#they certainly won't be getting any sleep!!

[pixiepipedreams]

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — shaky like the first time our palms met in the clam sweat, heavy focus // in-ho x reader

♡  ⁄  pairing: in-ho x reader ♡  ⁄  warnings & tags: fem!reader, canon-typical violence & death, obsessive behavior, lying/manipulation, age gap (reader is 20-22, in-ho & gi-hun are late 40s, early 50s), watched/touched in sleep, mature themes, references to sex, anxiety + coping mechanisms ♡  ⁄ wordcount: 5k ♡  ⁄ summary: the second day of the games prevents you from ending up on in-ho and gi-hun's team. it's a mistake that won't be repeated. the least he can do is try to teach you how to play your assigned mini-game. (sorry, we kinda lost the hints of gi-hun x reader in this chapter, but it'll make a return!) THIS IS A SERIES! read part one HERE

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

You fell asleep with his hand in your hair, your meandering thoughts only brushing the surface of questioning his own motivations for such a gentle comfort. Young-il is an interesting man, and he's certainly caught your attention - more than you'd admit to. Your dreams offer you respite instead of garish nightmares about the first game, dancing atop a river, the water like silk under your bare toes.

In-ho stays longer than he should. The way you fall asleep so quickly under his touch, despite being a self-proclaimed insomniac, only makes that protective pull in his chest grow stronger. He allows himself his moment of weakness - he already had his conversation with Gi-hun tonight, already fulfilled the daily quotient for his own personal mission. So he allows himself this, this quiet moment of watching you sleep - too long for it to be appropriate, but the only people that will know besides himself are the guards watching the cameras tonight. He's sure to give the closest camera a harsh, leveling glare once you fall asleep. He's still the Front Man, under it all. It also means he knows what angle to turn his head so they can't see any hints of tenderness in his already closely guarded expression. At one point, his hand slips from your hair, tracing down the line of your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, dipping inside. He catches himself - not as quickly as he should, but quick enough to prevent the stirring of arousal to turn into full on hardness. At some point, he finds himself almost falling asleep, his head resting on the bed next to you, and he forces himself to get up, leave your side, and returns to his own bed. And if he falls asleep only thinking of you, fighting down an erection, well... he's the only one who will ever know.

The morning is rung in with the sound of jarring music, too light-hearted for such a dark place, and an announcer calling the players to prepare for today's game. Your dreams fade quickly, and you blink awake, eyes scanning the room on instinct. You hadn't forgotten where you were, but the odd peace in your chest feels out of place.

It takes you a moment to realize you're looking for Young-il.

You can't spot him in the sea of black haired men and women, and it surprises you just how much disappointment rises in your chest. The guards call for the players to line up. You walk down the metal stairs, slipping into one of the lines.

Finally, your eyes land on Young-il. He's standing in a separate line with Gi-hun's group, which faintly surprises you. After what happened yesterday, you didn't expect for Gi-hun to willingly take in any of the people with a circle on their chest. But Young-il isn't the only one in their little group who voted to continue the games, and you feel a strange pull, like you should join them. You don't. You feel out of place, like you don't entirely belong with them. Maybe it's some residual insecurity from youth, but you stay where you are, eyes lingering on Young-il as he talks intensely with them.

The guards lead all the players out of the dormitories, into the brightly colored great hall. Yesterday, you had found it strange, on your way to the first game - the strange layout, the colorful walls. Today, you find it garish. Images flash behind your eyes, blood splattered in the dirt, a giant plastic doll with all-seeing eyes. Panic threatens to overtake you, and you take a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you can see, take in the details.

You were never one for pastels, but you do like the shades of pink and green. Not your favorite, but striking on their own, if you focus on them one at a time instead of their disjointed clash. The architecture is fascinating, and you find yourself wondering what kind of person designed this place. For some reason, you picture a woman, older, nostalgic. You doubt that her own home would have a similar design, but it would be unique, fascinating. No dull corner.

By the time you reach the arena, your chest has settled, your stomach no longer in knots. The doors in front of you open, and you're led into a wide, open area. The walls are decorated with images and writings that imitate an elementary school. It makes sense, with the childish themes you've seen so far in these games. There are two circular rainbow tracks in the ground, and you focus on that, trying to discern what it could mean for the game you're about to play. The tracks could mean some kind of race? Perhaps a relay, where each member has to run the track before passing off the baton? There's five colors, so would that mean five players?

"Welcome to your second game," comes the woman's voice over the speakers. "This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes. Let me repeat."

Teams of five. You must be onto something. You were never good at running, but if you had to sprint for a short period, just once around the track, you could manage it. It would be advantageous to find a fit team, but the men would be less likely to take a woman in, with their own biases against the so-called inferior gender.

You're lost in thought when you catch the tail end of an argument nearby. "You can’t have the baby unless you make it out of here alive.

"I don’t trust you. You’re dead to me."

Looking over to the source of the voices, you spy a woman walking away from player 333 - that youtuber that Thanos fought yesterday, if you recall correctly. The woman's stomach bulges, even though she hides it under her tracksuit jacket - definitely pregnant. All of you are here for your own reasons, but she definitely doesn't belong here, and the 'X' on her chest fills you with guilt for putting her life on the line for a chance at getting enough money to settle your father's sins. Your heart aches for her, and before you can think better of it, you approach her.

"Can I help you find a team?" you ask abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. She looks at you warily, like she's not one to accept help, compelled to take care of herself alone. It's a look you're all too familiar with, one that lingers in your eyes behind your bathroom mirror.

"I don't need your help," she mutters, moving to push past you. You grab her wrist - firm, but not tight, eyes searching her face.

"Please. It'll be hard, to convince a team to let a woman in... let alone one of your condition. I can help." A comforting smile traces your lips. "I can be very persuasive if I need to be."

She hesitates, but it's enough. Self-preservation wins, in a place like this. The nod she gives you is small, but it's enough. Your hand slips into hers, and you tug her along.

Most teams don't even meet your eyes, and the few that you do approach together dismiss you quickly. Some of their expressions hold a trace of guilt, likely wondering if their denial will be sending the two of you to your deaths, but it's not enough. Self-preservation. Selfishness.

Maybe greed.

You try to stay optimistic, but the timer still ticks down. Eyes scan the room, desperation pinching at your chest, a frantic flutter to your heart, but you don't let it show on your expression. Just like before, in the dormitories, it takes you a moment to realize what you're really looking for, who's face you need to find. But this time, you find him quickly, smiling amiably with his group. There's no time for hesitation, your body pushing through the room, player 222 dragged behind you. When you finally come to a stop in front of them, your eyes flick from Young-il to Gi-hun. "Can she join you?" you ask, slightly breathless, 222 still behind you.

"Sorry, we've already got five people," one of them says, but your eyes are on Gi-hun's, searing. He owes you nothing, but you know he cares about the players in this game, that every death burrows deep into his heart. His eyes are weary, hesitant, but he doesn't break your gaze.

"Please," you say, stepping to the side. "She's pregnant." Your voice is determined, firm, and shock flashes through the group of men. Gi-hun's lips part, but he doesn't speak, perhaps stunned into silence. Hesitation.

There's no time.

You finally look at Young-il again, to find that he's studying you. There's surprise in his expression, but not even a hint of uncertainty. His eyes are intense, like always, and there's an edge of something... concern? Curiosity? Fascination? He's hard to read again, his face no longer easy to read in a group of people.

"Of course, she can join us," he says quietly, taking charge, eyes searching yours. You nod, relief seeping into your shoulders, and you release her hand.

"What about you?" 222 asks, catching your gaze before you walk away. Your eyes flick to the timer on the wall - thirty seconds.

"I'll figure something out," you mutter, then rush off.

It doesn't take long, this time, to find a group standing uncertainly, with only four members. The older woman and her son, a timid looking girl, and a tall woman who carries a certain strength that you instantly respect. It's not an ideal group, but you don't have time to be picky.

"Let me join you?" The words spill out, your own desperation probably obvious, but you're willing to bet they're just as desperate as you are.

10 seconds. The tall woman, player 120, looks at you, only pausing for a moment before responding. "Yes."

"Thank you," you say, bowing your head slightly, your shoulders sagging in relief. It doesn't last long. The announcer's voice rings out, silencing the chatter of the room. Time is up.

The guards call for the teams to sit in the center of each circle, lined up in your groups. Almost by design, Gi-hun and Young-il's team ends up next to yours, Young-il directly next to you with a gap separating you. Sitting with crossed legs in the dirt makes you feel like you're in kindergarten again, sitting on a multi-colored rug, surrounded by peers.

The announcer's voice again. "The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. Each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. Here are the mini-games. Number one, the Ddakji. Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gonggi. Number four, Spinning Top. Number five, Jegi. Your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. Please decide players for each mini-game."

The blood drains from your face. You have an idea of what Spinning Top could be, but the only game listed that you're familiar with is Ddakji from your time with the recruiter. You can still feel the sting of every slap from your losses. You weren't good. Everyone in the room starts strategizing urgently, but all you can concentrate on - and concentrate is the wrong word entirely, your mind clouded with dread - is the way your thoughts swirl into darkness. If your team dies, it'll be because of you - not because of the trembling player 095, or the frail mother. You're the weak link, unskilled in these children's games, dragging everyone down into blood-soaked dirt with you.

"(Y/N)," Young-il whispers, reaching out to put his hand on your knee. The touch is like a jolt, and you almost flinch, your eyes instantly flicking up to meet his. It must be obvious, your panic. "I told you I'd help you, didn't I? We'll figure this out," he says, his eyes imploring you, your entire world focusing into his narrowed gaze.

You take a shaky breath, eyes scanning his face, trying to notice every detail, small features to adore. The crinkled lines by his eyes, evidence of a happier time. Bags under his eyes, and dark eyes that have the power to hold anyone in place. Aged skin, but smooth, soft looking. Bushy eyebrows. A hint of stubble. The shape of his lips...

The caged bird in your chest settles, and your next breath is a deep one. You nod slightly, eyes meeting his, and something in his expression eases. "I trust you," you murmur.

Something a little darker enters his eyes, but it's gone in a flash, like it was never there to begin with.

He lets go of your leg, turning to his team, but the calm in your body stays.

"Player 132," 120 calls to you, capturing your attention. "Do you know any of the games?"

You hesitate, then tentatively say, "I only know Ddakji... and I wasn't very good, against the recruiter."

120 looks oddly sympathetic, but there's a determined edge to the anxiety in her eyes. "Alright. Flying Stone is pretty simple - you throw a stone at another stone, trying to knock it over. Gonggi is definitely out - that requires years of practice--"

"I can do Gonggi," the older woman says firmly, leaving no room for argument. 120 nods.

"Jegi is simple. You kick a weighted paper jegi in the air a set amount of times, not letting it hit the ground. Spinning Top requires some skill, but it's not too hard to master, just requires calm hands and speed. You wrap some twine around a top, then throw it to the ground, trying to get it to spin."

"Uh-- could I take Flying Stone? I've never been good at jegi, and I don't have the precision for Spinning Top," player 007, the son, cuts in, looking a little nervous.

"That leaves Spinning Top and Jegi. Are you good with your feet?" 120 asks, not even skipping a beat. You have to admire her resolve - it's comforting, how she takes control. You're so used to handling everything yourself, that it helps to have someone else who knows what they're doing.

You shake your head slightly. Admittedly, the only game that you thought you had a good chance at was Flying Stone. You've always been clumsy from the waist down, and you've never played hacky-sack, which Jegi reminds you of. 120 stares at you for a moment, then nods. "It's decided, then. You take Spinning Top." Her eyes flick to player 095, and they begin discussing who should take Ddakji and who should take Jegi.

You stare at the ground, hoping your team doesn't get called first. If you get to watch a group play Spinning Top first, maybe you'll have a chance.

As the room settles again, the announcer's voice crackles over the speakers, instantly capturing your breath. The guards gesture for a group from each side to get to their feet, and you sigh in relief - you're not first. As the teams line up and get buckled together, Young-il murmurs your name. You look over instantly, your nervous eyes locked with his. "I got Spinning Top too," he murmurs. "Let me teach you how to play."

You smile, but it's barely a quirk of lips. "We don't have a top," you remind him.

"It's all about the motion," he says intensely. "You can do this."

It's the best chance you have, and you find yourself nodding.

As the game starts for the first groups, Young-il goes into explaining how to correctly wrap the twine. "The first thing you do is wind the twine around the axle. From there, you wanna wrap it tightly around the first three loops." He mimics the wrapping motion, and you nod, trying to visualize it. It's definitely different than it is in America - there are no grooves for any kind of twine back home, just the axle to spin the top from. "You wrap the rest of the twine, and then hold the end of it tightly - tightly - between your pinky and ring finger. It puts the top on a leash, gives you control." One of the teams succeeds in a game, and you glance over, the cheers of your side calling for your attention. "Hey. Eyes on me," Young-il says, firm and commanding, and your breath catches. You couldn't even dream of disobeying, your head snapping to look back at him. His lips quirk, almost forming a smirk, but it's gone as soon as it came. "The next part is all about speed. You hold the top in your hand, then flick your wrist out, throwing it. With the twine still between your fingers, you pull your hand back quickly, almost like a snap." He mimes the motion - flicking his wrist, then pulling his hand back. It's a fast movement, one that makes your own hand shake. You can't do this, there's no way you can be good enough at this game to pass before time runs out. Anxiety seizes your chest, and you take a few quick breaths, staring at his hand. Details. Focus. Smooth palms, square in shape. Rounded, well-maintained fingernails. Deep lines over the shape of his knuckles. Strong hands, that he only needed one of to take down a grown man.

You wonder what those hands would feel like, tracing the shape of your skin.

The thought startles you, but at least you've regained some steadiness. Your heart thumps for an entirely different reason now. One hand reaches out to cup the back of yours, almost gently, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, despite everything. The same hand that pet your hair until you fell asleep, perfectly at peace. His other hand reaches out to take your wrist. He curls your fingers for you, holding an invisible top, and shows your hand the movement slowly. Then again. His palm is warm, but his fingers are cold, and if your dizzy mind weren't already devoting all its energy to the task at hand, you'd find it poetic, metaphorical.

He gestures for you to try the motion again, and you do. You repeat the movement over and over, until the speed comes naturally to you.

Hope enters your chest, the sun dawning through the blinds, and when you look up at Young-il again, he has a small, proud smile on his face.

One of the team reaches the Spinning Top phase, and you turn your head, watching with rapt interest, finally seeing what had only been an image in your mind before. The man playing isn't very good - on his first throw, it simply clatters to the ground. Your chest clenches in sympathy. The team has to march again to pick it up.

"Hmm. I think messing up Spinning Top is gonna take even longer to recover from," player 290 leans over to say to Young-il. He narrows his eyes at him as he leans away, and your heart pounds. It's not comforting.

"Ignore him," Young-il mutters to you.

You nod faintly, focusing on the team as they get back into position.

The games continue. The timer runs down. It feels like every second passing is a needle in your gut, pinpricks of pain and nerves. And just like that - time runs out. The panicked cries of the players on the tracks fills you with dread, and you make a small, wounded noise. Young-il grabs your arm, tugging you until you almost fall over yourself into the dirt, pulling you against him. He hides your face in his chest, but you can still hear the begging, and then-- the gunshots.

You bury your face in his chest as he strokes your hair, trying to soothe you again. It doesn't work like it did last night. Distantly, you wonder if this is even allowed, but no guards command him to let go of you, or for you to go back to your spot. You take the comfort, eyes squeezed shut. No tears come, just a hollowness in your chest as he presses his face into the top of your head.

The guards clean up the bodies. Eventually, Young-il pushes your head lightly. The coast must be clear, but you're reluctant. Still, you let him. He cups your cheek, holding your face so you can look into his eyes. "It won't happen to you," he says firmly, his voice hushed, urgent. "I won't let it."

You give a dry laugh, humorless. "You wouldn't be able to prevent it, not in this game," you whisper. Focus. Details. The warmth of his hand, the fire hidden in the depths of his eyes, where his expression is usually so cold. The twist of his lips, not quite a frown, but something more determined. His hair, falling over his forehead.

You breathe. Once. Twice.

"Players 007, 095, 120, 132, 149." A guard is standing at the end of our row, his masked face directed at your group. Young-il lets you go, and you only tremble slightly as you get to your feet.

"I believe in you. You can do this," he says, one last parting gift of comfort, and you try to believe him too.

You're led to the track, taking your place on the blue line. Your legs get shackled together, and you try your damnedest not to think of anything at all. You're between 120 and 149, the tall woman and the old one. You link arms, feeling for all the world like you're being sentenced to death.

In-ho stares at you as you walk away, knowing there's not much he can do to prevent your death if you fail in this game. It's a mistake that won't be repeated. Despite your surges of anxiety, you'd surprised him with your focus, with the way your panic eased the longer your eyes traced over him. It made him feel... important. He's already important, it shouldn't matter. He leads these games, is always in control, but he'd never factored in an American girl with a strong will, with searching eyes that seemed to take comfort in him and him alone. He catches the gaze of a nearby guard, his eyes holding a warning, a threat. If you die, he will personally ensure that any guard or player that had a hand in it will die too. When he's sure the message is received, loud and clear, he looks back at you, in time to see your head turn, your eyes finding his. He offers no expression of comfort, just his intensity, that possessiveness that settles deep in his very soul. If you, or one of your teammates fails this game, he'll still have to watch you be shot, albeit non-fatally. Painful, but necessarily. He doesn't feel as in control of himself as he usually does, or as in control of the games, and the dark part of him finds it thrilling, new. It's not new. Another remnant of the man he used to be, but the lack of control is so foreign now, like a childhood friend he hasn't seen since high school, finding him once more. Every other part of him is frozen, holding its breath, waiting for the verdict on your demise.

Your eyes find Young-il's, his gaze locked on you. His expression is unreadable, but you have a feeling he won't take his eyes off you, and it almost feels like he's your guardian angel. The guards finish chaining you together, and you look forward, daring to hope.

The pentathlon starts.

The first game is Ddakji. Player 095's trembling hands hold the folded paper, and you wonder how a girl like her ended up here. She can't be much younger than you, but still, you feel a decade older watching her.

She doesn't flip the ddakji on the first throw. She picks it up again, and you're distantly surprised her fumbling fingers don't just drop it in the attempt. Another throw. Another miss. She picks it up. Your stomach sinks as she misses the next one, too, but then 120 throws her a bone, a tip. 095 throws the paper again. It flips.

"Pass."

The crowd cheers for you, and your team moves on, marching in time with the beat of your heart. Game two, Flying Stone. One of the first two teams didn't even get past it. 007 takes the stone that's handed to him. He throws it, misses. 120 calls out, organizing your march forward. You stop in front of the stone, and he leans down, grabs it.

"Okay! Now, we go backwards!"

All of you chant the march of your steps backwards, until you end up behind the line again. None of you can afford the time loss of him missing again, especially you, when you haven't even played your own mini-game before. You find yourself calling out encouragements, words that are almost meaningless. His mother grabs him, murmuring something about pretending that the stone is the face of someone who wronged him. His face contorts, he winds his hand back. A cry of words is wrenched from him, like a battle call, and he throws the stone.

The other stone falls.

"Pass."

The crowd cries up, the excitement of everyone growing, but you can only focus on marching forward to the next game. Gonggi. Only one away from your turn. You all kneel together on the ground. This is the game you know the least about, and as the older woman starts, you find yourself fascinated by the movement of her hand. She fumbles, a piece drops.

"Mom, you said you played Gonggi with bullets during the Korean War," her son says urgently, and the reminder seems to light a fire in her. She lasers in like you've never seen from a woman her age as she starts again. You don't understand the game, but the quick and nimble movement of her frail hands impresses you, gripping your lungs. You don't breathe, just watching, mesmerized. The pieces are thrown into the air, then land on the back of her hand. Her son speaks again, giving her the same lifeline he'd given her, something to imagine, to motivate.

The pieces are tossed up.

She catches them in her fist.

"Pass."

The crowd roars, and you almost stumble as you get back to her feet. It's your game next, but the determination of your team, the palpable excitement in the room, infects you like the best kind of virus. You come to a stop, and 120 releases your arm as you take the top and twine. Your fingers are surprisingly steady as you wrap the end of it around the axle, your mind on Young-il. The first three loops are wrapped tightly, and you finish winding it, eyes zeroed in on every movement.

You arch your arm, preparing to throw it.

As you move, though, your eyes catch on the blood on the ground, from the team before you. You falter. It doesn't help that you didn't grip the twine tight enough between your fingers, and it slips from your hands. Your heart stops. 120 grips your arm encouragingly. "C'mon--" she says, her voice urgent. You almost forget to take the first step as your team chants. One, two. One, two. It only takes a few steps for you to reach the top, and you bend down, grabbing it, trying to take deep breaths. Your team march backwards. One, two. One, two. You're back in place, and you hold the top and twine, hesitating for just a moment. You don't dare look at the timer. Breathe. You wrap the twine around the axle, the first three loops, then the rest. You grip it, the end of the twine held tightly - tightly - between your fingers. Focus. No time for the details.

As you wind your arm back, you feel the ghost of Young-il's hands, guiding your motion. His warm palm, his cold fingers, leading the way.

You throw the top, and with a flick of the wrist, pull your hand back. The top lands on the ground.

It spins.

"Pass."

The crowd erupts, and your teammates grab you. You can hardly breathe, joy overtaking you. One last game. One more. You march together, pride swelling in your chest, even though it's not over yet. You didn't let your team down. You didn't ruin this.

You come to a stop, and the paper jegi gets passed to 120. It looks nothing like you expected, and definitely not as heavy, and you're glad this isn't the game you chose.

"No one watch me, okay?" 120 yells to you and the team. You blink in surprise, but you don't question her, turning your body away as much as the constraints allow, patting 149 to do the same. "You too. Everybody turn," 120 calls out to the crowd. The reason is lost on you, but you can only assume that everyone listens, because you hear the jostle of paper being thrown up into the air, followed by the first smack of it against her foot.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

FIVE.

You cry out in victory and excitement, turning as you hear the final smack of paper on foot. "You did it, you--"

"Pass."

Everyone is yelling and chanting for your team, and the rhythm, the synchronicity is easy to find after doing this together so much. Unison. Comradery. When you pass the finish line, you almost don't believe it, but the roar of the crowd fills your ears. You want to collapse on the spot.

As the guards come up to unlock the shackles tying you together, you find Young-il's eyes. Easily, this time. You know exactly where he is, after all. He's got his arms wrapped around his teammates, celebrating with the rest of him, his eyes on you, only you. The pride, the sheer relief in his expression is practically a physical thing, and you smile at him, feeling drained, but like a winner. He saved you.

You wish you could run to him, throw your arms around him, celebrate in his arms. But that's not an option. The guards finish releasing you, then gesture for you to follow them, and you only have time to mouth 'good luck' to him before you're escorted away.

As the doors shut behind you, you remember that your own victory doesn't secure his. There's a chance that he won't make it back to you at all.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

♡  ⁄ taglist: @pursued-by-the-squid @in-hos-wife @bloooooopblopblop <33333 @nellabear @gloriousjellyfisharcade @politicstanner @xcinnamonmalfoyx @beebeechaos @delfinadolphin @bbrainr0t @ineedazeezee

[hurtspideyparker]

Inspired by @sunnysideprincess post "young Tony Stark sleeping with a stranger at a gala and turns out that stranger is now his bodyguard?" a winteriron 2.5k fic (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone

Bucky doesn't know much about the current pop culture climate. All he knows is Howard has a son who likes to get into trouble, but due to recent threats against the family it's no longer safe to go out alone.

—

Bucky attends the gala to meet with Howard and be acquainted with the venues and protocols he'll be expected to know, including dress and social custom. He's still reintegrating into civilian life after an honourable discharge, but Howard worked with him during his prosthetic trials and wanted to hire him immediately.

Bucky meets a pretty thing at the gala, something charming and mischievous, and hey, he hasn't exactly had time to take advantage of the civilian world and all it's private space and willing bodies just yet. Howard won't be able to meet till the end of this thing, and who's to say fooling around in an empty office doesn't count as "integrating into higher society".

He doesn't even get the man's name. Doll, sweetheart, and pretty boy seem to do him just fine for the hour they spend together (half at the start, and a second time during a boring speech when they make eye contact; Bucky can't resist the cute little smirk and head nod towards the exit).

Everything goes smoothly with Howard, and he's expected at the house tomorrow morning at 8am to meet the infamous Tony Stark. From what he's told he's too smart for his own good, resents authority, and has no idea he's about to get a permanent babysitter. To say Bucky is hesitant is an understatement, but the pay is good and things haven't exactly been easy since coming home, so he's up for a challenge.

What he couldn't have predicted to go wrong, however, is the pretty thing that turns around the corner the following morning in boxers and a Metallica t-shirt, sees Bucky and Howard in the kitchen, and immediately lets out an adorable squeak before hiding bashfully behind his hands and running out of the kitchen.

"Well, that was certainly unexpected. Tony, get back here!"

Bucky agrees, although with an entirely different surprise.

Bucky can't help but be endeared by the sudden shyness and petulance of the previously confident and forthright man, but things turn awkward over time as they settle into their new dynamic.

Bucky spends half his time checking up on Tony in the lab and making sure he eats. Definitely a bit too close to the babysitter mark, as Tony calls him with annoyance, but it beats his nights out.

When Tony goes out, he goes all out. It's loud crowded clubs, it's mansions with boozed up nepo babies, it's sketchy drug-hazed apartments. Bucky starts to understand the controversy about Stark Industries upcoming CEO while watching him do body shots off of random college girls in a dive bar, but all he can do is threaten to smash cameras and make sure Tony gets in his car at the end of the night.

SI has nothing to worry about in the grand scheme of things; Tony practically runs the thing already, considering how most of the tech updates have been his for the past decade (when Bucky was a dirt poor teen with no future but carrying a gun and being expendable, Tony was building the fighter jets that flew above his head. He hadn't even begun puberty yet). Tony's also the one who made Bucky's arm, not Howard, and he only finds out because he starts blabbing on about "missing the human trials, how's the fit, any cinching? Wow, my baby is smooth," a few weeks into their arrangement.

The worst part, though, is Bucky learns real quick that he wasn't special.

The young Stark's charm seems to be quite universal; women, men, college students, business associates, strangers too old for him, creeps too touchy with him. He gets them all with his pretty smile and long lashes.

Bucky doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything. It's not his place, and besides, they both knew when they met it was a one night thing. He's most definitely not jealous at all.

Okay, he wants to slam every man who touches Tony's ass before even introducing themselves face into the bar counter, but that's neither here nor there.

Thankfully dark and broody is his default, so Tony never comments on the rage and possessiveness in the watchful man's eyes.

Bucky realizes he has a serious problem when Tony starts dating Ty Stone.

Their fathers are friends, Tony calms down with the partying, and everything seems to be going well for SI.

But Bucky's there; on the expensive dinner dates at a nearby table, leaning against a golf cart while they play, standing beside the exit at a charity gala. He hears how Ty talks down to Tony, the hands he can't seem to keep off even when Tony squirms a bit, or how Tony asks for permission to do the simplest things.

"Honey you're such a messy drunk, don't go embarrassing me again."

"It's just wine with the meal Ty—"

"Did you not hear me? Get something else."

Tony resigns himself to sparkling water while Ty gets a perfect red to pair with his steak.

"You look like a whore, god, button that thing up. People are going to think you're for sale or something," Ty says as he steps into Tony's space and does the top buttons of his shirt.

"I can do it myself."

But Ty doesn't move back, instead taking the words as a challenge and tugging the now too-high collar till Tony chokes a bit.

Bucky steps away from the wall, ready to rip his hands off when—"Buck, don't."

Bucky just barely settles back at Tony's instructions, who's fidgeting with the uncomfortable collar.

"That's right doggy, sit."

Bucky can only glare at the arrogant man.

Bucky still gets Tony the most. He gets to see his light come back in the lab at night, eyes shining as he explains what he's doing to uneducated ears. He notices the way Tony perks up and smiles when Bucky comes over to chat during boring work events, making fun of how many times the team can say "efficiency" and "blue sky thinking" in a single meeting.

Bucky knows how many polite smiles Ty gets on their dates, and he knows how much real laughter he pulls out of Tony just on the drive home.

The bodyguard has come to peace with his role as the observer. Spending the rest of his life glued to Tony Stark's wall is worth the ache slowly eating him alive from the inside out.

Things change rapidly though. Bucky finally gets to dust off his knuckles to defend Tony's honour, but it doesn't feel good like he thought it would, nothing feels good when Tony's on the verge of tears.

Bucky had attended another date of the famed couple; a launch party where Ty had finally "let" Tony get tipsy on champagne. Bucky hadn't realized how much tolerance Tony had lost these past months limiting his alcohol, and it hit him hard and fast.

The pair were now giggling in the backseat as Bucky drove them home. Kissing, a little heavy petting. Nothing Bucky hasn't seen before, although it felt even more disturbing to witness with Ty.

"Mm, not here," he hears Tony mumble.

They continue kissing, then—"Ty I said not in the car. Bucky's right there," Bucky glances in the rearview mirror at his name. Ty has pulled Tony into his lap, a hand trying to sneak into his waistband.

"Half the media has seen you slutted out on poppers Tony, it's not like you have any modesty. Just wanna make you feel good baby," he says as his hand slides back down Tony's waistband.

Tony grabs at the hand awkwardly, fingers too weak in this state to pull it away.

Bucky doesn't even think about it. He jerks the steering wheel to the side with only the barest of glances that the road is clear, pulling into a ditch and slamming on the breaks.

The un-seatbelted pair in the back go flying, Tony landing on the floor with a yelp and Ty falling on top of him with an ugly awkwardness.

Bucky hops out of the driver's seat and yanks the back door open with his metal arm so hard it comes flying off. He tosses it somewhere behind him, reaching in and grabbing the scruff of Ty's suit jacket and dragging him out of the car.

"Get off me you fucking psycho! You could've killed us all, what is wrong with you!"

Bucky shoves him flat on his ass, hands scraping on the damp asphalt.

Bucky chases after him, and Ty has the intelligence to scramble backwards, fearful.

"Hey hey hey man, I'll sue you to all hell for this! Don't come near me, get back freak!"

Bucky's metal fist groans at the tightness as he gears up, but suddenly gentle hands are wrapped around his arm and Tony is stepping in front of him.

"Don't be stupid."

The pair make eye contact, a pleading in Tony's eyes that splashes water on Bucky's, a sizzling sound in his mind as he cools off.

"If you go to jail on a murder charge who's gonna watch The Fresh Prince with me, huh?"

He gives Bucky a soft smile, but Bucky only has those brimming tears in his vision.

Turning back to Ty the bodyguard speaks in a gruff voice, "get out of here before I decide to run you over."

Ty doesn't hesitate, clambering up and slipping around in his fancy leather shoes, running through the middle of the road as a car honks a near miss at him.

Tony drops Bucky's arm and speaks with resolution.

"Let's go."

Bucky watches the back of Tony's body walk defeated to the passenger seat.

Bucky gets in without a word. He starts the car, checks his mirrors and lights, and ignores the giant hole in the back of the vehicle. With a glance he turns to Tony and clicks the younger's seatbelt on for him before pulling back onto the road with an awkward rocking as the car struggles out of the ditch.

When they pull up to the Stark mansion neither of them get out, just sitting there in the dark with the metaphorical wall between them.

"My dad's probably gonna fire you for that. The Stones own nearly a quarter of our stock."

Bucky grunts, "I don't care. Anything to get his grubby hands off you."

He can feel Tony's stare burning the side of his face, but he doesn't meet it.

"If. If he fires you, can we still be friends?"

It's hope in his voice, but Bucky can't help but feel a tad disappointed. Friends.

"Of course. I'm always gonna be here to protect you doll, doesn't matter who's paying me or who's threatening me. I'll babysit your ass for free."

Tony smiles at that, "hug?" he asks with open arms.

He looks so sweet like this. Ruffled clothing, shy smile, earnest eyes. Bucky could never deny him, leaning over and hugging the other.

It's a bit awkward, but it suits them. They pull back slowly, hesitant to let go. Bucky meets those warm brown eyes, lashes clumping from the rainfalls of sadness earlier, and then suddenly he's being kissed.

It's hard, a starving thing. Bucky can't get a word in edgewise, everytime he moves away to speak Tony follows him, crawling over the cupholder right into Bucky's lap.

Bucky grabs his hips, strong and possessive. Decides to kiss back because oh god is it a million times better now that he knows what he looks like with a pillow imprint on his cheek, how he gets giggly from sleep deprivation, how he sings along to the Fresh Prince theme song, the resignation whenever his father speaks to him, the kindness to every waiter and the sass to the paparazzi when he steps into their flash, the way he shovels breakfast cereal into his mouth like a sport, the chatter in the middle of the night to his robots when he thinks Bucky is asleep on the couch.

It's Tony, it's really Tony, finally his.

Tony pulls back gasping for air because he kisses like a drowning man. He rests his forehead against Bucky's collarbone and the bodyguard kisses the top of his head before wrapping his arms around him. If he had a choice this is exactly how he'd do his job, with Tony trapped between his arms as often as possible.

"That's okay right?" muffles Tony from the mouth pressed to his shirt.

"Beautiful, I am so much more than okay right now."

Bucky can feel the way his lips upturn on his skin, so he grabs Tony's head between two large palms and pulls him away to see.

Tony's face is gloriously bathed in peace and warmth. Blinding toothiness, cheeks so plump they almost obscure the eyes that dart back and forth on Bucky's face as he listens to the man.

"I am so in love with you I was prepared to put up with that bag of dicks just to be able to watch you from the sidelines. To see you happy in that lab doing what you love."

"SI could burn down tomorrow for all I care, I don't need Ty, I don't need his money. Was always looking at you, god you look hot when you're jealous."

He kisses Bucky again, less hurried but just as passionate, wet and slow with probably too much tongue; Bucky is already so close to devouring the boy whole he doesn't care.

"S'not jealous," Bucky slurs between kisses.

Tony sends him a playful glare.

"Okay, maybe a little. He doesn't deserve you."

"Oh, and you do?" Tony only teases, but Bucky's heart twinges.

"No, but at least I can protect you."

Tony's eyes go soft and he cups Bucky's face, forcing him to meet his warm eyes.

"You're probably the only person in the world who would take a bullet for me, but would also listen to me rant about the coding bug I couldn't find for thirty minutes."

Bucky smirks at the memory.

"You were huffin and puffin like a toddler, it was adorable."

"Do you know how hard it is to find an extra period in 70 lines of code!"

Bucky gazes up at the worked up man with a look of pure adoration that turns Tony's ears red.

"No, but I know how to kiss someone who does."

"Oh. That's good, you should do that. You should do a lot actually," Tony breathes desperately.

Bucky kisses him while opening the car door, stepping out with Tony still koala-ed to his front. He only clings tighter, with more intention as his arms pull Bucky's neck closer.

"Mm, not tonight doll. You've had a rough night. In the morning though..." Bucky trails off with a possessive tightening of his hands on Tony's thighs.

Tony gasps, pressing closer.

"Yes. That's, that's a good plan. Take me to bed," Tony speaks with their lips still brushing.

"To cuddle."

Tony let's out a frustrated groan.

"Ugh, fine. And to make out too."

Bucky can't say no to him.

[tardis--dreams]

Everytime i pull an all nighter i tell myself it's fine it's nothing i haven't done before I'm an expert on sleep deprivation. and every single time i'm shocked that it's not actually fine

[five-rivers]

Little thing inspired by various Justice League summons Danny posts I've seen about.

.

Interdimensional travel was hard.

It was a true statement, and one that, in retrospect, was obvious. Of course interdimensional travel was hard. It was reaching out of your reality and into one that had an entirely different set of rules. However, having an interdimensional portal in one's basement tended to skew one's understanding of these things. That was why it took Danny so long to realize that the Observants were actually worried about him.

"Wait," he said, looking up from the (admittedly very passive-aggressive) report the crowd of Observants had just dropped on his (already crowded) desk. "You want to change my summoning ritual because you think other dimensions might hurt my human half?"

"Some of them certainly will," said one of the Observants, testily.

"I didn't know you cared about that," said Danny, still somewhat stunned.

"We normally wouldn't," admitted the Observant, "but although the position of Ghost King is, politically, a figurehead, you are metaphysically vital to the Realms as a whole. Damage to you is to be avoided, when possible."

"Uh huh," said Danny, looking back down at the summoning ritual change paperwork. Although, through a combination of Danny's own nature and the nature of time across dimensional barriers, Danny still looked fourteen and spent a great deal of his time going to school in Amity Park, he had years of experience interpreting the Observants' paperwork under his belt. "Yeah, it's just that I don't think this is the best way to, like. Do that."

"It is the best way to protect you!" said the Observant who had, apparently, been selected as the group's spokesperson.

"Maybe," agreed Danny, who wasn't entirely sure that was true. "But I feel like some of these modifications would kind of be a problem for wherever I wound up."

"Then they ought not to summon you."

While Danny agreed with that sentiment in spirit (getting summoned was almost always inconvenient and annoying), in practice, he wasn't so sure. "I don't think there's any way to communicate that to the guys who are summoning me. Like, some of them get me with old Pariah Dark rituals. And most of them don't really care if their mistakes screw over other people, so..."

"Next to the well-being of the Realms, that is a minor concern."

Danny didn't disagree with that, but he wasn't about to waste time arguing with the Observants about it. They just didn't get it. He tapped his finger on another section that was bothering him. "Also, this seems to keep me from getting out of the summoning circle at all. If someone is summoning me to ask for help, that's going to keep me from doing much."

"It will also keep you from inadvertently exiting into a hostile environment."

"Even in my home universe?" asked Danny, pointedly. "This seems like something more geared to imprisonment than protection."

The Observants were silent.

"Oh, come on, guys, really? Again?"

The Observants scattered.

Danny sighed and picked up the paperwork. He didn't think it was all bad ideas, honestly, but he needed a second opinion that hadn't tried to stuff him in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep Mark 2.

Maybe Clockwork would look it over for him.

.

"It isn't an entirely terrible concept," said Clockwork, "except for the obvious drawbacks."

"The whole being trapped in the summoning circle bit," said Danny.

Clockwork nodded. "To be fairer than they deserve, there is no way to modify that portion of a summoning ritual in some types of universes but not others. Not from our own side of things, in any case."

"And I mostly can't get at the other side," said Danny with a groan. He perched on the back of Clockwork's chair. "I do want to make sure that I, I don't know, fit with other universes enough that I won't completely demolish them just by existing."

Clockwork hummed. "There are some ways to do that. There are drawbacks, however."

"Bigger drawbacks than accidentally nuking a planet because my radiation is different than theirs?"

"It depends on your perspective, I suppose."

Danny sighed. "Go ahead and tell me, then."

Clockwork picked up a pen. "You are a shapeshifter. You have multiple forms, one of which cannot be harmed through any normal means and which similarly would have little negative affect on the environment unless you acted to cause negative effects. Change the current ritual so that a summoning puts you in that form, and then further change it so that you cannot leave the circle unless you are in a form that will not automatically cause harm or be harmed by the laws of that universe."

"You mean my Ghost King form."

"All your forms are your Ghost King form."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," said Clockwork, smiling.

"It freaks people out, though."

"Your current form might, as you say, freak people out," said Clockwork. "If your summoners were, say, ants."

"Is that likely?"

"Not particularly. But consider the multiverse. Not all of your summoners will be human."

Danny crossed his arms, frustrated that there wasn't an easy solution. "I guess I could always shapeshift into something nonthreatening after. Hard to see if it's something safe without running into

"You can do more than that."

"I can?"

"Yes," said Clockwork, setting the pen to paper. "Let me show you."

.

The summoning circle shimmered and shivered as Constantine and Zatanna recited the chant, their voices rising and falling. Batman and other members of the League stood by, watching, waiting.

This, this ritual, wasn't their first choice. It wasn't their second, third, or fourth choice, either. But nothing else they had tried worked, and the entire world was at stake.

They were summoning the King of All Ghosts. An eldritch monstrosity that had once tried to conquer all realities. But the alternative was worse. Much worst. At least, with the King of All Ghosts, there was a chance that they could negotiate and that it'd want the Earth more or less intact for the sake of conquering it. At least, with this kind of summoning, they could offer a sacrifice, a bargain, a deal.

And if Constantine was good at anything, it was deals.

The lines of the summoning circle flared green, then pure white, and, without any other fanfare, the King of All Ghosts was there.

It filled the circle with starry darkness, struck with nebulae and aurorae. The clouds rippled as a star died near its heart, fiery cataclysms spreading throughout the being. A crown like the accretion disk of a black hole burned around its highest extremity.

Something like a voice, echoing and many-layered, emanated from the being. "Nghftùsh phlarûm âzgûm (1)." It paused, and the League felt it examine the area more closely. "Ko wgâ âzgûm nghftùsh derza. Ko gok hubhûfh fhtù gâh mglwnuh...(2)"

Constantine swore. "Oh, bollocks, I don't know that one. Would it be too much to ask that one of these things speak English? Just a little?"

"Nghftùsh ak. Ko ngngi. (3)"

"Zatanna," said Batman, "could a spell let us understand one another?"

"Kù-nghînku bùr fùmúu umni snîgûrip. (4)" It seemed to bend closer for all that it didn't move. "Nghftùsh laglúfhâk krîk ko phlî ak phlorza. Chthe nî hîhnâ, ka. (5)"

"I think I understand a little," said Captain Marvel, raising a hand. "I think it understands us just fine."

"Hagthu. Nghftùsh ngngi ùk nî chthe kûmpù nû gâ. (6)"

"It wants to get out of the circle," said Captain Marvel.

The veils of green light that shrouded the being rippled. "Dal phlù. (7)"

"Not without an agreement in place, you're not," said Constantine.

"Gagthashîzgathg. (8)"

"God," whispered Flash, "that hurts my throat just hearing it."

Batman shot him a glare, then stepped forward. They'd prepared a list of demands. Most of them were negotiable, but it was better to start something like this with things you were willing to remove or throw away. It took several minutes for Batman to read the whole thing.

"Ku. Chthal lohúfhâk hagthu. Fhta nghftùsh kâk phlorza ko thru. (9)"

"What did it say?" asked Batman.

"I'm... I think it said it'll do it, but it needs something from us in return."

Batman nodded. They'd expected something like this. Whatever it asked for, it would, without a doubt, be exorbitant. Then, they'd go back and forth, reducing each of their demands until they'd reached a deal both sides hated, but could accept. Constantine had bet that, at minimum, the King of All Ghosts would want the entire population of Earth as slaves.

"Nghftùsh kâk hû ko mglwno nî phnglâ gho-lobi. (10)"

"Uh," said Captain Marvel. "I think he said one of our lives."

"Hik! Rlo phlarâk kruk nîk ghû. (11)"

"Not just any of us," said Marvel. "It has to be someone who's a parent."

A tension fell over the room. They'd known they'd have to sacrifice something. A single life wasn't much, but for the King of All Ghosts to specify a parent...

"But are you sure it's just one?" pressed Constantine.

The King of All Ghosts gave off a sense of... exasperation? "Úzg, hû. (12)"

"One," said Captain Marvel. "Just one."

"And just us, not our kids or anything?"

"Nghftùsh ngngi ùk e nghuu. Gù phlarâk fush ko du? (13)"

"No, it doesn't want children. They're... wrong, somehow?"

"And it's not a sex thing?" Constantine sounded... strangely hopeful.

"Hik! Fhtùl! (14)"

"No," said Captain Marvel. "And... something about fat, maybe?"

"Oh, we're definitely getting eaten, then," said Constantine, with forced cheer. "I volunteer, then. It's not like my kids are sitting up waiting for me or anything."

"Hik nuk. Ngngi ko. E hâta phlarâk lerzaolûm. (15)"

"Not you, there's... something wrong with your soul."

"Oh, he's a picky eater, too, huh?"

"Let's not antagonize him, okay?" said Flash. "He's kind of-- He's kind of looming, right now."

And so it was. Somehow. Without moving.

"Who will... satisfy you?" asked Batman.

The entity did not move, but it managed to indicate Batman anyway.

"Very well," said Batman, before anyone could even attempt to talk him out of it. After all, his life for the lives of everyone in this universe was a very good deal. "Take me."

For the first time, the King of All Ghosts moved, all that darkness, all that light, rushing towards Batman.

There was a burst of blinding light.

When everyone opened their eyes again, a boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a jawline that bore more than a passing resemblance to Batman's was stepping out of the summoning circle.

"That's much better," he said, stretching. "No offense, dude, but you kind of suck at Ghost Speak." He turned to Batman. "What I was asking for was a template so I could exist in your universe and do what you want without accidentally blowing it up because of incompatible physics, but whatever. Not sure how you guys got me eating you out of that."

"You wanted a human appearance so you could better conquer this world?" asked Batman.

"Uh, no? You've got a pretty strong clause against conquering the world in your paperwork there. You're probably thinking about Pariah Dark, but he's old news." The boy smiled widely. "Let's get started on your problem, okay?"

I've been summoned.

You haven't summoned me before. You have a nice space station here...

I can. You can't.

Inter-dimensional language differences are so annoying.

I hope you can do something. This will be difficult, otherwise.

Good. I don't want to be in this circle forever.

Close enough.

Figures (literally, 'certainly').

Okay. That sounds good. But I need something from you.

I need one of you to be my template (literally, life-pattern).

No! It's like being a parent.

Yes, one.

I don't want your children. What is wrong with you?

No! Gross!

No way. Not you. You're crazy (literally, your soul is cracked).

[deathbxnny]

Can you do how the arcane characters would react to you having a Panic attack/panick attacks

Arcane characters reacting to you having a panic attack! | Caitlyn, Sevika, Jinx, Vi x Gn!Reader

Thank you for your request, Anon! I absolutely loved writing this, so I hope you'll enjoy it!<33

Content: Panic attacks, fluff, swearing, established relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》CAITLYN

Her first instinct is to immideatly take you somewhere safe and private when she notices the panic attack approaching. She has very good intuition and has observed you for long enough to know your cues and signs, but sometimes even her own senses about you fail her during acute attacks that come out of nowhere. This doesn't mean that you can't rely on her to take care of you anyway.

"Hey, hey... let's breathe together, okay? Alright. Deep breathe in... hold it... and now release slowly... good job, let's do it again."

She's very quick to react to your needs and usually tries to regulate your breathing first before anything else, as that's how she learned to deal with them in her medical training. Caitlyn will also try and keep some distance in between you two in case you need space and only come closer once you're ready for that. She's very gentle and patient, as she soothes away your fears and worries.

Later on, she'll gently hold you and spoil you with nice food whilst you finally calm down and rest. Cait won't ever push you to tell her what triggered you, but will encourage you to tell her how she can help you better next time. Something she'll probably write down somewhere for future reference for better efficiency.

》SEVIKA

The first time it happens to you around her, she'll admittedly be a little surprised. It's not like she hadn't seen panic attacks before, but she simply just never had to deal with them before. With that said, her first instinct is to wonder if someone had bothered you and, if so, how quick she can beat them up for hurting you like this. The last thing she wants is for someone to ruin that beautiful smile of yours, and the sight of you suffering like that makes her feel uneasy.

"Alright, tell me what you need, and I'll do it for you right now. I just... fuck, tell me how to help you, sweetheart."

Sevika will lean down to your level after also taking you somewhere private so that she can let her guard down in peace and focus on you. She's not good at comforting people no matter who you are, and she's certainly also not the most affectionate person out there. But she knows to keep her distance and focus on what you need from her in that moment. Your hyperventilating and short breaths worry her, but that's nothing she can't handle with some direction from you.

After the panic attack blows over, she'll demand a detailed list of what exactly she should do better next time. She doesn't like being unprepared, especially when it comes to your care and well-being.

》JINX

She has memorized absolutely everything about you and is the first person to notice when a panic attack is coming up, which makes her the best helper out there at that moment. Jinx immideatly springs into action and brings you to her hideout, where she knows things are safe and sound. No one can hurt you here, especially not with her around. She'll sit on the ground with you and take your hands in her own carefully. The girl doesn't make any sudden moves and just observes every reaction you make very closely, practically analyzing them to know what to do next. And her voice would be so calm and soothing whilst she speaks.

"It's alright, cuddlebug. No one's laying a hand on ya whilst I'm here... so let's just breathe together."

Jinx doesn't want you to feel alone whilst you're going through this and will be right there with you until the last of your tears have been shed. Afterward, she'll either cuddle you to sleep or get you something nice to eat. Either way, you're being treated like royalty by her, just because she doesn't want you to feel like she did when she still had to suffer through everything all on her own. Having you here is a blessing, and taking care of you was a way to pay you back for it.

》VI

Despite what people may think, Vi's intuition about other people has never failed her. She always feels so deeply for others. It isn't all too surprising when she is quick to notice your mood shifting drastically out of nowhere. Once the panic attacks start, she'll have enough past experiences to take care of you as well as she can. It may not always be perfect due to her inability to express her love and affection all too well in moments of panic, but she'll still pull through for you. Getting you out of danger and into a more secluded area, she'll wrap her jacket around your shoulders and try soothing your quick breathing.

"Hey, hey, hey, let's calm down, okay? I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you."

She may honestly slightly panic herself, especially as seeing you so distraught messes with her own emotions, too. Vi hates to see you suffer, and the last thing she wants is for you to potentially get hurt if you don't calm down.

Vi will most likely ask you what she can do better next time as well, since she secretly feels a bit disappointed in herself for not being able to do more for you. But she's open to learning how to be perfect for you next time, that's for sure.

[suiana]

(yandere! zombie x gn! survivor reader) (im such a youtube shorts kid bruh this idea came to me because of a video i watched)

did you know that zombies retain their habits from when they were humans?

well you sure as hell do now, because why is your annoying neighbour still following you around?? he's literally fucking rotting???

"shoo! go away!"

you hiss at him, shooting a rubber band at him before quickly climbing up a tree. phew, you wouldn't be bothered by him from here. it's been like this for a few days now, your undead neighbour following you around as you did your best to survive in this ruined world.

you never really liked him, your neighbour that is. he's always been that one weird guy that keeps annoying you ever since he moved in. constantly knocking on your door and asking to have meals together, to getting to and from work at the same times as you... you're so sure that he was stalking you. how could it ever be a coincidence that he just somehow knew when you were going out and coming back from work?

but now you wouldn't ever know and it's not like you wanted to know anyway. ignorance is bliss after all. oh! he's also very stubborn and it's quite apparent in his zombie form.

"bweh."

"go away!"

the zombie hits at the tree you were sitting down on as he looks up at you with what seemed to be puppydog eyes. you could only grimace at the sight before checking through your supplies. shit, you're running out of stuff.

"ugh... i'll need to scavenge for food-"

"guh!"

you raise an eyebrow at your undead admirer before humming. right, you suppose it isn't that bad that you have him around... he gives you stuff that's useful and scares away other mobs (you think he eats them if they get too close to you). you would've actually coddled him like a dog if he wasn't trying to get into your pants or kiss you every second.

"thanks."

you lean forward and snatch the bad of chips from his rotting hands before stuffing it into your bag. mn, you could probably have that for your lunch and dinner tomorrow.

"let's see... i need to find a good place to sleep tonight."

"bwa! buh beh!"

your zombie immediately starts scratching at the tree bark before jutting his lower lip. huh...

"no, i'm not sleeping in your apartment."

"gah!"

you think you're starting to understand zombie language because why are you holding full on conversations with him??

"don't give me that face. you know our apartment complex is riddled with zombies. i don't want to be turned."

"kh... gur! rh..."

"you think i'm trusting you? i swear i saw our old neighbour lurking around there and he was an olympic sprinter."

you shake your finger at the zombie before sighing softly. why did this apocalypse have to happen? things were going great for you before this. you just had a raise and you were so close to landing a date with your hot boss!

if you didn't know any better you'd have thought that your little zombie admirer was the one who kickstarted this zombie apocalypse because of his jealousy. what did he work as before he turned? a scientist?

"tn... jhn... ngh..."

"don't act all sassy with me right now. it's not like i want to sleep in your place to begin with. you'd probably lock me in there with you and i'd be trapped."

"bah!"

rolling your eyes at the sassy undead man, you rest against the trunk of the tree and shut your eyes. might as well get some rest before setting off again.

"i'm going to rest now. help me keep an eye out."

"kah kah. jah?"

"no, i won't kiss you. and no, i most certainly won't reward you with myself. you're rotting, damnit! how many times do i have to tell you that?"

"ui..."

what in the sassy zombie apocalypse have you gotten yourself into?

[pomefioredove]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do the Dormleaders' reactions to Yuu who, given that they're from another world, is immune to any and all magic spells.

Example: Riddle's 'Off With Your Head' doesn't make a collar on their neck, 'King's Roar' doesn't affect them at all, 'It's A Deal' doesn't take anything from Yuu and acts like any ordinary contract, etc.

However, this means any healing spells has no effect, forcing Yuu to heal on their own.

Thank you for reading this!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ magic immune reader

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

out of all the dorm leaders, Riddle would be the most annoyed

...not that 'Off With Your Head' would've done much, anyway

you have no magic to take away

but... it's the meaning!

it's symbolic!

even a plain old collar would be punishment enough

but he can't even do that!

hopefully, you're not the type to misbehave, so he won't have to worry about it

if you are...

...expect to spend a lot of your week trimming the hedges around Heartslabyul as punishment

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona doesn't even know until his overblot

...well...

until after his overblot

everyone keeps going on about how lucky you are

(personally, he doesn't see what's so great about being magic-repellent, but sure)

he's... glad you're okay

not that he'd ever admit that...

just don't let it get to your head, alright?

being immune to magic means both bad and good spells

and he's not going to be sanding you again anytime soon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul is PISSSSSED lmao

all that work he's put into his latest business venture

and for what??

you're not even BOUND by his contracts!

he has a hard time saying goodbye to Ramshackle...

what a nice cafe it would have made...

but, still

there's got to be some way he can use this to his advantage

he's an adaptable man

and he's always looking for a new assistant

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim is only a little disappointed

first, you can't even cast a spell

now you can't have any cast on you?

you're missing out on all his great party tricks!!!

but... oh, well

he thinks of it as an adventure, or a fun challenge

magicless parties sound kinda cool, right?

and Jamil says it's probably for the better, and Kalim trusts his judgment

(...for now, at least, cough cough)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

not counting the... VDC incident, Vil doesn't care

unlike your annoying friends, he has no reason to curse you

and he can certainly think of many magicless punishments should you ever misbehave

so, no

not really something that crosses his mind

even when you're unwell (because, of course, he's the first to tend to you), he prefers using natural remedies before magical ones

to him, it's just another piece of the strange puzzle that is you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

honestly what is Idia going to do

open the gates of hell on you?

nah

even boring spells would be too much effort for a guy like him

he does find you kinda interesting, though

I mean, being immune to magic in this place is a total buff!

imagine a group of NPCs firing magic at you, and you're like, wham! whew! zoooom!

...in his own words, anyway

(it's not actually that cool)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus...

where do I even start?

he's so reliant using magic that he can almost sense there's something different about you right away

one on hand, it's a good thing

he worries about you, you know? the students at this school can get... unruly

on the other hand, knowing that you won't respond to magical healing is... worrying

he tries not to think about it so much

his overblot is a different story, though

if he can't put you to sleep, what can he do? trap you at NRC with him forever?

actually... I take it back, he'd totally do that

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the��obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[walpu]

pre-relationship stage with them

characters - Gepard, Aventurine notes- gn!reader, pining, light angst but mostly fluffy, a bit of hurt/comfort. I love blonde preservation men okay. no beta we die like the economy also this was written before 2.1 but I still think I kinda nailed it

Gepard

Poor poor Geppie.

He pines so much. Treats his love for you like a tender flower. Even his feelings for you is something so precious to him, he's happy to simply be in love with a person like yourself.

I feel like this poor man willd try so much to do everything for you without giving away how deeply he cares and how intense his feelings are.

"Aw, lil' Geppie, you care about y/n so much!"

"I- I do not. I mean, of course I do! But- There's nothing surprising about it. After all, it's my duty as a Captain to care about every citizen. And, of course, it's my duty as a friend to care about y/n.

Sure, Gepard. Sure.

He would never say something like this to your face though. After all, he simply can't lie to you.

Oh but how he adores you. His face literally lights up when he sees you, the most gentle smile blooms on his face when he watches you doing even the most trivial task.

Tries to act like his usual self around you but it's pretty evident to everyone that you're his weak spot.

Would gently scold you if you would ever put yourself in danger or break any rules.

If you get seriously hurt, would actually lose his mind. Would blame himself even if the situation has nothing to do with him. Beats himself up, asks for your forgiveness and does his best to help you.

Despite the popular belief that he would prioritize his work over his beloved, I don't think it's true. Sure, he takes his duties seriously, but he would always find time for you. Would make sure to see you at least two times a weak, would answer your texts and calls. If you need him, would certainly be right by your side. Even if it means he would have to work overtime later.

Tease him a bit and he's all red. Doesn't try to stop you though, secretly adores your attention.

Would be oblivious to the fact that you like him back. Like. Really dense about it.

He's just so used to giving, to protecting, he simply doesn't expect anything in return. He has silently accepted the fact that you may never love him back, but he will be there for you regardless of it, no matter what.

Plus, he feels like he may not be the one for you. Like you need someone who doesn't have to constantly put their life in danger, who can always be by your side, who won't break your heart. Because he's painfully aware that each fight may actually be his last. That he may not come back to you.

Speaking of that. He would make sure to say a proper goodbye to you before every battle or expedition. Nothing too sappy or depressing, he doesn't want to make you worry, after all. Would probably tell you to take care of yourself, to sleep well and to eat healthy food lol. He really just wants to make sure that he got to see you before heading straight into the battle.

If you're a Silvermane guard as well, would restrict himself even more, not wanting to use his position or to be pushy. However, would still be worried sick, even more so. Would still talk to you before every battle, asking almost begging you to be careful.

Loves giving you head pats.

Generally the goodest boy. Just make sure to make the first move because otherwise he would be satisfied with just being your loyal puppy.

Aventurine

Good lord.

This man is such a mess.

Be ready for a mindfuck but not because he's manipulative towards you or something like that but because there's so many layers of trauma in him.

You have to be patient with him okay.

I feel like pre-relationship stage would be so confusing to him. He had flings in the past, okay? Short ones, meaningless. Something to distress, to feel another person's touch, to feel some sort of connection, no matter how shallow it is. He knew he uses those people and that those people use him in return. Not once he asked them to be gentle or caring.

But with you it's so different. Doesn't matter if your relationship started sexually and developed into something more or if it was mostly platonic/slow since the beginning. He still feels something. And he's not sure if he likes it.

Sometimes it feels so good to be seen, to be addressed as a person, not just as a tool. But sometimes it scares him. After all, this man hasn't been vulnerable with anyone for a long, long time.

I'm sorry but I feel like he would try to pull away from you a bit after realizing how much you actually mean to him.

Oh but he will crumble if you reach out to him, okay? He simply can't ditch you like that, not when you see him for him and want him for him.

Even if it's scary.

Would slowly relax around you. Don't expect him to open up easily but still, the more time you spend together, the more his cocky mask will slip away.

Will randomly and out of the blue tell you small details about his past. You two may walk down the street together and he will see something that reminds him of Sigonia so he will share this memory with you.

It may be the smallest thing but it means a lot to him that you listen. Even this tiny moments of vulnerability are hard for him.

On the more positive note, he's so fun to be around. Would tease you and cling to you all of the time. If you tease him back, he would pretend to be offended but would actually enjoy the playful banter a lot.

Just don't tease him too much about him becoming more and more clingy with each passing day.

Spoils you rotten. New clothes, jewelry, watches, shoes, anything you may want or need. He still can't quite get rid of this idea that you have to be convenient for someone to be valuable. It's not like he's trying to buy your love but... Maybe subconsciously he does. Once again, be patient. This man is so used to the fact that all of his alliances are build on mutual benefit that it's still hard to accept that you're really here for him.

Spoiler even when he will feel more stable in your relationship and his mindset will turn more healthy, gift giving will still remain one of his love languages.

Just like Gepard, would care greatly about your safety. He may be careless about his own life but never with yours.

Loves, loves, loves physical contact. As I said before, gets very clingy, putting his arm over your shoulder or tugging on your sleeve. If he's feeling down, would crawl to you side and subtly brush his shoulder against yours or lean to your side. He may still have his confident smile but those small gestures show that he wants you to be the one holding him this time.

Invades your personal space a lot actually. Texts you constantly too lmao.

LOVES SILLY NICKNAMES. Would call you his dearest darling in the sweetest voice during the most inappropriate time and then laugh at your reaction. Would settle for something more casual like "baby" when he's not trying to be a pain in the ass. Still tries to play it off as something teasing. Deep down yearns to call you this without having to pretend that this is just a playful banter between two friends.

Oh and he would dance around the topic of dating, throwing hints but never having the courage to ask openly. So good luck with him.

[plutoasteroids]

PAC How Will Your Future Spouse View You

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

DISCLAIMER THIS IS A GENERAL READING TAKE WHAT RESONATES AND LEAVE WHAT DOESN'T.

Strictly for entertainment purposes.

PILE 1

So, before I get into the tarot bit of the reading the overall vibe I am getting is that you and your future spouse will be that couple that are still doing cute stuff together even in old age. You know those older couples you see on TikTok on dates still happy and very much in love, yeah like that. One word I can use to describe it is cozy, just very warm and affectionate basically feeling like this person is your home. It's going to be like 'I'd rather come home to you then be anywhere else'.

On to the tarot bit, Your FS sees you as someone very confident and optimistic (even if you don't see yourself that way). They see you as being positive and very wholesome. Again, before I pulled cards I channelled and I still got the warmth.

Oh my gosh, if any of you have read The Song of Achilles that's basically it. Before anyone points out to me they were a same sex couple .Yes, I know but I am talking about the relationship dynamic between Patroclus and Achilles.

You may have gone through a difficult time in your life and your future spouse will admire how strong and resilient you are, how you're able to adapt to challenges and changes in environment. You may be the type of person who is connected to both their divine feminine and masculine and they truly find that attractive.

They certainly view you as their other half and I know its cliche to say soulmate but that's all your future spouse is saying. You just give them so much happiness and emotional fulfilment.

'They are my home, my soulmate, my forever'

PILE 2

Ugh Pile 2 your spouse will literally worship you😩. Like you'll tell them your insecurities and they'll just sit there kissing every scar, mark, dimple anything you're insecure about they'll adore. If you're a female or a feminine reading this and you have thick thighs I heard them say 'Come here and crush my skull with those sexy thighs'. Whoever you are you have someone's poor child down horrendous for you.

I think they may be the type to just watch your social media whether you are getting to know each other, dating, engaged or married your social media pages, pictures and videos will always be on their phone screen and they won't go to sleep without listening to a little voice message you sent. Once they get attached baby there's absolutely no getting rid of them, I heard 'You'll have an easier time getting rid of bed bugs'.

When you meet them, they may be a party animal or a player.

Disclaimer it's not toxic obsession more like they will let you be your own person but at the end of the day they are yours and you are theirs, you are their spouse, and they are your spouse and they will forever put you on a pedestal not to the open where they will neglect themselves.

They see you as a prize (again not in a creepy way) You may have options when you meet this person but best believe they'll make sure to stand out and win you over. They see you as the best the world has to offer in terms of what a wife/husband/spouse should be. Your person may have had a few letdowns when it came to love and just know that they see you as a dream come true and again, I know that's very cliche but trust me when Isay they view having you as a spouse as their biggest accomplishment and they want you to know that they'll prove to you every day they are worthy to call themselves your spouse. They feel like you have gone through a period of depression and sadness, and they want you to know that they acknowledge it and they see you as strong every day.

The couple I channelled for you guys is Queen Charlotte and King George from Bridgerton.

PILE 3

First thing I heard 'Sugar Daddy'. This person will spoil you but love you even more. Yes, they may have money and give you gifts but this person truly does love you, care about you and respect you.

They may be older than you that's why people may think that they are your glucose guardian which is not technically wrong and not technically correct either. I feel like that will be a long term joke you two have about them being your sucrose supplier..

They will definitely view you as delicate, I want to say that they are the protective type but not protective to the point of you feeling suffocated by them. They want you to be comfortable and have what you like 'If my spouse wants that watch I'll get it for them'.

They will view you as fun loving, yet you have this air of power to you that they love. Sure, they view you as delicate and they want to protect you, but they also view you as strong and beyond capable of taking care of yourself and those around you basically your spouse is saying 'they want me, but they don't need me'. They know that you can walk away from them anytime and they like that you're always in your power no matter what.

Your spouse admires how you don't need them to feel whole or for financial gain they see you as a breath of fresh air, a change of pace, an adventure.

He may touch you a lot with your consent obviously, like a hand on your waist, shoulder or they may steal little quick kisses. Also, there may be a lot of friendly banter in the relationship.

The couple I channel for you guys is Fallon and Liam from Dynasty.

[dark-konohagakure2]

imagine succubus!reader lurking in the phantomhive manor to find a victim for the night cause a succubus gets their energy if they take control but ends up getting caught and noncon-ed by sebastian until she cant take it anymore and begs to stop

UGHHH I HAVE BEEN STUCK WITH THIS IDEA SINCE THE DAY I IMAGINED IT 😭😭 petition for more succubus!reader fics 😔

tw: noncon, succubus!reader, size difference, tail pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, humiliation, creampie

All characters depicted are 18+

Sebastian takes his duties as the butler of the Phantomhive household very seriously, so seriously in fact that he doesn't ever sleep, mainly because demons don't need to sleep, but the fact still remains that there is no butler more diligent than Sebastian. His keen senses are able to pick up on the smallest of noises, even the faintest creak of the floorboards won't escape his notice. If a pin dropping doesn't go unnoticed by Sebastian, then there is no way in hell that he won't notice the presence of another hellish entity in his midst.

He is equal parts intrigued and concerned. Sebastian knows he can effortlessly dispatch any threat towards his master, bit even so the thought of another demon being after him is quite concerning. Never one to waste his time dwelling on any worries he might have, Sebastian will quickly do his part as a butler by apprehending the uninvited guest.

It's comically easy for Sebastian, he's not called a devil of a butler for nothing, he's able to use his superior strength to yank the little demon over to him when she's unaware, grabbing her by the pointy tail, which makes her hiss out in pain like a cat. Sebastian likes cats, even the ones with claws, but he sadly can't pet her, not when she's been such a bad girl as to even attempt to endanger his master.

Sebastian knows precisely how to deal with a naughty little succubus like herself, her kind feed off the sexual energy and desires of men, so he'll give her exactly what every succubus wants, he'll give it to her until she's begging him to stop. It's a fitting punishment for the demonic intruder, and it finally gives Sebastian the opportunity to stop feigning his humanity, even if just for a short while.

"Naughty thing, did you truly believe you could intrude oh my master's property without consequence? Oh how adorable~ I'll be sure to give you something to remember before sending you back to our home~"

His eyes are glowing unabashedly now, the glowing red orbs now having a feral intensity to them as he starts teasing the lesser demon, yanking on her tail roughly as he exposes her holes to his hellish gaze, teasing her sensitive pussy lips mercilessly before he decides to have his fill of her. Sebastian hasn't had a good fuck in a while, and certainly never with another demon that was aware of his true nature, so he's going to savor this rare treat.

Being centuries old, Sebastian is well versed in the art of making somebody come undone around his cock, whether they want to or not. His hips will slam against her from behind, his balls slapping against his ass while he fucks her raw, pulling on her tail like a bully pulling on the braids of a girl he likes. Sebastian's cock is long and thick, even in his human form, so it'll ram against her oversensitive womb with every thrust, forcing her into one mind breaking orgasm after the other.

Demons typically can't reproduce with one another, so Sebastian can cum inside of her to his heart's content without a care in the world, and he won't be satisfied with cumming inside of her just once, he's going to breed her until she's begging him to stop, and for hours after that too. It won't take long for her to go from confident and rude to whining and pleading with him to show mercy, but nothing will come of those pleas aside from her receiving even more mockery and even more loads shot into her already overstuffed womb.

He finds her reactions and pleading to be both adorable and pitiful, not to mention ironic; a creature who feeds off of sex now begging him to stop fucking her, her impish pussy overflowing with cum and weakly gripping his cock, fucked loose from the brutal pounding she's getting. He definitely won't be stopping anymore despite her pleas, after all, lesser demons make lovely fucktoys.

"Oh my~ begging already, little one? How sad, your kind usually loves getting ravished so, you truly are a disgrace from all demonkind~! How cute~!"

But alas, he can't keep this adorable little kitten as a house pet as much as he wants to, his young master would never allow such a thing, but Sebastian takes pride in the fact that he successfully subdued another interloper, and she won't mess with him again, that is unless she wants her holes destroyed again.

[imraespace]

SLEEPING OVER ! - having a sleepover with them

THIS includes : fanfiction genre: fluff, crack NOTE: a sneaky break from writing rin shshshs

PAIRINGS: ISAGI, NAGI WORD COUNT: 1.3k, 1.3k, (2.6k in total)

ISAGI YOICHI sleepover during a storm.

"Are you sure your parents are okay with this?"

Your words caught Yoichi off guard, too deep into his snack, the sudden voice broke his concentration.

The couple was currently out on a date and the sudden thought came into Yoichi's mind,

"Wanna sleep over tonight?"

"Huh?"

It was most certainly out of the blue, but who are you to turn down your boyfriend? You agreed to his proposal but no matter how many times he tells you that it will be okay, that thought in the back of your head can't seem to leave you alone.

Your worried face came into his view as he looked up from his snack to focus on you. The afternoon sun made home onto your face, blinding you a bit but it didn't bother you that much it seems. Before, you two were taking strolls here and there during the day but decided to take a rest at the local park, not many children were around anyways.

In your point of view, his half-eaten popsicle came into your field of vision, causing you to look up and was greeted with his comforting smile.

"Of course they will be okay with it, I already told them about you maybe once or twice.."

"You did!?" You blurted out.

You heard a small laugh coming from the male in front of you as your cheeks grew a bit warm from embarrassment.

"You're worried over my parents, have you told yours?" He asked.

Oh right..

"I.. forgot.. They would be okay with it anyways.. if I lie." You confessed, muttering the last part.

"Huh?"

"Nothing.."

He stared at you for a bit, taking in the small moment. His eyes shifted to the phone in your hand, watching as you searched for your mother's contact.

To pass time, Yoichi checked his phone as well and noticed a notification from his mother.

[4:09 P.M.] there are mentions of a storm soon, please come home soon!

A storm? He thought about it for a bit then turned to face you.

"There's a storm coming." You brought up, catching him off guard.

"Did you read my mind?"

"Huh?" You looked over at your boyfriend, accidentally locking eyes with him.

"No, my mom just told me." You simply said.

"Same with mine, can you come over?"

You nodded at his words but then dropped some news.

"She told me to not come home right now, she's scared I might get caught up in the storm.." You muttered, causing Yoichi's eyebrow to raise in confusion.

"Does she not know that you won't have any clothes?" He asked.

"..I told her I'm going over to a friend."

"..."

You huffed at his silence, rolling your eyes and then looked up at the sky.

"You think she will let me go if I told her it was a boy? And on the same day as well?"

"Well.." He muttered, having nothing to back him up.

"I can go, that's all that matters, right?"

"I mean, yeah.. But next time don't lie to your mom!"

"Yeah okay, I won't."

He, too, looked up at the sky, noticing that the afternoon sun that rested on your face is now slowly being blocked by gray clouds.

"Shall we go?" He asked.

You nodded at his words, gathering your belongings with the help of the boy beside you, mostly him taking everything.

Soon, you both made it to his house and his parents were the first thing you were greeted with as soon as you entered the household. You took in the shocked expressions and then Yoichi got to work explaining everything.

In the end, they were okay with it and warmly welcomed you in, sadly it was all covered up by the gloomy weather.

.

.

.

And now here you are, in the middle of a thunderstorm in your boyfriend's room. You stared out of the window, watching the raindrops forcefully make their way onto it, all to just slide down to the bottom.

The opening of a door broke you out of your zone as your head turned in the direction and saw Yoichi entering with a few clothes in his hand.

"I got some of my clothes from the clean laundry, you can use them for the night." He said, walking up to you and shifted his eyes on the window besides you.

You took the items out of his hand, staring at them for a bit then back up at him.

"Thanks Yoi, if you don't mind, I'll get dressed now." You muttered, with a small smile.

He nodded at your words, taking it as a sign to give you privacy and left the room. As soon as the door closed, you walked up to his bed and placed the clothes on it then began removing yours.

Placing the clothes over your body, the thoughts flew in. Every time you think about using his clothes, it always ignites you all over your body. It's not the first time, but the feeling will never die down, no matter how many times, it just grows.

The sound of the rain banging on the roof grew louder with every raindrop, deafening you from everything else. Storms are comforting in a way, the coldness and the sound lulls you to sleep, but this storm.. seems to be a bit different.

As soon as you pulled his hoodie over your head, the power went out, leaving you in complete darkness.

"..Hello?"

You asked out as if someone would respond. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes in the darkness but then thunder was heard, causing a small yelp to leave your mouth.

"Y/n?" You heard from outside the door.

As soon as you heard the familiar voice you ran up to the door, feeling for the knob and finally opened it. You were then greeted with a figure that resembles your boyfriend.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah.." You muttered.

He sighs out a small smile understanding the situation and grabbed your hand, guiding you towards his bed. He sits you down, placing himself beside you, and then reached out for his blanket, wrapping it around you both.

Another thunder was heard, followed by a flash of lightning, scaring you yet again and this time you grabbed onto your Yoichi, shoving your face into his chest.

He wrapped an arm around you as the other holds a flashlight he brought in and decided to turn it on. The sound of the click caused you to peek out, noticing the small light in his hand.

Still, no matter what, you refuse to let go of the boy, resting your face back into the comfort of his chest. He placed the flashlight at the end of his bed and wrapped both arms around you, covering your ears using his slightly larger frame, and slightly tighten his grip around you for comfort.

.

.

The storm grew louder, no signs of dying down anytime soon. As the raindrops filled his ears, he slowly put force onto you, guiding your back onto the soft mattress and rested your head onto his pillow. He shifted his body a bit, looking down at you and made out your relaxed expression and chest slowly rising and falling.

He stared at you, there was no need to protect you from the storm, yet he felt the need to hold on, stay close and cover your ears. Even though his ears are still filled with the raging storm, staring at you gave him a peace of mind, lulling him to sleep. Soon you both were wrapped together, no longer bothered by the storm.

The forgotten flashlight in the background, the beating of the raindrops on the window, and flashes from lightning filled the small bedroom yet the couple rested comfortably in each other's hand, peacefully snoring away.

NAGI SEISHIRO playing video games with him.

".. You're going to die.. moron.."

You heard for the umpteenth time. You let out a sigh, groaning on your boyfriend's bed.

You stared at the back of his gaming chair, wishing he could magically witness your boredom and annoyance behind him, but sadly his headphones were on..

"Why invite me over if you're gonna play with your online friends.." You muttered, glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Yet again, you rolled over on his bed, burying your face in the blanket, and let out another sigh. During your wallowing moment, your ears perked up at the sound of his chair shifting.

You stole a peak, checking to see what happened this time and saw his fist up in the air? Ah wait, he's playing with his friends, he probably won the game..

But what catches you off guard is him actually turning to face you with his signature blank stare, yet this one hid something.. His eyes lingered on your frame, taking in your slumped mood.

"Y/N.. come here for a second.." He muttered.

"Hm?" The sudden request, yet the first one for the night made you waste no time following his words, pushing yourself up and off the bed and slowly making your way towards him.

He stood up from his chair, disconnected his headphones from the PC, and grabbed your arm.

"What are you doing?" You asked yet still gave him permission.

He guided you to sit on his chair leaving you even more confused as to what he's trying to do here. He spun the chair, making you face the PC.

"I'm gonna teach you how to play league.."

"HUH?!"

.

.

.

This.. isn't your first time experiencing this, in fact this isn't the first time Seishiro insisted on teaching you how to play his favorite games, but you always turn down League of Legends, only because..

"This game is too hard to learn! The controls are so different and what do you mean the characters have their own difficulty level.."

"Stop the complaining.. you'll understand it. Promise."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his pinky. Using the chair, you turned to face him with a small pout and locked pinkies but seeing your expression, he took his large hands and squished your cheeks.

"Don't pout, it will be fun."

"Okay fine.."

His hands left your face and then pointed towards the screen.

"Choose your champion."

"Erm.."

Seems like a hard decision.. and he noticed your hesitation.

"If you wanna, I can show you the easiest ones."

"Please do that.."

With the guidance given, you were able to choose a champion called,

"Vex it is, are you ready?"

"Sure.." You muttered.

You heard movements from behind and then you felt his presence, leaning onto the chair, hand reaching out to guide you but then you heard a huff from him.

"What's wrong?" You asked him.

"This chair is gonna get in my way.."

You looked up, noticing his gloomy expression and then the obvious idea popped up in your head.

"Well then.." You started, standing up and invited him to sit.

"You'll simply become my seat!"

"Oh, that's smart."

And so, he sat on the chair and invited you into his lap.

"Now this would be easier.." He muttered, pulling you both up closer to the desk and started back his teaching. But, you were so eager to invite him on the chair, that you realized how much closer he is now. So much for teaching you, you're barely gonna pay attention..

With his body so much closer this time, pressed up against you, hands over yours, guiding you and teaching you the controls, the only thing you got out of his so-called teaching is nothing but misery..

But slowly, you ignored the warm feeling, realizing why he always seemed so angry while playing this game..

.

.

.

After the entertaining teachings, he decided to let you play your first match, with his online friends who had no clue who you even were. You let him do his thing, switched the tab onto Discord, and messaged in his group chat, all while you slowly died every time he leaned in closer and closer.

Just then, the signature discord ringtone was heard, causing you to look up at the screen and stay quiet, deciding that Sei should take control now.

"What's with the sudden call, didn't you log out first?" His friend asked.

To be honest, this is the first time you've even heard them.

"Yeah, but I need you all to hop on league again." Your boyfriend confessed.

"Why?" Another one asked out.

"I'm teaching my girlfriend how to play."

After that bomb drop the call went dead silent.

.

.

"Hello?"

"What girlfriend?" One of them joked.

"My girlfriend? The one that's here right now.." Seishiro muttered.

"..Wait really?"

"Y/N.." He softly said, giving you the go-sign to finally speak.

"Um.. I'm here.."

And then yet again, a silent call.

"Can we just play..?" Sei asked.

"Oh, yeah sure."

So now, finally with a team acquired, Seishiro switched back to the game, waiting for his friends to join the lobby.

"Y/N are you ready?" He asked behind you, tilting his head towards the side to view your current expression.

"I think so.."

You couldn't see, but Seishiro held a small smile on his face, wrapping his arms around your stomach and resting his chin on your head, taking in the moment of you finally playing one of his favorite games.

He thought of you bonding with his online friends but as soon as the match started, there wasn't much bonding happening..

"Welcome to summoner's rift."

You heard, and you did just as what you were told before. Your teammates made their way to their own lanes as you made your way to mid-lane.

Slowly getting through with the minions, you met the other team's mid-laner and the chaos started, as in you died.

"What the.."

"It's okay.."

Yeah, it is.. You told yourself, pouting a bit.

Here you are again, this time you started the fight! Then died.

"..It's okay," Seishiro told you, again.

This time, his hands reached up for the mouse, placing his palm over yours and guiding your movements.

"Let's play together." He said, cheering up your gloomed mood.

"Yes please.."

Soon, the game went your way and you actually began to enjoy it. His friends, your teammates, had some words to say here or there but without Seishiro getting the say in, you talked back. Soon.. you started sounding like your boyfriend.

The way you glared at him as he bad-mouthed his teammates or cursed randomly when he died, here you are doing the exact same thing with Seishiro behind, following your same actions.

He removed his hands, letting you take the lead, and placed them back on your stomach, leaning into you as he took in the game in front of him.

Without his help, being so deep into the match, and bossing around your teammates, you won your first match ever!

Your bright smile made its way onto your face and with that, you shifted in his lap and gave him a big hug.

"Can we play again? This time I want you as my teammate." You confessed.

"We can.. You need your own account."

"I'll make one."

And with that, the night ended with you becoming a secret league player and Seishiro buying you skins for Vex and other champions you've never played, but only mentioned them once or twice.

"I had no clue your girlfriend was bossy.."

"That sucks for you." Seishiro joked, in his own way. You flashed him your bright smile as you sat on his bed, using his laptop to look through whatever skins he got you. He turned back to his monitor and simply said,

"She's not even mean.."

"Yeah right."

IMRAESPACE || MASTERLIST

[ohbo-ohno]

idk if any of you have peacock/have seen ads for their show "teacup" but i can't stop thinking of smth similar with ghost (entirely unedited)

like, you buy a house out in the middle of nowhere - maybe a cabin, just to get away from society a bit. and you say you won't stay for long, but then you get used to things, start enjoying the peace and quiet you get away from all other human life, and you just... stay.

and then one day you go outside, and there's a giant spray painted ring around your house - enough for you to walk a bit but not so much that you can reach your garden. and there's a man standing maybe fifteen feet past the line, wearing a mask that covers his face, but clearly just staring at you. he's massive, casts a shadow that crosses over the line, but almost unnaturally still.

he tells you that he won't cross the line, that everything past it is still yours and safe. but if you cross the line in any way, you're his. the fact that you won't last long without food from your garden isn't something that needs to be said, you're already taking stock of the food inside your pantry.

you'd gotten comfortable out here in the wilderness, with your garden producing everything you could want. you never got into canning - bought a book on it, but never even cracked the spine. it's so much work, and you were perfectly happy with going to the garden before dinner and throwing something together with what you could get.

but now you're stuck. you see the man outside your window sometimes, walking around and around and around the circle, never passing it. every room in your house has a window, and there are days where you feel like he's following you, every time you glance outside he's just there.

you don't see him at night. you have no idea where he goes - god knows if he ever sleeps, you're not sure if he's even human - but you can't see him in the dark. the light from your windows doesn't stretch to the line, and the moon isn't enough to make him visible. once the sun goes down, he's just gone.

that's what gives you the nerve to step outside one night, long after it's gotten dark. you're hardly breathing as you tip-toe towards the line, eyes trained on your poor neglected garden - it's been several days since he first arrived, and no one has tended to your poor food. you're not even sure what you'll be able to get, if he's really gone.

he seems to be, or at the very least you certainly can't see him when you stop right at the edge of the line and look around. your flashlight illuminates the edge of the forest as you scan the trees, the circle of light smaller than you'd like. there's nothing.

you stand there for several more minutes, just staring at the food only a few feet out of reach. there's plenty of food that you know has already gone to waste, but you're hoping, praying there's enough to fight off your hunger just a bit, just long enough that you can think past the ache in your stomach long enough to attempt a plan.

(you'd been unable to think the first 24 hours, a creature of panic and nothing more. by the time you'd calmed even a bit, you'd been so hungry you could hardly breathe, then gotten sucked back into your panic after one look at your barren pantry. why had you never bothered to save food?)

your first step over the line feels like a crime. you almost squeeze your eyes shut just to wait for something to happen, but you force yourself to keep your flashlight active, not letting your eyes settle as you scan the forest again and again.

each step feels like you're stepping on glass, heart in your throat. it's dead silent in a way you've come to know the forest never is. the only thing keeping you from darting back inside is the desperate, animal need to eat.

you fall to your knees at the edge of your garden, plucking as many cherry tomatoes from the vine as you can, shoveling them in your mouth without even checking for bugs. there's nothing here but you and then man in the forest.

they burst on your tongue, cold and juicy and tangy and delicious. you feel delirious, having gone more than three days without eating by this point. the tomatoes could be spoiling on the vine, dotted with rot, and you'd still savor them like they're nectar.

you drop your flashlight after the first mouthful, desperate to use two hands and grab as many of the fruits as possible. the light illuminate just a small section of the trees ahead of you, blades of grass casting high shadows.

you only notice how much you've lost focus when the flashlight flickers off next to you. you can't move for a moment, juice dripping down your chin, paralyzed at the thought that he's somehow snuck up on you, made it to your side and taken your only light.

but he's not by you, you're still alone. you can feel it acutely, some instinct at the back of your head saying predator near, hide but not screaming in the way it had on that first day, when you'd been closest to him.

still, you're on your feet in the next moment, fruit abandoned in the dirt as you sprint back to your cottage. your not far from the circle, just mere feet, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.

you can feel him, he's right there you know it. the forest is quiet, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath your feet and your heavy breaths, but you swear you can hear his voice echoing in your head. not an inch past that line, love. then you're mine.

it's not a surprise when you're tackled to the ground, not really. still, you scream, tomatoes already churning in your gut and bile gathering in your mouth. your nails claw desperately at the colored grass, so fucking close to your safe haven, your cage.

"got you," he hisses over your shoulder, so heavy over you that you can hardly get in a breath. you scream soundlessly, face contorted in tear as you break your nails in your desperate digging. "you're mine."

the lights from your cottage seem like hardly more than the flame at the end of a matchstick as you're dragged away, your strength nothing compared to his as you're taken further and further from the safe haven he'd allowed you. by the time you hit the tree line, you don't have the energy to even try to scream.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Okay, so I’m weirdly into the idea of being someone’s estranged wife???

Imagine being Patrick’s estranged wife?? Like maybe he married you bc he couldn’t have Tashi and then just…never signed the divorce papers? And now he’s knocking on your door bc there’s a challenger he’s gonna play in buttttt his bank account’s a little low so could he pretty please crash with you? He’ll sleep on his couch and be on his best behavior, he swears

Queue him crawling into bed with you at 2 am bc it’s cold in the living room and you’re soft and pretty and whoops, he’s hard

Ooo love this

Warnings: Fingering, Patrick Being Patrick, bitter and estranged ex-wife Reader

"You have any chicken nuggets?"

"What are you, five?"

"Adults can enjoy chicken nuggets."

They certainly could, but you didn't grace that reply with a response, just watched with tepid interest as he rifled through the contents of your fridge.

A single phrase kept resounding in your mind:

I should've left him on the doorstep.

And maybe you should have. It wouldn't be the first time that you'd given Patrick the cold shoulder, and it wouldn't be the first time that he just parked in your driveway and slept in his car. But you just couldn't stand the sight of him out in the cold, pouting and gnawing on his lower lip in the fish-eye lens of your peephole.

"Why don't we order a pizza?" He tacked on.

We. It was always 'we' with him, but never in the action, or the cost—that was a 'you' action, not a 'we' more often than not.

"Who's paying for it?" You asked. Patrick turned to you with a dopey, guilty little smile affixed to his lips as he cocked his hip.

"Well until I sign the papers, the two shall be as one, right?"

"Yeah—Why haven't you signed, by the way?"

"Your guy's never been able to serve 'em." He turned back to the fridge, ducking his head as he looked around. "You got any beer?"

You rolled your eyes. "Third shelf, at the back."

"Bingo. Want one?"

"Not right now. But thanks for offering me something that I bought and paid for. Really appreciate it."

Patrick huffed a soft laugh as he turned toward you again, opening the beer against the edge of the counter.

"Mine mine mine," He teased. "What is it with you and what's yours, huh?"

"Just stating facts, Zweig."

"So self-righteous, Mrs. Zweig." He used your married name with a vinegary smile before taking a deep swig from his bottle, pointedly ignoring the way that you bristled. "So. Pizza?"

--

Just the couch.

Patrick had pleaded it between bites of pizza, scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the crumbs and oil left behind. He'd framed it as a reasonable enough request, like it was the easiest thing in the world to let your estranged husband back into your home.

You won't even know I'm there.

As if you hadn't been fighting to find a harmony within yourself for the last year, trying to serve him papers for the last six months, to get your divorce to take, to rid yourself of his last name.

Watching him sort through the garbage bags of clothing that you'd packed up for him to come and take between tours had been a little pitiful, but he'd unearthed what he'd needed to sleep in.

"Still have a toothbrush for me?" He asked.

"No."

"Face wash?"

"Don't you just use soap?"

"Yeah, but you put me on that, uh—That regimen, that routine."

"You never followed it."

"So you threw the stuff out?"

"I wasn't using it, so. Yeah."

"Huh." Patrick straightened, PJs in hand. You couldn't help but watch him strip off as he passed you, eyeing the ripple of his back muscles as he tossed his shirt in the direction of his bag.

"I'm showering," He called over his shoulder, "If you'd like to join me."

"I'd rather chew glass, but thanks."

--

He was sleeping. He had to be, right? It didn't matter if he was or wasn't. It didn't matter that Patrick Zweig was asleep on your couch, just a floor away. It didn't matter that you were worked up, at the midpoint between pissed off and turned on.

How did he always manage to do that to you?

You should've been able to clock early on that it was trouble. None of your friends or family thought it would work out, and you'd been chagrined when they'd been right. For as much as you had once loved him, for as certain as you and Patrick had been sure you would fit, that you would fix whatever needed fixing, no matter what fate had in store for you, you just...Couldn't.

It didn't help that he had been chasing glory on the court, or that you had spent your relationship trying to fill the shoes of a woman that you could never be. It didn't help that the two of you were just fundamentally different, in ways that you either of you were unwilling to compromise. When he'd left, it hadn't been a surprise, but it had been so goddamn hard to serve him papers. But you'd had such trouble trying to pin him down during your relationship, why should the way you broke be any different?

But when you'd been in bed together—Hell, you'd been even more certain that it could work. You and Patrick just fit. Things had been so right with so little conversation or hesitation. Your needs had fueled one another's, and you'd been able to lose yourself in him. It should have been enough.

But it wasn't then, and it wasn't now.

He was asleep. He had a match the next morning, and he needed his rest. You could do the same—You should do the same. You needed to be staring at the ceiling right now like you need a goddamn hole in the head. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and doing your best to focus on your breathing. In for five... Hold...Out...For...Five...In for...One...Two...Three...Four...

Your eyes opened, your breath catching as you heard the door open. You held completely still as you heard the door close again, chased by the soft pad of feet along your floor before the mattress dipped beside you. The covers shifted, lifting and falling as he laid down.

"Are you asleep?" He murmured. It was another moment before his palm skimmed across your belly, his rough cheek nuzzling against the curve of your shoulder. Your breath left you in a soft sigh, your muscles untensing bit by bit.

"I know you haven't been here in a while," You muttered, "But this is not the couch."

He huffed a soft laugh. "I know," He snuggled closer, and it was just a moment before you felt the press of his cock against your hip. You drew in a shaky breath, hands lowering to his arm.

"Patrick," You mumbled. "You should be asleep."

"I can't sleep." His teeth scraped along your jaw as his fingers snaked under the hem of your nightshirt.

"Indigestion?" You squeaked. "Shouldn't've had that third slice of pizza. I told you not to."

Your eyes squeezed shut as he rolled his hips against you.

"This feel like pizza to you?"

"Well—"

"Baby," He pleaded. "You gonna tell me you didn't miss me?"

It took you a moment, and you couldn't help your slight squirming.

"Not even a little."

He laughed again, and you knew that you hadn't been able to sneak a thing by him.

"You don't have to lie. I saw you watching me." He tipped his chin up, sucking a tender kiss to your neck. And you had, but—

"I wasn't."

Patrick tutted disapprovingly. You shuddered, arching up into his touch as his thumb skimmed across your hardening nipple.

"You're a shitty liar, you know that?"

"You're an asshole," You hissed as Patrick lifted his head.

"You like it."

You couldn't get a word out to argue as Patrick's tongue swept between your lips. You whimpered in spite of yourself, sinking back against your pillows and raising your hand to fist in his hair. He was over you in a moment, body shoving your thighs wide as his hands rucked up the bottom of your sleep shirt. You drew in a sharp breath as his head dipped to catch one of your nipples between his lips. You tightened your grip on his, shivering as he teased it with his tongue.

Patrick's hips ground against yours, rolling against where you're growing slick in your sleep shorts.

"How long's it been?" He murmured, "Huh? Since me?"

And it was too embarrassing to say—too embarrassing to admit that you hadn't slept with anyone since Patrick left.

"Shut up," You hissed, "Just—Please, shut up."

His hand snuck beneath the hem of your shorts, swiping gently across your tender clit, and he grinned as your hips hitched up into his deft touch.

"S'okay," He cooed as he eased a couple of fingers into your tight, aching cunt. "I missed you, too."

--

"You gonna come watch me play?"

As with the rest of the last day or so, your answer should be no. You didn't turn to look at Patrick as you rummaged through your dresser for something to wear.

"I've seen you play, Patrick."

"Not lately." He tried again: "It's a challenger."

You hummed, giving a noncommittal shrug as you pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

"...Well can I stay here tonight?"

"If you win, sure."

"How will you know I win if you don't come see me?"

You rolled your eyes, hip-checking your drawer shut before pulling up your pants and tugging in your top.

"Fine. Just tonight. You'll have to find somewhere tomorrow night."

"I'll have the prize money by then, I'll crash at a motel."

"Oh, a motel. Hey big spender," You drawled, heading for your door.

"Hey."

"What?"

"You have the papers here?"

It stopped you dead in your tracks, your stomach churning with unease as you looked at him again.

"...What?"

"The divorce papers," He clarified. "I can sign 'em while I'm here."

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to go down to your office and draw the file out of your desk drawer, to plop it down in front of Patrick with your favorite black ballpoint pen, to flip between arrow tabs and instruct, "Sign here, here, here, here, here, and here."

But you found yourself shaking your head.

"I don't have a copy," You fibbed. It took Patrick a moment before he nodded a little.

"Can you get them?"

Hell, were you that out of practice? One night back in bed with you and he was ready to call it? But you were certain that wasn't it—That Patrick was, for once in his goddamn life, trying to make it easy on you after so much hell.

"...Maybe, I don't know," You shrugged. "It's the weekend."

"Okay."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah—Hey."

"What?"

You watched as Patrick pulled the covers away, unashamed of his nakedness as he strode toward you. He grasped your chin, tipping your head for a soft kiss. It took everything in you not to melt into him as he skimmed his hand over your hip, drawing back just enough to give you a sleepy, hazy smile.

"Good morning."

You couldn't help your own, indignant smile.

"Sure, Patrick." You turned away, determined to push on with your day, your life like he wasn't there—like he wouldn't be hanging over you as you made breakfast, or dominating the court as he played, or in your bed again in just a few hours. "Good morning."

[cherie-doll]

COD Men; including Nikto headcanon reaction. Of their wife using corporal punishment on their kids; ie, using a belt, slipper or even a coat hanger on the kids. Because it was ‘used on me and I turned out fine’ mentality.

lol this brought back memories

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He'd prefer if you didn't use any physical force, ofc tho he understands why you do it sometimes

However he can't help but feel bad because even if he isn't the one spanking the kid with a belt, he sees them crying and comforts them afterwards because he doesn't dare intrude in the moment

Even when he tries to use his role of captain you shoot him a look saying that just because he has authority out there with other people he certainly needs to know his place as a father here

Shoots a remorseful look to his kid and leaves but at least he knows where to go to afterwards to find him

Ghost

Absolutely hates you for pinching your kid awake at the family function, and he thinks you're the one overreacting

You did the minimal thing in the moment but here Simon is acting as if you were being an abusive parents already, you try and tell him it's nothing but he's not having any of it

Honestly it's kind of endearing watching him get so protective of his kids like that

Soap

He thinks sometimes you get too ahead of yourself when you're scolding the kids but he won't hesitate to step in when it comes to physical punishment

Tries to reason with you on why it's okay to give them a pass, just this time alright? You hate how easily you give in

Gaz

The one time he found his little girl crying silently in bed after you had sent her to sleep was enough for him to gather her in his arms and literally beg you to not do it again

"She gets so scared" he pleads because he doesn't like seeing her cry which sort of irks you because you don't know how else to discipline them

He doesn't like it, doesn't care if it was used on him when he was a kid or on you but he certainly doesn't want to continue it

Roach

Even he flinches when you raise your voice indicating you've reached your limit and are about to spank the kid, you don't even need a belt or slipper, you use your bare hand

When he nervously asks why he does it you just shrug and say that's how your mother disciplined you and it worked so

"Can you... not do that?" because he doesn't wanna risk stepping in himself

Alejandro

It might be normal to him, it's not unusual to be yelled at or hit on the daily because that's how he grew up, if anything he might even say when a kid needs it

To a certain extent of course, he will interfere if he thinks the punishment has had its effect on the child

But don't ever ask him to do it, especially not when your kids were very small, but he had no problem doing it when they were teenagers

Rudy

Don't ever even ask him to lay a hand on his babies and can't stand to see you do it either, no matter how many times you've explained to him why it's sometimes needed he doesn't like it

When you want to try he'll instead take the kids aside and prefer to speak to them, they should be old enough to understand

And it surprisingly works, they come back apologizing to you for making you angry and Rudy will just come and squeeze your shoulders saying "See? They're not bad kids"

Phillip Graves

He knows that when you use physical force for punishment it's not for just any reason, he's learned it that way because his own mother was like that

She'd give warnings and stern looks until her patience was thin and was reaching for his father's belt

He did have a serious talk with you once when he thought you started spanking them too young, like as toddlers because they didn't know what they were doing yet

Makarov

Either really on board or is prohibiting you from doing it ever again, like who cares if his kids run a little rampant? Who's gonna be the fool to try and stop them when Makarov is their father

On the other hand he's sending warning glances to his kids that your temper will be rising the more they act up so it's best they listen and sit still

Keegan

He really was about to go and ask if you were crazy but then he saw you deliver a single slap to your kid for speaking disrespectfully and he turned right around only giving the kid a "you're on your own" look and a shrug

When the kid asked him why only you hit him and Keegan doesn't he shrugged and said that's how you were raised

They both hide when you find a mess and are trying to find the culprit

König

Sometimes he's not there when you punish the kids but when he comes home and goes into their rooms only to find them playing on the floor quietly he asks them what's wrong

They'll softly whisper into his ear that you only just gave them a spanking and he's cradling them in his arms and hugging them, promising he'll talk to you so you're not as "harsh" on them

Horangi

He sometimes plays favorites with his children without even realizing it, like he won't do anything if the boys get in trouble and you have to spank them

Oh, but if it's one of his girls he's defending them, there's a reason they run to him first when they do something they know is wrong

Nikto

Despite how he was raised he for some reason doesn't like it when you punish your kids, he gets all serious and doesn't speak to you for a while until the anger wears off

Instead of hitting them with a coat hanger like you do he prefers if you pull at their ears instead and let them off with a warning, it's the least you could do

[averycutesalamander]

from the prompt list, for my bestie <3 gn reader !

29: Tucking their hair behind their ear.

Sometimes Boothill could swear that the universe itself is trying to inconvenience him at every possible turn. 

He's on his way back home to you after an exceptionally long absence; too many time-sensitive missions got stacked on top of each other, and he hasn't had a single day to spare with all of this running around. (He's found that he gets especially cranky when he's kept away from you for too long; he has to wonder if the poor bastards he's been shooting can tell.) 

There's some kind of issue with the dock he usually uses on your planet, though, so he's been forced to find somewhere else discreet to land his ship; it took him a good few hours to even find somewhere that he's confident won't sell him out. When he texted you saying he'd get home late, he wasn't quite expecting it to be this late. It's well after midnight by the time he finally manages to land, and he has to fight to keep his irritation in check. He's weary and tired and pissed off and he misses you like a prisoner misses the sun, so he makes the walk to your home in record time. 

He opens the front door quietly, retracting his spurs just before he steps inside. He wipes off his feet as he settles his hat on the rack, carefully tuning his hearing to track down your heartbeat; he finds its comforting rhythm in the living room, slow and even. Sleeping, if he had to guess. The house is quiet and the lights are off; you probably passed out before dusk. 

Sure enough, when he turns the corner, he finds you asleep on the couch; you're still in your day clothes, your phone cradled against your chest. His chest aches, just as it always does when he lays eyes on you again after coming back home; it's like he's just shaken a heavy weight off of his shoulders, and suddenly, everything is right in the world. A quiet pang of guilt echoes in his chest, though; he hates making you wait like this, even if he's twice as pissed about it as you. 

(You never, ever complain about things like this. The most you do is playfully grouch, but you never seem to lose your patience with him. He doesn't know how to handle it.)

He crouches by your side, his gaze soft with affection. Tenderly, he tucks your hair behind your ear, smiling gently when you sleepily crack open your eyes to look at him.

“You've been waitin’ out here this whole time, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, watching as your lashes flutter. “I told ya to head to bed if I didn't get here in time.”

“Didn't feel right,” you mumble, sighing in apparent bliss when he cups your cheek, your skin hot against his metal. “Wanted to stay up until you got here.”

(Fuck, you're too sweet for him. He's not sure what he did to deserve someone as lovely as you.)

“C'mon, then,” he murmurs, soft and fond. “Let's get ya into bed.”

You hum absently, nuzzling harder into his palm, and his heart pangs with some kind of feeling he can't quite name – something bigger than fondness, but warmer than endearment. Gently, he scoops you up into his arms, careful to support your head as your fingers twist lightly in his jacket; you don't tense in the slightest as he lifts you, and something about the sheer weight of your trust has his throat feeling tight. 

He moves you to the bedroom, careful to avoid bumping you on the doorframe. The room is dark, lit only by the sliver of moonlight that streams through the closed curtains, but he doesn't have any trouble navigating in the dark. (When he first gave up his body, he certainly hadn't predicted that he'd be using his night vision for something as banal and loving as this.) He shifts you over so he can cradle you in one arm, pulling back the blankets with the other and settling you gently onto the bed. 

(You always look so damn pretty; it drives him crazy. You look like an angel, your face all soft with sleep and your body lax with exhaustion. His heart aches from the force of his adoration.)

“Lemme get some clothes for ya, sweetheart. Can't imagine that's all that comfy,” he murmurs, and the only sign that you're awake is the soft grunt that you reply with. Adorable. 

He rummages in your dresser for a moment, plucking out the pajamas that he knows you find the comfiest. Then, he returns to your side, carefully and gently guiding your clothes off of you; he can tell that you're trying to help, but your tired squirming is ultimately more of a hindrance when he's just manhandling you anyway. (He can't say he minds. You're too damn cute when you're tired.) Finally, once you're bare, he eases you into your sleep clothes, easy and familiar. Then, he tucks you carefully under the blankets and sits by your side, smiling gently at the way you sigh and hunker down into the plushness of your pillow. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, almost certain that you've already fallen back asleep. You surprise him when he stands back up, though. 

“Don't go,” you whine, simultaneously theatrically and genuinely dramatic. “Get in. Wanna hold you.” 

You reach out with one fumbling hand, clearly intending to grab onto him; he smiles fondly as he links his fingers with yours, snickering as he settles back onto the edge of the mattress. 

“I'm just gonna wash up real quick, sunshine.” He strokes his thumb across your knuckles, quietly savoring the blissful heat of your palm against his metal. “I'll be back in a jiffy.”

“Don't care,” you grouch flatly. “Get in.”

He chuckles harder, delight blooming in his chest as he raises his brows. “Even though I smell like a fudgin’ barn?”

“Don't care.” He can tell you're starting to drift off again, because you're slurring so badly that he almost can't discern what you're saying. “You smell like you, and I love you, so I like it. Get in the damn bed or I'll never let you give me head again.”

He spies a smile creeping onto your face when he laughs, bright and earnest. “Well, that'd be a mighty shame for both of us, so I guess I gotta get in,” he drawls, his heart soft with affection. 

You make a pleased noise, and when he carefully loosens his grip on your hand, you let him go without fuss. Moving to his side of the bed, he starts to systematically remove all of his clothes, his pins rattling softly as he shucks off his jacket and his belt clinking as he tosses it away. His gun is placed lovingly on the nightstand on his side of the bed, and he removes the unpleasant casing on his left arm, familiar and easy. 

When he's bare – it's a shared preference when you cuddle him – he lifts the blankets and slips into bed beside you. You flipped to face him when he was getting undressed, so when he draws you into his arms, you latch onto him seamlessly; you move with him as he shifts onto his back, keeping you cradled against his chest as you straddle him. The moment you get settled, the two of you sigh in open bliss; your weight on top of him is practically euphoric after such a long absence, and the heat of your body practically sings in his wires. 

“I love you, sweetpea,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple, his body going limp as he breathes in your scent – the smell of warmth, of home, of love. 

You make a series of unintelligible noises that he thinks is supposed to be, “I love you too.”

He smiles, soft and foolishly lovestruck. He tracks the steady beat of your heart, his breathing following yours as you drift back into sleep, warm and content. 

It's good to be home.