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mooishbeam · 1 year ago

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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milkloafy · 6 months ago

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YOUR SAVING GRACE — WRIOTHESLEY

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you run into some trouble and wriothesley saves you, getting himself hurt in the process. [modern au; suggestive content] ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.4k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: inspired by the wriothesley art where his face is a little bloodied and he’s smiling like that and hmmngfh i want to hold him so bad !! also the title is kind of a pun do u get it ha ha okay pls enjoy :>

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Wriothesley chucked, wincing as the corner of his mouth lifted upwards. “Fancy way of saying thank you.”

With a sigh, you dampened a washcloth with warm water from under the sink. You wrung out the excess before gently guiding it up to Wriothesley’s face and dabbing at the cut on his lip. You frowned. His split lower lip wasn’t even the worst of it—he had a bleeding gash on the right side of his temple.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, fingers brushing against the high points of his cheekbone. Such a beautiful face did not deserve to be marred in such a way; he had already been through enough growing up.

“Of course I had to,” he said, your face so close to his that you felt his hot breath fan your nose. “The alternative would have been to let them harm you.”

You discarded the dirty cloth and grabbed a fresh one from the drawer. As you wiped the blood off his forehead, your mind wandered to the memory of the past few hours. It wasn’t exactly a good one, to put it lightly.

You had only recently moved back to your hometown in Fontaine after spending time abroad in Inazuma, but you quickly found that all the friends you once knew now had lives of their own. Except your childhood friend Wriothesley, of course. Still, you didn’t let that stop you from going out on your own and trying to meet new people, especially now that you were back in Fontaine to stay.

Perhaps, however, heading face first into the night scene wasn’t the way to go.

You shivered at the memory. The moment you realized you didn’t feel safe being out dancing alone, you tried to make your way home, only to find out you were being followed by some men from the venue. Your only saving grace was that of Wriothesley, who happened to be on a late night tea run.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said sincerely, though you knew that wasn’t enough to display your gratitude. Who knows what could have happened had he not intervened. “I just hate that you got hurt because of it.”

Wriothesley laughed, patting your head affectionately—as if the two of you never drifted apart when you moved away. “I would do it again, even if the outcome was worse. Besides, did you see what I did to the other guys?”

That earned a smile out of you. “There were three of them! And you still kicked all their asses.”

“Exactly,” he said proudly. “Now, if you look at my injuries in comparison, it’s really nothing.”

Though the mood was slightly lifted, you still hated to see Wriothesley in any pain. The least you could do was make sure his wound were thoroughly cleaned and wrapped.

“You don’t have to go through this trouble,” said Wriothesley as you disinfected the cut on his temple and placed a bandage over it. “You must be tired from your long night. You should get some rest. I can always have Sigewinne help.”

You shook your head fervently, almost offended by his suggestion. “You’re in this mess because of me and you think I could just leave you to get it taken care of elsewhere?” you huffed, squishing his non-injured cheek with your fingertips. “What kind of friend would I be then?”

“I’m not in this mess because of you—it’s because of those lowlives who take pleasure in trying to harass an innocent person,” he corrected sternly. “It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry you had to go through that yourself.”

Once you finished cleaning and patching him up, you became overwhelmingly aware of the fact that you were standing in between his legs as he sat on the bathroom counter. You were leaning against one of his thighs as support to steady your hand while you wiped his wounds, but now that you were finished, you straightened back up, swallowing harshly at your now dry throat.

How focused must you have been to not notice the feeling of sculpted muscles through his pants? You were glad to know you had some priorities, at least.

Feeling warm, you tried to step away. “Well, thank you again for…you know, beating those guys up for me! But if you’re okay now I guess that means it’s time for me to go.”

“Leaving so soon?” Wriothesley half-heartedly locked his leg behind your back with a grin, preventing you from taking another step back. “Have you checked under my shirt yet? Perhaps I have some injuries there.”

“Wriothesley!” you yelped, feeling your face grow warm despite knowing he was only joking. “You said so yourself— You have Sigewinne for that!”

He let out a chuckle, as he released you from his gentle hold. “So my dear friend will help with the wounds on my face, but nothing lower?”

Your mouth dropped, incredulous, yet you felt yourself taking the bait. After all, if your handsome friend with a hot body were to dangle the offer of seeing them shirtless right front of your face, who were you to deny it?

“Fine, let me check for you,” you said hastily.

Moving his tie aside, you grabbed at the buttons lining the front of his shirt. The black longsleeve was tight-fitted, and the moment you felt his abdomen, you knew there were muscles underneath his clothes. As your fingers began maneuvering around the round, little button, you felt Wriothesley begin to stir.

“Y/N,” his voice was gruff, “I was only teasing.”

Your brows shot up in surprise at his tone. He sounded strained and his eyes darkened with every button you undid. Your pinky finger accidentally brushed against his exposed pectoral muscles as you slowly parted the top-half of his shirt. At the touch of his warm body, you jolted in shock.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to appear unfazed. “Well, sometimes your actions have consequences.”

“I must say, this is quite a positive consequence.”

“You’re one of the lucky ones this time.”

Wriothesley laughed, shaking his head. All of a sudden, he grasped your hand that was trailing down his shirt, stopping you from moving. You held your breath.

“Careful not to go any lower,” he warned, the slightest hint of a growl in his voice.

“And if I do?”

“If you want our friendship to stay as is, then I suggest you don’t.” He stared into your eyes, his gray ones appearing almost black. “Before this leads to something you might regret.”

“I wouldn’t regret if this lead to anything,” you admitted, voice quiet. Gone was the playful teasing, traded for something much more sincere. “Would you?”

“Of course not.”

You raised a brow and broke your hand free from his gentle grasp, placing your palm against the heat of his bare skin. Your fingertips danced against the curve of his chest as you pushed the shirt back, just to check if he had any injuries there, of course.

Wriothesley shook his head and groaned, running a hand through his hair as he shut his eyes. “You’re making this difficult, darling.”

You giggled, letting your hand fall to your side and giving him a cheeky smile. “Fine, I’ll stop for now. You don’t have any injuries there anyway. I checked for you.”

He had a conflicted look on his face—as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should be relieved or disappointed.

You grinned at his reaction. “Perhaps you want me to look again?”

Wriothesley choked out a noise of both surprise and amusement before collecting himself. “I believe your initial examination was thorough enough, but after you have a good night’s rest, then we can revisit this topic.”

Though you were disappointed the two of you didn’t take it further yourself, you knew he was probably right. You did feel rather tired after the draining night you had.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you conceded, offering him a hand as he got off the countertop. Even standing, he was significantly taller than you. You pursed your lips, if only you weren’t so exhausted, then maybe… You shook your head, snapping out of your thoughts. “Then, once I’m fully rested, I can properly thank you for your help today.”

Wriothesley smiled, understanding the not-so subtle implications of your words and welcoming it with open arms.

“Great,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I look forward to it.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x you #genshin fluff #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley genshin

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junethestudent · 16 days ago

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Object of Obsession

» Murderer Kim Minjeong x Investigator F! Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Content Warning: Discussion of murder, descriptions of dead bodies, reader is drugged, violence, dubcon / noncon, and swearing. [Y/N’s L/N is Choi.]

A/N: This will be divided into two parts, I am not positive on when part two will be released.

I would also like to say that I do not condone violent behaviors.

10:00PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

The darkness of the warehouse shadows Minjeong as she works, her gloves covered in the sticky blood of her last victim. She wipes away the sweat collecting on her brow and breathes in the musty air of the warehouse. On the cold floor blood pools at her feet and coats the skin of her body, painting it a crimson red.

The smell of blood is worse this time, with a sickeningly ripe, metallic scent. It has a pungence that smothers her other senses, distracting her as she works to clean up her mess. But frustration seems to override her mind, irritating her to the fullest as she stares at the lifeless body in front of her.

She would not be under so much pressure if someone had not called in a noise disturbance. Unfortunately, leaving the body and the weapon is her only option. As seconds pass by she has little to no time to waste anymore.

“Fucking hell.. if that door wasn’t so loud..” She mutters under her breath, the only other sound audible being the police radio blaring from her phone in the background. Surely she would have been caught by now if she wasn’t aware of the every move of those idiotic policemen.

As the sirens grow closer Minjeong’s anxiety only grows, making her heart pound erratically. Through the few glass windows of the building Minjeong can see the glare of red and blue lights. She takes a step back, tripping over the sledgehammer that lay behind her. Her ankle bends to the side as she catches herself, a surge of pain rushing up her leg, evoking a string of curse words.

She hurriedly pulls her body up, gritting her teeth as the aching pain settles in her leg, leaving her taking deep swallows as if there were no air at all. Steadying herself on the uninjured foot, Minjeong hobbles to the back door, leaning on the broken handle for support.

One last time she looks back, eyes surveying the damage of her actions. To many her work is morbid and against standard morals, but she views it as art. The bloodied sledgehammer that was used to cut so many lives short, and her last victim’s mangled body.

The perfect execution of murder - at least in her eyes. She knows that eventually she’ll be sentenced to prison, left to rot alone in a cell. Or maybe karma will completely end her, leaving her cold and dead the same as all of her victims. But not now, right now she still has purpose.

10:45PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

You grasp the cold plastic of your radio, putting it to your mouth.

“Choi, 10-97.”

“Copy.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes in exhaustion. Sleep is what you’ve been aiming to prioritize, but within the last few weeks a spree of murders has erased any means of a semi-normal sleep schedule. The only reason you were still functioning was due to energy drinks and an unhealthy amount of double shot coffees.

Opening the door of the car you are immediately hit with the feeling of chilling air biting at you, making you shiver in response. Down the gravel road of the warehouse are numerous cop cars, the familiar flashing of blue and red lights reflecting off of every surface. Officers are sprinkled around the property, some examining objects while others search the perimeter.

It reminded you of your days as an officer - not that you enjoyed them. You were much more reserved as of now, preferring to keep to yourself. Even going as far as to have an unmarked black car to draw less attention to yourself as you worked, keeping the gaze of others off of you. Working alone has always been your strong suit, it allows you more freedom.

After a few moments you decide to finally rise out of the car, slamming the door behind you. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk up the driveway, only stopping once you reach the chief of police, Hwan.

“Detective Choi, nice of you to join us.” He speaks in a thick gravelly tone, each sentence sounding as if he were struggling with his words. He runs his fingers through the bulk of his hair, a flurry of gray and white strands showing as he ruffles it. Based on his expression you can tell that the investigation has been rough.

It is to be expected of the police. Even when you were low in the ranks, an officer yourself, you never thought too highly of them. In your mind policemen were like the brute force of all emergency services, never often using their heads.

Hwan was different though, he had an old type of wisdom to him.

Speaking of Hwan, he raises his hand over his shoulder, signaling you to follow him inside of the warehouse. The strong smell of fresh blood causes you to gag as you both walk to the center of the room.

In the back corner of the room you could see a singular policeman puking his dinner out - must be a newbie. Although it was hard for you to adjust to the smell, you had never thrown up before. It was understandable though, as the mangled body in the center of the room was enough to permanently scar the mind of any normal civilian.

You were shocked by the sight of the body too, honestly. Half of his head had caved in and the other side was crusted in blood, his face completely unrecognizable with the damage inflicted upon him. The thought of dying in such a gruesome way made you shudder, to think of the pain that the victim had to endure before finally dying.

Next to him lay a sledgehammer, worn through and clearly used multiple times. In fact, with the amount of wear, there was a chance that this weapon was used on the previous victims.

“After we investigate the rest of the scene, the sledgehammer will need to be sent to the lab for DNA analysis.” Hwan rubs his face with both hands, adjusting the rim of his glasses, his eyes shut tightly. He clearly felt burdened by the case. When it came to those who commit mass killings, they were usually so caught up in the thrill of the hunt that they unknowingly left evidence.

However, this person was clearly intelligent, and if they had not been rushed this time they likely would have fled with the body again. “You would think,” you pause for a second, “ that some clue would have been found now that would tell us something about the killer. Considering they were in a rush, there must be something else.”

“Any reason you suspect the killer was in a rush? It’s unlike you.. I mean to make assumptions so lightly,” he grumbles, taking a step forward, his eyes darting around the emptiness of the warehouse.

“The previous victims were all murdered at abandoned areas, and then taken to secondary locations to be dumped. Every body beforehand was found in open fields about fifteen miles from the original killing site.”

“We know that all of the victims were murdered with sledgehammers, which somewhat confirms that one person has carried out all of the killings. Regarding the previous cases, the murderer never left a weapon behind because they were never in a rush. You can’t just lug a sledgehammer around in a hurry.”

The words fell from your mouth so easily, it all made perfect sense to you, like clicking in another puzzle piece. Considering all of the cases you had solved before, this was a walk in the park for you.

Your eyes meet with Hwan’s for a second, a hint of admiration in his eye as he processes your words. You adjust the collar of your shirt, waiting for his response when something catches your attention.

‘That door, the one near the exit. Was it forced open when you arrived?” Your footsteps become heavy as you rush to the doorway, the sound echoing off of the walls. Hwan follows quickly in pursuit, his breathing all huffy as he tries to keep up.

“I had asked when I arrived on the scene.. they never spoke much of it. I guess they figured that it was due to the building being so old.” He clears his throat, his gaze focused on the broken push handle.

“Your team often overlooks these things, you know that Hwan?” Your annoyance is clear as you rummage through your coat pocket for a flashlight, gripping it in your hand as you force the door open. As you peak outside and shine the flashlight down you notice small footsteps caked into the mud, the trail ending just a few feet away.

“Some small footsteps those are,” Hwan towers over you from behind, the smell of cologne and cheap cigarettes wafting into your nose.

“I think I prefer the smell of dead bodies over your.. funk.” You snap at him, leaning back inside the building, the door still ajar as you walk back to the center of the room. Hwan follows behind you, chuckling uncontrollably at your outburst, high laugh heavy and throaty - likely due to those cheap ass gas station cigarettes.

“Well what now, Choi?”

“The body needs to be covered and the body removal team should be called in to transport the victim to the morgue, the rest of the evidence needs to be photographed and collected, and I’ll write my report soon after,” you flex your shoulders, feeling the deep ache in all of your joints.

Hwan nods and works his way to the rookie while you make your way over to the body, pulling out a sleek black camera to capture an image. You repeat this process multiple times, starting with the body, then the sledgehammer, and the blood trails.

The last area that needs photographing is the back door and trail of footsteps. As you make your way back to the door you find the mini flashlight in your pocket, gripping it hard as you step outside. The brightness of the light reveals the footprints once again. On your other hand you hold the camera steadily, clicking on the button.

The first flash shoots out, lighting the space a few inches in front of you. When the camera flashes the final and second time, you notice a shadow darting back hurriedly. It catches you off guard, your heart dropping as you listen for any indicator that someone is present.

You hesitate for sometime but decide to brush it off, figuring that your lack of sleep is causing slight hallucinations. If Hwan saw you right now he’d be enjoying the sight of your skittish behavior.

Speaking of Hwan, as you walk back into the warehouse there he is, smoking another one of those cigarettes. “I think this qualifies as tampering with evidence,” you eye him closely, watching his face, eyebrows furrowing like they always do, the primary cause of the crease in between them.

“Mm.. possibly,” he grunts out, blowing a plume of smoke out towards you. Asshole.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, unfortunately. I’ll send my report out to you after the autopsy results come in, hopefully tomorrow. If anything happens before then, make sure to call me.” And with that you exit the building, the cold air blowing against you as you walk towards your car.

The thought of rest becomes so tempting as you get into your car, buckling your seatbelt and jerking the key into the ignition. All you want is some nourishment and a place to sleep, but with being so far away from home you’ll have to make do with a motel and whatever is open at this time.

You switch the gear on the car, the sound of the radio playing faintly in the background - Seoul Drift. You finally feel at ease as you drive down the empty streets, the only downside being the lack of food options. Nothing really catches your eye until you pass a relatively empty diner.

You turn on your blinker and pull into the parking lot, away from the other two cars. Most likely the employees who want to be anywhere but at work. The dashboard clock reads 12:32AM. You’re surprised they’re even open at such a time.. desperate for business maybe.

Letting the previous song fade out you turn the car off, the safety light darkening as you exit the car. It’s eerily quiet outside, the only other sound being the chirping of crickets in the distant bushes.

“There’s no need for me to be nervous..” you say it out loud, reassuring yourself that there was no chance of anyone harmful being nearby. It doesn’t help that the street lights are out though, one singular light flickering near the curb of the street. Disregarding those thoughts you walk inside, looking around at the interior of the diner.

The lights were warm but dim, and the place was somewhat rundown; the seats peeling, the wooden tables with minor blemishes, and the heavy clutter near the bar area. At this point, you paid no attention to it, messy bars were the least of your worries tonight.

Deciding to seat yourself due to the lack of staff, you choose the booth nearest to the back. Only then do you notice the other lone customer situated in the booth opposite from you. She stares at the seats across from her, her fork poking at the small portioning of dumplings in front of her. Her general attire was odd.. a black trenchcoat with a white cropped tank top and shorts to match.

Despite that, she was really pretty, handsome even. With pale, ghost-like skin she looked like a vampire almost, her paleness complimenting the color of her hair. She had a few gashes near her lips and nose - from a scuffle possibly? You were in no mood to ask, not that you would anyway.

Seconds later the kitchen door swings open, a middle-aged woman with a notepad approaching you. She smiles, more energetic than you expected her to be at such a time.

“What can I get’cha? We’re still serving dinner right about now.. but if you’d like coffee we can still make that!” What a sweet woman, so full of life. You were so caught up in watching the girl that you had not even browsed the menu. “Uhh do you guys have any soups? Maybe just some water for a drink..”

“We have miso soup, you can have it warm or cold. We also have vegetable soup and rice soup.” She watches you intently, probably focused on the dark circles lining your eyes.

“Ah, I’ll have the miso soup.. uhh warm. Please.” You shut the menu and nod at her as she walks off, hand still scribbling in her mini notepad. That’s when you notice the girl watching you now, her face expressionless as her eyes sweep you up and down, almost as if she recognizes you.

It’s weird, yes. But she could be any stoner or freak hanging around, it had nothing to do with you. You were in no mood to interrogate someone over their manners. And anyway, your main concern was finding the bathroom in this place, you hadn’t gone since before arriving on scene.

You jump up from the booth, spotting the bathroom and making your way inside, the lights way brighter inside the bathroom than the little diner. Choosing the nearest stall you quickly handle your business and step back out, watching yourself in the mirror. You were a mess, it was easier to see that as you washed your hands.

Groaning you run your fingers through your hair, giving it a quick fix and washing your face with the cool water from the sink. You looked more presentable now, not that you cared. Okay, you kind of cared..

Yawning, you walk back to your booth to find your food piping hot at the table. It might be the most appetizing food you’ve seen in weeks. Slipping into the booth you drink a spoonful of the soup, the rich broth feeling warm in your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the girl watching you carefully, waiting for something.

Choosing to ignore her you continue to eat your soup, occasionally taking a drink of your water to balance out the hotness of the soup. With each bite you can feel sleep creeping up on you, but not in a comforting way. You feel sick, your head racing but your body still.

You drop your head against the table, spoon falling to the floor as you rest silently. Not wanting to move another inch out of fear of throwing up. You breathe heavily, eyes blinking slowly, as you watch the girl approach you, bending down to your level and stroking your cheek.

The next few minutes are a blur as she pulls you from the booth, forcing your arm around her neck and guiding you out the door of the restaurant. Her other hand works around your waist, digging into your pocket until she finds your car keys. She’s firm but gentle with you as she drops you down into the passenger seat of your own car, shutting the door as quietly as possible.

You feel dizzy as you watch her get into the driver’s seat. She turns to face you, an amused smirk plastered to her face as she leans over, buckling you into the car. You can almost smell her as she leans into you, her arms grabbing the buckle and strapping you inside.

“From now on you’ll be my upper hand on those pigs.”

1:55AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Your head feels fuzzy and warm as you stare up at the ceiling. The woman is above you, naked, watching you carefully as you struggle to move. She brushes her hair from out of her face, the red gashes that once marked her lips and nose now gone. “You.. you wanted that.. did it..” your words are slurred and you can tell that she honestly feels a bit guilty as she watches you, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Maybe I overdid it a bit..” She pulls you by your legs until your ass is pressed against her. You turn your head to the side, focused on the cheap A/C blowing at you. You’ve retained the feeling in your arms but you still find it difficult to move anywhere. “You’re not..” Your mouth feels like rubber, the words at the tip of your tongue, but somehow stuck.

“Minjeong. You call me Minjeong. Do you understand?” Her tone is serious, like she’s daring you to run your mouth back to her. And you don’t. You physically cannot talk, coherently anyway. So you nod instead, pleading with your eyes for her mercy.

Minjeong ignores it, her strong hands spreading your legs open. You understand why you feel so cold now, the clothes once on your body were thrown askew halfway across the room, your body completely exposed and vulnerable to her. Who would have thought that the weirdo across from you at the restaurant was this fucked in the head? You knew that she was odd, but you never suspected she would have been a creep.. not like this.

“Come here. Give me your hand..” She pulls your hand with her own, fingers intertwined for a moment before she presses the palm of your hand against her dick. She grunts softly as she positions your fingers around it, making you lightly pump against it, her dick growing in size with each slow stroke.

Minjeong drops her head back, her hips thrusting faster, so desperate to get her cock wet in your hand. Her labored breaths grow heavier each time your hand touches her tip, precum dripping from the tip of it. She wasn’t even trying to make much of an effort at this point, just mindlessly thrusting like an animal in heat.

You could feel yourself becoming wetter just by watching her, and you knew that was wrong. The fact that you wanted her more than anything else, the fact that you were going to, no, willing to let her do what she wanted to you, it was all wrong. Minjeong was aware of that, she was aware that her charm was too much for someone like you to handle. Someone who never had time for sexual encounters, someone who was dripping wet just from getting her off. You’d be her little toy.

Eventually she grows tired of your thrusting, wanting something more than the pressure of your hand. She rests her head in between the crook of your neck, teasing the skin with the suction of her mouth, purple marks forming on the surface of your skin. She whines a bit as she holds her dick, smacking it against her own hand causing the precum to smear on her palm.

“Fuck.. so good..” she whispers into your ear, her hands on your shoulders as she struggles to find your entrance. She misses a few times, cursing as she does so, but after three tries she manages to push herself inside, stretching your tight cunt out.

It almost immediately draws a reaction from you, as if the drug within your bloodstream had never been there at all. Wrapping your arms around her back you begin to claw, leaving red marks on her snow white skin, but it only makes her pump faster. The warmth of your pussy gripping around her cock is like heaven, her eyes rolling back as your slick pours onto her length, making her cock a big wet mess.

Every few seconds she pulls out her slick coated cock and rubs it against your clit, a sadistic look on her face as your moans fill the room. But just as quickly as her cock comes out, she jams it back inside, watching the bulge from her thick cock form in your tummy.

You try to regain your bearings, to focus, but the hot tingling feeling and the sound of her balls slapping against your ass only confuses you even more. You’re both so desperate at this point, you don’t even struggle when she forces your legs up, allowing her to go balls deep inside of your pussy.

“Hold still.. stay there.. be a good girl for me.” Her thrusts are slower but way harder now, causing some pain as she thrusts, but it never replaces how fucking good she feels in you, your entire cunt filled to the brim with her cock. You can feel it now, her balls pulsing as she comes closer to filling you with her seed.

“Minjeong.. Jeong- Jeongie!” That was the final straw for her. She bottoms out inside of you, thick ropes of cum shooting deep into you. It makes you clench each time, as if you were milking her cock for every single ounce of cum.

You’re yelping now, even as she pulls out of you. Her seed spilling out of your pussy as she pulls out, cock wet and now semi-soft. You have little to no energy now, your body giving out with those last few thrusts of hers. She rises from the bed searching for something in the nightstand near you, and then you see it, duct tape.

You no longer feel like fighting her anymore. You’d rather sleep, you’d rather accept your losses and dream. She knows that, you know that she knows that.

2:35AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Minjeong sits on the bed next to you, watching you intently as you doze off into sleep. Even to someone like her you look adorable with your head turned to the side, and your arms sprawled out above your head.

She takes a deep breath, finding some sense of calm again. Showing her emotions, even if you weren’t conscious, was considered a sign of weakness to her.

The sound of the aircon turning off quickly pulls her from her thoughts again, her attention back to you. You look cold to her, goosebumps forming on your arms, your body curling up to preserve some warmth. Minjeong tries to ignore it, to rid herself of any sympathy, but her stubbornness lasts no longer than a few seconds. She rises from the bed, cautious to not wake you from your slumber as she covers you with the bulky comforter.

She drops to her knees near the edge of the bed, observing the sound of your breathing. “I hope you’ll come to understand me..” Her words are directed at you, even though she knows you cannot hear her. But she needs to speak her mind, to justify herself.

To be truthful she really had no intent of harming you, not until you showed up at the diner. Without a lead detective the case will slow, completely halt even. Right now you’re her prized possession, her wild card.

Her eyes were on you from the moment you had stepped onto the crime scene. She had never actually left. She was eager to see who had been pursuing her, who had been trying so hard to take her down. It was even better that you had no idea she was the one who had been killing.

4:45AM - Song Motel, Room 127

You wake up suddenly, the sound of your ringtone buzzing in the distance. Instantly you go up to grab it but are stopped by your restraints. Everything comes rushing back then, the restaurant, the kidnapping, the sex, the.. Minjeong. The girl from the restaurant.. Minjeong.

You pull against the tape, praying that the friction will be enough to wear it out. It hurts as it digs against your skin, but it begins to stretch, your wrists slipping out of your confines. Rushing to your phone you pick it up and tap the return call button - all twenty calls from Hwan. ‘

The second he picks up you go into a tyrant, desperately explaining yourself - kind of.

“I’m sorry, I was sleeping! I mean.. heavily y’know the case has been.. a lot!”

“I don’t have time for your explanations Choi. Get down here, the abandoned YG parking lot, now.” He hangs up, leaving you silent on the other end.

Groaning you look around the room for your clothing, butt ass naked as you walk near the entertainment center and dig through your pile of clothes, putting each piece on hurriedly.

The second your clothes are on you ram into the motel door, the hinges squeaking as it opens. Your eyes search through the lot, eyes stopping on your black car left in the corner.

“Hey, you should keep it down and be mindful of others,” an older man spits out, cigarette halfway out of his mouth as he approaches you.

“God.. fuck off!” Is what you were thinking, but accidentally said. It didn’t matter to you, not at this point in time. You pull at the handle and almost fall back as the door opens, your keys still left in the ignition.

It was sheer luck that she left the keys inside of the car, but that means she could still be around somewhere. And between dealing with Hwan or Minjeong, you’d choose Hwan any day.

You start the car, almost jerking that bitch back into another car as you pull out, the man watching you in pure shock as you speed off.

With your right hand clutching the steering wheel you type the destination into the car's touchscreen, foot pressed heavily against the pedal as you speed down the streets. You’re scared of Hwan, of facing off with a murderer, everything. But it’s part of your job and you carry that on your chest.

5:35AM - YG Parking Garage, Entrance

You rush out of the door, barely even stopping the car as you open the door, the headlights brightly shining onto the building.

Hwan stands on his lonesome, back facing you as he stares up at the abandoned parking garage, his shoulders tense and flexed back.

“The killer is in there,” he says it so surely, no doubt showing in his deep voice. He keeps his back turned to you and trains his eyes on the concrete below his shoes.

You join his side and stare straight into the main entrance of the lot, mentally preparing yourself for whatever may come. Nothing has happened and yet you already feel a deep dread all throughout your body.

“There was a disturbance call again. Reports of an unknown person wandering the perimeter. I’ve instructed other units to be prepared on nearby streets. I figured the killer would be alerted if we all showed up with our sirens blaring.. or our headlights on the building.”

Hwan begins to step forward, drawing his gun out in front of him, his finger close against the trigger. He looks back at you finally, a willful but scared look in his dark brown eyes. It was all routine to you both, constantly being forced to face life and death.

You join him at his side, drawing your own gun and clicking the safety off. Without further exchange in words you both make your way inside the building, clearing the first corner and working your way up the garage.

The only sound to be heard is the echoing of your footsteps and the ever so faint breathing of Hwan. You wondered if someone as calm and collected as him could really be so nervous. He always seemed so strong, like a father you could follow around and count on to protect you. So if even he was on edge, then how should you feel?

Both of you wrap around the second floor of the garage, whipping yourselves around the pillars and empty custodial rooms inside the building. With each step you grow closer to third floor, and your anticipation only eats away at you more than before.

Both you and Hwan reach the third floor now, knuckles white with how hard you both grip at your own pistols. Hwan takes the lead, moving his gun as he checks behind each singular pillar.

There were only so many floors, only so many pillars that the killer could hide behind. There were limited custodial rooms, one on each floor near every ramp. So with each one successfully cleared you only felt sicker for what was to come.

Hwan turns back to look at you, his body moving towards the next pillar when a shot rings out.

His eyes widen as the bullet makes impact, piercing the skin on his shoulder and sending him crashing onto the ground, blood spattering as he drops.

Fear sweeps through your body, freezing you in place right before the pillar where this murderer stands. You wait, pistol aimed near the pillar but eyes focused on Hwan bleeding out.

He grits his teeth, head lolled back as he lets out a string off curses, his hand clutched hard around his shoulder, warm blood seeping out and painting his hand.

“Get her,” he blurts out through cries of pain, tears forming in the crevices of his eyes. “Fucking go now!” His voice is loud this time, ushering you out of your pathetic state and into action.

And you do, but not quick enough as the suspect darts out past you to the previous pillar, catching you off guard. You turn on your heel, following the killer and weaving around each pillar for protection.

A shot wizzes past you and embeds itself into the pillar behind you, causing you to jump back and behind for cover. You can hear the fading footsteps of the suspect, your heavy breathing, the sound of the radio blaring from your walkie-talkie. A swirl of emotion taunting you in the back of your mind.

Hwan speaks into the mic, his words a slur of cussing and explanations. “Shots fired, I’m hit. Choi is..” his voice fades out and returns. “Down the ramps!”

You duck out from behind the pillar and continue your chase with the killer, both of you racing to the final floor. You can see the body of the killer growing closer as you reach the last ramp.

The familiar trench coat and the now bloodstained white shirt and shorts that lay under. Before you can fully react, both of your arms reach out, grabbing the sides of the coat, sending you both tumbling down the ramp.

A struggle for dominance ensues as you both fight against each other, arms flailing about. You drop back onto the floor, gun drawn and face severely scraped up.

As your eyes survey your surroundings, only then do you notice.

Minjeong stands above you, eyes widened and just as shocked as you are. She steps back, her gun that was just pointed at you now hanging lightly from her fingers. She looks terrified, like a deer in headlights - ashamed even.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your radio, your hand gripping the cold plastic the same as many times before. You speak into the radio, mimicking a voice of true terror.

“All units to the front entrance!”

She understands your intentions now.

So why don’t you?

Why are you helping someone who hurts?

Minjeong steps back, legs weak as she turns for the back exit. Her eyes are studying you for an explanation as to why, why you would spare the life of someone as undeserving as her.

Eventually she turns fully, but guilt washes over her, making her look back one last time.

She obviously wants to say something, anything to break the silence. Her eyes look pitiful, cheeks flushed bright red. But when the shouts of policemen become louder she turns away, shrouding herself from view and disappearing into the night.

A/N: I did proof read it a few times, if I missed anything then I apologize in advance. :/

#junethestudent #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #nsf/w #g!p #girl group #girl group smut #g!p winter #g!p minjeong #aespa winter

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moonsandmobilityaids · 2 months ago

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Secrets Revealed

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Sometimes it's easier to walk. One problem-your boyfriends don't know you can. Warnings: Chronic pain, mentions of ableism (both internalised and external) Series Masterlist

The late afternoon sunlight filters into your room, casting a warm, golden hue over everything it touches. You're perched by the window, gazing out at the dwindling light, while James, Sirius, and Remus occupy various corners of your sanctuary.

James is sprawled on your bed, a book open before him. His glasses rest low on his nose, catching the glint of the dying sun as he flips through the pages nonchalantly, his ruffled hair fanning out across the pillow like a dark halo.

Sirius, meanwhile, has claimed the armchair by the fireplace, his long legs draped over one arm, hands clasped behind his head. His eyes are half-closed, the flickering flames reflecting in their depths, and there's a sense of contentment about him that seems almost tangible.

Remus sits at your desk, bent over his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, a quill poised between his fingers. Every so often, he makes a note in the margin, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The room is filled with the soft crackle of the fire, the rustle of turning pages, and the shared silence of companionship. This is your haven, and they are your pillars—each one a fixture in the landscape of your life.

Normally, their presence brings a sense of calm, a gentle reprieve from the storm of your thoughts. But tonight, the ache in your legs is louder than usual, the pain echoing through the silence between their words. The prospect of shifting from armchair to wheelchair, from wheelchair to bed, the clumsy dance of limbs and reliance on others, feels more daunting than ever.

Your gaze flickers to the sturdy frame of the bed—a few steps away, yet a chasm wide and deep in reality. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You will walk.

The distance is short. You've traversed it often when left alone with your thoughts and the stubbornness that threads through your veins. Yet each step is a battle, fought against the protests of your body and the remnants of pride clinging to your heart. It's a war you wage in private, away from prying eyes.

Until now.

Without a word, you lean forward, your muscles coiling like springs beneath your skin. Your hands grip the armrests, knuckles white as you push yourself upward. Pain flares up your legs, a stark reminder of the invisible chains that bind you. But you fight it, focusing on the strength in your arms, the determination fuelling each ragged breath.

The transition is slow, agonising. For a moment, you hover between two worlds—seated and standing, dependence and autonomy. Then, with a final surge of effort, you are upright. Your body sways, unsteady but defiant.

James's book falls from his hands, his eyes round with surprise as he surges upright. "What—Y/N, what are you doing?"

Sirius stiffens, the ease in his posture evaporating as he swings his legs off the bed and onto the floor. "Bloody hell, babe, sit down! You don't have to—"

"I'm fine," you interrupt, voice strained but steady. A step forward shrinks the distance between you and the bed. It's slow, shaky, but you trust in the familiarity of your own body's resilience. "I do this all the time."

"You what?" Remus is on his feet in an instant, moving toward you with a grace born of decades spent anticipating danger. His eyes are wide, the worry lines etched deeper into his forehead. He hovers, hands outstretched but not touching, as if afraid any contact might shatter the illusion of control you're so desperately clinging to. "Y/N, you've never—"

"Not in front of people," you clarify, your words punctuated by the effort it takes to lift your body another inch off the cold stone floor. Pain blossoms in your side, a reminder of the damage done, but you push past it, focusing on the familiar burn of used muscles and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. "It's easier when I'm alone. Less... fuss."

"Less fuss?" James echoes, his voice threaded with disbelief. "If you need help, you can just—"

"I'm not going to fall," you assure them, even as your breath hitches from the effort. One final push and you're sitting on the edge of the bed, relief flooding through you as the soft mattress gives way beneath you. But even then, you can feel their eyes on you—watchful, wary, a mix of concern and curiosity.

Sirius's hand rakes through his hair as he paces in front of you, his expression etched with worry. "Why didn't you tell us you could walk, even if it was just a little?"

James sits at your side, one hand resting over yours, warm and grounding. "We've been friends for years, Y/N," he says, his voice gentler than you've ever heard it. "And now we're more than that. You never mentioned anything about this—we could've helped."

You look from one face to another, seeing the concern etched on each one, feeling the weight of the moment press down on you. These aren't strangers who will judge or ridicule; these are the people who have come to mean everything to you. They look back at you now, eyes filled not only with affection but also confusion, a slight sting of betrayal.

Remus is there too, perched on the edge of your bed, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "Why hide it from us?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper against the heavy silence. "You know we'd never think less of you, don't you?"

"It's not that," you say, your own voice just as quiet, your gaze shifting to Sirius who has stopped pacing and now stands with his arms crossed, his grey eyes burning into yours. "It's the way people look at me when they see me walking. Like I've been lying about needing the wheelchair. Like I'm some sort of... fraud."

James's grip on your hand tightens, not in anger but in silent solidarity. His brow furrows as he takes in your words, the implications hanging heavy in the air between you. "But we're not 'people,' sweetheart. You don't have to put up a front with us."

You nod, the heat of his hand seeping into yours, the rhythm of his thumb tracing small circles over your knuckles offering a strange sense of comfort. "I know, but it's easier this way. Easier not to have to explain or deal with the questions. And by the time I'm comfortable enough with someone to talk about it, it feels too late to bring up."

Sirius drops to a crouch in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, his gaze searching your face for something only he knows. "You shouldn't have to explain yourself to anyone," he murmurs, "especially not to us. If you need the chair, you use the bloody chair. If you can walk, even just a bit, that's fine, too. We care about you, not what you can or can't do."

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, just a fraction, at the sincerity in Sirius' voice. "I don't do it often," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "My balance is... off. I stumble more than I'd like. But I haven't fallen in years."

Remus' hand stills on your back, his brow furrowing as he looks at you, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're saying you stumble but don't fall? How often does this happen?"

"More than I'd like to admit," you say, eyes dropping to your legs again. You flex your fingers, watching as the muscles in your arms respond to your command. "But I know my limits."

James exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You've been facing this alone for so long... Why didn't you say something? We would've helped, just like we help Moony every month."

"But that's just it," you reply, voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't once a month. It's every day. I didn't want to worry you, or make you feel like you had to watch me constantly."

The laugh that escapes Sirius is soft, almost lost amid the rustle of fabric as he shifts closer. "We already watch you," he says, his tone light but the emotion behind it heavy with sincerity. "Not in a creepy way, mind you, but because we care. If you stumble, we're there. If you need help walking across a room, we've got you."

Remus tilts his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your forehead, the warmth of his lips seeping through your skin and into your bones. "We're your partners," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality of your circumstances. "We face this together. You don't have to do anything alone anymore."

A shiver runs down your spine as James presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm even through the thin fabric of your shirt. Sirius nestles his head against your knees, anchoring you, his presence a solid reminder that you are not alone—not now, not ever again. You feel cocooned in their warmth, the tension in your muscles beginning to ease under their careful ministrations.

"Alright," you concede, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a moment to meet each pair of eyes, holding their gazes, finding strength in their shared determination. "I'll try... to be more open with you. But seriously—no panicking if I so much as stand up to cross the room."

James chuckles, a soft sound that brings a flicker of normalcy back into the room. He leans over and plants a quick kiss on your cheek, his stubble grazing your skin. "Deal," he says, pulling back just enough to flash you a lopsided grin. "But we reserve the right to keep a close eye on you."

Sirius's smirk is a faint echo of his usual cockiness, tempered by the gravity of the situation. "Or catch you when you fall," he adds, resting his chin on your knee and looking up at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

Remus's hand never leaves yours, his thumb tracing comforting circles over your knuckles. The lines around his eyes deepen as he smiles, a gentle expression that holds more warmth than the sun. "We love you, all of you. We're here for you—however you need us."

The swell of tears does not come from sadness this time, but rather the immense relief of being seen, truly seen, for who you are. You lean forward, placing a soft kiss on James's cheek, Sirius's forehead, and Remus's shoulder. Their arms tighten around you just a fraction, returning the sentiment without words. Warmth radiates from each touch, filling the spaces within you that have been cold for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible even in the silence of the room. But they hear it, and their hold on you strengthens, anchoring you in this moment of acceptance and understanding.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort they provide. The walls you've spent years building around yourself begin to crumble, bit by bit, under the weight of their unwavering support. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don't feel the need to hide, to pretend, to be anything other than yourself.

#remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #marauders era #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #moonsandmobilityaids

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demonic0angel · 3 months ago

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Haunted Paintings Sketches!

Part one

I hope you enjoy the sketches I made of the paintings!

Also! You’re free to use my ideas (please give credit ofc) if you’d like, bc I REALLY don’t think I’ll write this one, no matter how much I want to. It’s just too much and I’ve already got 3 unfinished fics and several other series to write for. If you have any questions, feel free to ask or send me a submission! You can also DM if you’d like!

TW: mentions of suicide, murder, depression, mental illness, just really dark, creepy stuff bc these are haunted paintings and they torment people :/ no scary drawings tho! I only described them (click for clarity)

Jazz:

Description: Jazz is sitting at a table in the middle of a flower garden with a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. She looks tranquil and is dressed formally. On the table are a few plates, a plate of cookies, a bookmark, an opened envelope and a bloody butter knife, and a teapot that is slightly out of view.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, watercolor, and pencils

Focus: Jazz amidst the flowers

Inspirations:

• The Queen of Hearts from “Alice in Wonderland”

• Galna from “Mairimashita! Iruma-kun”

Location: She used to be in the home of a random crime lord in Gotham for intimidation purposes. She was kept in the crime lord’s office before being relocated into Wayne Manor, where she sits in the hall across from the library.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where her tea is filled with blood and the roses would be replaced with decapitated heads. The sky would turn dark red and the ground would be a pool of blood. Jazz would smile and look at the viewer with shark-like fangs and hollowed out eyes.

+ The tea she drinks is Darjeeling and the cookies are chocolate chip.

+ Although Jazz is the weakest painting, her effects are deadlier, more painful, and longer lasting than the others if her victims survive.

+ She causes paranoia and dizzy spells. Her effects are rather weak compared to the others, but when spending enough time with her, victims can also display symptoms of scurvy, which cannot be cured.

+ She was the first one I drew and also the easiest to plan. I just love her so much, she’s one of my comfort characters so it’s not hard for me to find ideas for her 😭

Valerie:

Description: Valerie stands in the middle of a dark, foggy forest, wearing a long dress and pressed close to a tree as if she is about to hide behind it. A branch covers her face and the trees around her curve into a circle with multiple holes within them. There is a Fenton thermos in the background on the floor and an axe in front of Valerie, sticking into the tree and oozing something.

Use of mediums: pencils and watercolor paint

Focus: Her hidden face

Inspirations:

• The Son of Man by René Magritte

• The Beast from “Over the Garden Wall”

Location: She was kept in the back of an art museum, but the director has been hoping for someone to buy her and get rid of her, since he cannot handle the strain of having her inside of the gallery. Now she stands near the door to the entrance of Wayne Manor, a silent and deadly sentry.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would have her surroundings to turned into the entrance to a mouth or an intestine, red, fleshy, and bloody. There would be bones littering the floor everywhere and Valerie herself would become bloody and stained, with her face still hidden. Tortured faces would be seen through the fog.

+ The holes on the trees sometimes leak a mysterious substance.

+ Valerie is not the weakest, but she is not that powerful. However, she does amplify the others’ effects to fatal degrees.

+ She causes paranoia and auditory hallucinations, often causing her victims to feel as though they are being watched relentlessly, which cannot go away. Eventually, her victims will shut themselves into their rooms and starve to death from the fear.

+ She and Tucker had switched ideas, but I had to trash them. I never got the opportunity to draw those ideas because I struggled so much with Tucker that when I eventually got inspiration for Valerie, I just went with it. I’m quite happy with Valerie’s portrait now.

Dani:

Description: Dani, dressed formally, sits at the head of a table with a large painting and curtains behind her. She holds a fork and a knife over a pig head. Her gaze is downward and she looks like she’s frowning softly. The dinner table is messy with three other dishes and a knocked over bottle of wine.

Use of mediums: oil paint and oil pastels

Focus: Dani holding the fork and knife

Inspirations:

• Rosie’s Tea Party by Mark Ryden

• “Spirited Away” (specifically that one scene where Chihiro’s parents eat the food)

Location: She was hidden by Vlad and kept safe with him. He keeps her in his office, where he can watch her. He only recently found her again, and he was determined to watch over her. Now she stays in the Wayne Manor's dining room, but often changes her position to be next to everyone else in the bedroom hallway.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where all of her food dishes would be replaced by very obviously human parts, especially with the pig head becoming a human head. The curtains would turn to blood dripping down the wall and Dani would be smiling, taking a direct bite of the human head that was in front of her with her fork and knife.

+ The dishes she eats in the painting are: pig head, vulture thigh, lamprey eels, and sheep brain.

+ Her at the dining table is meant to signify greed and gluttony, 2 of the most simplest sins.

+ She causes great feelings of hunger and paranoia in others. When spending too much time with her, some victims turn to self-cannibalism to sate their never ending starvation.

+ Originally, both her and Dan’s ideas were switched, so Dan would’ve been the one feasting and Dani would’ve been the one looking at her reflection. However, I switched them around because I felt like it would’ve been spookier. I even finished the drawing with Dan and everything, but then I just erased him and drew in Dani 😓

Dan:

Description: Dan is standing in front of a mirror, glancing behind his shoulder, while his reflection shows something different: him looking at everyone else and the door behind him by looking at the mirror. The party guests are all wearing masks and there are chandeliers on the ceiling. The party looks vaguely fancy, but messy with secrets.

Use of mediums: Oil paints

Focus: His reflection

Inspirations:

• Jeff Lee Johnson and his art

Location: He was kept in a locked safe within a rich person’s house in Italy. He had to been wrecking havoc on the nerves of everyone around him, but he is now safe and happy in Wayne Manor, where he is kept in the office to the entrance of the Batcave.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form would have all of the party guests dead, but their eyes would face the viewer. Dan's reflection would also be dead, but his actual self would be the same, only with an eerie smile as his eyes follow the viewer. In the doorway would be the figure of Danny. Blood would cover the entire floor and walls, but nobody would react to it.

+ Dan keeps his own masquerade mask in his pocket.

+ The woman who is directly staring at him is supposed to look like Maddie.

+ He causes viewers intense mood swings and long, often violent mania episodes or mind-numbing depression episodes. Those who keep staring at him will gain the feeling of being watched and haunted, often with visual hallucinations, resulting in losing their mind from fear and then killing others in their terror and panic.

+ I tried so hard to make Dan as handsome as possible. I think I pulled it off bc I’m a little bit in love with him ong, but I also kinda have to be bc I draw him so often

Tucker:

Description: Tucker is in the back shot of a desert, with his back towards the viewer, staring at a large skeleton that is seemingly climbing over a large sand dune. The skeleton has flowers in its eyes, and its hand reaches over the horizon. There is a single sun in the sky and an arm holding a pocket watch sticks out of the sand close to the viewer.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, pens, and pencils

Focus: The large skull

Inspirations:

• JT Music (specifically their JT album covers)

• The Giant God Warrior from “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind”

• “Dune”

Location: He was originally kept in one of the rooms within the GIW headquarters. Now, he is kept within Wayne Manor, and stays in the theater room, where he whispers to the Wayne residents what movies he wants to watch. Sometimes, he moves to the garage.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is one where the skull becomes covered in meat and flesh, oozing blood and tar while the sand turns red. The scene turns to darkness, and more limbs would sprout from the ground. Tucker would be nothing but a pile of flayed skin, crumpled into the sand.

+ GIW agents were unable to experiment on him, since he would purposefully cause machinery to misfire and slowly corrode his surroundings.

+ His painting is meant to be a little comic book-esque with one of his mediums being ink, but I felt like that wouldn’t be a PAINTing, so nvm

+ He causes visual hallucinations, hypovolemia, headaches, blindness, and osteoporosis :). Often, when his victims are autopsied, sand and salt can be found within all of their organs. He emits so much radiation that he can wear down the materials of the place he is stored in.

+ I DREW HIM THREE DIFFERENT TIMES OML, FIRST IT WAS HIM IN A WORKSHOP, THEN IT WAS HIM IN A MARSH, THIS IS THE FINAL PICTURE I CANNOTTTT IM DONE

Sam:

Description: Sam stands on top of a small, grassy hill with a path leading to a grave and an angel statue on top of it, close enough that she is blocking it. Around the hill are pomegranate trees and hanging corpses. There is no sun, but there are clouds as Sam stands with her back to the viewers in a long goth-styled dress.

Use of mediums: paper, glue, acrylic paint

Focus: Her standing on the hill

Inspirations:

• This Reddit picture of a liminal garden

• A mix of weirdcore and dreamcore aesthetics

Location: She was tossed into the ocean by her parents when they first saw her, but she later washed up on an island and now the animals and plants there act erratically and strangely. Finally, she was relocated to Wayne Manor, where she hangs on a wall within the greenhouse, happily watching over the plants there.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where eyes would replace all of the pomegranates, staring at the viewer. The paper used to make her would become flesh textured and bloody, and Sam would appear abnormal, broken into pieces and cracked, turning around and smiling at the viewer with shark-like teeth. The grass would become hairy skin and the sky would become red, with swirls and more eyes.

+ Sam's "painting" is actually made of mostly paper, since it is a collage. It is a bit touched up by paint and all of the materials used are vegan and ethically sourced, though they do change.

+ The flora and fauna in the island she landed on have mutated so much that they’re basically mindless. They protect Sam relentlessly.

+ She causes general insanity and relentless symptoms in her victims, such as paranoia, intense episodes of mania and depression, itchiness that can result in self harm, and violent, unexplained behavior in animals and plants. She also emits so much radiation that she can cause sporadic DNA mutations, resulting in several forms of cancer and mental instability, often resulting in victims becoming inhuman and monstrous forms of themselves.

+ Originally, Sam’s portrait was supposed to be in a garden, but I wanted it more “liminal space” themed, and I think I got it right. I think it’s really simple, but I also feel like if I was able to create it in real life, it would be more interesting because it is a collage of paper and paint.

Danny:

Description: a picture of black blotches and scribbles with muddy and red stains. Any features besides the ornate frame is hidden underneath the stains.

Use of mediums: pencils, ink, charcoal, tar, blood

Focus: His crying

Inspirations:

• SCP-035 (“The Possessive Mask”)

• The Anguished Man by an unknown artist (it’s a haunted irl painting!)

• Bendy and the Ink Machine

Location: He was cloning himself in order to jump through universes to find his family. In the current universe, he was with the League of Shadows before he was found and brought back to the Wayne Manor. He is in the hallway with the bedrooms of the Wayne residents.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is technically his normal form because he cannot turn it off. Once he is happy again, his normal form would be one with him and his family, smiling and happy. Until then, he haunts the minds of others and ravages their sanity.

+ He’s been traveling all over the multiverse in order to find his family. Coincidentally, they’ve all been in the same world for some time.

+ He screams all day and night for his family. It’s so bad that Danny has destroyed thousands of worlds in his grief.

+ He causes the worst of all symptoms, often causing the viewers who look at him to go insane and kill themselves or others, even if it is only a few seconds. Even those who stay in the same room next door to him are consumed with suicidal thoughts and intense moments of psychosis. Those who have survived encountering him and have some semblance of mind left say that he “cries” relentlessly. His paintings leak a black substance that corrodes the place around him.

+ Literally all I did for this picture was scribble in my notes app, take a screenshot, and then scribble some more on photos LMAO

Extra notes:

+ Jazz, Dani, and Dan showing their face while Sam, Tucker, and Valerie hiding theirs is intentional. Danny is a mix of both, because he actually IS showing his face, but you can’t see it past the black and red.

+ Every painting has a flower inside of it, specifically a carnation, which are often funeral flowers, and can mean gratitude, remembrance, love, and affection.

+ Every painting also has a mention or appearance of Danny in it.

+ I also tried to put hints of bad omens or signs of death within every painting. Some examples are Dani’s painting with the chopsticks sticking out of the bowl (a sign of bad luck and death), or Dan’s painting, where a woman is being strangled in the background and another is being killed.

+ All of the paintings generally have an ability to teleport to places nearby and can actually snatch up viewers to shove them into their domain. This can be a defensive mechanism (the paintings protect the Bats) or an offensive ability (they pull victims in and kill them). They also all have weapons on them that are hidden or not so hidden.

+ I struggled a lot with ideas and how to get started on some characters because I just had so many, and I wanted it to be creepy, but not noticeably creepy, like most paintings. I’m sad to say that I wasn’t able to use some of my planned ideas from inspirations of actual haunted paintings.

+ Discarded inspirations: The Rain Woman by Svetlana Telets (my favorite!! Please look it up if you can!!), this picture I saw on Reddit of a sheep being stuck under ice with its back exposed, a workshop idea with Tucker, and Dani and “Daughter of Evil” with mirrors and everything.

+ The world where Danny and co., come from is different from the world they’re currently in. It’s like a world where some people are the same, but others are not. Example: the GIW, Maddie, Jack, and Vlad exist, but Danny and Jazz never made it past their childhood. So basically a What-If world or something.

+ Their backstories are somewhat undecided, but basically, something dangerous happened to them in their home dimension and it was so bad that Danny captured all of their souls and put them into paintings so they would live (with the help of Clockwork). However, by doing this, he scattered their souls and paintings throughout the universes and he went crazy from it, and turned himself into a painting too so he could find them. Now his cloned paintings travel and sends itself to other worlds to find his family again, often leading to their destruction from his power.

Or something? Lol

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whumpgifathon · 6 months ago

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Hello! And welcome to my brand new whump gifmaking challenge! I'm your host @aceofwhump and I'm excited to bring a whump challenge specifically created with gifmakers and visual artists in mind.

The challenge begins August 1, 2024!

Rules:

All gifs posted must be made by you. Do not just post gifs using the gif keyboard and claim them as yours and do not repost other people’s gifs. No AI-generated content please.

Various mediums are welcome! So long as the visual art aspect is the focus you can make whatever you want. Yes this is primarily a gifmaking challenge so everything is geared towards that but any visual art is welcome. If you draw, make moodboards, edits, videos, etc you’re welcome to participate!

You can use the prompts however you like. There is no wrong way to use a prompt. Feel free to interpret them however you wish. If you think it counts as whump? It's whump! Make it! Angst, comfort, emotional whump, small things, big things, it all counts so no need to over think it.

Tag all potential triggers (things like emeto, gore, nsfw, blood, eye whump, rape/noncon, etc.) When in doubt, tag it.

Tags to use when posting so I can find your ppst: #whumpedit, #whumpgifathon, #whump gifs

Please try to include the show/movie title, character names, and episode number (if applicable) somewhere either in your tags or in the post caption. This way anyone interested in watching it can find it easily.

An example of a way you can caption your gifsets:

@whumpgifathon | Day #: "prompt description" Show/Movie title, episode number, character name

And here's the prompt list!!! I hope you guys like it and find it inspiring but not overly challenging!

Remember that this is a relaxed event!!! I just want to offer my fellow visual artists some inspiring prompts and an opportunity to have some fun. So sit back, relax, and have fun!

Text version below:

Whump Gifathon - August 2024 Prompt List

Day 1: Space Oxygen Deprivation | Time Loop | Experiment

Day 2: Feeling Sick Fever | Infection | Delirium

Day 3: Environmental Earthquake | Storm | Hypothermia

Day 4: Captivity Chains | Caged | Rescue

Day 5: Water Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

Day 6: Skills Try out a new technique you haven’t tried before using your favorite whump trope as inspiration!

Day 7: Emotional Crying | Panic Attack| Fear

Day 8: Hospital Ambulance | Intubation | Waking Up Disoriented

Day 9: Battlefield Explosion | Gunfire | Field Medicine

Day 10: Temporary Effects Blinded | Amnesia | Poisoned

Day 11: Recovery Sling | Pain | Seeking Support

Day 12: We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Straight Jacket | Forced Injection | Hallucinations

Day 13: Aesthetic Highlight your favorite whump aesthetic

Day 14: Sleeping Nightmares | Exhaustion | Passing Out

Day 15: Trapped Impaled | Buried Alive | Locked Inside

Day 16: Western Cauterized | Bitten | Hanged

Day 17: Comfort Hugging | Blankets | Gentle Touch

Day 18: Broken Broken Bones | Emotional Breakdown | Broken Spirit

Day 19: Relationships What is your favorite type of whumpee/caretaker relationship? Platonic? Romantic? Familial? Show me!

Day 20: Blood Bloody Hands | Bleeding Out | Covered in Blood

Day 21: Fantastical Nonhuman | Resurrection | Magical Healing

Day 22: A Knock to the Head Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

Day 23: Travel Gone Wrong Car Accident | Plane Crash | Train Delrailment

Day 24: Magic Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

Day 25: Period Drama Pick a time period of your choice and highlight the whump!

Day 26: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying Grief | Resuscitation | Presumed Dead

Day 27: Superheroes Overused Powers | Powers with a Side Effect | Villain

Day 28: Torture Beaten| Flogging | Choked

Day 29: Restrained Zipties| Rope Leash | Medical Restraints

Day 30: First Aid Ice Pack | Stitches | Bandages

Day 31: Colors Highlight a specific color in your art

Alternate Prompts:

"Stay With Me" Begging Heat Exhaustion Bedside Vigil Self Surgery Taser Scar Reveal Collapsing Protective Electrocution

#whump #whump event #whumpedit #whumpgifathon #whump events #whump prompts #gif making #gif making events #2024 prompt list #2024 event info #mod post #hopefully i fixed all the typos and repeat prompts but if i missed a big one please let me know #i've read this like a billion times now #the words no longer mean anything to me lol

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thediaryofaurora · 4 months ago

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General HCs

Bloody Painter/Helen Otis

This bad boy is LONNGG, I included a lot of his backstory in this. Writers block is beating my ass. 💔

- Twenty one!

- 6’1. When I say this dudes lanky, I mean LANKY. Slim and naturally toned, his main exercise comes from chasing or climbing stairs.

- Both of his parents are Korean, but he was raised in Pennsylvania.

- His parents struggled with getting pregnant, most ending is miscarriages. His mom was completely batshit, so when the pregnancy stuck she swore she had some divine intuition that made her believed he’d be a girl. She didn’t even bother having an ultrasound, so when he was born and she saw that he was a boy she thought him being a girl was some sort of prophecy she needed to fulfill.

- His whole life she had always told him he was meant to be a girl and he would be going against ‘God’s will’ if he didn’t follow through. He was always dressed in feminine clothing and had an extremely girly room. His mother didn’t put him in school until he was about thirteen, since she thought the kids would taint his mind and make him think he’s a boy.

- When he was put in school he got bullied RELENTLESSLY. His name, the way he dressed, everything. After meeting Tom he slowly started to realize that all the shit he grew up with wasn’t normal and his mom was psycho, so he started borrowing his clothes and changing in the school bathrooms so he could feel less weird. Once Tom admitted to planting Judy’s watch in Helen’s bag, they argued on the roof while getting slightly physical. Tom had slipped off the edge, but Helen managed to grab him. Of course, a middle schooler isn’t necessarily strong enough to hold another off a building without going down with them, so Tom let go to save Helen. Rumors spread that Helen had pushed him, but no one cared enough to investigate.

- After that school year was over he started to dress more androgynous/ masculine and ignored his mom’s pressure, which lead to her abusing him both physically and mentally. Eventually, with his ignored mental issues and the abuse he completely snapped, killing his mom and several of his bullies right before a Halloween party. He was sent to a psychiatric hospital that Slender ended up taking him from.

- VERY polite and proper. He’s pretty soft spoken and his grammar is like never flawed, big word user. 1000% the type of guy to kiss your hand as a greeting. The most he’ll do if he doesn’t like you is give you the silent treatment or a dirty look.

- Weird little detail, but his fingers and SLIM and LONG. His nails are neatly kept. He likes to pamper himself.

- He does botany in his free time! Any flower arrangements in the mansion and the gardens outside are his doing. There’s a few residents that he brings bouquets to every other week so they can have something nice. EJ, Sally, and Jane are his usual market. Also does flower pressing.

- Used to do ballet when he was about 4-7.

- Definitely the safest driver, but that makes him a pain as a get away driver. Always goes the exact speed limit and follows every possible law.

- Mainly listens to classical music. However, he does like Billy Joel, Fleetwood Mac, David Bowie, even a little bit of Queen.

- His room is SO nice and very big. Long sheer curtains, velvet & silk bedding, a grand piano, flowers, tall bookshelves, chairs, a large bed with a canopy, big windows, and lots of sculptures and framed paintings done by him. He’s really into elegant things and floral patterns. Has a mural on his ceiling!

- Hangs out with EJ, Liu, Puppeteer, and Jane. Rarely does he talk to any of the proxies or any creeps he’s not close with. Awfully reserved.

- Loves the fine arts. Painting, writing, music, sculpting, all that jazz. Occasionally does poetry! Him and Liu both like to write, so sometimes they’ll get together and talk about it. He mostly reads old classic books & poetry.

- Jane has taught him how to sew, although he doesn’t find much use for it.

- He has a white persian cat named Juliette in his room no one knows about other than his close friends. She never leaves the room, but she’s content; it has enough room to have lots of things just for her. He has a MASSIVE painting of her renaissance style by her bed. (He got her one of those fancy cat beds that look like a tiny rich person couch.) Pampers her to death.

- I know in his canon design he has that denim kinda jacket on with the pin, but in my HC he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that. Usually wears jeans and baggy button ups while he’s painting, but his day to day outfits are well put together. Rich person style in clothes — turtle necks, slacks, dress shoes, almost kind of dark academia.

- Super high standards in general, but especially when it comes to food. Fine dining for sure. Usually buys only enough ingredients for a serving just for him so he doesn’t have to leave them in the fridge. He doesn’t trust the other residents at ALL.

- This guy is ROLLING in it. He has so much loose cash from victims he can do whatever the hell he wants, big reason why his cat is living like royalty.

- Drinks at least one glass of wine a day. He has an entire rack in his room of old, fine wines. A lot of them are from Europe.

- For whatever reason, he’s an amazing masseuse.

- All of his candles and soaps are very high quality and expensive. He won’t settle for anything less.

- Can play the piano and the violin! He would kill to have a harpsichord, he might.

- He’s not big on history, but he could talk for hours about the titanic. He’s done paintings of it and has watched every possible documentary on it. Thinks the movie is a work of art.

I hope you all liked this! I love this fine man.

❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎

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bokutosbiceps · 11 months ago

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battle scars

monkey d luffy x afab!reader | fluff + smut | ~900 words

warnings: suggestive themes + smut throughout !!

a/n: okay, many people were involved in the birth of this fic !! so this was inspired by the art below...first @usoppsstar because she sent me the art that inspired this, + of course @luffysprincess because she made the beautiful art that inspired this !! also i wrote this whole thing in 20 min on the toilet hehe

ps. i've got permission from this genius artist to repost her art + write about it 😁

18+ MDNI

you winced at the soreness in between your thighs as you tried to sit up, blinking in the morning sunlight. you look over toward luffy’s side of the bed and notice he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and moaning quietly. he has his back completely turned toward the sunlight, almost shying away from it.

he was always a baby in the mornings.

you giggle and sit up, ignoring the small twinges of pain from deep within your core and draping yourself over your lover boy’s shoulders.

“mornin’, sugar.” he says sweetly, his voice a bit deeper than usual due to misuse while he slept. he takes one of your wrists in his hands and turns it over to place a kiss to the inside of it. he's sleepy–he's always even more affectionate than usual when he's sleepy.

“not a good morning?” you tease, running your hand down his back and breathing in his scent. you immediately withdraw your hand when he hisses in pain. “what's wrong?”

“i dunno, my back, like…it felt…it stung when ya did that!” luffy doesn't shy away from your touch, but he stretches his neck to see his back.

you both see them at the same time, the small scratches adorning his back like bloody, crusty constellations.

you gasp in complete horror while luffy gasps in utter excitement.

“woah! are these from last night? did you do this?” luffy jumps up and runs to the thin body length mirror usopp had fashioned for you in the captain’s quarters. he stands facing away from the mirror and twists his body, butt naked, in the most unnatural way only a man made of rubber could.

he starts to grin wildly and lets a few chuckles escape his lips. you, extremely embarrassed and horrified, hide your face in your palms. you couldn't believe you'd made luffy bleed.

how the hell did you manage to scratch hard enough to tear rubber skin?

you can remember, and you've been reminded by your soreness this morning, how good you'd been fucked last night. how luffy's cock had kissed and bullied your cervix for multiple rounds. how luffy’s stamina had always surprised you but something had come over him last night and he needed to feel all of you, multiple times, till he'd passed out.

“luffy, i’m–” you're about to apologize but are interrupted by luffy’s loud and boisterous laughter.

“they're like battle scars! awesome!” luffy is overjoyed and his eyes are squeezed shut to make room for the large grin that spreads across his face. he stares at the small scratches along his scapulae, his traps, his lats, and further down his back for just a little while longer before he bounds over to the bed and pounces on you. there's a smug grin on his face. “guess i made ya feel that good last night, hmm?”

you blush and move to cover your cheeks with your hands but luffy is much quicker than you and grabs your hands, pinning them above your head. you had nowhere to hide from his amusement.

“why are you so embarrassed?” luffy asks gently, using his hand not occupied by your wrists to trace his thumb over your warm cheeks. he's still smiling, but it's softer now, desperately wanting for you to talk to him and not feel guilty.

“i didn't mean to hurt you…” you say slowly, looking away from luffy’s stare. he takes your chin in his thumb and index and pulls your face to him, pressing a warm and gentle kiss to your lips.

“ya didn't hurt me!” luffy says once he's pulled away from you, he's smiling. you feel a bit better at seeing luffy's honest joy, knowing that you couldn't possibly physically hurt the newest emperor of the sea with mere scratches. you sigh and smile back at him.

“okay! i'm glad then.” you crane your neck to press your lips to his once more. “and yes, you fucked me really good last night, captain.”

you catch a mischievous glint flash in luffy’s eyes and watch as he moves his hand in between your legs and separates them by spreading his fingers wide. he tightens his grip on your wrists and uses his other hand to hook each of your legs around his hips. he presses himself into the apex of your thighs and you can feel how he's already straining and raring to go.

“yeah?” luffy breathes as he skims his teeth and tongue over the side of your neck, leaving a trail of saliva down to your chest. “let's go at it again then.”

luffy starts to rock his hips back and forth, rubbing his erection against the inside of your thigh. you press your thighs together, providing something tight and warm for luffy to drag his cock through. he lets out a small whine and hunches over you, littering your chest with butterfly kisses and small patches of his drool.

“breakfast!” luffy’s ears perk up at sanji’s voice, his lips hands and dick abruptly abandoning your body.

“meet me back in here after breakfast, ‘kay?” luffy says, pressing a kiss to your temple and grinning before he jumps up off of the bed and over to where his clothes from last night lay on the floor.

you huff, feeling the whiplash from how he'd just been fucking your thighs then how he'd suddenly left you completely cold and bare. you watch him tug his shorts up his hips and grab his straw hat from the ring beside the door.

“put on a shirt!” you yell after him.

“nope! i'm showing off my battle scars!” luffy whoops as he rushes out of the captain's quarters toward the kitchen, licking his lips in anticipation for both breakfast and the activities that will follow.

#one piece #monkey d luffy #luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy smut #luffy smut

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a-whisper-in-the-forest · 6 months ago

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A work of art

Part 1 (Disgraced apple pie)

TW: torture, blood, mention of mind control

“It's a form of art, you know,” Supervillain says, kneeling in front of the beaten and bloodied Sidekick. “Knowing where to cut, where to punch, to get just the right reaction.” Villain can feel their stomach turn to the point they can practically taste the half digested apple pie.

“It seems unnecessary," Villain tries to say in their standard, ice cold tone but somehow that has become difficult. “To an ordinary human it might look unnecessary, but to us villains…” Supervillain says, looking at the poor sidekick as it was a painting in a museum. “Wouldn't you agree?”

Anyone else would believe that the Supervillain is asking for their opinion. Villain knew better, though. They knew that tone and knew what would happen if they didn't agree. They're not in the mood for that. “I agree.” is all they said.

Supervillain let out a satisfied hum and focused on the Sidekick. “Anything else you would like to say?” The sugar sweet tone made Villain sick again. “Please…please, no…” Sidekick's broken sobs fill the room. “You're gonna have to give me a little more information than that, honey,” Supervillain said with a sweet smile on their face. Bullshit. Supervillain isn't stopping until they're bored. “Please, no…i can't…”

Villain stared at the wall and felt a familiar sensation fall over them. Their mind began to wander to a carefully constructed mind palace. They imagine sitting in a cabin in the middle of the woods. The fireplace softly lighting the room. They're reading a good book while their cat is napping in their lap. Some nice, calm music playing in the background. No pain, no yelling, no begging, no fighting…

“Don't let your mind wander like that, Villain.” Supervillain's voice brings them back to the cold, dark room in the basement of Supervillain's lair. Supervillain stands up and approaches Villain. They put both of their bloody hands on Villain’s cheeks. “I need you here, you know that. Don't go there.” Villain notices the possessive hint in Supervillain's voice. They never want Supervillain to take control over their mind again. Not like last time.

“I know. I'm sorry,” Villain says, barely above a whisper. “It's okay. But I give you freedom and you can't abuse it like that,” Supervillain says, still holding Villains face. “I'm sorry.” Villain answers, still not daring to speak louder than a whisper. “It's okay, just focus now. Yeah?” Supervillain lets go and turns around to face the Sidekick again. “Mind getting the last bit of information for me, my dear Villain?” Supervillain asks with a smile plastered on their face.

Villain's not proud of what they do next. Their powers control shadows. Their own but also the ones around them. Basically, anything light doesn't touch, so the shadow of the chair in the corner, their own shadow, the shadow inside someone's lungs.

It's a basic trick for them and one of Supervillains' favorites. They take control of the person's lung's shadow and expand it. Not much so they don't actually burst, but enough to give the sensation of bursting. Immediately the poor sidekick begins to scream and immediately the Villain wants to stop. The figure standing behind them stops them from doing so, though. That last bit of information, all the codes to the Agency's entrances, came quickly.

They're going to need an extra slice of pie after this.

Hero is still sitting at the same booth that they shared with Villain. They couldn't bring themselves to go home. It's so empty as the Agency doesn't allow any personal decorating and certainly not a pet. They shove the last crumbs of the pies in their mouth and start looking for their coat to put on.

“Are you seriously still here ?”

a familiar voice says behind them. As they turn around they can see Villain standing there. Still surrounded with their cold and distant aura, but Hero could sense a hint of… defeat. What happened in those 3 hours for them to look so empty?

“You here again?” the Hero asks with a smile. “Still hungry,” Villain says with a cold tone and sits down in front of Hero. “Well, you came at the right time. I just saw the girl behind the counter restock the pies,” Hero says cheerfully. They're not sure what caused the empty look in Villain’s eyes, but they feel like Villain could use something to cheer them up right now.

“Good thing I came then.”

Next part

Hi! Well...that turned dark fast. Hope you enjoyed this part as much as the first one. (Wich has like 95 notes, which is crazy, so thank you so much for that!)

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #snippet #my writing #villain x hero #writing #writing series

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lycheedr3ams · 1 year ago

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Death's Angel

Part 8: On Angel Wings

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 7

I can't thank you all enough for the support i've gotten on this fic! this fic is what made my blog big and i just can't believe it's been so well-received. don't worry, it's a happy ending!!! also I'm sorry this took so long...I hope you guys like the ending. I'm super nervous my writing quality on this story went down, but maybe I'm too critical of my work. in any case, I hope you guys enjoy!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

you weren't sure how much time passed when you woke up in a warm bed. you blinked open your eyes and rubbed the exhaustion out of them. you looked around the room, and noticed konig sitting right by your side.

"Engel?" he asked softly. you had never heard his voice so tender.

"what happened?" you asked. you tried to sit up, but were immediately struck with a sharp pain in your chest. konig gently pushed you back down on the bed.

"lay down, Engel. you are hurt. you need to rest."

you looked down at your chest, and realized that it was wrapped with bloodied bandages. your dress was nowhere to be seen, but the blanket covered your lower half.

"what happened? where are we?" you asked as you could feel panic rising.

"we are somewhere we will never be found by anyone who wishes to separate us," konig said quietly. "you..." he couldn't finish his sentence as he cleared his throat.

"i what?" you asked.

konig shook his head. "you protected me. it is not supposed to be that way. i am supposed to protect you, and i couldn't." konig's head hung low in shame, his eyes now completely obscured from you.

you suddenly remembered everything that had happened right up to when the sword fell. your heart raced.

"i...my body just acted on its own. it was like i didn't have control over myself. it just happened." you thought for a long moment, and it was silent. konig's head still hung low.

"i don't regret it, though," you said firmly. konig looked at you in confusion.

"i promised to protect you, and here you are, laying in a bed soaked in your own blood," he said quietly as his eyes glassed over.

you smiled. "it's okay. i would do it again if i had to. but where are we? what happened to the knights?"

konig was silent for a little while. you closed your eyes.

"we are in france now. a little countryside town. after the soldiers patched you up, they realized that you weren't lying. they agreed to pretend that it never happened. but they will be back in a week, to make sure this is what you really want." his voice was quiet as he spoke.

"so...my parents and siblings still think i've been kidnapped?"

konig nodded.

"no. they need to know that you are not in the wrong. they need to know that i chose this."

"i don't know if that's a good idea," konig said after a moment. "they will say I brainwashed you."

"i don't care what they will say. if they don't believe me, that's on them. i will have the soldiers take a letter to them once they go back, and i will never speak to them again," you decided.

konig stared at you for a long while. he gently took your hand and stroked it with his thumb.

"i am sorry things turned out this way," he whispered as he looked at your hand.

you shook your head. "i wouldn't have it any other way, konig. i'm with you, and we can have our own life here. what is this town like?"

konig still stroked your hand as he spoke. "there are lavender fields surrounding the town, and a small forest to the east. there is an empty plot of land where a house can be built. the people are kind, and it is quiet and peaceful."

you smiled. "it sounds perfect."

konig brought your hand up to his lips as he lifted his hood to kiss the back of your hand. "i will make it up to you."

"there is nothing to make up, konig," you assured him with a smile. "everything will be okay now."

konig shook his head. "i will give you the life you deserve, my princess. i will build a house for you, and you can have as many gardens and animals as you like. you will have the finest sheets once again, and you will never want for anything."

you smiled. "as long as i have you, i will never want."

...

several months later

You walk out of the cottage that Konig had built for you and him on this warm morning. the birds are chirping and a gentle breeze blows over the lavender fields to the right of your cottage. you smile to yourself as you breath in the scent of lavender, and hear your sheep, ducks, and goats already waking up for the day. your garden, fenced off with bushes and a trellis with roses, blooms brilliantly in the morning sun.

konig quietly comes up behind you and wraps his strong scarred arms around you. he nuzzles your head gently with his nose and smiles underneath his hood.

"good morning, my Engel," he whispers gently to you. he speaks those four words to you every single morning. some may regard it as just a morning custom, but you know that konig never wastes any of his words. those four words every day, reserved only for you.

"good morning, konig," you smile up at him and gently hold his arms as they're wrapped around your waist. your goats bleat a few times, and you and konig share a gentle laugh.

...

life has been peaceful ever since the hell you and konig had gone through. you sent the letter to your parents, telling them the truth about your relationship with konig: how you weren't brainwashed, you didn't like being a princess, and this was the life you chose for yourself. your parents begged you to come back, their handwriting betraying their nerves and worry. but you never wrote to them again.

konig built this cottage for you in no time, and you two built your life together in this small countryside town in France. you helped out at the local bakery most days, tended to your farm animals every morning, checked your garden several times a day. you cooked warm meals for konig, which he always ate gratefully.

konig was no longer an executioner. he decided to leave that part of him in the past for your sake to build a peaceful life with you. the strong, calloused hands that once gripped axes to chop people's heads off now gripped saws and hammers and other tools to build houses, make horse shoes, craft swords. konig never spoke about it, but the gentle look in his eyes that grew as he got accustomed to normal life was something you always noticed and loved.

you two make a modest living; no more silk and fine china, but you couldn't have cared less. living life every day, doing what you wanted, you forgot about the endless want that material possessions creates. for the first time in your life, you are happy. you no longer had to worry about perfectly adjusting your hair, tying your corset, or matching your dress to the occasion each day. your hair changed each day based on your mood, and your clothing was simple and comfortable. no one told you where you had to be or when, you no longer had to watch every word that was spoken. you are free.

...

you hand konig his lunch basket for the day with a sweet smile, packed with fruits and bread and some salted meat. he rubs your head affectionately and kisses your forehead through his hood.

"danke, Engel."

"have a good day," you smiled up at him as you hugged his muscular chest. you gently tap his chin over his hood, and he smiles at your little signal and presses a chaste, gentle kiss on your lips. you watch as he descends the porch and walks to town.

you weren't sure exactly where you and Konig's lives were going to lead, but among your farm animals and garden and cottage and his arms, none of that mattered. the only thing you cared about was living each day with konig, living a normal life. you taught him what it meant to live, to breathe, to create things that made life better rather than take it away.

and even though you are no longer a princess, you will always be his angel.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

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hopepetal · 4 months ago

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Art of my DND character Ruven's death, drawn by the wonderful Bee @applestruda! This moment was so crazy in game.

Fic under the cut!

Ruven sighs in relief as Tarnish strikes the sculk thrall down. He pockets his wand, looking down at Lil Buddy, who winds around his legs purring loudly.

They're annoying, his familiar comments. Sorry I can't help more.

Ruven giggles at the sensation of Lil Buddy's long fur tickling his skin. It's alright. Just stay safe, okay?

I'm safer than you are, Lil Buddy responds.

Ruven rolls his eyes and scoops Lil Buddy up. “Whatever,” he says out loud. Looking around, he realizes Dragon isn't there– probably hiding somewhere. “Where's...?”

Before he can finish his sentence, Windsor's voice interrupts him. “Hey guys, you should come see this!”

Slowly, the party makes their way into the room Windsor had called from. Ruven sets Lil Buddy down to let him explore, his hand going back to his wand as he looks around.

The room overlooks an enormous cavern. Ruven takes a few steps forward as he gazes at the area, the rest of the party chatting quietly behind him as he descends the first few stairs, following Lil Buddy.

His familiar sniffs the ground before looking back up at Ruven. There are strange aberrations here. Be careful.

Ruven raises his gaze, doing a quick sweep of the cavern. His eyes land on a tall, spindly creature with bony, spider-like legs. He tenses up involuntarily– spiders have always scared him. One time, Rhel had bought a plastic spider and put it in his bed, scaring him so much he cast a fire spell on it.

Rhel...

Ruven bites his lower lip, clenching his fists. Pull yourself together, Ruven. Now's not the time.

He tries to focus on something other than the memory of his sister's body.

Lil Buddy looks concerned, which is a little strange for a cat. ...we should rejoin the rest of the party. I don't like this.

As Lil Buddy says that, Ruven hears Windsor's voice ring out over the cavern. “Delta, are you seeing this shit?”

The spindly sculk beast turns around slowly with a low, chittering, creaking noise. Ruven remembers the sounds he heard in his dream, ears twitching as he freezes up. His hand tightens around his wand.

Darkness descends upon the party. Ruven is once again reminded of his dream as the rest of the party yelps in shock. Even with his darkvision, Ruven can't see through– magical darkness, then.

He feels his breathing begin to pick up as his chest tightens. He's always hated the dark and it's all-encompassing nature. His darkvision made it easier to ignore his fear, but he can't do anything against magical darkness.

A low rumble emanates from the creature. Ruven can't move as it builds and builds in intensity, into a terrible otherworldly scream.

The only thing that Ruven can see through the darkness is a neon teal beam of concentrated energy as it pierces through his chest and shatters his eardrums simultaneously.

For a moment as he stumbles back, Ruven is in more pain than he thought was possible.He chokes on the blood bubbling up in his mouth as he raises a hand to his chest. There's a bloody hole where his skin should be, and the only mercy Ruven is given is dying before he can feel the full extent of his agonizing death.

And then...

Then...

He's floating.

Floating? How strange. He didn't... he didn't know he had Levitate.

He can't hear the rest of the party. Shouldn't they be fighting? What was happening? Did the creature manage to deafen him as well?

He can't feel his body.

Why...?

Why can't he feel his body? Where is everyone? Why can't he move?!

All his senses come back in an instant.

“What...?” He manages to get out, his entire body screaming in agony as he tries to move.

Dragon's face lights up with relief. “You're okay! Were you... were you dead?”

Ruven blinks. “Uhhh... I think so? Maybe? Yeah…” He suppresses a shudder. So that was death...

Vel turns and runs without a word, and Ruven remembers that they're in the middle of combat. He goes to stand up, but Dragon stops him. “You are not going back into combat like this.” He cuts Ruven off when he tries to protest. “Nope. No buts. You need to get out of here.”

Ruven sighs. “Okay, well–” He realizes that his head is lying in Dragon's lap, and he scrambles up with a yelp of shock. “Oh! Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!”

Windsor runs past the two. “CAN WE DO THIS LATER?!” they yell, eyes wide. “WE GOTTA GO!”

The next few moments are absolute chaos. The party begins to retreat, but to their horror the creature begins to follow. Before anyone else is able to attack, it lets out another scream.

Goodnight. Lil Buddy's voice echoes in Ruven's mind as the familiar disintegrates, the half-orc passing out for a moment before dragging himself back to consciousness.

He’s deafened again as he drags himself back to his feet, his ears ringing. Dragon glances over at him before dashing toward the sculk creature with his axe, managing to land a hit.

Ruven stumbles back as Tarnish hands him a potion, saying something he can't hear. Pain shakes his every step as he stumbles after Vel. The worst of the pain starts to fade as he quickly eats the berry Dragon gave him, washing it down with the health potion.

His ears still ringing, he collapses at the top of the staircase Vel had run to. He takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Emotions threaten to overwhelm him as he rubs his chest.

There's a soft pressure on his legs. Ruven looks down to see Miri standing there with her paws on him. The cat tilts her head, tail flicking back and forth. Ruven's breath hitches as he goes to reach out to pet Miri, before hesitating. Was it really alright for him to...?

Miri sniffs his hand before rubbing her head against him. Ruven can't help it; he begins to cry, his hands shaking as he gently pets the cat. “Thank you,” he whispers, though he can't hear himself say it. “Thank you.”

The rest of the party slowly gathers in the room after Delta finally kills the sculk beast– all looking worse for wear. This had been one of their hardest fights, being down a wizard from the start and half the party deafened by the screams of the enemy. Ruven doesn’t want to think about how close they all came to dying.

He summons his familiar back during the long rest. Lil Buddy says nothing, and climbs into Ruven’s lap.

Ruven closes his eyes and rests.

#my writing #character: ruven aeli #character: windsor ryfall #character: vel #character: delta #character: dragon #character: tarnish #dnd writing #terrors beneath deepfrost citadel #dndecked out #dungeons and dragons

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insanely-lovely-and-random · 7 months ago

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Alrightyy saw Challengers for numero uno tonight and these are some thoughts/things that really got me the second time round!

*Thess are just my opinions the film can be read however anyone else wants

Okay so hear me out.. Tashi is such a dom, Art is such a sub and Patrick is such a switch and oooh it got me how at the beginning it felt like he was Arts dom, then he finds this girl he thinks is fantastic and maybe he thinks she could be the glue to bring him and Art and her all together BUT then it totally fricken backfires and instead he loses both. Art the little puppy he is starts wagging his tail in Zendayas direction and next thing ya know he's got a new owner and Patricks a thing of the past much to his palable distress. I mean christ boyos living in his car and starving, boys a mess since his lost his dom and sub poor boyo, so now various things I noticed some of which I feel back up my argument haha

Gosh theres so many little moments, Patricks thing for Art seems so obvious yet Art seems totally clueless.

1) Patrick is defos bi, not just because he just so is but also cause he matches with a guy on his dating app during his swiping.

2) The doubles match they play in the past? Gosh they're all over eachother! And Pats clearly in charge of that relationship and Art seems totally cool with that (for then anyways..)

3) When him and Art are watching Tashis game at the vert beginning Patrick grabs Arts leg in exhilaration. I mean he always seems to be touching or in the space of his boy for christs sake.

4) When Tashi mentions the fact Arts going to Stamford Patrick noticeably makes a face, you could say its because shes paying attention to Art instead of him or that hes upset because shes going to college instead of going profesh BUT I really didnt read it that way. To me it looked like he was upset Art was going to college, they've been together for years after all and now their splitting up, poor boyo.

5) When Zendaya asks if theres anything going on between then, Art laughs and says no BUT Patrick??? Science and he looks down, hell he wishes there was summat.

6) He taught Art to jerk off. Fucking hell.

7) There kiss man, all three of then and then just Art and Pat, just soo much chemistry.

8) When he reveals he slwpt with Zendaya to Art, and Arts smile drops. I think he's heartbroke at him sleeping with the girl he likes but I also see it as pain at being left out. These two people he's entwined with and now he's outside looking in. I also think If Patrick had seen that reaction he'd have seen a looot sooner that his relationship with Tashi might backfire greatly.

9) Patrick vsiting Stamford, first person he goes to see, his girlfriend maybe..? NOPE hes too busy chasing Art around the tennis court 😭

10) There's a ton of hot moments in this film. And the hottest? To me? That bloody stool grab with his foot. He wants Art close, he always bloody does! And the churros christ! And once again showing Art who's top so to speak, eating his churro, and telling him hes proud of his snakey behaviour. And that it makes his relationship with Zendaya hotter (I bloody bet it does) He never ever seems to show jealousy about Arts feelings for Zendaya, he points out thay he doesn't see him as competition to her not long after and I BET his doesn't. Cause I think he'd love it if Art was with him and Zendaya.

11) My God this bit gets be cause it gets echoed later. Him and Zendaya are making out and this girl who he's with and cares about is just talking bout his tennis game. And tbf what does he say?? "Weren't you gonna tell me bout Art" hells bells could you be more obvious?? And then the fight, he asks her if she's talking about tennis and her reply "I'm always talking about tennis" and I mention this cause it's gonna be relevant later.

12) The injury happens and everyone loses something. Zendaya has lost her career and ability to play tennis to her full potential. Art loses his best friend and Poor pathetic Patrick lost his bestfriend(and secret love) and his actual girlfriend all in one day!

From here on I cant guarantee my numbered points are in timeline order as the timline stated getting more out of sequence🤣

13) Zendaya and Art in the diner and after hearing Art and Pat dont talk no more saying she's a homewrecker after all. And what does Art say?? Zip. Nada. No denial just silence.

14) Okay lets talk that sauna scene. It was gloriously tragic. Patrick is clearly unaware why Art is THAT hostile towards him. I mean thinking of it from his point of view he'd have more reason to be angry considering the snakey girlfriend behaviour. But he never is angry at Art, not once no matter what he did. Of course we then discover Art is SO pissed cause he knows about Atlanta. Christ I bet pur stupid idiot boy Patrick thinks hes just being cleverly smug with that "when we were teenagers" line but idiot boyo your rubbing salt in the wounds 😭

15) still about the sauna, the naked trying to be top dog like old times but no no no, not anymore. Arts not his to be in charge of anymore. And the camera shows Art as higher while Patrick slouches nearby. Patrick asks him when he's so mad but doesn't get an answer. This scene was tragic to me, Patrick just seems hurt by Arts attitude. Art points out that they're no longer peers and I love this because thats the difference between the Zendaya/boys relationship and Arts and Pats. Pat may have been the dom so to speak with Art but he still saw them as peers. Zendaya doesn't. Thats the main difference in their relationships. Respect.

16) One of my fave damn parts of dialogue in the movie. (I really can't remember exact phrasing but this is how I rememeber it) Art is so sus of Pat, Pat asks him if he misses it, Art says he doesnt. And when Pat says he wasn't talking about tennis, Art says "Your always talking to me about tennis" and oof the punch to my gut that was. And it seemed to Patricks too! His face, this poor boy has twice been talking to the people he cares about, abou their relationship and they just say their talking about tennis, he cant catch a break😭

17) Pats reaction to Zendaya asking him to throw the game, is he offended for himself? Nopeee he's mad that she'd do that to Art. He says something along the lines of fucking him was one thing but to have Arts victory be a lie?? Gross, too far, too much of a betrayal.

18) For the third time, having just fucked Zendaya in the car and she just immediately brings up him throwing the match, like crimeny man this boy is probs sick of this game getting in the way of his relationships haha

19) Ooh that match point is glorious glorious cinema my friends. Patrick is so interesting in this whole match. Him deliberating on if he's gonna tell Art? So juicy and the way he did was fucking hilarious. That unspoken signal? Beauty.

20) Arts reaction? Wow oh wowww. The lad went through the five fricken stages of grief! The denial "fuck off!" the rage, throwing his racket, the bargaining, looking at Zendaya as if to say its not true (when she has no fucking clue what just happened). The depression, those sad sweaty tears 🥲 and then? That gorgeous smile, that acceptance. I think he felt catharsis, his marraige was clearly dysfunctional at this point and maybe knowing she cheated, knowing she'd threatened to leave if he lost, maybe that helped him let go of it. Ripped off the bandage, turned off life support, finally shake the pedestal he'd put his wife on( he compared her to jesus for christs sake). He made it through to the otherside and Patrick was there waiting for him with open arms ()iterally lol)

21) When Pat sees Arts smile? His own blossoms, clearly in relief and exaltation. I truly think he told him not to throw his game but to spur Art on. To finally unlock his potential. And to get the old Art he knew back and it bloody worked. That final back and forth, the pure energy, those sexual grunts all building up to a crescendo of a climax. Hooo boy

22) That goddamn brilliant leap in the air. Art is freed and flying, and Patrick doesn't hesitate he flings his racket to the floor because the thing that mattered to him most was never tennis. And he catches his boy with arms wide and then that embrace. They have finally come back together. It was beautiful. What does losing the match matter to Pat when he finally has his arms all over Art again just like he did in the beginning. We have come full circle.

Hahaha this is purely my own read into the movie and obvs mostly about the Patrick character and how I saw his actions. Now a few little bonus notes I noticed.

Nearly everything the boys eat/drink seems phallic, hotdogs, bananas, churros, even those drink bottles and cigarettes. Boyos are obsessed!

Zendaya on the rock at the beach was very little mermaid. Also in that scene when she said she wouldn't wanna get between em. Art said they didn't love together but Pat says "It's an open relationship" hecks you too obvious boy.

This movies so chock full of foreshadowing too, the story about Cat who got injured a week later. Patrick at Tashis party saying she'd have deals and a foundation which she does but via her relationship with Art instead just really cool script tbh

(Will probs add more when I remember em/see it for third time cause I am planning on that🤣🤣)

#challengers #challengers spoilers #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #movie list #zendaya #josh o'connor #mike faist #bisexual #the bi energy is strong #film #it's so long and such nonsense I just got a brain firing on cylinders for this film lmao

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blackdollette · 5 months ago

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"got your bible, got your gun." || part four.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄. "

art deco. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: hatred was strong, but determination was stronger...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: a little angst, blood, potential for fluff

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈𝐈

it must’ve been a sick joke that the universe was playing on you. or perhaps the team just enjoyed watching spencer and you quarrel like the victims of a doomed marriage.

and that just so happened to be the crime at hand.

right in front of you laid a husband and wife, battered and bloodied until they met a gruesome death right on their cozy white living room carpet. and beside them were the scattered remains of their daughter, who couldn’t have been any older than 5 years old.

you tried to maintain your stoic impression, but the nearly imperceptible cracks in your expression made way for a pained grimace.

spencer glances over and sees your appearance as you look at the young victim, her youth and innocence contrasted against the brutality of her death.

he notices the look of unease and despair on your face. despite trying to keep his distance from you earlier, he can't help but empathize with your reaction.

"first time seeing a scene like this?" he asks quietly, his tone holding a hint of softness that he quickly tries to conceal.

“in person, yeah. what kind of sick person would do this..?” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

spencer can sense your voice's genuine concern and compassion, and it takes him aback for a moment. he had pegged you as the unbothered type. seeing this soft, human side of you causes a strange tug at the back of his mind.

"someone with no remorse, no understanding of empathy," he replies, his voice quiet and filled with a wave of underlying anger. "that's the kind of sick person who would do something like this."

despite the gut-wrenching scene in front of him, spencer couldn’t seem to draw his peripheral gaze away from you. the conceited, shallow girl he viewed you as has made way for one who was capable of sympathy. it appeared that you had layers and to his surprise, he wished to pull back each one to see what was held within.

he cleared his throat, putting an end to the awkward silence that he had caused.

“i created a profile that has been sent out to the others. the press conference will be held this evening.” he didn’t know why he was telling you, but he cursed himself as soon as he caught your biting glare in response.

“the profile? the one that we were both supposed to put together?” you scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in a motion that left him temporarily speechless at the mildly enticing sight.

then he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a bitter response. he had to admit, it wasn’t easy acting like your dispute on the plane never happened, but it was like you had completely gotten over it.

at least that’s what he initially thought.

“is there a problem, agent?” he didn’t like the way it felt to address you with such formality, like you were undeserving of the title. “last time i checked, there’s a serial killer on the loose and the last thing this team needs is a college undergraduate thinking that she can run things around here.”

he crossed his arms over his stomach, mirroring your action.

you narrowed your eyes, scoffing as you started to leave the room. the presence of the dead bodies and the overwhelming aroma of blood was really starting to get to you. “oh really? because i’d pick that any day over a self-glorifying asshole.”

his jaw hung slightly open at that description. between your words and the gorey sight in front of him, he was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“i’m the asshole? you’ve done nothing but bitch around since we got here!”

you had already moved into the kitchen, taking in the sight of cluttered knives and cutlery all over the place, some covered in blood and some broken. a shiver ran down your spine as your eyes landed on a shattered family photo, being the only thing remaining on the dining table. some sights were hard to see, but this was completely heartbreaking.

you hadn’t even noticed spencer leaning against the doorframe, the anger in his expression wavering.

“is… that more evidence from the scene?” he cleared his throat, cautiously approaching you like you were an unstable animal. unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking as you gingerly picked up the framed picture.

“...possibly…” you swallowed hard, carefully placing it into the plastic bag that spencer extended to you.

you inhaled deeply, slowly walking over to the counter to lean against it. the blood, the dead family, the dark symbolism, it was all so much to take in on your very first case. you closed your eyes, slowly massaging your temples in an attempt to still the headache that was summoning.

even spencer, who had gone out of his way to keep you at arms length, felt a pang of pity for you. it was too early for your pure soul to be tainted by the darkness that the world concealed.

his shaky voice broke the silence. “you’re too young. a girl like you shouldn’t be allowed to attain this job. it isn’t fair to you.”

you sighed, bringing your head up. “i’m 22, spencer, don’t act like you’re all high and mighty. especially not now.”

spencer swallowed thickly. there wasn’t much of an age gap between you at all. but in terms of maturity and experience, you two were miles apart. maybe that was why you just couldn’t get along.

while his disdain toward hadn’t faltered in the slightest, the bigger picture slowly became clear to him. he cleared his throat. “i… i know i’m not responsible for you, but believe it or not, i was once in your position. the crime scenes, the killers, it’s all pretty scary. but the team always helped me out, and… i guess it’s my turn to be on the giving side of that interaction.”

you kept your head down, but felt the knot in your stomach loosen ever so slightly. your lack of response was all he wanted to hear.

“the first problem is the way you hold your gun.” he started, pointing to the gun pointing outward from the waistband of your skirt. “you’re basically begging for it to be taken off of you.”

you nodded, quickly adjusting the weapon, using him as an example.

while the tension was still thick between you two, at least you were one step closer to catching a killer.

fill out the taglist form ! : @mikaaj , @feyresqueen , @guiltyyassin , @broadwaytraaaaash , @hiireadstuff , @diorsgirlfriend , @hotwheelsenthusiastic , @yorksyree , @placidus , @idkbubs , @jerseysprincesss , @ari-aurelia , @geepinky

#dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #bau team #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #lana del rey #444rockstargf

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typicalopposite · 4 months ago

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zombie AU 🫣

because @blue-arts-stuff made this little gem right here (go give it all the love because *chefs kiss* the angst was angsting there) and it wormed its way into my brain and would not leave me alone until I made this!

CHECK THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER I BEG YOU!

Buck is tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally… just so goddamn tired.

A storm is coming… he can feel it in the plates and screws that hold his leg together. He’d always thought that was a myth, but sure enough every big storm he feels a twinge of pain around them. They should get moving if they are going to make it before the rain starts.

He scrumages through what supplies are available in the remains of the little corner shop. He only takes what he truly needs—which isn’t much—and leaves all that he can for whoever passes through next. Outside he can hear distant thunder, he needs to hurry. He unzips his bag and stuffs the supplies inside, catching a glimpse of the picture frame; he takes it out.

Their wedding day.

The smell of the ocean in the background, the sound of the cheers from their family as they vowed to have and to hold each other through it all… the sight of Tommy dressed in his tux, so handsome, so in love, so happy.

They were so happy… for a while. They didn’t get nearly enough time before the outbreak.

Then it was long days, and longer nights of fighting to stay alive; fighting to keep everyone they cared about alive. So in vain, and slowly they watched as their family dwindled down until there were just a handful of them left.

It was supposed to be a simple night run. They needed water. They needed more medicine. The store was so close… but not close enough. The attack was brutal. More lives lost.

Tommy got bit.

“Ev- Evan, baby… listen to me,” he tried, as Buck panickedly tried to clean out the wound.

“No. I can— I can fix this… just let me think.”

“Evan.”

“We— We’ll cut off your arm,” he suggests. “It’s worked before…”

“It’s already spreading, baby. Look…” Tommy pulls up the bloody sleeve revealing the bluish green streaks running towards his neck and chest. “It’s too late… you have to.”

“No.”

“Baby, we promised each other—” Tommy begged, tears falling from his eyes, the infection visibly creeping up his neck. Buck frantically shook his head, tuning out Tommy’s cries. “Evan!” He gasped. “Shoot me! Please!”

“No! I can’t!”

***

Buck wipes his eyes and slides the frame back into the bag. He slowly rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over to the bathroom and pushes the door open. Loud snarling, grunting and gurgling—that would normally send him into fight or flight mode—comes out of the darkness. He shines his flashlight into the room, stepping inside and unclipping the chain from one of the stalls. “Come on, sweetheart… we’re almost there.”

They walk through the empty streets of what used to be LA; Buck leading Tommy (wrapped safely in a makeshift straight jacket, and wearing a muzzle) by the thick chain. The latter stumbles and growls, his head snapping this way and that, teeth chattering as he does his best to chomp at anything past the muzzle. They make it home just as the rain starts to fall.

Buck steps inside the door, pulls Tommy through as well, and looks around at what’s left of their destroyed house—some of the mess they had made themselves in the panic to flee the infected city, some done after by people looking for shelter and supplies. He walks through the rooms, remembering the days they were filled with happy memories and life; the promise of a bright future. They were going to grow old in this house… live out the rest of their lives in this house.

At least one of those was correct.

He sighs, and leads Tommy up to the bedroom, securing him on the solid, sturdy, bedpost of their king size bed. He opens the bag, takes out the frame and sets it up on the bedside table. He takes out what he got from the little corner shop—a gun shop— and grits his teeth as he lifts his shirt, revealing the bite mark he’s been tirelessly trying to keep from spreading… until now.

“Buck you have to let him go,” they had tried to tell him. “It’s not even— he wouldn’t want this… to live like this… for you to live like this…”

He has lost so many people, the ones he didn’t lose to the virus, he lost for his impulsive, borderline insane decision. He’s been alone for a while… but at least he still had Tommy, in some way.

Buck fights just to take in another breath, and puts a bullet into the gun. Tommy grunts and struggles against his restraints. “Almost ready,” Buck says. He is tired… but he won’t be for long. He walks over to Tommy and unhooks the chain from the bed. He looks into those glossed over eyes, gray and distant and thinks about when they were blue and bright and happy. They were happy once. Maybe they will be happy again in the next life.

He slips a key in the restraints lock, swiftly turning it and releasing Tommy, He quickly pulls him into a hug, Tommy grabbing him back, turning his head into Buck’s neck and biting down. Buck pressing his head tight against Tommy’s. “I love you,” he says, and closes his eyes.

The cool barrel against his cheek turns into a cool breeze and the salty smell of the ocean fills the air. Buck opens his eyes and is met with a beautiful sunset, a crowded beach… and Tommy, smiling at him. He blinks a few times to see if it’s all just going to disappear…

“Hey baby, I’ve been waiting for you,” Tommy says, holding out his hand, the remnant of sunlight catching on his wedding band. Buck stares at Tommy for a moment, just taking in the sight. He smiles and takes his hand, and they join their family out by the water.

It’s years later before the Buckley-Kinard house is visited again.

Years since they were sent away to a safe haven while their parents fought off hoard after hoard, until the virus had runs its course. Those lost souls that weren’t instantly killed from the virus, or the battalion sent out to fight off the undead the virus created, eventually just rotted away until they were no longer a threat.

“Hey Chris!” Jee calls from a bedroom. “I found something!” He stops poking around with one of his canes, rummaging for anything left to salvage from the house he spent many days of his youth, and goes to see what she found. In the back bedroom, laid out across the mattress of a tattered king sized bed, are two skeletons clinging to each other.

“Do you think it’s them?” Jee asks.

Chris steps closer, inspects the bodies; most notably their hands, and the matching bands they both are wearing. He looks up at the faded picture still sitting on the bedside table and smiles, a tear slipping from his eye. “Yeah… it’s them.”

#911 abc #bucktommy #zombie au #based on fanart #It was just too good not to stop what I was doing and write #evan buckley #tommy kinard #118 firefam #yall it made me do MCD… this fandom has me rewired!#mcd #But like not too sad kinda…#Ok it is #tw mcd #tw death #tw sui implied

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phantompanties · 4 months ago

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🔞MINORS DNI🔞

And They Were Roomates

Summary: It's your senior year at New World University, and there's been some changes to the dorms since you went home for your summer break. As such, roommate plans have been rearranged, and you were to meet your new one today. Imagine your shock when the man who walked through the door was your tormentor for most of your life here...

Relationship: Eustass kidd x Fem!reader

Tags: modern au, college au, Kidd is a bully, sexual tension, hatefucking, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, name calling, rough sex, creampie, brat taming if you squint, Kidd catches feelings at the end

Length: nearly 3k words

The lock of your dormitory door clicked as you twisted the key, granting you access. When you were welcomed by a dark entryway, you realized your mysterious new roommate wasn’t here yet. No matter, you didn’t mind being here first.

Due to a complication with the system, you were unable to find out who your roommate for this semester was going to be. It truthfully made you a little nervous, as your last roommate was a total sweetheart named Koala, a political science major who dabbled in martial arts. The two of you became fast friends during the previous few semesters, but alas, life wasn't so kind this time around. Starting fresh wasn’t bad though. You at least hoped that your new roommate would be just as nice as Koala. You pulled your luggage into one of the two small bedrooms allotted to you. You found it a little strange that there were two bedrooms, as you were used to the same single-room dorms you and Koala shared, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It felt like a luxury to actually have some privacy. When you were finished, you looked around the common area. It was very cramped, only having room for a loveseat and an itty bitty coffee table across from the small TV mounted to the wall, but again, it was far bigger than the dorms you were used to. You were actually kind of excited!

Of course, that excitement was interrupted by the door swinging wide open, and your heart sank when a familiar broom of red hair ducked through the frame.

When his amber eyes caught sight of you, his whole face soured. “No fuckin’ way. You!?”

Oh sweet merciful lord, NO. Eustass Kidd!? Your mysterious roommate is the biggest pain in your ass since you enrolled!? He’s done nothing but bully you around like a middle schooler every time the two of you had a class! This bastard was the number one reason you were so happy to go home for the summer every year!

You swallowed your shock and disdain, attempting to figuratively be the bigger person. “I… wasn’t expecting this…”

“Yeah, well neither was I!” he spits, his Scottish accent thick in his speech. “I have the bloody misfortune of rooming with this fuckin’ twat!”

“Excuse me!?” you bark. “How dare you!?”

“Ya heard me, bird. I can’t fuckin stand bein’ around yer prissy arse.”

“Prissy!?” you exclaim. “Well excuse me for actually caring about my appearance! You always look like you just rolled out of bed!”

“It’s called bein’ punk, ya dafty.” He shoots back. “That’s the bloody point.”

“I’ve seen punks that take better care of their appearance than you! Not to mention the stench every time I have the misfortune of being near you. If you’re gonna live here, at least take a fucking shower every day!”

“Oh, that’s rich comin’ from the twat that reeks like she bathes in a tub o’ perfume every mornin’! How many bottles do ya go through a week? I can smell ya from three rooms over!”

“It’s a nice smell and I hardly use that much!” you shoot back. “Maybe if you stopped huffing engine fumes all goddamn day you’d be able to appreciate it.”

“Hah!” he barks out a laugh. “At least I’m usin’ my time for somethin’ useful! Aren’t you majorin’ somethin’ bloody useless? Like English?”

“I’m a Communications major, dumbass. Big difference.”

“Aye, whatever. Don’t get yer knickers in a twist.” Kidd huffs, throwing his prosthetic arm up and dragging his luggage to his bedroom. Thank god the two of you at least had separate rooms…

When he returned from his room, he pointed at you. “We’re gonna have tae lay down some ground rules, bird. Coz if I’m stuck roomin’ with ya, I want my life to at least be a little tolerable.”

“I should be saying that…” you huff, crossing your arms.

“One, keep yer bleedin’ trap shut. I hate listenin’ to ya yap enough as it is.”

“You can’t just tell me to be quiet, asshole!” you argue. “That isn’t fair!”

“Life ain’t fair, ninny. Two, stay the fuck away from my room. If I catch a whiff of yer stench on any of my shit, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“That goes the same for you.” you agree.

Kidd snorts. “Three, you’ll let me bring over whoever the hell I want and ya won’t say a damn thing about it. That includes whoever I feel like shaggin’ that night.”

“Oh great, I get to listen to you disappoint your lovers in real-time. Is it my birthday?” you snark.

“Oy! Don’t be callin’ me some one-pump-chump, bird. You’d be surprised to know how many hoors I got blowin’ my phone up every day.”

“I didn’t call you a one-pump-chump,” you say with a smirk. “You’re telling on yourself.”

Kidd choked on air, and you felt like you could dance in victory. You actually got one on him! This is a high you’ll be riding for the rest of your life!

“Right, now listen here, ya cheeky cunt.” Kidd, growls, getting in your face and poking you in the chest with his prosthetic hand. “Don’t be thinkin’ that just coz ya made a little joke that yer above me. I guarantee that I can have ya shakin’ and screamin’ my name all night.”

“Looks like I struck a nerve,” you say, still smirking and looking up at his fiery eyes. “But I don’t believe your empty lies, Kidd. sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not a lie, bird…” Kidd growls, lifting your chin with his metal finger. “It’s a promise.”

Something about the way he said that sent electricity shooting down your belly and into your groin. Fuck, you hated this bastard, but the way his bright eyes were boring into you so hungrily made you wanna squeeze your thighs together.

“What do ya say, bird? Ya want a ride with the Eustass Kidd? The way yer lookin’ at me, I’d say yes…”

“Don’t call yourself “the” Eustass Kidd like you’re some kind of celebrity, dumbass.” you snarked.

“Oy, do somethin’ about that mouth o’ yours or I’m gonna do it for ye,” he growled, gripping your jaw and squishing your cheeks.

“Do it, you won’t,” you whispered, challenging him.

Kidd smashed his ruby-painted lips into yours then, groaning in a way that made your core throb. He moved his hands down to your ass, squeezing with both his flesh and prosthetic hands. Your hands travelled up his broad chest, hooking around his thick neck. When his tongue licked your greedy lips, you opened them, permitting him to shove it down your throat. The air became heated as the two of you clicked your teeth together, rubbing and grinding your bodies in an intense display of raw lust.

You squeaked as his rough hands picked you up like you weighed nothing, wrapping your legs around his torso. He smirked into your lips as he carried you to his bed.

Once there, he threw you into his sheets, not even waiting for you to settle out the first couple of bounces before he went and attacked your pretty lips again. He could feel that his lipstick was smudged all over both of your mouths, but he didn’t give a fuck. You tasted too fucking good, and he wanted more.

He disconnected your lips for a moment, smirking at the translucent string of saliva that connected your tongues. He removed his faded band tee, revealing his thick, muscled body scarred from years of reckless street fighting. He went in to tug your shirt off next, groaning in your ear. “Let me see that fuckin’ body of yours, bird.”

You gasped breathlessly, helping him remove your blouse and bra. When your chest was bare, he licked his lips approvingly. “Been wantin’ to see these pretty tits since I met ya.”

“Yeah, I bet, pervert.” you snark.

Growling, Kidd dove into your neck, biting and licking while he pinched your nipples in his warm flesh hand, rolling and tugging between his fingers. You bit your lip, holding in your moans.

“Ah, ah, don’t be doin’ that birdie. Let me hear how much ya love it,” he smirked against your skin.

“Y-you’ll have to do better than that, Useless Mid.” you challenge. “You aren’t getting shit from me.”

“Oh, the little prissy miss has a spine, eh? Very well.” you shivered when he looked you dead in the eyes. The look he was giving you was downright predatory.

In a swift motion, KIdd tugged down your sweats and panties at the same time, revealing your glistening folds. You looked away from his face then, embarrassed.

“Aww, are you gettin’ shy on me, bird? Where’s your cheeky jokes?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up…” you mumble, still not looking in his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, love. Surely you’ve shagged at least a few times with this body of yours.”

“I-I don’t think that’s any of your business!” you gasp at him.

“I’m right ain’t I?” he grins.

“No, you’re not!” you shout, covering your face in annoyance. “I’m just not used to it being like this!”

“Ah, but you like it, don’t ya, bird? Yer as wet as a drowned rat.”

“Shut up…”

“I bet your minge tastes just as sweet as your mouth, birdie. I’m gonna give ya the face ride o’ yer fuckin’ life.”

“Stop talking and do it already you- hnnHHAAHH!”

You couldn’t contain your moan when Kidd’s rough tongue licked a stripe up your sopping folds, and he chuckled. “There it is. Keep making those sounds, pretty girl.”

You hated to admit this, but this was probably the best head you’ve gotten in your life. Kidd drank from you greedily like you were a water fountain and he was dying of thirst. The way his lips latched around your clit and the sounds of him slurping from your dripping hole were enough to make you go crazy. Your hand found his mess of scarlet red hair, tugging him further into your aching pussy as you ground it on his face. Kidd couldn’t contain his moans and the vibrations shocked your clit deliciously.

“Mmmhf… yer close, ain’t ya, bird?” he groans against your hole as he slurps. “Mmmngh… yer twitchin’ on me face. C’mon, then. Cum on my tongue ya dirty cunt. Y’know ya want tae.”

You gripped his hair harder with one hand and covered your mouth with the other, letting out a loud moan as your orgasm ripped through. Kidd moaned into your pussy as he lapped up your delicious cream.

While you were lying there, twitching with aftershocks, Kidd admired the new bright red pair of lipstick panties he left on your cute pussy. He wished his phone was closer to the bed so he could take a picture for his wank bank. Oh well, he had a good memory anyway.

“Sh-shit…” you gasped. “Oh fuck…”

“Mmmh, that don’t sound like disappointment to me, birdie,” Kidd smirks, leaning in front of your face.

“S-so what? You may be good with your mouth, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re a one-pump-chump…”

“You’re losin’ yer edge, lass. You don’t sound like ya mean that anymore.”

“Shut up, asshole.” you spat, although still breathless. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to make ya, then.” he chuckles.

Kidd momentarily stepped off the bed to remove his belts and pants, revealing a sizable tent in his boxers. You swallowed in anticipation, a little nervous.

Kidd made a show of revealing his cock, and by god, Kidd was a large man, and that thing was proportional. Your eyes widened in both hunger and a little bit of fear and he laughed.

“Ya like what ya see, birdie?” he asks, stroking it slowly.

“It’s… bigger than I expected…” you whimper.

This seemed to stroke Kidd’s ego exponentially because he gave a low growl. “That’s right, bird. And every last inch is gonna fill ya right up.”

He knelt back on the bed, pulling your hips forward and slowly rubbing his cock up and down your pussy.

“Ah yeah, you’re nice n’ wet for me, ya dirty girl. It should slide in no problem.”

“W-will it fit…?” you gulp.

You saw Kidd’s cock twitch at that. “Careful, bird. You’re askin’ for me to break the bed when ya talk like that.”

Kidd lined himself with your drooling hole, slowly pushing himself inside. He threw his head back as your gummy walls fluttered around the intrusion.

“Fuck…” he moans. “So hot… so tight…”

You gripped the sheets as he slid further into your walls, nearly bumping your cervix with his blunt tip.

“Shit… yer like a bloody vice on my cock, birdie…” he groans, biting his lip.

“You’re just too fucking big!” you whine.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he says, leaning down and smirking in your face. “Yer hips are movin’ on their own, love. Ya want me to rail ya senseless, don’tcha? Ya want me to ruin other guys for ya? I’ll give ya what ya want, birdie. I’ll make you addicted to my cock.”

“Nnghf… shut up and fuck me!” you snap.

Kid grinned wildly, diving into your neck and slowly pulling out, then slamming back in. he gave a few harsh thrusts before he set a brutal pace, fucking you like a man possessed. It wasn’t a stretch to say he was, your pussy just felt that fucking good.

You whined, scrambling to find his neck for purchase. God the feeling of him stretching you was heavenly. You couldn’t help but rake your nails across his shoulders. Kidd leaned back from your neck, admiring the deep bite marks he left as he pounded you. Now Kidd was in there deep, but he felt like he could go deeper. He took his big hands, both flesh and metal, gripping your hips and pulling you even further onto his cock. You gasped, eyes filling with stars as his blunt head kissed against your cervix. “God… I’ve been wanting to fill your cunt for so fuckin’ long… wish I’d done this sooner…!”

“F-fuck! Kidd!” you wail, your fingernails drawing angry red lines in his skin.

Kidd growled, grabbing the back of your thighs and folding you in half. The man had you in a mating press and was pounding into you so hard you were sure you heard the floor creaking. Your eyes rolled back into your head and Kidd chuckled, his eyes darkened with lust.

“I can feel ya gettin’ tighter, love. Ya wanna cum so bad, don’tcha? Yer already creamin’ so good on me. Say ya wanna cum, birdie. Tell me how bad ya want it.”

“F-fuck… fuck you, Kidd…” you whine, screwing your eyes shut.

“You’re already doin’ that birdie. C’mon now, don’t be shy. Tell me ya wanna cum. Beg for it. Fuckin’ scream it.”

“L-let me cum, Kidd, please!” you wail. “I need it! Fuck, please!”

Kidd groaned, cock twitching in your walls. “Good girl.”

His flesh hand travelled between your bodies. And his thumb met your clit, rubbing in tight circles. “Come on… cum on my cock, ya dirty cunt. Let the whole buildin’ know who ya belong to.”

White hot pleasure exploded in your veins, and your gummy walls clamped and fluttered on Kidd’s cock. A ring of white spilled around the base.

“Grrghh-FUCK!!!” Kidd moans, shoving his cock balls deep into you and painting your insides white with his hot sticky cum. He thrust a few times, riding out both of your highs until it got painful with overstimulation. When he was done, he collapsed with his face in your tits, being sure to mind his weight.

“Oh… oh my god…” you pant, mind thoroughly blown.

“Sounds like ya had a good time, birdie,” Kidd whispers in your ear.

You groaned. “A-alright fine… you’re good at sex, I admit it.”

Kidd surprised you by gently kissing your cheek, rolling off you and slipping his soft cock out of you at the same time.

As the two of you calmed down, you glanced at him. “So… you wanted to do that for a while, huh?”

For the first time you think you’ve ever seen, Eustass Kidd flushed bright red. You giggled, stroking your finger down his chest. “Did you spill a big secret?”

“Aye, haud yer wheesht, ya twat…” he grumbled.

“You don’t mean that Kiddy.” you tease. “You wanted me, admit it! How long have you been thinking about this?”

Kidd mumbled something incoherent, and you rolled over on his chest. “Say that again, Kidd. I can't hear you.”

“Fuck’s sake—since that time in class ya smacked the shite outta me for callin’ ya a bimbo.”

You couldn’t contain your snort. “Really? You got hard over a smack?”

Kidd flushed deeper. “I like when bonnies are able tae smack me around… it's a nice challenge…”

“Wow.” you say. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Shut it before I make ya regret openin’ that cheeky mouth o’ yours, bird.”

You snorted, resting your head on his large chest. “For what it’s worth, no one’s ever made me cum so hard in my life. I can barely feel my legs right now…”

Kidd grunted, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “I suppose I can let ya stay here… just for tonight.”

“Oh, how gentlemanly.” you giggle, nuzzling into his large pecs. “Good, because you’re really comfortable.”

Kidd’s cheeks dusted pink. “Whatever, birdie. Just don't drool on me, aye?”

“No promises.” you sigh dreamily.

#one piece fanfiction #eustass kidd x reader #smut #one piece smut #modern au #im sorry scots if i fucked up the accent #i did my best pls no bully #oh my god they were roommates

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