#i had it saved on my phone but just by name not by link and now I cannot find itttt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

woniwontons · 3 days ago

Text

DEAD END I bob reynolds x OC! reader | CHAPTER ONE

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

word count: 4.7K

warnings: psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, this one is gonna be slow-paced but i promise it'll be worth it, sorry for any formatting issues, i switched between my phone & laptop writing this

LINK FOR PART TWO

You hadn’t meant to walk by that room on the way to your new office.

The reassignment orders had come through two days ago. They were sparse in detail, not revealing much of anything except for your new title. Your supervisor’s tone had said more than the written briefing did: this wasn’t just a regular high-risk case.

But you were used to things being complicated.

You’d spent the last year assisting with the Winter Soldier’s support team. Trauma. Suppressed memories. You’d seen a lot.

Regardless, this felt much, much different.

The hallways were sterile and silent, a little too quiet for a facility that usually buzzed with motion, even at night. The lights overhead were dimmed, flickering slightly. The ventilation hummed as the cool breeze of the AC grazed your skin.

You weren’t nervous until the echo of your footsteps felt louder.

Until you realized how alone you were.

And that’s when you felt the presence of the door.

You couldn’t seem to take another step past it.

It was identical to every other reinforced room on this level. It had smooth steel edges, embedded biometric locks, a security panel with soft pulsing light. But the air around it felt different.

The lights above the door flickered once, a small stutter, bringing your attention back. It was hard to keep your focus here. The electronic warning panel on the door read:

SECURITY – MONITORED ACCESS ONLY

There were no guards to hold back your curiosity.

No surveillance drones stationed nearby. No tech crew logged into the panel. No footsteps echoing behind you.

Just the door.

And the feeling of a lingering presence.

You didn’t hear anything at first, but your body reacted before your mind could. The tiny hairs on your arms lifted. Your throat felt dry. Your heartbeat stuttered into a rhythm that had nothing to do with physical effort and everything to do with instinct.

Something was awake, and suddenly the temperature felt so cold.

You swallowed hard and told yourself to keep walking. You had no reason to stop—no reason to look at the blackened glass viewport in the center of the door. But your eyes betrayed you.

Your gaze shifted.

And for just a second, you thought you saw movement. Not a figure. Not a face. Just a shape—tall, slow-moving, silhouetted against the low light inside. Pacing.

Then gone.

You weren’t sure why your hand rose to hover near the panel. Maybe curiosity. Maybe something stranger. Like gravity.

The moment your fingers drifted too close, your ears rang with a sudden sharp buzz — not from the tower, but from somewhere inside your skull.

Like the nothingness had warned you against it.

And you heeded it thankfully before quickly walking away.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we decided to pull you from your old team,” said the lead psychologist, Dr. Harding, as she passed you a tablet with a heavily redacted profile. Her overall expression was neutral, but her eyes watched your reaction carefully. “As you know, we are always working with clients of highest risk imaginable. Every single one of our clients has the ability to harm us, even accidentally.”

You nodded slowly, eyes scanning the document. Most of it was blacked out, save for one name: Reynolds, Robert. The next line simply read: Subject has powers which cannot be contained. No confirmed usage since initial incident.

“Still,” she added, lowering her voice, “this one is… different.”

You swallowed, saying nothing.

“He’s not like Barnes. Barnes needed discipline. A task and sense of righteous purpose. Bob—” she exhaled through her nose, “—Bob needs connection and reassurance. Very few people last more than a week with him. Not because he’s violent. But because he’s… persistent.”

You glanced up.

She elaborated, tone cautious. “Emotionally. He fixates. He doesn’t always understand boundaries. And lately, he’s been quieter. Withdrawn. Like he knows people are afraid of him, and he’s trying not to be a burden.”

The memory of the door flickering last night, of the movement behind the glass, returned like ice down your spine. You wondered how safe you were right now, only a few feet away from him again.

“He asked to speak to me this morning, and I'd like you to join our discussion,” Dr. Harding said.

Your stomach dropped. "Of course."

S̵͇̺̿̓E̷̜̼͂͋S̵̘̙͊̐S̶̟͂̾Ị̶̂̔O̵̟̪͝Ň̶̫̼͌ ̵̣̽Ö̴̰̪́N̴͇̺͑E̶͚͋́

The observation room was dim, washed in blue light, and clinically empty. You stood behind a panel of reinforced glass, your clipboard clutched tightly in your hand. Through the window, Bob sat on the edge of a training mat in the adjacent room, one hand resting loosely on his knee, the other curled into a fist against his temple. Not tense—just relaxed.

He looked up as you entered. Slowly.

You tried not to flinch.

No glowing eyes. No flickering shadows. Just a man with tousled hair and the kind of silence that made your skin itch.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.

He was studying you.

As if last night hadn’t been a hallucination. As if he knew you’d been outside his door. You weren't sure why that came to your mind.

You lifted your chin. “Dr. Harding had to take a call, but she told me to go ahead and introduce myself. You can call me Miss Y/L/N.”

His lips parted slightly, voice low and almost too soft to hear.

“Not a doctor yet, huh? So you're not here to shrink me?”

You blinked. “Not like that, Mr. Reynolds. I'm Harding's assistant, and I haven't finished my doctorate to be a psychologist yet.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” he said before cocking his head in your direction curiously. “You know, I can tell when someone’s afraid of me. You really don't have to be, I don't feel the void when I'm awake anymore.”

There was no accusation in his tone. Just a resigned kind of sadness that made your throat feel tight, from a voice that sounded so kind and soft-spoken.

You cleared your throat, "When you're awake?"

"You can call me Robert or Bob if it makes you more comfortable," he exclaimed sweetly, avoiding the question as he stood up from the training mat.

You nodded once, slowly. “Bob, then.”

He smiled, but not fully. It was small, crooked, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nervous.

“I don’t get many visitors,” he said, stepping forward slowly. He didn’t want to startle you. “Most people watch me from the other side of the glass and call it a day.”

You didn’t move, but your grip on the clipboard tightened.

Bob stopped a respectful distance away, reading you like you were a kind of file that he hadn’t been allowed to open yet.

“I felt you yesterday,” he added, softer this time in a near whisper. “Outside my door.”

Your chest tightened.

“I wasn't watching like a creep or anything,” he said quickly, lifting his hands as if to prove he meant no harm. “I just… noticed.”

You glanced down at your notes, trying to redirect. “Well, that’s not unusual. The facility sensors are—”

“No,” he interrupted, still gentle. “Not like that. I felt you. You have a very specific… shadow.”

You looked up. “Shadow?”

He seemed suddenly shy, almost sheepish. “Or your heartbeat. It skipped before the lights flickered. I don’t know why.”

You stared at him, trying to decide whether he meant it as a threat. But his expression didn’t match the words. He looked... guilty.

“Sorry,” he added quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “That was too much. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m trying to get better at this.”

“At what?” you asked, a little too quietly.

“Being normal when I'm not,” he replied. “Being someone people don’t get so nervous around. I understand why though, it's not easy to relive your fears if I happen to lose control.”

The room was still. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above your head, grounding the moment in silent reality.

You wanted to say something clinical. Professional. Something to remind yourself that you were here to observe, not to sympathize.

Instead, your voice came out a little rough.

“You said you don’t feel the Void when you’re awake.”

He paused.

“I said I don’t think I feel it,” he clarified. “But sometimes... it’s hard to tell where it ends and I begin. Especially when I’m alone and sleepy.”

You nodded. Your notes stayed untouched.

There was something haunting in how easily he said that, like he’d rehearsed it with the expectation that you'd ask.

“Do you dream, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated. “I—yes. Everyone does.”

He smiled faintly. “I hope they're good dreams.”

You didn’t ask him to explain.

You didn’t want to know, and this introduction was turning into something that Dr. Harding should be present for to take notes.

Before he could elaborate, the door behind you hissed open.

You turned instinctively, grateful for the interruption.

Though your pulse hadn’t yet steadied.

Dr. Harding stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the tile. She carried a tablet tucked under her arm and wore the same unreadable expression you'd come to recognize as her baseline.

“Apologies,” she said briskly, offering Bob a polite nod. “I was on with our night crew about your activity from last night’s scan. There was a minor spike around midnight.”

You felt your stomach twist.

Bob didn’t look at her. His eyes remained on you now.

Dr. Harding continued, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of the undercurrent in the room. “Miss Y/L/N, you can remain if you’d like, but I’ll be taking over from here. I imagine you’ve had enough of the angst for your first morning.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bob beat you to it.

“She was doing just fine,” he said quietly, seemingly unoffended by the rude quip towards him.

Harding gave him a pointed look. “That’s not your call to make, Bob.”

He lowered his gaze, jaw shifting slightly. “Sorry.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’ll stay,” you said, surprising even yourself.

Both heads turned toward you.

“I want to observe how you conduct a formal session,” you added quickly, recovering your tone. “It’s useful for my training.”

Harding studied you for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Pull a chair.”

You moved to the far corner of the room, placing your clipboard in your lap, keeping your pen steady even though your thoughts weren’t. You couldn't understand what his presence was doing to you.

As Dr. Harding took the lead, asking standard check-in questions, you watched Bob answer. Politely, softly, or sometimes with a joke that didn't quite land right.

But once or twice, when Harding looked down at her notes, he looked at you instead.

Not like he expected anything back.

But like you were the only person in the room.

And that scared you more than anything he’d said so far.

By the end of the session, your clipboard was so full of notes you weren’t entirely sure you remembered writing. Your hand had moved automatically—recording answers, glancing at biometric readouts—but your attention had never really left him.

Bob’s answers were consistent. Measured. Gentle. He didn’t dodge questions, but he didn’t volunteer much either. You could tell Harding was used to this rhythm between them—asking just enough, pulling back when the silences grew too long.

Still, it didn’t feel like a cold interview. Especially with the strange nature of the therapy, testing Bob's self-control in combat simulations with the trainers.

When Harding eventually closed the session, Bob nodded respectfully and returned to the center of the room to begin his cooldown exercises. You saw the tension creep back into him as he struggled to focus on the trainer's guided stretches.

You stood, unsure whether to stay longer or let yourself out.

Harding approached you instead. “How are you feeling?” she asked, lowering her voice just enough that Bob wouldn’t hear.

You hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s good,” she replied, and for once, her tone softened. “It means you’re paying attention.”

You nodded.

“He doesn’t show it, but he’s… more aware of people’s emotional responses than most patients. He reads faces better than some of the staff. If he keeps looking at you, it’s because you’re giving him something he’s not used to.”

You didn’t ask what that was. You had a sinking feeling you already knew.

Before you could say anything else, Bob’s voice broke the silence behind you.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

You whipped around quickly, surprised by the proximity of his voice.

He stood there with a small towel draped over his shoulder, hair slightly damp from exertion, eyes unreadable. There was nothing threatening about his posture—if anything, he looked uncertain, almost guilty for speaking. It was getting harder to imagine such an anxious, lanky man being so capable of such darkness.

“Can I ask you something before you go?”

Harding arched an eyebrow, but didn’t stop you.

You took a step closer, keeping the chair between you.

“…Yes?”

He glanced toward Harding, then back at you. “Last night. In the hall. Why did you stop?”

The question landed like a stone dropped in still water.

You blinked. “I didn’t. I—kept walking.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“But you hesitated.”

You couldn’t lie, at least not convincingly. “…I was curious.”

“That’s not why,” he said. Then added, “But I liked that you did.”

Your pulse stuttered. He said it so plainly, but he was right. You didn’t respond.

Harding saved you from having to. “Bob, let’s not cross wires on what professional curiosity means, alright?”

He lowered his gaze again, the way a child might after being gently scolded. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

You left a moment later, your steps quicker than before, the clipboard clutched tighter in your hands.

You told yourself you weren’t going to think about it again.

But you already knew you would.

Your room in the tower was small but fit the essence of your character, a carefully controlled space designed to make you feel comfortable after everything you hear about.

You dropped your clipboard on the desk and laid at the edge of the bed, chin in your hands, staring at the wall like it might blink back at you.

He’d said he liked that you stopped.

You should’ve brushed it off. Chalked it up to a badly timed word vomit. But the way he’d said it, like it mattered more than anything he’d told Dr. Harding, was still echoing in your head.

You ran a hand down your face and pulled your notebook out of the drawer, flipping to a blank page.

You stopped writing.

None of it was what you actually wanted to say.

I liked that you did.

I liked that you

I liked that

I liked

You stared at the sentences, then scribbled them out.

A chill passed over your shoulders as the temperature in the room dropped. The light in your room dimmed slightly as the automatic system shifted to evening mode.

You turned, instinctively to the door.

Nothing was there. But the air felt wrong. Off. Like someone else had entered the room.

You stood and walked slowly to the door, double-checked the lock even though it always auto-engaged. Then you turned on the small lamp by the bedside and laid down again—this time, facing the door instead of the wall. You decided that was enough notes for the day, and besides, your eyes suddenly felt... so heavy.

You must’ve fallen asleep without realizing it.

One moment, you were sitting on top of your sheets with the lamp still on, notebook untouched. The next, you were standing in a hallway that didn’t belong to the tower.

It was too familiar.

The walls were beige, slightly stained from years of dust spreading in through the corners. The carpet flattened in the center from pacing. The smell of coffee and pasta gone cold. Your old apartment.

From grad school.

You froze.

The silence pressed against your eardrums. The kind of silence that happens after a scream you didn’t realize left your throat.

Your body moved forward before you could stop it. One step, then two. The door to your old bedroom was left ajar for you, calling you towards it.

The light inside flickered.

You pushed it open — and there she was.

You.

Sitting on the floor in sweats and a threadbare hoodie. Surrounded by boxes of your mother's things and jewelry. Her hands trembled as she unscrewed the child-proof cap on a small orange bottle.

Your throat closed.

You knew this moment.

You remembered it with sickening clarity. It was the week after your mother’s funeral, two projects overdue, and every message you received asking if you were okay. You hated that back then because you clearly were not.

You watched as your past self tipped the bottle into her palm.

One pill. Then two.

Then a handful.

You stepped into the room, breath shaking. "Stop," you whispered at first, feeling choked up before getting louder, "Stop doing that!"

She didn’t even look at you.

You tried to speak. Tried to reach her. But your mouth didn’t work now. The room seemed to stretch as you lunged forward, trying to stop yourself as you swallowed them all.

Then came the shift.

The lighting changed.

The edges of the room warped, like someone was folding the memory in half.

A shadow spread behind your past self like a creeping blush, infecting the light cast upon your old bedroom before it consumed the entire room.

You bolted upright in bed with a ragged gasp, your heart pounding in your ears. The lamp was still on. The room untouched.

But a page from your notebook flipped, revealing a message written in shadow that disappeared as soon as you saw it.

"I'm sorry."

The morning light in the cafeteria was too bright.

It filtered in through the tower’s east-facing windows in thick beams, warming the tile floors and casting long shadows across the tables. Everything felt too clean to you now. Like it had been scrubbed of anything human overnight.

You walked in with your head down, trying not to look like you’d barely slept. Your stomach wasn’t ready for food, but the routine mattered. If you didn’t eat, someone would notice.

The dream still clung to your skin like a film. You hadn’t written about it in your journal like you normally would. You hadn’t even tried. It felt too... personal. Too invasive. Not just because it had shown you something from your past, but because something else had watched it with you.

Played the scene in your nightmare like watching a movie.

You joined the breakfast line, going through the motions. Coffee. Scrambled eggs. A slice of toast you knew you wouldn’t finish.

Then a voice behind you broke the silence.

“Didn’t sleep, huh?”

You turned, already bracing yourself.

Bucky stood a few feet away in dark sweats and a henley shirt, a tray in his hand and a knowing look on his face. His hair was damp. He’d probably just taken a shower, and his expression was casually examining your attire.

He wasn’t the kind of person who pried. But he wasn’t blind either.

You gave him the best version of a smile you could muster. “How could you tell?”

He tilted his head, gesturing loosely to your sweatpants. "You usually come down to breakfast with clothes a lot more put together than that.”

You frowned slightly. “That obvious?”

He shrugged. “It happens."

You didn’t answer as you stepped out of the line and moved toward the far table near the window. Bucky followed, uninvited but not unwelcome. He set his tray down across from you and sat down without a word.

For a moment, you both just existed, eating in silence and letting the normalcy of the room stitch itself into your day.

“So. I heard you met our new friend, he's a character isn't he?"

You looked up slowly. “I observed my first session yesterday,” you said evenly. “With Dr. Harding.”

He nodded. “And?”

You hesitated. Your first instinct was to abide by the rules, remembering that although the Avengers were held to a different legal standard, you didn't want to break any laws by telling Bucky any details.

But Bucky was one of the few people in this building who understood what it meant to be haunted by something. Something you didn’t always control or understand.

So instead, you said the partial truth.

“He’s not what I expected.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Better or worse?”

You stirred your coffee. “Both.”

That made him smile faintly. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

You didn’t elaborate. You didn’t tell him about the way Bob looked at you. About the dream. About the notebook.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely.

“Just be careful,” he said after a pause. “You’re sharp. You care. That’s why they assigned you to him, they can't depend on just Yelena to keep him in check. He has to control it on his own, and you were the best when it came to helping me.”

You met his eyes, thankful that he said something so reassuringly kind to you. "I will. I really appreciate that."

S̴̫͒Ẹ̸̀͝S̶̺̐S̴̡̄̋I̶̮̱̒O̵̹͕͆͘N̴̯͔̓̌ ̶̯̈́̏Ṭ̴̓W̵̜͉̔̚O̵̲̠͆̉

The observation room was colder today, or maybe you were just wearing a thinner cardigan than last time.

You stood behind the glass, arms crossed over your clipboard, watching as Bob went through his pre-session movements in the adjoining chamber. He moved slower than yesterday, but it was less like he was conserving power, and more like he didn’t want to be there.

You couldn’t blame him.

You weren’t sure you did either.

Dr. Harding was absent this time entirely. Something about a meeting with Valentina, leaving you in charge of monitoring brain activity and logging interactions. She’d called it a “minor check-in.”

You weren’t sure how minor anything could be when your entire nervous system still buzzed from a horrible dream that didn’t feel like something you would have thought of yesterday.

Bob glanced up, eyes finding you instantly.

You tried not to react. You tried to stay clinical, but something must’ve shown on your face.

He turned fully toward the glass. Then spoke, “You look tired.”

Your stomach dropped before you stepped forward and pressed the button. “Good morning to you too,” you said, voice sharper than you intended.

Bob gave you a sheepish smile, slighting his head down as he rubbed the back of his neck. “That wasn’t an insult, I swear. Just an observation.”

You cleared your throat. “Let’s begin, Mr. Reynolds. I’d like to start with baseline questions.”

“You can call me Bob, remember?” he said again, stepping closer to the partition. “I think we already passed the awkward part.”

You hesitated, then nodded.

“…Bob.”

He seemed pleased by that, smiling contently at your choice.

“Your brain activity is all registering as normal to what we already know,” you said, eyes flicking to the monitor, though you barely registered the data. “Any disturbances overnight?”

He tilted his head, pity filling his eyes. “Not mine.”

Your pen paused over the page.

“Sorry?”

Bob shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t dream. But you did.”

You slowly set the clipboard down.

“And it showed me things,” he continued, voice quieter now. “Things I don’t think were mine to see.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to because you already knew what he meant.

Bob’s eyes searched your face with a softness that made your skin crawl—not because it was threatening, but because it wasn’t.

It was empathy.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to look. I tried to pull away.”

Something inside you twisted.

You’d seen your past. The pills. But the idea that he had seen it too, that something had trespassed that memory, made the fear settle deeper in your bones.

Still, your voice stayed calm.

“It was a dream,” you said. “It wasn't real."

Bob nodded slowly. “If that helps.”

You swallowed, “We should continue on with the questions.”

He took a step back, nodding. But his voice was softer now. Warmer. Like he couldn’t help it. “Even when you’re scared of me, you still stick around, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer, even if you liked the way your name fell off his lips.

And that silence hung heavier than anything else between you.

You picked the clipboard back up with deliberate calm, flipping to the prompts given to you by the doctor. “Let’s return to the baseline survey,” you said. “Emotional range, since yesterday. Any new feelings of irritability, hopelessness, or intrusive thought patterns?”

Bob didn’t answer right away.

You glanced up, irritated now that he was being so difficult with you today.

He was watching you again. Like you were more interesting than the questions. Like maybe the answers had never really mattered in the first place if you were just standing right there.

“Does wanting something you shouldn’t have count as an intrusive thought?” he asked softly.

Your heart clenched at the response, your brows knitting together in confusion at his answer.

“That’s not—” you started, faltering. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I figured,” he said gently. “But it’s still true.”

You held your pen tightly, suddenly too aware of how small the space between you really was. Even with reinforced glass and locked doors. Too aware of how direct his gaze felt, like he was peeling you back layer by layer.

You hated how warm your skin felt beneath your collar as the blush creeped up your neck.

“You honestly don’t know me that well, Mr. Reynolds.” you said, firmer this time. “You’re—misinterpreting this dynamic.”

“Maybe,” he replied, tilting his head. “But I don’t think I’m imagining the way your heartbeat changes when you talk to me.”

You clenched your jaw. “Let’s focus on you, please. Have you experienced any auditory hallucinations or non-verbal episodes of dissociation?”

He was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

You blinked at him and gestured for him to continue.

“Since this morning,” he continued. “But it isn't from me. It was more like... pressure. I felt something pulling at the edges of me after you walked in. The noise get quieter when you're around.”

You lowered the clipboard in surprise. “So you're saying I triggered it?”

“I’m saying you created a feeling I haven't felt in a long time.” His voice was soft. “Just not in the way you think.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “I wasn’t trying to do anything,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said.

The air in the room shifted. Your breath caught in your throat before you could stop it. "I think we'd be better off ending this session here, I don't believe we can lead an appropriate session on our own."

You rose from your chair and gathered your things with more force than necessary, keeping your eyes down. But you could feel his gaze on you the entire time. Constant. Present.

“I understand,” he said finally, voice low and hurt. “It’s easier when I make people uncomfortable. At least then I know what to expect.”

You paused. The words were spoken without bitterness. Just quiet resignation. Like he wasn’t trying to manipulate you, just telling you the truth of how people left him.

You looked up, just for a moment, feeling cut by his words.

His expression hadn’t changed. Still soft. Still open, in a way that made you want to retreat behind a wall you hadn’t needed in years.

“I’ll schedule the next session with Dr. Harding,” you said, your voice forced into a flat monotone. “And I’ll make a note that you responded better to a format with both of us present.”

He gave a slow nod.

“Whatever helps you feel safer.”

The phrase stopped you at the door. You glanced back, brows pulling together. “That’s not what this is about, Bob.”

But he only smiled faintly, like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t need to say so. You left without another word, your footsteps echoing far too loudly down the hall.

Behind you, Bob remained seated on the mat, eyes still on the door long after it closed. His hands rested in his lap, unmoving, like he’d been carved from stillness.

And somewhere inside him, in the cold, dark cavity of his chest, the Void stirred.

thank you for reading ~

please leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed, and drop a comment to be tagged in chapter two! things are about to get really weird...

LINK FOR PART TWO

#sentry x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #the void x reader #lewis pullman #thunderbolts #the void #bob thunderbolts #marvel x reader #bob x reader #marvel fic

466 notes · View notes

starrihan · 1 month ago

Note

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSMovrvKv/

girl i saw this tiktok and just IMAGINE HOW DOMINANT SUNOO/SUNGHOON would be in bed after finding out you admire idols other than them as their non-idol gf like 🤯

and the moment they find out through peeping the through your phone that you have other idols in your gallery they would call you greedy and will start to remind you how they can give you ANYTHING OUT OF THEIR JEALOUSY

no because him saying that on live was actually crazy but yes this SCREAMS sunsun!!! like they're both so sassy and i feel like Sunghoon is outwardly possessive but Sunoo is secretly possessive. like when he lets Jungwon use his skincare and he acts like its fine but he actually hates it he just doesn't wanna tell anyone. i used idols from other groups i hope thats okay! Sunoo would overcompensate while Sunghoon would punish you

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunghoon:

He would have you face down, ass up, white-knuckling the sheets as he pounds into you, always stopping before you can actually cum.

"You think Soobin could make you feel this good huh? Would you let him see you like this, ass up in the air and pushing back on my dick like a needy whore? Such a greedy girl."

You frantically shake your head 'no', needing him to let you cum as soon as possible. But he's not buying it. Instead, he yanks your head back by your hair, whispering low in your ear as you wince at the sting radiating throughout the back of your head.

"Really? Then scream. Scream my name so loud that you never forget who you belong to, the only person that could ever make you feel this good. Maybe I'll let you cum then."

You muster up all the energy you have, screaming his name as loud as your vocal chords will allow you to. You needed this release, having been edged too many times for your foggy mind to keep up with.

"PLEASE SUNGHOON!!! I ONLY BELONG TO YOU!!!"

How he had so much control was beyond you. He's had you like this for at least an hour and hasn't cum once himself either. His patience has no bounds when it comes to you, it seems.

Your clenching walls indicate your approaching release to him, speeding up as he can tell you're on the brink— before pulling away from you for the nth time in a row.

"I know you can do much better than that, you dirty whore. Try again"

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunoo:

"Don't ever think about having a picture of another man in your phone again."

He'd say, harshly nipping at the fragile skin around your neck, hips making quick work of you, cum seeping out of your hole, both yours and his. You can only nod your head 'yes', the overstimulation catching up to you. Your lip was bitten raw trying to keep yourself from drooling all over, orgasm after orgasm the only thing on your mind.

"What? Too dumb to speak actual words? And not even an apology either? How greedy you truly are..."

You're panting at this point, unable to produce any sounds save for a couple of small whimpers here and there, even the ability to speak being taken away from you in this moment. As you prepare for what felt like your 100th release of the night, you manage to croak out a weak apology.

"Sunoo... I'm sorry please... I can't, t-take it..."

He snickers as a smirk draws onto his face, not buying it one bit.

"Tsk, shut up. Greedy whores don't get to beg for forgiveness, especially after I gave you so many chances before. Take what you so desperately deserve and remind yourself that no one else would ever make you feel as good as I can."

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

#starrihan #enhypen #enhypen smut #enha #enha smut #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #kim sunoo #sunoo #kim sunoo smut #sunoo smut

218 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 10 months ago

Text

Sneaky Link

Summary: A request from an anon- Secret relation between R and Melissa, Ava flirting with reader until Melissa breaks and threatens to take a Edith houghton to her

WC: ~3.9k

Not edited in the slightest and written in a depressive era lol enjoy

It’s funny the way the world works out for you. It always has been, and it probably always will be. So when Melissa Schemmenti, the known regular at one of the bars you’re also a regular at, comes sauntering up to you after a long day of searching for jobs and interviewing with what seems to be no such luck- well, you think maybe the universe really was looking out for you.

And that was months ago. Now, you and that hot, tough on the outside but soft on the inside, teacher have been together since that night. It’s… it’s something special. You thank whatever high power there is out there for bringing her to you on that one night when you really needed someone.

The thing that the universe hasn’t done in your favor? Given you a job. Until…

“Babe!” Melissa calls you as you’re leaving one of the schools you’ve been subbing at.

You smile at her voice. You always do. “Hey. What’s up?”

“We’re still on for dinner tonight?”

“Of course we are,” you chuckle softly. “I would never give up the opportunity to see my beautiful woman. That isn’t why you called though, is it?”

“No,” she admits. “I was just talking with my principal, and she said that they are for sure hiring a new second grade teacher over the summer. Do you want me to throw your name into the ring and put a good word in for you?”

“How about you let me go so I can drive to your place, and we can talk about it over dinner?” you suggest. “And you drive safe too?”

“You know I never drive safe unless I have you in my car- precious cargo,” she teases you softly. “But okay. I’ll see you in a bit, mi amore.”

That night, the two of you chat about the position opening up at her school. As it turns out, the position is for another second grade teacher, and if you were to get the job, your room would be right next to hers.

“I don’t know,” you sigh softly as you lay your head down in her lap. “I just… I want to get the job on my own terms, not be a shoo in because I have the world’s hottest teacher in my corner.”

“That would be you, mi amore,” she says quietly as she weaves her fingers through your hair. “But that’s fine. I do think you should apply though. You would be a great addition to the team, and you would get to be on my team and balance out Janine with all of her energy.”

“You know I have just as much energy sometimes,” you chuckle as you reach for the television remote.

“Yeah,” your girlfriend laughs. “But I find it endearing with you.”

“Because we’re dating.”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You end up applying for the job, and when you go in, it’s quite easy to see how the redhead has maintained working here for so long. It’s a rundown school where she can make a difference- she refuses to burn out for the sake of the children. And you’ll refuse to burn out for the sake of the children right with her if you end up getting hired here.

The secretary leads you back to the conference room where there sits a panel. It’s clear who the principal is, but then soon either side of her are two women. One who you know from Melissa’s stories is Barbara Howard, and the other is… It’s Melissa herself. It takes everything in you to not chastise her for being a part of your interview, or for at least not giving you a warning- especially after you had spoken with her on the phone earlier that morning about how nervous you were for the interview. You’ll have to save that for after your interview.

“Well, hello there,” Ava’s eyes rake you up and down. “Principal Coleman, and this is Barbara Howard and Melissa Schemmenti- two of Abbott’s finest teachers. Although, you may just join Red in the running for hottest teacher here.”

If this were not a professional setting, you would quip that you could never stand a chance up against your girlfriend, but you’re interviewing, and you know nobody at work knows of her relation to you. So you press your lips together in a fine line and reach out to shake each of their hands. While you meet both Ava’s and Barbara’s eyes, it is much harder for you to look at those green eyes you usually love to see.

The interview is- well, it’s somewhat of a joke. Barbara and Melissa ask you the more sensible questions about classroom management, behavior plans, and lessons, while the principal asks you what your favorite reality tv show is and how you would survive on a deserted island if you needed to. Nevertheless, they all seem impressed with your responses, both to the professional and unprofessional questions that were thrown your way.

You’re told to stay out in the hall for a few minutes while they deliberate, and you’re dying to know what’s being said about you in the conference room you’re hovering outside of. It takes all of five minutes before you’re being called back into the room by Melissa herself, who is nothing if not professional.

“I have one more question for you,” the principal states seriously. You nod and smile nervously. “When are you able to start?”

“A-are you offering me the position?” you ask, eyebrows raised in surprised. You thought for sure they would be asking to see a demo lesson or something of the sort.

“Hell yeah we are,” Ava grins. “Abbott could use a hottie like you.”

Because you’re so busy shaking the principal’s hand and accepting the position, you miss the glare that your girlfriend sends her boss. You’re stuck there for a bit signing papers before you’re shown to your classroom by Barbara and Melissa- Ava claiming she’s trying to catch up on her newest reality television show. They end up giving you a tour of the school before handing you the curriculum binder and seeing you out.

“We’ll see you for development week, dear,” the kindergarten teacher smiles at you. “We’re very excited for you to join our team.”

Melissa just nods, hellbent on keeping up her tough South Philly girl act. You smile at them as you head out of the building. As soon as you’re in your car, you text your girlfriend.

What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in my interview this morning?

We’ll talk when I come over, okay? Her response is almost immediate. It’s quickly followed by a, Congratulations, mi amore.

As soon as she pulls up to your townhouse, you’re standing outside on your front stoop with your arms folding over your chest as you stare her down. She comes running up your steps and pulls you into a hug, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then your nose, and then finally your lips. For as annoyed as you are with her, you do end up kissing her back.

“Lissa,” you say sternly.

“I’m so proud of you for getting the position,” she tells you as she rests her forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” you smile softly. But then your face drops again. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to be in my interview?”

She leads you back into your house and kicks off her shoes before sighing. “I didn’t know that I was going to be in your interview. It was supposed to be Janine, but she got sick and called out last minute. Someone from the second grade team had to be there, and by the time Ava had called me, I knew you were already in a tizzy, and I didn’t want to stress you out any more than you already were.”

You bring her into the kitchen where you already have some of the ingredients out for dinner, along with a bottle of champagne. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you there. It threw me off, and all of my words and thoughts got all jumbled up in my head while I tried to keep my eyes off of my insanely hot girlfriend.”

“Trust me when I tell you that you were fine,” the redhead promises you as she makes her way over to pop the bottle. “The idiot before you… I’m pretty sure he literally wandered in from off the street.”

“Did they only offer me the position because we’re-” you got to ask, but she cuts you off.

“They don’t know we’re together,” Melissa tells you. “You did not get offered the position because we’re dating. You got the position because you are a wonderful teacher, and Barbara pushed for you.”

“You had nothing to do with it?” you raise a brow.

“I stayed pretty quiet while they were talking,” your girlfriend says. “I even made sure I threw in a comment about how I wouldn’t learn your name until I was certain you were going to stay. They have no idea.”

You smile at her. “Then, a celebratory dinner we’ll be having… and then…”

Green eyes meet yours with a glint of mischief in them. “What?”

“And then, I want to be your dessert.”

Melissa’s eyes go wide, and she nods eagerly. “If that’s what you want, you know I’m always more than happy to make that happen… Might even have to go in for seconds after today’s accomplishment.”

The rest of summer passes in a warm haze. It’s filled with love, lazy days, and excitement as you plan for the upcoming school year with your girlfriend. But the days of lazing out at a pool or staying inside and binge watching your shows to beat the heat are quickly coming to an end. Melissa and you still haven’t talked about how you’re going to interact with each other at the school- especially now that the two of you have moved in together.

“Hun?” you call from the bedroom as you put on makeup for dinner tonight. It’s your last hurrah before the two of you really have to start focusing on the school year.

“What?” Melissa’s voice floats into the room as she waits for you downstairs.

When you don’t respond in hopes that she just comes into the room, she sighs and gets to her feet. She appears in the doorway a few seconds later, a soft look in her eyes as she watches you ready yourself.

“What’s up, mi amore?” she asks as she makes her way over to you. Her arms wrap around your shoulders, and she presses a gentle kiss to your hair before resting her chin on your shoulder.

“You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“We never discussed how we were going to act at school.”

“Shit.”

Dinner is spent discussing that the two of you will have to work together due to the fact that you’re both on the second grade team, but your relationship at school will stay professional. You know that you can stay professional, but it’s going to be interesting to see the hard ass persona that Melissa likes to put on in front of her coworkers as opposed to the sweet and kindhearted woman that you know at home. It’s going to be jarring for sure- at least to start until it isn’t so suspicious that she likes the newbie. Once that’s squared away, the two of you enjoy a dinner that doesn’t revolve around lesson planning or any talks of school.

Development week is upon you, and you almost wish that you would’ve decided to just go into this job being out with Melissa, but you understand where she’s coming from with not telling HR that the two of you are together- at least not yet. And you genuinely do not want some sort of rumor to start that the only reason you got the position is because you’re dating one of the “scarier” teachers in the school. So, while you wish you were driving in with your girlfriend while she recites affirmations to you, you instead have to settle for driving in by yourself. You pull in next to her car, but she’s already inside- you know this much.

It’s weird when you head into the staff lounge. You’re so used to her making you coffee in the mornings, but today you have to fend for yourself. And while everyone else is cordial with you, your girlfriend is standoffish and cold, calling you by the wrong name on purpose and telling her coworkers she’ll bother to learn your name once you’ve proven that you aren’t just going to up and leave the first time things get hard for you (you catch the sympathetic glance she throws your way as she’s heading out with her friends for the meeting).

Most of development week ends up being your principal just flirting with you and your girlfriend being as hostile as she is with other new hires. At night, once the two of you settle in together, she promises you that she loves you more than anything and she apologizes for her behavior and attitude towards you at school.

“I didn’t realize this was what I would be walking into at school,” you chuckle as she massages your back gently. “But I have to admit, seeing you like that… damn it’s hot.”

“You always think I’m hot,” she rolls her eyes as she begins to work on a new tense spot right by your shoulder.

“Well, I’m not wrong for that,” you half chuckle, half groan. “But I always get to see sweet soft Lissa, and at school you’re a total badass.”

“I’m a total badass in front of literally everyone except for you,” she tells you as she kisses the slope of your neck. “I don’t know why, but you melt me like butter.”

“Well, ain’t I lucky then?”

“I’d say I’m the lucky one,” she throws right back at you.

Your days at your new job continue on like that, and so do your nights. During the day, Melissa is nothing but a bitch to you and offering you apologetic glances when she can. And at home, your girlfriend is the sweetest woman, even more sweet than usual because she feels so guilty that she can’t treat you like the amazing woman that you are in your place of work.

But that changes when the kids start their school year. Because your classrooms are right next to each other, she has a front row seat to see just how talented you are when it comes to working with your kids. She observes how much effort you put into their daily routines, how you explicitly state your expectations and hold them to it, and how you manage behaviors within your classroom, all while still getting them settled in for the school year.

It’s at lunch on the first day that she softens up on you just the slightest bit. You’re sitting at one of the tables by yourself when she and Barbara comes strolling in.

“Ah, Y/N, dear,” the kindergarten teacher smiles at you. “How is your first day with the kids going?”

You break out into a grin. “Honestly? I’m loving it. These kids, while they all have their challenges, like any kids, are absolutely precious. I already have a handful of drawings sitting on my desk to be hung up on the bulletin board behind my desk.”

“That’s great to hear,” Barb tells you as she pulls her lunch out of the fridge.

“Wow, newbie,” Melissa’s eyes sparkle just enough that you can tell. “Better than I expected.”

“And how did you expect my first day to go?” you challenge her to act. She had told you this morning in bed that she knew you were going to be just what Abbott needs, but could she play it off that she thought you were going to crash and burn now?

The redhead shrugs. “Most newbies run out of here with their middle fingers up and crying.”

“Well, that won’t be me. Thank you very much Miss Schemmenti,” you shrug as you take a bite of your salad (the one that she had prepared for you last night).

“Good,” is all she huffs out as she sits down to eat her own lunch. “Abbott needs some stability.”

That night at home, it’s an early night. The first days, and even the first weeks, of school are utterly exhausting.

“I meant what I said when most people leave with their middle fingers up and crying,” Melissa sighs as she lays her head on your chest. “But you, my dear? I never had a doubt in my mind that you would be the perfect addition to the Abbott team. And I saw how great you were with your kids today. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Just as your little eagles are lucky to have you,” you chuckle softly as you begin to run your fingers through her hair.

Slowly, Melissa’s tougher than nails demeanor shifts. She begins to treat you like she treats Janine, although it is different. But that’s because the two of you are hiding a relationship, unlike with Janine. It’s nice. And at home, she’s still as loving as ever and even still apologizing for not treating you the way she should at school.

“When are we going to tell them that we’re together?” you ask casually as you’re looking over the weekly plans.

She hums. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I just don’t want anyone to think that I only got the job because we’re dating and you were in my interview. I know you said that Barb was the one who pushed for me, but…”

“If you want to wait a bit, we can.”

You’ve settled into teaching at Abbott quite nicely. Your coworkers love you, Melissa has only continued to soften up at you at school, even calling you by your real name now. You have to say, you love this job. It’s the best job that you’ve had in quite some time, and that includes when you worked in more affluent areas. These kids just… get it. The staff is like an odd, dysfunctional family. And you get to see your girlfriend at work everyday. It’s almost perfect.

The reason it isn’t perfect? Your boss, Ava Coleman, flirts with you constantly. She finds reason to be in your room more often than not, and whenever you’re all having lunch, there’s some excuse for her to end up in the staff room with you.

Melissa, of course, is well aware that your principal is constantly trying to hit on you. You let most of her comments roll off of you, but some just have you shaking your head at the things she insinuates.

“Ava,” you finally sigh one day after seeing the absolute death glare that Melissa is sending her way. Oh, if looks could kill. “Quit flirting with me.”

“And why would I do that, boo?”

“Because you’re in a relationship,” you roll your eyes as her own eyes scan over you.

The woman shrugs. “And? It’s open.”

“And I have a girlfriend who I know for a fact would not, and does not like the fact that you are constantly trying to get with me,” you reveal.

Everyone looks at you in surprise at that admission. Everyone except for Melissa, who angrily stabs at the salad she’s got out for lunch (the salad that you lovingly packed her this morning).

“You have a girlfriend?” Jacob is quick to cut into the conversation. You just nod. “How did I not know?”

“I don’t know, Jacob,” you breathe out. “I don’t really go around announcing it to people.”

“But there are usually signs!” your coworker protests.

At that, you shrug.

“Who’s to say that your girlfriend wouldn’t be into it?” Ava directs the conversation back her way.

You glance to Melissa, who won’t even look up from her meal. “Just trust me when I tell you, my girlfriend does not appreciate the fact that you flirt with me.”

“Well, what’s her name?” Janine asks from her corner of the room. “I wanna meet her!”

You laugh at that. “Lissa,” you tell them. And nobody figures out that that’s the nickname you have for the redhead in the room. Everybody at Abbott, or at least everybody who has been deemed worthy of calling her by a nickname, calls her “Mel”.

“Alyssa?” Mr. Johnson makes his own presence known. “She hot?”

Your ears turn pink. “I wouldn’t be dating her if I didn’t think she was. But enough about me,” you try to diffuse the situation. “Can we-”

Ava turns to you after a few seconds of scrolling through her phone. “You don’t know no ‘Alyssa’.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow in her direction.

The principal shoves her phone in your face. “I just looked through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, even your Venmo for anyone under that name. There ain’t nobody there. You making a girlfriend up so I stop flirtin’ with you, ain’t you?”

“I am very much not,” you reply. “I do have a girlfriend.”

Ava hums. “I don’t believe you, but if that’s the story we’s goin’ with, sure thing, baby boo. Just give me a call when you decide that you want a piece of this fine-”

“Enough!” Melissa finally shouts. “Enough!”

“Woah,” the principal’s eyes go wide as she stares at the redhead. All other heads in the room whip around to look at the second grade teacher sitting next to you. “What’s got your panties in a twist? I’m just flirting with-”

“Flirting with my girlfriend!” your girlfriend explodes. “Quit flirting with my girl, unless you want me to take Edith Houghton to your damned head!”

As if to prove a point, Melissa grabs your hand and shows it off. “She’s mine,” the woman practically growls. “And I swear to God, if you make one more comment towards my girlfriend about how hot she is or about how you want her- I will make you regret it!”

Ava’s eyes go wide, and her hands fly up so quickly in surrender that her phone drops to the floor. “Shit. Okay.”

Everybody else can only watch in slight horror as the redhead continues to point her fork in your boss’s direction.

“Listen, I just thought that-”

“You thought wrong,” Melissa grits out. “Not another word out of you about her.”

“Okay, okay,” Ava backs down. “Damn, Schemmenti. Good on you though. She-”

You have to practically hold your girlfriend back as she goes to lunge at the principal.

Ava quickly runs out of the room and back into her office, coffee forgotten and probably fearing for her life at this point.

Melissa huffs and rights her shirt before holding your hand again and taking a deep breath. You ground her quickly with a few squeezes to the hand in your own. She pulls her chair closer to yours and drops your hand before wrapping an arm around you and silently daring anybody to make any comments about the outburst that had just taken place.

You see the way that they’re all staring at you and your girlfriend though, so you just settle for a weak, “Surprise?”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo

#abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you

522 notes · View notes

enimsiyobeht · 26 days ago

Text

hyunchan (& their kinks). 0.5/4! 🥟🐺

minors do not interact! kinks stated per imagine.

HWANG HYUNJIN. phone sex/nudes, recording, morning sex. (c'mon guys... we all know that hyunjins the freak out of the duo. quick, act surprised! making sure to have y'all fed with twt links 2 😽😽).

when i think of phone sex/sending nudes, i think as if hyunjins on hiatus (or vice versa) but he still wants to stay intimate despite the difference between you two 😿.

Hyunjin’s thumb hesitated over the glowing screen, heart already starting to race before he even read the name. You. The notification preview said:

"Are you still up, pretty?"

He swallowed. Of course he was still up. Sleep had been impossible since You sent that last picture—shirtless, tousled, that low smirk curving your lips. Hyunjin hadn’t replied. Not out of disinterest, but because his brain short-circuited every time You called him pretty.

Before he could overthink it, he called.

The line clicked.

“Hey,” came your voice—low, smooth, that late-night rasp that always managed to slink down Hyunjin’s spine.

Hyunjin bit his lip, settling deeper under his blanket. “Hey…”

“You looked like you needed help falling asleep,” You murmured. “Want me to talk you through it?”

Hyunjin exhaled, voice soft. “Yeah.”

Your voice dipped. “Good. Now... what are you wearing?”

Hyunjin laughed lightly, nerves flickering in his chest. “Just a hoodie.”

“My hoodie?” You asked, and the smile in your voice was unmistakable.

Hyunjin flushed. “...Yeah.”

There was a soft groan on the other end of the line. “You know what that does to me, don’t you?”

Hyunjin curled into the pillow. “Maybe.”

“Take it off for me, baby. Slowly. I want to picture it.”

His hands moved without hesitation, slipping the fabric up over his stomach. He could hear your breathing on the other end—steady, low, controlled. Like You were already there, eyes dark, watching.

“Tell me what I’d see.”

Hyunjin’s voice dropped. “Hard nipples. Goosebumps. I—um—I’ve been touching myself.”

Your breath hitched, barely audible, but it made Hyunjin's thighs press together.

“Show me.”

Hyunjin blinked. “W-What?”

“Camera on,” You said gently, “unless you’re shy tonight.”

He hesitated for a beat, then swiped up and tapped video. His chest rose and fell as the screen lit up. Your face appeared, tousled and flushed from the soft golden glow of your lamp. Your eyes flicked over Hyunjin’s body, darkening.

“You’re perfect,” You whispered. “Just like that. Can you be good and stroke yourself for me?”

Hyunjin's breath came shakily as he obeyed, one hand slipping under the blanket. You watched him like you were memorizing every tiny reaction—the way Hyunjin's lips parted, the tremble in his lashes, the way his hips shifted when he got close.

“I wish I was there to taste you,” You muttered. “To make you whimper like that against my mouth.”

Hyunjin gasped, back arching slightly. “y/n—please—”

“Not yet,” You purred. “I want to hear you fall apart. I want to record the way you say my name.”

Hyunjin’s pulse pounded. “You’re recording?”

“I always save our best moments, sweetheart,” You murmured. “You love it.”

And Hyunjin did. The thought of You watching him later—hand wrapped around yourself, whispering Hyunjin's name—sent him over the edge.

the freakiness doesn't stop there, i believe hyunjin would like recording. i believe the subtleness (like recording a session with the phone face down on the bedside table, or merely having the audio) would be more effective than the obvious (recording him while he gives you a blowjob, or a back view of you eating him out) 😼🍽️.

Hyunjin was already flushed before You even touched him.

The camera light blinked red from your nightstand, subtle and steady. It should’ve made him nervous—but instead, it felt like a secret shared only between them.

“You sure?” You asked, thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s hip as he straddled your lap, already bare except for your oversized t-shirt that hung low on his thighs. “We can stop anytime.”

“I’m sure,” Hyunjin breathed. “I want you to.”

You smiled, slow and reassuring. “Good. Because I don’t plan on looking away once.”

You guided Hyunjin down gently, both of them exhaling when skin met skin. You filled him slowly, inch by inch, letting Hyunjin settle as his arms looped around your neck.

The camera kept rolling.

“You look so beautiful like this,” You murmured into his ear. “Every time I rewatch this, I’ll remember how you felt—tight, warm, desperate.”

Hyunjin whimpered.

“Eyes on me,” You whispered. “Not the camera.”

Hyunjin obeyed, locking eyes with You. You started to move—slow, deep thrusts that dragged moans from Hyunjin’s throat. The kind of rhythm made for burning into memory.

“I want them to hear you,” You said, voice low and firm. “Let them know how good I make you feel.”

Hyunjin's fingers tightened in your hair as a high-pitched sound slipped from his lips. Your hand cupped the back of his neck, steadying him, grounding him.

“You’re doing so well for me,” You breathed. “So pretty when you fall apart like this.”

Hyunjin’s head dropped to your shoulder, body trembling as the camera caught it all—his flushed skin, the messy kiss You dragged from his lips, the breathless moan of your name just before he came.

idk why but cuddling @ night with hyunjin, spooning, and waking up for sleepy morning sex.... im foaming at the mouth 😻.

Hyunjin stirred with a soft sound, pressing back against the warmth behind him. Your arms were already around him—tight, secure, heavy with sleep.

He wriggled slightly, just enough to feel the slow grind of your half-hard cock against him.

“y/n,” he whispered, still half-asleep. “You’re hard…”

You made a sleepy hum, voice muffled against Hyunjin’s neck. “Can’t help it. You were moaning in your sleep.”

Hyunjin flushed, squirming again, intentionally this time. Your grip tightened, and your hips moved—lazy, unhurried. Morning sex always felt different. Less performative. Just want and warmth and skin.

“Want me?” You mumbled, lips brushing over his ear.

Hyunjin nodded, already pressing back.

You didn’t fully wake up. You didn’t need to. You shifted down, guided yourself in with a breathless sigh, then started rocking into Hyunjin with a pace so gentle it almost felt like dreaming.

No teasing. No rush. Just closeness.

Hyunjin moaned softly, face buried in the pillow, one of your hands slipping down to stroke him in time with the slow thrusts. Every movement felt like affection—like a reminder that he was safe here, owned and adored.

“I could stay like this forever,” You whispered, lips ghosting over his shoulder.

And Hyunjin believed You.

(next part)

#works 🐥 theboyismine !!#hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x male reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #top male reader #bottom character #stray kids x male reader #skz x male reader #bon appetit #🍽️

139 notes · View notes

childrenofcain-if · 6 months ago

Note

Clingy D wasn't something I knew I needed. For research purposes, how would that fare though, author

the texas heat clung to D as they sat on the back porch of their grandfather’s old farm. the air smelled of earth and sunburnt grass, a scent that had grown oddly comforting in the months since they’d moved back.

the farm was quiet now, save for the low hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a stray dog wandering by the fence. the peacefulness suited D—most days. but tonight, it was unbearable.

their phone sat on the wooden table in front of them, face down like it was a guilty party. they’d told themself they weren’t going to look at it anymore.

just leave it, rook, calm down.

stop being so needy, rook.

get your shit together, rook.

you’re always the recurring car crash, rook, the common denominator.

but their eyes flickered toward the phone anyway.

the truth sat under their ribs like a splinter: it had been three days since you’d texted anything more than a brief, polite response to a link they’d sent, and weeks since you’d called. three days of D’s mind running circles around itself, spiraling into every worst-case scenario it could conjure. and they were losing their grip. their fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest of the chair, their boot scuffing against the railing.

maybe you’re busy, they told themself for the fiftieth time that evening. new york is a big place. MBA programs are hard. you’ve got new friends now, fancy urbane friends who wear suits and drink wine like it’s water. you don’t have time to call your idiot partner who still wants to live in their old farmhouse down south and smells like hay and diesel these days.

that last thought stung, and D flinched like they’d spoken it aloud.

they picked up their phone and stared at the screen, willing your name to appear. a new message. a missed call. anything. they’d tried calling you twice yesterday but hung up before it even rang.

the phone buzzed suddenly in their hand, cutting through the peacefulness like a blade. D jumped, nearly dropping it in their haste to answer.

“hey,” they said, too quickly, the word coming out rough and broken, betraying how much they’d been waiting for this. they winced at their own pathetic eagerness.

“hi,” you replied. your voice was warm but tinged with something D couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t joy.

there was a pause, one of those long, awkward ones that stretched out like a wound neither of you wanted to clean out.

“why haven’t you replied to my texts?” you asked finally. your tone was light, sure, but the edge was unmistakable.

D blinked, thrown off-guard. “why haven’t you called me?”

the words left their mouth before they could stop them, sharper than intended, spilling out like blood from a clean incision. the silence on your end was deafening.

“excuse me?” you said after a moment, your voice now tight.

D pushed on, reckless now, the spiraling in their chest too loud to ignore.

“it’s been weeks,” they said, their voice rising despite themself. “weeks since you actually picked up the phone to call me. i’m supposed to be okay with a couple of dry texts here and there? a couple of ‘how are yous’ like you’re checking in on a goddamn houseplant? what am i even supposed to do with that? do you even want to talk to me anymore?”

“of course i want to talk to you!” you snapped, louder this time, frustration apparent in your tone. “but you’ve been so distant during our texts. i didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me if you got too busy with the farm renovations.”

“distant?” D barked out a laugh, harsh and humorless. “i’m not the one out there living some shiny new life in new york city with shiny new friends. don’t talk to me about being distant when you’re the one who left!”

“oh wow, so it’s my fault now?”

“isn’t it?”

the words hung between you like a noose, both of you too angry to let go and too hurt to say anything else.

“this isn’t fair,” you said finally, your voice breaking just slightly, and D hated that they heard it, hated that they caused it. “you don’t get to put this all on me. you knew what this was going to be like. you knew it would be hard. you could’ve just come with me until renovations were done for the farm. you’re the one who insisted on supervising everything to stay in that stupid place.”

“don’t fucking call the farm stupid,” D shot back, their voice trembling now, but they couldn’t stop. “besides, i’m here, aren’t i? waiting by the damn phone every night like some... some pathetic—” they couldn’t finish the sentence.

“then maybe stop waiting!” you yelled, having had enough of it. “if this is so hard for you, maybe you should’ve just come here with me!”

the line went dead.

D stared at the phone in their hand, unblinking, as though willing it to come back to life. the silence that followed was heavier than the summer heat, heavier than anything they’d ever known.

they stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the porch, and paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“unbelievable,” they muttered under their breath, the anger bubbling up again. “they hang up on me? after all this? after—”

the thing about D was that they wouldn’t—couldn’t—express their emotions in words a lot of the time. sure, they could write about it, but writing about it was different than actually saying it. so these emotions were usually spelled out in other ways.

a bloody fist. a slow song. a naked dance.

but this time, the anger burned out as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the ache. the ache they always carried, the one they could never name but always felt. they sank back into the chair, burying their face in their hands.

you’re going to lose them, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind, insidious and cruel. you’re going to push them away forever. they’ve grown tired of you because you’re too much. you’re always too much, rook.

the thought made them sicker than a glass of cheap liquor.

D picked up their phone again, their thumb hovering over your name in the call log. they could call you back. they could apologize. they could beg.

they pictured you in new york, surrounded by skyscrapers and lights, people who had never set foot on a farm in their life and who probably never will. they imagined themself there, awkward and out of place, fumbling with subway cards with their doc martens too scuffed, their drawl too thick and alien.

they never belonged in san francisco. they never belonged in new haven. they’d never belong in new york city.

but they’d go. if you asked, they’d go in a heartbeat. they’d go and make themself fit into your world if that’s what you wanted. they’d camouflage themself all over again like they did in california and connecticut. even if they hated it, they’d still try.

or maybe you could come back. just for a little while. they’d show you the stars again, the ones you couldn’t see in the ever-polluted cities. they’d hold you close and tell you they loved you, over and over, until you believed it.

but for now, they’d wait by the phone like dogs waited for their owners on the front porch—all day, and then the next.

here’s the pt. 2 to this.

#they think they’re a big bad wolf but they’re still a puppy #writing angsts are now second nature to me atp #p.s. this scenario may or may not happen in book 2 or 3 🫢#if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: d diaconu #ro scenarios

196 notes · View notes

gothamite-rambler · 1 month ago

Text

Ra's Al Ghul (frustrated and failing to fix his phone): How do you work this blasted thing?!

Talia: Need some help?

Ra's: I'm not saying the H word! Just press some buttons so I can hear my voicemails. This man named Bill kept calling me and released a hostage I need to hear why this idiot did so!

Talia: Of course, Father.

Talia took the phone, entered the passcode to access the voicemails, and played them on speaker.

Bill: Ra's, call me back! This Batman guy is too used to whips, and it’s pissing me off!

A whip crack could be heard making contact with flesh.

Bruce (apathetic): Were you whipping me? I thought there was a mosquito on my back.

Bill (angry): Start sobbing or screaming or begging me to stop, damn it!

Another whip crack sound was heard. Talia glared at her father while continuing to hold the phone. Ra's stared at the device, refusing to respond.

Bruce (reveling in this): Trust me, if I start begging, it won't be to stop… I haven't felt anything yet. You really suck at this as the kids say.

Bill (whipping Bruce again): I'm better at puzzles!

Bruce (flatly): Hey, when the real torturer arrives, I need to talk to them about your performance. This is incredibly disappointing. I have some tips on how to truly torture me…

Pause as Talia shook her head.

Bruce: It wouldn't cause me bad pain, though.

Bill: You are freaky as hell! Damn it, Ra's can stab me; I'm letting you walk, you nasty! Ra's, call me back, and you are paying me for this!

The message ended, and the automated voicemail played, asking if he wanted to save the message or delete it.

Ra's: Let's just press seven to delete that.

Talia: When I deal with you, be prepared for bandaging your wounds.

The next message played while Talia talked to her father.

Ra's: I just wanted to torture the man! He's a thorn in my side and a constant reminder that we're linked due to your seed! I wasn't aware he was a sadist!

Talia: More of a mild masochist. I couldn't handle him sometimes… You didn't want to hear that, did you?

Ra's (double facepalm): You know I didn't!

Talia: That's what you get for kidnapping Bruce again. You better hope he got away safely.

Meanwhile, Bruce casually left the torture chamber with the keys to a jeep that his kidnapper had let him take.

Bruce (starting the jeep): Huh, no bomb in the jeep. That was nice of him. Poor man, he doesn't know much about my pain tolerance.

Bruce fiddled with the radio and then silently drove down the road as '80s music played on the stereo.

141 notes · View notes

taintandviolent · 6 months ago

Text

Le coup de foudre ; Gambit x Reader

summary: THIS IS PART 3 OF THE TACO TUESDAY SERIES! PART ONE HERE / PART TWO HERE! Reader is suffering, big time. She wants Remy, but he hasn't called. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.1K | some angst to start things off, smut with some plot (we've got an established relationship, huzzah), French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), shower sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n, and some fluff at the end, because I went and broke y'all's hearts in the last chapter.

a/n: praying that the gambit fandom hasn't completely died out.... i'm so sorry this took me so long. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The first day is the hardest.

The first day is the hardest because by 1:30 PM, you realize that you’re in love with Remy Lebeau. You cry on the couch he kissed you on. Why are you crying? Because you can’t remember the last time you’ve been in love with someone, and you know what comes with love. None of it is good.

The second day sucks too because you go to work, and come home to an apartment that, for the first time since you’ve lived there, really felt empty. There’s nowhere you can sit that he hasn’t touched. His memory lingers everywhere and try as you might, you can’t escape it. You aren’t sure you want to, either, which is troubling in and of itself.

By the third day, your heart is aching, but it’s a dull ache. Something like anger has started to roil in your system, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t called, or stopped by. You can justify it by saying that you don’t know what mutant superheroes go through or what their daily life looks like, but you’re still sour that there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end.

Day four comes and goes, and nothing changes. You’re still sad. You’re still angry. But most of all, you’re still lonely.

Day five… however. Day five comes, you’ve cycled through all the stages of grief and landed somewhere on the spectrum of desperation.

So, after work, you march across the hall to Wade’s, and knock three times in a little melody. After a few moments, the door flies open, revealing a very casual looking Wade. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and grey sweats. You avert your eyes from his groin, out of respect.

“Wade,” you stammer, scratching a non-existent itch on your arm. “Hey.”

“Pookie! How nice of you to stop by. Blind Al and I were just about to partake in some Colombian party powder, care to join us?”

Your pupils dilate. Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell. “Uh… no. No, I’m good.”

You shift uneasily. You aren’t sure how to start this, so you just blurt whatever comes out.

“Wade… um. Look, I’m sorry to ask this of you. I just…. I can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t seem like the type to ghost someone, and I just… I really want to talk to him.”

“You want Gambit’s number?”

You perk up, relieved that you didn’t have to ask the question yourself. Wade was more perceptive than you thought.

“Y-yeah, if you have it.”

“I don’t. Womp-womp. But I gave him yours.”

“Oh…” A beat. “...wait. How did you get my number?”

“Remember that package that was misdelivered?”

“No….”

“Yikes. Well, I do. It had your name and phone number on it. I figured it’d be useful to have so…” He taps the side of his head.

“Why did you… did he ask for it?”

“Boy, did he.”

You frown, feeling an overwhelming flurry of emotions. On one hand, he’s had your number and hasn’t called. On the other hand, he wanted your number. But he hadn’t done a damn thing with it. Your shoulders sink, unconsciously.

“Oh, sweet cheeks. Someone play some Cigarettes After Sex, this is getting emotional.” Wade mock frowns, looking off to the left for a moment before his eyes dart back to you. “He’s probably saving lives or something heroic. Undisclosed mutant drama.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, choosing to ignore his weird commentary. “I appreciate it.”

“What’re you gonna’ do now? Cue the depressed drinking montage.”

“That’s a great idea, actually…”

“No, no… let’s not.”

You interject with a finger in his face. “Yeah, let’s.”

“If you’re going to do that, let’s do it inside. C’mon.” Wade doesn’t give you a moment to reject him, and plants both of his hands on your shoulders, yanking you forward.

Turns out, Wade does have alcohol. He makes you a drink, something that tastes like whiskey. Maybe it's your whiskey, left over. You bring the glass to your lips, sucking the liquid down. It’s strong, but you aren’t complaining.

“Oooohohoh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Heart eyes and all that mushy-gushy shit?”

You throw a glare his way, and take another sip. The liquor burns better than any remark you could’ve come up with.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s that Southern charm he’s got. Handsome, slick, and he can do magic tricks.” His eyes widen, excitedly. “How could you not fall in love with him?”

“Wade, you’re not helping.”

“Sure I am,” he retorts.

You take a seat on Wade’s couch, looking distraught. You’re thankful that Blind Al is in fact… blind because she can’t see the way that the tears are welling up in your eyes. You look at the chairs that you two sat on, flirting with each other.

“Oh,” Wade says, looking somewhat surprised. “Oh no.”

“She cryin’?” Blind Al asks. Great, she’s perceptive. You swallow back a sob, and bring the glass to your lips again.

“Almost… almost… c’mon, give us a cinematic, single tear.”

You shake your head and suck it up as best you can. You don’t want acknowledgement, that’ll only make it worse, possibly sending you into a fit of sobs. You don’t even know why you’re so upset – it’s not like he told you he never wanted to see you again. He just hadn’t… well, done anything and that was somehow worse.

“Je-sus…!” Wade says suddenly, leaning over to angrily look through the peephole. He stays there for a moment, before leaning back, a sly smile on his face.

And that’s when you hear the dull thudding that has Wade’s attention. It sounds like a knock – a heavy handed one.

You straighten your spine, curious.

“Oh, this is too perfect.” He says under his breath, before taking one step towards you. “Save the waterworks, your Cajun Prince has returned.”

You set the glass on the floor and scramble off the couch, practically on all fours as you run towards the door, pushing Wade out of the way. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole for only a split second, you get a visual. Hurriedly, you twist the knob and throw the door open, wanting to rip it off its hinges. It bumps into the wall behind it, and your breath rushes out.

Remy stands there, facing your door, his fist raised to knock again. He has a duffel bag on his shoulder, which slides off the second he hears your voice.

“Remy?” you call, your voice quivering slightly. He turns abruptly, his coat flaring out behind him. He’s wearing armor now, and looks like he’s just come back from something serious.

“Chere? What’re you –”

You don’t need to answer again, instead, just run across the hall, rushing into his arms. Your body hits him so hard that you let out a little vocalization, a delicate oomph, as you compress yourself to him. He immediately responds by wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around the back of your head, hand petting your hair gently.

He smells like blood, sweat and ash, but you nuzzle your cheek into the rigid plate of his purple chestplate anyway, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso in a desperate hug.

After a moment, you pull away, just enough to look up at him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with such an adoration that you can’t help but clench your stomach. He looks like he missed you as much as you missed him.

“Is this your superhero outfit?” Your fingers stroke the ridges in his cowl, admiring it. Slowly, they trail down the length of it, and begin to make their way over his smooth chestplate.

He laughs, looking down at you. “ ‘Spose so.”

“I like it.”

Two smiles later, he pulls you in for a bruising kiss, lifting you up off the ground slightly. You’re on your tiptoes again, smashing your lips against his and tasting him as hungrily as you did the first time – if not hungrier. There’s something extremely erotic about kissing a costumed hero, something to do with uniforms and all that, you assume, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild at the feeling of his armor against you. This time, you don’t try to suppress anything and give into the feeling of it all.

Someone sighs dreamily behind you and Remy breaks the kiss to look knowingly over the top of your head. Wade is leaning against his door frame, hands clasped in front of his chest. Short of having hearts bursting over his head, he’s silently gushing, his brows pulled together in a sappy expression, with a dorky smile curling around his lips.

“Oh, c’mon! Just a peek? Where’s your sense of fan service?!”

“No, Wade.” Remy croons, opening your door and pulling you in with him. He shuts the door with one hand.

“Now before we get to the good stuff, I wanna’ wash this day offa’ me.”

You nod your head, understanding, and reach for his hand. The bathroom is adjacent to your bedroom, so you lead him down the hall.

You flick on the light; it’s all dark tile and cool tones. You head to the sizable shower, and open the glass door, leaning in just enough to turn the knob. The water splashes to life, and steam fills the bathroom quickly.

Watching Remy undress himself is like a strip tease that has you biting your lip. He’s determinate and meticulous, like he knows you’re watching. The jacket and armor pieces come off first, and get set on the edge of the bathroom counter. Then comes the shirt, revealing that delicious torso again, the one that you’ve been longing to run your hands over for almost a week. He quickly unzips his pants and drags them down his legs before setting them atop the rest of the items. The briefs are last – the perfect ending to reveal his heavy, flaccid cock before he turns, and walks into the shower. He’s got a perfect ass, too; muscular and round. You’re pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of it. The water splashes against the roundness of his freckled shoulders, spattering against the muscle and onto the tile.

“Chere, c’mere…” He reaches for your hand, pulling it inside the shower.

“Wait, wait,” you laugh, and retract your hand. “I’m not coming in there fully dressed.”

“Then get naked, mon amour. We know we done been waitin’ long enough to feel each other again.”

You pull your shirt over your head, and reach around back to undo your bra. Your jean shorts are next, joining the pile on the floor.

The water is warm, but Remy’s naked body is even warmer.

There’s a beautiful, tender familiarity in the way you touch each other, coupled with a hunger that can only be fueled by absence. He hasn’t had you in days, you haven’t had him; the desire has reached a boiling point, and needs to be expelled. He presses you against the tile of the shower, watching as the water pitter-patters against your skin, over your decollete, over your breasts and down the gentle curve of your stomach. He leans down and kisses the hollow of your throat, his hands cupping your hips forcefully.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I missed you too… maybe more.”

“Ooh, doubt that.”

As his fingers trail along your body with an air of ownership, Remy kisses your wet shoulders, nipping at the warm, slick flesh. Despite the heat, you shiver. He has a real knack for making your body shudder. Your knees feel like jell-o, so you wrap your hands around his strong neck, interlacing your fingers behind it for some support.

His fingers dip down between your legs and teasingly splay out over your folds. His middle finger slips between them, glossing over your center, and slides all the way down, teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. Everything is wet, but he can feel the slickness that meets his finger. His cock twitches against your thigh.

“‘Dat’s my girl,” he says, low. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘dis way too much.” His hand cups your cunt, as if to punctuate his sentence and you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You shift, forcing more friction against his wet palm, the warm water pooling between your legs. “The thought of you been distractin’ me. You a dangerous woman, cher…”

“I’m dangerous? Says the guy who has fucked me in every room, on almost every surface in my apartment…”

Remy chuckles and the sound fills your heart. There it is again – that unyielding feeling of adoration. You’re horny as all get out, but somehow, you still have the capacity to swoon over tiny things like his laugh. This isn’t you, this isn’t what you’re used to. Frustrated, you bump your head against the tile, letting out a small groan.

He notices this, and brings his other hand – still leaving one situated between your legs – up behind your head.

“What’re you doin’? What’s wrong, chere?”

“Nothing...” you huff, looking over at the shower head. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him yet… you’d rather have him rearrange your guts and not think about the feelings.

He smirks, devilishly, like he already knows. If he does, he’s not letting you off the hook.

“Guess I just gon’ have to fuck it outta’ you, huh?”

You avert your gaze back to him, pupils dilating. You know him well enough now that he means what says.

With that, he places a kiss on your forehead, and turns his body towards the stream of water. He begins washing himself, and you watch as the suds slowly trail down the ample curve of his back. You reach forward, spreading them over the indentation of his spine, washing him gently.

“Hoo, the way you touch me…” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear it.

The shower is intimate and everything is mutual, cue the montage. For the… what? Tenth time that week? You realize that you're in way too deep with Remy. Way too deep, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.

Drying his feet off on the mat and allowing you space to do the same, Gambit then pulls a towel from the rack, and wraps it around your naked body. The droplets absorb into the fibers, and you’re a little less drippy. Well, your body is. The hungry, whining void between your legs isn’t.

When Gambit turns, you catch a glimpse of his half-hard cock and blush. Even though you’ve fucked it, sucked it and everything else, the sight of is still enough to send butterflies erupting in your stomach.

He can’t get you to the bedroom fast enough. His hands are on your hips, directing you towards the bed and you let out a little vocalization, much to his delight.

“C’mere, mon ami… get up on ‘dat bed.”

You obey. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this for almost a week now.

Before he has a chance to stop you, you’re reaching forward to take his cock in your hand. It’s heavy and hot and the feeling of it against your palm makes you clench painfully, twinging with heat. You take your time in stroking him to full hardness, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip and smearing the pre-cum down his veiny length.

Once he’s there, he’s like a freight train. Unstoppable and panting hard. He fucks you hard over the edge of the bed, hard enough to make your breasts bounce back and forth with each bullying thrust, withdrawing it to the tip and bottoming out each time. Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of bodies slapping together, flesh against flesh.

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Ain’t no place for secrets up in here.”

“It’s not important – uuhhh!” Another thrust, deep as he can go.

“Cher,” he growls and thrusts again. “I ain’t gonna’ let you cum ‘till you tell me.”

“No,” you moan, bringing your hands to your tits as they move. “Please, I’m so close, we can — uhhh god!”

He’s relentless.

“Fuck, fuck-fuck, oh my god…!”

With a slick pop, he pulls his cock all the way out. You lift your head up, gazing distraught between your legs; he’s centimeters away from you. The tip is red, glistening and angry as it twitches up, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Tell me, cher, or you ain’t gonna’ get ‘dis cock again.” He bucks his hips forward, dragging the fat, wet tip against your swollen cunt. You cry out at the sensation, your clit buzzing with electricity. Despite all that, he doesn’t penetrate you again, and you whimper at the empty sensation. Every time you try to move your hips to get his cock to slip in again, he pulls back just enough to put distance between you two. You whine through gritted teeth.

“Okay!”

He presses the head of his cock against your clit. Waiting. Patiently. So patiently. For a moment, you marvel at the control he has considering that his cock looks red and angry, aching to empty itself inside of you.

“Fine. I think…” You pause to catch your breath. “I think I love you.”

Remy closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the sound of you saying it. He’d wanted to say it to you at breakfast, and he’d wanted to say it before he left.

“Mm.”

“Mm?”

“Mmm-mm. ‘Dat’s what I wanted to hear, chere. An’ it sounds so good comin’ outta’ ‘dat mouth of yours.”

He lines the cockhead up, and bottoms out with another word. He’s said enough, apparently. When he takes hold of your hips, lifting them up slightly to give himself a deeper angle, you wrap your hands around your sheets until the fibers squeak. Your nails dig into the fabric, nearly puncturing holes in them. It’s only a few more earth-shattering thrusts before you cum, and before he fills you with white hot heat, the two of you calling and moaning each other’s names in ecstasy.

After softening inside of you, which is somehow extremely sweet, he withdraws himself from your cunt, and uses the sheet to clean up the mess that leaks out. He carefully lifts you up onto the bed fully, and then crawls next to you, nestling into the same space he did last night.

It’s like he never left.

“I really do, you know. I love you. I know we just met and fucked and that’s all, but I love you.”

“You keep sayin’ ‘dat’s all’ as if what we have is somethin’ casual, cher. You’re gonna’ hurt Remy’s feelings if you keep ‘dat up. So, knock it off, ah?”

“It’s… it’s not casual?”

He shakes his head. “I love you too, mon coeur. I have since I first saw you…”

You hum happily, and nuzzle yourself against his bare chest. “I finally understand that French phrase I learned… C’etait le coup de foudre?” (It was love at first sight.)

“Oui… oui.”

#Gambit #Remy Lebeau #channing tatum #Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit #channing tatum gambit #Gambit x reader #gambit x you #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #female reader #Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool 3 #x reader fics #myfics

392 notes · View notes

weneeya · 2 months ago

Text

too dangerous - spiderman AU m.list | rules

pairing. childe x reader

note. hiii i'm back with spiderman au!! idk if you guys liked it but i'm having sm fun writing this so it's kind of a part 2 (and i might write more later) so please don't hesitate to request <3

It had been a few weeks since you and Childe agreed on working together. You didn’t have any powers and he was no one else than Spiderman ; yet, it seemed to work pretty well. Since you were basically friends, there was no reason for you to not be able to work together. You were yelling at him way too often because of how unconscious he was but he always took it with a grin,telling you that he would always be alright.

What he didn’t expect was for someone to have real bad motivations. It only happened in movies, but Childe like he had found his nemesis ; and it scared him. Not for himself, obviously, but mostly because he was worried that the guy might find out what linked you to him. Since their first fight, the ginger became even more careful than before towards you. He hoped it would be enough.

But, of course, it wasn’t. It was a peaceful afternoon and you were sitting at a café on your own, working on some project for your class, when you felt a presence sitting right in front of you. When you looked up at him, you didn’t need a lot of time to recognize that twisted face of his. He didn’t give you the time to say anything as he put something on the table, between the two of you.

“before you try to escape,” he said, and you quickly noticed that they were pictures of you and Childe together ; with him as Spiderman, but not only. “You can’t run away, doll. So either you gently follow me, or I let you guess what’s coming.”

You took a quick breath, realizing that it was you or Childe. Maybe you weren’t the hero, and you knew Childe could fight ; but this guy was really scary, and there was no way you would throw your best friend walk in the lion’s den. You closed your laptop, gathered your stuff before standing up, following the mad man without a word.

You weren’t answering Childe’s messages or calls, and he didn’t like that at all. You had the right to be busy, of course, but his instinct was telling him that something was wrong. He knew you well enough to be sure that your silence was strange.

When he asked your mom if you were here, she explained that you left a few hours ago to work on something outside and that she didn’t know more than this. He simply thanked her, not wanting to alert or worry your poor mother, and left. Worry was twisting his stomach.

He searched you everywhere, but it was like you had simply vanished suddenly. He quickly grabbed his phone when he heard it ringing, and answered even quicker when he saw your name on the screen. “You scared me! Where the hell are you?”

The silence on the other side made the worry come back in a rush, until he finally heard some noise. A chuckle. “What did you do to her?” It was definitely not yours, but one he knew well enough to feel his guts twisting and his jaw clenching.

“Nothing, my dear spiderboy. She came with me on her own.” Like he would believe it. Why would you follow this guy, knowing who he was? “He’s right. I don’t need you to come and save me.” His eyes widened, because he easily recognized your voice through the phone. He despised the tone in your voice, the one you were always using when you wanted to keep him away. “I don’t need to be saved.”

Childe wanted to yell at you, to scream that he would never believe this because it wasn’t you ; but no words left his throat. It was stronger than him, they just refused to go out. Why would you do this? You had a deal. He promised to protect you, and you were doing this? He couldn’t believe it ; especially not when you hung up the phone after his silence.

Like hell he wouldn’t come to save you. He didn’t care what you said, he didn’t believe you. He would find where that bastard was hiding you, and he would show you that you needed him to save you ; because there was no way he would let you stay with this man any longer.

It took him days to find you. He had to find an excuse so your mother wouldn’t worry as he neglected everything else in his life to focus only on finding you. Nothing else mattered anyway ; it only made sense if you were by his side.

When Childe finally put the finger on the building you were most probably in, he didn’t think twice before putting on his costume and barging in. When he got inside, you were alone in a room, not even tied up or anything. You almost seemed peaceful, and he hated it.

“I told you not to come,” you began, your back turned to him, and his hands turned into fists. “Like I’m listening to you. You knew I’d come.” He was quick to answer, and you stayed silent without facing him. “Look at me in the eyes, and tell me you want me to leave.”

Childe didn’t know if it was deliberate but you were so slow while turning to face him. The moment he saw your eyes, he knew he was right. Your eyes were telling him so much more than any words you could yell at him. He took a step closer but was brutally stopped by something sinking right into his back.

He heard you shout before he turned around. His body reacted on his own when he threw a punch right into your kidnapper’s face. The man took a step back, holding his nose with a crazy laugh. “Someone’s angry!” And what came after was out of his memory.

Childe like he was going mad, losing his mind every time he saw his sickening face or heard his stupid words. He didn’t care if he hurt himself in the process ; that guy needed to pay, and there was only way for this. He needed to die.

The ginger never thought about killing someone before. He had fought a lot of bad guys, sure, but he always put them in front of their acts and let the justice do his job. But right now, he could only think about one thing : how he needed to die.

What brought him back to his clear mind was your sobbing voice right behind him, yelling at him so he would stop. He let the guy fall on the ground, half dead, before he turned to you. His face was showing how lost he seemed to be, his hands covered in blood. He wanted to reach out for you, but he couldn’t let you get dirty with this filthy blood.

You were crying. Childe couldn’t remember the last time he saw you cry so much. Perhaps it was when you were still two kids playing in the park. There was this boy who pushed you to steal your toy. You cried so much when Childe got scolded for getting into a fight ; but at least, you got your toy back.

The scene felt awkwardly similar, except that you weren’t children anymore, and he was about to take a man’s life with his bare hands. He looked at them, and he felt his body begin to tremble. “I’m sorry…” He whispered, repeating those three words a few times, not able to look up at you.

He was cut off by your arms wrapping around his neck when you pulled him in for a hug. A tight embrace like you were afraid he would disappear ; and he couldn’t only return it to you as tightly. Your poor clothes would be stained with crimson red, but it didn’t matter. None of this mattered.

You both stayed awfully silent as you sneaked into Childe’s room. Neither him or you knew what you were supposed to say after something like this. He had given you a large shirt to change into. He was sitting on the floor while you were kneeling behind him, cleaning the wound on his back. He refused to go to the hospital, so you were the one taking care of it.

“Thank you… for coming,’ you began, and the ginger didn’t move. “I told you I’d never leave you.” And your eyes widened slightly. You looked up at him, even if he couldn’t see you as you were behind him. He did, yes ; but he did when you were only eight years old. When he got your toy back after the incident at the park, Childe promised to never leave your side. It was nothing but a kid’s promise, but he had never forgotten it.

A soft smile appeared on your lips at the thought. You couldn’t help it, he was always able to bring a smile back to your face so easily. It always surprised you, the way he could ease your heart in no time. He glanced at you from above his shoulder ; and when he noticed your smile, he couldn’t restrain himself from grinning slightly. He better see a smile on your face rather than those big tears.

thank you!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #childe x reader #childe tartagalia #childe #childe headcanons #childe hcs #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin hcs #genshin #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia headcanons

89 notes · View notes

notquitecanon · 1 year ago

Text

Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

786 notes · View notes

uwukillmenowowo · 8 months ago

Text

I was in my class, break time, playing CRK and "Love in Paradise" came up.

AT THE SAME I PULLED WIND ARCHER COOKIE AND I WAS LAUGHING SO FUCKING HARD THE TEACHER SCOLDED ME

Love in the Wind

[Yandere! Wind Archer Cookie x Human! Reader]

Notes:

Reader is female

Reader is a hardcore CRK player.

Buys all the limited packs, saves her gems for Super Epic+ cookies

Etc Etc Etc

But something went... wrong...

When Wind Archer first came out, you were the first to get him and his legendary costume.

You showed him much more love than you have any other cookie. Absolutely maxing him out until he had 1 Million combat power on his own. You got very lucky with the RNG.... Dang...

On the other hand... He loved it.

When he first came, he was already told how he was simply part of a game.

But after experiencing all your affection... He felt something in his code go wrong.

He started admiring you from beyond the screen, making sure his dialogue greeted you first.

Seeing you get all excited all over him flustered him beyond belief.

That's when things got bad.

The others cookies noticed Wind Archer acting out of place.

In turn the others starting acting out too, wanting to be a part of your team, wanting to be useful for their user.

Wind Archer did not like that... and decided to do something drastic

The Unthinkable happened... You were baking a cake when you couldn't find your phone. You looked around desperately since you needed to do your daily tasks. But that's when you heard a loud explosion. That's when you realized that you dropped your phone in the oven. the last thing you saw was your phone glitching all shades of green.

{Second POV}

~~~~~

Waking up slowly, you found yourself in an unfamiliar... yet familiar place. Sitting up, you were shocked to see yourself in clothes that you know all too well. After all, you designed it after Wind Archer Cookie's Legendary costume. "Morning Sleepyhead. You've been resting for a while."

You recognized the voice instantly. When you looked to where the voice came from, you saw the familiar green frosting. Stammering over your words, you stared at Wind Archer Cookie in shock, confusion, but most of all, amazement. "Are you... Real..?" You tilted your head. Wind Archer chuckled softly and sat beside you on the grass. "I swear I thought you were dead when you were laying in the soil."

You sweatdropped and rubbed the back of your neck. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Blushing in embarrassment, you chuckled and shook your head no. "Tell me though, who's [User]" In shock, you looked away. That was your username in Cookie Run Kingdom. Does hat mean that all the cookies you have are sentient..? "My... Player name..."

Wind Archer Cookie just smiled. "Anyways I've got all your could want here, all you can need here, just you and me my dear, my love for life!" You gasped at what Wind Archer said. "Wha- I-I'm not that" you blushed and looked away. Only for Wind Archer to suddenly be behind you and hug you tight. "I'm what you want here, I'm what you need dear, Just you and me my Love in Paradise! Now til' the end of time, From here on out you're mine. All mine~"

Flinching, you back up. "Yeah- No I can't stay here that's a fact- Are you sure this ain't a trap?" Wind Archer smirked and moved closer to you. "How cute of you to think, but last I checked, our codes are linked." You felt pale as you bit your lip. "Code?" "You're adorable~" Wind archer pat your head. "Our codes are connected due to your game crashing down on our heads but fear not cuz you're not dead. 'Cause I got all you could want here, all you could need dear, Under my spell, we're stuck in paradise. No one can come or go. My palace stays unknown-"

"No- No..." You look around in desperation to find a way to get out. "I don't belong here! There's something wrong here! I won't be drawn to Love in Paradise- not til the end of time there is no way-" Backing up on the bed, you were simply followed by Wind Archer.

"You're mine~! All mine~!"

I thought of this on the spot- I love this song and I--

WAHDBAWBDHLKHAWDNBJB

I may have made multiple mistakes but ehhhh.....

#Yandere #YandereXReader #Reader #wind archer cookie #wind archer crk #Wind Archer X Reader #Cookie Run Kingdom #CRK #CRK X Reader #love in paradise

158 notes · View notes

trippiexlove · 5 days ago

Text

Story Masterlist

Main Masterlist - if you would like to be added to my tag list comment below. Have a request? Click on this link to drop it ☺️ ENJOY!

Previous Part

Ch.3

The automatic doors of the hospital hissed open, releasing a wave of antiseptic air that usually signaled the start of Evren's eventful day. Today, however, a knot of unease tightened in her chest as she swiped her badge and headed towards the familiar bustle of the nurses' station.

"Morning, sis," Zahria chirped, already immersed in charting but glancing up with a warm smile. "Ready for another day of saving lives?"

Evren managed a weak smile in return, the earlier anticipation for her work already beginning to fray. "Morning. Hopefully, it'll be more saving lives and less getting harassed by Dr. Rhodes."

"Don't count on it," Zahria chuckled knowingly. "He looked like a thundercloud brewing when you left the other day."

"Tell me about it," Evren sighed, her gaze drifting towards the posted surgical schedule. It was routine to check her assignments first thing. Her eyes scanned the list, finally landing on her name next to a complex laparoscopic cholecystectomy she'd been prepping for all week. A small surge of professional satisfaction flickered, only to be extinguished as she noticed another name scrawled over hers: Martinez, P.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She reread the schedule, double-checking the date and the patient's name. It was the same surgery. Why had she been taken off?

"Something wrong?" Zahria noticed Evren's perplexed expression.

"I was supposed to be on this cholecystectomy," Evren said, pointing to the schedule. "I prepped the patient yesterday and everything."

Zahria leaned closer, her own brow creasing. "Really? I didn't hear anything about a change in staffing." She glanced around the busy station. "You think Rhodes did this?"

But Evren's gut churned with a unsettling feeling. This wasn't a typical last-minute shuffle. It felt pointed. She remembered Dr. Rhodes's forced smile and the dismissive tone he'd adopted after she'd rejected his dinner invitation. A cold realization began to dawn.

"I'm going to check the assignment board in the OR," Evren said, a newfound resolve hardening her voice. She needed to know what was going on. As she walked away, Zahria's concerned gaze followed her, a silent acknowledgment of the brewing storm. The familiar energy of the hospital now felt charged with a subtle, personal antagonism, casting a shadow over the start of Evren's day.

The sterile, cool air of the OR floor offered no comfort as Evren scanned the assignment board. Just as at the nurses' station, her name was conspicuously absent from the cholecystectomy list, replaced by Pamela Martinez. A knot of frustration tightened in her chest. This wasn't a mistake; it was deliberate.

She found Dr. Rhodes in the doctors' lounge, leaning against the counter, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand and a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he scrolled through his phone.

"Dr. Rhodes," Evren began, her voice carefully neutral despite the simmering anger within her.

He looked up, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Oh, Evren. Good morning. Something I can help you with?" His tone was overly casual, a subtle power play.

"Yes. I noticed I was taken off the schedule for the laparoscopic cholecystectomy today," She subtly raised her eyebrow "I was under the impression I'd be assisting."

Dr. Rhodes took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to her, feigning nonchalance. "Ah, yes. There was a slight change in staffing. Melanie needed the experience."

"But I've been prepping for this case all week," Evren pointed out, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. "I reviewed the patient's history, gathered the necessary equipment..."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, Evren, and I appreciate your initiative. But sometimes, these things happen. We need to be flexible in a dynamic environment like the OR."

His explanation felt flimsy, a transparent excuse. "And what will I be doing instead?" she pressed.

He finally met her eyes, and the subtle shift in his expression confirmed her suspicions. There was a glint of something akin to triumph in his gaze. "Well, we need someone to meticulously review the post-operative charts in the ICU. The lab is backed up, so your assistance with morning blood draws would be invaluable. Efficient patient care is paramount, after all."

Evren stared at him, a wave of disbelief washing over her. Chart reviews and blood draws were tasks typically assigned to new nurses or those with less experience in the OR. It was a clear demotion, a pointed message.

"With all due respect, Dr. Rhodes," she said, her voice now edged with a steeliness he couldn't ignore, "those tasks are well below my current responsibilities and skill level."

He chuckled softly, a condescending sound that grated on her nerves. "Nonsense, Evren. Every task is important in patient care. It's about being a team player, wouldn't you agree? Besides," he added, his gaze lingering on her a moment too long, "it's a good opportunity to... broaden your horizons."

The thinly veiled insinuation hung in the air. He was making it clear that her refusal had consequences, and he was enjoying wielding his authority.

Evren clenched her fists subtly at her sides. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger. She turned to leave, the weight of his petty retaliation settling heavily on her shoulders.

As she walked away, she could feel his gaze on her back, a silent, arrogant smirk that fueled her resolve to document every single instance of his unprofessional behavior. This wasn't just about a surgery anymore; it was about respect and her professional integrity.

~Later That Day~

The discourse of the hospital cafeteria was a familiar lunchtime hum, a mix of clattering trays, muffled conversations, and the insistent beeping of a nearby microwave. Evren sat across from Zahria and Kim, the lukewarm pasta salad on her tray largely untouched. She'd recounted the morning's events, the dismissive conversation with Dr. Rhodes replaying in her mind like a broken record.

Zahria's usual bright demeanor was clouded with indignation. "That entitled-I can't believe he actually said that! Taking you off a surgery you were prepped for just because you won't go out with him."

Kim, a petite woman with a no-nonsense attitude honed by years of navigating the hospital's social and professional landscape as Dr. Orton's wife, listened intently, her brow furrowed. "He specifically told you to do charts and blood draws?"

Evren nodded, picking at a piece of lettuce. "Word for word. Said it was about being a 'team player' and 'broadening my horizons' The condescension was dripping off him."

"Oh, I've seen that charming side of Cody before," Kim said, a hint of steel in her voice. "Randy's had a few run-ins with him over the years. His daddy poured a lot of money into this hospital. He's got a Napoleon complex the size of Texas."

"It's just so frustrating," Evren sighed, finally putting her fork down. "I feel like he's deliberately trying to make me feel incompetent. And it's working, a little. I keep second-guessing myself."

Zahria reached across the table and squeezed Evren's hand. "Don't let him get to you, girl. You're one of the best nurses in the OR. Everyone knows it. This is just him throwing a tantrum because you wouldn't go to dinner with his creepy ass."

"But what do I do?" Evren asked, her voice laced with uncertainty. "If I go to HR, it'll be my word against his. He's been here longer, he's a surgeon, his dad donated millions.. they'll take his side."

Kim leaned forward, placing a hand on one of Evren's, her expression serious. "That's what he wants you to think. But you're not powerless here, Evren. Zahria's right, you need to document everything. Every task he assigns that's below your level, every condescending remark, the dates and times. Build a solid record."

"And talk to other nurses," Zahria added. "Has he pulled this kind of crap with anyone else?"

Evren thought for a moment. "I've heard whispers... a few of the younger nurses have mentioned feeling uncomfortable with his attention, but no one's ever filed a formal complaint."

Kim nodded. "That's often the case. People are afraid of retaliation. But if you have a solid record, and if others are willing to corroborate... it strengthens your case significantly."

"Randy always says, 'Sunlight is the best disinfectant,'" Kim continued. "The more you bring it out into the open, the harder it is for people like him to operate in the shadows. And honestly, Evren, what he's doing isn't just unprofessional, it could be bordering on harassment."

Evren felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. She wasn't alone in this. "So, you think I should really consider going to HR?"

Kim exchanged a look with Zahria. "At the very least, get your ducks in a row. Document everything. Talk to HR and see what their procedures are. You don't have to file a formal complaint immediately, but knowing your options is important. Don't let him bully you into silence."

Zahria chimed in, her usual fiery spirit returning. "Yeah, screw that guy. We got your back, Evren. You're not going through this alone."

A small, genuine smile finally touched Evren's lips. Knowing she had the support of her friends made the daunting prospect of confronting Dr. Rhodes a little less terrifying. The untouched pasta salad still sat before her, but the knot of anxiety in her stomach had loosened slightly, replaced by a burgeoning sense of resolve.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway seemed to hum a weary tune, mirroring Evren's exhaustion. She swiped her badge, the green light a small victory signaling the end of a frustrating day. Just as she was about to push through the automatic doors leading to the outside, a familiar voice drawled from behind her.

"Leaving so soon, Evren? I thought you were enjoying your... varied tasks today."

Dr. Rhodes leaned against the wall, a smug look on his face, Icy blue eyes staring at her, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Evren turned, meeting his gaze with a stoic expression. She refused to let him see the turmoil his actions had caused. "Dr. Rhodes." Her tone was flat, devoid of any emotion he could latch onto.

His smile tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at her lack of reaction. "Such dedication to the mundane. It's admirable." He paused, waiting for her to rise to the bait.

Evren simply nodded curtly. "Night, Dr. Rhodes." She turned again and walked towards the exit, leaving him standing there, his attempt at provocation falling flat.

Outside, the cooler evening air was a welcome change. Zahria was waiting near the doors, scrolling through her phone.

"Hey, you good?" Zahria said, looking up with a smile.

Evren let out a long breath. "You have no idea. But at least it's over."

"Did he say anything else to you?" Zahria tilted her head, her eyes full of concern.

Evren nodded grimly. "Oh yeah, just now but I didn't give him a reaction. The man is unbelievably petty."

Zahria's jaw tightened. "I swear, one of these days..."

Evren chuckled humorlessly. "Save your energy. Y'all gave me some good advice at lunch. I'm going to start documenting everything."

"Good," Zahria clapped her on the shoulder. "you got this"

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments towards the parking lot.

"Well," Zahria said, stopping at her car, "I'm heading this way. You good to drive home?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired."

"Alright. Text me later, let me know how you're doing. And if you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate."

"Thanks, sis. I will." Evren gave her a small hug before heading to her own car.

The aroma of sesame chicken and fried rice filled Evren's cozy room. Curled up in bed in an oversized shirt, the remnants of her takeout containers on the nightstand, she finally felt a semblance of relaxation. Her phone buzzed with a new message.

From: Fatu, Joshua #1759 How was your day, ma? Hope it was better than mine

Evren hesitated for a moment before typing her reply, deciding to confide in him.

To: Fatu, Joshua #1759 It was frustrating. My work was made unnecessarily difficult by someone being petty and vindictive. Thank God I am off for a couple days

A few minutes later, his reply came.

From: Fatu, Joshua #1759 Damn, I'm sorry to hear that ma. You wanna talk about it?

Evren took a deep breath and began to type, the words flowing more easily than she expected. She recounted the events of her day, Dr. Rhodes's behavior, and her feelings of being undermined. When she finished, she simply sent it, a sense of vulnerability washing over her.

The reply came quickly, and it was different from his usual straightforward tone.

From: Fatu, Joshua #1759 That's fucked up. You don't deserve to be treated like that. It says a lot more about him than it does about you. Remember that. You're strong and you're good at what you do. Don't let some insecure mf dim your light. If I was there, I'd- never mind we not even gon' get into that. Just know say the word and I got you.

Evren read his words again, a warmth spreading through her chest. It wasn't just the sympathy, but the underlying protectiveness in his message. This glimpse of a softer, more caring side of Jey was unexpected and surprisingly comforting. Despite the physical distance and the circumstances of their connection, a genuine sense of understanding seemed to be forming between them. She typed a simple thank you, wishing him a good night. Turning off her phone, a small smile gracing her lips as she drifted off to sleep.

The stale air of the prison phone bank buzzed with the murmur of hushed conversations. Jey gripped the receiver, the plastic warm against his ear as he waited for his call to connect. When Jimmy finally answered, his voice was a familiar, slightly chaotic sound on the other end.

"Yo, what up, uce? Figured you were gonna call. Everything good on yo' end?" Jimmy's usual playful tone was present, though Jey could detect a subtle undercurrent he couldn't quite place.

"Yeah, same old shit. Just checkin' in on things your way," Jey replied, keeping his voice low, aware of the guards patrolling nearby.

"Things goin' as they should," Jimmy said vaguely. "You know how it goes."

Jey let out a dry chuckle. "Tell me bout it. Anything I need to know about?" He kept his tone casual, fishing for information without being explicit.

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Nah, man. Just the usual headaches. You know how it is with everything. What you been up to?"

Jey nodded, even though Jimmy couldn't see him. He decided to tread carefully. "Right, right. I been keepin' busy with writin' and stuff."

Jimmy's tone immediately shifted, a playful teasing entering his voice. "Oh yeah? Writin', huh? Last time you were 'writin',' you were penning angry letters to that ref who called that bogus foul in our high school game."

Jey rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "Nah, man, it's not like that. Just connectin' with someone, you know?"

"Connectin' with someone?" Jimmy repeated, drawing out the words with exaggerated curiosity. "Since when did my antisocial twin brother start 'connectin' with people'? You finally join one of those prison book clubs?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Jey said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just somebody."

"Ooh, I see you uce!" Jimmy exclaimed, practically singing the word. "Well, well, well. Look at you, Jey-bird, making friends. Does this 'someone' got a name? Or are they just a figment of that lonely incarcerated imagination of yours?"

Jey sighed. "Man, quit playin'. It's just someone I'm writin' to. That's all." He wasn't ready to admit, even to Jimmy, the strange pull he felt towards Evren. "Just a friend."

Jimmy snorted. "A 'friend' you're suddenly talkin' all mysterious about? Come on, twin. Spill it. You finally found yourself a pen pal? Someone to keep your spirits up in the concrete jungle?"

Jey hesitated. "Somethin' like that." He shifted the phone to his other ear. "Look, man, that ain't really what I called about." He needed to change the subject. "There's somethin' I need you to do for me."

The playful tone in Jimmy's voice immediately faded, replaced by a note of seriousness. "What's up? What do you need?"

Jey paused again, glancing around the phone bank before lowering his voice even further. "I need you to do somethin' for me. Discreetly. No one else can know about this, you hear me?"

"I gotcha uce. What do you need me to do?" His voice laced with a bit of concern.

Jey took a deep breath, the weight of his request settling in his chest. "There's this girl... her name is Evren. She works at Atlanta Central"

Jey explained what he needed from him. Jimmy didn't hesitate. Reassuring his twin that he'll do what he asks of him.

The call ended, leaving Jey standing in the noisy phone bank, the weight of his request heavy in the silence that followed. He had just pulled his twin brother, his connection to the outside, into this unexpected corner of his life. Feeling confident in his brother he made his way back to his cell as they started lock down for the night.

What y'all think Jey got Jimmy doing for Evren? How are y'all liking it so far, and what do y'all want to see happen next?

Previous Part

If you would like to be added to the taglist let me know below :)

📓 Taglist: @dollface110-blog , @therealh18 , @skyesthebomb , @moxley99 , @fafomama , @queeny23 , @duhitzkay380 , @xbriexx , @mindairy , @tribalchief2112 , @theusotwinzcom , @yana3sworld , @baybehkay , @jazzyboo123-blog1 , @uceyliyahh , @transparentphantomface , @bossbitch-25 , @sheaabuttaababyy , @emotionalhottiee , @jeyusosqueen , @pinkwithhearts , @dollface110-blog , @purplementalitybluebird , @moxley99

#jey uso #jey uso x black oc #jey uso smut #jeyuso #jey uso x black fem oc #jey uso x black reader #wwe #main event jey uso #trippiexlove #talks with trips

64 notes · View notes

mykoreanlove · 1 year ago

Text

Jackson on Kinjaz

Your phone was blowing up constantly.

„Oh my god, did you see this?????“, your friend asked.

With shaking hands you clicked on the link.

„I used to be critical on myself in my mind in a negative way. Not healthy. At all. I would call myself names and put myself down in my mind. I drank the most disgusting shakes for my body health but up here? I was rotting.“

„Yeah, yeah. I remember videos of that nasty shake. What did you put in there - chicken?“

„Gotta get my protein, man. But you know I would constantly feel guilty for what I have done or what I might do.“

„Like what?“

„Like. Okay, like did I practice enough? Is magic man good enough? What if I let everybody down? How will I cope? How will I live?

All these voices.. these fucking nagging voices were with me 24/7.“

„Damn that sounds tough. What did you do?“

„I thought it was impossible to fix because I tried so hard and nothing changed me. Or if it did, it would only last a couple of weeks and I’d be back to feeling like shit and talking down on myself.

Jackson, you moron, how could you do this? Did you really think you could make it? You don’t deserve this success. You don’t deserve to be happy.“

„Jackson, bro. I feel for you. Really.“

„Look, I’m just being honest. I would naturally think of punishments coming my way. I’d imagine injuring myself or loosing all my fans or money. I’d think of the most horrific shit late at night when I should be peacefully sleeping.

I would try to change my thoughts to change my feeling. I would rationalize my way out for hours to only find myself entering a new cave.“

„Like a merry go round.“

„Exactly, I was stuck. Same shit, different day. My gut always had this underlying feeling of tension.

I tried my best to give myself relief but like I said, I could not find Relief for longer than a week. Maybe a month at best.“

„Is that why you turned to alcohol? Because I remember you chugging down a bottle of Hennessy and thought to myself that’s not normal.“

„Oh, of course I started drinking more. I needed more. What used to make me pass out back then is like a cute little cocktail to me now.“

„Damn, that really is a lot to handle. Did you try other things, as well?“

„Look, I tried everything in the book. You name it, I tried it. Worked out. Meditated. Drank. Had sex. Nothing could give me what I craved so badly. Nothing. Until I found her.“

You swallowed hard.

You had no idea that he would share all this with the public. You were very well aware of his struggles but hearing him talk about them upset you. It broke your heart imagining him like that, all dim and broken.

Also, it made you nervous.

You had no idea that he would introduce you into the world like this.

You had no idea that he would reveal your relationship to his homies on a podcast.

Yet, you were intrigued.

„Her as in …?“

„You see, love is a funny thing, right? I didn’t plan to fall in love, nor did I want to but I kind of did. I found the one, man. I found the love of my life and I was lucky enough to have her love me back. Do you know how rare that is?“

„Yeah, it is for you. I remember our last interview and how we wanted to get you on tinder and shit.“

„Exactly! I used to be on my own for years. Years, man. I gave up on love completely, thinking this was meant for others but certainly not me. And then she came into my life. Like an angel that was coming down to help me. Save me even.“

„Your savior, huh?“

„I swear to god her love saved me. It saved me from drugs, it saved me from self destruction and first and foremost it saved me from myself. I gotta be honest man, if I hadn’t met y/n I wouldn’t even be here anymore.“

„Wow. That’s, that’s a pretty heavy revelation. I’m glad you’re doing better now.“

„Oh, I am. Management is probably going to kick my ass later but I don’t care. Let me loose fans, let me loose money. I don’t give a shit. If you support me now, you support the real Jackson Wang. And that’s me right now - happily coupled to the most beautiful soul on this planet. If you can’t handle that - my bad.“

„Okay guys, it’s over. China‘s most wanted bachelor is officially off the market. WHOOOO!!“

„Yeah, the king has finally found its queen.“

„So, what is she like?“

You paused the interview and took a deep breath. Jackson was very vocal of his feelings for you, but hearing it like that felt different. The biggest smile was plastered on his face as he was talking about you.

You as in his queen.

You as in future Miss Wang.

Hundreds of butterflies announced themselves in your stomach, making you giddy and joyful.

„Oh man, she is the best. Like, she is so breathtakingly beautiful. Inside and out. We have the best conversations. I feel like she is my best friend. Truly, no one gets me like she does. It’s just.. it’s effortlessly easy. We laugh a lot, we talk a lot, we share everything with each other. I’m just so grateful, man.“

„Yeah, I can see that. You’re grinning from ear to ear. Make sure to invite me to your wedding.“

„Like you invited me to your birthday?“

„Okayyyyy, let’s wrap it up. Guys, that’s it for today. Thank you Jackson, really appreciate you brother.“

You stopped the video, giggling at your petty boyfriend.

„Remind me to have a word with you once you’re back, yeah?“, you texted him.

It didn’t take him a second to instantly call you.

„Did you see it? Already? Damn babygirl, you’re quick“, he teased.

„You could have warned me, Wang!“

„I didn’t plan to say all that but I couldn’t help myself. It just.. it just came out of me. I really meant it though.“

„Everything?“

He knew exactly what you were implying.

„Oh, I’m gonna make you Miss Wang for sure. Rule my kingdom with me? Please?“

519 notes · View notes