#‘say what you want but say it like you mean it with your fists for once’ is so him coded | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 2 days ago

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Take Two || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil, once lovers, are forced to reunite through work, stirring up old heartbreak and undeniable tension. Slowly, you realize love never truly left, and some stories deserve a second chance.

i promise it's a happy ending

The night air feels sharp against your skin, the chill sinking into your bones as you stand face to face with Vil in the shadow of Pomefiore’s grand staircase. His golden hair catches the faint light, glimmering like spun silk, his expression frozen in a mask of disbelief. But his eyes—his eyes betray him, shining with an ache so raw that it almost makes you collapse under the weight of your decision.

"You’re leaving me," he says, his voice flat, brittle, like glass about to shatter. "After everything."

You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. "You deserve someone who can keep up with you, Vil. Someone who doesn’t have to fight just to be noticed, someone who—"

"Stop," he snaps, the word cutting through the night like a knife. "You think this is about keeping up? About deserving?" His voice rises, trembling with a rare fury. "You’re not a burden to me. You never were."

Tears spill over before you can stop them, warm against the chill of the night. "But I’m holding you back. You’re going to be an award-winning actor, a global icon. You’re meant for so much more, Vil. And I—I can’t be the reason you look back someday and wonder what you missed out on."

Vil’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his perfectly manicured nails digging into his palms. "You sound like a coward," he says bitterly. "Someone who doesn’t understand what it means to love. I gave you my heart, and you’re throwing it away like it’s... disposable."

You step closer, your voice trembling. "Vil, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. That’s why I’m doing this. Because I know that if I stay, I’ll be the anchor that holds you back."

He stares at you, stunned into silence, before his face crumples. It’s a sight you never thought you’d see—Vil Schoenheit, so composed, so regal, letting tears spill unchecked. "I regret it," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I regret giving my heart to someone who doesn’t want it."

Your breath hitches. You reach out, wiping his tears away with trembling fingers. "I want it. I’ll always want it."

"Then why—"

"Because I love you enough to let you go," you say, your voice cracking. You lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the salt of both your tears. It’s desperate and bittersweet, a farewell that neither of you wants but both know is inevitable.

When you pull back, his eyes are filled with an agony that mirrors your own. "I’ll pray to the stars that they align for us in another life," you whisper, stepping away even as every fiber of your being screams to stay.

Vil doesn’t follow. He stands rooted in place, watching as you disappear into the night, his tears sparkling under the starlight like diamonds.

And as you walk away, your heart breaking with every step, you can’t help but wonder if love is truly worth it when it hurts this much.

The spotlight gleams against the polished floors of the gala, chandeliers casting constellations on every surface. You stand at the edge of the room, champagne flute in hand, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Laughter ripples around you, yet your heart pounds louder than any of the polite chatter.

Across the room, he stands, bathed in a soft golden light as if the universe itself couldn’t bear to dim him. Vil Schoenheit, global phenomenon, beloved by millions. And you, just a rising singer whose every success still feels like a shadow of his own.

You force yourself to look away before your gaze lingers too long. It's been years since that night—the night you kissed him goodbye, the night you walked away so he could become everything you knew he was destined to be.

And he did. Oh, he did.

Every magazine cover, every award stage, every grand performance is proof of that. You’re happy for him. Truly. You send flowers every time he wins something new, handpicking each bouquet and handwriting every note. Congratulations, Vil. You deserve this and more. No reply ever comes, but you never stop.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is enough.

He spots you before you spot him. He always does.

You stand by the windows, moonlight catching on the delicate fabric of your clothes. Your laughter mingles faintly with the music, but Vil knows you well enough to hear the cracks in it. To anyone else, you’re poised, radiant—a star in your own right. But to him, you’re the person who kissed him goodbye and took his heart with you.

He straightens his posture, as if that will shield him from the wave of memories crashing over him.

The flowers you send have become a cruel routine. He receives them like clockwork—each arrangement more thoughtful than the last, each card bearing your familiar handwriting. He reads every word, his thumb brushing over the ink, before placing the cards in a drawer he’s too afraid to open.

And yet, he saves them all.

Seeing you now is both agony and relief. He knows his worth; the world adores him, reveres him. But when he sees you, every ounce of that worth feels hollow. He feels young again, vulnerable—a teenager fumbling with emotions too large for his heart to hold.

The inevitable happens: your eyes meet.

You catch Vil’s gaze across the room, and your heart stutters. You force yourself to smile, a small, polite thing, and raise your glass in acknowledgment. He nods back, his face unreadable, and you swear your knees might give out.

You’re supposed to be over this. You’re supposed to be happy.

But every time you see him, the years fall away. It’s as if you’re back at Pomefiore, back on that staircase, wiping away his tears and whispering that you loved him before breaking both your hearts.

You excuse yourself to the balcony, the cool night air biting at your skin. You lean on the railing, taking deep breaths.

"Running away again?"

His voice is smooth, poised, and far too close.

You whirl around, and there he is, the moonlight outlining him like the leading man in some grand romantic drama. He’s holding his own champagne flute, his free hand tucked neatly in his pocket. He looks flawless, as always, but his eyes betray him.

"I wasn’t running," you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"Of course not," he replies, his tone as sharp as ever, but there’s something softer beneath it. He steps closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. "And yet, here you are. Avoiding me again."

Your throat tightens. "I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me."

He laughs, a quiet, bitter sound. "Do you really think I have nothing to say to you after all this time?"

You blink, taken aback. "I—I didn’t know. You never—"

"Responded?" He raises an eyebrow, his expression a careful mask. "What was I supposed to say, darling? That every card, every flower, every fleeting mention of you feels like a dagger?"

The word darling slips out so naturally that you almost miss it. Almost.

"Vil, I—"

He cuts you off, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to be adored by millions and still feel empty because the one person I want won’t even look at me properly?"

You gape at him, words caught in your throat.

"You left me," he says, and his voice breaks just enough for you to hear it. "You left, and I—" He exhales sharply, composing himself. "I told myself I hated you for it. But the truth is, I never stopped—"

You take a step forward, closing the distance. "Stop."

His eyes widen slightly, his perfect mask slipping.

"I never stopped either," you admit, your voice trembling. "I thought I was doing the right thing. For you, for us. But all I did was break us both."

And then you unceremoniously run, like you always do.

The sound of your phone vibrating aggressively on your nightstand jolts you awake. It’s your manager, and he’s barking something about an emergency meeting, now.

Still half-asleep, you throw on the first pair of pants you can find, grab your bag, and sprint like you’re being chased by a swarm of angry bees. By the time you reach your company’s little meeting room, you’re wheezing like an old accordion.

You stumble in, gasping for air. “I’m—here—what’s the—emergency?”

And there he is.

Vil Schoenheit, sitting in your dingy little meeting room, radiating elegance and beauty like he’s some Greek god forced to endure mortal company. His perfect golden hair gleams under the flickering fluorescent lights, and his outfit probably costs more than your annual rent.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" you manage to choke out.

“Ah, you’ve arrived!” your manager says, completely ignoring your obvious confusion. He’s fawning over Vil like the man just descended from heaven itself. “Aren’t we so fortunate to have Vil Schoenheit here with us today? What a privilege!”

Vil sits there with the most unimpressed expression you’ve ever seen, his gaze lazily drifting to yours. He raises an eyebrow, and the look on his face very clearly says: The universe hates me as much as it hates you.

“Why…” You gesture wildly at him like that explains anything. “Why is he here?”

Your manager claps his hands together as if this is all the most wonderful news in the world. “You’ve been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compose and perform the opening theme for Vil’s new drama!”

“…What?”

“And Vil has graciously come all this way to provide you with inspiration!”

Vil crosses his legs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I didn’t exactly volunteer,” he says flatly. “I was informed this meeting was non-negotiable.”

“Graciously forced,” you mutter under your breath, earning a sharp glance from him.

Your manager continues, oblivious. “This is huge for us! For you! For the company! A chance to collaborate with Vil Schoenheit!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

You? You’re mentally screaming. The room’s ancient air conditioning groans louder than your brain cells, and the smell of stale coffee is threatening to choke you. This is where Vil Schoenheit is supposed to get his inspiration?

“Great,” you say weakly, flopping into a chair. “Love that for us.”

Your manager claps you on the back, way too hard. “I’ll leave you two to get started! Can’t wait to hear what you come up with!” He scurries out of the room like his life depends on it.

The door clicks shut. Silence.

You turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like he’s silently calculating how fast he can escape. “So,” you say, attempting to sound professional. “I guess we’re doing this.”

Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It seems we have no choice.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“And risk tarnishing my reputation? Hardly.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Thanks for that vote of confidence in my music.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t misunderstand. I’ve heard your work. It’s… fine.”

“Fine?” You bristle. “Just fine?”

“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” he says smoothly, completely ignoring your indignation. “Or at least, I hope you will.”

This is going to be a long day.

The next hour is spent with Vil giving you vague, lofty descriptions of “atmosphere” and “emotion” while you scribble down ideas that may or may not be entirely out of spite.

“Think regal, but with an edge,” Vil says, leaning back in his chair like a king addressing his court. “Something that captures the drama’s tone—elegance, intrigue, power.”

“Right,” you say, scrawling Fancy Soap Commercial Vibes in your notebook.

“And it must resonate with the audience on an emotional level,” he adds, completely serious.

You nod, underlining Fancy Soap Commercial for good measure.

At one point, Vil gets up to demonstrate a movement he wants the music to evoke, his motions fluid and precise like the world’s most intimidating interpretive dancer. You’re not sure if you’re inspired or just terrified.

Finally, you throw your pen down. “I get it! Regal, edgy, emotional. Big feels. Got it.”

Vil gives you a skeptical look. “Are you certain? Because your notes don’t inspire much confidence.”

You glance down at your notebook, where you’ve doodled a tiny stick figure labeled Vil’s Vibes surrounded by stars. “…Yeah, totally got this.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “If this ends up sounding like a children’s lullaby, I’m holding you personally accountable.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Great. No pressure.”

And yet, as much as you want to throttle him for his impossible standards, there’s a part of you that doesn’t hate this. Because, well… it’s Vil. And whether you want to admit it or not, working with him is kind of incredible.

Even if he’s the most dramatic muse you’ve ever had.

The day starts with your manager shoving a revised directive into your hands: go watch Vil's shoot. Apparently, you needed more "inspiration" to compose a song fit for his upcoming drama.

Great. Because spending more time around Vil Schoenheit, global icon and your ex, is exactly what you needed to totally not lose your mind.

Still, you don’t show up empty-handed. On the way to the set, you grab an aggressively caffeinated iced espresso for yourself—because surviving the day calls for it—and, without much thought, you pick up a caramel macchiato with oat milk.

The barista hands it over, and you’re hit by a pang of nostalgia. This was Vil’s favorite back when you were teenagers, back when you’d watch the sunset with him after his rehearsals. You shake the thought away. It’s just coffee.

When you arrive, Vil’s seated on a folding chair, reading over his script like it’s sacred text. Even in the chaos of the bustling set, he looks poised, his hair perfect despite the heat of the lights.

You approach, clearing your throat. “Hey.”

He glances up. “You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes late.” You hold out the cup. “Peace offering?”

Vil takes the coffee without comment, but the moment he sips it, his movements falter. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and you catch the flicker of emotion on his face before he masks it.

You don’t linger. “I’m going to talk to the producers.”

As you walk away, Vil stares at the cup, at the faint smiley face you’ve drawn on the lid. His chest tightens. You remembered.

He forces the thought down, folding it neatly into the drawer of unspoken feelings he’s cultivated since the day you left him. Setting the cup aside, he rises, perfectly composed. He has a scene to shoot, and Vil Schoenheit doesn’t falter.

Watching Vil perform is like watching magic. Every movement, every look, every line—he’s utterly captivating.

You sit near the monitors, jotting down notes as inspiration flows. There’s something about him—his intensity, his elegance—that fills your mind with melodies. You’re so engrossed that you barely notice the shoot wrapping up until Vil walks over, a towel slung casually around his neck.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, his voice smooth and calm, like you hadn’t just been mentally composing an ode to his perfection.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll call an Uber.” You stand, shoving your notebook into your bag.

He frowns, clearly unimpressed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take you home.”

“Vil, it’s fine—”

“I insist,” he says sharply, already walking towards his car.

You follow, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and dread.

The car ride is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the engine and the city lights flashing by. Vil’s driver keeps his gaze firmly on the road, giving the two of you privacy, but the atmosphere feels oddly intimate.

As you sit there, your mind drifts back to your first date. You were a nervous wreck back then, fumbling with your words, tripping over your feet. Vil, of course, had been effortlessly composed, amused by your flustered state but kind enough to guide you through it.

A small smile tugs at your lips at the memory.

“What’s so amusing?” Vil asks, his voice breaking the silence.

You glance at him, startled. He’s looking at you, his gaze sharp but curious.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head.

He doesn’t press, but his eyes linger on you longer than usual.

When the car pulls up to your apartment, you thank Vil and step out, but as you turn to leave, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Vil?” you ask, surprised.

He blinks, as if realizing what he’s done, and lets go immediately. “Nothing,” he says, straightening. “Just… be on time tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I will.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. But he doesn’t. He nods curtly, turning back to the car.

Inside your apartment, you close the door behind you and slide down to the floor, the tears spilling out before you can stop them.

He’s as beautiful as the day you let him go, and it hurts.

You’re so happy for him, so proud of everything he’s achieved. But God, you miss him.

Meanwhile, Vil sits in the back of the car, staring out the window as the city blurs past. His fingers brush against the empty coffee cup in his bag, the one with the faint smiley face you drew.

His heart aches, but he doesn’t let it show. Not even to himself.

The drama is an undeniable success, catapulting Vil’s already dazzling career into further stratospheric heights. But unexpectedly, the opening theme—your song—becomes the anthem of the year, a chart-topping sensation that has every talk show, magazine, and fan forum buzzing about your collaboration.

You, however, aren’t basking in the glow of success as expected. If anything, you’re moping.

Deuce notices first. “You okay? You look… weird.”

“I don’t look weird.”

“You do,” Grim adds, gnawing on his tuna sandwich. “You look like you ate bad tuna but don’t want to admit it.”

“Thank you for the visual,” you deadpan.

You sigh. Everyone else is ecstatic. Your phone is a whirlwind of congratulatory messages, your manager has been pacing like an over-caffeinated rodent, and your inbox is overflowing with offers. Yet all you can think about is the fact that the drama is over—and so are your obligations to Vil.

No more early mornings brainstorming lyrics with him. No more quiet moments sipping coffee during breaks. No more stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t looking (he always was).

It’s ridiculous, really. You’re thriving. Your career is skyrocketing. You should be ecstatic.

Instead, you feel like you’re bracing for an emotional wrecking ball.

Vil, on the other hand, is furious. Not at the drama’s success, of course—he’s a consummate professional, and his performance has been widely praised. No, Vil is furious because he can’t escape you.

He tried. Oh, how he tried. He kept himself busy with interviews, photoshoots, and premieres, meticulously avoiding the thought of you. But then the making-of video was released.

There you were, sitting beside him, coffee cup in hand, throwing out ideas with that little spark in your eyes. The fans lapped it up, the media ran with it, and now every outlet wanted the two of you together for joint interviews.

Vil could not imagine a worse fate.

The first interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., and you arrive early, clutching your notes like a lifeline.

Vil is already there, of course. He sits with perfect posture, his gaze steely as he scrolls through his phone. When he notices you, his lips press into a thin line.

“Good morning,” you venture hesitantly.

“Is it?” he replies coolly, without looking up.

Ouch.

The producer, blissfully unaware of the tension, claps his hands together as he enters the room. “Ah, our power duo! Ready to make magic?”

You exchange a strained glance with Vil. He raises a single brow, clearly unimpressed.

The interview begins, and for the most part, it’s harmless—questions about the creative process, the drama’s success, and future projects.

Then the interviewer smirks, leaning forward. “You two have such wonderful chemistry. Were you always this in sync, or did it take time to build that dynamic?”

Vil’s jaw tightens. You blink, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Well,” you start, “we worked really hard to make the song fit the tone of the drama. It’s all about teamwork.”

“Hmm, teamwork,” Vil echoes, his tone dangerously smooth. “Yes, that’s one way to put it.”

The interviewer beams, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Fans are dying to know—any plans for another collaboration?”

“Who knows?” Vil says, his smile razor-sharp. “Perhaps fate will decide.”

By the time the interview ends, you’re emotionally drained. Vil, of course, looks as pristine as ever.

“Thanks for being civil,” you mutter as you both head to the parking lot.

“Civil?” Vil’s laugh is devoid of humor. “Darling, if that’s your standard for civility, I fear you’ve been spending too much time with amateurs.”

You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know. You think it’s easy for me to—”

You stop yourself, biting your tongue. You’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still affects you.

Vil arches a brow, waiting. When you say nothing, he smirks. “Thought so.”

Later that night, as you scroll through social media, you stumble upon a clip from the interview. It’s nothing scandalous—just a moment where you and Vil exchange a glance and laugh at a question. But the comments are merciless.

> “These two have HISTORY, I can feel it through the screen!” >“Vil looked like he wanted to stab and kiss them at the same time, and honestly, relatable.” >“Petition for them to star in a romantic drama together??”

You groan, throwing your phone onto the couch.

Somewhere across town, Vil is scrolling through the same comments, his expression unreadable. He closes the app with a sigh, but not before saving the clip to his private gallery.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s masochism. Maybe it’s hope. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a part of him isn’t ready to let you go.

The day of the photoshoot arrives, and you’re running on a dangerous combination of nerves, caffeine, and denial. Standing next to Vil for hours under flashing cameras, forced to feign effortless chemistry, feels like a ticking time bomb.

Vil, of course, looks unbothered—poised and perfect as ever, his every movement calculated for maximum elegance. Meanwhile, you’re sweating like a guilty criminal.

“Relax,” Vil murmurs as he adjusts his jacket between shots. “Your unease is practically a stench.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you grumble.

The shoot goes on without a hitch, until—of course—it doesn’t.

It happens in the middle of a particularly dramatic pose. Vil, perched precariously on a raised platform in heels, steps down just as an intern accidentally knocks over a loose prop. It lands with a sharp crack, and Vil, who’s clearly caught off guard, stumbles and falls.

A collective gasp ripples through the room.

“Are you okay?” someone yelps, rushing toward him.

“Don’t touch me,” Vil snaps, voice sharp as glass. He sits up with a wince, cradling his ankle.

You’ve been keeping your distance the entire shoot, trying to maintain your professional boundary. But the second you see Vil hurt, that self-imposed wall shatters.

“Vil!” you shout, practically tripping over cables as you rush to his side.

He looks up, his expression guarded. For a moment, you hesitate, half-expecting him to snap at you too. But instead, he simply nods, a subtle permission that shocks the entire production team into silence.

With a surprising amount of strength born from sheer adrenaline, you lift Vil into your arms, bridal style.

Someone from production stammers, “We can call for—”

“I’ve got him,” you cut them off, your tone firmer than you expected.

Vil doesn’t protest. He just loops an arm around your neck, tilting his head slightly as though he’s resigned to being carried like royalty. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares as you carry him out of the studio, whispers trailing behind you like gossip at a high school cafeteria.

The walk to the medic feels like an eternity.

“You’re heavier than you look,” you mutter, trying to distract yourself from the way his perfume is overwhelming your senses.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Vil replies, his voice still sharp but lacking its usual venom.

When you finally reach the medic, you set him down gently, your arms trembling from the effort.

“You can leave,” Vil says as the medic begins their examination.

You nod, turning to go—but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you end up awkwardly sitting on a nearby chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

You tell yourself it’s just to make sure he’s okay. That you’ll leave once the medic gives the all-clear.

Vil doesn’t say anything about your lingering presence. He keeps his eyes closed, his usual pristine mask slipping for just a moment as he exhales slowly.

When the medic finishes and declares him fit to leave, you finally stand. “Well, I should—”

“Thank you,” Vil says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze. For a moment, all you can do is nod before hurrying out of the room, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Back in your dressing room, you sink into a chair and bury your face in your hands.

“What is wrong with me?” you groan.

Meanwhile, back in the medic’s office, Vil sits in contemplative silence, the ghost of your touch lingering like a memory he can’t shake.

You’re holding Vil’s phone like it’s made of glass, glaring at Rook’s number on your own screen.

“You sure I can’t just leave it at the studio?” you ask for the third time.

“Non, non, mon ami!” Rook’s dramatic voice practically vibrates through your speaker. “Vil has a most pressing engagement this evening, and the phone is vital to his work. You’re already such a dear for delivering it!”

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“Alas, I have an engagement myself. A critical affair, truly,” Rook sighs, his tone more playful than apologetic. “I’ve sent you his address. Bon courage!”

Before you can protest, the line goes dead, leaving you staring at the apartment address like it’s an execution order.

You’re in the car, grumbling to yourself as you mentally rehearse what you’ll say.

Here’s your phone. Bye.

Short. Simple. No emotional mines to step on.

But then you accidentally touch the screen, and his phone lights up.

And there it is. The lock screen.

It’s a selfie of the two of you from years ago, taken on some lazy afternoon. You’re both laughing, your faces smushed together awkwardly. You remember the moment vividly—Vil had just cracked a rare joke, one so unexpected it had you crying with laughter.

And now here it is, preserved like some cruel reminder of what you had.

Your stomach twists.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, concerned.

You’re ugly sniffling by the time you pull yourself together, the poor driver tactfully pretending not to notice. “Sorry,” you choke out. “Allergies.”

He nods slowly, clearly not buying it.

When you finally arrive at Vil’s penthouse—a sleek, modern building that screams successful celebrity—you take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Vil answers the door himself, wearing a loose, elegant cardigan and lounge pants that still manage to look couture. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you.

“You left this,” you blurt, shoving the phone into his hands.

He takes it, his gaze lingering on your face. “Were you crying?”

“No,” you lie, unable to meet his eyes.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

“I’m fine—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he says, his tone soft but firm.

Despite your better judgment, you step inside.

The interior hits you like a brick wall of memories.

The layout is different, but the details are achingly familiar. The same muted color scheme you’d picked out together. The same arrangement of throw pillows on the couch—even the same colors.

Your eyes dart to the bookshelf, spotting a framed photo of the two of you tucked discreetly among the décor.

It’s too much.

“You did this on purpose,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Vil’s gaze softens. “I didn’t want to forget."

Before you can respond, he goes to the kitchen to get something to drink, leaving you to drown in memories.

You’re sitting on Vil’s pristine couch, sipping tea that you can’t even taste. He’s seated across from you, the distance between you both palpable, like a chasm you’re too afraid to cross.

But Vil doesn’t wait this time. He doesn’t dance around the words.

“Why?” he asks, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence.

“Why what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.

“Why did you leave?” he snaps, the composure he always clings to starting to crack. “Why did you take my heart—my trust—and then shatter it into a million pieces? Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

You flinch, tears already pooling in your eyes. “I—I thought—”

“No,” Vil interrupts, standing abruptly. His hands tremble as he gestures, his voice rising. “You didn’t think. If you had, you would’ve seen how much I loved you, how much I—” He cuts himself off, his chest heaving.

You’re crying now, hands gripping your knees so tightly they hurt. “I didn’t want to hold you back, Vil. You had so much ahead of you, so much to achieve—”

“And you thought you were the thing holding me back?” he yells, his voice breaking. “You thought I would’ve been better off without you?!”

You nod miserably, choking on a sob. “I wanted you to thrive! I didn’t want to be the thing that kept you from reaching your dreams!”

Vil laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and laced with pain. “And you did just that. You leaving—you leaving—was the only thing that’s held me back. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. And I hate it. I hate you for it. So tell me—”

He drops to his knees in front of you, his face inches from yours as his voice cracks. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me anymore, so I can move on. Please, I’m begging you.”

You’re sobbing now, shaking your head frantically. “I can’t. I—I don’t hate you. I never stopped loving you. I left because I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was so, so stupid—”

“Yes, you were,” Vil cuts in, tears streaming down his face. “So stupid. And so cruel.”

His sobs are raw, unrestrained, and they tear at your heart. You cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears even as more fall. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave again. I’ll stay. Forever, if you’ll let me.”

Vil closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. When he opens them again, his voice is barely audible. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” you say, your voice steady despite your tears. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Vil exhales shakily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers, and for the first time in years, the weight between you begins to lift.

You’ve barely put the mop down when Vil calls from the living room.

“Hurry up with the tea,” he says without even looking up from his script. “And don’t forget to fold the laundry after this. Properly, please—last time you folded one of my scarves into an actual triangle. Who does that?”

You mutter a half-hearted "Yes, your majesty," and shuffle toward the kitchen. You’re halfway there when Rook bursts in through the front door, a bouquet in hand and stars practically bursting from his eyes.

“Ah, l’amour! C’est magnifique!” Rook declares, startling you so badly you almost drop the tea tray.

Vil raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the dramatics. “Rook, must you barge in unannounced?”

“Mais oui!” Rook exclaims, twirling dramatically. “How could I not visit when my dear friends have rekindled their eternal flame of passion? Look at you two! You, bossing them around, and them—obediently obeying every word like a loyal partner. True love has won!”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the grin spreading across your face. Vil, however, looks less charmed. “They’re making up for years of terrible life decisions, Rook,” he says, deadpan.

“Oh, of course,” Rook says, his grin never faltering. “But love is in the air, and I, your humble admirer, could not be happier. Do not deny it—my heart soars!”

You and Vil exchange a look, both exasperated and oddly amused.

“Fine,” Vil says with a sigh. “If it makes you happy, Rook, then yes. True love has won. Now, will you let me enjoy my tea in peace?”

Rook gasps as though he’s been given the greatest gift of all time and promptly sits down, refusing to leave.

When you and Vil finally announce your relationship, the internet goes into an immediate frenzy.

The official post is simple: a photo of the two of you holding hands, captioned, "It’s official."

But the comments?

>"Wow, groundbreaking news. I couldn’t tell from the way Vil stared at them like they invented oxygen." >"You’re telling me they weren’t already dating? I thought this was public knowledge." >"The tension between these two could’ve powered the whole continent. About time." >"Wasn’t their last interview basically a rom-com in disguise?" >"Not even surprised. I’m more shocked it took this long."

Vil reads through the comments with a scoff. “Captain Obvious seems to be having their moment in the spotlight.”

You laugh, peeking at his phone. “I mean, they’re not wrong. We weren’t exactly subtle.”

Vil hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least they approve. For now."

It’s late by the time you both get home, the quiet hum of the city fading behind you as Vil unlocks the door. The soft glow of the apartment feels comforting, like the kind of peace you didn’t know you needed until now.

You both kick off your shoes, and Vil immediately starts fussing with his scarf. You grab it before he can hang it up, putting it neatly on the rack.

As you settle on the couch, Vil joins you, resting his head lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, neither of you speaks, just enjoying the stillness.

“Do you ever wonder why we made it so complicated?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

Vil chuckles softly. “Often. But then again…” He tilts his head to look up at you, his violet eyes warm and full of something you can only describe as home. “Perhaps we wouldn’t have appreciated it as much if it had been easy.”

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re probably right. But still…”

Vil smirks, pulling you closer. “No more unnecessary complications. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you whisper, letting yourself finally, fully relax.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit #vil #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort

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dissapointu · 2 days ago

Note

for arcane characters could you do the reader suggesting a break to work on themselves?

Here are imagines of the Arcane characters reacting to the reader suggesting they take a break from their relationship to work on themselves. Enjoy!

———————————————————————-

Jinx

You sat across from Jinx, nervously twirling a piece of your hair. “Jinx, I think… I think I need a break,” you say softly, looking down. “Not from you, exactly… but from us. I just need time to work on myself.”

Jinx’s eyes widen, her playful expression faltering for a second. She stands up abruptly, her face turning into a mixture of confusion and hurt. “What do you mean? We’re perfect together! Why would you need space from me?” Her voice cracks slightly as she glances away, trying to hold it together. “Are you… am I not enough? Don’t I make you feel good?!” She takes a step back, pacing. Her mind races, but she pauses, swallowing hard before turning back to you, eyes softening. “Okay… okay, I get it. Maybe I just… need to think, too. I don’t want to lose you, but I understand. Take what you need. But, please… don’t be gone too long, okay?”

You look up at Vi, her usual confidence dimmed by the uncertainty in your voice. “Vi, I think I need a break. From our relationship, I mean. I need to focus on myself for a bit.”

Vi’s brows furrow, her fists clenching at her sides. “A break? What do you mean, a break?” Her voice is tight with concern, her usual tough exterior cracking. She steps closer to you, her hands hovering at her sides like she wants to reach out but isn’t sure how. “I love you, y’know? And I don’t want to be the reason you’re feeling like you need to step away. But I get it. You’ve got your own stuff to work through.” She lets out a deep breath. “If you need time, take it. I’ll wait for you. Just… don’t forget about me, okay?”

Sevika

Sevika stares at you with unreadable eyes when you mention needing a break. She crosses her arms, her posture unyielding. “A break?” Her voice is low, like she’s weighing her words carefully. “I didn’t think we needed one, but if that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”

She turns away for a moment, the faintest frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I get it, though. Sometimes, we’ve gotta fix ourselves before we can be good for anyone else.” She looks back at you, her gaze softer than usual. “If you need time to focus on you, do it. I won’t hold you back. But don’t make it too long, alright? I’m not a fan of waiting around.” Her voice is firm, but the concern in her eyes is unmistakable.

Silco

Silco watches you intently as you suggest a break from your relationship, his expression unreadable. His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “I understand. You can’t always give your all to something when you’re not whole yourself.” He steps closer, his presence commanding as always. “Take whatever time you need. The work we do is important, but so is your well-being.” His voice softens, just slightly. “Don’t forget what we’re building together, but go. Clear your head. I’ll be here when you’re ready to return.” He places a hand on your shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance, before turning away. “But remember, you belong to us.”

Vander

Vander’s expression softens immediately when you mention a break, his hands slowly clasping in front of him. “A break, huh?” He smiles, though it’s tinged with sadness. “I guess that makes sense. Sometimes we need space to figure things out.” He steps forward, his tone gentle. “I’ll give you the time you need, but don’t forget that I’m here when you’re ready to talk. Relationships aren’t easy, but I’ve always believed in us. If you need time to work on yourself, you’ve got it.” He places a hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Take care of yourself. And know I’ll be waiting.”

Ekko

Ekko listens carefully, his usual lightheartedness replaced by a serious, attentive expression. “A break?” he echoes quietly, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t think we were at that point. But… I get it. Sometimes, we’ve gotta step back to figure things out.” He runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the ground. “If you need to focus on yourself, that’s cool. Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready to come back, and I’m not going anywhere.” He gives you a small, encouraging smile. “Just don’t take too long, alright? I’ll miss you.”

Jayce

Jayce’s face falls when you mention a break, his usually confident demeanor wavering. “A break?” he repeats, his voice tinged with confusion. “I didn’t expect this.” He stands up from his desk, walking over to you with a furrowed brow. “I understand needing time to figure things out, but…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “If you need time, I’ll respect that. I just don’t want you to think I’m giving up on us. I believe in what we have.” He places a hand gently on yours, his voice softening. “Take the time you need, but come back to me when you’re ready. I’m waiting for you.”

Viktor

Viktor seems unusually still as you suggest taking a break. His eyes soften with concern, and he adjusts his glasses before looking at you. “I see. Sometimes, we need time alone to gain perspective, especially when we’ve been pouring so much into something.” He sighs, his voice tinged with understanding. “Take your time, [Y/N]. You deserve that. I’ll be here when you’re ready to come back to this—back to us.” He offers a rare, gentle smile. “I only ask that you don’t lose sight of what we’ve built together.” He lets go of your hand, though his gaze lingers for a moment. “I’ll wait for you.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn listens to your words quietly, her face softening with empathy. “I understand,” she says quietly, her voice sincere. “I can see how sometimes, we need space to be our own person and figure out who we are outside of everything else. I want you to be happy, [Y/N], and if a break is what you need to feel better, I’ll support you.” She steps closer to you, her hands gently resting on your arms. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. Just promise me you’ll come back when you’re ready. You’re important to me.”

Mel Medarda

Mel’s gaze sharpens as she listens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I see.” She crosses her arms, but the tension in her posture melts when she speaks again. “I can understand needing space. Relationships require work, and sometimes, that means taking time to understand yourself first.” She walks closer to you, her tone cool but supportive. “You’ve always been ambitious. Focus on yourself, but don’t forget who you’re doing this for.” She places a hand gently on your shoulder, her expression softening. “Take what you need. But know that I’ll be waiting for you to come back, whenever you’re ready.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa’s gaze hardens briefly, her posture straightening. “A break?” she repeats, but there’s no malice in her voice. “If that’s what you think you need, I won’t stop you. But don’t forget that time is precious. Taking a break to figure things out is one thing, but don’t let it turn into an escape.” She steps closer, placing a hand firmly on your arm. “Do what you must, but remember what we’ve built together. Take your time, but don’t forget what awaits when you return.” Her voice softens just enough for you to hear the faintest edge of vulnerability. “You won’t be alone.”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie nods quietly when you mention a break, her smile calm and understanding. think I understand,” she says thoughtfully. “Sometimes, we need time to focus on ourselves before we can be the best partner we can be. I want you to feel whole, [Y/N]. I won’t hold you back if this is what you need.” She places a hand gently on your shoulder, her touch reassuring. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. But take the time to grow. I believe in you.”

Lest

Lest’s face is unreadable for a moment, and she simply watches you as you speak. “A break?” she echoes quietly, her voice calm yet tinged with a softness that’s rare for her. “I understand the need to reflect and focus on yourself. It’s healthy to step back when you need to.” She stands, her presence unwavering, yet gentle. “Take the time you need, [Y/N]. Do what you must to return to yourself. I’ll be waiting. And when you’re ready, we’ll continue this”

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persicipen · 1 day ago

Text

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓖𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝓑𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝓑𝒐𝒚. WRIOTHESLEY ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 1.4k ノ gn reader — sweet intimate celebration of his birthday. subtle flirting (a failed attempt at doing so). established relationship. comforting fluff with hugs and giggles <3

The atmosphere in the Duke’s office is rather light-hearted and joyful, unlike the usual stern reputation of the Fortress. The steady hum of machinery beyond the thick walls buzzes along with the quiet crackle of a small, ornate heater placed in the corner — a luxury in the underwater prison.

The tea table is neatly set, the gleaming silver teapot releasing curling wisps of steam into the air, mingling with the earthy, spiced aroma of Chenyu Adeptea — a new blend being a part of your gift. Though muted in tone, you two celebrate this day with the gentle clink of porcelain teacups and muffled laughter. The sharp tang of the sea breeze and metallic rust replaced with a delicate sweetness that hints at the rare delight.

“Mittens, huh?”

It’s the low timbre of Wriothesley’s voice that breaks temporary silence, testing out the lovely other part of your gift, fingers examining the texture. He takes his time making sure they fit snugly, the pair of fine-woven mittens. Albeit he couldn’t care less about how they look.

“Well, it’s cold here in the Fortress, and the humidity makes it unbearable sometimes…”

“I will make great punches in these.” He says with a note of chuckle at the end, all while testing his grip in the fluffy covers on his hands. “Look at them, my new gloves to punish lawbreakers!”

The very image of Wriothesley imitating boxing punches with the fists wrapped in the softest of fabrics makes you giggle loud. Loud and clear, a sound he adores so much when it reverberates from the stone walls and metal pipes like delicate chimes in the wind. The sound he misses every single minute when you have to return above the sea waves.

His place has never felt this warm before, with the candles flickering on the curved desk, the tea table heavy from the gifts from the staff, and — last but not least — his heart is about to melt, a glowing cauldron of fondness for you. You are simply there, smiling back at him, raising the teacup in a silent toast for his birthday.

For someone who took this post in selfless service to the people and their safety, the fact that they all care so much — but none as much as you — makes him want to serve them twice as much. Maybe working in the Fortress, in this new home of his, isn’t that bad after all. No, not in the slightest. No worse than if he were to restart his entire life on the surface, in the society he doesn’t remember from his early years.

“Do you like them?”

You seem to notice the pause, the thoughtful gaze he shoots at the pair of mittens on his knuckles.

“A lot.” He responds softly, rubbing his thumb against the soft fabric. “They will serve me well.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach with each passing moment of admiring the way his hands seem so much more gentle than they appear to be, the touch not as hard and coarse as he puts it across. Though there is a hint of sadness, a lingering melancholy at the thought of how the roughness of his fingertips was created, the callouses on his palms a result of years and years of fighting.

“I’m happy you like them.” You say, leaning forward. “I was worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Enough?!” Wriothesley raises an eyebrow under the tuft of his cobalt bangs, perplexed. “Never in a thousand years could I ever deserve what you give me!” He holds his mitten-wrapped hands up just to make a point. “These? These are cute! I have never received fluffy gloves from anyone before. Not even once. This is so fun! You are the sweetest for coming up with this idea!”

The tenderness of his voice, almost desperate to show how much it all means to him — it’s silly, hilarious even that a small gift can make such a difference — the fondness pouring from his eyes, like he’s pouring liquid honey over your soul. You find yourself moving closer, drawn to him, craving his closeness. Craving to wrap your arms around his waist and find the steady thumping of his heart amidst all other background noises.

“Should we get you a pair for every winter month, then?” You joke, shyly leaning against him, carefully observing his reaction. “Who would’ve thought that the Duke of Meropide is such a sweetheart, hm? A good boy under those scary looks, all giddy over a colourful yarn.”

Wriothesley doesn’t answer at first, fighting off a boisterous laugh. His mind is racing in several different directions, struggling to form coherent thoughts under your touch. He sighs, gently enveloping you into his embrace and letting himself indulge in this feeling just for a little while longer. It is not enough to have these small moments when you visit him here, but he gladly accepts anything you offer him, secretly hoping there’s a chance you will stay with him longer this time.

Anything, a glimmer of hope.

And now you are saying all these sweet things…

“Why would you want to get me more when I can have you wrapped in my arms every winter?” He asks in the same tone you used earlier, with a barely audible chuckle at the end of the sentence. “You’re much warmer, you know.”

“Ah, you and your flirting out of nowhere! Just when I’m least prepared.” You shake your head, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips to shake off the fire running to your face at his comment.

“Are you embarrassed now?” He smiles softly, his eyes glinting mischievously in the candlelight.

“No!” You pout, unwilling to admit how you do melt a little under his gaze. “I can flirt back too, if you wish.”

“Please.” He begs, chuckling as he says that. “Entertain me with your wits.”

He seems amused by this idea. Not in a teasing way, but rather playful, genuinely interested in what you are about to say. And so you give it a try, breathing in slowly to think of something… well, witty. Or at least funny enough to make him smile.

Obviously, as if asked to show your skills on request, your head is empty. This is embarrassing, not funny at all. But you cannot let him see that, trying to appear cool and nonchalant about it.

“Well, perhaps you’re right—” you begin, “you may have those fluffy mittens on your hands, but you will still need someone to warm up your heart.”

“I think I may be infected with a cold by now,” he replies, barely holding it together as he leans in for a bear hug, the entire lump of his large self covering you in hearty embrace. “I might need some extra cuddles.”

You squirm in his hold, pretending to struggle as if your plan is to run away — yet he knows well enough that it’s a playful ruse to get more affection out of him. He snuggles against your cheek, gently rubbing his nose against your skin. There is so much he wants to say, so many things that swirl in his head, and yet no words are uttered. He feels content to enjoy this moment with you.

No interruptions, no reminders that you have to return to the surface soon.

When Wriothesley lets go of you, his eyes fixate on the lines of your face, and your lips curl into a warm smile. His hands cup your cheeks gently, not wanting to ever let go. Your skin is soft under his touch, warm against the wool of the fluffy mittens. He traces the curves of your face with the gentleness of someone who is seeing you for the first time, every minute detail captured and studied. Every subtle feature — the glint in your eyes, the slight twitch of your mouth as you bite back a grin — he’s committing it all to memory.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathes out, his words hanging in the air between you like a thin thread of golden light. “I—”

“I love you more.” You interrupt him, stealing the kiss that was on the tip of his tongue, along with the confession.

Wriothesley lets out a pleased sound, almost like a low purr. The soft blush creeping onto his cheeks makes his face seem softer, somehow less threatening. The Duke of Meropide no longer towers over you like a mountain, but he is the most tender of the men. And you couldn’t have fallen in love with anyone else.

No, only with him.

“Happy birthday, Wriothesley.”

#—writing.#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff

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zemadri · 2 days ago

Text

笑 | are they a top, switch or bottom

⚡︎ pairing: Boyfriend!Riize, Female!Reader

⚡︎ genre: smut (⚠︎)

⚡︎ contains: swearing, mild dacryphilia, fingering , kissing, unprotected sex, heavy petting, oral (m. r), begging, very mild degrading (f. r), public

shotaro: shotaro is probably a switch leaning towards a top but most likely a service top. he just loves you so much that he couldn't help it when you came back home after a long night out at work. "taro I'm tired can we not right now?" you'd tell him, breathing heavily as he laid kisses on your neck. "please, baby? I've been waiting for you all day and now that I finally have you to myself you want to go away?" he would say softly moving his hands from your waist down to your lower back. you felt bad, after all shotaro was so irresistible it was hard to say no to him. you hummed in response moving closer into his touch as he took your silence as a yes moving his lips over to yours, passionately kissing you. you melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him as he slowly and carefully, moved you over to the counter, propping you onto the counter still maintaining the kiss as one of his hands moved from your back down to your thighs. "what do you want baby? I'll do anything, I just really need you right now.."

eunseok: eunseok is definitely on the more dominant side being a top. I feel he's just very obsessed with you and wants you to know and see that, so when he saw you flirting with his friend sungchan, he wasn't gonna let that slide. "what's wrong? can't you keep going?" eunseok teased as you bobbed your head on his shaft trying to take all of him. he pushed your head down more letting out soft groans. "I swear your mouth was doing more work when you were talking with sungchan, where did all that go? you can't use your mouth?" eunseok held your hair in his fist guiding you with his head back and eyes furrowed. "eunseok" you managed to get out hardly being able to breathe with tears falling down slightly drenching your cheeks. he chuckled, using your hair to pull you off his shaft. "look at that fucked out face, that's what you deserve after trying to make me jealous."

sungchan: sungchan is a service top no doubt, he just wants to see you enjoying yourself. sungchan had your legs opened as he inserted two of his fingers slowly putting them in you and put repeating the slow cycle. it was taking him every inch of his body to not just ram his cock into you, especially since you were softly moaning his name. he moaned softly with you, his hard twitching in his sweats as he continued to fuck his fingers in you. "oh, sungchan" you whispered, he kissed you moaning in your mouth as your hand palmed him making him dizzy, moving against your hand. "anything for you"

wonbin: wonbin is probably a switch leaning to a bottom. I feel like he really does what to do more for you and is willing to try, and most of the time he succeeds. but. wonbin can't control the pleasure sometimes, especially being in your cunt, sometimes he gets too caught up in how you're making him feel, he forgets to treat you. "oh ㅡ shitt baby that feels so good" he moaned, his hands on your hips as you bounced on him. "more, please. you feel so good.. fuck" he whispered whimpering as he felt himself getting closer. wonbin began whispering 'please' as you rode him faster inevitably making both of you reach your high. "fuck, you're amazing"

seunghan: seunghan is a top no doubt, but isn't as mean as eunseok and more of a soft dom. he's just so over protective over his beautiful girlfriend he can't help it, he just needs you everywhere and anytime. "sweetheart, think you'll let me feel you? just for a second?" seunghan whispered as his hands moved dangerously close to your heat under the table. "seunghan, we might get caught i- I can't" you said placing your hand in his. he furrowed his eyebrows ignoring your word before moving past your skirt to rub circles around your clint though your clothes. you gasp at his boldness, closing your legs as he pushes them back open. you moan softly moving your hand to cover your mouth. "please sweetheart I'll be fast, you trust me right?"

sohee: sohee is a pure switch I believe. I feel like he's too new to know what he likes and wants to experiment new things with you because he trusts you, that's why he didn't think twice when you said you wanted to dom him. he was a whimpering mess only managing to get out "you're so hot" a few times as his hair went to his face blurring his vision on you even more. he's cummed more than twice now and can't help himself because of you, the way you took him all the way, the way your cunt felt around him. it was too good and he couldn't help this feeling. he wanted you to fuck him dumb. "ke...keep going"

anton: anton is probably switch. I wouldn't say he's completely submissive because I feel as if he'd put up a fight because he doesn't want you to see him as soft or anything. eventually though you both get comfortable and his more submissive side shows up with hip fucking you from behind and whimpering silly. "ah, please" you'd match his thrust making his pretty moans louder. he moved down placing a kiss on your cheek moaning in your ear as he picked up the pace mumbling how much he loves you and how good you feel (if he can) "I love you, I love you so m..much"

#park wonbin smut #riize #riize is 7 #riize seunghan #riize x reader #riize is seven #riize smut #riize smau #riize scenarios #riize sohee #riize anton #riize au

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tinylilacbun · 1 day ago

Note

maybe drew and reader get bombarded by fans and reader gets pushed and shoved cursing her to regress and drew notices and gets her away

You smile as you show Drew another tiktok, the both of you sitting on a bench in the mall. Since you both had been rather busy and stressed with the press tour of obx4 you both use the free weekend to spend some time together.

You're in the middle of showing him another fan edit of your characters from the show when you hear a group of giggling and squealing fans approach you both.

At first you were happy, smiling at them and Drew does the same. When they ask if they could take some pictures or have autographs you obviously agree and pose for some pictures.

More people start to gather around you slowly, only now recognizing the both of you and of course everyone wants a picture or just tell you how much they love your character and acting.

You try to be polite and give the fans a good meeting experience but you begin to get anxious, a little overwhelmed by them all getting closer and being pushed closer from everyone around.

As you finish giving someone an autograph you look around for any possible way to squeeze through but you're completely crowded.

You press yourself into Drew's side and he grabs your hand, giving it a subtle squeeze, some of the people cooing at the gesture.

He lowers his head to meet your eyes, seeing the way you stare up at him like a lost puppy.

He instantly knows what that means and lets go of your hand to wrap it around your waist, pulling you as close as possible as he tries to push through the fans who are talking and almost yelling from every side.

Without saying anything he keeps walking and takes you outside to the parking lot, making sure to keep a firm hold on you to let you know that he's got you.

"Guys, please, step back a little." He asks, keeping his tone low as you both reach the car, fishes the keys from his pocket he quickly unlocks it and opens the door for you, helping you inside and shuts the door again.

He apologizes to the fans, telling them that you both appreciate their support before he rounds the car to get into the driver's side, quickly starting the engine and driving off the parking lot.

You're breathing a little heavy, fumbling with the charms of your bracelet while looking out the window. Drew occasionally glances at you, his hand placed on your thigh and soft music coming from the radio.

He drives for a bit until he finds an empty parking lot, halting the car in the most secluded spot before he kills the engine and climbs out.

You're confused when he reaches your side and opens the door, unbuckling your belt he scoops you up from your seat and you wrap your arms around his neck instinctively.

Closing the car door with his foot he opens the backdoor, albeit a little clumsy with you in his arms but manages to set you down on the back seat, waiting for you to scoot a bit more to the middle to climb in after you.

The second the back door shuts you go to sit on his lap, hiding your face in his neck. "You're okay...I've got you."

He rocks you as good as he can in the cramped space, his hand rubbing up and down your back as he keeps whispering affirmations to you.

You stay silent, fisting his shirt in your hand, your breathing getting calmer again after a while.

"Was a little too much, huh? But that's okay." He assures you, planting a kiss to your forehead to which you snuggle more into him in response. "You're all good."

"Fank you..." You mumble quietly.

Drew chuckles lowly, his head resting against yours. "Not for that, baby." He says, tightening his hold on you ever so slightly, you both staying like that until you feel like moving again.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16

Thought I might tag the rafe ones too:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

#little!reader #daddy!drew drabble #age regression

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pedroscurls · 19 hours ago

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you broke me first (one-shot)

summary: logan comes running to you after yet another disappointment with jean, but he's hurt you for the last time and you can't do this dance with him any longer. pairing: xmen series!logan x fem!reader content warnings: angst, unspoken feelings (logan has his reasons), logan pining for jean, broken friendship, no use of y/n. word count: 1.2k a/n: ok, so forgive me in advanced lol, this is my first time writing xmen series!logan (and idk if i'm the only one, but i do not like the jean x logan ship - i didn't feel any chemistry between them in the movies). anyway, enjoy this! this song came to mind and immediately i thought of this version of logan and it seemed fitting. song: you broke me first by tate mcrae

“She doesn’t love you, Logan,” you tell him once again after he comes straight to your room after Jean had told him that she would never leave Scott for him. You could never understand the feelings he had for Jean, his relationship with her purely physical.

And each time he tried to convince Jean that being with him would make her happier than she was with Scott, he was always left disappointed.

And each time, he always came running to you. The one person who had always been there for him since he had come to the mansion all those years ago.

“You don’t know that,” Logan says, brows furrowed and his usual scowl written on his features.

“Why do you keep going back to her?” you ask quietly, looking down at your hands. “She hurts you every time, Logan.”

“She just doesn’t know what she wants.”

“Logan,” you sigh. “We both know that’s not true.”

“If she knew what she wanted, why do we keep sleeping with each other, then? Hm?”

You feel your heart break at his words. The more time you spent with Logan, the more you realized just how deeply you felt for him. He had become your best friend, and had made you feel welcome in a house full of mutants. Charles had hired you as a teacher despite not having any powers and while you loved your job, you always felt like you didn’t belong and you yearned to be one of them, to be part of a group like this. You couldn’t even be angry though, this was how every mutant had felt in this world. An outsider.

But Logan… Logan had always made you feel like you belonged. He would talk to you about his problems and you would talk to him about yours. He’d be there to hold you whenever you had a bad day, to brush your hair away from your face when you were on the brink of tears. He’d always come to you whenever he couldn’t sleep, when his nightmares would take hold of him because he had admitted one night that you make him feel safe, calm, peaceful.

And he’d always come to you whenever Jean didn’t want him anymore.

And you’d always be there to welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t know, Logan,” you finally answer. “She won’t ever leave Scott… You and I both know this.”

“She just needs to realize–”

“Stop,” you interrupt him. “Please, Logan.”

Logan looks down at you. “What?”

“I’ve always been right here,” you say quietly, teary eyes staring up at him.

“I know,” he sighs. “And I’m lucky–”

“We both know that’s not what I mean,” you interrupt. “You can’t be that dense, Logan.”

He tightens his jaw and you look down at his hands to see them curled into fists. All it takes is one clench and his claws would come out. “We can’t. That can’t ever happen between us.”

“Why?” you ask. “What’s so wrong with me that you can’t see that I would choose you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he sighs. “We just–” Logan shakes his head. “No, bub.”

“What’s so special about Jean, hm?” you ask, voice raising as tears now slowly trickle down your cheeks. “What does she have that I don’t? Is it her powers? Is it because she’s a mutant?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t care if you’re not a mutant.”

“Then what?!” Your lower lip quivers and you take a step back when you yell at him. You can feel your entire body shaking, emotions and feelings that you had kept bottled in now coming to the surface. “Then what, Logan?” you repeat.

“I can’t love you.”

“You can’t, or you don’t?”

“Bub,” Logan sighs, hand slowly reaching out for you but you shake your head and step away from him.

“Whenever you needed someone, I have always been there. When you needed to leave for whatever reason, I was always here waiting for you to come back. It’s always been me, Logan. Me.”

“I know…” Logan’s eyes soften at the sight of you and he wants so badly to just pull you into his arms. He would never admit to you the feelings he has for you, would never tell you how much he wishes that things were different. Part of him thinks he loves Jean, knows that she can handle her own if anything were to happen, but you… If you were to ever be in danger because of him, he would never forgive himself. So, he keeps you at a friendly distance, never displaying to the rest of the team just how much you mean to him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, voice shaky. “I can’t be the person you keep coming to whenever Jean doesn’t want anything to do with you. You deserve someone who’s going to choose you, Logan,” you stare up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “You deserve someone who’s not going to hurt you.”

Logan’s jaw tightens. “What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?”

“I fucking love you, Logan!” you bite your lower lip, your own hands clenching into fists in hopes that the action would ground you, would alleviate some of the frustration that you’re feeling. “I fucking love you and I can no longer just sit around and act like I don’t.”

“Sweetheart,” his voice cracks and suddenly, he realizes that losing you hurts far more than the disappointment he continues to feel with Jean. “Don’t–”

“You break my heart every fucking time you come to me about Jean,” you admit. “And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore,” you repeat.

“Baby,” Logan whispers.

“I’m going to tell Charles that I’ve got a family emergency and that I will need to leave immediately,” you tell Logan, moving around him to gather your duffle bag and setting it on your bed. “I’m sure he’ll know the real reason why I’m leaving, but–”

Logan reaches out for you, his hand a gentle touch against your wrist. “Stop, please…”

You pull your hand away from his grasp and look up at him, “Be honest with me and tell me that you don’t see anything here… That you don’t feel something for me.”

Logan stares into your eyes and he tightens his jaw, hand reaching up to gently brush a tear away from your cheek. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I need you to understand that I can’t, baby.”

You nod and step away from him. “I won’t ever be enough, will I?”

“That’s not true–”

“Just get out, Logan. Please.”

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. You’re breaking me–”

“You broke me first, Logan,” you interject and turn back around to toss your clothes carelessly into your bag, tears strolling down your cheeks. You can still feel Logan’s presence, can hear him huffing lowly under his breath.

When your clothes are in your bag, you toss it over your shoulder and turn around to see him standing near your door. You walk over to him and reach for the door handle, gripping it tightly as you look up at him once more. For one last time.

“Don’t go, please,” he whispers.

“I wish you nothing but the best, Logan,” you reply. “And I hope one day you realize that you deserve so much more than what Jean is giving you. You deserve to be happy, to be loved, to be chosen.”

“Baby–”

Slowly, you turn the handle and open the door, tearing your gaze away from him. “Goodbye, Logan.”

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman character #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett angst #xmen #xmen fanfiction #xmen fanfic #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fanfic #xmen series!logan #story: you broke me first

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hanniejji · 2 days ago

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birthdays and burnt pancakes

— hoshina soshiro x gn!reader

— notes: and it's a comeback! thank fuck for a consistent job schedule oh my god. coming back to writing with an 8-12 hours job is a risky take since rest is a luxury itself, but im gonna give it my very best! happy birthday to my husband i love him so much wtf | [masterlist]

words: 715 | warnings: suggestive but no nasty.

“y'know, i always thought one of the best things to wake up to is you cuddled up to me in one of my shirts.”

“oh my god,” your hand tightened their hold around the handle of the pan, the other retreating its grip on the spatula in favor of clutching into a fist at your chest from fright.

“you scared the fuck out of me,” you hissed and glared pointedly at the smug man.

soshiro, ever the sly man, remains hunched behind the kitchen island, chin propped on his palm with his watchful gaze looking over your busy form with a grin. if you weren't so caught up in the way his sudden appearance took you by surprise, you would've spent some time admiring how untroubled he seemed to be at the moment, so unlike his stiff and composed self on duty.

relaxation, to someone with soshiro's occupation, is luxury itself.

“what can i say?” he hums, “the view is too good for me not to say so out loud.”

“oh shush it,” you turn around to face the frying pan with a grumble, scooping and flipping the pancake.

you hear him suppress his laughter before he shuffles around the kitchen island to stand behind you. calloused and firm hands rest upon either side of your hips, the familiar touch never failing to bring goosebumps along your spine. more so at the warmth of his breath on the skin of your nape.

“you should go back to bed, i'll finish this up in a moment.”

“but i miss you.”

you can hear the pout in his voice. what a whiny man.

“we have the day to ourselves, love,” you turn your head to place a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i just want to bring my birthday boy his breakfast in bed and then we can go about your day however you want us to spend it, okay?”

“oh? what if i have a different breakfast in mind, hm?” he hums against your ear, fingers now rising up and under your(his) shirt to feel your skin, “one that is currently right in the palm of my hands?”

“you're insatiable and it hasn't even been hours through the morning.”

he snickers at the deadpan tone of your voice, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch you pour the batter in the pan to make another batch, wordlessly complying to your earlier request with a fond look in his eyes.

such a domestic activity and it's driving him insane with all the possibilities of a future spending each and every morning like this with you—ending each and every night with you.

oh god, he's really all in with you, isn't he?

“i really do love the sight of you making breakfast for the both of us early in the morning,” he hums contentedly, the smile on his face obvious from the tone of his voice. “makes me want to marry the life out of you.”

the mention of such commitment escaping his lips so casually brought a flurry of warmth to your cheeks and a funny feeling in your stomach. you know hoshina soshiro well enough to know that he wouldn't spew such things if he doesn't mean them in the slightest. perhaps he says it as a way to seal a promise to you without directly addressing the matter. in any case, it will be a topic for a different day, when the both of you are ready to tackle that stage in your relationship. you do nothing to deny or oppose his statement.

“although,” he drags out a playful tone, “nothing will beat the sight of your disheveled hair sprawled across your pillow, dazed look on your face from lust with your lips parted while we–”

“how are you this horny so early in the morning?” you abruptly elbowed his torso in a futile attempt to save yourself from embarrassment and further teasing.

“also, stop bothering me while i'm cooking!”

“i was merely stating a fact!” he jested with a chime of giggles, nuzzling his face into your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to his chest.

“i can't help it when you're being this adorable first thing in the morning!”

“i'm going to feed you burnt pancakes.”

#hoshina soshiro #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #soshiro #hoshina #hoshina x reader #soshiro x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 #kaiju no 8 #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #hn.works

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starkeyslibrary · 4 hours ago

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FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 3

pairing: you x drew starkey

The night Drew came back from his so-called “night out with the boys”, the tension was thick in the apartment. The sound of the front door creaking open felt like a bomb going off. You had been sitting on the couch for the last hour, alternatives between staring at your phone and looking out the window, hoping that something – anything – would make the ache in your chest fade. But the pain only deepened, and as the door clicked closed behind him, your stomach churned in a mix for dread and anger.

Drew walked in, his usual confident stride slowing when he saw you sitting there. There was a slight hesitation in his step, a quiet sign that he knew something was off. His eyes immediately darted to you, a mix of concern and something else that you couldn’t quite read. But the moment he stepped further into the room, your frustration broke free.

You didn’t even give him a chance to greet you, the words spilling out before he could say a word. “You’re late,” you said, your voice flat but filled with an edge he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Drew stopped in his tracks, glancing at his watch. “I told you, it was just a night out with the guys. Nothing big.” He said, his tone light, almost too casual. But you saw right through it. His words didn’t feel genuine anymore. You had heard the excuses before, and they were getting old.

You stood up, not wanting to be so passive about it anymore. “A night out with the guys? Really? That’s what you’re going with?” The bitterness in your voice caught you off guard, but there was no going back now.

Drew looked taken aback by the sharpness in your voice. “What’s going on, y/n?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you saw those photos.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to contain the words that had been bubbling up inside for days. “Yeah, I saw the photos, Drew. You and Odessa. Out in public again. Walking around like everything is fine. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“No. Don’t you dare try to explain it away. I’m not stupid. I can see exactly what’s going on.” You could feel the anger rising in your chest, a mix of hurt and frustration that you couldn’t keep bottled up any longer. “You’re out with her, looking all cozy, like she’s the one you want. Not me. And I just … I don’t get it. You told me it was all fake, just for the cameras, but I can’t keep pretending that I believe you.”

Drew’s face hardened, and the disappointment in his eyes stung more than anything. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his cool, but you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making something out of nothing. It’s just part of the job, I swear. She’s just a co-star, and this is all for publicity. You know that. I thought you understood that.”

“Understand?” you laughed bitterly, but the sound came out more like a sob. “You think I understand? You think I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you with her while pretending like everything is fine? No, Drew. I can’t do that. I can’t keep pretending that this isn’t hurting me. That I’m not losing you, piece by piece.”

Drew stepped closer to you, his expression softening as if trying to reach you, but you were too far gone. Too far past the point of no return.

“I’m trying okay?” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was being honest, but it didn’t change anything. “I’m trying to make this work, but this whole thing is a mess. I never wanted it to be like this.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of his words like a slap across your face. “Make it work? How do you expect me to trust you when I see you out there with her, smiling like nothing’s wrong? How do you expect me to keep believing you when I know that every word you’ve said about us was just... just a lie?”

Drew’s face darkened at your accusation, his voice rising as the frustration that had been simmering inside him for days boiled over. “I’m not lying to you, Y/N! I never wanted this to happen either, but this is the way things are right now. I’m doing what I have to do, for both of us.”

“For both of us?” you scoffed, the tears that had been building in your eyes finally breaking free. “This is for you, Drew. It’s always been for you. For your career, for your image. And I’m just supposed to sit here and be okay with it? You’re asking me to pretend like I’m okay with being second to her, to everything you’re doing for the cameras. You know what, Drew? I can’t do that anymore. I’m done pretending.”

There was a long, tense silence between you, both of you staring at each other as if trying to make sense of the chaos you had created. Drew ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained but you were beyond caring. You had tried so hard to hold on, to believe him and in what you had, but every day felt like a betrayal.

You stepped back, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t trust you anymore, Drew. Not after everything. You’ve lied to me over and over, and I don’t even know who you are anymore. I’m not going to keep living in this lie, this lie that both of you have created for the world.”

Drew looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just closed his eyes, the weight of your words crashing over him. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and for the first time, you realized he was just as lost as you were. But that didn’t change the fact it was too late.

Without another word, you grabbed your jacket, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that apartment with him. Not like this. You needed space, you needed to breathe.

You walked the streets aimlessly, tears still wet on your cheeks as the cold air bit at your skin. Every step felt like a weight, each one dragging you further from the man you thought you knew. The city lights flickered in the distance, but they did nothing to brighten the darkness in your heart.

You didn’t even know how far you had walked until you found yourself standing in front of a quiet park by the water. The silence felt both comforting and unbearable, as if the world around you had completely disappeared. You collapsed onto a bench, hugging your arms to your chest to stave off the cold, but it did little to ease the storm inside of you.

The moments from earlier replayed in your mind – the fight, Drew’s words, your own pain – and all you could do was sit there and feel the weight of it all.

That’s when the flash of camera lights caught your attention.

At first, you didn’t react, too numb to care about the photographers who had followed you. But then, the flashes intensified. You wiped your face quickly, but it didn’t stop them. The tears you had tried to hide were now on full display, and you felt like your privacy, your pain was being exposed to the world.

“Y/N! Over here! A little smile for us!” A photographer called out, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the strength to smile, not when everything felt so broken.

Your heart thudded in your chest as more flashes went off, capturing the raw emotion on your face – the hurt, the betrayal, the confusion. You could hear their voices, the jarring sound of camera clicks, as they shouted for you to look at the camera. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to perform for them. Not anymore.

You turned away, trying to escape their prying eyes, but you knew it was futile. The pictures will be everywhere tomorrow. The world would see you in this vulnerable state, and it felt like another punch to the gut.

You couldn’t stop the tears now. You couldn’t stop the feeling of being exposed, of being broke, of being so utterly alone in a world that seemed to move on without you.

A/N: please don’t hate me LOL😭

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291

#drew starkey #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #outer banks #drew starkey x oc #obx season 4 #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drewstarkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey angst #drew starkey fluff #rafe cameron

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vincinnamontoast · 5 hours ago

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HIII OMG IDK IF UR TAKING REQUESTS (OR IF THIS COUNTS AS ONE??) BUT I CANT WAIT FOR ANY OF YOUR VI FICS 🙏 LIKE OK IM SAT 🪑 YOURE GONNA SLAY!!

sweet consumption ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

goddess vi! x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: honestly not really much of a plot besides vi and reader being in love and obsessed with each other.

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

CONTAINS: smut!, cannibalism as a form of expression, consensual choking, mentions of blood and slight violent actions, religious overtones. p.s I always try to keep clothing and reader’s physical descriptions out of my stories, so readers can resonate with it more. but for this story, reader wears a dress. kind of proofread ? act 3 vi!

AUTHORS NOTE: ^^ omg thank you so much love <3! you’re so sweet, that does mean sm! ! also if you guys want to listen to the audio I had playing to set the vibe I wanted (specifically the first 3mins), here it is <3 https://youtu.be/pdmLj1mkslA?si=XhaI2_E2Sm485mhN I was meaning to post this before act 3 but oh well.

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

the soft piano traveled throughout the corridors as you sat toying with the edge of your silky, sage dress - eagerly waiting for your presence to be requested. the smooth, dark marble beneath your feet caught your attention. you swore it swirled in little patterns right before your eyes. the walls of her quarters were coated with various meaningful art pieces and the pillars stood tall where beautiful women were chiseled into the top and bottom. her love and respect for women —for her community, was so admirable. before your mind could wander farther, you were interrupted.

“our goddess, violet, requests you.” a fellow angel proclaims as they seep into your view.

'our goddess?' your mind repeats. It was true. she was a goddess of the people and of the angels. she portrayed that in the most genuine way. however, you still couldn't fight the slight nerve to be a bit possessive. you nodded and smiled to the woman dressed in a silky emerald gown, their wings slightly curled around their hips. taking a deep yet staggered breath, you walk down the corridor that lead to violet's chamber. soon enough, you stood before her arched door. It was vast and encased in fuschia and black jewels. gems and crystals in their purest form blended perfectly above, as gold curled around the edges of the large door frame. before you could even bring your fist up to grab at her door chime, it swings open gently. she sensed you.

It was dark in her chambers. your eyes waited to adjust to it as the fireplace was the only source of light. the soft gothic piano contrasted the crackling of the fireplace. this genre of piano soothed vi’s nerves. your eyes averted as slight movement was caught in your peripheral. and then...you are met with her. she stood right before her large windowsill - it portraying a perfect view of the nightlife that was her domain and the beautiful river encompassing it. she was beyond alluring, truly. words could not describe violet's beauty. for she was the prettiest and the strongest goddess there was. the handsomest soldier that would ever fight on the battle field.

her pinkish red hair peppered with streaks of black, like fire and ash, rested over her right side. her blue eyes like stained glass that always outed her every emotion never failed to capture you. her freckles kissed upon her nose and cheeks like a field of wildflowers in april. oh how cute she was when she scrunched her nose when upset or angry. violet was revered in her looks by the other celestial beings, but they doubted her ideals. violet. sweet violet. her heart so gentle but her face stern. she stood for peace—for equality. but she tended to get too passionate in protecting others and standing for what she believed in. the other goddess's teased her about her name. vi for violence. some pretty butch brute with too much power they'd say. she wished they'd respect her name. and how you wished they would know her. violet. sweet violet. vi.

“you're staring again. hmmm and nor did you acknowledge me when you came into my quarters." she pouts, inching closer to your still being. her hips swayed gently as she walked down the little steps, fists at her side. so ready to protect, like she always was. her beauty put you in a trance as your eyes adjust to the glow of her pale freckled skin.

"I'm sorry, my love. It's darker in here than usual." the words jumbled out nervously as the luminescence of her eyes consumed you.

she gently drug her fingertips against the apple of your cheeks. "mmm I am in a mood of sorts today. what do you have for me, beautiful?"

your words caught in your throat and your body shivered. angel's were only allowed to see their goddess' once a month to report to them. you were violet's trusted designated angel that gave her updates of information that she needed to rule her domain, so naturally you saw her a bit more often. the lack of her presence made your yearning beyond intense. the only angel and being that vi had ever touched and she made that clear constantly. but why were you so special? you doubt you'd ever ask. to even be breathing the same air as her was a blessing so you never dare question her.

"I brought all angel reports for last month as well as letters from the goddess's. they seem to have important news to share with you." you nodded, too nervous to glance into her eyes. she loved how nervous she made you.

"so obedient, my sweet girl. I will have to get to it all later." she curls her fingers under your chin. "come.”

she steps away from you to sit on her velvet claudette chaise lounge. she gazes at you intently - waiting. her eyes were warning you as she was often impatient. you walk towards her gently on the tip of your toes. you could never seem to get used to her intensity. she just stares at you often. it's a bit creepy, but you know she is just curious and expressive. reading vi through her eyes was easy for you. she was intrigued.

you kneeled before her as her leg peers out from the slit in her grey throw over dress. she nudges it out to you gently as invitation for you to touch her. as they open, it exposes a delicious amount of her skin that you wanted to just devour. slowly, you bring your hands to glide up her leg. her soft skin feels electric and you swear every muscle in your body relaxed after you touched her. closing your eyes, you nudge your cheek into her skin. you locked eyes as you kiss up her leg, lifting yourself to make your pecks to the inside of her thigh. the feeling of her smooth creamy skin was enticing, the smell of her. vanilla, musk, firewood —brown sugar. the way she was lent back, looking down at you with her legs spread wide was so seductive and sensuous. her arm hung over the couch and the other gently grazed your hair as you nipped at her inner thigh. she had stretch marks on her hips and a bit on her inner thigh. you kissed at them gently. the soft chuckle she let out made your ears ring. goodness. she made you weak.

your breathing got heavier as you inched closer between her dress and to her core. your fingers snake through and move it aside. no underwear. looking up at her, she slightly smiles and blushes. "I was waiting for you — I always do." she breathes out like a whisper.

your cheeks turn a fiery shade of pink. you were then blessed with the sight of her beautiful flower. the heat and scent of her core was close to sending you into a frenzy. tufts of pink hair and puffy lips. you were addicted to her. to her taste. your mouth started to salivate. she bit at her lip and opened her legs wide as if inviting you to enjoy her delicacy. your arms curled around her thick thighs as you grip the soft skin. you press your lips to her clit and suckle. like sweet butter, she melts in your mouth. the sweet but salty taste of her made your toes curl. she was glowing. she threw her head back and her hair flowed over the soft velvet couch. gentle wisps of her hair danced over her lips from her desperate panting. she lets out a gentle moan and entangled her fingers writhin your hair. the feeling of her pussy tangled around your tongue was enough to send you into psychosis. you dug your face into her gently as you could not seem to get close enough. curling and twisting your tongue around her, she panted and whimpered little praises.

her moans increasingly got louder. she was always so vocal. and to say you loved it was an understatement. soft as a harp, her moans flowed through your ears like a gentle river. like a song that soothed your soul. shoving your face into her cunt, your mission was to devour. the feeling of her on your tongue — on your finger tips. her moans, her voice. you were made for her, to please her. to give her the love that she deserved as your goddess. she was under appreciated. you are so deep in thought you failed to realize how tight your grip had become on her shaking thighs. she was overstimulated, yelping and arching her back. she attempted to gently move you. pulling away from her gasp, you muster out, “my goddess. please forgive me. I got carried away. I-“

gripping your cheeks softly, she shoved you back on your knees. her face followed yours closely. "oh how i missed you." she growled.

hearts swam in your eyes. drool and her sweet slick coated your lips and the area surrounding. you look dumbed out. her body was a drug. she was your drug. sweet violet. without the hold she had on your face, you'd fall. she licked at your throat as her calloused fingertips drug your dress down your body. she softly grazed her tongue over the edge of her teeth. she gripped your hips and drug her hands all over your body. the need she had for you was insatiable. untamed, disgusting, and full of teeth. she would kill and stain her hands with blood of the innocent for you. and that was a lot to put down as a goddess for her people. but the way she needed you was vile. the yearn she had for you made her sick. sick and rotted with desire. need. you. a mere angel. nothing compared to her. oh but you were.

her lips captured yours quickly. immediately her tongue swallows yours. her lips were succulent like ripe grapes. to kiss vi was to be refreshed, replenished. revived. crawling down to your level, on the floor, she kneeled with you. not once did she slow her pace and stop the movement of her lips on yours. a kiss was the beginning to her cannabilism. she was kneeling with you. someone as gorgeous and high being as her sat on the dirty floor tangled in front of you. your saliva mixing and tainting her own. she didn't care. your differences didn't make her ill. she was a goddess who could love who she pleased, but she could tell this made you uneasy.

"my love. the floor." you pulled away from the kiss, gently cupping her flushed freckled cheeks. her eyes shone such a radiant blue. she was content.

"I am not above sitting on a dirty floor. I've been in worse. and for you — I would lick the filth from your skin with the blade of my tongue." she whispered, licking the shell of your ear. her cool breath sent shivers down your spine and your heart sunk.

both of her hands held your cheeks, as she curled her tongue over your lips. she pecks them gently and then again, glides her tongue over the plump of your lips. your mouth slightly parted with the pressure and need for her mouth on yours. before you could give into her kiss, she pulls away swiftly. nodding her head in the direction of her sleeping quarters. "on the bed."

you sway your naked body away from her, making your way to her giant canopy. sitting on the edge of the bed, you softly grip her black silky sheets. vi sashays towards the edge where you were and pushes you softly into the middle. standing tall, she drops her dress off of her shoulder. all you could do was stare at her awe. her biceps tensed slightly with her breathing. her subtle abs shone in the light covered in minimal sweat. her tits sat perfectly and exposed. her collar bone, sharp and tempting. her pussy on display and so enticing. again. you could happily die between her legs. everything she did had your pussy melting and pulsating. she crawls towards you and kisses up your body slowly. not breaking eye contact once. she drags her canines against your calf and presses gently, making her way up to your lips.

she’s perfectly above you now, stopping at your face. your eyes are captured in hers and you can’t look away. you smacked your lips onto hers and she burst into a giggle as you peck her lips over and over. pulling away, you let her catch her breath and rub your fingers against her face. you press a kiss to her forehead, her nose, the apple of her cheeks, her eyelids, chin, and then her lips again. then you kiss her hands again, and again, and again. she didn’t like her hands. you knew that. but every sliver of her was perfect to you. she presses her forehead to yours as she gnaws at her lip.

"I want to feel you. to let go with you.”

before you can process a single thought, she eagerly parts your legs wide and squats herself above your cunt. you can feel everything. like her soul and her bones were intertwining with yours. her pussy slid against yours. gripping your legs, she quickens her pace. every touch of her hands on your skin sent your body into shivers. you craved her. you wanted vi to use her calisoused fingers to pry your ribs open and lick your heart and your bones. to live inside of you to protect herself. to connect your organs and become one. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her. you’re snatched back into reality at the loud sounds of the both of your moans blending together like symphony. she gripped at you like she could not live without her claws and bare teeth sunken into your skin. you chant her name like a prayer, her eyes rolling into her head as all she can think about is you. the sound of you. your skin. your flesh. you. she attempted to cage you in so you couldn't move away from her.

"oh baby i know." she groans into your ear as you whimper closer to your release.

the primal desire for you was unquenchable. she can feel you pulsating against her, she knew you were close. so was she. her right hand tangles around your throat as she begins to squeeze. your eyes rolled so far into your head and all circulation began to cut off. and by the goddess's near, this was the most amazing feeling. to die by violet’s hands. the way she is touching you and staring into your soul. it wasn’t pain. it felt like freedom.

"you belong to me, say it. please." her eyes turn soft and tear up. they were like a gentle void, a void of so much emotion. your vision started to turn white and you could only feel her engulfing you. your orgasms overtaking the both of you like wildfire. you could feel the electricity from her fingertips coursing through your veins and your blood. she loosens her grip as you gasp for air. every touch of hers on your body like a cold breeze. the beautiful pit that was her eyes enveloped you. you both stare at each other in a pant.

"we are all yours, vi." you giggle, referring to the angels and her terrain. gently, she collapses on your chest. you graze your fingers against her back, tracing her tattoos.

she hums, "mmm but they are not." she looks up at you, curling your hair between her fingers. "you are. and for you, i am my rawest form. the yearn I have for you is too much. It hurts." she pauses, and takes a deep breath. "I hate when you walk out that door."

her eyes are entangled in yours. the other celestial’s would say that the love between an angel and a goddess was unruly and dangerous. that didn't matter to you. nor did it matter to vi. they don't know what it was like to kneel at her alter. to be loved and wanted by her. they have not heard her gentle giggles and murmurs throughout every kiss. they haven’t seen her wide set grin and the smile lines surrounding her heart shaped lips. nor have they tasted her divine fruit. they haven't gazed into her eyes and seen right through her heart. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her.

“my love and loyalty has always lied with you, my sweet violet.” and into her lips, you collide. underneath the fiery touch of vi’s fingertips, you become poetry.

AUTHORS NOTE: ugh yes…cannibalism as symbolism for lesbian love and obsession again>>> of course, it’s literally my favorite and if you get it, you get it :3 anyways, caitvi scene made me scream as hell. everything made me scream and cry omfg. so many thoughts. If you’re reading this, have a great day, night or evening! mwuahhh <33 hope you liked !

#vi arcane #arcane vi #arcane #vi x fem reader #vi x reader #vi smut #vi x you #arcane season 2 #vi x reader smut #caitvi

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trikalovski · 2 days ago

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LIMERANCE

Dom!, mean! Caitlyn kiramman x sex!worker, zaunite! reader. (Set in Season 2 act 2.)

Warnings: internalized misogyny, sexism, use of strap-on's, choking, slapping, name calling, discrimination, etc.

"Look at you-" she says with a scoff. "With all of your proud talk about justice and balance.. Only to end up at my feet." Her tone is void of any emotions, not even derisive, just pure venom dripping from her lips.

You're a sex-worker from the brothel who Caitlyn uses to blow some steam off from time to time. And you have a crush on her, basically.

(This is a dark!fic so everything is slightly exaggerated.)

Your ancestors, if they're watching, must be cringing at your current predicament;

Face smushed into the table, make-up smeared, mouth wide open as you fight for air.

The hand pinning your head down tightens around your hair, applying more force as the woman fucking you silly bends over to hiss in your ear;

"You deserve nothing but the scraps i'm feeding you."

Another half pained moan slips past your lips when she suddenly stops fucking you and instead, pushes the toy all the way in.

"Guh-"

You breathe out, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white.

The sudden stillness and lack of friction morph pleasure into pain.

It's driving you mad. You've never felt this full before.

You attempt to slam yourself back against her lenght, yearning for some sort of release but the action turns out unsuccessful. Already you're standing on your tippy toes, barely touching the ground and the body trapping you against the table prevents you from moving about.

"Quit that."

She's been toying with you for nearly an hour now and silently, you couldn't help but think how unlike her all of this was.

It was habitual for the two of you to see eachother at least once a week, yes, but she's never been so rough and mean before. Your sessions were always quick and desperate. She came and went, never even sparing you a glance after.

Something's eating at her.

"Cait-" you sob, indignation starting to boil inside you.

"Be quiet." she interrupts, emphasising her words with a series of deep thrusts which make your mouth snap shut and eyes roll back.

Caitlyn proceeds to pull your head back forcibly, fist wrapped tightly around your hair. She pulls until you can feel her breath fanning down your neck.

You take it like a good girl, of course.

Teeth clenched shut. The way you know she likes it.

The woman gives you a once-over, then mutters; "You disgust me," with such sincerity, you're sent spiraling.

Another thrust.

"What would your people say if they knew how well you're taking my cock right now, hm?"

You stay mute, eyes squeezed shut as the tension building in your core prevents you from talking back.

Besides, she wasn't looking for an answer-

Her intention was solely to break you.

Too bad there's not much left for her to break.

Her hand sneaks down to grab you by the neck, firm fingers hauling you flush against her.

Into your ear, she hisses; "You really have no sense of loyalty, do you?"

Your heart drops at that, a lump forming in your throat. You couldn't stop the following words from slipping past your lips even if you wanted to; "Lucky you-"

The commander merely scoffs, incredulous, fucking into you with newly added force that sends pinpricks of pain and pleasure all over your body.

An overwhelming feeling of guilt consumes you, causing a new trail of tears to stream down your cheeks as you're made into a whimpering mess. That was reality kicking in-

She was right, you're nothing but a treacherous whore.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" You grit out, teeth bared as you turn your head just enough to look at her from the corner of your eye.

"If you insist.." She simply says, and your heart drops for a second time.

This was mostly your fault.

You knew what she was, what she was planning on doing to your people- Yet you craved her touch, her affection, the praise.

You wanted to be good for her, needed her validation.

And Caitlyn isn't stupid, no.

She knows what she's doing-

She carries this.. Appeal.

Appeal that comes with her authority; The draw that influential people have over those below them.

A praise here, a lingering touch there..

It happens just often enough to keep you dependant, wanting more.

'Another person's temporary pleasure is someone else's forever pain.'

The woman was setting you up for failure and you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

As if to punish you, she presses more firmly against your neck, squeezing. You choke, hands jerking up to claw at her wrist.

"Zaun's finest whore, they said.." She comments derisively, before slamming you back down.

The contact makes you blink a few times, but it sadly isn't violent enough to knock some sense into your poor head.

(If the fresh trail of wetness dripping down your thighs is anything to go by.)

Now, now.. Caitlyn must've been reading your mind or something because to your absolute horror, her free hand slides down your stomach and slots itself right between your parted legs.

"Oh, darling.." She sighs at the abundant amount of wetness coating her fingers, tone almost pitying. "You're insatiable."

Thankfully, your current position prevents her from seeing your flushed face. Her fingers already running through your abused folds, greedily collect everything they can before she pulls her hand back and presents it to you mockingly.

The taller woman opens her mouth, ready to drop a new series of casually dehumanizing insults, except nothing comes out-

She watches as you take three of her long fingers, knuckle-deep into your depraved mouth and suck, moving your head up and down vigorously.

"You- fuck.." she breathes out. You bite down offering an apologetic kiss to her wrist right after and manage to elicit another strained moan that fills you up with pride. Finally, you got to break her composure, having been fed up by her constant insults and air of superiority.

You don't really register her pulling out and spinning you around until it's done. Brows furrowed, you go to voice your confusion except the words die in your throat when she cracks her palm across your cheek.

"Oof-"

The commander gives you no time to react before she's got your jaw secured in a vicious grip, forcing you to meet her gaze. Eyes impassive as ever she simply states;

"It would do you well to remember your place.."

Okay, so, she clearly wasn't happy about her little slip up.

She towers over you easily, but you don't let it get to your head. You make a sucking noise with your tongue and gums, tentatively soothing the pain inside your mouth.

Your next question carries a challenging lilt to it; "And where, pray tell, would my place be?"

She laughs briefly, and without humor. Her long fingers brush afew strands of hair from your eyes. "Come now.." she says matter-of-factly "You know you'd be nothing but a splatter on the wall like the rest of them, if it weren't for me."

Your reaction is instantaneous;

You lunge forward with a gutteral scream, attempting to grab at the taller woman's neck.

Caitlyn's moves are mechanical; She grabs your wrists with ease before she sends you crashing into the carpet with a mere leg sweep.

You attempt to push yourself up on shaky arms, ready to strike again but she's already straddling your hips and pinning your wrists above your head single-handedly.

Completely immobilizing you.

Caitlyn cracks another slap across your face, this time using the back of her palm. You cringe from the pain. Nothing will ever compare to the inner turmoil you're experiencing right now.

"Look at me" she spits. You don't want to.

"Fucking look at me!" She nearly yells this time and you flinch, but other than that, keep your eyes shut and face turned to the side in an act of defiance.

She allows you this. Doesn't push further, knows you'll listen to her words nevertheless.

"I don't need your whorish love [Name], do you need that in writing?"

Your eyes snap open reflexively at the sudden name-drop.

She never calls you by your name. (Or anything nice, really.)

The other presses on, taking advantage of your silence

"Do you really think i wouldn't notice?" She questions, brows furrowed in genuine confusion

"I tire of your dog-like obedience. I tire of your dumb little face, the way you look at me like i'm the sole solution to your shitty fucking life problems-"

Each sentence that leaves her mouth crushes your soul little by little.

"You're a whore, and i'm not your fucking lover."

"Hypocrite!" you finally grit out. A single stray tear rolls down your cheek, "You're a fucking hypocrite Kiramman, and you know it!"

Her eye twitches at your words, she offers a 'do you really want to go down that route' type of look which you ignore.

Naturally; You too, press on.

"It's funny, really." You laugh drily "You've got all these nasty things to say about me, my ill fucking adoration for you- And yet here you are.."

"Careful now [name]-" she warns, jaw clenching and unclenching.

Caitlyn's words fall on deaf ears though.

"Screwing a 'nasty zaunite whore' instead of your goody-goody little enforcer girlfriend, while also being on the brink of yet another war that you, initiated.."

"Shut the fuck up." she grits out through clenched teeth, eyes closed as she pinches the bridge of her nose in obvious irritation.

"We're done here.."

She pulls back, fingers already working on unbuckling the straps around her hip when you reach out, blinded by your rage

"What would violet think of-"

she releases a strangled screech of outrage, lifting your upper body up only to slam you back down into the carpet, nearly denting the floor with your head.

"Shut the fuck up i said!"

You wince, but the eye-contact stays.

"I will fuck you, and i'll keep fucking you till there's nothing left of you for me to fuck!" Both her hands shoot out to grip your neck with bruising force,

"You ought to change professions after tonight because you won't be of any fucking use to any of your clients by the time i'm through with you-" She sneers down at you, then captures your lips in a furious kiss.

A kiss you sadly return with equal amount of force, moaning into her mouth when she nearly suffocates you with her tongue.

"I'll ruin you-"

She rasps out.

The tension and anger between you two dessipates into pure and animalistic lust. You've never experienced this type of want before.

It's the type of want that makes you want to rip all your hair out. It's pathetic, you're pathetic. "I hate you, i hate you so much!" you sob into her.

She stops her ministrations with a laugh, low and derisive-

The young commander queezes her free hand between your bodies, grabbing your pussy and smearing the wetness there, proving her point. "Clearly.."

It's your turn to wipe Caitlyn's grin off her face. You pull her back down for another kiss.

Both your arms snap up to claw at her back, leaving angry red marks that make the older woman's hips snap forward, dragging her long shaft along your slit as she groans into your mouth.

"Fuck-" You blurt out.

Caitlyn sits back on her heels. The older woman sneaks a lazy hand between her legs, smearing the remaining wetness from her hand over the plastic dick in an achingly slow fashion. Gets it ready for you.

She gives it a few pumps, the head steadily bumping into your swollen clit making your spine arch up.

"Behave.." She hisses then puts a hand on your stomach and pushes down, denying you.

Your whines morph into moans when the other finally decides to fuck the tip of the toy inside you, to which you plead for something more.

She mutters a low "You talk too much" before bottoming out while simultaneously shoving two of her fingers down your throat.

She audibly gasps;

"Slut, can't even gag on my fingers anymore? How many of my men had their way with you already, hm?"

Fuck,

"Ten? Fifteen, perhaps?"

You try to pull back but she adds another long finger, hips pushing down and stretching your walls impossibly wide.

"Mmph-"

You do choke on them this time.

Hard.

"Quiet now, i don't want to hear it." She breathes out then sets a crazy pace for the both of you. The woman crushes your body under her weight and fills your walls up to the brim.

At one point, the two of you switch positions. She lays there, holding your hip with one hand while gripping your cheeks with the other, keeping you quiet as you ride her.

It's bordering on too much after some time, even so you try meeting her crazy rhythm.

You tap her arm afew times, hoping she'll go easier on you but she's far too gone to care at this point. Your well-being of lesser importance.

You're utterly mortified, face blotched and swollen with crying.

Still, her words make your hips buck forward involuntarily, while a moan dies somewhere deep in your throat. the head of her dick is hitting a very specific spot within you that makes your eyes clench shut as you begin to crumble.

She notices you're close and slides both hands down to hold you by the hips. She selfishly encourages you to keep going while silently enjoying the way the other end of the strap rubs against her aching clit.

"Gods, you were made for me darling-" She moans out, slightly out of breath at this point.

Both of you moan into eachother's mouths when she pulls you down for yet another sloppy kiss.

"Made for me to use as i please-" you shake "Fuck, you're lucky this isn't the real thing cause i wouldn't be able to pull out if you paid me to." she groans

That does it for you, you can't hold your weight anymore, the force of your orgasm makes you double over in ecstasy as you shove your head in the crook of Caitlyn's neck.

The latter allows you this brief pause, wrapping her long arms around you, pushing you further into her.

You quickly come to realize the action was far from affectionate though. It's a trap, she's trapping you against her.

Your fear is only further confirmed as you go to pull back and are met with resistence.

"Please, no more-" you plead weakly, feeling utterly used and quite frankly, mentally worn out after all the moral shit she's been spewing on you tonight. But above all, you feel so. Fucking. Raw.

"What did i tell you earlier, sweet thing?" She whispers in your ear. Your heart drops for what feels like the millionth time. "And i didn't get to cum yet"

In the end, she does end up pulling out, briefly;

You're too busy gasping for air to comprehend what she's doing until you find yourself laying on your back.

And you know it's going to be a long night because the way she smirks at you before slipping back inside is simply diabolical.

At least you'll go out doing what you loved most.

#Caitlyn x reader #smut #hurt/comfort #angst #caitlyn kiramman #wlw #maddie nolen #vi arcane #arcane #caitlyn arcane #fanfic

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tomsparkyr · 23 hours ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 [𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓]

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

summary: when coach tells people the room requirements and the 'no sexual perversions perpetrated' rule by the so-called 'little deviants', it only makes the couple want to break that rule even more.

stiles stilinski x fem!reader (no smut sorry babies)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were nestled into your boyfriend's neck, the soft flannel material brushing against your cheek and the scent you knew all too well, all of the senses could have made your eyes flutter back closed. You felt a small nudge on your shoulder, groaning and shrugging off the contact, you decided to ignore Stiles’ silent request for you to lift your head up.

It wasn’t until you felt his warm touch brush the hair that had fallen in front of your face away and the palm of his hand stroke your cheekbone, you pulled away from his contact and looked up at him.

His brown eyes looked into your own and he smiled softly at you. He couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. He couldn’t believe he was going out with someone like you. You were beautiful in and out, hence his gut-wrenching crush he’s had on you since the 3rd grade. After long years of pining and certain dreams, he couldn’t thank the supernatural world for existing more as he finally got a chance with you; and boy, did he take it.

At the beginning of your relationship, Scott thought Stiles was joking when he said he kissed you, and you actually kissed him back. He just laughed, patted him on the shoulder and moved on with the subject.

“No, Scott! I’m not kidding.” Stiles said, almost offended. But then he sobered his thoughts and kind of understood Scott because it had taken him 3 hours after your kiss to finally process that he had grown the balls to do that, and apparently you liked it too.

Scott paused momentarily, “Neither am I Stiles, we need to focus on--” Stiles sighed dramatically and flailed his arms around in desperation. Scott paused mid-sentence, tilted his head and waited for his best friend to continue.

“Scott, I kissed her. Like, I actually kissed her!” Stiles smiled widely. Scott remained unconvinced, blinking slowly and scrunched his brows. “You know, when you put your lips on someone else's--”

“Yes, Stiles! I know what kissing is!” The werewolf exasperated, he shook his head. “I just don’t believe it was with her. Y/N? Head cheerleader, popular, smart, way out of your league Y/N?”

“You better believe it, Scotty.” Stiles patted his hand rhythmically on Scott’s back as he began to walk away, intending to walk to his beautiful girlfriend's house.

Scott grabbed onto Stiles’ flannel and yanked him back for more details, “You mean ‘I’ve had a crush on her since 3rd grade, I wish she would look my way and we would get married and have kids’ Y/N?” Scott grew a proud smile the more he said, knowing how down bad his best friend was for this girl.

Stiles nodded frantically and adjusted his flannel, “And she actually kissed you back?” Scott questioned. “Scott, I think 3rd grade me died a little bit when she held my hand, let alone kiss me back.” Stiles jokes.

The two boys looked at each other before high fiving and doing their ‘bro-hug’. Scott congratulated the boy, not hiding his pure excitement for his friend; borderline jumping for joy. The boys gushed over the new relationship for a few more minutes before Stiles snapped out of it and ran out the room, shouting behind him saying he had to get back to his girlfriend who was waiting for him. Scott doing a subtle fist pump as Stiles turned his back.

“Wake up, baby,” He whispered, not wanting to disturb you too much as you wiped the grogginess and sleep off your face. You looked at your surroundings, “We here?”

Stiles looked out the window of the bus, eye twitching at the surroundings. “Not quite…”

The motel looked uncomfortable, old and just overall, definitely violating hundreds of safety codes. The poor attempt at the neon lights brightened up the place in the darkness outside, but did little to make the atmosphere any more homely. But he knew it would be fine for one night, as long as you were by his side the entire night.

Everyone began piling out of the bus, a couple of your friends passing you and giving you two a wink as they noticed the state you and your boyfriend were in; cuddled up close, hands intertwined and Stiles admiring you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. Even in this messed up supernatural world, Stiles found beauty in the horror; and that was you.

Stiles helped you off the bus, his hands never leaving you. He slung an arm around your waist as you stepped onto the concrete and became aware of your surroundings.

It was clear you had the same initial thoughts as Stiles as he read your body language. He rubbed his thumb on the skin between your top and the jeans that hugged your figure, leaning in and kissing the top of your forehead.

As you walked towards your friends and addressed Lydia’s discomfort at the Motel, Stiles had sneaked behind you and hugged you from behind. He rested his head on top of yours and you leaned back into his chest; his arms were locked around your front and you rested your hands on top of his, sighing into the contact.

It felt like you were in a dream, you never wanted to leave this comfortability with Stiles, he was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

The Coach’s whistle broke you out of your bliss, snapping your attention to him as he turned away from the Motel and faced the angsty teenagers.

“Listen up. The meet’s been pushed till tomorrow.” You groaned quietly and nestled backwards into Stiles’ chest, he smiled at you. “This is the closest Motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates such as yourselves.”

You would protest Coach’s point, but he was completely correct, actually. Who the hell would want 20 odd, hormonal teenagers who definitely have questionable things packed in their bags to stay in your Motel?

“Now, you’ll be pairing up. Choose wisely.”

You and Stiles look at each other, untangling yourself from his hold and intertwining your hands. You pulled him over to the Coach, not seeing Scott raise his brows at Stiles’ smirking face at the idea of spending a night with you in your own room, no parental interruptions, no supernatural; just a boyfriend and girlfriend in each other's company.

Coach noticed the two of you approaching like a couple on their honeymoon and felt the need to clarify something.

“And I’ll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants, got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!” He shouted, looking directly at you. “Especially you, Stilinski and Y/L/N!”

You two dropped your hands expectantly, reluctantly taking a key for different rooms. The boy sighed at you and leaned in to kiss you before you departed over to Lydia and Alisson.

The sound of the Coach’s whistle made you two jump apart before your lips touched. “What did I just say!” Stiles went to protest, “I don’t wanna hear it! Get out of here!”

Stiles groaned and turned away to room with Scott, you loitered back for a moment, just in time to hear the Coach say, “How he managed to get you to go out with him… I’ll never know.” You chuckled to yourself and roomed with your friends.

It had been an hour since you got to your room and settled in, kicking back and chatting to the girls for a while until they decided to shower and get themselves ready for bed. You had begun to set up until you got a message from Stiles.

Stiles: come to my room please i miss you

You smiled at his message, missing him too. And typed out a response.

You: i can’t the girls will see i’ve gone somewhere :((((

Stiles: you’ll be back before they’ve noticed you’re gone i promise

Stiles: baby?

Stiles was typing out more questions, and thinking of other ways to convince you to come over as Scott had left the room to explore the Motel more.

He was confused by your silence until he heard a knock at the door. He stood up, expecting it to be Scott but was braced by your beautiful face as he swung the door open.

He smiled, looking you up and down before tugging you into the room. He kicked the door behind him as he twisted your bodies so your back was facing the room.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you messed with the hair at the nape of his neck, drinking in his appearance and licking your lips. “I missed you, baby.” He groaned in the sexiest voice you think you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “I missed you, too.” You chuckled before connecting your lips.

He leaned into your body as his lips pressed into yours, subtly sneaking his tongue into your mouth. His hands snuck around to your back and held your body against his own, feeling every crevice and worshipping them. His hands explored your back, itching closer as he murmured for you to jump into him.

You obliged and wrapped your legs around his waist, he caught you by planting his hands on your ass. He smiled into his kiss and found himself growing more desperate for you as each second passed.

Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged at it as he walked the pair of you to the rickety bed situated in the middle of the room. He gently placed you on the bed and leaned on top of you, finding himself comfortable in between your legs.

The kiss grew more erratic as it went on, hotter and hands wandering. Stiles slipped his hands underneath your top and began to lift it over your head.

You stopped him suddenly and he pulled back, his face coated in your lipgloss and his hair a mess; God, he looked good.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” He panicked. You smiled and placed your hands on his face. “No, baby. Just don’t want Scott to walk in on us.” You confessed.

Stiles shook his head, “He won’t be back for ages…” He whispered and leaned back in to kiss your neck, sucking at your sweet spots that made your back arch. You sighed as his tongue worked wonders.

Stiles noticed you weren’t fully convinced and jumped off the bed, leaving you stranded. You were confused momentarily until he snatched something out of the bedside drawer, and opened the room door, hooking it on the handle and turning back to you.

“Just to be sure.” He winked and situated himself back between your legs and lifted your shirt over your head this time.

The room became hotter with each second, steam practically coating the walls; as the room door held up a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with pride.

Your stay with Stiles was much more prolonged than you had intended, your clothes now back on your body a little misshapen but the thought that was there.

You skipped back to your Motel room and quietly pushed open the door at this late hour, knowing Lydia and Alisson were probably curled up in bed at this time.

Kicking off your shoes, you snuck into the room and breathed a sigh of relief that the girls hadn’t had their suspicions about your disappearance, obviously feeling content enough to go to sleep with no nerves.

You turned on the bedside lamp to see where you were going and jumped at the sight of Lydia and Alisson wide awake and leaning on the headboard of their shared bed, staring right at you with raised eyebrows and a subtle smirk.

Alisson tilted her head, “So, where were you?” She questioned.

You stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with a convincing lie. “I was just… at the vending machine. Stupid things sucked up my money.” You fake chuckled.

Lydia hummed, “Yeah, it took you 3 hours…” You could practically feel a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead, “Yeah, I had a lot of trouble with it… Anyway, I’m heading to bed-”

“I didn’t know vending machines give you hickeys.” Alisson said, making you freeze and pale.

You opened your mouth but no words came out, “And it has nothing to do with the fact that Scott tried to get back to his room but the sound of moaning probably stopped him from going into the hot box.” Lydia smirked.

You quite literally had no words, “Shit.” You murmured.

Alisson giggled at you, "You realise Coach is gonna kill you two, especially Stiles." You groaned loudly.

The two girls chuckled at you and invited you into their huddle, only insisting you showered first. You laughed along with them and jumped into them, “At least someone had fun on this God awful trip.” Lydia smiled at you before you whacked her with the pillow you were previously leaning on.

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asunsetgrace16 · 2 days ago

Text

✧ 𝗪𝗛𝗬? ⎥ 911

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Tommy Kinard

Warnings: This does have spoilers for 8x08.

Summary: Eddie is leaving, and Buck goes to Tommy about it.

Notes: This is my first piece of writing for the 9-1-1 fandom. I am a bucktommy shipper so if you have a problem with that then don't read this.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 1.2k

In the locker room after shift, Buck is quiet and the silence is tense. He knows that today Eddie is telling the team that he is moving, having finally bought a house in El Paso. Eddie told him two weeks ago when he handed in his resignation.

"Guys, I have uh, something I want to tell you all." Eddie says, breaking the silence. Buck is already dressed so he can leave as soon as this is over. He can’t bear to hear it again that he is losing his best friend. Everyone exchanges a look. They can tell that this maybe isn't happy news.

Hen asks, "Yeah Eddie, what's up."

"I bought a house a couple weeks ago." He tells them.

"Oh nice, is it close to us? Did you make sure to pick a good neighbourhood and school." Chim questions.

"Uh yeah I did, but it's not here. It's in El Paso."

And the silence is back. Bobby knew this was coming, so he's leaning against the lockers, calm and cool. Chim and Hen are dumbfounded, mouths gaping like fish, while Buck stands silent, staring at the backpack in his hands.

"Why are you moving back to Texas?" Hen asks tearfully.

"I'm tired of missing out on Chris's life. Now that he's there and Shannon is gone, there's nothing left for me in LA anymore. I want to be a dad to my kid again, and it doesn't look like I will be able to do that here."

Buck sucks in a breath. He wasn't expecting to hear that from Eddie. Obviously Buck knew how much Eddie misses Chris, but how can he say that LA has nothing left for him? Despite not wanting to make it about him, Buck thinks about how he has been Eddie's partner and best friend for eight years, LA can't mean nothing to him, right? What about Buck?

Buck can't take it anymore. He wheels around and stalks out of the locker room without saying anything more to Eddie. Ripping open the door to his Jeep, he leaves the station and just drives. Before he realizes it, he's only got one turn left before Tommy's house. Well, he's here now.

Inside, Tommy is 25 minutes into a movie he doesn't know the name of when someone pounds on his door. "Okay, okay, I'm coming, hold your horses."

He opens the door to find Buck, panting and face twisted with sadness, fist raised to hit the door again.

"Hey, Buck." Tommy says, and sees him visibly flinch. Tommy's heart breaks just a little more.

His voice is small and sad when he asks, "Can I come in?"

Tommy nods and opens the door wider. Kicking off his shoes, Buck follows Tommy to the living room where he gets parked on the couch. Going to the kitchen, Tommy fills two glasses with water.

"What happened?" Tommy asks, sitting as close as acceptable, despite longing to pull Buck into his arms and shield him from whatever hurts him.

"Eddie's moving. Back to Texas." His voice is smaller than Tommy's ever heard it. It doesn't fit with the exuberant, joyful man he grew to love. Tommy lets the silence sit, giving Buck time to gather his thoughts. And if he wipes a tear off his cheek, Tommy will never admit to seeing it.

"Why, Tommy?" Buck breaks the, tears threatening to fall, "Why does everybody always leave me? And logically I know that Eddie moving to El Paso isn't him directly leaving me, but when he told the team today, he said that now that Shannon is gone and Chris may as well be, that there's nothing left for him in LA anymore."

Tommy's heart shatters, listening to Buck- Evan's shaking words and breaking voice. His face cycles through fourteen emotions in fourteen seconds. "Oh Evan." Tommy finally says, softly.

"How, how can he say that? I'm here, you're here, the 118’s here, Pepa is here. I didn't want to make it about me, but this feels a lot like he's leaving me by saying that. First it was Maddie, then Abby, then you. And now Eddie." Buck is defeated. And he looks at it. Shoulders hunched in, trying to make himself as small as possible. Buck faces Tommy, with a look on his face Tommy never wants to see again. He’s going to punch Eddie for making Buck feel this way, even if it wasn’t directly his fault.

Tommy's breath catches on you. He never thought about what breaking up would do to Evan. It makes sense that he would see it as Tommy leaving him, not setting him free. Because he didn't want to be set free.

“Evan, I am so sorry.” Tommy tells him earnestly, not only apologizing for Eddie.

Buck looks at him, a look of wonder creeping onto his face. “You called me Evan.”

“Yeah, I did. And I need to say something, I shouldn’t have left you that night. I was trying to protect my heart, but in the process I destroyed yours. You didn’t deserve that. I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to justify it, but I miss you so much that it hurts.” Tommy breathes deep, collecting himself before he starts crying. “I regret it. Not what I said, necessarily, but how I said it. I should have left the conversation open so we could talk but I got scared and ran.”

“Why were you scared?” Buck asks, moving closer to Tommy.

“I fell in love with you. And it terrified me, because you don’t deserve to have someone like me, with all my baggage and flaws loving you and holding you back.”

“Tommy, I never felt that way. I’m not perfect either. And now I realize that I’ve been putting you on a bit of a pedestal, which wasn’t great, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do admire you. And I love you, baggage and all. I know I jumped the gun a bit by asking you to move in, knowing you have a whole house to your name, but what I really meant by that was that I’m ready to take the next step. Start getting into the nitty gritty stuff in our pasts, lay everything out on the table, really get to know each other.”

They sit looking at each other, having moved closer while they talked. While they confessed their love for each other. Buck is crying now, and Tommy’s not far behind.

“I don’t need to figure anything out because I want you. I want us. I know you set things at my pace before, but now we are going to go at yours.” Buck says, tentatively reaching for Tommy’s hands. Tommy's face shows surprise, and he turns his hand over under Evan’s, gripping his hand tight. They are both crying now.

“I want you too. I never should have let you go. I never want you to ask yourself why people always leave you ever again.” Tommy pulls Evan in, half in his lap, arms wrapped around each other. Evan tucks his face into that spot in Tommy’s neck where he fits like it was made for him. Evan makes a sound, curling his body into Tommy’s.

“I love you.” Buck murmurs.

Tommy presses a kiss to Evan’s curls, and whispers, “So you’ll take me back?”

“Always.”

#‣ ✦ ‣ sunset works ＞ fics #‣ ✦ ‣ 911 ＞〈 bucktommy 〉#911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #911 fic

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 2 days ago

Note

i just read your sub dave post and… omg😵‍💫 i was wondering if you could do something along the same veins but with kirk? maybe some overstim/edging >:)

I hope you like it!❤

Warnings: Sensual and Intimate Themes, Power Dynamics, Mature Language

Edge of desire

The room felt suffocating in the best way. The soft glow of the lamp barely illuminated the bed, casting long shadows that made the atmosphere thick with heat. I could feel every inch of my skin prickling with anticipation. Every breath, every flutter of my chest, felt amplified, as if I could sense him even when he wasn't touching me.

Kirk was standing just a little too far away, eyes locked on me like I was some kind of forbidden treat. The tension in my body was unbearable. He hadn’t touched me the way I needed, not yet. His stare was predatory, hungry, like he was savoring the slow burn of anticipation.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I can see it in your eyes. See how bad you need me.”

I bit my lip, my body shivering under the weight of his words. “Please, Kirk,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please, I can’t… I need you.”

He smirked, his gaze drifting down to my chest, watching the way my body responded to him, how every soft breath I took seemed to make me that much more exposed. “You think you’re ready for me?” he asked, his fingers tracing an invisible line in the air just above my skin. “You’re dripping, aren’t you? Fucking soaked for me.”

I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips, my hips bucking slightly, as if to beg for him to touch me, to give me what I needed. But he didn’t. Not yet.

His fingers hovered just above my thigh, barely brushing the skin, and I shuddered. He leaned down, his lips just inches from my ear. “I can feel how much you want me, baby. So tight, so wet, just begging for me to touch you.” He chuckled softly. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

My hands gripped the sheets as I tried to steady my breath, but everything inside me was on fire, strung out with need. “Please,” I moaned. “Please, Kirk. I need you… I need you now.”

He chuckled again, a dark sound that made my heart race. “You think you need me? You don’t know what it means to need me yet, Y/N.” His fingers finally, finally touched my skin, but just barely. His touch was light, so light it barely registered, but it was enough to send a wave of heat through my body. “You’re gonna beg for it.”

His words were a spark that ignited every nerve in my body. My legs parted instinctively, aching for more, but he didn’t give it to me. Instead, his fingers trailed up and down, just enough to drive me crazy, never quite where I needed him to be. I was desperate for more, desperate for him to finish what he’d started.

“You like that, huh?” he murmured, voice low. “Like the way I tease you, make you wait for it. You’re so fucking needy, I can’t help but want to drag this out.”

I whimpered again, my body trembling, and I reached for him, pulling him closer, but he pulled away just as quickly. My breath caught in my throat as I stared up at him, frustration and need building with every passing second. I was so close to the edge, but he wouldn’t let me fall.

“You’re so goddamn tight,” he said, his voice rough, eyes darkening. “But I’m not gonna let you come yet, baby. You’re gonna wait for me. You’re gonna take it until you can’t stand it anymore.”

I bit my lip, my whole body aching, every inch of me begging for release. “Please, Kirk… please, I can’t hold on much longer. I need to come… I need you.”

He leaned down, his breath warm against my neck as he pressed a kiss to my skin, just light enough to drive me mad with desire. “You’ll come when I say you can, Y/N. I told you, you’re gonna wait. And you’re gonna love every fucking second of it.”

The frustration was unbearable, but I couldn’t do anything but lay there, caught in this tension he was building inside me. Every inch of my body burned for him. My hands fisted the sheets as my hips shifted, desperate for more. And still, he held back, just out of reach.

Then, just as I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, his fingers slid down to where I needed him, slow and deliberate. I gasped, the pressure almost unbearable, but even then, he didn’t push me over the edge. He kept me right there, teetering on the brink, and I was so fucking close, but not yet.

“I’m so fucking close, Kirk,” I gasped, my body trembling, aching for him. “Please, just let me—”

“Not yet,” he said, his voice dark and rough. “You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna wait, Y/N.”

Every nerve in my body felt like it was about to snap as he kept his slow, torturous rhythm. My hands flew to his chest, pulling him closer, but he just smirked and pulled back again, not giving me the release I needed. The ache inside me was unbearable.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he pushed me over the edge. The release hit me so hard, so overwhelming, that I couldn’t breathe. I trembled beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through me, my body shaking, my mind blank. My whole world narrowed to the sensation of him, the pressure finally released.

“There you go,” he whispered, his voice satisfied, almost smug. “Told you I’d make you wait. And look how much sweeter it was for it.”

The moment I let go, my body felt weightless. I was trembling uncontrollably, my muscles aching, my chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. But even as I came down from that intense high, a different feeling settled over me—vulnerable, yet somehow strong. I was completely exposed, my emotions laid bare, my body still humming with the aftermath.

The tension that had been building for so long was now gone, but in its place was a kind of delicate stillness. It was as if every nerve in my body was trying to adjust, to catch up with the release he had just guided me through. My skin felt sensitive to the touch of the sheets beneath me, and I could still feel the heat of him against me. It wasn’t just the physical satisfaction; there was an emotional rush that I hadn’t anticipated, a sense of being seen, of being fully known in this moment.

I reached up, my fingers trembling as I touched his chest, trying to steady myself. My body was still weak, every muscle spent, but I felt a strange sense of accomplishment, too. He’d pushed me so far, made me feel so much, and somehow, in the chaos of it all, I felt more connected to him than ever.

“You always know how to push me, don’t you?” I whispered, my voice still shaky, but there was a hint of a smile on my lips. It was a mix of satisfaction and disbelief. I wasn’t sure if I could even put into words what I was feeling, but it was something profound.

Kirk smiled, a slow, satisfied grin that spread across his face as he looked down at me, his gaze softening just a little. The smugness in his eyes lingered, but there was warmth there too—a tenderness that was almost surprising after everything that had just happened. His smile wasn’t just one of triumph; it was more than that. It was a smile of quiet pride, of knowing he had taken me through something intense and had guided me to that place where I felt completely, utterly connected with him.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he said, his voice low, his fingers brushing against my hair with surprising gentleness.

I closed my eyes, letting out a slow, contented sigh. My chest still heaved with the aftershocks, but the world felt quieter now, calmer. I was still floating in the haze of what had just happened, the high of it lingering, mixing with the sense of deep satisfaction. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, just quietly holding onto each other, but I never wanted it to end.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica x you #metallica x reader #metallica smut #kirk hammett x you #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett one shot #kirk hammett smut #kirk hammett fic

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urwritethanks · 15 hours ago

Text

Anyway, hello 👋🏾 Yes I am shamelessly joining everyone in the excitement for this show. Did I start the show at 11pm? Yes. Did I then proceed to immediately start writing this at 2am? Yes. And you know what? I have no regrets (it's now basically 5am).

Someone said that if this was just a Netflix show he would have ate her out at the ending of EP.2. And let's just say that's what inspired this.

This is obviously an interpretation in an alternate timeline/universe. Dont get your panties in a bunch. Also my writing is not perfect. This ended up being longer than anticipated but apparently thats my m.o. I rarely get inspired to write so I wanted to just get it all out. Enjoy!

The glass shattered as it hit the floor.

Hee Joo could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands were clammy and she felt out of breath.

How could she be so silly? How had she walked into this mess? 'A fire .. my god' she thought. 'Was he hurt?' What if at this very moment he was in the hospital? She'd known since last night something was wrong. She'd felt it in her gut. That was why she had waited for him. Only exhaustion had allowed her to sleep. Now hours later she wished she had done something, anything. But what could she have done? Everyone saw her as useless. What could she do now? She needed to-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the door lock. 'He's here!?' She thought in equal parts shock and relief.

The news in the background continued as he came into view. She was expecting him to be disheveled but she still was not prepared.

His shirt had soot and dirt. His hair looked as though he had been running his hand through it all night. His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. But more than that, they were filled with emotion. She had never seen him.. so affected.

He stalked toward her. Instinctively she stepped back only to come in contact with the table. She almost gasped when his hands found her waist and lifted her to the table. He must have lost his mind last night. In all their years of marriage she could count on one hand the number of times he'd touched her this way.

Her breath was caught in her throat. She stared at him stunned.

"Lately, nothing makes sense" Sa Eon said.

"There can't be a Hong Hee Joo I don't know about."

Hee Joo's brain was not working. She couldn't think straight with him this close. What did he mean?

"I need to find out" he continued, eyes shifting to her skirt "which one is the real one".

She knew. She knew before he moved what he was going to do.

"Right now, you're my only lead. So cooperate."

He reached for her skirt. Lifting it two inches before instinct had her stopping him.

He was really going to do it! Oh my, why had she gotten herself into this situation? How would she keep him from doing this now? When he was so determined. And why was she..getting turned on. Maybe it was how close he was to her. Maybe it was because it had been years since she had been with someone. But she knew the truth was it was his eyes. The way they seemed to be staring into her soul. The way they were showing so many emotions. Anger, confusion, frustration ...lust.

Was she imagining that last one?

"Do you want to take it off, or should I?". He had fisted her skirt. She stared at him chest rising and falling as though all the oxygen was gone from the room.

She didn't know what came over her. Before she could think about it her hand continued where he had left off.

His eyes never left hers the entire time. While a moment ago he was almost desperate, now it seemed as though he had all the time in the world.

She lifted it just enough to reveal what she knew he wanted to see. The material bunching in her lap but still covering her under garment. Slowly his eyes shifted down. Where ever his eyes touched felt like fire on her skin. She saw the moment he found her mole. His jaw clenched and when she looked down his hand which had fallen beside her leg on the table was balled into a fist.

He exhaled loudly "I see.. so this is the real Hee Joo." His hand lifted. Finger tracing a circle around the mold. She felt that movement deep, her stomach clenching.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until his commanding voice said "Breathe". Before she could think she breathe in and out in a huff . God why did she always listen to everything he said?

As she continued to breathe the circles seemed to be getting larger. Covering more area on her thigh. Was she dreaming? She must be because he reached to lift the skirt higher revealing more and more skin. This is exactly what dream Sa Eon would do. Only in her dreams, dreams buried deep down could this be happening.

He only stopped once her centre was exposed. The skin tone underwear was now clearly visible to him. She watched him as his eyes feasted on her. She saw him swallow and he murmured something that even her fine tuned ears did not pick up.

When he reached for her she came back to herself and grabbed his wrist. His eyes found hers. Searching. She must have been doing a terrible job of hiding how much this was affecting her because whatever he saw in her eyes had him smirking and then he leaned forward and captured her mouth.

She gasped into the kiss. Then it was a flash of tongues and breathe. Her mind was spiraling not able to keep up or put into perspective what was happening. Sa Eon kissed exactly how she expected him to. He directed and she was more than happy to follow his lead. One of his hands found her jaw and he maneuvered her head to deepen the kiss. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his already messy hair. This man was talented. He kissed her as though he was thirsty and she was the last drink of water on earth. He kissed her as though he had been wanting to do this for the last three years. He kissed her as though she was his.

When she broke the kiss, breathing heavy he simply shifted to her neck, her clavicle. The low vee of her shirt allowing him access. Her head fell back as she gave him more room.

Suddenly she felt his fingers on the outer edge of her panties. At the same moment his mouth was doing magical things to a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. She shifted on the table humming as his fingers made their way to her entrance.

"I haven't heard this much sound from you in a long time" he paused whatever he was doing to her neck to say. "Maybe I should have done this sooner".

His finger was now working circles around her clit. Rather than go back to kissing her neck his eyes found hers as she slowly began to lose herself to the sensations. They were having a conversation without words. When his finger entered her she gasped and closed her eyes.

"Look at me" he said. Her eyes fluttered open to find his lit and studying her. He began to move his finger in and out. She bit her lip and her head fell back.

"Look at me" he reiterated. And his commanding tone coupled with a second finger joining the first had her head snapping back up.

"You will watch."

Suddenly his fingers left her and in a swift move he grabbed the waistband of her panties and ripped. Then before she could recover from that his hands moved her thighs further apart and his mouth found her, his tongue hot on her most private place. She was so stunned she didn't have a moment to feel exposed. Then sensation began traveling through her body.

She was getting more and more wet as he continued. His tongue feasting on her sensitive clit then moving to her entrance. The more wet she got the more he lapped, groaning and tightening his grip on her waist. Her thighs began to tremble and with each lap of his tongue she fell a little further under his spell. When his tongue entered her, her hands gave out and she fell to her elbows. Her eyes almost closed until she remembered what he had said. When she looked down she found him watching her as his tongue continued to torture her. She couldn't believe this was happening. How had they got here? Watching her watch him seemed to do something to him, as his onslaught became more ferocious she could only hold on for the ride.

He knew everything about her. He made it his job. Nothing could put all his skills to better use than his wife. And maybe that is why finding out he may not know her like he thought he did these last few days was driving him crazy.

All he could think about was her safety. But more than anything he was angry. Angry that this stranger who had no right to had seen her. Taken her hostage! Had her photo to leer over! It made him feral.

All he had wanted to do after last night's events was set eyes on her. Make sure she was safe. But when he'd seen her all his plans flew out the window. Suddenly he needed to know, was she his Hee Joo?

Now with his head between her thighs, her hand fisting his hair and those breathy noices she was making (which were quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds) he knew she was.

He loved her taste and the more wet she got, the happier he was. He watched as her eyes glazed over as she gave in to everything he was giving her. She began to shift her hips now, unconsciously chasing her orgasm. What she didn't know is he would give her anything she wanted.

Now as he watched her, her eyes seemed to be begging him, a tiny furrow in her brows and he was more than willing to oblige. He shifted, his mouth again finding her clit while his fingers entered her again. He pulled, hard with his mouth and thrust his fingers at the same time. Her thighs tightened around his head. He sweeped his tongue from her clit to her entrance a satisfied groan low in his throat. That also seemed to have an effect on her. He picked up the pace his eyes finding her again. Not wanting to miss a moment of her pleasure. He felt and heard the moment she came. Her core quivered and released a rush of moisture. At the same time she gasped loudly and bucked her hips. He knew it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes trained on him. He could swear he saw them get two shades darker.

For several moments she didn't breathe, suspended in the pleasure her body was giving her. He continued his onslaught until she came down. The hand in his hair going slack and a rush of breath finally expended from her. She seemed to sag onto the table. As much as she could anyway as she tried to keep her eyes on him.

He kissed her one last time reverently. When he glanced up he could see the panic and confusion beginning on her face. Her hands went up to cover her face and she laid on the table.

He adjusted her skirt back down to cover her. "Get cleaned up" he said. Knowing if he even tried to talk about or explain this it would go in one ear and out the other.

"I'm going to take a shower; then I'll make you breakfast and we can talk".

She was shaking her head before he was finished. Her fingers shifting so she could peek through.

He left her like that, making his way to his room to shower. He knew she was even now probably trying to find a way to get out of speaking to him. But make no mistake, he had gotten a taste and he was far from satisfied.

#fanfic #fanfiction #when the phone rings #kdrama #hong hee joo #baek sa eon #smut

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