#i had no idea what i was doing when i made him as far as build goes but i accidentally made him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cxrrodedcoffin · 2 days ago

Text

☆ 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐧 ☆

Vigilante Older!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Part 1/3)

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 @bloodibambiidoll @babygorewhore 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!! ��꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა ᯓᡣ𐭩

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝♡

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!rafe, older!rafe, age gap (rafe’s mid 40’s, reader is mid 20’s), established relationship, murder, mentions of past abuse, mentions of missing persons & kidnapping, handcuffs, condescension, praise, reader isn’t a virgin but experiences a couple firsts, daddy kink, breast play, oral sex fem receiving, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, doggy style, overstimulation, squirting, pet names (doll, baby, babydoll, princess, sugar), rafe’s a smartass with a heart of gold, he talks you through it

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k

Rafe Cameron was your neighbor. That’s all he was ever supposed to be, but three weeks ago when he broke down your front door after hearing your pained screams echoing down the secluded street, everything changed. He held no hesitation in beating your abusive boyfriend to a bloody pulp, and by the time you had regained awareness of your surroundings, Rafe was dragging you out of the house, leaving your boyfriend’s lifeless body to rot in the house you once called home.

You’d had your flirtations in the past, in fact, that’s what you and your boyfriend had been arguing about before he tried to kill you that night. He saw the way you looked at Rafe, knew you had a crush on him, and his brain made the jump that you must have been sleeping with him. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it back when you were single, he was classically handsome, but he was also twenty years your senior, and you surely would’ve been the talk of figure eight if the two of you had actually started seeing each other, so you’d resigned yourself of that idea a long time ago.

When Rafe took your hand and dragged you behind him out of that house you didn’t have any urge to try and run from him, it was like you knew he was doing what was best for the both of you. You followed behind him the entire time he spent scrambling to gather things around his house, packing up the most important parts of his private life inside an old duffel bag and pulling several large stacks of cash out of his safe before running with you in tow to the body shop down the road to hotwire the most inconspicuous car there. You were ready to go, to leave your mundane life behind if it meant being with him like you’d spent many sleepless nights fantasizing about.

There were many pressing issues at hand, tasks that needed to be completed to ensure you wouldn’t be caught. You needed aliases, a story to cover your tracks as you drove cross country to evade arrest, and what Rafe suggested after hours of contemplation made your heart skip a beat.

“If anyone asks what we’re doing on the road, I’m your dad, and we’re going to visit family, got that?” His left hand held strong atop the steering wheel, the strength of his grip making the veins in his forearm particularly prominent in that moment. You swallowed, eyes wide as he took his eyes off of the road for a split second to see you slowly nodding your head in understanding.

“Like anyone’s going to believe I’m your kid.” You joked, your voice cracking despite your efforts to disguise how flustered the thought of calling him dad made you.

“Believe it or not babydoll, I am actually old enough to be your dad. I doubt anyone will think it's that far-fetched of an idea.”

“We don’t even look alike.” You scoffed, turning to watch the expanse of technicolor trees climbing the mountain side directly out your window.

“No one’s gonna be paying attention to our family resemblance if we stay under the radar, just keep your pretty mouth shut and you won’t have to worry about it.”

That thought was the only one you could conjure for the next two hours on the road until Rafe pulled into the parking lot of a seedy old motel so the two of you could get some much needed rest. He had to go out for gas and to buy a change of clothes for you and him at the truck stop down the road the next morning, shaking you out of your slumber to drag you to the closet and handcuff you to the hanger rod in the small closet.

“Now don’t think I don’t trust you babydoll, I do, but these are an insurance policy in case that silly little mind of yours decides to go all rational on me, understand?” He locked the first cuff around your wrist before looping the chain over the bar and securing your other one, leaving you to struggle against the metal.

“C’mon Dad, just take me with you.” You teasingly pleaded, pushing your chest out as you tried to take a step toward him.

“Can’t, it’ll look suspicious if we’re with each other all the time. You have to stay here and I gotta get this done so we can get back on the road. I’ll be back in twenty minutes tops.” He left you there, slamming the motel room door behind him as a silent threat to be good. You did, staying in place and stirring over how you could manage to take this whole dad thing further to push Rafe’s buttons as much as you could. You were getting bored. As much fun as running from the law was, the miles of highway and generic gas stations and fast food places were starting to meld together into one monotonous blob in your head, and you wanted some good old fashioned entertainment. You made a plan, figuring you’d slowly execute it over the next few days.

The next thing on your fugitive checklist was a change in appearance. You dyed and cut your hair in a truck stop bathroom after a couple days of driving, knowing your face and signature long locks were likely all over broadcast television at that point. Rafe, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen on the idea of chopping off his beloved mullet. He’d grown accustomed to it, spent twenty years perfecting the length and cut to his liking, but he knew he had to part ways with it if it meant keeping you. He hadn’t had a buzz cut in decades, not since his early twenties, and he wasn’t sure how it would suit his more mature features, but your words of encouragement gave him the push he needed to grab the electric clippers and head for a mirror.

When he finally walked out of that old motel bathroom, you had to bite back a moan. He was hot before, no doubt about it, but with the buzzcut? You wondered what it would be like to feel that peach fuzz against your palms as you pushed his face further into your pussy.

“Thoughts?” He studied the look on your face, that glint of something desperate in your eyes as the corners of your mouth pulled into a soft smile.

“I love it! Very dilf of you.” You beamed, giggling to yourself while shifting to your knees on the creaky old motel bed as he closed the space between you.

“You realize you just implied you want to fuck me, right?” He folded his arms over his chest, toned biceps framing firm pecs and you had to swallow back a groan at the sight.

“I know exactly what I was implying, Dad.” You pulled him closer by the bottom of his shirt, the look of amusement on his stubbled face only emboldening you further.

He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at you as your hands found the back of his neck, rubbing over the soft patch of hair at the nape just to feel the velvety smooth texture for a moment. The sound of the nightly news droning on the television across the room quickly became drowned out by the white noise of both of your bated breaths. You couldn’t take it anymore, all the stolen glances and unspoken tension. You needed him, now.

“Rafe, please.” The words came out like a whine, more needy than you’d intended.

“Please, what?” He cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips pulling into an inquisitive smirk.

“You know what.” Your hands moved over his shoulders and down to his chest, fingertips ghosting over his shirt.

“I need to hear you ask for it. I’ve made a lot of fucked up choices in my life and my morals may not be that sound but I do have some that I won’t compromise on. I need to know I’m not taking advantage of you.” He took your wrists in his hands, stalling your movements until you made eye contact with him.

“I may be young but I know what I want, Rafe. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I moved in next to you.” He wasn’t exactly surprised by your bluntness, but hearing those words in your angelic voice still threatened to knock the wind out of him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re breaking my heart here. You know how many times I fought the urge to knock on your door and just flat out ask to taste your sweet pussy?” He dropped your wrists, instinctively going to run his right hand through his hair only to be reminded he’d just buzzed it all for you.

“God, Rafe, I wish you would’ve, we could’ve avoided this whole thing.” You sighed, hands returning to his chest as you looked almost painfully into his tired eyes. There was so much built up energy between the two of you, emotional and sexual, and as a tear slipped down your cheek, all Rafe could think about was how pretty you’d look crying with his cock in your mouth.

“If we were still back in Kildare I’d be showing you off all over town, making every one of those little frat boy assholes jealous with you on my arm.” His tone dipped an octave as his rough hand met your cheek, brushing the tear away. His eyes bore into yours until you looked down to his chest to hide your flattered blush.

“I’ve wanted to pull the goddamn car over and pound you into the backseat on the side of the highway for three weeks.” He exhaled as he spoke and something broke inside of you, a chain snapping to let you finally crash your lips against his. It was crushing, all plush lips and slipping tongues, small gasps for air as your hands groped at one another, pulling at fabric until you’d both managed to discard your shirts.

“You’ve really been hiding these from me this whole time, sugar?” He sighed, large hands groping your breasts over your thin lace bralette.

“I wasn’t hiding anything, it’s not my fault I’ve been living in baggy truck stop shirts for weeks.” You shot back, arching into his touch despite your attitude.

“Didn’t know you had slutty little things like this on underneath ‘em.” He snapped the thin strap against your shoulder, taking note of the way you mewled in response to the short sting the action caused.

“I don’t want to talk anymore Rafe, just fuck me, please.” You whined, your hands haphazardly undoing his belt to allow his worn jeans to fall to the ground.

“That’s not how I do things, babydoll. We’re gonna talk until I say otherwise.“ He paused his movements for a moment, looking into your eyes and it took everything in you not to avert your gaze. You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so intimidated by him, you’d been firing back snarky remarks at him for weeks, what was turning you into this shy thing all of a sudden?

You just nodded, eager for him to keep going. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes for a moment before resigning to continuing his efforts to pull your bralette over your head, finally fully exposing your breasts. He flashed you a smile before pressing a kiss to your lips, gentle at first before devolving into something more hungry, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip as he made his way down to your neck. Your hands found their way to his hips, palming his half-hard cock through his briefs and the low groan that grumbled up from his chest made you reach for the waistband. His hands wrapped around your wrists, halting your movements as he pulled away from your neck, his face only a few inches from yours.

“Slow down, doll. I’m not losing out on the opportunity to see what makes you tick just because you’re impatient.” He chided, holding your wrists together with one hand while he opened the bedside table drawer to search for something.

“I thought guys didn’t like this foreplay stuff.” You sighed, trying to see what he was reaching for.

“That what your little boyfriend told you?” He pulled the handcuffs from the other day out of the drawer, clicking one cuff around your left wrist before moving your arms behind you, securing your right wrist in the remaining cuff.

”You’re gonna learn real fast how good this ‘foreplay shit’ can be for the both of us. I’m going to talk you through every last thing I do and you’re going to tell me exactly how it makes you feel.” The look on his face was serious, not a hint of insincerity in sight, and yet, you couldn’t quite believe what was being demanded of you.

“You want to hear me?” You clarified, the innocence and underlying hurt in your voice almost sending Rafe into another blind rage over how your boyfriend had been treating you before he took care of him.

“I need to, that pretty voice is what keeps me going every day.” Rafe wasn’t usually so sappy, that snarky attitude of his running rampant for as long as you had known him, but there was something about the softness you held underneath that opinionated exterior that made him want to be soft with you. You could go toe to toe with him in sarcasm any day, but he wanted to meet you in that softness you didn’t show very often. He continued his position at the curve of your jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses across your skin that made it feel like he would devour you whole if given the opportunity.

“You’re purring like a kitten and I’ve barely touched you.” You could feel his smirk against your skin along with the cockiness in his tone and as much as you wanted to retaliate, put him in his place, you couldn’t find the words. He was impossibly good, each nip and suck of his lips and teeth down the column of your neck drawing quickened breath and needy whimpers from your kiss-bitten lips.

He continued the trail down to your collarbone, ghosting his lips over your skin as his hand splayed out over your stomach, gently pushing until you took the hint and laid back on the bed. You could feel your cuffed hands digging into you, repositioning them to sit in the curve of your lower back, the slight discomfort quickly falling to the wayside as Rafe’s mouth returned to your chest, plush lips wrapping around your right nipple. His fingers found the left, brushing rough fingertips over your sensitive bud as he sucked softly, movements working in tandem to draw as much sound from you as possible.

You stretched your legs, thighs absentmindedly spreading to allow him space to slot his toned thigh between them as he continued to shower your breasts with attention, marking your skin with bruising kisses and tweaking your nipples until you couldn’t help but moan his name.

“So sensitive babydoll, you like when daddy plays with your tits?” He pulled away from your chest, shifting so his face was above yours, his pupils blown with desire as he took in the sight of you all worked up for the first time.

“Mhm.” Your face flushed at the bluntness, his confidence and curiosity such an interesting change of pace from the men you’d been with before.

“Speak up.” His playful tone turned serious again, his hands moving to your hips as he pulled your hips to the end of the bed, your clothed cunt pressed against the thick of his bare thigh. You gasped as he flexed the muscles in his thigh, rocking against your aching clit through your increasingly wet panties.

“I’m not him, princess. Let me hear you.” He gently gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as he brought his movements to a halt, watching your face drop in disappointment from the lack of friction.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this, I love it, Rafe.” Your voice held a slight tremble as you forced yourself to share your thoughts, still so unfamiliar with the notion that a man could want to know how you’re feeling.

“God am I glad I killed that piece of shit. He didn’t fuckin’ deserve you.” He sighed, a hint of pride lacing his low tone as he ran his hands over your sides, feeling every curve of your body as he slowly dropped to his knees beside the bed. He slid his hands over your hips beneath the fabric of your underwear, pulling the thin cotton slowly down your legs.

“Look at me.” He waited for you to carefully prop yourself up on your elbows, the cuffs digging into your wrists from the angle. His eyes held your gaze in an almost intimidating stare, his hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“You ever had your pussy eaten baby?” His question caught you off guard despite how obvious it seemed given his current position, and you were sure he already knew the answer from the look on your face.

“N-no, every guy I’ve been with said it was gross.” As soon as the statement hit Rafe’s ears he could feel that anger rise to another level, the need to make you forget about every shitty guy you’d been with stronger than ever.

“Where are you finding these assholes? I’ll kill the rest of them too, just say the word.” His tone was lighthearted but you knew from the look on his face that he was the furthest thing from joking. You laughed him off, your attention pulling to his hands finally pushing your thighs apart, making space for him to slot his broad shoulders between your legs.

“Rafe, you don’t have to.” You tried to pull your legs together but to no avail, the action only spurring him on. He hooked his hands underneath your thighs, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him full access to your cunt.

“No shit, I want to. Need you to keep your eyes on me so you can see how much I’m enjoying tasting your sweet pussy.” He locked eyes with you as he dipped his head lower, watching the way your brow furrowed and a soft gasp left your lips when he gave the first drag of his tongue through your folds. He smiled briefly before diving back in, lapping hungrily at your dripping entrance before sucking softly at your clit, the way your thighs tensed under his grip a physical indication of how much you were enjoying it.

He glanced up at you, watching the way your bottom lip quivered with every whimper and moan of his name in response to his tongue expertly flicking over your clit. His right hand slowly slid down from your thigh, his pointer and middle finger prodding teasingly at your entrance before sinking into your wet heat, the new sensation making you buck your hips against him. He pumped steadily in and out of you, massaging your walls with each flex of his fingers as he pulled his mouth off of you.

“How does it feel babydoll? Everything you hoped it would be?” He smirked at you and you had to fight the urge to laugh at the almost ridiculous question. You knew he knew how good he was making you feel, and yet he still wanted you to stroke his ego. He sure was living up to the reputation he held back on Kildare, that’s for sure.

“Yes, fuck, it’s so good, just keep going, please.” You sighed in frustration, desperate to have his mouth on you again. He had the nerve to laugh, but you couldn’t find it in you to call him out on it, just relieved to see him lowering his head back down to your cunt.

He wasted no time, flicking over your clit at an impossibly quick pace, his fingers curling up to hit that soft spot inside of you until you were throwing your head back, barely able to support yourself anymore as your elbows gave out behind you, falling back against the mattress as your thighs began to tremble. He wrapped his lips around your clit, humming in satisfaction as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, the sound of his name falling from your lips in a desperate cry like music to his ears.

He continued lapping gently at your cunt, working you through your orgasm until he could slowly slip his fingers from you, his digits coated in your cum. He waited for you to catch your breath, taking a moment to recover before propping yourself back up on your elbows, looking down at him through half lidded eyes. As soon as your eyes met his he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking your slick off of them slowly, savoring the taste. Your lips parted in a small gasp, barely even audible, seeing him enjoy going down on you just as much as you had enjoyed it.

He rose to his feet, putting his erection right at your eye level and your small gasp turned into something much more substantial, the sound drawing Rafe’s attention.

“Did that really turn you on that much?” You squeaked out, your voice much more unsteady than you intended it to be.

“I told you it would be good for both of us, I don’t lie about shit like that.” He took a step toward the edge of the bed, His thumbs slipping into the waistband of his underwear before pulling it down, his weighty cock slapping against his thigh as he did so. You bit your lip, watching him wrap his hand around the base of his shaft before tapping the tip against your sensitive clit, the action sending a jolt of pleasure straight to the coil in the pit of your stomach. He rubbed his shaft through your folds, coating himself in your wetness as he watched your expression change from confusion to curiosity to desperation.

“Feel that? It’s all for you, babydoll.” He leaned forward, his face only a few inches above yours as he continued rubbing himself against your cunt, teasingly brushing over your clit in a way that had you squirming and silently begging for more.

“What, baby? What do you need?” He asked, feigning ignorance to what he knew he was doing to you. This was the longest any of your sexual encounters had lasted and he wasn’t even inside of you yet.

“Need you inside of me, please.” You whined, trying to shift your hips to position him lower. He took hold of your hips, stopping your efforts before abruptly flipping you onto your stomach in the middle of the bed, your head almost hanging off the end. You felt the mattress shift under his weight as he positioned himself behind you, pulling your hips up to meet his so you were kneeling before him. Your cuffed wrists made it impossible for you to lift your upper half without assistance, your face and breasts resting against the mattress with your cunt on full display.

“Bet your shitty little boyfriends never showed you how to do anything other than missionary, that right?” You whimpered out a soft “yeah” as you pushed your hips back, feeling his head bump your entrance for a moment before he pushed fully into you, slow enough to allow you to get used to the angle but not torturously slow. He was over playing games now, all he wanted was to show you what you’d been missing with every man who wasn’t him. Your eyes rolled back, the unfamiliar angle stimulating your sensitive walls in ways you’d never experienced before. He steadily increased his pace, his balls slapping against your clit with every slam of his hips, that familiar pressure building impossibly quickly.

“Who’s that pretty girl on the tv? She looks awfully familiar.” His voice pulled your attention away from your impending orgasm for just a moment just as he took hold of the handcuffs and pulled your arms back, putting the tv right in your line of sight. The image that flashed before you made your stomach flip, a group of three photos of you with your physical traits and last known whereabouts listed beside them as the news anchor read off a teleprompter, “Nationwide search for missing Kildare, North Carolina woman continues as police expand their search into three new states.”

Your eyes glossed over, the sight all too surreal and the feeling of his cock hitting places so deep inside of you that you weren’t even sure they existed before this very moment too much as every nerve ending in your body erupted in euphoria, the strained cry of pleasure that ripped from your throat almost drowning out the news broadcast.

“You like seeing your missing poster plastered everywhere? Want everyone to know I own you now?” He teased, continuing to fuck into you as you mumbled incoherently in response, too fucked out to form a proper response.

“Listen to that, they’re saying I kidnapped you, callin’ me a monster. If only they could see how good I’m making you feel right now babydoll, how good your daddy’s making you feel.” His words pierced through your post orgasm haze, pressure starting to build in your tummy again.

“Oh my god, daddy, it’s too much, I can’t, please!” You begged, overwhelmed by the pleasure still coursing through your body as he brought you closer and closer to another orgasm with every thrust, his remarks only spurring you on.

“I know you can baby, your pussy’s gripping me like a vice.” He laughed again, but you could feel his hips starting to falter, his thrusts becoming sloppy, he had to be just as close as you were.

“Fuck, who’s your daddy, baby?” He groaned, watching the way your ass reverberated back against him with every thrust.

“You are!” You moaned, so close to the edge.

“Say it.” He commanded, a darkness present in his tone that hadn't been there before.

“You are, Rafe, you’re my daddy!” You cried out, a white heat unlike anything you’d ever felt before rushing through you as you felt a warmth gush from your cunt, your body going limp against him, his grip on your hip and the cuffs being the only things to keep you from completely collapsing into the mattress.

You barely registered him pulling out of you and cumming on your ass, the warmth of the white stickiness dripping down into your folds being one of the only things able to draw you back to reality.

“You ever done that before?” His voice sounded miles away, your ears still ringing from your release.

“Done what?” You asked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. When you saw the liquid dripping down his lower stomach and thighs onto the wet spot on the bed, your eyes went wide, trying to scramble to your knees the best you could with your wrists still cuffed.

“Oh my god, no, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!” The panic in your voice startled him, but that quickly turned to anger as he thought about what your shitty exes had done to you to make you feel like you needed to apologize for something so natural.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” He soothed you the best he could, grabbing the key to the cuffs and undoing them as he rubbed the red marks on your wrists to ground you.

“You’re not mad?” You asked, blinking back the tears that had gathered in your waterline.

“God, no. I’m gonna be making you squirt all the time now that I know you can.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood again. You smiled, and his anger quelled. He had to remind himself that those assholes were in your rear view, he was your future. That’s all that mattered.

“What about the sheets?” You asked, standing from the bed to pull the wet linens off of the mattress, bunching them up in a pile in the corner of the room.

“I’ll just go ask for new ones at the front office, you go hop in the shower and I’ll join you when I get back.” He reassured, kissing you on the forehead and using the loose sheets to dry off his stomach before reaching for his scattered articles of clothing to get dressed to run to the office.

—

tagging: @starkeysprincess @rafesfawn @eddiesxangel @theeternaloptimistt @drewscoquette @rafesangelita @rafelust @bunbun-3 @poopiefartz @coquettebiatch @lilbunnyorwhatever @alejstarkey

please message me if you’d like to be untagged <3

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #older!rafe #older!rafe cameron #outer banks smut #drew starkey #rafe obx #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #my writing #mine #my dividers #dividers by cxrrodedcoffin

597 notes · View notes

poguehearted77 · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!! I've watched the scene where Sarah is starving and Rafe is pacing around and knowing he has cash in his pocket and doesn't care that his sister is starving and pregnant. I can't help but imagine it if it was reader, and they hooked up once twice or however you see fit, and she's pregnant with his baby.

Would it be any different? Could you write something about that? Take the idea and run with it because im bad at articulating 🤣

Oh yeah, Rafe is a class-A asshole, but he might show just a little remorse if the baby is his.

Love the requests, keep sending em' in!!

The Moroccan sun was beating down on the group relentlessly, sweating you out and drying you up with the shine of its bright light. The only reason your sweat wasn't dripping off you was because it was quickly soaked up into the modest fabrics around your head.

You'd been travelling tirelessly for the last few days, dangerously too, if you might add. The boat nearly capsized multiple times just trying to make it to Morocco. As if the boat ride wasn't abhorrent enough with your seasickness....and morning sickness...

The constant smell of saltwater and the rocking of the ship had amplified the awful experience and you would spend the first hour in the bathroom regurgitating your insides every morning. It was not fun.

None of the pogues know you're pregnant. Although, Cleo was on to you. One pregnancy was more than enough for the group to worry about. You figured this was something you'd keep to yourself despite the fact the father is currently trekking with you through the hot sands.

The day was only getting hotter. You're thirsty, your lungs hurt and it felt like your own organs were weighing you down. You naturally began to fall behind the group, little by little until the gap was hard to ignore.

"Come on, Y/n. We're not far from the city, just a few more miles." Pope encouraged but it triggered a laboured breath. You're exhausted. A small smile crept on your lips when you noticed John B holding Sarah's hand the whole time, never letting her out of his sight.

For what feels like the eighth time, Rafe looks over his shoulder, more annoyed than ever. "Jeez, would you hurry it up?" You scoff, mustering up enough energy to kick up some sand at his legs. "Nice. Real mature, Y/n." His sarcasm rolls off his tongue and you ignore him as you walk past him.

Once you finally made it into the city, you all needed something to eat. Sarah wasn't feeling so great and neither were you. Babies are nothing but greedy entities consuming all the nutrients you need.

You leaned against the cool rock wall, watching the others run off to help themselves to a five-finger discount. With your eyes closed, you tried to distract yourself from the ache in your abdomen. Not sure if it was the baby or your hunger, possibly a mix of both.

Without even realizing it, you let a hand rest lightly over your stomach. It was still early, you weren't showing and you thank god.

"We're wasting time!" You hear Rafe yell, it doesn't even faze you. He's somewhere near you when he mumbles to himself, "Sitting around on the streets when we should be going after Groff, unbelievable."

What was supposed to be a quick glance your way turns into an elongated stare. His eyes raked over your posture, your shut eyes, brows crunched in distress. He slowly looks down at the placement of your hand.

"Y/n." He says, tugging you into a corner out of sight from the others and you swat him. He shockingly accepts the reprimands and backs off, taking a step back. "What do you want, Rafe?" Your arms cross, waiting for him to say something.

"Is it mine?" Your arms fall slowly, caught, but you deny it. "I don't know what you're talking about." Hardly able to take two steps away before he's barricading you in the corner with his body.

"Don't bullshit me, Y/n. The baby. Is it mine?" You chew on your lower lip, avoiding his chilling gaze. Apparently, that was enough confirmation. "How long have you known?" He takes on a defensive stance.

How the hell were you supposed to know the answer to that? The last week alone has blurred together in memories of rough waters and dry deserts.

All you knew was it happened sometime between the various times you and Rafe swore it would be the last time you fooled around. Unsure if it was the time on his yacht, in the back of his truck or one of the dozen times you somehow ended up in his bed when you swore you were only in figure eight for a 'walk'.

The group had no idea the two of you had been involved with each other aside from the occasionally tense argument, but anyone could admit the two of you can't seem to stay away from one another.

"I dunno, a month maybe?" He pressed both hands to his forehead, fingers spread wide, and slowly dragged them down, smearing the tension all the way to his chin.

"Let's go." His grip on your hand forces you to follow his long strides between the bustling kiosks until you land inside a Delhi. You're too stuck inside your own mind to process what was happening until you watched Rafe lift the bottom of his shirt, revealing a fanny pack with a considerable amount of money.

"Of course. Of course, you had money this whole time! Of course, you let the others go stealing--!" He hushes you as the owner flashes you a look of concern, "Listen, I'm not the one who told those pogues to go looting. I've got money for more important shit than their sad jewel hunt." He explains, paying for the items with a small nod of gratitude towards the man.

Turning to you, he placed a sandwich in one hand, and a cool bottle of water in the other. "This," He starts, his palm gently resting against your stomach. For the first time in a long time, his brows relax and his gaze softens when he looks at you. "This is more important."

726 notes · View notes

lostintransist · 3 days ago

Text

Secrets Are For Grown Ups

I am demanding my smooches now.

@beloveds-embrace @cherrycosmos392 @mxtallymarks @love-kha1

CW: Asshole Simon and Johnny using you for sex instead of each other. Calling out someone else's name during sex. Pregnancy mentioned. Death of a spouse mentioned.

Simon slipped. Well. Simon slipped first. Johnny slipped up too. They ruined you, tugging you between them instead of reaching out for the other. You couldn’t fathom them caring. Even now.

If they cared about you they wouldn’t have touched you. You had been twenty-four and still so young. God, you were thirty now and still felt like you didn’t have a handle on life. Johnny had been twenty-nine and Simon thirty-three. Old enough to know better. At least to know better than you.

A series of coincidences led you to a one-year work visa and as an American transfer under the 141 task force. You handled paperwork mostly, and whatever didn’t involve paperwork meant dealing with your counterparts back in DC. You keep slightly funny hours to stay working on Washington time but that wasn’t unusual for anyone else who shared your building. The lights stayed at a low dim all day and night because three pm and three am felt a lot alike when rolling in off a job.

You were a nodding professional with Captain Price, Lieutenant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick. Sergeant MacTavish flirted with you. You accepted it with a wary eye and a cool confirmation of what he meant each time. Lieutenant Riley watched. He never spoke to you unless he needed something until the night in the bar. Six months had elapsed on your visa when Gaz, as he had asked you to call him, invited you to the bar with everyone. Seeing no reason to not say yes you had gone.

Off base and with a little buzz in your veins you let Johnny flirt. He insisted on his first name as he sidled up close to you halfway through your first drink. You’d always been wary of Johnny’s flirting. He’s attractive with all the muscles he maintains for work, the air of danger that lingers around him like cologne, and that barely visible scar near his lip. Problem is he knows it. Or at least he knows people react to him with pretty privilege. He makes you laugh. You don’t know why it surprises you, of course, he had to have a good sense of humor to deal with his job.

Lieutenant Riley was watching again. The prickling of your senses that tells you a predator is watching is what gave it away. Staying at the bar smiling at Johnny seemed safer until you had to pee. Passing your cup to the bartender with a quick ‘I’m done with this’ you excuse yourself from the bar and wend your way around the nearly touching tables to find the bathroom.

The narrow wood-paneled hallway had a single bulb shining down on you from a sconce high on the wall. Taking the time to dry your hands completely you pause when you see that the hallway has gone dark. Diffusing light from the main room reaches only so far into the darkness. Scanning you see nothing out of the ordinary and let the crack of light from the bathroom disappear as the door settles closed.

Running the tips of your fingers over the wall, the bumps telling the tales of so many decades of drunken bathroom trips, you touch something that is made of steel and flesh. Jumping back with a squeak you search with your gaze for anything.

“Why does Johnny like you?”

Riley. You let out the breath you had been holding. It’s Lieutenant Riley, not someone who would hurt you.

“You know sir I have no idea. Do you know?” You aimed your voice up.

“I might have an idea.” He surprises you with a touch to your neck. Trailing up to your jaw before dry lips brush against yours.

Stepping back you gave a startled exclamation.

“Ah…uh..Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think I need to go home.”

Skirting around him you flee like a hare that caught the sense of a hawk in the sky. When you retrieve your purse from the chair next to Johnny you find a beautiful woman draped across it talking him up.

“Sorry, I just need my bag,” you said drawing both of their attention to you.

“Ah, bonnie,” Johnny started sadly, “Heading out so soon?”

“Yeah um,” you scratch the back of your head, low near your hairline. “I need to head home.”

Standing he ignored the woman flirting with him entirely.

“Let me walk you home?” He steps too close to you but the body in a chair directly behind your ass keeps you from moving for more space.

Glancing to the storm brewing in the woman’s face you try and redirect him.

“I mean you looked like you were having such a good conversation I’m gonna go wait for a cab. Thank you for the offer though. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” With that you scooted past, unsure how you felt about the full body contact required.

Okay, well your lady bits knew exactly how they felt about it but you as a person? You were unsure. It felt like you had been dropped into a game that you didn’t know the rules of. It continued on like that, them pushing you and breaking your boundaries down one touch at a time until Simon pounded into you from behind in a supply closet. You crept closer to that temporary oblivion when Simon slipped.

A guttural moan washed over your back, Simon’s fingers tightening down on your hips.

“Johnny, oh Johnny!” He came then with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Any chance of an orgasm on your end dried up like a puddle on concrete in direct sun. Simon didn’t notice, pulling out and cleaning up the mess he had made of you before pulling you up and then your underwear. He gave your ass a light tap and planted a kiss at your temple before leaving you to the scent of cleaning supplies.

You worked the day in the eye of a storm. Mentally reaching out to touch your emotions you found only a torrent of fast-moving thoughts and feelings. You made it to your flat before the pressure of the eye wall faulted, crushing you under its weight. The next week you had a hard time eating, focusing, and doing anything outside of work really. Work had you hyper-vigilant always on watch for the spooky silent lieutenant that might try to pull you into a dark room. You didn’t think you could survive another encounter with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Oddly enough Johnny noticed the distress you seemed to be under and took to feeding you. He dropped off a snack at your desk every day and chatted with/at you until you ate it all before disappearing into the bowels of the building again. Three weeks after the Simon incident as you had taken to calling it in your head Johnny had pulled the same shit.

Flat on your back, knees nearly touching your ears he rammed into you. Pleasure crested for you as he could no longer hold on.

“Simon,” the breathy whisper betrayed him. He must have thought you to far gone in your orgasm to hear him.

They had to be fucking kidding you.

Would it hurt less if they were kidding you?

How the hell were you supposed to deal with this happening to you twice?

Johnny pulled out and flopped face down on his bed beside you.

Sitting up slowly you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna use the hall bathroom to go pee. I’ll probably be a minute.”

He grunts his acknowledgment and you set your exit strategy into action. Johnny knew you preferred to put your clothes back on for cuddles if you left the bed for any reason. Grabbing up all of your items you stepped from his bedroom hugging your clothes so tight the zipper of your jeans bit into the side of your breast. Peeing and washing your hands you dressed.

Stepping from the bathroom you called down the hall to Johnny.

“Do you have any cheese or nuts?”

“In the cabinet or the fridge,” came his return call.

Good. He wouldn’t think some odd sounds coming from this direction odd then. Tying your shoes on you open and shut a couple of cupboards and the fridge before rattling the dishes in the dishwasher grabbing your purse and leaving his flat.

Johnny didn’t come after you if he noticed your absence. Arriving home you noted the time. It was four pm on a Friday, Captain Price would still be at the office doing paperwork.

You called him as you started packing.

“Price.”

“Hi, Captain. I am just calling to let you know there has been a family emergency back home and I will be hopping on a plane tonight. I don’t know when this will be resolved. Can you send me any paperwork that I will need to complete so my work visa will close out as it should?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the family emergency, you let me know if you need anything. Your contract will run its course, including the agreed-upon pay, and conclude the day before your visa expires. The only thing you will need to worry about is talking to an accountant out here to figure out your share of taxes to be paid.”

Captain Price had always been like that with you, straightforward and honest. Unlike his men.

“That sounds reasonable and doable. If you have a recommendation of a firm I can reach out to that would be immensely helpful,” you stare at your shoe options, deciding which ones to leave behind since your bag was getting too full with the haphazard way you filled it.

“I don’t have one off the top of my head but I will ask around. Will this number still work?”

“No, this is a UK number that will probably stop working somewhere over the Atlantic. Can you send the info to my work email? I will be able to access that until my visa expires right?”

“That is correct. I will send it there. Safe travels and thank you for all of your hard work with us.”

“Of course, and thank you for being a good captain and a good man to work with.” You ended the call before he could think to question the sentence.

A call to the cab company came next. With the car ordered you left a voicemail for your landlord telling him the same information, family emergency feel free to rent the flat out now. It was a furnished option so nothing here that held an emotional attachment would fit in your suitcase.

The only thing you left behind was a framed photo of you standing with all the guys at a party face down on the table. Anything else you weren’t taking got bagged and sent to the bins.

You cried at the airport, and on the plane, and waiting for your sibling to come and save you from the airport. Telling someone that you had been coming would have been smart, but the only goal was to escape. When they arrived Ash gave you the biggest hug which started your crying all over again. You stayed with them and their partner as you tried to piece your life back together.

Taking the month you still received pay from England you walked the trails of the mountains you called home. They brought you so much peace, like hiding in the skirts of a trusted mother. When you reestablished care with your midwives you found out that your arm implant birth control needed changing, it was overdue. Standard procedure for a well-woman check included peeing in a cup.

“Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

The thin nurse midwife with wrinkles, a long dusty brown braid, and beaded necklaces ringing her neck looked at you from the computer. You must have gone white as a sheet because she reacted by having you lay on the floor, elevating your feet, and calling for assistance. Your uterus had been achy. That’s why you scheduled the appointment.

Pregnant? You weren’t nauseous or overly emotional, only a little tired and achy. This was nothing like being pregnant on TV.

Fuck. That meant Johnny or Simon had to be the father.

Did you even want to keep this pregnancy?

Another nurse with a kind face joined you and your nurse in the room, dragging in a portable ultrasound machine.

“Hi dear, this is a bit of standard procedure. There are a few reasons that a pregnancy test can pop positive. We want to rule out some of the harder-to-care-for options. Do you think we can help you stand and get on the bed?”

At your nod the nice nurses helped you to your feet and held on as you climbed onto the bed, laying back. They had you move your shirt and your pants and undies until the top of your pubes were visible. A grainy image appeared on the screen as the nurse glided the probe to and fro in the slimy gel.

“Alright, this here,” she pointed to a roundish object, “is your left ovary. That looks good. This will help me find your uterus.”

She slid down pressing slightly harder into you.

“Here is your uterus and there looks like one, two little embryos.” She pointed with her finger at each little dot.

“Twins?” you whisper, shocked and aghast.

“That’s what it looks like but things this early can change.” She slid the wand further, “Since we are here I am going to check out your right ovary as well and then we will get you cleaned up and discuss your options.”

The options included waiting, keeping, or a self-managed abortion which included a few prescriptions. They gave you a page of information for each option and sent you on your way with a follow-up appointment scheduled for a few weeks.

In shock, you called your best friend first. Larsen had become your best friend in the second grade and you two had stuck it out through thick and thin.

You told him everything. The entire story. No one else knew everything that had happened. Now Larsen did.

He offered to marry you.

You knew he was good for it. Larsen had never fallen in love, found the idea repulsive. The love you and he held for each other was deep and special, but not romantic. Marriage to Larsen would provide safety and stability, and the ability to change your name before Johnny or Simon could think to look for you. Even if you lost the pregnancy Larsen would be the best roommate and friend you could think of sharing this journey with.

“Yes, but let’s talk this over at dinner.”

The wedding had been a week later in front of a judge, with Ash as your witness and his mother as his.

Larsen never pressured you to make a decision about your pregnancy, simply talked through each option with you again and again until you decided you wanted to keep this gift. Simon and Johnny might have treated you as if they were evil but at least you stole something good from them in the process.

You had two boys growing inside you. To the growing delight of the specialty pregnancy team, you were a rare case of two separate fertilization babies. Distinct sacks and placentas meant two independent babies. Baby A was three weeks further in growth and development than baby B. This idea was confirmed when both boys arrived and looked nothing alike even covered in vernix.

Larsen had chuckled and chided the nurses in the halls for the odd looks you and the boys got. You had five amazing years with Larsen before he died of an aneurysm at work. He left you with a boatload of life insurance and two four-year-old boys who had just lost the only father they had ever known.

The boys knew Larsen didn’t help create them but they were so small it didn’t matter. He was their dad. The first thing you did after picking yourself up off the hospital chair was call and set up therapy for yourself and the boys. You would all need it.

Another two years passed, the boys started kindergarten and you started a cake decorating business from the house Larsen had bought you. You had paid it off with a portion of his death benefits. Everything was looking up. Despite the boys sometimes looking exactly like their genetic fathers, they were the most amazing thing in your life. Life was looking up until the house the bus stopped at went up for sale. Your neighbors mentioned an attractive-looking gay couple bought it and wouldn’t you know they had the best accents? One rang of rainy England and the other of Scotland. They were retired military and were excited for the change of pace this life would bring.

Nope, had to be a coincidence. Couldn’t be them. Why would they move to the States? Why your state of all places? No. Couldn’t be Simon and Johnny, you were still safe from their reach.

Except you weren’t.

They followed the boys home one day from the bus, shocked at seeing a child who looked so much like themselves. When you opened the door, royal icing dried to your cheek, you blanched and slammed the door shut slamming the deadbolt home.

The men that haunted your therapy sessions and the aches of your heart had found you. You and their boys.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #captain john price #ghoap x reader #ghoap x you

408 notes · View notes

beqitos · 1 day ago

Text

⠀⠀⠀ ─── 𝒜𝐫𝐞 𝒴𝐨𝐮 ℛ𝐞𝐚𝐥

✷ ─── 엔하이픈 WHICH IN . . enha blinded by your LETHAL face card . . ✷ : hyungline!enha x fem!reader . . ✷ : fluff fluffy fluff, smooches, petnames, lowercase intended, tell me if im missing anything!! . . 𝒥AZ 𝒩OTES : I'm too hyper rn, and it's 2 am, atp ima take requests, i need to burn myself out . . DRABBLE + NOT PROOF READ . . 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 . .

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

you are currently checking yourself out in your body mirror, reapplying lip gloss, and checking to see if you forgot something from your outfit. you finally finished up some mistakes from your outfit, to turn around and see heeseung not so subtly checking you out. "hee, does this necklace go with this bag, or does this one?", you decided to test him to see if he was even listening. "huh?, mhm? yeah, I think that goes with it..", he shamelessly said. he did not care if you caught him in the act of eyeing you. "baby, yk, you're just so pretty..", heeseung got up from the bed and smoothly turned you around by the waist. "seung, not now—", you were cut off by heeseungs smooth, plump lips meeting your cherry lips. after what felt like forever, you heard a beeping sound outside and your phone dinging in your pocket. "seung— let go! I have to go now—", heeseung brought you back in, a more passionate and aggressive kiss, "they can wait."

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘

you just had gotten out the shower and is ready to do your skincare.. that's until your boyfriend, jay, came into the bathroom. he was always the clingy type more than you, so you always dreaded (but excitedly), seeing him enter. "hey baby, I was wondering what was taking you so long," he grabbed your chin, making you look towards him, and kissed your forehead. "hii, I'm just doing my skincare!" you smiled at him, then continued what you were doing. after a couple minutes of putting your head down in the sink, you looked up and saw jay. admiring you from head to toe, and when you looked up, his eyes went immediate lovesick. "baby.. yk, do I ever tell you, you're so—" he squished your cheeks and pressed sloppy kisses all over your face. you giggled and smiled nonstop, which just made him have even more cuteness aggression. "jay! stop! let me do my skincare first!" you tried pulling away, but jay just pulled you back in stronger, "hmm.. no!"

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

it's currently 8 am, your alarm had just gone off, and you have found yourself stuck in jakes strong hold. you tried many things to get out. you've wiggled, stretched, tried shimmering down. yet nothing worked to get out of jakes hold. "jake.. jake.. let me go...", you tried getting up, just to be pulled back into jakes chest. "5 more minutes", he yawned, putting two arms around you. "YOU SAID THAT 10 MINUTES AGO" it was indeed 10 minutes ago, you looked at the clock and it was 8:10 am. "shhh, baby, don't look at the clock—" he had finally opened his eyes, to nonetheless, see a goddesses face. the way the sun shined against your hair, the glow you had, the magnificent aura. "woah..", seeing jake distracted by who knows what, you had rolled over onto the floor, making a loud thud sound. "OWWWW", that's when jake snapped back to reality.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

you and sunghoon right now are currently laughing your butt's off, at the park. sunghoon thought it'd be a great idea to have a get away at the most calmest place he knew. the park. not a playground park, a nice grassy, field where kids and their parents, and dog owners came. "yk, this is the nicest place, you've tooken me so far," sunghoon was shocked by your backhanded compliment. "UH— WHAT. HAS OUR LATE NIGHT DATES MEANT NOTHING TO YOU—" that's when he shut up. seeing the sun behind you glow like a misty, cleansing aura. he just sat there on the blanket yall set up. "sunghoon?? hoon?? helloo?," you snapped your fingers at him. "earth to sunghoon?" sunghoon immediately snapped out of it and pulled you for a deep kiss. of course you were shocked but didn't think anything of it, sunghoon was always weird. "damn, you're a goddess for real.."

164 notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 8 hours ago

Note

So there is that headcanon where Captian Marvel looks a lot like teth Aman (Black Adams kid) and him mistaking cap as his kid and trying to reconnect in a way making people think that Black Adam is Captain Marvels dad

*throws this idea at you and runs away*

*idea smacks me in the head*

Teth was furious. For good reason too. The Wizard literally sealed him away for nearly five thousand years. Then, the old man replaced him with some, from what he’d heard, bumbling idiot. So yes, he was furious, and he also wanted his job back. Something he could only get if the current champion was put down. Which he was on his way to this place called Fawcett to do.

When he got there, he could practically feel the magic emanating from the city. Were there magic ley lines here? Then it’s a no wonder the Champion chose to set up base here rather than one of the major cities. As of now, Adam was above the city surveying the terrain. Meanwhile, Billy in Marvel form is sitting on a roof, wondering who that weirdo hovering above the city.

Solomon: “Oh… Billy you have to kill that man.”

Marvel: “WHAT?” *gobsmacked and concerned because other than a couple times, Solomon has never been one to hop on the ‘kill that villain’ train*

Achilles: “Yeah, we’re sorry, but like, no joke, you actually gotta kill him.”

Marvel: “The other times were jokes?”

Mercury: “Kinda, but you absolutely have to kill this guy or he will kill you.”

Marvel: “Oh. Uhm… okay?” *sounds extremely nervous as he stands up* “So what do? Do I just…?”

Hercules: “Yeah, just like charge him, and beat him. To death.”

And that’s how Adam literally blinked and the next thing he knew, he was hurtling through the air and to the ground, far from the so called Fawcett. Damn it. The current Champion had found him first. When Adam crawled out of his crater, he was met with a face he didn’t think he’d ever see again. Aman.

Had that blasted Wizard brought his son back from the grave? Adam didn’t know whether he should be grateful, or enraged. On one hand, the Wizard brought his boy back. His boy whose life had ended too early. On the other hand, his boy had been thrust back into a life of danger as the Champion. Gods, how long had Aman been the current Champion? How long had the Wizard waited until he decided that doing this was acceptable?

As for Billy, he just stared down at the guy wearing black in confusion. Why did the Gods want him to kill this guy so bad? He isn’t attacking anyone. He’s kinda just there, staring up at up at Billy with the same confused expression Billy has. He also has the same lightning bolt? Billy had thought that was only reserved for people connected to the rock. The Wizard had never mentioned this guy before if that’s the case.

Black Adam: *mistakes Billy’s confusion as recognized* “…Aman?”

Marvel: *heard “a man” and just thought Adam just had some type of accent* “Yes…?” *now extremely confused*

Black Adam: “I can’t believe it.” *flies over to him and tries to reach out to him*

Marvel: *moves out of his reach because he does not know this rando*

Black Adam: *sounds slightly annoyed* “What did the Wizard tell you?”

Marvel: “Nothing? I just don’t know you.”

Black Adam: *looks absolutely disturbed* “He erased your memory?”

Marvel: *just about to answer when some monster starts attacking Fawcett* “Look, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.” *flies off to the monster*

Zeus: “How interesting.” *probably stroking his beard* “He didn’t immediately kill you.”

Solomon: “Be on watch Billy. He could still attack.”

Now, Adam obviously didn’t do that. He immediately went to Kahndaq, made himself pharaoh again and remodeled the palace as best as he could in such a short time. It wasn’t until about a week later that Adam came back to see his boy again.

Marvel: *finishes helping an old lady cross the road*

Black Adam: *lands beside him and clears his throat*

Marvel: “Oh, it’s you again!” *smiles*

Black Adam: “Yes. It is I.”

*silence*

Marvel: *desperate to fill the awkward silence* “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name the last time we met.”

Black Adam: “I am Teth Adam.” *is super hurt that his boy doesn’t remember him and is plotting on the Wizard*

Marvel: “Cool. I’m Captain Marvel. I’m fine with Cap, or Marvel, or whatever you can come up with.”

Black Adam: “So that’s what he has you going by…”

Marvel: “What?”

*another silence*

Black Adam: *clear throat again* “When… are you coming home?””

Marvel: “Home?”

Black Adam: “Home. Kahndaq. If you’re worried about becoming a slave again, after your…” *clears throat* “The point is, I worked to get rid of it.”

Billy honest to the Gods just assumed this guy was both lonely and another Champion.

Marvel: *confused at the mention of slavery* “Sure, I’ll come by. That’s in like Africa, right?”

Black Adam: *a little relieved that he’d visit, but also filled with a little dread because Marvel not knowing where Kahndaq is kind of supports the memory wipe theory* “I believe so.”

Marvel did visit. And sure, he might’ve had to work himself up for the awkward afternoon, but it wasn’t that bad. Teth seemed a little happier after the whole thing. Billy’s pretty sure at least. It’s a little hard to get a read the guy’s emotions.

Also, someone caught the end of their conversation, more specifically the coming home bit. Thus, the rumors of this new guy in black being Marvel’s father were born. These rumors were fueled by Adam trying to be fatherly, albeit awkwardly, and Billy just accepting it because he just thinks Adam is being nice.

Like the time Adam brought him a modernized version Aman’s favorite food because he thought he might still like it.

Achilles: “WAIT BILLY IT MIGHT BE POISONED-”

Marvel: *takes a big munch* “Wow, this is really good!”

Black Adam: *relieved* “It’s good you still like it.”

Yeah, Fawcitizens are like ninety percent sure Adam is their hero’s dad. And they’re here for it. They just want their big guy to be happy.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

150 notes · View notes

auroracalisto · 3 days ago

Text

opposites attract, or so they say

simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street. a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help. tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea

Simon was a lot of things.

Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.

But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.

And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.

His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.

His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.

And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.

Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!

The universe was always laughing at him.

But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.

But you were always on his mind.

Shit.

He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.

Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.

Why the fuck was he even nervous?

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.

It wasn't like he didn't know you.

There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.

Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.

You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.

Ethics be damned, am I right?

"Simon?"

Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.

Dammit.

"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"

You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.

You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.

"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"

He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.

"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.

Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.

Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.

You smiled a bit. "What bar?"

He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."

"Will I meet you there?"

He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."

"Cool. What time?"

He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.

"I'll be there," you said.

He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?

Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.

He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.

Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?

Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?

What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?

Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.

Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.

He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.

When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.

His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?

"Y/n," he said.

You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?

What. The. Fuck.

"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."

Just for him. Fuuuck.

You were cute.

He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.

But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.

He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.

He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.

"Yeah. I said nine," he said.

You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.

Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.

Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?

Long enough.

Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.

"How've you been?"

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.

"Busy," he said.

"You still playing?"

He blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"

You remembered that? Shit.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."

Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"

"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."

You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.

He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.

He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.

"You think that—"

He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."

You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"

He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—

"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."

Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.

Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"

"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."

"You... you want me? How?"

He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."

He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.

"Simon—"

"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not gonna protest—"

"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."

"But I—"

"—I'm serious, Y/n."

"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."

He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."

"You..."

"Yeah. I do," you said.

"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.

"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.

"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.

Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?

#simon x reader #simon dia #dinner in america #dinner in america x reader #John q #John q x reader #kyle gallner #Kyle gallner x reader #simon dia x reader #dinner in america simon x reader #dinner in america fanfic #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gn! reader #simon John q x reader

115 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 1 day ago

Note

Do you think you could write about an artist reader who reveals their latest works has had their crush as their muse as a roundabout way of confessing? Idk I had this vivid idea of love at first sight and only painting in the colors of their love, staying up for nights on end practically obsessed with capturing what they feel and see but keeping it hidden till it all bursts out.

Brushstrokes of a Hidden Heart

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Artist!Reader, Love at First Sight, Unrequited Love(?), Secret Admiration, Confession Through Art, Obsessive Love(?), Vulnerability, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff.

Warnings: Mild angst, Self-doubt, Unspoken feelings, Emotional vulnerability, Possible unreciprocated feelings, Intense focus on personal emotions.

A/N: didn't know which fandom you wanted it from, so I did it for HSR 😕

Dan Heng sat in the dimly lit cabin of the Astral Express, the rhythmic hum of the train the only sound that accompanied his solitude. He had always found solace in the quiet, preferring it to the bustling noise of crowds or the endless chatter of others. Yet, tonight was different. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, the artist who had been a silent but ever-present figure in his life since the day he met you.

The first time he laid eyes on you, it was nothing more than a fleeting moment—one he hadn't thought much of at the time. But it was strange, wasn't it? How that moment stayed with him, replaying in his mind like an image he couldn't shake. He had never been one to dwell on emotions, and yet something about you made him want to linger, if only in the shadows, far away from the spotlight.

Dan Heng didn't understand what had changed. He wasn't someone who sought out attention, let alone affection. And yet, as he watched you work from afar, sketching, painting, your every movement seemed to haunt him. His heart would beat just a little faster whenever you were near, though he could never bring himself to speak those words aloud.

He found himself drawn to your art. The way you captured the world around you, the strokes of your brush that seemed to tell stories even without words. There was a certain intensity in your work—an emotional rawness that he couldn't ignore. He often found himself admiring your paintings when you weren’t around, noticing how every canvas seemed to glow with your feelings.

It was late into the night when he stumbled upon your most recent piece. His heart skipped a beat as he studied it, entranced by the use of color—vibrant, soft hues blending together in ways that felt… familiar. It wasn’t just a painting. It was a confession, a revelation.

The subject of the piece was unmistakable. It was him.

You had painted him—his profile, his features, his soul—captured in every brushstroke. But it wasn’t just the image that left him breathless. It was the colors, the warmth that spilled from the canvas. The shades of blue, gold, and soft pinks spoke of longing, of something deeper than simple admiration. It was a language he understood but had never expected to see expressed so vividly.

He didn’t know what to feel. His initial instinct was to run, to distance himself from this vulnerability you had so willingly shared through your art. But something inside him stopped him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the painting, and he certainly couldn’t tear himself away from you.

The confession was out now, laid bare in the colors of your love. The quiet admiration, the unspoken feelings—it was all there, framed on the canvas in front of him.

Dan Heng sighed, a soft exhale of air escaping his lips as he stood before the painting. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel the weight of what he hadn’t dared to acknowledge. And maybe, just maybe, he could find the courage to speak those words too, to paint his own feelings for you.

But for now, he stood still, his gaze locked on the painting of the one person who had quietly captured his heart without him even realizing it.

Sunday sat in the quiet of his room, a flickering candle casting soft shadows across the walls. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, a slight frown on his face as he looked at the painting in front of him. It was a recent creation of yours, the artist he had come to know and admire, even though he had never once admitted it aloud.

It had begun innocently enough—your work, a collection of serene landscapes, abstract expressions of peace and stillness. But as he continued to observe you, there was a shift. Your art had changed, taken on a more personal tone. It wasn’t just about capturing beauty anymore. It was about capturing something much deeper, something you didn’t quite show anyone else. The passion in your strokes had transformed, and Sunday couldn’t ignore it.

The latest piece was a reflection of his own face. His figure was painted in muted hues of silver and violet, colors that mirrored the ones that seemed to haunt him in his dreams. But it wasn’t the likeness that struck him the most; it was the emotion woven into every brushstroke. There was love in the way the colors swirled, an emotion so tangible it seemed to bleed from the canvas.

It was as if you had captured every fleeting moment of their encounters—the way he smiled at you with a hint of warmth, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long. You had woven all of it into this painting, turning their quiet moments into something that felt like poetry, like a love song without words.

For a long while, Sunday simply stared at the painting, his thoughts a whirl of confusion. He had always believed in the Sweetdream Paradise, a world where people could escape their pain. But this… this felt different. It felt real, like a dream he didn’t want to escape, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Was this your way of confessing? The idea that someone could love him—the person who had always distanced himself from true connection, who had always preached the merit of a painless, perfect world—seemed impossible. And yet, there it was, in front of him.

The painting was more than just art. It was a message, a way of saying what neither of them had yet dared to speak aloud. You had used your work to tell him what was in your heart, and now, he had to decide if he could find the courage to do the same.

The weight of the moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words. As he reached out to touch the canvas, a sense of longing surged within him—something that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps, in this moment, the dream of escape no longer felt as appealing as the dream of something real. Something tangible. Something he could finally reach for.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine a future where the colors of love—your love—were the only ones he ever saw.

Aventurine sat in his private study, the dim light of the lamps casting shadows on the room’s elegant furnishings. His fingers idly turned a deck of cards as he gazed at the newest painting displayed on the wall—a work of art that had both mesmerized and unsettled him. The colors, the brushstrokes, the way your soul seemed to be embedded in every layer of paint—he had seen many paintings in his time, but none like this.

The subject was unmistakable. It was him.

But this was not a simple portrait. No, this was far more. It was raw. It was a confession wrapped in the hues of the artist’s emotions. His face, framed by dark shades of green and gold, looked almost serene, yet there was something deeply intimate about it. The delicate touches of rose and violet reflected a softness that made his heart beat just a little faster.

He had always prided himself on being able to control everything—every move, every decision, every game he played. Life, to him, was a high-stakes gamble, a game of strategy and manipulation. But here, with this painting, everything felt out of his hands. This wasn’t a game. This was real.

Aventurine had always been surrounded by beauty, charm, and a sense of power, but there was something different about this. It wasn’t the typical adoration or fascination he was used to; no, this was love—true, unfiltered love. And somehow, it was aimed at him.

His gaze lingered on the painting, every brushstroke sending a jolt through his chest. He wondered if this was your way of confessing, of revealing the feelings you had hidden beneath the surface. He hadn’t expected this, not from someone like you, someone who had always remained so distant, so reserved. Yet here it was, in full view—a revelation he could no longer ignore.

He had been careful with his emotions, always keeping them locked away behind a facade of confidence and control. But this… this painting had cracked that facade wide open. He couldn’t deny it any longer. The truth was there, laid bare on the canvas, just as much as his own heart was.

Aventurine smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened his usual playful demeanor. Maybe, just maybe, this was one game he wasn’t so keen on playing alone. Perhaps it was time to place his bet—not with cards, but with his heart.

And when the time came, he would show you that his feelings were not a gamble, but a certainty.

107 notes · View notes

noforkingclue · 3 days ago

Note

Hi there! I know I’ve already sent a few in, but I have to send just one more since you’re closing your requests soon …

Would you be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using the prompt: “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” ?

Thanks so much if you choose to!! 🥰

Note: requests are now closed

Thank you so much for the request. I'm sorry that it took so long to write. Hope it was worth the wait

Title: Consequences

Prompt list: link

Tommy paused briefly when he spotted you in his office chair. You took another sip of the whiskey you had stolen from him as your gazes locked. Tommy didn’t speak to you as he walked softly across his office. Your gaze followed him as he poured his own drink. He took a sip of his own drink and looked around his office, much to your annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

It was you who shattered the silence, finally sick of it. Tommy finally looked over at you. He studied you intentionally as you took another swig from your drink.

“You look good there,” he commented at last, “behind my desk. Although I’d prefer it if you were on my lap.”

“Fuck you.”

“In time,” he commented, as he walked around his office, “now tell me, what is it that I’ve meant to have done.”

You slammed your drink down on the desk with such force that you were surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Tommy raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“What you’ve done,” you hissed quietly, “what you’ve done is going to get us all killed!”

“I haven’t managed that so far.”

“This is London you’re expanding into, Tommy!”

“And I’ve done business in London before, despite everyone’s protests. No one is yet to die.”

“Well last time you didn’t end up killing, how many people was it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why? Didn’t keep count?”

Tommy gave you a blank look as he slowly walked closer to his desk. You stood up from his desk and hugged yourself tightly as you turned your back on him. You looked out at the dark night, watching Tommy approach you in the dark reflection until he was directly behind you. He had put his glass down next to yours and gripped your shoulders tightly. You winced under his touch but he turned you around, pressing you against the window.

“I’ve lost count a long time ago,” he said, leaning closer, “what happened in London doesn’t make me any worse or any better. So why are you acting this way.”

His lips brushed against yours.

“Is it because it was your family?” he asked

“My family-”

“Are now the Shelby’s,” he interrupted firmly, “you knew that would happen when you married me, Mrs Shelby. You knew this was going to be a risk. You knew we were going to expand into London, your family’s territory. You always knew that this could happen when we made our expansion.”

“Our marriage was meant to unify our families. A slaughter-”

“We were attacked first, love. What were we meant to do? Give up? Surrender? You should know that’s not what we do.”

“That’s not what I-”

Tommy’s grip on you tightened painfully and you let out a hiss in discomfort. Immediately he loosened his grip but never broke eye contact. You could feel yourself getting lost in his blue eyes. Those eyes that had drawn you in since the first time you’d met him.

“You need to remember where your loyalties now lie,” he continued quietly, “so where do your loyalties lie, Mrs Shelby?”

“Where do you think?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“With you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss against your lips. He only ever acted like this with you and when it was just the two of you.

When it was just the two of you, he could allow himself to be soft. To show you the love he felt for you.

When it was just the two of you, you could ignore the taste of blood on his lips and the red under his fingernails. Because you knew that he ignored the same things on you.

#fanfiction #peaky blinders #reader insert #request #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader

69 notes · View notes

osakhee · 2 days ago

Text

never enough, virgin!wonbin x reader

! endurance training, handjob, overstimulation, edging, slight dacryphilia

note : FINALLY something is done with the virgin wonbin thoughts ive been having for a week ..... 🙂‍↕️

"can i please at least be inside just once?"

"nope. not until you can hold it better."

"you always say that... i've done well the last time, when will it be enough?"

"it will never be enough. not until i say so."

wonbin lays back on his seat with a pout. he's glad the bus is mostly empty so no one can catch a glimpse of your conversation. you both sit at the far back of the bus, away from all the people going home at this hour. wonbin looks outside the window just to be met with the heavy droplets that pour outside, and he turns his head to look at you. he's still sulking, and the serious glare you throw at him makes his heart jump in his chest.

wonbin is your classmate. actually, he's more than that, but you like the "classmate" title, even though the boy doesn't think the same. he'd rather call your relationship "friends with benefits but he's the only one getting benefits". when at school, wonbin is all talk about how good he's in bed, he laughs at his male friends for being virgins at their age. he has the pretty face to make anyone believe his words, but little do they know he actually turns into a puddle when you get your hands on him. you wanted to see for yourself how good he is, he's handsome, and since he said he fucks well, why not? but when you dragged him behind the lockers, wonbin turned into a blushing mess, he didn't even know where to put his hands when you kissed him. he was moaning in your mouth in no time, so hard in his pants he felt like he could burst only from your lips that left his to pepper kisses on his jaw. he begged you not to tell anyone, so instead, you exposed you plan to him. he loses his virginity, and you get to fuck him and with him.

wonbin had no idea at first that fucking with him would mean hours of playing with his cock and nipples, jerking him off so slowly it would make his thighs tremble everytime your fingertips touched his skin. you asked him to keep the count, but he can't recall how many times you made him cum anymore. each time, he would be a shaky and whiny mess, he'd beg you to finally give him what he wants. you always promised it for next time, and thinking of the reward of being inside of you always made him harder than ever.

but now it's been weeks since you started to play with him. wonbin is over at your home almost everyday, and he's never getting his way. the way you would taunt him to reveal his little secret always made him comply and fall to his knees so you could stick your thumb in his mouth until he's drooling all over it.

the bus that's taking you and wonbin home finally reaches your stop, and you take the boy's hand to get down. to anyone, you would probably look like a cute couple walking back from school together. but the grip you have on wonbin's wrist and the tension he's feeling all over his body say otherwise. he can already feel the warmth painting his cheeks red and the anticipation building in his lower stomach. you both walk in silence until you reach your apartment. when the door opens, wonbin doesn't even wait for you, he gets inside and walk straight to you room. he wouldn't want to mess up his routine. you take your time, put down your jacket and bag before joining him.

wonbin sits on your bed with large puppy eyes, he's still upset at how harsh you were to him on the bus. he can't tell you how much it turns him on, or you'll have another reason to mess with his head, his secrets getting heavier each time you see each other. you walk to the bed and let your hand travels his face, from his jaw to his pretty lips, your fingers mess with his hair. you tug on his locks lightly to make his head fall back and give you a prettier view of his neck, his smooth skin almost perfect under your hungry lips. wonbin sighs heavily at the contact of your warm mouth, he grips the sheets in his hands, his legs rub together to get some frictions on his clothed dick.

you get away from his skin and push him down on the bed, his back gently hitting the blanket. wonbin knows what's next. his hands reach the hem of his shirt before taking it off, he then hurriedly opens his pants to get rid of any clothes that stops his cock from finally breathing. he doesn't care being naked in front of you anymore, he's used to your eyes burning his body when you look at him. wonbin takes a deep breath when he slides his underwear down, his already red and leaking dick hitting his stomach. you sit next to him and watch it twitch with anticipation, wonbin is almost moaning just from your warm presence next to him.

"are you ready?"

"if i do well, can i finally fuck you next time?"

"depends on how long you last today."

wonbin rests his head on the bed, his chest heaves with his sharp breaths. you let your fingers travel his faintly toned stomach and wonbin already squirm under your touch, shivers covering his whole body. your nails graze his skin down his thighs, his cock drips some more precum when you get so close to it. you could watch him for hours and drive him crazy, your hands massaging his inner thighs enough to have him cum untouched. with one finger, you draw slow circles on his lower stomach, going all the way up his length and rubbing his slit, his arousal quickly coating your finger. you lay next to wonbin and wrap your hand around his dick, your mouth finds one of his nipple and you suck eagerly on it.

the boy on your bed is already a moaning mess, his back arches on the sheets and his hips buck into your hand to get any kind of friction, but you stay completely still, only giving attention to his chest. your tongue twirls around his hardened pink bud, it makes wonbin cry out your name. he claws at the bed desperately for more, and after one more kiss on his chest, you sit up next to him again. you finally give attention to his cock that's calling for you, and stroke him at a dangerously slow pace. wonbin tries to steady his breath as much as he can, his eyes closed and concentrated on the pleasure you give him.

it doesn't take long to break him apart though. once you start paying more attention to his leaking tip, his hips jerk up constantly in your hand and you have to pin him down. the cries that come out of his throat are broken by your name rolling on his tongue over and over again. the way his thighs are shaking when you pick up the pace tell you everything you need to know. you give wonbin one more stroke before letting go of his dick. his knuckles turn white from how hard he's holding the covers under him, his cock twitches desperately. you rub your thumb on his slit and wonbin's back arches again on the bed.

"stop moving so much, that's how you get tired so fast."

"p-please.... give me m-more..."

"you will cum so fast thought."

"i won't i-i swear i won't please keep g-going..."

you want to believe wonbin's weak promise and you wrap your hand again around his length. you watch him close his eyes again and put all his willpower in stilling his hips for you. you give him lazy strokes again, your hand covered in the sticky precum that keeps rolling down his cock. you rest your other hand on his thigh and he jumps in your touch, his lips parting in a silent moan. for a while, only the wet sound of your palm around his dick and his heavy breathing can be heard in your room.

since you started your little training with wonbin, he never really got better, he would always cum awkwardly fast especially if you started teasing him. he lasted longer the last few times though, and you couldn't wait to have him inside of you and feel him filling your insides after a few thrusts. you loved watching him cry out your name each time he ended up fucking your fist, his hips desperately bucking up to meet your hand after you edged him for hours so he can finally gets the sweet release he's begging for.

every once in a while, you leave wonbin's cock to watch him from your place, you sit crossed legged on your bed and smile at the boy's desperation. his black hair stick to his forehead and his chest shines with a thin coat of sweat, his hands weakly rest next to him as he got tired from holding the sheets so tightly. beads of precum form on his slit and roll down his cock or drop on his lower stomach. it stains your bed, it makes your hand sticky and wet, and it gives shivers to wonbin each time you blow on his dick with a chuckle.

it's always when wonbin is the less ready that you start to jerk him off again, you barely listens to him as he speaks about his day so his mind would focus on anything but his throbbing cock. you grip his dick out of nowhere and hear his breath catch in his throat. his thoughts get lost in the pleasure, unable to form a single word but the desperate "please" that escapes his lips over and over again. you pout at his sensitivity and you tighten your grip around him, your palm very slowly making its way up and down.

"are you close already?"

"mmhh... p-please..."

"can you hold it a little longer? just a little."

"i'm n-not... not sure... it's s-so..."

"just a little more, i know you can do it."

wonbin hides his face in the sheets when you quicken your pace, his hips buck up again in your hand and you instantly let go of his cock. wonbin's head jerks up to look at you with a pleading whine, only for his head to drop back when you flatten your hand on his tip. his back arches and his hands find their way in his hair to push away the strands that cover his eyes. your palm rubs the sensitive head of his cock, wonbin's breath gets more erratic and louder. you give him a few pumps and check your phone that sat next to you on the bed. he's actually handling it well, probably the best he has done yet, but it's still not enough for you. you just want to make sure he could last when fucking you, you're just helping out! you feel wonbin's dick pulse in your hand and you stop all your movements again to squeeze it. his voice breaks into a high pitched cry, the tears that had been filling his eyes finally flowing down his cheeks. it's always been your favorite sight, he's such a wreck when you get your hands on him and he's never been more beautiful to you. you massage his thighs and from the way his cock throbs constantly, you can tell he's so close just a touch could make him burst.

"p-please... i'm gonna- i w-wanna cum please... i n-need to cum s-so bad..."

"hmm... you've done well... but it's not enough you know that."

when you start stroking him again, you see his head dig into the mattress and deep in the blanket, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his parted lips let every moan escape his throat. you can't tell if his cheeks glisten because of the sweat or because of his tears that roll down his face and down his neck.

"you know wonbin... i might just let you fuck me next time..."

"a-ah please... i-i'm cumming p-please i'm c-cumming..!"

you jerk him off faster and watch the ropes of hot and thick fluid hit your fingers and his tensed stomach, you make sure to grip his tip through his orgasm that has his thighs shaking. his hips stutters in your fist until he weakly shoots one last drop of cum on your hand. wonbin tries to get away from you and your teasing hand that keeps playing with his sensitive cock, he turns to the side and burry his whines in the sheets, he can't control the desperate thrusts of his hips until you finally let go of him. you check your phone again while wonbin catches his breath, he sniffles audibly when he finally sits up next to you. you look at his messed up face and push away gently a few strands of hair that stick to his forehead, your hand then resting on his cheek so you can wipe away his tears. wonbin looks at you with shining hopeful eyes that could make you melt.

"did i- did i do well? d-did i hold it long enough?"

"you know it's never enough to me... but you did well, i might actually let you inside me next time. you'll do well this time too, right?"

wonbin's cock weakly twitches at your words and the smile he gives you have you burning inside. maybe he could actually hold it when he fucks you. you couldn't wait.

im crazy wonbin is all ive been thinking about for the past few days im CRAZYYYYYY thank you cee for supporting me through the wonbin breakdown

#riize smut #wonbin smut

67 notes · View notes

skull-fvcker · 3 days ago

Text

Morality

❥ Yandere! Arcane Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: cross-posted from my ao3. Old fanfiction from 2021, written way before season two. Thought I might as well post it here—the final episode broke me, by the way.

Summary: Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition. Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

Warnings: 7204 words, MDNI, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, viktor is delusional, yandere viktor by the way, dubious consent(he coerces you), unhealthy and one-sided relationship, gender-neutral pronouns used for reader, no usage of y/n, gentle sex, set in season 1

In all honesty, Viktor did not know how it started or when it got out of hand. It started as a simple fascination and he had treated it as such. Nothing was wrong with that, he was a man of science after all. It was in his nature to feel drawn to things that he did not quite understand. Many years have passed since that day. Before his strange obsession came into his life. Honestly, now that he was alone to think about it, had it ever come into his life at all? Or, by some force of nature, he had forced it into his own life? The ever-changing flow of time halted the very moment Viktor had initially realised that he had more than a problem on his hands.

Viktor thought of himself as a man with morals. He was not the best person, yes, there are plenty of others that shone brighter than he did, but he found his value in his work and ethics. That being said, nothing about him was right. His work had been clogged for year's now; the chaotic office space merely setting as a permanent indication that he had slipped too far this time. Above all else, he had guaranteed himself that his work came foremost, give or take a few instances in which it did not. This case was different, however. A disturbing accomplishment that, when asked initially, he wrote off his findings as evidence, or even lack thereof. Whether or not he was believed, was foreign to even him.

Directly adjacent to his cluttered working place—being neat had long passed his troubled brain, hadn't it?— lie his crutch, sat in such a way that it may fall at any minute. Viktor paid it no mind, at least not at first, but looking over his notes and the observations that he had written down, an idea popped up within what was left of a comprehensive state of mind. Of course, how could he have been so oblivious to forget such a thing, it was written clear as day in these scattered notes. His nimble, cold fingers grasped at the end of his crutch and he tugged it over and dug it into the floor while it enabled him to stand.

Viktor's book laid sloppily in his hand, page open in clear view. "Yes," he breathed, "I suppose this will do." He closed the withered book and shoved it between his left arm and clothed side. Periodically, an opportunity was difficult to come by. He had to do the best with what he had been given, though an itch in his brain told him that: why settle for fine, when you can go beyond?

The aforementioned person that he mentioned, the obsession - the two had never even met before, Hell, Viktor was certain it never even knew of his existence. It was ostensibly a normal upper city citizen with no strange qualities, nothing special about its behaviours nor its personality. It was normal. But it made him feel bizarre inside. He could effortlessly correlate it to that of an over-easy egg slowly cooking within a skillet until the yoke bursts for seemingly no reason and tarnishes the taste of the egg entirely. Just like that, it was ruining him. Granted, neither of them seemed to be eggs, but he believed the metaphor to fit rather well. Humanity always seemed to be so fickle, so easily swayed and broken. Just like an egg.

No matter the weakened disposition he had, nor the lingering scent of death he had become accustomed to, nothing prepared Viktor for the way his certain obsession made him feel. He was intelligent enough to not let these be known, oh, how he would hate the way that Jayce would assume the worst of his sentiments. Would he? Jayce had changed rather strikingly since the first day the two had met. Nevertheless, Viktor never seemed to be the man for love, much less protection of those around him.

Moreover, he was sure that with such dehumanising language and behaviour, nobody would hear his side of the matter. After all, calling the object of your affection an "it," and "thing," definitely does not look good for your compassion. Still, it gave him a reason to humanise his behaviour—if his obsession is not seen as equal, then what's the issue, exactly? To be blunt, it served no purpose other than to make him feel better since not a soul knew of this but him.

Sure, it did not occur to him that he would have strayed this far, but sometimes you have to do what you can to keep someone safe. He was in no state to protect someone on his own, he knew this far too well, he could never protect anyone with this sickly, frail body of his. That is why kidnapping was an absolute must. Reminiscing of the past did no good but to open up older wounds that set themselves up for failure, but the first day they had formally met was an exhilarating experience.

When they had seen him, there was a quizzical expression plastered on their face, and they even confused him for a council member of all things—never attentive, he presumed—but upon realising who he was, Viktor found himself met with immediate scepticism. Viktor could not fault them, it was something he knew all too well, though, maybe he should have saved his anguish for another day. The way their warmer hand held onto his own when he reached out to shake it. Their hand was soft, softer than his at least, and much less calloused. Smaller. Yet, their fingers did not hold the appearance of his own; on the contrary, they looked healthy. Healthier than him.

Of course, with someone who seemed to not have any imperfection, how was Viktor not supposed to fall for them, much less become intrigued with their very existence at that point? Humans were so fickle, he knew very well with how his body had grown to become sicker, but they seemed so robust, so self-sufficient. It was just like any other person, nothing too special but it stood out to him and that was what mattered.

It hurt him, really it did, to see them gawk at him with betrayal, to seem so frightened of someone who wasn't even strong, to begin with, but love came with sacrifice and even if he couldn't help everyone, then he would try to help them the best that he could.

Viktor revolted and fought against his rationality, he really did, he tried his absolute best to make sense of both his actions and what he had done. Within the months, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was for the greater good, for the safety of his obsession; to keep them isolated from others. It was not the healthiest choice, he would acknowledge at the time, but now he may argue that it was the only thing he could have done upon meeting them formally. He just could not let them go.

Months had passed since that day, but it was fun to reminisce sometimes. Besides, it was even better that, when he had the time, they were someone in which he could spoil with every day. Yes, Viktor took things slow and always was sure to leave them be, yet give them company, but watching them stare at him with a look that he could hardly even decipher anymore, left him breathless. And he didn't even know why.

That very thing forced him into the very dilemma that he is in now. Standing in front of a locked door with a flawlessly crafted key lying in his tremoring hand. It was from excitement, he knew it was. It was like this was his own secret sanctuary where he hid his most precious desire and treasure, his perfect obsession that wept behind locked doors. It was the same every day, no matter how long he would stare.

The door opened with a slight rasp, the only other noise being a stifled sob and the sound of scuffing against the floor, then the buoyancy of bedsprings. His stiff body staggered against the sturdy cane, his hunched over body barely allowing the light to pool in around the walls of the door frame. Every day seemed no closer to his objective. He didn't even know how he had done this. Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition.

Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

"Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?" The sounds of chains screamed in his ears when he spoke. All these years and his lover still has not gotten used to their living state. "Ehh... I have already assured you. Good behaviour is rewarded, please understand that this is an absolute must to keep you safe." They were terrified. Of him. Isolation was a punishment and he could never help but feel dreadful about them being punished for things out of their control.

"When can I go home?" was the concern they always pleaded with whenever they saw him. Viktor tried to not let it get under his skin, really he did, but the knowledge that they did not want to be with him weighed heavy on his mind. He loved them, they had to recognize. Their eyes were so passive; it reminded him of when he had first seen the mutation, Rio, when he was a young boy. Curiosity, distress; panic. They just did not understand this yet.

Perhaps all the days that he merely sat there and stared at them with a desolate expression thoroughly destroyed the way they would perceive him, or how he would blatantly ignore their tantrums and screaming, tapping his fingers along the edge of his crutch like a patient father waiting for their child to calm down. Of course, Viktor never mistreated them. The most he did was further isolate them, which explained the absolutely pitiful state that they were in right now.

Reluctance to accept the changing future will result in the fear of what's to come. He understands it's different from what they were used to. But one must adapt to their surroundings and become accustomed. Viktor has already sacrificed so much for them; when was it their turn to return the favour? The ever-changing future is something he will never know for certain.

Viktor sighed, watching them press their body against the nook of the room where their bed had been so delicately placed. The bedsheets had been sent into a state of disrepair, and certain pillows seemed more shapely than the rest. From clutching them too tightly, he inferred. It was adorable.

"This is your home," It was no wonder that they attempted to squeeze themselves farther against the wall when he staggered closer. "I don't have any food this time, I'm afraid," he stood right at the side of their mattress, directly in front of trembling form, his eyes fixated on the plate that sat adjacent to the bed, at least a few days old now. "Though, I'm glad that you, ehm, were able to finish your last meal. Good job." A sigh escaped him after the carefully placed praise fell from his lips and, upon staring hastily at them, he recalled the fear blending within their wide eyes. "However," he found himself fumbling over his words, "I know that you've been a little, eh... downcast, as of late so I have decided that I am going to offer you something that I'm sure you would love," he paused, almost reluctant to reach forward and stroke the hair behind their ear. Hesitant to touch them lovingly.

This situation was a troublesome one, of course, it would be, but he was not a fool in the matter. He read up on numerous articles simply so he can keep things safe for them — falling for one's captor, he had thought about it, yet the turmoil often sets in when he realises that they hadn't developed such a thing just yet. Had he not been too kind? Perhaps, it was the chains around their body? Particular disorders of the mind were so hard to force into existence; was that such a terrible thing to wish for? They looked as if they served more as a pet than anything else, honestly. But that's love, this is just his love. Viktor was well aware that a plethora of things regarding both he and his health weren't precisely right, particularly in concerns to other people. Honestly, staring at them in such a miserable state made him feel almost remorseful.

They must feel so trapped, not to mention secluded, after all, he was never able to spend as much time with them as he would have preferred. He wondered, did they feel imprisoned in their own body, too? Probably not in the way that he did, but it was a suspicion that lingered in his mind. He set his hand on the side of their face unexpectedly, and they jolted back. Granted, he was certain that his hand was freezing. But, Hell, it appeared as if they had almost whimpered at his touch. Still, he had never done anything to harm them, he's only keeping them safe. The images of the mutation Rio sitting in a tank of fluids that he knew all too well now, the thought of it being kept alive despite its pleas not to. Such lengths are just an experiment to preserve life. He understood, now. Not in the way that he should have, but he did.

Maybe that was how they felt. Like a trapped animal, frightened and alone. But they have him, they may not want him, but he is there.

Viktor's knees buckled as they pressed against the edge of the mattress, gently hoisting one after the other to get closer to the horrified individual hiding from his affection, which was already something which he never exhibited frequently.

"I want you to understand," he ran his thumb along their cheek with feathery soft touches, "I know you still don't understand why I'm doing this, or why you're here but rest assured that it's all out of genuine love." When you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission. "Alone. You're lonely and you're scared. I know how you feel. But you're special," their eyes met Viktor's for but an instant and it sent shock waves down his spine. Don't ask permission. "You're special to me, and that is what truly matters at this moment." They were about to cry. Correction, they were sobbing. And it was all his fault. Emotional turmoil mixed with the trauma enforced within them made this happen - because of Viktor.

And despite it all, Viktor could not help but feel proud of his accomplishments.

"Please," their name rolled off of his tongue like a loose screw in his brain, though more akin to a prayer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, please." Their disobedience irritated him and sent his nostrils flaring, but he didn't allow that to show outwardly. They were already so skittish, why would he threaten them further? "Mm, I will reiterate it as many times as you desire: good behaviour is rewarded. If... If you're good—for me—then, and only then, will I allow you to go outside." His words set off a fire in their brain, he could tell how their breathing unexpectedly halted and they went completely tight-lipped. Was that all it took for them to settle down? An effortlessly broken promise?

Right, they were at their wit's end, weren't they? Their emotions override their rationality. The sunlight would be good for their health, after all. Quite frankly, the thought was unsettling, Viktor didn't want them out of his sight, but if it would make them satisfied then he could make configurations for such a thing. Though, he would have to be cautious to not allow anyone to see them. What if they tried to... escape, in a sense? It was dangerous, he would have to think about it thoroughly.

"Do you mean it?" They said, suddenly. Their head was raised aloft and their wide eyes stared directly at him. "If I'm good... I'll be able to go outside? It's—" A sharp inhale. "It's been months," they were optimistic. Why was it so unbearable to see them so miserable?

For all but a juncture, Viktor felt himself at a loss for words. There was no telling whether or not he would be able to keep that promise, but he could try. They just need to learn to embrace change and adapt, maybe they will forget about it in due time. "I mean it," he said without thought, "you have my word." Did they, truly? You should not make promises that you are incapable of keeping, but just this once, the way their expression lit up and how the tears fell from their eyes, made Viktor feel as if he had done something right this entire time. Without a single word, his hand slowly lowered from their warm cheek, his gangly fingers running alongside the edges of the collar that adorned their flawless neck.

In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.

How would Viktor feel if someone had done this to him? It was a rhetorical question; nobody cared for him enough to go to such drastic lengths to proclaim their love. Therefore, this couldn't have been an unfair thing for him to do. "We must adapt to change," he spoke softly as his fingers danced around their trembling jaw. "You must adapt to change." His voice dropped an octave, gaze falling back onto their face. He had adapted to this change flawlessly fine, it was them that had to figure out how to. They were ultimate perfection in his eyes—there was just one, little issue...

"What are you doing?" Their voice quivered. Viktor's hand slipped down to their collarbones, pinching against the soft fleshy prison.

"Ahm, eh, I am... feeling you, merely. Nothing more," their breath hitched at his actions. "Unless you want me to do more?" An unexpected whimper came from them, in which he did not know if it was good or not, but knowing them, it emanated from apprehension. "I love you, you know that. I would never force you to do something. Think of it as a friendly suggestion," Viktor's blunt fingernails found themselves becoming caught on the neckline of their shirt. "So, will you let me?" There was a pause between them. Most importantly, the air seemed to grow still. Tension so thick that you could slice it in half with a knife.

They shifted but didn't give Viktor a clear yes or no. In all honesty, they seemed to be dismissing him altogether. He could feel their body heat begin to amplify, a telltale indication of both their embarrassment and if he dares say desire. A relatively foolish notion, he was well aware, however, that did not mean anything in his mind, not in the current time. The future could come later, and his life may pass him by. But the future does not exist, does it? Not until you make it so. If he didn't take satisfaction in the opportunity that he had right now, then it may never come up again.

Nevertheless, he took the chance and leaned forward, inch by inch until his face had pressed into what was seen within the crook of their neck. Their skin was soft, warm; pulsating. "I am obsessed with you," both of his hands set themselves upon their shoulders, thumbs clutching against the blade of their clavicles. "I am, truly. My devotion, my love, my obsession for you—that will be the only thing that will never change no matter the year to come. You may push me away all that you desire, but I will come back to you. I love you." His chapped lips pressed in between their jawline and neck, a chaste kiss that he allowed to linger on their skin. They didn't even bother pushing him away. They had the strength to, yet abstained.

We failed to do good.

"Understand my efforts," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you must have seen them. Make sense of my love for you." His grip on their shoulders tightened, but he knew it would never be enough to harm them. It wasn't as if he wanted to injure them in the first place, either. However, it was short-lived, and Viktor's hands fell from their shoulders to their bound wrists, and straight down to their tremoring hands. "I have always wanted to do more with you—to be what most would consider a "couple" yet you keep pushing me away." During his rambling, Viktor heard them mumble something under their breath. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said I'm sorry," they whispered. For the first time, it seemed that they were apologising to him so sincerely, maybe with actual suspicions that something may transpire if they were to not apologise. It was startling, but a chance to hear their voice was satisfactory for Viktor. There was a lingering breath that he could feel tickle the back of his neck, coupled together with their heaving chest. They were scared.

We have to make it right.

Viktor felt his heart hammer against his rib cage, a knot forming in his throat bitterly. This clammy feeling in his chest was unneeded. "Well," he spoke with a sharp exhale, "do you know what would make me forgive you?" As if he hadn't already forgiven them, to begin with. Upon feeling them nod slowly, Viktor pulled away from them and hurried his hands from their own, to their neck. His touches were faint, but loving. Held a certain edge to them, hinted at with a distinct emotion. "I'm very sure you're aware of what I'm getting at," his breathing picked up, just as theirs did, and for a few instants, it seemed that theirs was in sync with his own. To his surprise, they shifted and nodded in agreement, but did not vocalise it.

Anxiously, Viktor proceeded to slowly creep his body forward, even closer to them than he was before. He felt his heart thumping against his rib cage, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he shakily exhaled. Viktor was not the type of man for sex, he never had the time to do it; but when it came to his little obsession, why not indulge? Their consent was dubious at best, but at this point, any hint of acceptance was promising enough for him. He struggled to rationalise his thinking but instead was only met with a cluttered mess within his brain. Viktor couldn't concentrate on anything other than them at this moment. It was just the two of them, and that was all that truly carried weight to him.

His kisses against their skin were light, virtually non-existent, but the genuine love that he harboured for them persisted despite their shuddering breathing; despite their apprehension. Viktor's lips pressed against their tender jawline until he finally met the edges of their lips. His hands were twitching, cupping the sides of their face with his thumbs caressing the skin underneath their eyes. This would be their first kiss together. Would they reciprocate it? He sure hopes that they would in some way, they don't seem to have any reasoning as to why they wouldn't. He pulled back momentarily to stare at them, only to notice that they weren't looking at him at all. That would be okay.

"You're mine," he breathed as he pressed his lips against their own once again. Viktor felt as if his chapped, thin lips were being engulfed by theirs—though, theirs were equally as chapped as he were. He made a mental note to up their water intake. The kiss did not quite feel the way that he visualized it to feel—he thought it would have felt more romantic in a sense. Moreover, he would have believed that they wouldn't be chained to the wall in such an intimate instant. But, good behaviour is rewarded. This was temporary, they knew that, as did he. Just as the kiss was about to end, he felt them lean into it and press their lips into his own. That, above everything else, made him feel like the blessedest man in all of Piltover. Of Zaun, anywhere.

"I love you more than anything," confessed Viktor as he pulled away from their lips. "I'm glad that you're mine." And he meant it.

Their breath hitched just as it constantly did when he touched them. Maybe it was the fact that his hands were gradually examining their body, tilting across every crevice, from where their midsection concave whenever they'd instinctively suck it in out of humiliation, to the quiver of the skin around their navel when his fingers ran along the sensitive region. Viktor's hands were underneath their shirt, his wiry fingers eagerly squeezing the skin. They squeaked at first, his hands were frigid after all but eventually unwound though not peeking at him. Viktor wished that they would look at him like a person rather than an oddity.

The hem of their trousers huddled against their hips, hiding away the most intimate part of their body that only Viktor was allowed to see. For a moment, he looked into their eyes for the right to go ahead, but upon being avoided, Viktor merely yanked them down with enthusiasm pulsing through his veins. His thumbs pressed between their navel and hipbones, in an almost comforting gesture. But it wasn't as if they cared in the long run, however, he could hear their hitching breath. Through dirty-minded thoughts, Viktor's right hand loomed above their sex while his other clasped against their hipbone for support. He was actually doing this—something that he had just as much as dreamed of for years.

"Please," their whiny voice startled his thoughts. "Just... be gentle with me," they didn't seem to be in the mood to fight him at all. That's good. Viktor was sure he had neither the strength nor the energy to deal with it.

His thumb pressed against the sensitive nub below, threatening a gasp from them. "I'll never hurt you," he rubbed their hip in synchronisation with his sensual touches against their sex. "I promise, I will do what I can to make you feel pleasured." His breathing picked up as arousal trickled down his spine like that of the emotions that he loathed. "I want... to see the inside of you. All of you," he spoke aloud, a hint of longing in his tone which he had shoved back this entire time. He wanted them to comprehend his love to its full potential.

Viktor's face pressed against the crook of their neck once again, shifting his hips as he closed his eyes. They were making noises, now, their chained wrists clicking against the harsh metals as they lifted their hands to dig into his back. Secretly, he had hoped that they would call his name. He knew that they knew it. They've spoken it countless times before. Granted, it was always in a fit of rage or hysteria which followed, "I hate you," and, "You ruined my life." But they knew his name at the very least.

Moreover, they were unravelling at the seams. They liked this just as much as Viktor did. They loved him, they had to. Lust and love were on a thin line, so closely drawn together yet had such distinct differences. Could the same be said about obsession? Maybe so, but that did not mean much by this point.

"I love you," he breathed into their neck, his warm breath no doubt sending shivers down his spine or so he hoped. "You feel so soft, so pretty..." His fingers toyed with their sex, jerking in sporadic movements which caused their hips to buck against him, further spurring him on. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? Like I—" his breath hitched when their hands clenched the fabric of his vest, "Like I own you?" For once, they actually agreed with him.

"Y-yes," they let out a pitiful, rueful whine more akin to someone who was used to this sort of thing. But that was inane. They belonged to him. "It feels—It feels really good, I..." Their hips were rolling now, eagerly trying to accept his love rather than pushing it away like they always had been. They were accepting change. They were adapting. "Jus—just like that, please, Viktor—"

And at that moment, time seemed to halt.

They said his name, not out of pure spite or anger, not from him doing something they did not like, but in pleasure. The pleasure that he was inflicting on them. "You're doing such a good job, So good for me," it came out as more of a wheeze than praise, though there was a hint of worship hidden within it. "Are you going to come soon? I want you to come undone because of me. I love you," his lips returned their place at their neck, his crooked teeth nibbling onto their soft skin, further forcing out a reaction from them. Just from their responses and noises alone, Viktor felt as if he was going to come any second now instead, and he hadn't even touched himself. All he could feel was his dick beginning to strain against his dress pants.

It was getting so hot and stuffy, surely he should take off his vest and dress shirt soon. The things that they did to him were things that he didn't even expect. The love he harboured, the desire he held—they were his weak spot. This precious creature. Viktor felt his breathing pick up as he pulled his teeth away from their neck, their delicate skin caught between his incisors.

Once more, slowly, his fingers gently danced around their sex, forcing himself to concentrate and try to block out the absolutely lovely noises that they were emitting. The noises, be as they may, were provided to him involuntarily, he attempting to reject the wail of pleasure that came from them. The squelchy sound of their fluid pooling around his fingers met his ears, giving a sick taste of satisfaction. His left hand clenched their skin a little too tightly for even his standards, the wiry fingers of his right hand working against him, deliberately circulating apart and snapping concurrently, a shudder running down his spine at the howl they made along with the response their body offered. Devoiding much of a thought, Viktor pulled his left hand away from their hipbone, dragging the appendage straight to the front of his dress pants, fumbling with both the zipper and hem in an attempt to pull it away from his groin.

"Oh," he heaved as he pulled away, ignoring the whimper that came from his lover in front of him. They wanted this. They needed this. Needed him. "Would you mind if I tried..." The words died in his mouth as soon as they came out, his left hand hovering above his concealed groin. Surely, they would say yes? They seemed a bit dazed, though perhaps it was his fault for not allowing them the relief that they were so close to acquiring. "I want to... feel you. I may not last very long," he fished his dick out of his boxers, feeling his face heat up to the point where he was sure it was red. "Do you want to?"

They made eye contact with him this time. The humanity, the want, the greed and the fear shone in their eyes brightly, but nothing could cover the telltale signs of love and lust. Viktor already knew the answer, they didn't even have to answer him, he already knew what it was going to be by their reaction alone. This was the key to their heart.

Now, at first, Viktor would not lie when he said that it made him feel a bit shy, or nervous—the thought of them seeing such an intimate part of his body, one of which he knows can be heavily judged based on size, was nervewracking to him. But the lack of disgust in their eyes—or maybe it was hidden between a thick cloud of lust—made him believe otherwise. They liked what they saw, and hopefully, nothing would change the way that they saw him. Their approval is what he strives for. However, that does not exactly matter with how far things have gotten. How many times has he repeated that phrase in his head?

The silence was deafening, but it was enough for Viktor to shuffle forward and shift his weight onto his somewhat good leg, swallowing the rising lump in his throat as he used his free hand to pull down their trousers. After this, he would be sure to give things a thorough wash. "Can you come closer?" He asked as he pulled his hand away. Please come closer.

He hadn't expected them to listen to him, nor to actually push themselves off the wall just to get closer to him, but, at the same time, he was not complaining. "Good job," he praised, his hands returning to place on their hips. Their skin felt so warm, but Viktor could still feel the reluctance radiating off of their perfect form. Now, this was just a question of whether or not he should go through with It. If he should finish claiming them.

The rattling chains served as a constant reminder for them to not fall out of line, and Viktor was sure that they did not want to do such a thing, especially not so close to salvation at this point. Steadily, Viktor felt their thighs wrap around his hips, and though the pressure and their weight being shifted onto him were agonising, he tried to force his way through it. The way that he could feel the tip of his dick press against them—that was like pure ecstasy. He never thought the day would come when they would grind into his lap so sensually, and act as if they had never tormented him for years to come.

"God," there was a slight plea laced within his velvet tone, "I need to be inside of you. Please," as much as Viktor loved them, he could never trust them to be the one providing. Not with how their behaviour had exhibited... less than desirable traits. "Will you allow me? We could finally become one in a sense. I just want to feel your insides around me, I want to feel your body heat against me." Whether or not they found pleasure in Viktor's begging, they offered him a response anyway:

"Shut up," was what they said. "Go ahead."

And with that, Viktor found himself slowly pushing their body down into the mattress, further ruining the bedspread and sheets that weren't even properly fixed in the first place. They still seemed reluctant, as their tone even harboured a certain edge to it, but hell, Viktor could not fault them. He feels nervous, too, of course, he does. Pulling down their trousers fully to their calves, he felt a knot grow within his throat. The thought of someone else doing this to them caused bile and jealousy to rise within his empty stomach, curling and screaming in the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside in favour of much kinder thoughts.

A part of him wished to be able to twist and manipulate this circumstance, but he knew he didn't want to do such a thing - Viktor wanted nothing more than for them to just become wholly his and only his until death would take hold of them both. And even then, that would not split them apart nor dwindle his love for them. "I'm going to..." There was a brief pause, embarrassment etched across his face, "Er, make love to you," he spoke aloud, though it was more as if he was convincing himself that he was going to, rather than informing them.

There was little to no resistance when Viktor pressed himself inside, but it was such a foreign feeling that he could not help but whimper at the sensation. They were warm on the inside, and not the mention that their body would occasionally clench around his dick. His golden eyes gaped at their face, eyeing the expressions that they would make, all the way until the hilt of his dick finally pressed against their pelvic area. This was embarrassing.

Shamelessly, Viktor pulled back his hips, only to snap them forward with a moan. He tried his best to keep quiet, however, with the way that they started breathing heavily with their knees pressed up against the sides of his thighs, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were perfect, they felt perfect - on the inside, the outside, no matter. He hunched his body over their own, using the strength in his arms—what was left of it, anyway—to keep himself up. Viktor had no clue how long he would last, nor how his body would allow him to continue. But with how it felt, he hoped it would be long enough.

"You—you're... You're big," they suddenly confessed, a slight whimper escaping with the moan that left them. Fuck, they sounded so adorable like that. "Don't... Stop, please—"

A shiver ran down Viktor's spine at the blatant praise that fell from their lips shamelessly, it seemed so heinous, almost as if they were trying to get him going. "Ah..." Keep talking. "You, ah—you think so?" He panted as his hips snapped forward once, then twice. Was he drooling? Shit, he was drooling. "You feel so good on the in—the inside. So warm, so inviting. I would never... want to stop," a particularly loud moan escaped him, which seemed to be a hybrid of both a moan and wheeze. His lover didn't seem to notice nor care, however.

Why would they ever want to leave when they have such luxury in their life? Here they were, underneath Viktor with their eyes clenched tightly, hands balled up in fists as strings of moans escaped their bitten lips. They looked gorgeous like that. It even made Viktor feel powerful to know that he was able to make them feel such a way. Nearly impossible, he thought, if they weren't tied up and reluctant to accept him, they might have tried something devious and that would have ruined every single thing that Viktor had planned. Still, they're accepting his love.

His rhythm wasn't exactly straight nor following any set beat. Viktor felt as if his movements were sloppy and skewed, choppy thrusts and shuddering muscles that he was surprised had lasted this long. He could feel himself growing close, but he couldn't allow himself to unless they had, first. They mattered more than anything else.

"D... Darling," he nearly cried out, "I love you so much—" One of their hands threw itself behind Viktor's head, tangling their fingers within his messy locks of dark hair, gently tugging him forward. A shock ran down his spine at the gesture.

"I know," they breathed, "I know you do." Were they feeding into his delusion and leaving him to feel as if they felt the same, or did they genuinely love him at this moment? The way their eyes slowly peeked open was complete bliss for him, the irises that stared directly into his own with blown-out pupils—love.

He felt his sloppy movements speeding up, all while his body became sore from the extended movements, and all while this happened he felt the drool collect on the edge of his lips, dripping down his chin to their shirt, wetting the wrinkled fabrics. It didn't matter how ruined it would get, Viktor made a mental note to give them an even better shirt. Nevertheless, a knot coiled itself within his gut, curling around his navel and shooting a cramp up his spine in an almost pleasurable manner.

His bottom lip caught itself in between his incisors, muffling a forthcoming moan. "Are you—" a choked moan. "Are you clos—close? Please—" There was borderline whimpering in tone and he could not help but feel embarrassed for it, but the trembling person below made him feel a little better about his childish worries. They nodded without speaking, staring at him through thick eyelashes. They were gorgeous.

Viktor smiled, and it met his eyes. "So am I."

It was blissful, for him, at least—everything seemed perfect and in order as Viktor's right hand clasped around the side of their waist, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh: pliant. His breathing picked up, as did theirs, but he was determined to stretch this out for as long as he allowed himself to. As he closed his eyes tightly, Viktor felt his thumb dig into the dip between their stomach and hip bone, causing a red indentation on the soft skin. Through his pleasure, he could hear the loud sound of their moans below, as well as the sound of skin slapping against the skin; the squelch of genetic fluids mixed. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed together at the sound, his head falling against their chest, forehead pressed directly above their heart. Their clavicle, he presumed. They felt so good, he didn't want to stop, but he was so close.

"Viktor—" they cried out, suddenly, "I'm g—going—" there was a loud, rueful cry, followed by a high-pitched whimper. He could feel them clench around his dick, and then they had come. This sent him over the edge. Viktor lifted his head weakly and pressed his lips against their own, his saliva smearing all over their mouth and cheeks. He moaned into their mouth, pressing his hips forward one more time as his hand clenched their skin, surely hard enough to leave a bruise. He emptied inside of them, the muscles in his thighs twitching and convulsing, his dick soon going limp thereafter.

For a moment, Viktor caught his breath, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Tears pricked his vision when he opened his eyes, and the slobber dripped from his lips. His legs felt as if they were stuck in mud, but how did they feel? As he lifted himself, Viktor stared down at the person below him, completely covered in the afterglow. I came inside, that was an accident, he thought, but they looked so cute like that.

Much like before, Viktor felt a knot form in the middle of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing with each calculated swallow and breath.

Viktor felt breathless, but he felt as if that was to be expected. He stared down below at the barely visible person he had claimed just a few moments prior; his vision betraying him. He rests his forehead against theirs, a promise of devotion. "What can I do to make you love me?"

"Let me go," they whispered in a soft croon.

"You know I cannot afford to do that. You're mine."

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere viktor #yandere arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader

88 notes · View notes

makeyoumine69 · 1 day ago

Text

Vibe With Me (Modern AU)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Modern AU, Patrick watches you masturbating with a vibrator during a video call.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, sex toys, overstimulation, masturbation, squirting, Patrick is kinda demanding, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, mild power play.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1.3k

ᴀ/ɴ: Recently I was thinking about modern AU and this idea came to me so randomly, sorry!😢

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]💕

When Bateman told you that he was going on a long business trip, you were worried because you were already too attached to him, but you didn't know how to tell him that you would miss him, considering that your lover despised any displays of affection—including any drama about you being sad when he was gone. But before you could even come up with a plan for how to broach this sensitive subject, Patrick gave you a large box that he asked you to open once he left on a business trip. And even though you probably knew the contents of this gift, you decided to wait and do what the man told you to do, so you waited as long as it took. You were so determined to be a good girl and play by the rules that you even forgot about this box because your life was so busy as usual.

The day you and Bateman had your first video call after he left, the first thing he did was ask if you had opened his present yet, and as soon as he said it, you almost choked on the air, both embarrassed and disappointed in yourself. How could you forget? It took you a few moments to find the box that was obediently waiting for you in your bedroom and you opened it only to find a small plush bear, some chocolates and sweets, your favorite perfume and... at first you thought it was a dildo, but then you read the description on the small pink box that told you it was a clitoris vibro-stimulator, which according to Patrick's handwriting was the best model so far. Rolling your eyes, you picked up the sex toy without unpacking it. Surprisingly for you, Patrick didn't insist on opening it as soon as possible, the man explained that you needed some time to find out how to use his 'little sweet gift' so that you could both have some fun.

God, that was embarrassing.

But that was just the beginning.

That day, you were lying on the couch in your living room, the only light coming from the screen of your monitor, which was placed on the coffee table right in front of your splayed figure. The towel you had placed underneath you was already soaked with your juices as you lost count of your orgasms, and Patrick was like a sentinel watching you from the other side of your laptop, his hazel eyes catching every little jolt you made, every little shudder and gasp.

"C'mon, honey," the man murmured, his soft, velvety voice coming through the speakers and making you melt like butter. "You can give me another one."

"No," you replied, on the verge of tears from the overstimulation. "I can't...this is already too much, it hurts!"

Panting, you removed the sex toy from your swollen clit, your legs still shaking from the last climax, your pussy so wet and bruised that you were afraid to even touch it.

"Sweetheart," Bateman called to you, knowing that this nickname would break down any difference you were trying to make. "I know you can. You're such a good girl for me, you always are."

Shit, shit, shit!

"Fuck...fuck you, Patrick!" You blurted out. "I don't want to gush all over my laptop!"

"God, if that's a problem, you can have as many laptops as you want. That's my word."

Bateman's tone became more and more demanding, for a moment you even wanted to end the call and close the laptop, but his voice, his sweet praises—he was a perfect manipulator, he knew every little weak spot he could press.

Biting your lower lip, you turned on the vibrator and slowly slid it back between your legs, the second it touched your hypersensitive flesh, you almost screamed and took it away, causing Patrick to tsk so loudly as if he was right next to you.

"Don't remove it!" He almost barked in a commanding voice.

"I CAN'T!" Your voice was about to break. "It's too fucking much! My skin is burning!"

And while it was true that it hurt pretty badly, you could feel another orgasm building up inside of you, your inner walls spasming around nothing as you tried to get the sex toy back onto your engorged bud.

"Listen to my voice," Patrick almost purred, probably changing tactics and trying to be less intrusive. "Don't push the toy too close to your clit," his lecturing was the last thing you expected to hear from him and somehow it made you feel so high, so fucking overwhelmed. "Let it vibrate within you...remember how I do it with my tongue?"

Damn it!

Closing your eyes, you lay down more comfortably and spread your legs wider, giving him the full display of your soaking cunt, the soft material of the sex toy sliding along your skin, and when you dared to press the tip of it to your little tip, Bateman suddenly interfered, causing you to almost bite your cheek to the point of bleeding.

"Turn on maximum speed," the bastard added, his smug face getting even more cocky as he watched you fall apart right before his eyes. "DO IT!"

"Fuck...f-fuck," you cursed under your breath, but you followed his order, unable to think straight, your fingers not listening and barely finding the button on the vibrator, but once they did, you moaned so loudly you were afraid someone would call the police. "I...I'm gonna cum...again.......aaa-hhh-fuck!"

To be honest, you didn't expect this little toy to be so powerful, its vibration piercing through you, sending a million tingles to your most sensitive spot, pushing you over the edge. With your eyes closed, your legs buckled, your toes curled with pleasure, you did your best not to take the vibrator away, feeling your pussy clenching until you squirted, and you did it so hard that the towel dampened even more, but you didn't really care.

"Good girl," Bateman muttered in a gruff voice. "Such an obedient girl...I'm so proud of you," he watched you come undone without blinking. "I'm so fucking proud of you!"

Breathing heavily, you finally turned off the toy and let it fall to the floor, your legs still trembling, the wetness pooling down your inner thighs—now you were nothing but a wet, trembling mess - you couldn't even open your eyes, knowing that this asshole was probably shining like a fucking Rolex he was wearing.

After a brief respite, as you slowly began to come down from your high, you turned your unfocused gaze to your laptop and heard Patrick's soft chuckle, the sound almost mocking.

"Jeez, I'd drink you dry," he rasped into the microphone of his headphones. "I'd suck on that pretty little pussy until I couldn't fucking breathe-"

"Stop," you squealed suddenly, barely able to contain yourself from the phantom pain in your core of how much you needed him to stuff you with his beefy dick. "Stop saying things like that..."

"Oh, babe," Patrick crooned, smiling at you from the screen of your laptop. "You know I would, and it drives you crazy, doesn't it?"

You didn't answer this question, but looked at him more seriously. "And what about you? Aren't you going to put on a show for me?"

The man smiled before he lowered the camera so that you could see his white boxers, which were bulging because of how hard he was. Without saying anything, Patrick traced the outline of his cock through the smooth material before giving himself a little squeeze that made you almost drool.

"Who knows?" Bateman chuckled suddenly, fixing the camera in its previous position. "Maybe... if I was in the right mood..." his lips curled into a sly, almost devilish smile. "I'd show you that I miss you no less, darling. Believe me."

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

Lemme know if you want part two with Patrick jerking off during a video call, lmao.

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

60 notes · View notes

armpirate · 2 days ago

Text

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 1

MASTERLIST Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 20 minutes

Chapter warnings: Violence, shooting, mentions of blood and drugs

The night had gone according to plan: the cabs were on time, the guests started arriving -with a significant amount of people showing up for the event-, the cloudy sky only showed its black tone with some shining starts standing out -at least, what the city of Detroit allowed-, which meant the cocktail would be held on the outside as planned.

Everything was going according to plan… until it didn't.

Y/n's fingers trailed absently over the clipboard, eyes scanning the banquet hall for any last-minute hiccups. The small awards ceremony had flowed as smoothly as she'd envisioned -perfectly timed speeches, lights dimming at all the right moments, and not a single technical glitch. The guests were enjoying the short colloquiums, the awards were safe and taken well care of before handing them to their owners.

She had everything under control… until the cocktail hour came.

The shift to the cocktail reception felt like a descent into chaos.

Y/n's gaze darted to the far end of the adjacent room, where a tall, chubby woman -one of the night's winners- was animatedly arguing with a waiter. A simple mix-up over her drink order had somehow spiraled out of control. The brunette was waving her arms, her voice rising over the soft chatter of the crowd, her complaints turning heads. Y/n felt the knot tighten in her stomach as she hurried over, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Those situations always made her nervous, but it wasn't something she hadn't seen before or something she wasn't able to find a solution to.

—Look at what you've done —the woman snapped, her frustration palpable—. Do you have an idea of how much this dress costs?

It was a trivial mistake, one that could have been handled discreetly, but that ended up having the attention of half the room.

—I'm sorry, miss. I'm sure it was an accident, she was trying to get through… —Y/n said in her calmest voice, attempting to calm down the situation— Let me help you clean you up.

—Are you blaming me now?

—No, no —she quickly shook her head—. I meant that she didn't do it on purpose, these things happen. There's a trick to clean wine up.

—I don't need your boorish tricks —the woman pushed her away before Y/n could even attempt to help her—. Shit, this dress cost eight hundred dollars. Are you going to pay for it?

Y/n's body tensed after hearing the price. That woman paid for her dress the same amount Y/n paid for her rent, which she thought was expensive just a few hours back, while discussing with one of the hostesses back in the hall.

That woman was making a big fuss, when she knew s\well he had no problem buying another one if she wanted to. Hell, she probably had that same dress in different colors back home.

—Miss, again, the waitress was trying to get through, but you were in the middle of the way. I'm afraid the company can't pay for the dress, but…

—Not only do you ruin my dress, but also call me fat?

—What? No, of course not. I never meant it that way.

Y/n was trying everything in her hand to calm the woman down and keep her from making a scene, but it was too late. All eyes were already on them as Celia Curry kept ranting about her dress, ignoring all her attempts on making damage control. Some guests whispered behind their hands, and others simply watched, relishing the drama of someone else's accident.

The situation kept scalating out of her control, feeling like every word she said only helped to make things worse.

It didn't take long for Y/n's boss, Darnell, to appear beside her, his towering frame and stern expression making her stomach clench.

Darnell was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his tone carried weight. His skin was as dark as the fitted suit he wore, his eyes sharp behind his glasses as he fixed her with a disapproving look, before he took control of the situation that she wasn't able to, moving away with the problematic lady.

Eventually, the situation was handled, but the damage was done. The smooth control Y/n had so carefully maintained all night was shattered.

Darnell was chatting with the few guests left, while the only people left were those working for the catering company -and who were picking up all the tables spread all over the room-, and the three hostesses that were chatting between them.

She hoped that conversation would last forever, because she knew what would come next for her wouldn't be good news.

—Y/n —he said, his voice serious—, you need to handle situations like that better. You're supposed to put out the fire, not to make it worse.

Her stomach twisted. She was convinced it wasn't that bad, but she guessed wrong.

—I know what you're trying to say, but she only calmed down because it was you who spoke to her —she tried to explain.

—I have to pay eight hundred dollars of my own money, just so she'd stop making a scene. You've been working in the industry for long enough to know that it's always better to just nod and let them rant than say something else that could get us in trouble.

—It was an accident. The waitress didn't want to ruin her dress. What did she expect us to do? To call out someone who was doing her job? It was her fault for being on the way…

—I don't want excuses —he cut her off, his tone sharp—. Celia was going to hire us for one of the parties she hosts, and we almost lost that opportunity because you still don't know what are the right words to say in situations like these. I won't let it pass another time.

With that, he walked away, leaving her standing alone in the now quiet venue, her confidence shaken.

Y/n stayed behind, even when everyone that formed the staff left, needing the time to process and, more than anything, catch her breath.

The venue was eerily quiet now, the earlier noise replaced with the echo of distant footsteps and the soft hum of the lights. She glanced at the bar, where leftover glasses and discarded napkins remained.

She sighed, sinking into one of the chairs in the now-empty hall. It was supposed to have been her night. A flawless event to prove she could handle anything. Instead, she was left picking up the pieces of a mistake that never should have happened.

Alone with her thoughts, Y/n's mind wandered. Little did she know, her night was just getting started.

San stood at the edge of the abandoned ceramics establishment that once belonged to his family, the dim light from a single hanging bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of dust and humidity filled the room. It was a place where deals were made in silence and sealed with blood.

That night was supposed to be no different.

He had chosen that place himself -an isolated part of the docks, far from prying eyes and the ears of law enforcement. No one in that part of the city spoke about what they saw, even less if he was involved.

His black suit clung to his form with a precision that matched his meticulous nature. Everything was always under control.

Behind him stood Mingi and Jongho, his most trusted men. Mingi's height alone made him intimidating, his broad shoulders like steel doors guarding a vault. Jongho, quieter but lethal, had eyes that missed nothing. The two were formidable, their presence an unspoken warning: Do not cross us.

San's gaze was fixed on the men standing opposite him. Four of them, each dressed in leather jackets and cheap denim, their eyes darting nervously between him and his men. They had the look of street thugs -greedy, reckless, but not entirely stupid. Their leader, a man named Lucas, had swaggered in as if he owned the place, a false confidence that grated on San's nerves.

It had been an important deal, one San had personally overseen. This wasn't just another routine drug exchange; it was one that could tighten his grip on the city's underworld, push his operations to new heights. But from the moment the other group had walked in, San had sensed something was off.

The bags of money and drugs were in place, stacked neatly on a table in the center of the room. The terms were clear: a large shipment of high-grade product for an equally large sum of cash. But the other men -they were stalling.

San narrowed his eyes, his fingers lightly tapping the handle of the gun hidden beneath his jacket. He didn't like delays, and he liked hesitation even less.

—What's up, Lucas —San's voice was calm, but it carried an edge that made people pause.

He didn't need to shout to be threatening. Power, he had learned long ago, was in restraint. When you had it, you didn't need to flaunt it.

Lucas glanced at his men, shifting on his feet. His cocky demeanor faltered.

—We just… we need to make sure the product's pure, you know? No offense, San.

San's jaw clenched. He didn't like repeating himself. The product had already been tested, vetted, and verified. These kinds of second guesses were a slap in the face, especially after the reputation he had built. But Lucas' behavior wasn't just about caution. It was something more.

—You're wasting my time —San said, stepping forward. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous warning—. It was already tested. Are you implying I'm trying to fool you?

—It's not about trust, but I guess you already know that.

Lucas fumbled, gesturing to one of his men to check the drugs despite the first rejection, but San's focus wasn't on the drugs anymore. It was in their hands. Fidgeting. Twitching. Lucas' right hand, tapping rhythmically against his thigh. The unmistakable sign of a man on edge -one waiting for something.

It clicked in San's mind: This isn't just nerves. They're uneasy for a reason.

His instincts, honed by years in the streets, screamed danger. Without a word, San's eyes flicked to Mingi and Jongho. The two moved imperceptibly, hands ready on their weapons, their muscles coiled like springs, waiting for his signal.

—There's the money —Lucas insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled a gun from his waistband, waving it casually like a prop.

A bad attempt to look tougher than he was, while trying to distract the man in front of him.

San didn't flinch. He never did.

—Test the fucking coke —he said coolly, nodding toward the product—. Do the job you came for. Unlike you, I know you don't have the balls to trick me.

Lucas hesitated. His men shifted, their gazes bouncing between each other. It was a subtle tell, but enough for San to know what was coming.

They've already decided.

San's eyes hardened. His blood surged with the cold realization. He didn't wait for the first move -he made it.

In one fluid motion, San drew his gun, his aim deadly accurate as he fired at Lucas' man who reached for the drugs. The shot rang out, the deafening crack of the gun a declaration of war. The man crumpled to the floor before he could draw his own weapon.

Gunfire erupted from all sides. Lucas' crew had been waiting for that -ready to steal both the drugs and the money. Bullets ricocheted off the metal beams, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room as chaos took over.

San moved with precision, his body a blur as he fired off two more shots, dropping another of Lucas' men. But in the frenzy, Lucas and the remaining two scrambled for the table, grabbing the bags and making a break for the exit.

Blood pulsed from a sudden, sharp pain in San's side. He looked down, seeing the dark stain spreading across his shirt. He'd been hit.

He stumbled backward, bracing himself against a pillar. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay standing. He could hear Mingi and Jongho taking down more of the traitors, but it wasn't enough. Lucas had slipped through their fingers, dragging the stolen goods with him.

—Boss! —Jongho was beside him in an instant, eyes wide with concern—. You're hit!

San waved him off, anger fueling him more than the pain.

—Go after them. Now.

—We can't leave you here —Mingi insisted.

—I said go! —San's voice was steel, leaving no room for argument.

He wasn't going to bleed out there while his enemies walked free with what was his. He could still feel Lucas' smirk in the air, and that thought alone sent a fresh surge of fury through him.

Mingi and Jongho hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. They bolted after the escaping men, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared into the night.

San stood alone in the now-silent establishment, breathing heavily, his hand pressed hard against the wound. He could feel the warm blood spilling out between his fingers. Soon the police sirens reached his ear, making him curse in between her teeth, before he chose to escape through the back door.

He needed to get out, find somewhere safe, but the pain made each step harder.

Dragging himself through the alleys, he pushed forward, determined to stay conscious. After what felt like an eternity, the dim glow of a nearby venue caught his eye. He didn't know what it was -a bar, a club- but the lights were still on. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could stop the bleeding, and somewhere where he wouldn't be found, because the police wouldn't look for him there.

Without another option, he stumbled toward the door, pushing it open with what little strength he had left.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/n jumped, startled by the sudden crash of the door slamming against the wall. A man stumbled inside, his tall figure nearly crumpling as he lurched forward. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, eyes widening in shock.

He wore a gray suit, or what was left of it. The jacket was torn, stained with something dark -blood. A long, black coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders, but his sharp features were marred by the ghostly pale complexion of someone who had lost too much blood.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the room, his lips pressed into a tight line of pain. The man was hurt, badly.

Too much blood.

Her hands trembled as she shot to her feet. Instinct screamed at her to help, but fear paralyzed her for a moment. Her mind raced, panicked, as she saw the crimson seeping through the fabric of his suit, the gaping hole in his side.

—Oh god —she breathed, stepping back, her eyes glued to the growing red stain.

The man's knees buckled, and he stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby table for support. His gaze locked onto hers, sharp despite the pain.

—Help me —he rasped, his voice deep and commanding, a raw edge to it.

Her first instinct was to reach for her phone, call an ambulance so he'd get the help he needed, but he stopped her before she could get her purse.

—Don't call anyone.

—What? —Y/n blinked, not fully understanding— But you're bleeding…

—I said don't call anyone —he repeated, this time stronger, more forceful.

His words cut through her panic, grounding her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned her in place. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

—Please… —his tone softened, just slightly, almost pleading, but the command remained. He leaned harder against the table, fighting to stay upright.

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She moved toward him cautiously, instinct taking over despite the fear gnawing at her insides. He was a stranger -dangerous-looking, clearly involved in something violent- but something in his voice, his gaze, pulled her closer. She couldn't just leave him there.

—I… I don't know what to do —she stammered, glancing at the blood soaking his side. Her mind screamed at her to run, to call for help, but instead, her hands hovered over his coat—. You need a doctor.

—No doctor. So I guess the only thing I need right now is you.

—But… —Y/n hesitated, eyes wide.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, making her gasp. His fingers were cold, but his grip was firm, insistent.

—Check my back —he ordered, his voice rough but steady—. Is there a hole?

Her stomach turned at the request, but she nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat as she slowly stepped behind him. Her trembling fingers lifted the edge of his black coat, revealing more blood. It was everywhere. She winced as she saw the tear in the back of his suit -another bullet wound.

Oh God, there's another one.

Her knees nearly buckled at the sight of it, her breath catching in her throat.

—There's… there's another wound —she whispered, panic rising in her voice.

—Good. That'll make it easy —he mumbled—. Just… clean it. Stop the bleeding —he ordered again, his voice hoarse but laced with the same cold authority.

Y/n nodded, her movements stiff and robotic as she grabbed a towel from one of the tables. She didn't know what else to do -there was no medical kit, no real supplies to help someone who had been shot. But San moved first, clenching his jaw to omit a whine when he attempted to take off his shirt. She could hear the tremor in her own breathing as she pressed the towel to his back, feeling the warmth of his blood soak through the fabric.

He winced but said nothing, his jaw clenched as he leaned against the table, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

—You're losing too much blood —she whispered, pressing harder to stem the flow—. I don't think I can…

—You can —he interrupted, his voice low but firm—. I'll tell you what to do. Just… focus.

Y/n bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe, to calm down. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her under his wet bangs, even as she worked to stop the bleeding. He was staring at her -his expression unreadable but intense, almost like he was sizing her up, gauging her resolve.

—Who are you? —she asked quietly, glancing up at him through her lashes as she pressed the towel harder against his back— What happened?

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes darkened, his face tightening with pain as he leaned more heavily against the table.

—That's not important right now.

Y/n swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the situation sink deeper into her bones. That man, whoever he was, wasn't just hurt. He was dangerous. The way he commanded her, the way he dismissed his injuries, like this was just another day -it wasn't normal.

And yet, there was something about him, something magnetic, that kept her rooted in place. Even through the fear and confusion, she couldn't look away.

—Please —he said again, softer this time. His voice cut through her racing thoughts like a blade—. Help me.

Y/n pressed the towel harder against his back, her hands shaking as she tried to stop the bleeding. The man's breathing had become shallower, each breath coming in ragged, painful bursts, but he still didn't let up. He gave her instructions with a calm authority that unnerved her.

—Press harder —San murmured, his deep voice steady, though strained with pain. His dark eyes flicked between the wound and her face—. You're doing fine.

—I doubt you're doing fine though —she swallowed back the panic clawing at her throat, focusing on his words. Her fingers trembled as she tore strips from the tablecloth, fashioning them into makeshift bandages—. I'm not a doctor—. she whispered, her voice shaky—. I don't know if this is enough.

—It's enough —he said with a certainty that silenced any protest.

His hand rested against the table, steadying himself, while his gaze lingered on her face. His sharp eyes softened just for a moment as he noticed her red, puffy eyes -evidence of the tears she'd been shedding before he barged in.

San's brow furrowed slightly, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest. He wasn't used to caring about anyone else's emotions, let alone a stranger's.

—You were crying —he said, the statement coming out more like an observation than a question.

Y/n froze, blinking rapidly. She hadn't expected him to notice -he was the one bleeding out in front of her, after all.

—I… it's nothing. Just a bad day.

—A bad day? —his voice held a hint of something she couldn't quite place… curiosity? Amusement? His gaze darkened as he watched her work, her delicate fingers moving swiftly despite the fear in her eyes.

He was used to seeing fear. He'd seen it in countless faces before, but it was different. Her fear wasn't for him -it was for herself, for something else entirely, like she was scared of hurting him more.

—What kind of bad day makes someone cry alone in an empty venue?

Y/n bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to return. This wasn't the time to break down again. Not in front of him.

—Work —she muttered—. It's… complicated.

His eyes narrowed as if weighing whether to push further, but then a wave of pain hit him, and he gritted his teeth, letting out a low groan.

Y/n's heart pounded as she moved in front of him, her hands trembling as she pressed the makeshift bandages against the wound in his side. She could feel the heat of his body when directly touching his torso, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, everything seemed to still.

His gaze was locked on hers, unblinking, as if he could see straight through her. Those dark, intense eyes sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself unable to look away.

—Thank you —he murmured, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist. The touch was subtle, yet it sent a surge of warmth up her arm, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

—You didn't have to help me.

She blinked, her pulse racing. Why does his touch feel like this?, she thought. She couldn't understand why that stranger -that dangerous, bleeding man- was making her feel so vulnerable, so exposed.

—It's not like I had a choice —she whispered, though she wasn't sure if that was entirely true.

She could have run, called for help, but something about him -something about the way he looked at her- had kept her there, as if she were drawn to him by an invisible force.

San's fingers lingered on her wrist for a second longer before he pulled away, his eyes still locked on hers. The tension between them thickened, and she could feel the air grow heavier. She had saved his life, but in doing so, she had become entangled in something much larger than herself.

—Your name —he said suddenly, his voice a low rasp—. What's your name?

Y/n hesitated for a split second, then answered softly:

—Y/n.

—Y/n… —he rolled her name over his tongue, as if tasting it, memorizing it. It sent a strange thrill through her, one she couldn't explain.

He took a deep breath, wincing slightly from the pain, but his gaze never left hers.

—I won't forget it —and he was so damn sure he meant it—. It's a beautiful name.

Something about the way he said it made her heart skip a beat. She wasn't sure if it was a promise or a warning, but she could feel it -a connection, sharp and undeniable, forming between them in that moment. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in the dimly lit room.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

—I owe you one.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing as his words sent a shiver down her spine. His closeness, the heat of his body, the intensity of his gaze -it was all overwhelming. She should have felt afraid, but instead, she felt something else entirely.

Before she could respond, his hand gently cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. His touch was both gentle and possessive, as if he were claiming a piece of her in that moment.

—Don't cry for them —he murmured, his voice low and dangerous—. They don't deserve your tears.

Her breath hitched, and before she could process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against hers. The kiss was brief, just a brush of warmth, but it ignited something deep inside her. A spark. A hunger she hadn't known existed.

When he pulled back, their eyes locked, both of them breathing heavily. In that moment, Y/n knew that she was no longer just a bystander in his world -she was a part of it now.

San's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if memorizing every detail of her face. Then, with a grunt of pain, he straightened up, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his coat, his hand pressing against the wound one last time.

—I'll find you —he said quietly, his voice full of an unspoken promise. And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had been so lost in his aura, that she hadn't been aware of the car parked outside, and that San had called while she was in the bathroom making the napkins wet.

As the door closed behind him, Y/n stood frozen, her fingers brushing her lips where his had been. She should have been terrified, but all she could think about was the way he had looked at her -the intensity in his eyes, the way his touch had made her feel alive.

She didn't know his name. She didn't know what kind of danger he had just brought into her life. But one thing was certain:

She needed to see him again.

36 notes · View notes

walnut-tries-too-hard · 3 days ago

Text

Session 6 double up info dump

Ok, so I'm obsessed with this idea. So it's time to share all of my thoughts on this headcannon.

There was a lot of panic, naturally. For one second, they're humans. The next, they're all knew hybrids.

Grian

-Grian had no idea that people's hybrid traits would be affected by the wild card.

-He knew that the animals would all be swapped but, when everything died, Skizz and Scar started freaking the fuck out because Grian all of a sudden didn't have wings.

-There were they dots, and then boom. He's a creeper like Doc.

-How Doc never exploded was an absolute mystery. Just the stress of Skizz and Scar alone nearly made him explode.

Renchanting

-Ren didn't immediately notice that he wasn't a dog. It was after Martyn started to freak tf out that he realized his hearing was VERY different. And he didn't have a tail.

-That was a fairly easy adjustment aside from this new strange instinct to fly??

-For Martyn, he suddenly had to keep himself very chill, lest he burn down their base. Again.

-Everytime Ren was a different hybrid he changed up his full title. Rather than Rendog; there was Renmoth, Rensheep/Renram, Renbird...ect.

-Those are actually all the differnent versions of Ren I went through trying to draw him.

-Martyn spent a lot of time with Tango trying to figure out how to handle the fire.

General/misc.

-Scott went from creaking, to human, to siren. Lovely whiplash. No flashbacks to limited life, what do you mean?

-Tango was struggling the whole session. He was already cold in the overworld but that was helped with jackets and all that. Now he was physically cold and he didn't know how to fix it. Why were overworlders so cold?!

-All of the lifers were used to being red with their typical hybrid traits. The red lives were a little more out of control than usual.

-Many people, such as Tango had to get used to not having a tail. His balance wasn't as bad as say...Impulse. He's a big guy, who'd depending on his tail far more than he thought.

-The very first change up Cleo got was being a dog. I guess you could say...DoggyCleo? (I'll see my way out). Scott jumped at the image of them as a human, as is. As a dog like Ren? Yeah, that was a surprise.

-Joel was just chilling then there was a poof around him and his ogre traits were gone. Not like he noticed. His wolves were dead.

-It was the same case for Bdubs. He was more focused on his horse. three dots and then it felt wrong to be in the sun. It even hurt a little bit. It took Joel looking over to realize he was looking at a phantom hybrid.

-People were willing to help each other to understand being a certain type of hybrid, like I said with Tango helping Martyn, and Scar definitely giving helpful advice to Joel.

-Sheep Ren at some point got stuck with goat Scar and bull Bdubs. They couldn't help from bonking into each other. Explained Zed, Beef, and Doc.

I'm obsessed with this idea, if you can't believe it.

Feel free to leave questions or request about this

#wild life smp #wild life spoilers #headcanon dump #grian #skizzleman #goodtimeswithscar #rendog #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #tangotek #zombiecleo #scott smajor #smallishbeans #bdoubleo100 #text post #Wild life...more li-#renchanting

48 notes · View notes

bisexualcroissant · 2 days ago

Text

The Line is so scarily perfect for Viktor’s character it hurts like getting suckerpunched every time I listen to it.

My body’s on the line now

I can’t fight this time now

I think these lines go without saying but the way they reflect so much of Viktor’s predicaments throughout the series…It’s devastating. When he was dying in season one, his body failing him, waking up to Jayce at his side and asking—How much time do I have left? Then the first time he died after Jinx’s attack, and Jayce’s absolute horror seeing him, his refusal to lose Viktor as he sprinted back to the lab, desperate to try anything. Do anything. Then the second time, when Jayce killed him, and when he says goodbye to Sky as he loses the last of his humanity to Singed’s work, when he says “I will miss our talks,” and Sky says firmly, “No, you won’t.”

I’d rather you not be here for what could be my final form — as Viktor gets further from his humanity, loses more and more of it as he turns into the Machine Herald; the way he’s basically saying, I’d rather you not be here for this, when I lose myself, when I forget who I used to be. I read most of the lines in this song as a plea from Viktor’s most human parts to Jayce, aware that he’s slipping away from himself but unable to really do anything about it.

Did I disappoint you?

Makes me think of when a horrified Viktor, coming back to himself, asks Jayce: “Why do you persist? After everything I’ve done?” And all Jayce says, before reaching out to hold him, is “Because I promised you.”

Keep the memories of who I was before — Before everything fell apart, back when it was just Viktor and Jayce working in the lab together, fuelled by their visions and dreams. “Now…all I want…is my partner back.”

And not to mention the line change to:

My body’s on the line now

Pull the blanket tight now

Jayce’s blanket—the one Viktor never let go of to the end. Even when he was the furthest from his humanity, he still had Jayce’s blanket wrapped around himself. The one Jayce put on him to keep him warm, even when Viktor could no longer feel cold.

If I cross the line… The way Viktor was so horrified when he came back to himself, realising what he’d done and what he had become, only for Jayce to not care—the same way he didn’t care how changed Viktor was when he woke up: “What am I?” “You’re alive.” For Jayce to tell him You were never broken, Viktor, and there’s beauty in imperfections and all of it made up an inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.

Even when Viktor was lost to himself, when he was gone far enough that he was ready to remove the humanity from so many people, lost in the idea of the Glorious Revolution that would only come to disaster, Jayce never gave up on keeping his promise to Viktor. He still loved him through everything, enough to be the only one in any universe that could show Viktor the way out and bring him back to himself again.

like just FUCK ME oh my god.

#season 2 jayvik RUINED me if you couldn’t tell #jayvik #arcane #arcane season two #the line #jayce x viktor #arcane viktor #arcane season 2 #arcane act 3 #arcane season 2 spoilers

42 notes · View notes

yeonmuse · 14 hours ago

Text

MINI SERIES | YANG JUNGWON

CAN YOU HEAR MY HEART?

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : Jungwon falls for an antisocial girl with a passion for music and a love for the stars.

GENRE, fluff, slow burn , smau

( 𝐁𝐚𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ) : I honestly have no idea where this came from I just thought of anti social Jungwon and Anti social reader coming together and this is where it got me

Part 1

Jungwon spent years perfecting his craft, spent years further building his experience and techniques with his cinematography skills. Since the age of nine he had always found delight in having held a camera in his hands, by the age of 16 he experienced his first movie that opened his eyes into the world that was cinematography girl interrupted, though the movie itself was gruesome and somber it was one which he favored for its overbearing cinematography, the color grading and timing of every scene pulled the audience in and forced them to feel everything that the protagonist herself had experienced. Age seventeen his parents gifted him a camera for his birthday, a camera which further sparked his love for film and cinema. He and his friends would find themselves making short films or every log of their lives, though it became even more serious for Jungwon when a short film made by the seven of them won their towns film festival and earned him a full ride scholarship into any university of his choice.

She didn’t like people, she never liked people because they made her far too nervous for a multitude of listed reasons. From the age of six to eight children always proved to be rude, mean and annoying. She’d simply want to make friends though the endless bullying and teasing pushed her further and further from that goal. She simply ghosted her way through the entirety of her middle school years until the time to attend high school had come, it was then that her view on people had only worsened, she sat in silence nearly every day having to observe the bullying, countless fights, the endless number of attention whores and line upon lines of men that simply wanted to get into the pants of her and the many other young women that attended the school. Simply put high school took the cake for the most hellish and torturous years of her school life.

The only ongoing thing in her life that helped her dissociate her way through were the stars she’d see from her window growing up, though as she grew older the stars stopped showing up and slowly faded from the sky, and by the time she turned sixteen it was as if they ceased to exist. Now here she is alone yet again, this time without her parents or younger siblings to fall back upon, as they had been hours, and states away.

A sigh spilled past her lips as her gaze scans the campus of her new home for the next four years. She gave a silent prayer that things here would be different from high school, that some were all older and much more mature, that things wouldn’t be the same. Boy did the lord completely disregard that prayer, because it was a near carbon copy, the only difference being more people knew how to mind their business.

Jungwon eyed her curiously from afar as she stood in the courtyard for what felt like hours just staring into the void. Hundreds of girls on campus and yet his eyes just so happen to fall upon her, her who feel the moment anyone’s eyes fell upon her in classes, her who wouldn’t even want anything to do with him nor anyone else on campus.

It would continue on like that for months on end, Jungwons eyes somehow finding her amidst the overwhelming crowd of others, like a magnet of attraction they always found her. Whenever he’d look at her her head always seemed to be lost within the clouds, her alerts seemed so distant and distracted. Everywhere she went she wore those headphones and kept her head down as if she wanted to go unseen, but he saw her he always saw her.

Jungwon was someone that had never found interest in anyone other than himself or the same six friends he had known for the last seven years. Needless to say they themselves forced themself into his life but they had always been there ever since and he never felt like he needed anyone else. He never yearned for love nor for his heart to fiend for anyone. He had never desired sex, or the touch or kiss of another because he felt it to be impractical. Growing up he always had eyes on him, though it was attention that by him always went unwanted, but for some reason, her and now he finally experienced what it was like to yearn for someone's attention, for someone's gaze to fall upon him.

For 2 months he continued on this way, hoping that she would one day look his way but she never did. It frustrated him, so much so that he couldn’t even focus on his film making, he of all people? Any time he’d try to focus he wondered what it would be like to talk to her, what did her voice sound like? What was it like to see her smile? What kind of music did she listen to? He’d thought about asking around campus and endless amount of times but he never built the courage, he told himself that this was just a passing phase, that it was simply his mind yearning for some sort of muse, but it did nothing to lessen the ongoing fever of her that lingered every time she walked by.

Then one day, she walked into the library while he had been working on a project with his art study group and he took the chance to slip away without anyone noticing. His eyes curiously drank her in as she piled books into her arms.

She noticed him staring, she always noticed him staring, but what was she to say to him? She dreaded talking to people, dreaded talking to guys even more. With unspoken words she finally turns to face him and as her eyes meet Jungwons something within them sparks a flame. Realizing she had finally been looking at him, that he now fully had her attention his eyes widened almost instantaneously.

“Um.” What was he thinking? He didn’t even know what to say to her. “Hey so I’ve been watching you all this time because for some reason you interested me and I find you pretty? Will you do a film with me?”

“Jungwon, what are you doing? We need to hurry and finish this before tomorrow.” His unspoken words had gone interrupted as his given group called him back to his place at the camera. Jungwon mentally cursed, not knowing if this was an opportunity that he would get again.

“Jungwon..” his name melted on her tongue like cotton candy, her soft voice breaking the silence as she stood alone yet again. Though for some reason she felt slight disappointment.

Weeks had passed since Jungwon saw her again, he had gotten a taste of what it was like to have her look at him, to have her eyes on him and he yearned for it. So when given the opportunity he would force himself to talk to her, even if he didn’t know what to say.

Every day he’d find himself trudging through the aisles of the library, hoping to see her and eventually he did.

“Hi, I'm here to return my books.” That was the first time he heard her voice, a voice that made his ears melt, a voice that he wanted, no he needed to hear more of. If anyone were to view things from the outside they’d think him to be crazy, even if he thought he was crazy, obsessing over some girl he had never even had the courage to approach until now. He didn’t understand why she had such a pull on him, and as much as he tried to dismiss the curious feeling and aching instinct to be close to her he couldn’t. Without thinking he pulled a random book from the shelf and stepped beside her at the opposing checkout.

“Oh Jungwon, are you checking out more books for your project? I thought you guys finished up yesterday?”

“Yeah we did, but you know I can never seem to stop the idea from flowing.” Jungwon felt butterflies burn the pit of his stomach as he felt it again, her eyes on him.

For a moment her eyes did fall upon him, she was curious, curious as to who he was, what he and the other students had been doing in the library yesterday. Why did he approach her yesterday?

“Oh yn, have you met Jungwon?” Chaewon the library assistant seemed to notice her curious gaze and decided to break the overbearing tension that seemed to be pouring from the both of you.

“You’re always in here so maybe you saw him yesterday, he’s a film major, they’ve actually been looking for someone to help with choosing scores and soundtracks for one of their bigger projects, maybe you can help them since you’re good with music?” Her eyes widened and she glanced back and forth between her and Jungwon. At that moment she prayed that the ground would swallow her whole. She gave Chaewon a pleading look as if to ask her not to say another word but chaewon simply returned her look with a look of confusion.

Chaewon was the only thing close to a friend that yn had, ever since she started frequenting the library the girl had always been there. No matter how many times yn had tried to mind her business and avoid conversation Chaewon never stopped trying. Slowly but surely the girl found herself opening herself up a bit more to Chaewon.

“Do you really? We’ve been trying to find someone in the music department for months now that can match the vibe of the film and we’ve had no luck, if it's not a problem we could really use your help.” She hates the way he looks at her, expectantly, his soft eyes so full of hope that she might say yes. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her temperature rise as she froze on the spot. She always avoided people but now she had no way of avoiding the conversation at hand.

“Maybe?” That was enough, Jungwon didn’t need to hear anything else.

“Here's my number, if you do decide that you’d like to give it a try then you can text me? I’m always in the film room really late but I can swing by your dorm to get you if needed.” Hearing those words her soul completely left her body. Him? Come to her dorm.

“No! I mean- no it's okay i'll meet you in the courtyard? The big tree where the senior event planners usually sit?”

Chaewon couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something between the two of them but knowing yn she thought that maybe she was just feeling a little nervous or awkward talking to Jungwon. Both yn and Chaewon watch as Jungwon disappears from the library.

“He didn’t even sign for the book- ” Chaewon holds the book in his hand before looking down and reading the title.

“The kissing booth. Since when does he make romance films?” Chaewon shrugs and makes her way from behind the counter to put the book ball in its rightful place, leaving the girl alone to drown in her thoughts.

The entire walk back to her dorm yn couldn’t stop overthinking and panicking. She couldn’t not show up because then she’d look like a bitch, but if she did agree to it then she would risk having to speak and be around groups of people which she completely dreaded.

Jungwon on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at his phone from the moment he had given her his number. If this were any other day he couldn’t care less about his phone. There had been many times heeseung would complain about his messages going unread or him having missed his calls since he was always working on some sort of project. Right here right now though, his eyes would shift to his phone every 5 minutes. An hour went by and he finally heard the ding of his cellphone. He blankly stared at his phone as he read the message sent by an unknown contact. What should he say?

Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle at her panicked text, she was cute. He had gone from not even knowing her and not talking to her to wanting to only hear and see her talk. With a smile on his lips he responds to her panicked messages “meet me at the magnolia tree”

Part 2 (in progress)

#enha #enha fics #enha au #enha smau #enha fanfic #enha fake texts #enha fanfiction #enha jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon fanfic #enhypen jungwon #jungwon #enhypen fanfiction #enhyphen fanfic #enhyphen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader

42 notes · View notes