy.

The decision to share a car ride is a mystery even to yourself; perhaps it was a fleeting concern for the planet, a noble intention to save fuel by consolidating into one vehicle. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the real reasons behind your choice become an enigma.

Regret courses through you like a bitter undercurrent as you ponder the altruistic intentions behind considering the planet and the environment. The thought of advising Jimin to take his own car nags at you, a missed opportunity for a peaceful solo drive. In a self-cursing moment, you rue your own kindness.

“Let me drive; I’m a better driver than you anyway.” Jimin declares with casual confidence, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance.

“Fuck off, Jimin!” you hiss, frustration dripping from your words like venom.

You squint against the relentless assault of heavy snow, the world outside morphing into an indistinct blur as visibility dwindles.

Your pace is deliberate, a cautious dance with the road, but after several minutes, you relent, succumbing to the inevitable by slowing down even further.

“Fine!” you declare, seizing the steering wheel in a determined clench, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

You pivot your gaze towards Jimin, the words cutting through the tension, “You fucking drive then.”

Shifting the car into park, you unclip your seatbelt with a determined click, swing the door open, and brave the biting embrace of the freezing snowstorm outside.

In synchronized movements, Jimin mirrors your actions, and together, you step out into the frigid air. The two of you converge outside, a silent agreement palpable in the crunch of snow beneath your feet, as you navigate around the car, preparing to swap seats.

“If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.” you menace, venom seeping through your words as you stride past him, positioning yourself in front of the vehicle.

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, a smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor, relishing the fact that you've conceded to let him take the wheel.

Jimin confidently eases his plump figure into the driver's seat, and you avert your gaze (definitely not looking!). With a self-assured demeanor, he expertly adjusts the seat to accommodate his frame.

You attempt to thaw your chilled hands under the blast of hot air from the air conditioner, the sour mood hanging heavy around you as you settle into the passenger seat, donning a visible pout.

“Relax, I’m not gonna crash your precious car,” he teases, the playfulness evident in his voice, just before smoothly shifting the car into gear and forging ahead.

In response, a huff escapes your lips, arms instinctively crossing in a silent declaration of your lingering displeasure.

You surrender to a sense of ease as Jimin takes the wheel, his deliberate pace aligning with caution. It's a mutual understanding — in this snow-laden terrain, slow and steady becomes a shared creed for safety.

The once teasing atmosphere now gives way to palpable tension, the air thick with the weight of swirling snow that has intensified. Jimin, too, struggles visibly against the heavier onslaught, the challenge of navigating through the snow turning the car into a place of shared unease.

Your gaze fixates on Jimin, observing as his fingers clench the steering wheel with a tension mirroring your own, and his shoulders stiffen in sync. A chuckle escapes you, unexpectedly audible, as you notice the ironic similarity between his reaction and your earlier demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” Jimin spits, the tension reverberating unmistakably in his voice, each word a note in the symphony of strained emotions.

“Your driving,” you start to chuckle, the amusement laced with a hint of mischief.

“You're not exactly outclassing my skills,” you declare, sinking into the seat with a self-assured smirk, relishing the satisfaction of your own driving prowess.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he seethes, the words charged with anger, his gaze sharply turning towards you, locking onto your eyes.

Despite Jimin's cautious speed, the car subtly veers, casting doubt on whether you're still on the road or lost in the oblivion of the thick snow. The blinding white landscape offers no clarity, leaving you uncertain and immersed in a disorienting wintry haze.

“I can’t see fucking shit!” he exclaims, abruptly bringing the car to a halt and cutting the engine in an instant, plunging you both into an eerie silence amid the obscured surroundings.

Your gaze locks onto him, urgency etched across your face. “What are you doing? We've got Seokjin's Christmas party in less than an hour!” The frustration in your voice reverberates, a ticking clock amplifying the stakes of the impending deadline.

“It’s not safe to drive in this freaking snowstorm!” he bellows in response, frustration escalating in his voice, punctuated by the sharp flick of the hazard warning lights, signaling the urgency and danger of the situation.

“I just want to get there already. I'd rather not be stuck with you,” you seethe, teeth gritted, a visible huff escaping in a cloud of anger. The tension hangs heavy, fueled by the biting words that linger in the now frosty air.

“Like I'd willingly be stuck with your sour attitude,” he retorts, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe for some inscrutable reason. “I don't even like you,” he declares, the words loaded with an unspoken tension that hangs in the frosty air between you two.

You gape at him, the bitter truth resonating in the air—an unspoken agreement that neither of you harbors any liking for the other. The animosity between you has solidified into a hostile dynamic, despite the shared circle of friends that consistently throws you together, much to your enduring displeasure.

Jimin exudes an infuriating level of cockiness, ceaselessly pushing your buttons and expertly tapping into the art of annoyance until it feels like your nerves are unraveling at his mere presence.

You'd willingly brave the biting cold rather than endure the prospect of an unpredictable future confined with him inside the car. Fate seems to revel in mocking you, as the car rapidly succumbs to the encroaching chill, each passing minute intensifying the unwelcome cold that now permeates the confined space.

You clutch your arms tightly around your body, desperately running your hands up and down in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. A curse slips from your lips as you question your own sanity—why in the world did you take off your jacket for the drive? Now it's trapped in the damn trunk, and the thought of braving the freezing cold to retrieve it is utterly unappealing.

“Cold?” he chuckles, the sound carrying an edge of amusement that only amplifies the chill sinking into your bones.

You nod your head.

“Well, I’m not giving you my jacket,” he states matter-of-factly, cocooning himself in the evident warmth of his puffer jacket. Damn Park Jimin and his infuriating nonchalance, he's truly a master of being a jerk!

“Can't even manage a simple act of kindness,” you mutter with disdain, the words escaping in a sharp hiss, a low and almost grumbling tone, accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.

“What's that?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, relishing the snug warmth of his jacket while you shiver in the cold. 

“Fuck you, Park!” you shout directly in his face, your words laced with frustration. Instead of a retort, he just chuckles, the sound taking on a manic edge that lingers in the frosty air, leaving an unsettling resonance to your heated exchange.

An indeterminate amount of time slips away, lost in the relentless snowfall that shows no sign of relenting. Frustration building, you reach for your phone and decide to text Seokjin, realizing that this damn snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon.

You [15.42]: Stuck in a snowstorm with fucking Park Jimin. I don’t know when we’ll arrive 🙄

Jin [15.48]: Just stay safe 😂

Fuck Seokjin! You’re convinced that he’s somewhere enjoying a good laugh at your misfortune.

A surge of realization hits you like a bolt of inspiration—there's a blanket tucked away in the backseat. Swiftly moving up, you make your way to the center console.

“What’re you doing?” Jimin questions, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow as you navigate over the center console, leaving him bewildered by your sudden, mysterious movements.

“There's a blanket back here,” you announce triumphantly, finally laying hands on the sought-after comfort. With a satisfying plop into the seat, you tug the blanket snugly over your cold body, a gesture that transforms the atmosphere within the car from chilly discomfort to a brief oasis of warmth.

After a few contemplative minutes, Jimin breaks the silence with a question that hangs in the air, “Mind if I join you?”

Your mouth falls agape, and your eyes widen in astonishment at his unexpected question. Collecting yourself, you respond with a hint of sarcasm, “You weren't keen on sharing your jacket with me. What makes you think I'd be willing to share my blanket with you?” The tension between you and Jimin escalates with each word, hanging palpably in the cold air.

Without a pause for your response, he defies the silence, navigating over the center console with the same determined crawl you had exhibited moments before. The unspoken tension between you both amplifies, turning the confined space into an arena of silent rivalry.

Seated beside you, he makes a grab for the blanket cocooning your shivering form. Resolute, you refuse to surrender it, your hands engaging in a tug of war with him.

“Share, you brat,” he hisses with a mix of irritation and amusement, his determination evident in the forceful tug at the blanket. 

“No!” you hiss back defiantly, the word laced with a stubborn refusal as you hold your ground.

With a forceful yank, he wrenches the blanket from your grasp, and in the struggle, he ends up with it draped across his lap. The victorious outcome of the skirmish leaves a charged atmosphere between you and Jimin, the warmth of the blanket now a coveted prize in his possession.

A triumphant smirk plays on his lips as he envelops himself in the captured blanket. His eyes lock onto your moping expression before descending further, a mischievous gleam indicating that his victory goes beyond the simple conquest of the blanket. 

“I can totally see your nipples,” he chuckles. 

You glance down, and sure enough, your nipples stand out against the satin material of your dress. Swiftly, you react, pressing your hands over your breasts in a sudden move to conceal their visibility. 

“Why the fuck are you look at my tits?” you yell at him, your frustration audible, but he merely chuckles in response. 

“You must really be freezing, huh?” he observes, and you simply nod in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the biting cold that permeates the confined space. 

“I can warm you up,” he suggests with a playful wink, both eyes and eyebrows conspiring in unison. The underlying implication of his words hangs in the air, and you instantly grasp the nature of his playful proposition.

“I'm not that desperate, Park,” you scoff with a hint of disgust, the rejection laced with a prideful undertone. In response, he simply chuckles, finding amusement in your candid dismissal.

Following his suggestive remark, an electric charge seems to surge through the atmosphere in the car. Your mind involuntarily races, envisioning the prospect of warming up next to him, his hands tracing every contour of your body,  his di—

Stop. You admonish yourself sternly, a mental command to cease the vivid thoughts involving him. He's your enemy, you remind yourself, emphasizing the intense dislike you harbor for Park Jimin. The internal conflict heightens, the struggle between attraction and animosity weaving a complex web within your mind.

His chuckle resonates beside you, a sound that grates on your nerves. Irritation mounts, and you sharply turn your head towards him, your annoyance evident in the flicker of your gaze. 

“Need help?” he inquires, his gaze suddenly deepening, the darkness in his eyes unveiling a subtle intensity that lingers in the air. 

“With what?” you spit back at him, the confusion evident in your tone. 

“You're grinding against the seat,” he bluntly points out, his gaze fixed on your crotch. You glance down, discovering your unconscious movement against the fabric of the seat. A sudden realization dawns, and an expletive slips from your lips. 

A wave of discomfort washes over you, an intense desire to squirm and disappear into the ground, engulfed by the embarrassment that now saturates the air. The profound sense of shame hangs heavy, making the moment so excruciatingly humiliating.

You inhale sharply, drawing in a breath that seems to shudder through you, and with a deliberate move, you roll your hips once more.

“No…” you murmur, the word escaping with a shaky uncertainty that even your own ears can detect. 

Jimin scoots closer to you, the warmth radiating from his body sending sparks that seem to dance through yours. 

He leans into you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, and in a breathy whisper, he offers, “I can help you with that.”

His words alone send a jolt through your body, a sudden tightening that ignites a fiery sensation. Damn it. The internal conflict and desire entwine, creating a tumultuous storm within you in the presence of him. It's undeniable—your entire being yearns for the touch you never thought you'd crave. 

His warm hand finds its way to your thigh, and a low moan escapes your lips at the contact. Fuck. 

His hand ventures down to the hem of your dress, grabbing and pulling it back to expose more of your thighs. A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air embraces your newly exposed skin, and a hiss escapes your lips. However, the sensation is quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth as his hand cups your clothed core. A breathless expletive escapes your lips, leaving your mind in a blissful blank state.

Instantly, you feel the warmth of his hand intimately against you, and your head falls back against the seat involuntarily. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you respond to the touch, unable to resist rolling your hips into the sensation.

“You’re needy,” he breathes against your ear, the words carrying a provocative weight that reverberates through you. 

His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts in a haze of desire. The desire for release intensifies, eclipsing any reservations you may have about seeking it from your mortal enemy. 

“Shut up and just touch me,” you utter in frustration, the words punctuated by the deliberate grind of your hips into his hand, a desperate quest for any kind of friction. You're acutely aware of the desperation seeping through your actions, but at this moment, you don’t give a fuck.

And touch you he does. His fingers begin to rub your clit over the fabric of your panties, and you don't hold back your moans.

Your hips gyrate, a rhythmic dance in pursuit of your impending orgasm. The sensation builds rapidly, a cascade of pleasure on the brink. The question lingers in your mind—why does your body respond so eagerly to his touch?

He tugs your panties to the side, his touch on your clit eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. The warmth of his fingers against your skin amplifies the sensation, and you're already soaked.

“You're so wet already,” he chuckles against your ear, his lips teasingly grazing your skin. The desire to retaliate surges within you, but then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, one of his fingers enters your pussy, stealing your breath away.

He skillfully fingers you with one finger, the motion of his wrist simultaneously stroking against your clit, creating a sensation that's nothing short of delicious. The desire for more intensifies, an insatiable craving building within you.

“More,” you breathe, your voice escaping chapped and laden with a raw, lustful edge. 

Jimin adds one more digit, and you relish in the precision with which he finds your soft spot, hitting it perfectly.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers in your ear, the suggestive question sending an instant jolt through your body, a yearning for more. 

A throaty moan escapes your lips as you willingly spread your legs wider, granting him more space.

He deftly introduces a third finger into you, and you feel yourself losing control, swept away by the overwhelming pleasure. It's already so good—how is he so skilled with his fingers?

The way he skillfully uses his fingers inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his wrist propels you relentlessly toward the precipice of climax. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you're on the verge of that intoxicating release.

“Jimin, fuck. I'm gonna come soon,” you pant, the urgency in your voice underscored by the rhythmic grind of your pussy against his hand. 

He accelerates the pace of his fingers inside you, bringing you to the brink, but just as your body teeters on the edge of release, he abruptly withdraws his fingers and hand altogether.

His fingers and hand vanish, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. The abrupt absence intensifies the frustration and desire you feel surge through your body. Fuck!

Your legs tremble beneath you, and a frustrated hiss escapes your lips as you pant for breath.

“You didn't want to share the blanket,” he spews, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your evident frustration.

You're on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger. The desperate desire for release compounds the emotional turmoil within you. The audacity of him! The frustration boils over, cementing Jimin as nothing short of a fucking jerk in your mind.

“I'm not letting you come unless you beg for it,” he adds in a smug voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he purposefully puts some distance between you. 

You can't believe him. The brink of pleasure was within reach—just a few more rubs and you would have unraveled on his fingers. The yearning is palpable, a frustrating ache that intensifies with each passing moment. 

You growl at him, caught in a heated internal debate about whether to plead with him or not. 

Your pussy clenches around emptiness, a visceral reminder of your desperation.

“Please, Jimin. Please let me come,” you implore, locking eyes with him and turning your body toward him. The desperation in your gaze is palpable. Almost inadvertently, you press your chest closer, your stiff nipples drawing his gaze downward.

He licks his lips teasingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, before seizing your hips and drawing you irresistibly toward him. With a swift yet controlled motion, he manipulates your body, guiding you to lie on the seat. As you settle into the unexpected position, he chuckles at the genuine confusion etched across your face.

“Because you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and in a bold move, he shoves your dress up to your stomach. With swift precision, he snatches your panties, sliding them down your legs. “I'll give you what you want.”

He discards your panties with a deliberate flick, his focus unwavering as he plunges down to your throbbing pussy. There's no hesitation; he immediately delves into licking at your folds and clit with a hunger that matches your own. 

Your body instinctively arches off the length of the seat, a wave of pleasure coursing through you. It feels unbelievably good. In the heat of the moment, your hands find his hair, fingers gripping and pulling at the strands, eliciting a guttural groan from him. 

Your muscles tighten, and the echoes of the previous orgasm, forcefully ripped from you, return with an intensity that feels tenfold. Each breath is a furious pant as he continues to lap at your folds, the relentless pleasure building and intertwining with your gasps. 

Then, with a skillful touch, he adds a finger to your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. Your senses heighten, and just as you succumb to the pleasure, he skillfully continues to ravish your entrance with his tongue. 

“Jimin!” you scream his name, a raw and unrestrained cry escaping your lips as you reach the peak of ecstasy on his tongue. Your body tightens, toes curling, and you involuntarily hitch your heels against his legs. In the throes of pleasure, your vision blurs, and you fight for air.

He chuckles, a throaty sound that reverberates in the aftermath of your high. Not giving you a moment to fully come down, he skillfully inserts two of his fingers inside you, drawing a hiss from your lips at the touch—your body rendered oversensitive.

He extends his fingers, proudly displaying them, glistening with your intimate juices. A wicked glint in his eyes, he issues a command, “Clean them.” 

You meet his gaze defiantly, a spark of challenge in your eyes, before obediently rising to carry out his command. Taking hold of his hand, you sensually draw his slick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a provocative dance. Your eyes lock onto his, witnessing the raw desire in his gaze as you release his fingers with an audible ‘pop’.

“I hate you,” you declare, breathless, the words carrying a mixture of frustration and desire. His response is a low chuckle, his perceptive gaze catching the teasing glint in your eyes.

He leans back, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, and starts palming himself through his dress pants. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movement of his hands, and a jolt of desire courses through you as you realize he's already rock hard. The unmistakable bulge strains against his pants, a visual testament to the arousal simmering between you two. 

“I can help you with that,” you purr, a sultry promise lingering in your eyes, eager to reciprocate the pleasure.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and smoothly turns his body to fully face you. With a teasing smirk, he unzips his pants, skillfully pulling down both his trousers and underwear enough to liberate his hardened dick.

His cock springs free, defiantly brushing against the bottom of his loosened tie, a sight that's undeniably tantalizing. Perfectly sculpted, it's veiny and slightly flushed at the tip, mirroring the allure of every inch of him. A surge of conflicting emotions overwhelms you – the hate, the desire, the acknowledgment of his undeniable appeal. You despise how effortlessly good-looking he is, from the tousled blonde locks to those lips you now crave to taste. 

However, your gaze returns to his dick, noting its average size but with a satisfying girth that catches your attention. A subtle hint of anticipation flickers in your eyes, and your tongue instinctively darts out to moisten your lips. 

“Then get to work,” he pants, a breathy command, as he sensually spreads his legs, creating an inviting space for you. 

You descend eagerly, ensuring your mouth is generously coated with saliva before you engulf him, starting with just the tip. 

He hisses the moment your lips meet his dick, his head instinctively colliding with the window behind him, an involuntary exclamation escaping, “Ah, fuck.”

You engulf more of him, your mouth descending entirely, and the sound of his primal moan reverberates in response. You add a sultry hum, a note of satisfaction coursing through you.

You initiate a slow, deliberate pace, skillfully sucking him off, and anything beyond your mouth's capacity, you sensually stroke with your hand. 

His hands seek out your hair, effortlessly capturing the neatly arranged high ponytail that he grasps with a possessive confidence. 

You revel in the subtle tension, accelerating your descent on him with a newfound urgency. Your tongue skillfully traces intricate patterns, dancing across his tip and the sensitive folds of his frenulum.

He moans in ecstasy as you withdraw with a satisfying ‘pop,’ only to treat the head of his throbbing dick like a tempting lollipop, your tongue swirling around it with deliberate sensuality.

As you glance up at him, he appears utterly lost in the moment. His eyes, once vibrant, are now dilated orbs of desire, his parted lips releasing audible breaths. The state of bliss enveloping him transforms his features into a breathtaking display of vulnerability and beauty.

You envelop him once more, relishing the subtle tremor that courses through him, a tangible response to the sensations you're skillfully orchestrating with your lips and tongue.

He yanks you away from him, his voice a raw whisper laden with desire, “I want to fuck you.”

You prop yourself up, captivated by the transformation before you. The usual arrogant Park Jimin is replaced by this vulnerable, needy version, and against your better judgment, a desperate craving for him builds inside you. You ache for him to consume you entirely.

A mischievous smirk plays on your lips as you echo his earlier taunts, “Beg for it,” you challenge, aware of the palpable tension between you, a shared desire pulsating in the charged air.

A low, throaty chuckle escapes him as his fingers glide through the tousled strands of his blonde hair, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re really a fucking brat,” he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.

He sits up, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he sheds his open jacket, the confined warmth of the car now turning uncomfortably sweltering. You can't help but acknowledge the irony; at least you're not freezing anymore, which, after all, was the primary objective of this unexpected detour, wasn't it?

“Please let me fuck you,” his plea hangs in the air, a desperate echo of your own request, and you can't help but chuckle, slowly crawling closer to him.

“Turn around, let me straddle you. Leaning against the headrest will give us more space,” you suggest, and he shifts in an instant, his arousal evident in the casual sway of his dick with each movement.

Then you confidently straddle him, your hand instinctively reaching for his dick, guiding him to align perfectly with your eager entrance.

Before you lower yourself onto him, you sensually trail his dick through your wetness, relishing in the intimate friction. A moan escapes your lips as you then descend onto his lap in one smooth, sultry motion.

The exquisite stretch sends a shiver down your spine, and he effortlessly glides in, eliciting a breathless ‘Fuck!’ from your lips.

As your hands find their place on his shoulders for support, his eyes, now hooded, follow your every movement as you begin to ride him with a rhythm that echoes the passion pulsing between you.

You pant furiously, your breath hot against his face. The sensation of him inside you is nothing short of heavenly, an electrifying connection that feels as if every contour of him aligns perfectly with every curve of your pussy.

“Ah,” ecstasy courses through you with each fervent bounce on his throbbing length, a harmonious rhythm of pleasure escaping your lips in breathless gasps.

“You’re so tight,” his ragged breaths synchronize with the rhythmic clench of your walls, his hands anchoring to your hips, adding an electrifying intensity to each blissful plunge into your velvet warmth.

Between gasps, you manage to growl, “Fuck. I hate you,” only to be met with his deep, throaty chuckle as he continues the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one a tumultuous clash of conflicting desires.

Amidst heavy breaths, he accuses, “I know you're lying,” his words punctuated by the rhythmic tempo of his panting. Undeterred, he leans in for a searing kiss, his lips caressing yours with a softness akin to pillows. Your defenses crumble as you melt into his touch, tongues colliding in a fervent dance that defies the lingering tension.

“Why is it that you feel so damn good?” you gasp, interrupting the kiss only to plunge back into its intoxicating depths. Each moment spent in his embrace feels like a surrender to a passionate whirlwind. His every thrust reverberates through you, sending electrifying shivers down your spine, an exquisite dance of pleasure and desire that you find impossible to resist.

“Perhaps I should prolong your climax, just as you did to me?” you purr with a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, resurrecting the playful brat within you.

He chuckles, his hands leaving the curve of your hips to gracefully undo his tie at his neck. Your gaze fixates on him, observing each deliberate move as he frees himself from the constriction of the tie, all while you continue to ride him with an unabashed hunger.

“You really are a fucking brat,” he mutters, the corners of his lips quirking into a sly smile as he pulls off his tie. “Now, shut up,” he commands, silencing any potential retorts by expertly stuffing the tie into your open, protesting mouth.

You yield to the makeshift gag, sinking your teeth into the fabric, muffling the symphony of your own desperate moans.

A smirk plays on his lips as his hands reclaim your hips, commanding, “Now take it like the fucking brat that you are.”

His movements become a relentless rhythm, thrusting deep inside you. All you can do is cling to his shoulders, swept away by the force of his desire.

Ecstasy courses through you, and you can't help but moan into the fabric of his tie. It feels too damn good to contain.

His voice drips with satisfaction as he senses your walls tightening around him, and a smug grin plays on his lips. “You like that, huh?”

A guttural moan escapes your lips in response, the crescendo of pleasure building, and you sense the impending climax drawing near.

“Fuck yourself on my dick,” his command hangs in the air, thick with desire, as his hands abandon your hips, embarking on a journey down your back. With a swift motion, he unzips your dress, letting it cascade down your shoulders.

Your naked breasts dances to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts, an erotic ballet of passion and desire.

“Fuck. You’re not wearing a bra, just like I thought,” his eyes widen in delighted surprise, a devilish grin playing on his lips. His hands eagerly exploring the contours of your exposed tits.

His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. “Your tits are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns around your stiffened nipples. Your body reacts instinctively, a primal moan escaping through the tie as desire courses through you.

Every grind and movement becomes a challenge as he expertly tweaks and pulls at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure and distraction through your body. You fight to maintain a rhythm, desperately trying to pleasure yourself on his dick amidst the electrifying sensations dancing across your chest.

As your walls clench around him, a whirlwind of sensations floods your body, signaling that the peak of pleasure is just a breath away. Every nerve is on edge, and the anticipation of an imminent climax tingles through you, a storm about to erupt.

As he skillfully massages your tits, he breathlessly teases, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” his words send shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure that's building within you.

With a fervent nod, you surrender to the sensations, your muffled moans echoing through the tie as pleasure courses through every inch of your being.

As he plunges into you, he urges you with a guttural command, “Cream my cock, brat.” The raw desire in his voice fuels the intensity of your connection, igniting a blaze of passion.

Overwhelmed by desire, his dick finding every exquisite spot within you, you unleash a guttural moan, your pleasure echoing into the fabric of the tie as you climax on his pulsating cock.

Jimin's fingers twist around your hardened nipples, sending electric shocks of ecstasy through your body. A guttural exclamation escapes your lips, muffled by the tie, as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the rhythm building towards an intense climax. His hands firmly grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he desperately seeks his own release.

He reaches the peak of ecstasy, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he spills into the warmth of your pussy.

Heaving for breath, the silence between you two speaks volumes, a shared understanding lingering in the air as you descend from the euphoric heights of your climaxes.

Collapsing onto his chest, you revel in the soothing aftermath, liberated from the restraint of his tie. As his body relaxes within you, the intimacy lingers, a tangible connection forged in the heat of passion.

His lips graze your neck with a gentle touch, igniting a cascade of thoughts about the significance behind this tender gesture.

As laughter fills the air, shattering the lingering tension, your attention shifts to the foggy windows and the oppressive heaviness in the car, making each breath a deliberate act.

As you hastily redress, Jimin slips into his jacket and steps out of the car, retrieving your coat from the trunk. With a gentle handoff, he passes it to you, and you quickly slip into its comforting warmth.

“Thank you,” your gratitude escapes in a hushed whisper, laden with a touch of bewilderment. The encounter, while undeniably electrifying, leaves you grappling with conflicting emotions. It's Park Jimin, your sworn adversary, and the intensity of the shared moment hangs between you, a paradox of pleasure and rivalry.

“You’re welcome,” his response carries a self-assured smirk, echoing the lingering traces of the shared intimacy. As he confidently returns to the driver's seat, you mirror his actions, settling into the passenger's seat, both enveloped in a charged silence that speaks volumes.

The snowfall has eased, no longer as relentless as before. A subtle nostalgia creeps in as you reflect on his desire to keep you warm. The gentle flakes now fall, leaving you yearning for the lingering warmth of his touch.

As he revs the engine to life, a gust of chilly air sweeps through the car, causing you to emit an involuntary grunt. His chuckle fills the cabin, accompanied by a smirk and a teasing wink. “I can warm you up anytime,”

You shoot him a moping gaze, wondering if he has a knack for deciphering your thoughts. Can he sense the magnetic pull, the unspoken attraction that mirrors your own inner turmoil?

You return his smile, a silent agreement resonating between you as he steers the car forward, setting the wheels and unspoken possibilities in motion.

Three hours fashionably late, you finally arrive at Seokjin's Christmas party. The distant hum of music greets you as you step out of the car, signaling that the celebration is already in full swing.

As you rap your knuckles against the door, you steal a glance at Jimin who's busy adjusting his attire. His fingers deftly tighten the knot of his tie, and his pants get a quick, inconspicuous tug into place.

As Seokjin swings the door open, a tantalizing waft of mouthwatering aromas envelops your senses, instantly sparking a smile on your face.

Seokjin's laughter echoes as he playfully accuses, “You fucked Jimin!” and your jaw drops in disbelief to the floor.

[nickfowlerrr]

i never thought you’d happen to me - 1

part two / part three

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut (part two), fluff, bit of angst. time travel via magic. dad!bucky and mom!reader. steve x nat. some morally dubious homemade porn viewing 💀 (part two). if i’m missing anything that should be tagged, please lmk!

words: just a bit over 6k.

notes: this idea came from a prompt post i saw not too long ago and coincidentally fell into some bingo spots for my @the-slumberparty bingo card.

fair warning: this is so completely self indulgent and a little trope overload lol but i had such a good time working on it and it was fun to write so who really cares 😌 thank you in advance for reading and reblogging! as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated. please let me know what you think! 🥰

It’s another late Friday night as you and the team lounge around the common room, nearly empty takeout containers scattered around the table, glasses and bottles of your drinks much the same. There’s a movie no one is watching playing on the large screen as the current conversation around you continues.

You’re not sure how telling a story from your last mission with Bucky has turned into this once again, but here you are. Another cute remark from Sam about his expectancy to be in the wedding party earns him another glare from you.

“Hey, you side-eye now but in ten years you’ll look back and realize how right we all were,” he says, elbowing Bucky slightly. “Tinman by your side,” he adds with a grin - clearly amused with himself.

“That is not my future,” you say with a humorless chortle.

“I can show you your future,” Wanda speaks from her spot on the couch, everyone turning their heads at once to look at her. She’s been unusually quiet the past few minutes - not engaging much in the conversation as she observed it instead. She takes another sip of her wine as she meets your gaze, foot swinging lazily as she keeps one leg crossed over the other.

She tilts her head at you while you eye her with a raised brow, a look of incredulity on your face.

“What?” she questions, confused at not only yours, but everyone’s, lack of response.

“Come on,” you laugh lightly, brushing her off.

“I’m serious.”

“Wanda, I don’t need to see what my future looks like to know that Bucky will be playing no part in it.”

A round of scoffs, snickers and a groan erupt from around the living room as you roll your eyes. You catch Bucky, seated across from you, doing the same as you turn your face.

“You’re all very funny, and I’m glad you’re amused with yourselves, but I can’t sit here and listen to the same inane conversation over again, soooo,” you pause for a breath, “I’m going to bed,” you clap as you stand from your spot on the couch.

“Look, I don’t speak for everyone, but I am not joking in the slightest,” Kate laughs as she leans back into her seat. Aiming finger guns at you and Bucky, “You guys,” she says, “are endgame.”

“And you, my friend, are drunk.”

Another round of laughs before the previous chatter resumes among the group, a story of misadventure now being told from Parker’s perspective, and you can hear Stark’s interjections already.

You grab your empty glass and head to the kitchen, Wanda following shortly after you.

“You’re stubborn,” she says with no preamble.

You turn with a quirked brow, “Am I?”

“Very. So much so, I think I may need your permission.”

“Sorry...uhm, for?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I think you should see it.” Your face falls slack at her words as you turn back to finish washing out your glass.

“Wanda, -” you go to laugh again.

“No, actually,” she stops you, correcting herself, “you need to see it. You’re stunting yourself. You’re constantly getting in your own way. I think it’d be good for you, to see what you can have if you finally allow it to come to you.”

You're quieted by her sincerity for a moment, half because you weren’t taking any of the previous conversation seriously, and half because you didn’t think it was something she was actually capable of doing. In fact, you still didn’t. But if she wanted to try, who were you to argue.

“Uhhh,” you begin, shaking your head lightly, “I mean, if you really want to, then, go for it, I guess. You have my permission.”

“Good,” she smiles, turning to walk back out to the other’s.

“Wow, wait,” you stop her, “like, what exactly are you gonna do?”

“Just a swap,” she says simply. “A day in the life of your future self. You don’t have to do anything, just go to sleep tonight and you’ll see.”

Your eyes narrow in thought, “...This isn’t dangerous, right?”

“No, not at all. You guys will be fine. 24 hours and you’ll wake up in your own beds, safe and sound. I promise.”

She smiles and flits away quickly. You shake your head at yourself again, still unsure what exactly you’ve agreed to. And it isn’t until you’re walking down the hallway back to your room that what she said actually catches up to you.

You guys will be fine?

You stop walking when you hear footsteps behind you, glancing back to find Bucky coming down the hall. You swallow hard and turn back around, not far from your door.

“Stalker much?” you say without facing him, earning a scoff in return.

He’s barely a step behind you now, though his sudden proximity is not all that surprising. You’ve grown used to his stealth.

“In your dreams.”

“More like waking nightmares. Every time I turn around it’s like you’re always just right there.”

“Maybe if you didn’t put yourself into jeopardy every five minutes I wouldn’t have to shadow you so often.”

You’re walking side by side and you get to your door as he speaks. You turn on him, instantly irritated.

“Are you being serious?” you level at him. He doesn’t respond. “How are you still hung up on Belarus? It was one mission. That was not on me, I didn’t fuck up. No one else saw them coming, either,”

“I did.”

“Well, sorry I’m not as infallible as the one and only Bucky Barnes,” you speak exaggeratedly, annoyance clear in your tone. “You still act like I’m some kind of liability. I’ve been careful. I’m riding a lengthy no injury streak and we’ve still yet to fail a single mission. After how many assignments we’ve been on together, you think you’d start taking me more seriously.”

“I never said I didn’t take you seriously. Just think sometimes you’re still a little too cocky for your own good.”

“For the thousandth time, I’m not clueless, Barnes. I don’t need you monitoring my every move. Not during training, not on missions, and definitely not walking down a hallway at night. I think I can handle getting to my room alone. Or is assuming that too cocky of me?” you ask with a tilt of your head, sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

You don’t wait for a response before you turn to your door and let yourself in, snapping it shut behind you.

You flick on the light and are quickly greeted by a room that is… definitely not yours. You pause for a second, taking in your surroundings before you deflate with a sigh, following it up with a deep breath. You turn the light back off and then turn back around to the door. You wait for a second longer with your hand on the handle before you force yourself to exit the room.

Just like you knew he would be, Bucky is still standing right where you left him; a stupid smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

“Wrong room,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you grumble as you walk a little further down the hall, to your actual door.

“Goodnight to you, too,” Bucky says as he continues to his own room, not far from you. You send him a glare and a “hmph” before shutting your door and getting ready for bed.

You’re not helpless. You’re not clueless. You’re damn good at what you do. But fuck if Bucky doesn’t have a knack for knocking you off kilter with a single look.

—-

It’s a soft shaking that wakes you from your peaceful sleep. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move - you don’t even want to blink open your eyes. But the shaking comes again. Your brows furrow as your arms tighten around your pillow and you cuddle further into it.

Only it’s not your pillow.

It takes a second for you to process that instead, it’s a warm body you’re pressing yourself against before your eyes snap open.

You look up and find a confused Bucky staring down at you.

When your eyes meet, though, there’s a bit of softness there. And as you take in his face, you relax a bit again. His presence beside you is at once comforting as it is confounding.

“What are you doing?” you both ask at the same time - only furthering your confusion.

You suddenly realize you’re still wrapped around him and quickly sit up and give him space.

“Why are you in my bed?” you ask as you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says as he looks around, “but I don’t think we’re at the tower.”

You look up and blink away the fuzziness. Then it hits you.

“Oh shit,” you murmur.

“What? You know where we are?” he asks as he stands and starts looking around, inspecting the room. “Better yet, how the hell we got here?”

“Maybe…Would you believe me if I said we might possibly be in the future?”

Bucky turns and looks at you incredulously.

“Wanda,” you speak at the same time.

“For fuck’s sake,” he says as he runs a hand over his face.

“In my defense,” you begin, “when I agreed to this, I didn’t think she’d be able to do it. I also didn’t think it’d involve anyone else..”

“What do you mean you agreed to this? What is this?”

“She said I needed to see the future. It’d be good for me, or whatever, so I said okay. She said it was uh, a future swap? 24 hours. Day in the life and then I’d wake up back in my own bed the next day.”

“And you agreed to it?”

“Fuckin’, yeah, obviously,” you huff. “I didn’t think it’d be.. Real? I don’t know.”

“So, so what? We’re stuck in some unknown future for the next 24 hours?”

“What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you not understand?”

“Why would you agree to something like this without fully knowing what it is you’re agreeing to? This is exactly what I’m talking about when I say-”

“Spare me, Barnes. It’s Wanda, okay? We’re fine. It’s 24 hours, and I’m assuming that clock started when we fell asleep last night, so really it’s only…,” your voice dies down as you look to the clock on the bedside table. The time isn’t what catches your eye, though.

No.

It’s the framed photo behind it that derails your train of thought.

“No fucking way,” you breathe as you grab it in disbelief.

You stare at the photo of you and Bucky, a close up of you in a sweet embrace, adorning soft smiles as you share a chaste kiss, your left hand touching his cheek, and what you can only assume is a wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

This has to be some kind of dream. That’s it. You’re dreaming. Duh. Your hand moves before your mind does and you slap yourself in your face as hard as you can manage, sure it’ll wake you up and you’ll be back in the tower, in your own bed, alone.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaims in surprise as you wince slightly and hold your cheek as it stings. He walks over to you, becoming more tentative as you look up at him.

“‘M not dreaming. Are you?”

“No, I’m wide awake, believe me,” he says as he gets closer. “Don’t slap me, either.”

You eye him harshly before handing him the frame.

“Well, it.. Explains why you’re here, at least,” you say, voice quieter than you intended as your thoughts were still reeling. “We’re not just in my future, we’re in-”

“Our future,” he finishes as he stares at the photo himself.

“Yeah.”

“So, our room…” he says more to himself than to you. He makes his way around the room, pulling open drawers and looking in the closet as you stand and head for the bathroom.

You meet yourself in the mirror, sure enough, you still look the same. You’re you.

Walking back out into the room, you head for the window, pulling back the curtain. As you peer out, you’re expecting to see a skyline, or city street, but instead you’re met with the view of an open yard.

You pull away from the window in surprise, “Are we in a house?”

You turn to Bucky, who turns to face you. You both head to the bedroom door, you following behind him as he takes the lead.

It’s a house. Definitely a house.

The bedroom door leads to a long hallway, three doors along the right back wall, another door at the far end opposite your own, and to the left of that, on the left wall, is another room.

In the middle of the hallway is an opening, and you and Bucky turn there without inspecting any of the other rooms.

You find yourselves in a living room, before walking into the kitchen.

“We should look around,” you say in a whisper - why, you aren’t sure.

“What exactly are you planning on finding?” he questions as you pull open a drawer, sifting around.

“I don’t know? More information. Like what we’re doing here. What we do. What year it is. Maybe we learn something and it’ll send us home sooner? I don’t know, just, something,” you answer, on edge already by being surrounded by the unknown and only growing more agitated at his every word.

“Why are you getting mad at me?”

“I’m not getting-,” you stop yourself, taking a breath, “sorry. Okay? I thought you were trying to be a dick,”

“Why do you assume I’m being a dick?” he asks, annoyed himself now.

"Because you always act like a fucking dick!", you nearly yell as you slam the kitchen drawer shut.

"Fucking dick!"

You both freeze at the high, sweet-sounding voice that comes from behind you. Your brows furrow as you glance at Bucky, his reaction to the mirthful echo much the same as yours, before you both slowly turn around.

The sight you're met with has you both frozen in shock.

A set of twin toddlers clad in matching pajamas, both of whom bear a striking resemblance to you and Bucky, are staring at you both.

You can't explain why, but your heart is gripped by the mere sight of them. It's something more than just their cuteness, it's something instinctual. How it's possible, you're not sure, but you know, somehow, that they're really yours. Future or not, those are absolutely your kids.

It seems with each passing moment, you and Bucky are left more and more stunned by how your future is turning out, but as you notice the little boy's eyes watering and the pout on his little lips as he looks right at you, you can't seem to care about anything else.

“Hey, buddy,” you squat down and hold your arms open for him, and he waddles to you right away as his eyes well more and more. He hugs you, still pouting as he cuddles into your chest and you hold him tightly as you stand, exchanging another glance with Bucky who looks nearly stupefied until the soft voice of the girl rings out once again.

Your eyes shoot to her as she twirls around clumsily, a chant of "fucking dick" leaving her lips over and over before she starts to tilt, seemingly having made herself dizzy. You're about to gasp, moving forward instinctually as you watch her wobble a bit more, but she's in Bucky's arms in an instant as he grabs her before she falls.

"Woah, there, sweetheart," he says with a small laugh as she dramatically goes limp in his arms. An exhausted breath leaves her little lungs as she breathes out the repetition one final time. She then lifts her tiny hand up to Bucky’s cheek, effectively slapping him as she plants it, blinking up at him. “What’s this?” she asks him curiously as she smooshes his face, feeling his stubble.

“Uhh…It’s hair. I haven’t shaved - Ow,” he exaggerates when she interrupts him and pats his cheek again, a bit harder this time, though you know it didn’t hurt him in the slightest. It makes the girl laugh, though.

“You should shave, Daddy,” she advises, pulling a face.

Her words pull a breathless laugh from him as he gazes down at the small girl, a lump forming in his throat as he takes everything in. He feels crazy, but he can see you in her, and he can see himself, too. Her and her brother, they both look like the perfect little combinations of the two of you. And they’re both so comfortable with you guys. So at ease and uninhibited, just like children should be..

It’s a stark contrast to how he grew up and he can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, of pride, knowing that he isn’t repeating the cycle he swore would die with him.

He’d stopped letting his mind wander to what if futures long ago, but when he did imagine what it’d be like to have a family of his own, this is the kind of peace he longed for. The happy, settled down future he was sure he’d never have.

And you.

Your hand has been mindlessly rubbing the boy's back in an effort to comfort him as he cuddles into you, that never faltering pout pulling every string your heart has as Bucky attends to the girl relaxing in his arms.

"Linc's sad, Mommy," the girl says, pointing at her brother. The title has you swallowing hard, your heart clenching at how sweetly she calls to you.

Linc?... Must've been Bucky, you think briefly before you gently pull him away from you slightly so you can see him better, his bleary blue eyes peering up at you.

"Why are you yelling at Daddy?" he pouts still. Your brows furrow and mouth parts on an inhale, as if you're going to answer him, but nothing comes out as you try and think of what you can say. His innocent question stumping you.

"It's alright, pal, we were just kiddin' around," Bucky offers as he gets closer to you both. You look at him, a bit guilty but thankful for the save.

"Can we have pancakes, Daddy?" the girl asks as she wriggles around like a worm in his hold.

"Pancakes! Please!" Linc smiles as he continues hanging onto you, seemingly happy with Bucky's defense of you - any qualms he had long forgotten as he’s now focused on the mention of pancakes for breakfast.

"Sure," you answer for him, acquiescing easily with a smile before looking to Bucky with wide eyes.

You’re not entirely sure how exactly this all happens, but somehow you end up married with two kids. As shocking as it is, and as confused as you are about how, a part of you is grateful - maybe even happy - that Bucky is here. He may be an ass a lot of the time, overbearing and micromanaging your every move, but you guys have been through hell and back together. Partners from the very start of your time as an Avenger. If you’re being honest, this future makes more sense than you previously wanted to admit.

In an attempt to not freak out the twins, you know you have to play the part. Act like nothing is out of the ordinary and that you are indeed their mom. You are, technically, but you don’t have any idea what the hell you’re doing or what’s wholly needed of you. You’ve nannyed before, though. You know the basics..

"Have we brushed our teeth yet?" you ask the twins, sure the answer is a "no". Your and Bucky's arguing clearly is what woke them up, the yelling must have led them out here from their room.. Rooms?

"Mhm," the girl hums, though just from looking at her, the lie is evident as she avoids looking directly at you.

"Don't lie, Ellie," her brother chastises.

Ellie.. That must've been me, you think with a twitch of a smile before you set Linc down.

"Alright, go with Buc- your dad, and I'll start on the pancakes," you instruct before the twins burst out in giggles. You frown, brows furrowing as you watch them, hoping they'll let you know what exactly is so funny.

"No, we want daddy's pancakes, Mommy!"

"With chocolate chips and syrup!"

"Yeah, they want Daddy's pancakes, Mommy," Bucky taunts with a smirk as you shoot him an annoyed look. He seems a lot more comfortable now than he was a few minutes ago, and you can’t help but notice how easily he seems to be taking this; easing into his role in this place and time. He’s good.

"What's wrong with my pancakes?" you press the toddlers.

"Daddy's are better, but it's okay, your grilled cheese is the best,"

"Yeah! Oh, can we have grilled cheese for lunch, Mommy? Please, please, pleeease," Ellie begs cutely, leaning to you while still in Bucky's hold.

You huff a laugh, agreeing as Bucky sets Ellie down to follow you.

"See if you can find anything," you tell him as you meet his eye before following after the tikes pulling on your hands.

"Don't forget the chocolate, Daddy!"

Bucky watches as you're led to the bathroom before he starts moving around the kitchen. He's about to start looking around for more information on when exactly you are, and the kind of life you’re living, but thinks better of it for now. He'd rather not have two toddlers throw a fit over unfinished pancakes on top of everything else he's trying to wrap his head around at the moment.

He finds the pantry and grabs all the ingredients he needs for his mom's pancake recipe - the one he knows by heart- and gets to work on the batter. The chatter from the kids and you in the bathroom floats into the kitchen and he can’t help but smile at the sound of your voice as you talk to them.

He soon loses himself in the simplicity of the task at hand, and how nice it is to be here like this. He's in pajamas on a Saturday morning, making breakfast for his family as they start their day..

Seems entirely unreal, but a dream nonetheless. And as if that wasn’t enough to have his thoughts in a flurry, he still can't shake the feeling of how nice it was waking up with your soft body pressed against his. Opening his eyes to discover the warmth beside him was you. He was confused at first, wondering when and how you’d gotten into his room, but more so concerned about the why. He watched you for a minute before he noticed the bedding draped over the both of you. It wasn’t his and when he looked around the room, he realized he had no idea where you guys were. You were wrapped around him as you laid together in the comfy king bed, and it took him a second to try to wake you up. He knew he had to, of course, but if he was honest, he didn’t want the feeling to end. Your hold on him was comforting and he was completely at ease in your embrace, circumstances be damned. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in ages.

Though, that wasn’t entirely true. He remembers the last time he felt that way, and of course it was with you. You were stuck in a shoddy motel off the highway during a storm, the crappy jeep you’d been traveling in finally gave out half way through your drive back to the compound and you guys had no choice but to crash for the night. Of course the motel only had one singular room available with one singular bed. After some back and forth, you both decided you’d just share. It was big enough for the two of you, with space in between. When Bucky woke up that next morning, though, he found himself holding you tightly from behind, your arms wrapped over his as you slept peacefully in his embrace. He remembers the heat that crept up his neck and the flurry in his stomach that he still refuses to acknowledge as butterflies. He quickly loosened his hold and slipped away from you before you could even bat an eye. You were still none the wiser. He thought about that morning a lot after it happened.

He wondered what would’ve happened if you had woken up, too. What you would’ve said, what he could’ve said to you if he’d finally gotten out of his own way..

He can’t dwell on it anymore, though. He hasn’t. He won’t.

Except maybe he does.

And seeing as this is your future together, he thinks maybe that’s not as hopelessly embarrassing as he’s made himself believe it is.

And god, the sight of those kids. The warmth that bloomed in his chest as he took in their faces, he honestly was worried he would start crying if he stared too long. He had long given up on the idea of starting a family, he didn't think this life would ever be in the cards for him, and especially not with you.

But as he stood pouring chocolate chip pancake batter into a sizzling pan, he was struck by how right it felt.

Obviously, it wasn't right, neither of you should be here right now, and it made him wonder where exactly the future you and him were.

As soon as the thought went through his head, a tablet he hadn’t taken notice of on the back counter dinged.

He flipped the pancakes before he went to get the pad, taking the tablet in his hands. His face unlocked the device easily and opened up to his email account.

He clicked on the new, unread message from.. you?

—-

Hey Bucky.

Wanda says this is unnecessary but if I know me, I’m still probably freaking out internally. So, just letting you know that everything's fine. Or so she says.

We're gonna be back to our respective places in time come tomorrow.

I know waking up in the future - especially our future - may be hard to wrap your heads around, but it’s a hell of a lot better than waking up alone to a preening Wanda staring at you, trust me.

And you guys aren’t as oblivious as you try to be. You know, deep down, exactly why you’re there. Together. - and why it isn’t all that crazy.

And this goes without saying, but obviously, take care of the kids. Eleanor and Lincoln. If you haven’t found them yet, they’ll find you, I’m sure.

Today at 2pm, you need to drop them off at 7314 Wisteria Drive. That's Steve and Nat's house - so don't make it weird. They're keeping the kids so we can celebrate our anniversary.

Funny how that lines up..

So, anyway, apparently all we need to do on both ends is enjoy the 24 hour downtime. We’ll be waking up in our own beds before we know it.

Okay.

Bye.

(I’d say I love you but I don’t wanna freak you out. x)

—

Bucky just stares down at the email blankly while his brain tries to catch up. He's gonna have to have you read it yourself. Before he can fixate on that last line in particular, he can smell the browning of the pancakes.

His attention quickly returns to the food as he starts to plate it, shutting off the burner. The kiddie plates he finds in a cabinet earn a half smile from him as he cuts up the pancakes for the kids and spots their booster seats, placing the plates before them.

He hears them before he sees them as they come down the hallway, all laughs.

You appear just after they do, a look on your face he can't turn away from. Your soft smile and the adoration swimming in your eyes as you watch your kids, both of them waiting to be lifted up to sit down, is.. beautiful.

He catches himself staring before he turns his focus back to the table, lifting Eleanor into her seat before lifting Lincoln in his, earning a "thank you, daddy," from each of them in return, a wave of astonishment and pride coming over him yet again. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to that.

You listen as they talk back and forth about their pancakes and their laughter when they start playing with one another as they eat their lightly syruped bites.

You stand by Bucky, absentmindedly grabbing a pancake and biting into it, stopping almost immediately as the fluffiness catches you off guard. God, they were so right. These are amazing.

"Good, right?" Bucky's voice pulls you back as you swallow your bite.

You lick your lip before looking over at him. "Did you find anything?"

He hands you the tablet and watches as you read the email.

You click your tongue, and then stay silent for a minute.

He almost can’t believe it when you do it, looking at you incredulously once again after you suddenly slap yourself in the face once more.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he bites quietly, moving to stand in front of you and blocking your view of the kids momentarily.

"Just had to make sure," you reply, again cringing at the stinging of your cheek. You eye him before making a move to slap him, too, but he grabs your hand before you can make contact. He looks at you like you're insane as you huff again. "So this is..."

"This is real," he finishes for you. "That hard to believe, huh?"

"That's an understatement. So, I’m not dreaming. But are you sure you’re not dreaming?"

“You think my dreams involve waking up in the future with no memory of what’s gone on between me going to sleep to waking up? That’s a literal nightmare for me. Plus, I learned a while ago how to differentiate between my dreams and reality. Trust me, we’re not dreaming.”

You swallow thickly, an apology on the tip of your tongue. You hadn’t considered that before. Before you can voice your thoughts, though, you're distracted by the interaction between the kids at the table.

"Linc, I'll give you a piece and then you give me one of your piece, okay?"

"You take this one," Linc says as he gives his sister a piece off of his plate and she gives him a piece off of her's.

You can't help but chuckle at the exchange.

"We make cute kids, though," Bucky says, almost under his breath. But you still hear him, and you respond before your brain catches your tongue.

"Yeah, we do."

You push off the counter as Bucky watches you, surprised that you heard him and even more so by your agreement, though it'd be impossible for anyone to argue that your kids aren’t, in fact, ridiculously adorable.

"Do you guys want -"

"Orange juice, please!" Ellie answers before you even finish asking.

"And water, please," Linc follows.

"OJ and water, you got it."

----

You and Bucky get the kids ready to go to Steve and Nat's with minimal arguing... until you had to pack their bags.

What they should or shouldn't take with them was a point of contention as you ridiculed each other's choices. After your bickering and some input from Ellie and Linc, you guys just hoped they had everything they needed. You'd unnecessarily packed them three outfits each just in case of spills or messes and their diaper bag was loaded full, too. Maybe too much for one day, but better safe than sorry, right?

After loading the twins in the car, Bucky followed the GPS to the address you'd left in the email.

When you guys pulled up to the house, you were greeted by Natasha who was unloading groceries from her car. The domestic scene warmed your heart. She deserved the simplicity, the normalcy, and you were happy to know that one day, she’d have it.

She lit up as she saw you guys approaching and came right over, going straight for the back door.

Linc and Ellie were all smiles and giggles as they tried fruitlessly to escape their car seats in favor of being in Nat's arms.

"Bugs!!" Nat greeted them with an enthusiastic smile as she started working on their belts. "I've missed you guys so much! How long has it been? Ten years?"

They laughed in unison at her before Ellie corrected her. "Yesterday, Aunt Nattie!"

"Yesterday?" she questioned in faux disbelief.

She wasn't able to keep up the play, though as the second they were out of their seats, they nearly tackled her.

You watched Steve come outside, coming up to the car with a grin, a girl no more than ten and another toddler, maybe a little older than the twins, in tow.

"Get them inside for me, honey," Nat said to the oldest one. She looked nothing like either of them, dark hair and dark eyes, but still it was clear she was their daughter. The younger one looked like Steve, though, and you wonder briefly if that was just by chance or if they’d had a surrogate. Natasha had talked about the possibility before, and of adopting, but starting a family wasn’t something any of you were actually considering at the time, settling down and having kids wasn't really your focus when you were all trying to make sure the world wouldn’t be ending tomorrow. "We'll be right in. And pick a movie for the sleepover before your Dad does," she pretended to whisper, earning a laugh from the girl as she corralled the kids up the porch.

Nat turned her gaze back on you and Bucky, her stare nothing less than scrutinizing.

"Are you guys in pajamas?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Mh, uh, yeah," you laughed a little breathlessly before looking back at the house, distracted. "They didn't even say bye," you said in your disappointment. You'd only just met the kids, but you felt so instantly connected to them.

"Don't worry about them, they're gonna have fun tonight. And so are you two," she says pointedly, if not a bit suggestively, pulling you from your thoughts. You feel the heat that creeps up your skin and refuse to look at Bucky.

"What are you guys doin' tonight, did you decide?" Steve asks.

"Staying in," Bucky blurts out as you blink and smile. But their faces at that, their smirks of acknowledgement make you grow hotter as you try to not let your embarrassment show.

"Mhm," you hum tight lipped.

It's quiet for a moment as you all watch one another before Steve breaks the silence.

"You guys are acting weird."

"Are we?" you question back too quickly.

"Yeah. You are," Nat says.

"Sugar," Bucky blurts out again. "They're loaded up on sugar. Sorry, they really wanted pancakes this morning. But uh, look, thanks for watching them. We should uh, get going, so.."

"Yeah, we should go," you agree. "What time do you want us to pick them up?"

"We're dropping them off tomorrow afternoon, right?" Steve questioned. "Or did you not want them to go with us?"

"No, oh, right. Duh! I just forgot - that's what we talked about. Because you're taking them to.." you trail off, prompting them.

"The gardens?" Nat finishes.

"Right, yes, the gardens. Which is great. And we appreciate it so much. And if you need anything or anything happens, ya know just call us," you continue on as Bucky starts to pull away. You fight the urge you have to glare at him until you finish your awkward goodbye and Steve and Nat watch you both drive off, clearly confused about the weird interaction.

"Did you miss the part of the email where it explicitly said: don't make it weird?" Bucky asks.

"Fuck off, you were no better," you scowl as you slump in the seat. "What now?"

[mimikittysblog]

♡18:53♡

Pairing: Poly! Ateez x Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive towards the end

Warnings: MxM, pet names, uh reader teases them at the end so ⚠️MNDI⚠️, this one I did not proofread. That’s it I think :/

A/N: Surpriiiseee! I really made this on a whim. The inspiration came out of nowhere and I just had to write it. This is much shorter than the previous one but I do hope you guys like this too hehe! Also this is VERY MUCH a self insert lol 😭 and lastly I know jackshit about league so if I get anything wrong sorry 🙏

Tagging: @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @bee-gremlin @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity (if you wanna be tagged in my next poly ateez story, texts or not then please let me know!)

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Being the only girl in this big relationship had its downsides and its perks. One of the downsides is that sometimes there are just things that the boys like that unfortunately you’re just not interested in.

One of them being gaming.

Quite cliche but it’s true.

Now it’s not like you never play any video games with the boys. You’ve guys play some Among Us, Gmod, Dead by Daylight and countless Nintendo games like Smash Bros, Mario Party and Mario Kart just to name some.

Though you don’t play Mario Party that often as you and Wooyoung always end up strangling each other by the end of it, and not the good kind.

Besides that, the list of games you and your amazing boyfriends play doesn’t even end there.

However there will be some games you just don’t care for.

One of them being League of Legends.

Just couldn’t get into it, so you just let that be their thing.

Tonight after a long week of work. The boys thought it’d be fun to treat themselves by renting a room at a nice nearby PC Bang.

Now most times you’d sit this one out and just have some alone time at home. However to their surprise you decided to join.

“I just wanna be around you guys! Your presence is enough. Plus watching you guys play is still fun, even if I don’t join!” You reasoned.

“Hmmm alright.. though if you want our attention or wanna do something else just say so!” Seonghwa said.

“Or just sit in one of our laps princess.” Mingi said teasingly.

Now usually when they are having nights like this, after a while you would eventually take up on Mingi’s offer and sit in one of their laps.

However you decided to entertain yourself another way.

After seeing some girlfriends on TikTok do this with their boyfriends while they’re gaming or watching a sports game. You decided to follow in their footsteps.

So here you are sitting in one of the comfy gaming chairs near Yeosang and Mingi, ipad on your lap with the notes app opened with a grid filled with prompts and the words “BINGO” at the top.

Yes! You decided to play Boyfriend Bingo tonight!

Throughout the night you’ve been crossing off things whenever the boys did something you predicted.

Oh! Yunho’s team won! Thats a check.

“…Guys seriously do you even know how to play?! Come on get it together! San cover me! Oh what seriously??? Guys I’m dying here!…”

Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute. Check.

“…….Yes!”

Yeosang staying silent until the end of the round. Another check.

Huh I’m good at this.

“Sweetheart you sure you’re not bored??”

“I’m sure Hwa.” You say with a suspiciously big smile.

“..okay..”

Seonghwa checking up on me. And a check!

Though somethings you had to wait a bit longer for. But you were sure you’d get them eventually. Hopefully you’d get at least 3 bingos by the end of the night.

However looking at your grid and how you have 2 bingos already, you’re positive you can cross out this entire grid.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After a good hour you finally got Jongho becoming whiney.

Adorable. And also a check!

“Ah! …Woah!! ..Boom!!!! …Ugh!”

San only making noises for the first 5 minutes. Cheeeeck!

Oh and San suddenly grabbing someone else’s thigh? Jealous. But check!

Hmm I need to fill out this box. You thought to yourself.

“Joooongiieee? When is the food coming?” You suddenly asked.

“Huh?? Oh uh.. any minute now baby!” He replied.

“Oh darling you’re hungry?” Yeosang asked.

“Mhm! Its okay I can wait a bit- oh here it is!” You said about to get up and get the food from the worker.

“No no I got it!!” Hongjoong said as he quickly left his desk.

“WAIT NO HYUNG WE NEED YOU!” Jongho yelled.

“Just a sec!”

Subtly you checked the Hongjoong getting up in the middle of the round box. Before taking your food from him.

“Thank you my love!” You said as you kissed his cheek.

“Of course princess. You sure you’re not bored?” He asked.

“Noooope!”

“Okay the-“

“HYUNG HURRY UP WE’RE LOSING!!”

“The more you yell Jung Wooyoung the more I rather sit here with princess!” He said before going back to his seat.

Ah damn I should’ve put in ‘Wooyoung yelling when he’s losing.’ Oh wait I did! Checkity check check.

You happily continue playing as you eat your yummy food.

Also since you’re a good girlfriend, you go around giving the boys a taste of your food. Just cause you know they’re curious.

Still accepting my food while playing. Check!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Finally they decided to play one more round and you only need one more box!!

You’re confident you’re gonna get it though. Cause you know them that well.

And soon enough half of the room at the end of the match screams out in victory while the other half whines and groans in loss.

Aaaaannndd…

“Aaaww Mingles is all pouty cause he lost!” Yunho said in fake sympathy.

“Hmph.”

“Come here Mingi is okay! You’ll win next time! MMMMUAAHH!”

“BINGO!!”

Suddenly they all whip their heads to look at you.

“Bingo?” Jongho asked with a tilt of his head.

“You’ve just been playing Bingo this whole time???” San asked as well.

“Yup! Boyfriend bingo!” You said with a big smile and flipped your ipad around.

“Boyfriend bingo?” Seonghwa asked.

Yeosang then took the ipad.

“HAHA Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute!”

“WHAT?! I DID NOT?”

“I timed it.”

Wooyoung then snatched the ipad.

“Hongjoong constantly going ‘Huh?’! HAHA BABE OMG” Wooyoung then the other started laughing the more they read out your grid.

“DID I REALLY??”

“Yes love you did.” Seonghwa said with a laugh.

“Oh my, you know us scarily well love.” Yunho said.

“I’m your girlfriend!!! I’m supposed to!”

“You really are the cutest thing we could’ve ever asked for!” Yeosang said as he walked over and gave you a kiss.

“What was the last thing you crossed off baby?” Mingi asked.

“Oh! It was you getting a kiss after you lost!”

“YOU KNEW I’D LOSE??? Hmph!! Wooyoung you shouldn’t have kissed me! She would’ve lost!” He whined with a bigger pout.

“…well.. i mean.. statistically speaking you couldn’t ALWAYS win…”

Mingi then turned around in another huff.

“Princessaaaaa!!! I’m sorryyy!! Heheheh” you said as you got up, ran to him and hugged him from behind.

“Will a kiss make it better?” You asked.

“..maybe.”

“He just wants kisses!” Jongho yelled.

“EVERYONE GIVE MINGLES KISSESSS!” Wooyoung then yelled.

With that everyone quickly gathered around Mingi to give him a fat smooch. As he pretended to groan in protest.

And with that you guys all cleaned up and headed home.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“We should all play girlfriend Bingo next time!” San said as you guys made it back home.

“Ohohooo you think you can beat me? Think you know me so well Sannie??” You said teasingly.

“Oh princess we do know you so well.” Yunho chirped in.

“We’re your boyfriends! We’re supposed to!” Yeosang said mirroring your words.

“Hmmmm! Okay then! Go and each of you make your own grid! Whoever this week can get a full grid like me will get a prize!” you announced as you skipped to the bathroom to freshen up.

“A prize you say?” Hongjoong asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Hmmm whoever wins gets to see me in my newest lingerie first~”

With that you took off your shirt and bra and threw it at them as you lock the bathroom door.

Groans, whines and banging at the bathroom door can be heard as you simply turned up your music.

Let’s see who knows me best!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

© mimikittysblog 2024

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[ashherahh]

messages from your inner child about your childhood

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

Hiiii y'all ☺️ this pac focuses on messages about your childhood but also about how it's affecting you right now and how to resolve things.

If you'd like a personalised reading, here's my paid services.

Thank you for all the support!

pile 1

You've really been holding yourself back, huh?

There's a stark contrast between you as a child and you as an adult. You're two completely different people and not in a sense of childish things should just be left behind. Everyone has certain traits they keep from our childhood, but you're different.

It's as though that part of you has been locked away in a vault. As though you took your childhood and the way you were and completely hid it from everyone. You don't even acknowledge it.

The funny thing is, it might seem as though you've trapped your inner child but the message I'm getting is that this version of you is trapped. They are free and always will be, it's this version of you who is struggling to be.

Existing has become such a chore, filled with lists and lists and boundaries that don't really keep you safe. Boundaries that are more like walls with barbed wire around it.

This isn't even a matter of stepping out of a comfort zone, for some of you it is, but for the majority I'm seeing that you've abandoned your individuality. The loneliness won but you can get out of that.

The world is different now, more people are their authentic selves more than ever before. More people are open about their interests and their identity and what they want out of life.

Your inner child wants that for you. As cliché as it may sound, that is the main request. You are completely focused on the responsibilities of life and none of the joy. There's a part of you that feels like creating a palatable version of yourself is a responsibility and you take it very seriously.

For some of you, a past life version of you is prominent where you are were always working and it's bled into this life as well. You struggle to make time for the things you enjoy.

They want you to be the creative you've always been. This life, is one where it's okay to be yourself, even though you might not feel like it. It's your life, remind yourself of that every day if you must, but it's yours. You have every right to be your authentic self.

pile 2

When I started reading for this pile, the song Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles came to my mind, especially the lyrics it's all right. Those lyrics are being repeated.

It's alright.

It's alright.

It's alright.

For some of you, I'm seeing you lost someone. Someone so important to you that every day you feel this overwhelming ache. I'm seeing that you lost this person in a tragic way and it happened when you were very young. I'm seeing a woman, a mother or an older sister. For some, this person is no longer alive and for others, this person was lost to you through a lifestyle of substance abuse.

I'm getting the message that you still feel this person's presence and it's because they're watching over you and they'll do anything for you.

You are so absolutely loved even though it doesn't feel that way. Any dreams you have, they want to help you realise it. The person you've lost has basically become your guardian, so if you find yourself in situation where things are not looking good and then things shift in the most unexpected ways, it's literally them.

You've become withdrawn over the years, but they still see you as the bright kid you were. The flame never went out. They want you to live your life and know that you are divinely protected.

Your inner child needs a lot of love at this stage and so do you. You're not ignoring what happened, it's too raw to ignore. You're face to face with it. Every day is a stark reminder of their absence, but it's time to learn how to live through it because it's like you've been on autopilot for years.

Maybe it's time to stop staring at it and start working through it.

pile 3

You have a strong personality, you always have. Ever since you were a wee little baby. You had a pretty happy childhood and your parents loved telling the rest of your family and their friends about your antics.

I'm seeing that you've never doubted yourself and you've always been comfortable in your own skin. Your understanding of yourself has always been a well established one. I'm not seeing any major hiccups with your inner child, except for the fact that you'll be contemplating if you should choose violence and they'll be egging you on.

These days though, it's as though you're having a mini Saturn Return. Life always seemed to bend to your will in a way, getting what you want was not a chore and now it is.

The outside world has flipped upside down and it's like why are you booing me???? I'm great????

The thing with always being loved and liked is that the universe has a funny way of putting you through a phase where that's under the microscope. You start questioning yourself.

Am I like this because people have always liked this version of me and I just leaned into it for years?

I'm not seeing a shift in the relationship with your family, but I am picking up that your current working environment is not the best culture match for you. I am seeing that you'll realise this in a not so great situation because right now you're doing your best to get them to like you. You've never had to do that, how shocking and uncomfortable that must be.

You're trying too hard. Let it go. People are not islands and sometimes we have to learn how to coexist with people who don't get us. Especially if you've always been surrounded by people you got you, you know?

The message is to be at peace with that. It's a good thing you have a good support structure to remind you that there's not something intrinsically wrong with you. This is just not your forever environment, it's just a lesson in life.

[faebaex]

Octavinelle with Jellyfish Reader

author note: I’m baaack! It feels good to finally write again. Not anything long, but just some good ol’ slice of life headcanons with the fish mafia (who i think I’m currently obsessed with??) maybe I’ll write more about this, like a small drabble of jellyfish!reader finally remembering Azul or something pfft. Also, gender neutral reader!! Because I realised a lot of my works could be read that way, so I might start labelling like that from now on, so more people can enjoy  (*≧ω≦*)

characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech x GN!Jellyfish Reader

background: 

You’re a jellyfish mer, specifically of the box jelly variety, meaning that you are highly poisonous. As such, people can be stung as easily as touching your skin, so you keep your skin covered up as much as possible. Well, as much as you can remember, as you are a bit... Airheaded. 

Azul Ashengrotto

You are the bane of Azul's life.

Seriously, his self confidence takes a battering during almost every interaction you have (the tweels don't help).

Why? Because you can never remember who he is.

"Y/N, please pass these papers to Azul." "Okay! ... Who is Azul?"

(He never gets those papers either because you forget why you have them in the first place...)

Azul would never admit it out loud, but he was excited when he learned a fellow invertebrate would be joining Octavinelle. You'd be able to relate to each other, no? Another mer with several appendages who prefers to swim slowly. A perfect match.

Except you are apparently impervious to his charms, and your blank stare haunts him.

Like hello, this is your Housewarden speaking. Anybody home? Do you remember him? ... No? You can't remember him but you remember the twins? Of course you do. Of course.

On the bright side for Azul, your empty headedness makes you deliciously easy to scam.

In fact, he doesn't even need to manipulate you into a contract. You're more than happy to stand sweetly, holding some leaflets promoting the Monstro Lounge's new special menu, or to stand aimlessly at the door, helping to attract clientele.

Now, if only he could think of a way to get you to remember him...

Jade Leech

Apart from the amusement he got from Azul's suffering, Jade wasn't really interested in you at first.

Nothing against you, of course. He just didn't find you very interesting.

However, that all changed when you visited his booth during the culture fair and stared dreamily into his terrariums.

Jade was absolutely delighted to tell you all about each of his terrariums and even about his foraging in the mountains. You stayed until Jade had to leave for his Monstro Lounge duties, and even then he was reluctant to disturb you.

You also won his first guest prize mystery mushroom too!

He found it utterly adorable when he found you still carrying it around in your hands later during the culture fair, cupped delicately like a precious item.

Inevitably, you and Jade fell into an arrangement where he'd talk your ears off about everything mountain and mushroom, and he'd let you view his updated terrariums.

He was fully aware you weren't retaining any of the information he was assailing you with, but you served well as an outlet for him to talk about his hobby, as Floyd was uninterested, and it charmed him that you stared so happily at his terrariums, his work of arts, that he allowed himself to indulge.

But you surprised him one day (no easy feat!). Jade was once again pitching some mushroom dishes for the Monstro Lounge menu to Azul, with some mushrooms for illustrative purposes.

When Azul handled one of the mushrooms with disdain, asking what exactly this was, you suddenly piped up before Jade could.

"That's a chanterelle mushroom. They work well sautéed... And in cream sauces." Cue shocked Jade and Azul.

Low-key Azul is fuming because how can you remember that but not him??

Jade never imagined you would retain any of what he told you, being airheaded was in your nature after all. So he was touched, charmed in fact that you could recall some facts about a mushroom on sight.

He recovered from his shock quickly with a large toothy grin, capitalising on Azul's shock to launch another sales pitch.

Your fate was sealed, he definitely would be taking you along on his next mountain walk.

Floyd Leech

Oh he just loves you, jellyfish! So cute, sweet and squishy!

You are one of Floyd's favourite people to squeeze. He can squeeze you as hard as he likes, and you don't even flinch!

It is guaranteed that if he catches sight of you on campus, he is charging over to you to wrap his arms around you, squeezing and throwing you around with exuberance. Onlookers look on in horror as you just give a ditzy smile.

But as a result of Floyd's constant manhandling of you, it means he sometimes accidentally touches your skin and gets stung.

Resulting in multiple trips to the infirmary. But don't worry, Floyd doesn't get mad about it. In fact, some swear that he likes it.

By this point, it's happened so often that Floyd is likely building up a bit of resistance to your venom.

Now, Floyd tends to sometimes be a bit... Overprotective of you.

Seven forbid he feel that someone is bothering or messing with you. He'll be behind you in a flash, an arm thrown around your shoulder and sharp teeth bared in a snarl.

"Nee... What do you want with my jelly, huh?"

If the other students thought you were an easy mark before, they think twice now with your guard eel lurking about.

Jade and Azul like to keep you in the Lounge when Floyd is having a bad mood day, as your presence tends to keep him from wandering off and help salvage some productivity.

Azul is even willing to waive the loitering rule if that means Floyd will stay in the lounge and do some work.

It doesn't always work, mind. Sometimes Floyd just ends up laying across you in a booth and ignoring his duties. But Azul will take what he can get, at least he is there in case there are any troublesome clientele.

[wordsvomit101]

I will hide this soon but I somewhat got my thoughts together on this chat

Notes: Credit is to @shyanimeboi and their friend, I only got these images from before everything got taken down. And the chat images are only small parts of the full things.

Warning: There will be spoilers for the main story

So Lucifer actually gives some info about how Gehenna is the country where devils are the loudest and laugh the most compared to other countries and how they have the least amount of insomniacs, yet ironically their own king suffers from insomnia the most.

Now, I really like Satan, but I never thought much of him besides that I think he is a hissing cat and a very cool motorcycle guy who likes to spank you and kick his followers and has a very interesting friendship with Mammon (that bromance alone deserve its own analysis). But with the context Lucifer gave us, I can see how self-sacrificial Satan is as a King and how his followers will do the same for him.

Devils in Gehenna can be destructive, as shown in the main story, Leraye's event with Sitri and Paimon, and Lucifer's Selfie Card prologue, but compared to devils in other countries, how they manage through war and their outlooks on it are very fascinating. They're cheerful and very assertive in battle, even running first to danger with enthusiasm:

(Yes Leraye did indeed moan out loud being stabbed through the arm trying to be the shield. Love him but the dude needs someone with a bit of common sense in his life to save his ass from dying for real)

And how easily excitable and easygoing they are with MC and being injured (even explain why with a big smile like dudes are talking about losing both of his legs as if he is commenting about the weather):

I didn't think much of it and took it at face value but now thinking about it further. How can most of them be like this? Being the country where devils are the rowdiest and destructive yet have a community so tight-knit that their violent tendencies never break the strict hierarchy (how they address the nobles and how they respect each other), maintain a very positive attitude despite being the country that is attacked by angels and suffers from angelification the most by far, and easily unified with a common goal. For me, it also took something else other than love to be able to maintain that attitude.

It has been too long since it made me forget why I liked Satan in the first place. In my personal opinion, as the king of wrath, Satan embodies a formidable and unyielding strength. His constant anger can be seen as a source of power, fueling his ability to protect and lead his people with an uncompromising approach. By personifying wrath, Satan takes on the collective anger of people and shoulders their emotions of anger, fear, and insecurity, like how he was when MC got angry, it fuels him further but it might also burden him like a drug. Yet, this allows his followers to weather through the stress of war, and as their leader channels and contains the destructive emotions that might otherwise disrupt their society being one of the reasons.

While Satan is perpetually angry, his followers only exhibit a controlled form of violent temper that is not taken seriously even by Sitri. This difference in emotional intensity is crucial. Satan’s role as the emotional absorber ensures that his citizens’ anger never reaches the destructive levels that could harm the community. Gehenna's devil's violent temper is a recipe for disaster but it is controlled, expressed through minor conflicts, brawls, and property damage, and serves as a controlled release of frustration. This behavior, although disruptive on the surface, is actually a stabilizing force, preventing deeper, more harmful conflicts by allowing for regular, minor (please don't be like them irl and seek professional help if you exhibit the same behaviors, these people are fictional demons so their standards are not the same in reality) venting of emotions.

The outcome of Satan's actions is a society where people are the least insomniac and laugh the most. This sadly contrasts with Satan's own issues, where he becomes the most insomniac devil who cannot close his eyes when asleep and is said by Lucifer to have long been a depressive guy, who is always hard on himself the most and he is the type to be glad that his restless wakefulness helps you have a restful night.

From what I think, Satan's insomnia can be seen as a metaphor for the relentless vigilance and constant anxiety that comes with his responsibility of being his country's leader amidst the biggest war Hell ever experienced and having his country be the one that gets attacked the most. This inner self-sacrifice is a testament to his commitment to his people’s happiness and stability, even at the cost of his own peace. Yet he always shows to be confident and strong, and because in a stressful situation, he always remains level-headed despite how he usually acts (ex: He is the one who stops Sitri and Leraye from attacking Lucifer in the Two-Star event). He is also the one person who is calm and gives out a clear order of what to do and can rally everyone's morale, as well as the immense power and authority to command respect from others and back up his claims.

But more than anything, what devils in Gehenna respect him for the most is how his love for his people speaks louder than words.

In the situation he is in, he can't be weak for any moment even when he secretly wants to. He can't break down because if he falls, what would become of his country, which probably is the question he might ask himself a lot. So he can't let himself be vulnerable even if others know how hurt he is inside.

To make this more relatable, I will be honest, I don't usually connect much with leader characters because I don't understand their struggles. But when I put father being the metaphor for a leader, it becomes a lot easier to see the picture a bit more. Satan is like a father (King) in this, being the pillar of the house (Gehenna), he puts his people's emotions and well-being before himself, he either protects them as best as he can or he will be the one to do the hardest thing and the dirty work that most would not willing to do. And that is another way he shows his love as well.

Personally, not only does he love them but he also respects them as well, he is rough and not gentle about it but he always acknowledges their efforts. (like a dad-)

But it is a mutual thing, as much as Satan loves them, his citizens also share the same feelings. They let Satan draw power from their blood, which indicates a deep level of devotion and willingness to sacrifice. Blood, often seen as a symbol of life and vitality, represents the most personal and significant offering one can give. It is also canon that Satan can only draw power from the blood of people who love him, the obvious being Sitri.

But if that doesn't convince you and you get angry at Satan for treating Sitri like an unwilling personal blood bag then let's look, buddy, this guy is a simp- He eats more food rich with iron so he doing fine.

Gehenna's devils also treat Satan's kicks as special treatment to be fought over suggesting a ritualistic or symbolic form of reverence. This is seen as a badge of honor or a sign of personal attention from their leader. It shows that even seemingly negative actions from Satan are perceived as valuable or desirable. They're masochists, even if harsh, it is still a form of validation or connection.

And whatever horror collection of plushies Satan rips in half that Leraye got going on with this:

With all of this, I can see why Gehenna is the most romantic country, they expressed their love very clearly due to the foundational elements of mutual sacrifice, emotional stability, cultural norms of validation, and a unified community with shared values. The intense emotional bonds and the willingness to endure hardships for the sake of others create an environment where romance can thrive. This setting can foster deep, meaningful relationships that are built on trust, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion, making Gehenna the most romantic in a unique way.

This is more of me yapping about Satan and Gehenna than anything so sorry if you expected it to be Lucifer, this is probably part 1 and part 2 would be the end of this short series.

[leodette]

Hello! Would it be possible to get some Max + 49? Thank you very much!

no. 49 - holding onto the other’s shoulders for support

Please, I’ve Been On My Knees | MV33

fandom: Formula 1

pairing: Max Verstappen x OC (not named)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: she needs small helpful hand before leaving for FIA Award Ceremony

warning: -

requested: yes / no

**********

“Baby, did you see my phone?” Max yelled from the bedroom, looking around for the familiar case with a cat face on it.

“It’s in my clutch already, Maxie. So you wouldn’t loose it,” his girlfriend answered, walking out of the bathroom, applying the final layer of lip oil.

They were in Baku, at the annual FIA Award Ceremony. Basically said - if you were a rookie, or top 3 in the championship, you had to be there. Max attended the ceremony two times already, claiming his two world championship trophies, but he was always accompanied by a family member. Either his mom, or his grandma, or his sister. This year it was the first time he would have his girlfriend with him. They met at the last year’s ceremony, her being the daughter of one of the patrons. Flashforward, and this year she was by his side, her father sending her in his stead.

She was hiding her dress from him, murmuring that it was a surprise and he didn’t need to match since he only needed a black tuxedo and a black bow tie. But despite that, Max knew that his girl would look awesome, and that was confirmed when she entered the room, closing the pocket mirror and looking at him. Max was like he saw a ghost - mouth open, not able to think properly. Because he didn’t expect a long silver gown that covered her body like a waterfall, with a deep cutout at the back that almost showed the top part of her gorgeous bum.

“Did the dress come with a sleeping mask as well?” he asked finally, coming to his senses. She stopped in her tracks, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Why a sleeping mask?”

Max smirked. “Hope you don’t expect me to allow anyone else to ogle you,” he put his hands on her waist, pressing a kiss on her neck.

“Oh stop it you muppet,” she giggled, pushing him away.

“Note to self - don’t allow her to spend so much time with Norris, his vocabulary rubs on her,” Max murmured under his breath while picking his suit jacket, throwing it over his shoulders and taking her bag.

“Shall we go?” he offered her his arm, but she she smirked.

“You want me to go barefoot? Seriously?” she motioned for a pair of silver heels on the other side of bed, making a step in their direction.

“Don’t,” Max stopped her, picking the shoes and lowering himself on one knee in front of her, gently grabbing one of her soft calves.

“May I?” he looked up at her. She had her lip between her teeth, blushing slightly.

“Mhmmm,” she hummed and grabbed his shoulders for stability when he lifted her leg and put the shoe on her foot, tying the satin ribbon around her shin.

“Second one, please baby,” Max motioned for the other leg, and she lifted it on his command, allowing him the same treatment as the first time. He tied the bow, not too tight but not too loose, and pressed a kiss on the inner side of her knee.

Her breath hitched.

“Behave,” she whispered breathily, and Max smirked, knowing well what affect he had on her.

And he wanted to continue when his phone in her bag pinged, announcing the arrival of their car. It broke them out of the heated bubble, the pair exchanging smiles before finally picking all their necessities and walking out of the room, her allowing Max to lock the door.

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

i cant focus because i cant keep you out of my head.

5 times james potter got distracted because of you.

warnings: overly dramatic james || 3.3k words || james potter x you || fluff fluff fluff, getting together, friends to lovers

a/n: this is the first work i’ve posted on this fandom, i have alot planned!! so please dont be shy and drop some messages! i also feel like i have to clarify, any dialogues that’s italicized means james isn’t listening

i. missing his games

“and another bludger hits potter on the shoulder! it is not his night folks! will this be an opportunity for hufflepuffs to get ahead?” the speaker hisses, loudly echoing throughout the field. along with the empathetic oohs of the crowd.

james groans rubbing his shoulder quickly, for what seemed like the nth time tonight, before going into the scoring formation as practiced.

usually, he wouldn’t even hear the commentator during the game, he would be too into the game to notice any other noise other than his own breathing . but tonight’s game is different.

tonight, you weren’t there watching him.

he knows this for a fact, as he had been continuously looking in the stands. his focus foregoing the incoming buldgers, instead hoping to catch a glimpse of your messy hair and the abundant layer of clothes, you always wear to combat the cold in the stands. his eyes would quickly scan through the students, in hopes to spot you cheering and grinning as you have always had.

he had circled the area you usual vacant four times now, and still no sign of you anywhere.

he could hear geoffrey shouting at him to focus, zooming past him with the quaffle at hand. he could practically hear the hissing complaints and grumbles of minnie in the stands but when he fails to see you, he’s not inclined to care at all.

“james! what in the bloody hell are you doing?!” he could hear marlene shriek in frustration as he skidded to a stop, and pondered your whereabouts.

where were you?

you had always watched his games. always. even when you two were fighting or not talking to each other, you would always be there cheering him on.

he was sure you weren’t in detention, professors were usually more lenient during quidditch season. not to mention you don’t really get into much mischief as he, himself does.

“mckinnon scores even with a distracted captain!”

merlin, were you sick? is that why you were a no-show? he had heard you sniffling the other day, but you said you were fine. james knew that you rarely ever get sick, but when you do—it was the worst it could ever be.

knowing you, you had probably reassured your friends that you were fine and to leave you be. you never did know how to take care of yourself. so, james being the self-appointed best friend takes this responsibility of nursing you back to health very seriously.

he was about to go fly over your dormitory window and help you but then a heavy speeding bludger came speeding into his way. he had barely dodged the thing and suddenly all the noises of the game came rushing back into his ears.

right, he thinks. he should probably finish this first and then go see you straight after.

ii. passing notes with a person that isn’t him

james was having a particularly pissy day.

when he had the epiphany on why you had missed his game. james had rushed points after points, in hopes to end the game as quickly as possible. the game ending with gryffindor as the winner, by 120 points.

never mind celebrating, he hadn’t even thought of the fact he had broken an all-time scoring record in a single game and came rushing to your dorms. thoughts of you lying sick in bed, swimming in his mind.

but you weren’t lying sick in bed.

in fact, you weren’t in the dorms at all. or the common room. or the library. or the hospital wing. or even in the entire bloody castle (he checked). not only were you not in breakfast, the morning after the game you didn’t watch. now, he has the pleasure of seeing you blush and fuss, passing notes with a bloke from ravenclaw during potions.

“now this is detrimental to the potion, some have lost fingers when they neglected this step so pay attention—“

when did you even meet this guy? you were always hanging out with james. so it’s rare for him to see you with somebody he hasn’t met before.

especially, someone this ugly.

“who’s the arse talking to y/n.” james whispered harshly to sirius.

sirius, who for once, was listening in class had to stop and look at james with a confused look, from the sudden conversation.

james gave no clarification, his eyes still glaring heavily at the offending sight.

ah, sirius thought. an almost laugh leaving his mouth. “that’s charlie wilson, i reckon.” sirius whispered back. fighting the strong urge to grin as he added, “birds quite fancy him, i heard. something about how dreamy the lad is or something.” twirling his quill. already satisfied with the impending chaos he had stirred.

meanwhile james could hardly sit still, seconds away from erupting. he scoffs when he sees you blush.

pale hair, pale eyes and an even paler skin. he looked like a white bedsheet, is what he is! nothing dreamy about a bedsheet! james certainly hadn’t thought his bedsheets dreamy. surely you hadn’t either!

“failure to follow these steps strictly can be harmful.” slughorn droned on.

but it was nothing but a buzzing noise to james, as he feels the sudden urge to grab the silly paper full of your beautiful handwriting and his chicken scrawls and rip it to shreds.

iii. going to hogsmeade without him

james was forced into the trip to hogsmeade by remus. claiming some rubbish about how james has become a shell of a man, or how he dampens the mood. and some borderline blasphemous statement about how snivellus seems to be better company than him lately.

so to prove all the nay-sayers wrong, here he was trudging along the stoned pathway. looking gloomy as ever, as his friends drag him from store to store.

nothing seemed to be cheering him up, remus had thought. but james have always had the flare for the dramatics, so remus wasn’t too worried. instead continued on like his friend isn’t unraveling like the threads in an old sweatshirt.

“why am i even here?” james had groaned, eliciting an amused smirk from sirius and a wry smile from remus.

he was on the verge of insanity, really he was. when he sees it in his peripheral. the unquestionably familiar layers of clothing and your giddy smile as you went into a bookstore with the same gremlin from class.

stopping abruptly, garnering the attention of his friends and walked briskly to the store. offering no sort of explanation, but his mates followed anyway. having seen you enter too. busybodies as they are, they’re curious how this will play out.

“it’s the same lad,” hummed sirius, peeking through the door.

remus raised a brow, interest piqued. “same lad? what’d you mean?”

“wilson was having a quick bants with our dear y/n the other day.”

“really now,”

sirius wolfishly grinned, “you reckon y/n fancies him?”

james scoffed, sounding very closely to a growl. “as if.”

“now, james, no need to be narky.” remus teased.

all three hiding two shelves away from you. james couldn’t hear you but he could see you through the crack of the books, if he crouched down. he saw your mouth moving and smiling. a view, he realized he hadn’t seen in a while.

“now that i think about, y/n hasn’t been around lately, has she?” remus had voiced, his tone feigning an air of innocence and ignorance.

sirius, then followed suit, rubbing his chin looking forlorn. “now that you mention it moony, that sounds about right.”

“prongs,” they called out, hoping to see james puff out, red in the face and stomp away like a petulant child. but instead their teasing was met with silence.

he couldn’t believe this! you haven’t spoken a word to him all week and here you were cozying up to a practical stranger! yous had the audacity to even laugh at whatever pathetic excuse of a joke he just said to you. albeit, he hadn’t heard the joke but he sure it was trash either way.

“think we lost him padfoot.” remus snickered at the glowering and helpless look james had etched on his face.

the two of you walking to the counter, holding piles of parchments and paints and laughing and blushing and standing way too close to each other.

really, have you no shame?

iv. biting your lips

james had a mission. to finally talk to you after two weeks of radio silence. to corner you, no matter what, and demand explanation for your recent rendezvous and the lack of his presence with said rendezvous.

but you were making it hard for him to find you, let alone talk to you. he can’t seem to find you in the map anywhere either. lately not finding you and not talking has becoming an unwelcome norm for him.

classes you two shared was almost non-existent since all of the classes you attended were all advanced classes.

he had hoped that during potions would be the time to talk to you but before he could even say hello to you, chalk had taken your attention and quickly pulled him down to sit with you during class.

you always seemed to be whispering about something whenever he sees you two. heads close to one another and soft laughter always leaving your lips. it’s like you didn’t even notice you haven’t talked to him for weeks now.

“oh there you are james! i wanted to discuss some strategy for the finals against slytherins.” john bell going into spiel of his tactics for the game.

did he do something that put you off? i mean, yeah, you two were only friends but he was hoping that he was starting to be more than that to you. at least, the same way that you became more for him too.

or was it just him?

“i heard evermonde complaining during breakfast that regulus black had to sit out of the game because he’s sick. so they replaced their seeker with a total novice!” bell excitedly recounted the information, unaware that their captain couldn’t be bother to listen at all.

if you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, then you should’ve said so in the first place. instead of making him look like a fool!

and like some sort of miracle there you were at the end of the hall, alone.

breathing in deep and gathering all the courage of gryffindors and marched over to you with purpose and bouts of confidence blazing in his eyes.

“james, mate!” bell called over to james, his voice like water off of a dolphin’s back.

he was a bout to tell you off, maybe along the lines of how could you? or why did you miss my games? you always watch my games. or am i even your friend anymore? do like hanging with that cauliflower more than me? does he even play quidditch? can he even turn into a stag? is he even that funny. i bet i’m funnier.

“y/n!” he beckoned, jogging over to you in a hurry. you turned, books held tightly to your chest.

“james,”

once he was in front of you, breathing in deep. staring into your eyes and seeing your soft pillowy cheeks and soft smiles.

“how are you?” you breathed, shifting from one foot to the other.

he inhaled, how are you? after weeks of nothing—! he was about to tell you off real good but he forgot a crucial thing.

the slight tension and silence makes you nervous, so rather blabbing about nonsense to fill the silence, you opt to bite your lips and cheeks instead.

suddenly all thoughts seem to fly away from james. your nervous habit becoming more important to him rather than letting you how he feels. it seemed more interesting to him than anything he had ever seen before.

which was crazy, because this wasn’t the first time you did this! or is it because you haven’t been around lately that made his immunity to your distracting quirk lessened?

eventually the silence became way too unbearable, not to mention the staring from james getting too intense. you just had to get out of this really weird and quiet interaction.

“well, james, i have to go now.” you gave a polite and shaky smile, “see you ‘round.”

v. when you watch his games.

today was the last game of the season. everyone on the team was buzzing with nerves and excitement. john bell had made it his mission to let everyone know of what he learned about slytherin yesterday.

“ambrose greengrass is going to play seeker for the time being.”

sirius snorted out a laugh, “greengrass can barely get on his broom!”

“well talkalot was desperate for replacement so soon before the game.”

dawson rolled her eyes and smirked, “well, whoever they send out we’re still going to beat the crap of them!”

the team cheered in agreement.

sirius noticed the lack of quips from james, like he usually does before each games. he sighed, already knowing the root of it. if his mate’s wanly expression had anything to say about it.

going up to his broom at hand and grabbing james’ shoulder, shaking him rather roughly. as if to physically wake him up out of stupor.

“mate, this is your first finals as captain, what the hell are you doing moping like some grandma?”

james looked up and saw the entire team looking at him. breathing in deep. “you’re right, pads.” grabbing his broom and bellowing in his loudest voice, “let’s win this!”

as much as it pains james, he had to forgot about you for a moment and focus on the game. his teammates are counting on him. chanting in his mind that it wouldn’t matter if you were out there or not.

although a very tiny voice, had called out this lie.

it had already been 30 minutes in the game when you had finally arrived. a fragile thing held gently in your hands.

“john bell knocked out euane evermonde with a bludger!” you can hear the announcer scream, a disbelieving laughter echoing. “30 minutes into the game, it’s a blood bath out here folks!”

the crowds surrounding you in the stand were going wild with screams. the players zooming back and forth as they exchanged the quaffle. you looked up and saw james in the air, the wind tousling his already messy hair into knots. he was shouting orders to his team. eyes busy chasing players, all the while dodging bludgers too.

when he flew close enough to your area in the stands, you can see him subtly check out the crowd. your face warming against the cold at the thought of what you are about to do. his eyes quickly meeting yours and then physically stopping his slow glide in the air. as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

biting your cheek and slowly raising the large parchment, the written words charmed to glow and change every few seconds the words: i like you james potter! and go and win this!!! showing up interchangeably.

you watch him look at you dumbfounded until a dazzling grin erupted on his face once he read the words.

you see him spread his arms, and point at himself abashed, as if saying, me? you like me?

and you nodding exaggeratedly.

feeling the flurry of butterflies in your stomach watching him whoop and laugh twisting and looping on his broom. as if re-energized. you laugh too, his mirth too infectious. the others in the stand with you looks at the parchment in wonder and cheer along with you.

you can hear geoffrey shout profanities at james seeing him steady in the air not moving away form your sight, “not this again potter!”

it had taken you two weeks to finish this little project, the idea coming from a muggleborn friend that said they used to do posters when they watch games like these. that’s when you decided to do the same for james.

at first it was only supposed to be a simple parchment with words to cheer james on, for his first game as captain, against the hufflepuffs. but you decided to make it even more special and unforgettable.

granted, you weren’t all that creative in terms of crafts, so you enlisted a ravenclaw to help you put it all together. as much as you didn’t want to, you had to forgo watching the game so you can have some moment alone to get the poster started.

you were confident enough to know that the gryffindors will win and go straight to the finals. with hundreds of students coming to watch the game, you knew james wouldn’t notice your absence.

so the entire week you had committed your time into creating your first poster. trying desperately to hide your activities from james to surprise him. and when you had ran out of materials, you had gone to hogsmeade with charlie to guide you on what you should buy.

you knew james had caught on your weird behaviours. you were sure simple words from him and little pleas would get you to spill the beans but thankfully he had been distracted enough by something else that opened a way for you to leave.

now, here you were clutching the paper like a lifeline, the words you had written with so much care glowing through the fog. you had even drawn james on his broomstick along with his wild hair and glasses askew on his face. although charlie had helped draw it much nicer and life-like. each line moving and dancing across the paper to capture his attention.

with a new sense of motivation, james started to play the game the best he had ever played. zooming right above your area in the stand with a quaffle in his hand and a wink your way, he easily maneuvers over the other players and score.

with the slytherin keeper gone he had easily gathered up score after score.

and each time he did, he would stop a couple of feet in front of you and do a victory dance of some sort, eliciting a giggle and wide giddy smiles from you.

the crowd going crazier and crazier as james seemed like an unstoppable force in the field. eventually the brutal game ended with gryffindor as the winner by 530 points. breaking an all-time record.

gryffindors with some ravenclaws and hufflepuffs scatter to the field to celebrate the win. grabbing unto james, patting him on the shoulder, messing up his hair even more and cheering his name.

even with everyone around him, he managed to lock eyes with you again. quickly pushing other off him and running to you, a smile etched on his face.

you barely had anytime to prepare yourself as a sweaty, large, giddy man hurdled towards you. but james ever so gentle with you, grabbed your waist and lifted you up from the ground, twirling you around, looking at you with absolute glee. you can hear wolf whistles from the others but james barely acknowledges them.

he sets you down, hands still firmly on your side. the parchment now folded haphazardly, clutching it to your chest. wrinkling his nose in a low chuckle before looking down at the paper. “is this why you’ve yet to speak a word with me?”

you breathed, suddenly embarrassed. “i’ve been perfecting this for two weeks.” looking down on the paper leaning into him just a tad bit more, “i ran into some trouble with making the text stay on the parchment rather than fly away.” you muttered, cheeks aflame.

looking up at him through your lashes, having half a nerve to look bashful. “did you like it?”

“like it?” he scoffed, “i bloody loved it,” he grinned, forehead now leaning into yours.

you grin up at him, unaware of the still swirling questions he had for you. but for now holding each other like this, is enough answer for him.