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pboogerswbb · 2 days ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content and language, being sick? overthinking? p being melodramatic Wordcount: 4.4K A/C: was feeling inspired :)) anyway pls be patient with me posting, i'm applying to schools rn!! anyway this went a direction i hadn't planned but... uhh... i have no excuses i was going with the flow. anyway enjoy x (also what a scare yesterday just hoping p is doing fine and i'm sure everything's okay!)

Before London

You need a ride to work tmr?

I don’t but thank you x

My eyes roam the texts as they had repeatedly since last night, trying to decipher each letter as if some ancient code I couldn’t understand. Is she seriously gonna be like that? Like she wasn’t the one who pulled me in. She kissed me. Why was she taking it out on me now? I don’t got time for this anyway, to be stressing about something like this.

I hadn’t seen Izara since Saturday, not at work, not in the apartment building, hell, I’d even gone to the gym every morning praying that she might show up but it was as if the girl had disappeared from the face of the earth. I knew she was avoiding me, and I guess she had reason but fuck, I thought she’d be better than that. Not a word since Saturday, other than those strange cryptic texts. Fine. Be that way.

“My favourite girls!!” Trey’s voice blatantly interjects my spinning thoughts as me, Arike, Satou and Lou are sat at a circular table, eating lunch. Not that I had been eating per say, more so poking my fork here and there trying to stomach a piece of chicken now and then. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach made it hard to eat at all.

I lift my eyes, hoping Izara would be trailing behind the man as usual. But it’s Ava instead, holding a notepad and taking quick steps to keep up. I mean I knew it wasn’t Iz before even looking up - there was an uncomfortable void of heels tapping against the hardwood as the pair approach us eagerly.

“Oh hey!” Lou smiles from her chair next to me. “What’s up?”

“So we were thinking,” Trey starts, leaning forward against the table. “If y’all could film some clips answering comments on your own since our dear Zari isn’t here.”

“Uh, where is she anyway?” I ask as casually as I can - though the way everyone’s heads snap to me tells me it was a feeble attempt.

Trey’s dark brown eyes study me for a while with an expression I can’t quite read before answering. “She’s home sick, poor girl.”

Bullshit. She’s trying to avoid me, I know it. I can’t believe it, I thought she would be more mature than this, than faking being “sick” just to get away from an awkward conversation with me. Why was she assuming how I felt anyway? Like the kiss mattered to me? Like I’d want more?

I mean all that was true. God did it matter and God did I want, no, need more. Much more. But she didn’t know that, so why was she assuming. I thought we were friends. You know what this is? Bad friendship.

“Oh damn, hope she feels better,” Arike answers for me, noticing the way I’m gone in my thoughts.

“Y-yeah for sure,” I mumble, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’mma go to the weight room.”

I place the fork down on my half eaten plate harshly, getting up abruptly making my irritation quite clear to everyone around me.

“Paige you gotta eat a little more,” Lou encourages but I shake my head.

“Nah, m’ not hungry,” I murmur and take my plate back, preparing to take out my aggravation at some weights, ignoring the way Arike and the rest of the girls eye me as I walk away.

“So how are we feeling about the first game soon?” My dad’s voice echoes through the speaker but I barely hear him, pacing my apartment’s living room. Truthfully I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming game. I knew that was bad. That I should be ecstatic, or scared as hell, but I didn’t feel anything else besides the dread of what happened between me and Iz.

Matter of fact, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the way she looked all night, the way her green smoked out eyes twinkled at me, the way she threw her head back when she laughed at my jokes, when she pressed her front against me. The way her full breasts felt against my chest, the way her round ass felt under my hands. God, the whimper she let out when I squeezed it as gently as I could.

“Paige?”

“Uh what?” I mumble, ears burning, completely forgotten about the call with my dad.

“What’s going on with you?” His secure, steady voice asks, grounding me.

“Nothin’ dad,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes and looking out the window into the street, eyeing every dark haired woman just in case they were Izara.

“Paige Madison.”

I groan. I might be 23-years-old but my dad’s stern voice turns me into a teenager without fail each time.

“You’re comin’ to the first game still, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why?”

“Nothin’, just miss you,” I mumble, coming up with an excuse for my low mood - though it wasn’t far off. Everytime I felt sad or anxious I just wanted my dad.

“I miss you too, kid. You know you just say the word and I’m there, okay?”

“No I know, I know. I’m just tired I think,” I sigh, my chest warming at my dad’s comforting words.

“Uh oh,” he starts. “Paige Madison… Don’t tell me.”

“Huh? Tell you what?”

“Is this about a girl?” He asks.

I pause, coming to a halt with my pacing. “Hu- I- What?!”

“You always say “I’m just tired” when you got a girl on your mind,” my dad laughs, doing a horrible impression of me.

“No!” I argue a little too fast and a little too passionately. “I mean, no. Just tired. Long practice.”

“Mhm alright,” my dad mumbles, an amused tone in his voice that irritates me in a way only a parent could. “So no girl?”

“No dadddd,” I whine like a teenage girl. “There’s no girl.”

I didn’t like lying to him. I wanted to tell him all about Izara. I knew my dad would adore that girl. He always said I needed a woman to keep me in check - Izzie did just that. But I also didn’t want to tell my dad about this girl knowing it likely wasn’t going to go anywhere, especially now that she had been hiding from me since our kiss.

“Okay dad tell Drew I said hi and I’ll play Fortnite with him tomorrow,” I say into the phone, ready to hang up.

“Okay kid, love you.”

“Love you dad.”

The silence is deafening, again. Like it used to be before I became friends with Iz. I felt alone, anxious, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn’t turn off. I thought she was mature enough to handle this like two adults. If she just wanted to be friends then she could just tell me, at least we could continue our friendship like that.

But usually when I kissed a girl, they didn’t run away like this. Quite the opposite. Did she not like the way I kissed? Was I off my game? Maybe the tongue was too much? Maybe she didn’t like my outfit. I’m a good kisser, I know I am. Good enough to get girls into bed with ease. So what is the trouble now? And I also know that that was the best kiss I had ever had. That our lips fit together just right. Fuck this girl had me going out of my mind. And now I just had to wait for her to reach out, it didn’t feel fair.

No. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to wait for her? Who said I had to? Fuck that.

Too frenzied to even throw a shirt over my sports bra, I walk downstairs determined, knocking on Izara’s door angrily, preparing a speech of everything I’d been thinking the past few days: Look, Izzie, we’re both adults. You clearly think the kiss was a mistake. But avoiding me and acting like this is ridiculous and stupid and we don’t need to be acting like teenage-

“Paige?”

Izzie opens the door, voice weak and nasally. She’s in a pale pink pyjama set, hair up in a clip and nose red and irritated. She wasn’t lying. Definitely not. She is sick.

Quick, improvise.

“Uh, hey,” I mumble, my cheeks turning pink, her red eyes staring up at me reminiscent of Saturday night and the moments before our kiss on the balcony. “Trey told me you were sick.”

She chuckles, looking down at her dishevelled appearance and returns her gaze to me. “How did you know,” she jokes. She’s acting like nothing happened between us. How could she act like that? I guess it’s better than if she actually had been avoiding me.

“Was worried, haven’t seen you since… The party,” I say unsurely.

“Uh… Yeah. Crazy party huh,” Izzie says almost to herself. “Well, anyway, thanks for checking in but I’m perfectly okay. Just a cold and I think it’s passing.”

She begins to close the door but I grab it, holding it open.

“You been resting?” I ask concerned.

The girl shrugs. “Well at first but now I’m just getting bored so I’ve been doing some work from home.”

“Izzie…”

“What?”

“You gotta be restin’ if you’re sick,” I argue, which makes the girl roll her eyes.

“I’m fine Paige,” she answers, but I step inside.

“Let me in.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she complains but I shake my head.

“I won’t. I’m built different.”

Izzie laughs, deciding it was pointless to try to argue and lets me in.

Her apartment is spotless as always, laptop open on her dining table with schedules and notebooks piled next to it. This bitch hadn’t been resting, no she’s been working and cleaning.

“Izzie!” I groan and close the laptop.

“Shoes! Shoes shoes shoes!” She yelps, voice breaking as she does.

“‘M sorry!” I gasp and take my sneakers off quickly, placing them neatly by the entrance. I feel her eyes fixed on me.

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” She asks, blowing her stuffy nose, which makes me let out a single laugh.

“Why, you want me to?” I ask confidently, easily falling into the same effortlessness as before.

My words make the girl blush. Perhaps the kiss wasn’t that bad? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask… Ask what?! If the kiss was good?! Bro… Get a grip.

“Well you’re going to get cold, it’s freezing here,” she tells me, turning away and walking to the couch where pillows are neatly arranged, an expensive looking blanket neatly folded on the armrest. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it definitely was not cold, that her apartment was scorching hot already making me sweat.

“Yo, you’re kidding right?” I laugh as I watch her somewhat pitifully curling up against the corner of the couch on her single throw pillow.

“What?”

“Iz, you’re sick!”

“Wow, thanks for rubbing it in my face,” she says nasally, blowing her nose again.

“Bro, that pillow is just sad! You need a nest,” I gasp, walking to her bedroom.

“Wait wait wait, it’s a mess in there,” she yelps, following after me. Mess, it is not. There is one hoodie on the bed, which is unmade. That’s it. I pull the heavy blanket off her bed, grabbing all four pillows and walking decisively to the couch with the dark-haired girl on my tail.

“What are you doing?” She asks as I begin to set up each pillow into a nest against the corner of the couch. She’s grabbing my arm and peeking at my actions from behind my back, clearly confused.

“I’m makin’ you a nest,” I explain, brows furrowing as I focus. This is serious business. “My stepmom does this when we’re sick.”

“A nest?” Izzie laughs.

“Yeah, get in,” I order, grabbing the girl’s shoulders and sitting her down. “Now lie back. Get comfy.”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzie curls up against the pillows as I place the blanket over her, watching as she gets comfortable with a smile on her face.

“There you go,” I coo, trying her forehead which is burning hot. “You have a fever Iz, I’m gonna get you some meds.”

“Paige, you don’t have to do this,” she sighs, looking up at me softly. I want to lean down and kiss her again. Instead, I bring my hand to her warm cheek, stroking it softly. She looks vulnerable, gentle for once. It made me want her even more.

“Lemme take care of you ma.”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname, matter of fact there’s a hint of a smile on her face when she nods.

“The cabinet above the microwave.”

“Got it,” I tell her, pretty much scurrying to the kitchen, gathering everything you could think - water, painkillers, nose spray, I even cut up some fruit for her. But when I return the poor girl is in her nest, cuddled up, fast asleep. It hurts my heart to wake her up, but she needs these meds in her.

“Iz,” I murmur carefully, brushing dark locks away from her face. She blinks herself awake, rubbing her face. Everything about it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let anyone close in case they hurt her.

“Fuck, I fell asleep,” she yawns. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You’re sick ma,” I remind her, sitting next to the girl on the couch and watching as she takes her medicine.

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs, sipping on the glass of water. Her cheeks are bright red, hair undone and eyes tired - I swear it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her look.

“Izara,” I say sternly. “You’re sick, lemme help.”

“You’re gonna get sick too, and you have your first game soon love.”

“I’ll be fine, I got mad immune system powers.”

She giggles. “Immune system powers?”

“You heard,” I nod, fighting a grin. She coughs a little.

“Paige?”

Oh God. She’s gonna bring up the kiss now. I know it. I can feel it.

“Y-yeah?”

She takes a deep breath. “Can we watch Lady and The Tramp?”

“How are you already crying?” Paige asks with a giggle, leaning against the opposite corner of the couch.

“Lady as a puppy always makes me cry! How could it not?” I sniffle, wiping my nose, watching the scene where Lady doesn’t want to sleep in her dog bed, the poor puppy crying for her dad.

The blonde is chewing on an apple in her sports bra and black Nike sweats, muscles grown more prominent over her training period with the Wings, arms bigger, shoulders wider, outline of the muscles on her abdomen faintly visible even as she slouches.

“What kinda names are Darling and Jimmy Dear anyway?” She asks, dramatically frustrated.

“Paige, you’re slow,” I laugh. “Lady thinks those are their names because they call each other those as like, pet names darling.”

The blond thinks for a while, and then grins. “Oh.”

We both burst into a choir of laughter, though it feels rough against my scratchy throat. Still, I could feel the medication already making me feel better. Or maybe it was the company.

My mind had been a mess after I escaped the party. I felt embarrassed, childish even for running away like I did, leaving Paige high and dry. Once I woke up the next morning it was hard to figure out what truly happened and what was my mind playing tricks on me. But I knew the kiss really took place the moment I remembered it, the weight of Paige’s kiss a mere memory on my lips. One wouldn’t forget a kiss like that. It was impossible.

Getting sick had been a lucky coincidence, giving me time to think and take some distance from the situation. I found it impossible to figure out where my desire for Paige and desire for physical contact differed. I couldn’t tell if I was just lonely. Or if I really liked her. I never considered it, me having feelings (if you could call it that) for a girl again. But now as she sat there, looking like that, I wanted nothing but to get on her. To climb onto her lap and kiss her again like we had on the balcony. Without the drunken hue, just us feeling each other.

Even as sick as I am, the familiar burn and ache that always showed up around the blonde begins to grow between my legs, making me squirm. Fuck, maybe I did like her. All I knew I definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything - that no matter what this was it would have to stay casual. I haven’t gotten rid of the ghost of my past relationship. No, not at all. I could see it looming around every corner, peeking through windows, just right outside my line of vision. I wasn’t ready.

Paige’s hand comes over to my bare feet poking out of the blanket, bringing them to her lap and beginning to rub them almost as if subconsciously, like unaware of the entire thing. Except her cheeks turn red as she does. My entire body relaxes, and I let her. For almost half of the movie she massages each toe, the arch of my foot, my ankle, leaving goosebumps everywhere.

“I’m cold,” I complain, pulling my feet back under the blanket, feeling like a block of ice.

“I’m so hot,” Paige groans, now more invested in the movie, making small comments here and there.

“Lucky,” I groan which makes her snicker.

“Scooch,” The blonde tells me. Before I can resist she’s made her way under the blanket, into the nest, lying behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. I fit in her arms perfectly, like I was made to be her counterpart, born to be in her arms like this, every curve of her body slotting with mine just right. My ass pressing into her, the blonde’s chin brushing against my shoulder, hot breath tickling against my ear nearly making me moan. Fuck.

“I- I thought you were hot,” I mumble, beginning to lose my composure.

“But you’re cold,” she murmurs into my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair as we keep watching the movie. Though I can’t concentrate. Even on my favourite movie. My head spinning too fast, speeding up even more when my pyjama top hikes up and Paige’s fingertips rub circles against my lower stomach, dangerously close to dipping into my pyjama pants.

“P-paige,” I almost whisper, my voice coming out breathy.

“Mhm?” The blonde’s voice is shaky too, a hoarse hum straight into my ear making me even wetter than I already am.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I remind her, my chest heaving.

“I’m good,” she breathes out, shifting a little, her head fitting just in the crook of my neck. Perfectly. “Are you?”

She’s asking for consent, I can tell. To dip her fingers underneath the band, to slide them into my panties. And God I want to give it to her. To let her have her way with me. The temptation is growing nearly impossible to resist.

“I-” I nearly say it. But then I shift to my back, to meet her gaze. Paige’s face is flushed, nostrils flaring as she breathes, hand remaining on my bare stomach. “How are you feeling about the game?”

“Oh, uhh,” Paige is taken aback, pulling her hand back to my dismay, bringing it to her jaw and rubbing it. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it if I’m honest? I’m excited to see my dad and Dorka.”

“She went to Uconn with you, right?”

The blonde nods. “I mean issa big moment for sure, but I just wanna take it one day at a time.”

I hesitate. “Are you not nervous at all?”

She lets out a single laugh and looks around the room. “Nah I am. Just tryna keep my mind off it.”

I nod, understanding. I wish I could carry some of her worry, I could tell she was more nervous than she let on. But instead of talking I slide my hand into hers, which seems to comfort the girl more than words, her blue eyes locking with mine. She’s thinking, mulling something over in her head. I can tell.

“The party… Iz, I-”

“Shh,” I tell her before she can keep going, my throat going dry, the ache between my thighs nearly painful. I wasn’t ready to talk, at all. All I wanted was to feel it again, the weight of her lips on mine. So bad I felt dizzy.

“Nah, Izzie, c’mon. I think we both feel we-”

“Paige?”

“Yeah mama?”

“Kiss me.”

It makes no sense. But I don’t hesitate. Leaning down, my lips crashing into hers with such hunger it makes me uncharacteristically whine. My body is on fire, every inch burning up as our lips slide against one another, boxers growing damp quickly. My hand carefully holds her cheek, like the girl next to me might break. But to my surprise she pulls me on top of her by the back of my head.

I’m tasting for every inch of her, slowing down and taking my time, unlike that drunken mess on the balcony. Somehow this is even better, the kiss of the century even. Her body is cool to the touch, a sign of the fever going down. But I barely register, kissing her bottom lip affectionately, my hands holding her face. Izzie responds, her teeth pulling on my lip harshly making me groan. Her warm tongue brushes over it, soothingly.

I open my mouth further, my tongue meeting hers, other hand moving to the bare waist of the girl underneath me. I can’t believe this is real. That I’m kissing Izara. It feels like some type of dream, but the ache between my legs proves that every second is real. That she’s really underneath me. And If I’m feeling my core throbbing just from the kiss, I’m certain the dark haired girl feels something similar and the idea of my girl feeling such pain and not having it taken care of breaks my heart.

So my thumb dips underneath the band of her satin pyjama pants, feeling the lace of her underwear as it does. Zari lets out a shaky whimper, her eyes fluttering open.

“Paige,” she whines, brows furrowing.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly, leaning down to kiss under her ear which makes her squirm under my weight.

“C-can you keep your hands,” another moan as I suck on her neck, careful not to leave a mark. Izara didn’t seem like the type of woman you marked. “On top of the clothes.”

God she’s gonna be the death of me. But I oblige happily, pulling my hand back to her bare waist.

“Whatever you want Izzie,” I say between ragged breaths, making the girl moan as I keep kissing her neck. Izara’s hands wrap around my back, long acrylics scratching at the skin there.

“Shit,” I cuss under my breath, feeling like I might die or cum in my pants if I don’t get to have her. Still, I keep kissing her, fully aware what a privilege it was just to be on her like this. I do everything to try to stay composed, to keep my cool, to focus on putting on my best show as I return back to sloppily kissing her lips, shifting on top of her, my other hand beside Izzie’s face to hold me up.

As I move my hips, my knee presses into her core, against the sheer fabric of the pajamas making her gasp straight into my mouth. I repeat the movement with purpose now, and can feel the heat radiating off her, the fabric between her legs growing damp. She wants this just as bad as I do.

“Lemme keep going, please,” I whimper, brows furrowed and barely conscious of what is happening at this point. “Lemme help ma, won’t even touch you.”

Her face is contorted with need, chest heaving desperately.

“It hurts don’t it? Lemme help,” I coo, my lips wrapping around her earlobe and sucking softly. “Please.”

“Paige,” she whimpers, her body shaking with need. But I feel her shift, legs wrapping around my body. “Please.”

Oh God, I might actually cum in my sweats.

I kiss her all over, her neck, bare shoulders, mind spinning with need, my cunt growing wetter and wetter with every moan that leaves Izzie’s lips as I push my knee against her core, gently, so as to not hurt her.

“P-paige,” she moans my name. My name.

“Ohh fuck,” I cuss, squeezing my eyes shut at the way her voice sounds, deep and gravelly, turning more high-pitched each time I grind my knee into her cunt.

“Let me get you right ma, please,” I beg breathlessly, shaking my head to myself trying to keep myself present. “Please, Iz, would do anything to fuck you,”

She’s speechless, whimpering desperately, but I can feel her muscles turning tense from the pleasure I’m giving her, legs shaking gently.

“Would be so good, just lemme eat that pussy,” I moan into her ear. “Gimme five.”

Pulling back, I meet her gaze. Her contorted face, dark brows furrowed and lips parted, green eyes blown out black. This is the most beautiful she has ever looked. Easily. Could look at her like this forever.

I can tell she’s considering, mulling it over in her head. Just as her lips part the ring of her phone interrupts the moment, the obnoxious sound blaring over the movie playing in the back. Of course. I can never have anything good. Just little tastes.

“Fuck,” Izzie mumbles and abruptly sits up as if suddenly thinking clearly. I climb off her, watching as she fumbles to find her phone.

“Here,” I catch it, handing it to her. It’s Kiran, her brother.

“Fuck, I promised I’d help him with his paper,” she groans, still trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, okay,” I murmur, attempting to catch mine, awkwardly shifting further on the couch, watching as the girl gets up and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving me there once again. Wanting more.

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#so it goes #lilas writing #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x fem oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #wnba x oc #paige bueckers fanfic

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gotta-winwin · 2 days ago

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(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree.

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work.

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.”

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.”

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.”

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.”

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?”

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face.

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day.

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise.

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny.

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17.

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair.

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song.

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly.

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.”

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could.

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing.

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.”

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back.

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table.

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm.

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.”

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction.

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success.

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him.

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.”

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right.

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back.

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you.

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.”

“Oh. Thanks- alright.”

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin.

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.”

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog.

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again.

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method.

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike.

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.”

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing.

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.”

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.”

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on.

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.”

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that.

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well.

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you.

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add.

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances.

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes.

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash.

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.”

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny.

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.”

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it.

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers.

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear.

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’”

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop.

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed.

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face.

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow.

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain.

“Ow.”

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying.

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.”

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go.

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon.

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath.

Oblivious man.

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you.

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense?

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before.

“I think I’m going to quit the job.”

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.”

“Oh.”

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.”

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out.

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels.

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last.

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers.

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.”

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.”

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.”

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone.

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?”

You didn’t remember writing this.

“Call me ;)”

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring.

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection.

Silence.

“Vernon?”

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?”

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.”

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?”

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

#vernon being a lil shit is my love language #svthub #seventeen imagines #svt #svt imagines #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen vernon #vernon x you #vernon x reader #svt vernon #vernon #seventeen fluff #svt fanfic #svt scenarios

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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Text

Drugs in Our Body | Reader Version

viktorxfemale!reader AU university, AU modern era, recreational drug use, smut-adjacent (but really was aimed more at sensual)

word count: 5,4K

summary: A self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader going through a high together and ending up all tangled up, touchy, kissy, breathy, so on and so forth. I might or might not have written Viktor into my core memory from uni.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

It had been going so well. You’d managed to sneak out of the third floor, enjoy a solitary elevator ride up to your dorm room, and avoid bumping into anyone. A quick stop at the only working vending machine in the building had earned you a packet of honey peanuts—your second small victory of the night. Shoving a tiny packet with white powdery leftovers into the nobody-knows-what-it’s-for pocket of your jeans, you quietly unlocked the door and slipped into the darkness of your bedroom.

Sue, your roommate, was off campus for the weekend, and the relief of having the room to yourself was palpable. All that was left was to rid yourself of the constricting clothes and underwear in favour of her freshly laundered favourite pyjamas. Mission accomplished.

You were just pulling on your shorts when a soft, methodical knock echoed through the silence.

Shit.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. There was absolutely no way anyone could have seen you—you’d made sure of it. This was a very serious mission, and you had accomplished it with meticulous care. You could definitely just pretend you weren’t there.

“I know you’re in there,” a voice with an undercurrent of amusement—and the accent—called through the door, slipping straight into the soft spot in your brain. Your current state of unfiltered contentment only magnified its effect, sending warm waves through your body.

Barefoot, your steps silent, you padded to the door and cracked it open. The fluorescent lights of the dormitory corridor immediately assaulted your eyes, and you let out an involuntary whine. Standing there, bathed in the harsh glow like some caricature of a holy figure, was Viktor.

“Need something?” you asked, squinting at him painfully.

He was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized green jumper, the hem of a white T-shirt peeking out at the collar. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, his hands rested on his cane, one eyebrow raised, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“How inconspicuous do you think you are?” he asked, smugness radiating off him.

Your heart sank. Impossible. You had been so careful. Every step had been measured, every movement ghost-like. During the elevator ride, you hadn’t so much as breathed too loudly. He was bluffing.

“What do you mean?” Your voice dripped with exaggerated innocence, enough to make Viktor snort softly.

Slowly, he leaned in, one hand propped on the doorframe as his sharp gaze zeroed in on your face. Your noses were now an inch apart. Less than an inch. You could smell the faint scent of his body wash and the wool of his jumper. Your carefully constructed composure cracked as you inhaled sharply, just once, stealing a whiff of him.

It was worth it.

“This little sneaking-about routine you just pulled,” he said, his eyes studying you, his lips curling in amusement as realization dawned.

It was over. He knew.

The blown pupils, the blush blooming across your cheeks, the smile you couldn’t suppress when he got closer—it all gave you away. But you weren’t ready to let him win without giving him some grief first.

“I… went to get a snack. See?” You reached over to a cabinet by the door, pulling out the packet of honey peanuts and holding it up like a prized exhibit. “Don’t you believe me?”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he took the peanuts from your hand. “Close enough. Maybe I would… if you weren’t giggling the whole time,” he said with a teasing smile.

You froze. Giggling? Impossible. You’d been quiet as a mouse, serious as a statue, your determination unwavering as you had ghosted through the building.

“So… what’s going on?” His voice was casual, curious—almost as if he were asking you out—and it yanked you right out of your spiralling paranoia.

Before you realized it, your hand had grabbed his forearm. His jumper was so soft under your fingers, and you pulled him gently—hesitantly—through the doorway. Your eyes never left his as you inched him inside, a silent question lingering in the back of your throat: Am I busted?

After a moment of silence in the darkness, you cleared your throat. You could see the amusement on his face, etched there the entire time, and it made your blood simmer.

“Just killing time while Sue’s away. Why?” you said, your voice a picture of innocence. You turned away, plucking a book from the cabinet and settling on the bed. Because, of course, you were going to have a reading session in a pitch-black room.

Even with the only light in the room being the faint glow of the corridor bulbs seeping through the door crack, you could feel his gaze flick to your legs. It burned.

“And how, pray tell, were you killing time in complete darkness?” His voice dripped with an unthinkable suggestion, sending a shiver down your spine. Or perhaps the shiver came because the implication wasn’t as unthinkable as you wished it were.

God, get your sass back on, girl. You had to, or you were going to lose miserably.

“Excuse me? Are you accusing me of indecency, dear TA?” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended but steady enough. It earned you an indulgent smile from him, so maybe it was the right move.

“I would never,” he replied, mock innocence smoothing over his features. Viktor stepped closer, reaching to turn on the night light beside the bed. Its orange glow was soft yet oppressive, making you squint against the sudden brightness. “Though I might take my chances accusing you of… some other indulgence,” he added with a sly smile as he sat down beside you.

“I am a victim, not a villain,” you quipped, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Viktor’s expression shifted instantly to one of concern, and you inwardly cursed. Too late to take it back now.

“You are?” he asked, his gaze sharpening as he turned to look directly at you, trying to piece together what you meant.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, your voice light and dismissive, though the apology sounded genuine. “That sounded worse than it was. Don’t get all worked up.” You offered him an apologetic smile and, without thinking, rested your hand on his forearm.

His jumper was impossibly soft under your fingers, melting into your skin. You had to gather every ounce of willpower not to let your fingers linger or caress his arm, lest you completely betray yourself.

“There’s a party on the third floor,” you admitted, “and, well… it was boring.” God, you felt like a child explaining yourself after drawing a masterpiece on the bedroom wall while the adults sipped drinks and discussed politics. This felt wrong; surely, you didn’t have to explain yourself.

“Alright,” Viktor replied, his tone reassuring and careful. His eyes flicked down to your hand on his arm, and he didn’t move. It was warm, soft—comforting—and he didn’t want to scare it away.

“And… what did you have?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“E, I think?” you said, your tone casual but hesitant, like someone confessing to sneaking an extra cookie before dinner. You thought it was E, though it felt slightly different—softer. You felt calm and didn’t think your heart was about to explode.

“You think?” His brow arched, scepticism plain as day. So irresponsible, on full display. He could convince you to do anything now. He could whisper you into robbing a bank with him. He could make you serenade him. He could ask you to lick his neck while he groped your ass and kissed your stomach. He could... no.

“Oh, that makes me look so bad,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face, the sound almost slapping him out of his dark fantasy. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.” Your hand returned to his arm, and he flinched slightly.

“I am sure,” he replied dryly, “as long as no one has a heart attack or falls in battle with an imaginary dragon.” His attempt at joking felt weak, too breathy to be taken seriously. Shut up, Viktor. What are you, her father?

“God, you sound like a parent, Viktor.” You threw him a look that was part annoyed, part amused. He sounded like a parent—though not like any of your parents. Your parents would have convinced you to take acid with them to deepen the family bond as you all probed through each other’s consciousness. Gross.

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a small smile. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. So… where did you get it from?” He could at least have his eye on whoever drugged his favourite second-year student—or made you so bored you thought E was the answer.

“Snitches get stitches, you know?” you shot back, leaning into the playful deflection. The truth was, you didn’t even know the guy who handed you the tiny zip bag and asked, ‘Do you want to have some fun?’ Somehow, you were convinced admitting that would only make the situation worse.

He sighed, long and exasperated, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need someone to watch over you?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a dismissive wave. “I was actually just going to… stay here and enjoy it. And frankly,” you added with a cheeky grin, “if you’re going to stay here, all sober and responsible, I think that would make me self-conscious.”

But please, stay and watch over me, Viktor. Take care of me while my body is crushed with fluff was pushing violently through your mind. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from saying it.

“I hear you loud and clear,” he said, rising from the bed. “Text me if you need something, though?” Pity. He would have gladly combed his fingers through your hair and caressed your hands, knowing that in your current state, this simple touch would bring you more pleasure than any man ever had.

“Or…” you began, your voice slow and deliberate, “you could jump in with me?”

God, yes, roared in Viktor’s brain. Yes, I’ll jump in with you. I’ll jump anywhere after you. I’ll eat your soul, and it’ll be my last meal, and I’ll die happy.

He tried to compose himself, to come off as casual. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Are you offering drugs to your TA?”

“You make it sound like the crime of the century, Viktor,” you teased, though the words were a cover for the rising panic in your chest. What the hell had you just done? Had you really just offered your TA drugs? Were you insane? What was that expression on his face now—disbelief? Amusement? God, please don’t let it be pity. Maybe he’d be cross with you, but that might actually be easier to handle. You should’ve just asked him to stay, to bring you water periodically. That would’ve been enough. It would’ve been perfect, actually. Maybe then you could even sneak another whiff of his sweater when he wasn’t looking.

“Well,” Viktor began, his voice dry but with the faintest lilt of humour, “if we treat the university ethos as law, it is technically a crime: drug distribution, leading your classmates astray, bad influence.” He had to hold his composure. Truthfully, he was tempted to snort the entire bag in one go, just to melt into you.

“I think I missed the moment when I forced it down your throat,” you shot back, crossing your arms and meeting his gaze. His joke made you feel calmer, though. Maybe it would end there—just a funny anecdote he’d tease you with throughout the rest of your time at university. And maybe, ten years in the future at a reunion, he’d ask you, ‘Remember that one time?’

“Are you sure it’s E?” he asked, his tone neutral but inquisitive, eyes scanning your face. You were too calm for it to be E. You’d be dancing around, touching his face uncontrollably, and above all, you’d never come back to your room to enjoy solitude.

“No,” you admitted with a shrug. “But it’s really not such a big deal. No… visions. It just… feels nice.”

‘Nice’ was an understatement—it felt like being bathed in butter, like all the knots in your body had untied themselves simultaneously, while your mind retained its analytical sharpness. Or so you thought.

“I see.” His tone grew quieter, more thoughtful, and you watched him carefully as his gaze flicked to the tiny bag in your hand. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.” He silently hoped it was what he thought it was.

You hesitated but eventually held out the small zip bag with a pinch of white powder inside. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for a moment, you felt your breath hitch. He had such long fingers you were sure they would meet if he wrapped them around your neck. Oh, God. He tilted the bag, examining it critically, like a chemist assessing their materials.

"And how did you take it?" Viktor asked, lifting a brow. The last time, he had dissolved it in lukewarm water, as they toasted with Jayce. The taste was still unbearable, so they had to down a box of orange juice, and it still didn’t exactly help.

"I… rubbed it in my gums." You winced at the memory. "Do not recommend, though."

"Let me guess," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It tastes like shit?"

"Worse." It tasted so much worse. Not that you had ever tasted shit in your life, but it tasted like some vile chemical trying to burn its way through your tissues. It tasted so wrong, yet it gave you so much artificial happiness afterward that you had already decided you’d be able to do it again sometime in the future.

"Ah," he nodded, a small huff of amusement escaping him. "I think I might know what this is." He paused, weighing the bag in his palm, before raising a brow at you. "Alright, ground rules if… I take it: no sex." He couldn’t. He really wanted to and really couldn’t. It would lock you both into a one-night stand while being high, and a potential future of all the stands you could be having depended on him being responsible. As much as he could be in that moment.

"You think rather much of yourself, mister!" you shot back, flustered and scrambling to cover it with mock indignation. You hadn’t thought of it once; you just wanted to curl into him and breathe in his jumper until you snorted it off of him.

"Oh, give it thirty minutes, and you will think much of me as well," he retorted, his smirk deepening into something almost smug. "But it’s more of a contract I’m making with myself while I’m still sober. And I need a witness." Good, Viktor. You deserve a medal. You deserve a girl.

"And your witness can be high, I presume?" You looked at him, amused. It was a shitty contract, but you could oblige. You already knew what you wanted from this night.

"I work with what I’ve got," he quipped, shrugging one shoulder, his tone breezy but precise.

"Alright," you sighed, rolling your eyes. "Consider your contract witnessed."

"Shake on it?" His smile was so wide you would shake on absolutely anything.

"Ugh, fine!" You extended your hand reluctantly, and his fingers wrapped around yours in a brief, firm shake. His hand was warmer than you expected, his grip steady.

"Here we go then," Viktor said, releasing your hand and sitting down beside you. Truly, here we go.

"Wait," you said, your eyes widening as he tipped a small amount of the powder onto the back of his hand. "Are you snorting it?" What the hell was this, Breaking Bad?

"I know how to take my medicine, thank you very much," he replied smoothly, his voice coloured with faint amusement. You would’ve thanked him for learning this way—the taste was almost undetectable.

"And when was the last time you’ve taken this so-called medicine, Viktor? 1976?" you teased, leaning slightly closer to watch him. You thought that if you were ever to do it again, you could lick it off his hand, and that would make the taste bearable.

He gave you a flat look before replying, "My third year, give or take. The thesis caught up with us soon after, and then, well… I had to become a well-respected TA." He delivered the last part with a hint of mockery, letting the words hang in the air.

"Did you lose with the dragon?" you asked, a grin tugging at your lips.

"Yes," he said, deadpan, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It disembowelled me and Jayce. Let me just say, it wasn’t pretty." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze still on the powder as if appraising his next move.

You bit your lip, watching him curiously, the buzz in your body softening your edges. Was this really happening? Watching Viktor—your TA, the notoriously unflappable one—do this was something you never thought you’d witness in a thousand lifetimes. Yet here he was, sleeves rolled up, calm and deliberate, like this was just another late-night experiment.

"Fuck, I’m sorry. Push it away from your mind – no dragon in sight, just me," he said, seeing your eyes widen and remembering how prone to suggestion your mind would be right now.

"See you on the other side," Viktor said, tipping his head back slightly as he snorted the powder. He blinked a few times, exhaling slowly, then turned to you with a faint, lopsided grin. "Hmm… we need some more light. And music. And… do you have any food?"

"Is everything a project with you?" you asked, a laugh slipping out despite yourself.

"I like to take as much as I can from the little moments of indulgence that are granted to me," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, though there was a hint of something warmer beneath his words.

"Not the sex though," you shot back, folding your arms but unable to hide your teasing smirk.

"Don’t sulk. You’re going to like it," he said, brushing you off with a wave of his hand before pausing and glancing down. "Do you mind if I take this off?" Without waiting for a proper answer, he began unbuckling his leg brace, the metal joints clicking softly in the dim light.

"I don’t think there’s anything I mind at the moment, Viktor," you murmured, watching him. The deliberate way his fingers worked, the small sigh of relief he let out when the brace came free—it was unexpectedly intimate, and you felt something warm settle in your chest.

He placed the brace aside, flexing his leg experimentally before leaning back on the bed. "I will be asking you a lot of questions tonight, so you better brace yourself."

"Whaa…? I didn’t sign up for an exam!" you protested, widening your eyes in mock horror. You had already put on your comfort Spotify playlist with a lot of The Smiths and Dandy Warhols on it, and a couple of colourful dinky lights scattered around the room.

"It’s not an exam. Consider me… your guide," he said, his tone taking on a playful gravity that made you grin.

"Viktor, I’m not an E virgin. I don’t need to be handheld," you said, rolling your eyes but plopping down close to him all the same.

"It’s not handholding. And I wouldn’t doubt your expertise," he said, his voice low and steady, "but it’s not E you’ve taken."

Your brows knit together as you stared at him. "No? What is it? Are we going to die?" Your mock horror made Viktor chuckle slightly.

“It’s M. The joy of E without the speed. It’s… nice,” he explained, his words soft and unhurried. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to something only he could hear. “And given how I am starting to feel, we have around… two, maybe three hours of this?”

Your stomach flipped at the easy confidence in his voice, at the way he seemed so utterly calm despite the strange circumstances. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress the giddy flutter rising in your chest. “So… what do we do?”

“Nothing. Anything you want. See what you feel like,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours, steady and curious. For a moment, the room felt impossibly still, like the two of you had been suspended in time. The edges of everything softened—the glow of the lamps, the hum of the city beyond the window, even the faint buzz under your skin. It all blurred into a single, surreal moment as you looked at him.

“What I feel like…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as a sudden, uncontrollable grin spread across your face. “Alright, Viktor. Guide me.”

“Come closer,” his voice was soft as he patted a space on the bed in front of him, splaying himself on his side. You leaned in slowly, propping your head on your fist.

“May I?” His hands hovered over your face, asking non-verbal permission before he touched you. You nodded, closing your eyes, and it made Viktor smile this time. His fingertips ghosted over your cheeks and brows; a touch so gentle you could barely feel it yet felt it intensely at the same time. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Viktor spoke. “Breathe.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked, seeing you give a shaky exhale.

“No,” you lied. Your heart was thumping in your chest so loudly now that you were convinced Viktor could see the tremble in your sternum if he looked closely.

“Let’s get rid of this tension,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, cradling the base of his skull with the fingers of one hand, while the other hugged his waist tightly. You could feel his soft jumper under your palms and felt warmer as his scent filled your nostrils. You breathed him in—the body wash, the fresh laundry, his skin and clothes wrapping around you like a blanket.

He slid one hand around your back and shoulders, the other finding its way down to the base of your spine. For a fleeting moment, he had an internal struggle to resist the urge to squeeze your ass tightly. Your bodies slotted together as if it was meant to be—here, on your dorm bed, entangled together, forever. His hands kneaded at your flesh when he rolled over you swiftly, allowing his palms to travel to your ribcage, squeezing it affectionately as he pressed his face to your body and took a long, deep whiff of you. You weren’t wearing a bra, so he was painfully aware that only one layer of clothing—relatively easy to get rid of—stood between his lips and your skin. You arched into his movement, making him release an audible sigh of contentment.

“You smell nice,” he whispered against your neck and smiled as he rubbed his cheek on yours, his eyes closed, heat slowly spreading through his veins. Then, he hooked his good leg under one of your knees to feel more of you underneath him, propped his elbows on each side of your head, and dropped his forehead to rest on yours.

You looked up at him, expression unreadable, as if you were studying him. His blown pupils, gold rings around them barely visible, dark freckles on his pale skin travelling deep under the collar of his t-shirt, the sharp structure of his face softened by colourful lights, the tiny bud of flesh crowning his upper lip. You really wanted to kiss him.

You saw the flicker in his eyes, nearly completely black now, before he rolled them to the side. “Not yet,” he whispered hoarsely as he tangled your fingers together, raising your palm to his lips to place a soft, lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“Bear with me, please,” the plea in his voice tied you into knots. His touch burned you, even as slight as the feeling of his long fingers cradling your palm. His hands felt heavy on you, grounding you, keeping you safe on this ride.

“Why so cautious?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with curiosity.

“I need to brace myself here,” he replied, his tone steady yet laden with something deeper, something vulnerable. He had to be cautious. If this was the time you had sex for the first time, it would be the last. He was convinced of it. Even when his entire body screamed at him to shed his layers of clothing and just merge with you. Just drown in you.

“I remember the contract, just the reason for it… eludes me now,” you said, using his own phrasing that he so often threw at you. You managed a small, teasing smile, but it trembled at the edges.

He chuckled quietly, the sound warm and almost sheepish. “I will indulge you then. This... would either be the best or the worst we could have,” he paused, measuring his next words and deciding if it was the right place to bare himself in ways other than nudity. “And I’m not ready for either tonight,” he added, the words hanging between you, a delicate balance of truth and hesitation.

For a moment, there was silence, as the space between you stretched, and you could feel the tension in his every breath. You were starting to understand what he meant, not just in the words, but in the way his hands tightened around yours, the way his body was so close yet still holding back.

“Viktor,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended, pulling your gaze from your joined hands to meet his eyes. And God, he was so beautiful.

“Don’t think about what is not happening. Focus on this,” he said, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb on the heel of your palm. The touch sent a jolt through your body. “I promise, it will be good. I haven’t even kissed you yet,” he smiled, and you felt your resolve falter and shift to his side.

A quiet agreement settled between you. You wouldn’t step beyond the layers of clothing. There were so many steps still to take tonight, though. Viktor took a deep breath, partly in relief, partly to brace himself for what came next. He cradled your neck, and you wondered if his long fingers would leave a palm-shaped burn mark on your skin. His exhale washed over your face, smelling faintly of toothpaste and a man. He kissed you in slow motion, allowing you to warm up to the novelty of this touch.

You took his upper lip between yours as he slowly coaxed his tongue into your mouth. His hands travelled down to prop your bare thighs under the length of your shorts, and God, he was so happy you were wearing shorts.

He kneaded at the backs of your legs, his touch strong and confident. His mouth explored yours, licking the inner side of your lips, a faint taste of lip balm on his tongue. He bit your lower lip gently, sucking on it long enough to leave a mark that would bloom in full by morning.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, breathing through your nose, as your hips and chests met, melting together.

He let out a breathy laugh, surprising himself. “You taste like a girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and unguarded. You blinked at him, not quite understanding. What he meant was that you tasted like lip gloss and summer, like a sweet drink laced with heavy alcohol—and it was the only taste he wanted in his mouth until the end of time.

“Any girl?” you asked, shooting him a questioning glance.

Instead of explaining, he said simply, “My girl,” before sinking back down into you, his lips trailing along your neck, nipping lightly at your ear. His hips rolled against yours without meaning to, and you felt how hard he was, but you didn’t comment, respecting the boundaries you’d both agreed upon. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, your warm hands sneaking underneath the layers of his woolen jumper and crisp t-shirt. His body was all sharp lines and firm muscle under your touch, flexing instinctively beneath your fingers—a striking contrast to your softness, yielding to the shapes he wanted you to take.

When you closed your eyes, the brightness behind your lids didn’t dim, but it sharpened your focus on the sweet sounds he made. The soft whimpers escaped him as he breathed you in, the slow, deep inhales he took every time his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. His hands slid gently under your sweatshirt, wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing softly, almost as if he were coaxing your heart to him. His thumbs brushed the line just beneath your breasts, making your body tense in response, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed his face into your stomach, his lips lingering there in a kiss that sent warmth blooming through you—a kiss he’d wanted to give but thought impossible only an hour ago.

“I have no words to describe this feeling,” he said quietly, his head resting against your belly, his hands moving to caress your thighs. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently to ease the tension from his scalp, and he let out a soft groan in response.

“Better than being eaten by a dragon?” you teased, your voice low and light as your mind wandered, overwhelmed by all the goodness surrounding you.

He propped himself up quickly, his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair framing his face. His lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes bright and loving as they locked onto yours. The sight stole your breath, and you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for listening to him, for letting this moment happen.

“You have no idea,” he replied, a smile breaking through.

Your bodies resumed their slow, unhurried dance, a rhythm built not on urgency but on the quiet comfort of simply being together. He held you close, his hands moving in soft strokes up and down your back, drawing you tighter against him. The warmth between you felt like a steady, glowing fire, soothing and constant. Your fingers found their way back into his hair, and you kissed him again, slow and tender, each lingering touch a wordless promise you both understood.

The intimacy felt endless, as if nothing outside this moment existed. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, a rhythm that matched your own, and you let out a contented sigh as you melted into him. Viktor’s breath slowed and deepened, syncing with yours, his chest rising and falling against you. The space between your lips disappeared again, the softest whisper of air passing as you kissed, savoring the connection like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Time blurred, stretching and bending until it felt infinite, a luxury you didn’t dare question. The soft sounds of your kisses filled the quiet room, the outside world forgotten. You felt him smile against your lips, his hands cradling your face, his thumbs brushing the edges of your jaw with a tenderness that sent your heart racing.

Eventually, the kisses slowed, and he rested his forehead against yours, your faces inches apart, your eyes closed. A pleasant heaviness settled over both of you, the high of the moment fading but leaving behind a sense of peace. Your jaw ached faintly from the constant kissing, but you didn’t care. Viktor, too, seemed to feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in, though his arms stayed tight around you, unwilling to let go just yet.

As the faint strains of ‘I Love You’ by The Dandy Warhols played softly in the background, the last remnants of the high dissolved into a quiet contentment. His breath evened out, his hand resting warm and steady on your back. You let yourself drift, your head nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it lulled you toward sleep.

The last thing you remembered before the world faded completely was the warmth of his arms holding you close, his presence wrapping around you like a shield. Nothing could pull you apart—not in this moment, not ever. And with that, you both surrendered to the embrace of sleep, the quiet comfort of each other’s existence the only thing that mattered.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation

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luvleyshif4 · 3 days ago

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request for angsty rafe oneshot or ficlet where it’s an established relationship from s1. rafe promised reader he’d get clean and she finds him using and she’s pissed cause he lied to her. she threatens to break up with him and he’s desperate to get her back. reader goes to barry to basically pay to not sell to rafe

ON MY KNEES

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Content: Drug abu$e, angst, lying, breakdown, begging, bribing, mention of rehab/therapy, emotional manipulation, mention of SH

Word count: 1.07k words

Authors Note: HEYY!! sooo it took me a while to post this cause I wanted to mass post a few other requests too so SORRY FOR THAT but I shed a tear while writing the last scene… you’re so creative I love it💗💗

The door creaked open, and your breath hitched the moment you saw him.

Rafe was hunched over the counter, his shaking hands fumbling with the small bag in front of him. The sharp, chemical scent of something bitter lingered in the air, but what hit you harder was the sight of him. He wasn’t just using—he was unraveling. His movements were frantic and jittery, his shoulders trembling with tension.

“Rafe,” you said, voice sharp enough to cut through the haze he was lost in.

His body went rigid, the bag slipping from his fingers as he whipped around to face you. His eyes—glassy and rimmed with red—widened, but you couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or the sudden surge of shame that brought the tears to the surface.

“Baby, I—”

“Don’t.” The word escaped like venom, your voice steady even as your hands trembled.

He flinched as if your word was physical blows. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was, but—”

“Spare me the excuses.” you snapped, stepping closer, even though it took everything in you not to walk right out. “You promised me, Rafe. You swore to me you were done with this.”

He opened his mouth, his lips parting, but no words came. Just silence. He looked utterly paralyzed, like a child caught red-handed but too ashamed to speak.

The sight of him like this—high, broken, and barely holding himself together—made your heart ache. But that ache was overshadowed by the searing pain of betrayal.

“You can’t even defend yourself….” you said quietly, shaking your head. “I can’t keep doing this, Rafe.”

“No,” he finally croaked, his voice weak, pleading. “Don’t say that. Please—”

But you couldn’t bear to hear any more. You turned on your heel, walking out before he could stop you, before your resolve could crack.

And just like that, it was over.

~~~~~~

The next morning, you sat in the sweltering heat of Barry’s makeshift office, the metallic whir of a fan doing little to ease the suffocating air.

Barry leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as he eyed you. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he drawled. “What’s the occasion, princess?”

You ignored his smug tone, sliding a stack of bills across the table. “This is for you to stop selling to Rafe.”

Barry raised a brow, picking up the wad of cash and flipping through it lazily. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said, your voice steady, even though your insides were churning. “I don’t care what it takes. Just keep your shit away from him.

A low whistle escaped him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Gotta say, I admire the dedication. But you really think cutting me off is gonna fix him? Kid’s got his ways.”

“Then I’ll deal with them too,” you shot back, fire in your eyes. ��I’ll deal with every dealer on this goddamn island if I have to.”

Barry smirked, clearly entertained. “Your funeral, sweetheart. But hey, a deal’s a deal. Rafe’s off my list.”

You stood, leaving without another word. The weight in your chest didn’t lift—it only grew heavier.

You loved Rafe too much to let him kill himself, even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

~~~~

It was past midnight when you heard the knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, you hesitated. But curiosity won out, and you swung the door open without checking.

Your breath caught when you saw him.

Rafe stood on your doorstep, disheveled and trembling. His skin was pale, his eyes sunken, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. He was a mess—not from drugs, but from something deeper, something raw and human.

“Rafe?” you whispered, barely recognizing him.

The moment his gaze met yours, his face crumpled, and without a word, he dropped to his knees.

“Please…” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, just let me explain.”

You stared at him, frozen in place. “What are you doing? Get up.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “I can’t—I can’t lose you...” His hands clutched at the hem of your shirt, his grip desperate. “I’ll do anything. Therapy, rehab, counseling—anything you want. Just don’t walk away from me. Please...”

“Rafe…” Your voice broke as tears filled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him.

“You’re the only good thing in my life,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t breathe without you…I can’t live without you... I’ll fix this—I swear to God, I’ll fix this. Just… don’t leave me…”

The raw vulnerability in his voice shattered every wall you’d built around your heart. Slowly, you stepped closer, your fingers trembling as they cupped his face.

“You lied to me…” you said softly, your tone breaking under the weight of your pain. “You promised me, Rafe. How am I supposed to trust you again?”

His tears fell harder, and he shook his head, his words spilling out in a desperate rush. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, I swear. I don’t care what it takes—I’ll get clean. I’ll fix everything...”

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But the wounds of his betrayal were still raw, still bleeding.

“You hurt me..” you whispered, your tears falling onto his cheeks as you leaned down. “And if you do it again, I swear, Rafe…”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his hands trembling as they rested over yours. “I won’t. I swear on everything—I won’t lose you again.”

You studied him for a long moment, your heart aching at the sight of him so broken, so desperate. Slowly, hesitantly, you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He closed his eyes, his entire body trembling beneath your touch.

“I’ll hold you to that..” you murmured, your voice cracking.

When you pulled away, you saw the flicker of hope in his tear-filled eyes. You didn’t say anything else, stepping back into the house and leaving the door ajar.

He hesitated for a moment, looking up at you like you’d just handed him salvation. And for the first time in days, he rose to his feet—not with confidence, but with determination.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. This wasn’t the end of your pain, or his. But it was the start of something new.

it was enough to try again.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagines #drew starkey x y/n #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #Rafe #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey angst #drew starkey x female reader

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dulcescorderitas · 3 days ago

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𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓹𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 C.Kent

author's note: im going to start put warnings on my posts!

warnings: 18+, smut

the fortress of solitude felt colder than usual, though clark wasn’t sure if it was the endless arctic winds or the icy glares you’d been shooting his way since he brought you here. your normally warm, witty demeanor was gone, replaced by a biting edge that he didn’t recognize and definitely didn’t appreciate.

“this is the best you’ve got, boy scout?” you sneered, your arms crossed over your chest. “you fly me to your crystal igloo because what—your big alien brain couldn’t figure out how to handle this on your own?”

clark sighed, his patience wearing thin. “you’re not yourself,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “whatever infected you is messing with your emotions. i’m trying to help you, but you’re making it pretty damn difficult.”

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “you don’t like that i’m not worshipping you like the rest of metropolis? guess what, superman—you’re not as perfect as you think you are.”

the venom in your words stung, but clark kept his composure. he’d seen you infected before—by kryptonite, mind control, even magic—but this was different. you weren’t just angry. you were downright mean, and it was getting under his skin in a way that made him both frustrated and... unsettled.

his gaze flicked over your body, searching for any physical signs of the infection. your skin glowed faintly, a sheen of sweat catching the fortress’s cool light. the labored rise and fall of your chest was rhythmic but heavy, as if your body was fighting itself from the inside out.

“i need to run a scan,” clark said, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside him.

“oh, do you?” you snapped, stepping closer, your lips curling into a smirk. “go ahead, scan away, mr. perfect. maybe you’ll find out i’m too much woman for you to handle.”

his jaw tightened, but he forced himself to ignore your taunts. he guided you toward the kryptonian scanner, his large hands surprisingly gentle despite the tension. you didn’t resist, but you made it clear you weren’t going to make things easy.

“you know,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “maybe i don’t want to be cured. maybe i like feeling this free, this... wild. ever think of that, farm boy?”

clark stepped back, trying to ignore the way your tone sent an unexpected jolt through him. his fingers moved over the console as the scanner activated, its blue light bathing you in an otherworldly glow.

“there,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as the screen displayed the results. a foreign substance, glowing faintly red, was coursing through your bloodstream. it wasn’t kryptonite, but it was definitely kryptonian in origin.

“whatever it is, it’s amplifying your emotions,” clark said, his voice calm but firm. “we need to purge it from your system.”

“oh, yeah? and how exactly do you plan to do that?” you challenged, stepping closer, your breath brushing against his cheek. “gonna lecture it out of me? because that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? being a self-righteous boy scout?”

his patience snapped, but instead of retreating, he leaned in, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. “you want to know how i’m going to get it out of you?” his voice dropped, his usual warmth replaced by something darker, more commanding. “i’m going to use every bit of strength i have to break its hold on you. and when i’m done, you’re going to remember exactly who you are.”

your smirk faltered, but only for a moment. “big talk for someone who can’t handle a little attitude,” you shot back, though your voice wavered.

clark didn’t respond. instead, he closed the distance between you in an instant, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed you back against one of the fortress’s crystalline walls. his touch was firm but not rough, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke.

“this isn’t you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “but if this is what it takes to bring you back, then so be it.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, your defiance faltering for the first time. before you could muster another snarky remark, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, and relentless. he kissed you like he was trying to break the infection’s hold with sheer force, his tongue parting your lips to claim you completely.

you gasped into his mouth, the fiery anger in your veins starting to twist, morph, into something just as hot but far more desperate. his hands moved with purpose, sliding down your body to grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against the wall.

“clark—” your voice wavered, caught between a plea and a growl.

“trust me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost commanding.

his hands slid between your thighs, spreading them wide as his fingers found the slick heat pooling there. he didn’t hesitate, his touch firm and deliberate, his fingers stroking over your clit with a precision that made your head fall back against the crystal wall.

your body betrayed you, hips bucking against his hand as his touch grew more insistent. his thumb circled your clit while his fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside with maddening skill.

“you’re fighting it,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers curled inside you, pressing against a spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body. “don’t. let go.”

your hands clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his suit as he worked you with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, the rhythm of his movements building a pressure inside you that felt impossible to contain.

“clark, i—” your voice broke, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“let it out,” he commanded, his voice steady, unwavering. “all of it.”

and then it happened. the pressure inside you shattered, a blinding wave of release that ripped through your body, leaving you trembling in his arms. your vision blurred, your cries echoing through the fortress as your body convulsed, slick heat spilling onto his hand as he coaxed every last drop from you.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost soothing. his fingers slowed, drawing out your release until you were spent, your body sagging against him.

the red glow in your eyes faded, replaced by the warmth and softness he knew so well. as you came back to yourself, clark held you close, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“you’re okay,” he said, his voice filled with relief. “i’ve got you.”

you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips trembling. “clark... i—”

“don’t,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “you’ve been through enough. just let me take care of you.”

and for once, you did.

#lamy garden #clark kent #clark kent smallville imagine #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman comics #clark kent x female reader #smallville #superman

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novaursa · 2 days ago

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A Lion's Folly (sins)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Be aware of time jumps and how some events may not match the canon or its timeline.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: the brave

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The cold bites harder now, even in the Riverlands. Autumn is creeping closer, and Jaime Lannister feels every inch of it in the damp, miserable confines of the Stark camp. He sits on the rough wooden bench of his prison tent, his armor stripped, his hands bound by iron chains that rattle with every movement. The once-golden lion is tarnished now, his pride battered by weeks of captivity.

But it isn’t the cold or the humiliation that gnaws at him the most.

It’s you.

The thought of you lingers, unbidden, no matter how hard he tries to banish it. You’ve haunted his dreams since Winterfell—the way you stood by Bran’s bedside, the sorrow etched into your face. He’d told himself that time and distance would fade those feelings, that the guilt and longing would wither away like a flame denied air. Instead, they’ve grown, consuming him from within.

And now, as he sits in the heart of his enemy’s camp, surrounded by wolves, he swears he saw you earlier. It was just a fleeting glimpse—someone passing by the edge of the campfires, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak—but his heart had leapt at the sight. His mind betrayed him, conjuring the image of your face beneath the hood. He told himself it couldn’t be you. You would be in Winterfell, or wherever the Starks had scattered in their grief. You wouldn’t be here, amidst soldiers and war.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the thought.

The tent flap rustles, and Jaime looks up to see Robb Stark stride in, Grey Wind at his side. The direwolf’s presence is a constant reminder of his vulnerability; the beast’s yellow eyes seem to pierce through him, a predator sizing up its prey.

“Kingslayer,” Robb greets coldly, his voice steady and sharp. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t offer even the pretense of civility. He stands tall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his youth masked by the steel resolve in his eyes.

Jaime leans back against the post, smirking despite himself. “Your Grace,” he replies, his tone mocking as he inclines his head slightly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Robb ignores the jibe, his expression unyielding. “How many men does your father have? Where will he strike next?”

Jaime lets out a short, derisive laugh. “Straight to business, I see. I’d hoped for at least a proper interrogation—some chains, perhaps a few bruises.”

Robb doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady. “I don’t need chains to make you talk, Lannister. The fact that you’re here, bound and defeated, is enough proof of that.”

Jaime’s smirk falters for a moment. He shifts, the chains rattling, before leaning forward slightly. “You’re wasting your time, boy. Do you think I’d betray my father? My family? You’re a Stark; you should know better than that.”

Robb steps closer, his jaw tightening. “You call yourself a knight, yet you killed your king. You’re no man of honor. You’re a coward hiding behind a lion’s shield.”

The words hit their mark, but Jaime doesn’t let it show. Instead, he tilts his head, studying Robb. “Honor’s overrated,” he says lightly, though the edge in his voice betrays his inner turmoil. “It won’t bring your father back, will it?”

The animosity in the air thickens, Grey Wind letting out a low growl at Jaime’s words. Robb’s hand grips the hilt of his sword tighter, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Careful, Lannister,” Robb warns, his voice a low growl of its own.

Jaime meets his gaze, unflinching, though his mind is already elsewhere. He debates for a moment whether to ask, whether it will make him seem weak, but the words slip out before he can stop them.

“I saw her,” he says quietly, his tone lacking the usual mockery.

Robb’s brows furrow. “Who?”

“Your sister,” Jaime replies, his voice tightening. “Y/N.”

The name feels foreign on his tongue, too precious for someone like him to speak aloud.

Robb stiffens, his blue eyes narrowing. “You dare speak her name?”

Jaime doesn’t back down. “Is she here?”

Robb doesn’t answer immediately, his silence speaking volumes. Jaime’s chest tightens, the faint flicker of hope igniting despite himself.

“I thought I saw her,” Jaime continues, his voice softer now, the chains clinking faintly as he shifts forward. “In the camp. Tell me—was it her?”

Robb’s expression hardens. “What business do you have with my sister?”

“None,” Jaime admits, though the lie is bitter in his mouth. “I just… wondered.”

Robb steps closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t have the right to wonder, Kingslayer. My sister is none of your concern. She stays far away from men like you.”

Jaime doesn’t flinch, though the words sting more than he cares to admit. He forces a smirk onto his face, leaning back against the post once more. “Good. She’s better off that way.”

Robb watches him for a long moment, as if searching for some hidden motive. Finally, he turns, calling Grey Wind to his side.

“You’ll rot in this cage, Lannister,” Robb says over his shoulder as he strides toward the tent’s entrance. “And when the time comes, you’ll answer for everything you’ve done.”

The tent flap falls closed behind him, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts once more. He exhales slowly, the weight of the chains pressing into his wrists.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter if it was you or not. That he’s a fool for even caring.

But deep down, he knows the truth. Even in this cage, even in the shadow of death, his thoughts remain bound to you. A silent torment, far worse than the chains that bind him.

Jaime’s wrists ache from the constant pull of chains as he’s dragged along by Robb’s men. His boots sink into the damp earth with every step, the heavy mud clinging to him as if the North itself wants to swallow him whole. After weeks of captivity he feels more like a tethered dog than a lion, yanked along as the wolves move their camp to higher ground.

His head is lowered, his hair now dulled and dirtied, but a low growl makes him glance up. His heart stutters in his chest.

It’s him.

Winter, the pale direwolf, stands motionless at the edge of the camp, his silver-white coat shimmering in the faint sunlight. His icy blue eyes bore into him, unblinking, filled with a quiet menace. Jaime halts for a moment, his breath catching. He’d only seen him briefly at Winterfell, always at your side, a specter of your presence.

If Winter is here, then so are you.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a familiar figure emerges behind the wolf. His chest tightens at the sight of you—wrapped in a dark cloak, your hair loose, untouched by the grime of war that clings to everyone else. Your face is pale but calm, a stark contrast to the storm Jaime feels rising within himself.

And then Catelyn Stark appears.

She strides forward with purpose, her eyes blazing with fury as she spots him. You follow behind her, hesitant but present, and Jaime feels the weight of your gaze even if it doesn’t meet his directly.

The men dragging him stop as Lady Stark approaches, her voice sharp as the northern wind. “Hold him,” she orders, her tone brooking no argument. The guards immediately comply, gripping Jaime by the arms and halting his progress.

Catelyn steps closer, her jaw tight with barely-contained anger. “So,” she says, her voice low but seething, “this is where the Kingslayer finds himself. Dragged through the mud like the filth he is.”

Jaime lifts his head, forcing a smirk onto his face despite the anxiety coiling in his chest. “Lady Stark,” he greets, his tone mocking but hollow. “A pleasure, as always.”

Her hand twitches as if she’s tempted to strike him, but she holds back, her fury starting to resurfice. “You dare speak to me after all you’ve done?” she snaps. “After my son lies broken because of you?”

His smirk falters, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. He forces himself to hold her gaze, though his voice comes quieter this time. “I’ve already answered for that to your son. What more would you have me say?”

Catelyn takes another step forward, her expression hardening. “You could start by begging for your life, though even that wouldn’t be enough.”

Jaime shifts, the chains clinking faintly. “Begging doesn’t suit me. But if it would ease your grief, strike me down now.”

For a moment, her hand moves to her dagger, her knuckles white with tension. Jaime doesn’t flinch, meeting her glare with steady defiance. The silence between them stretches, thick and suffocating, until a soft voice breaks it.

“Mother.”

Your tone is quiet but firm, and it’s enough to make Catelyn pause. She turns her head slightly to look at you, her grip on her dagger loosening. Jaime’s eyes dart to you, his chest tightening as he takes in your expression—calm but guarded, your gaze flickering briefly to his before dropping away.

“He’s not worth it,” you say softly, though there’s an edge to your voice that Jaime doesn’t miss. “Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. Jaime swallows hard, forcing his expression into something unreadable. He should be grateful for your intervention, but your dismissal stings in a way he can’t quite explain.

Catelyn hesitates, her fury tempered by your presence. Finally, she exhales sharply, stepping back. “You’re right,” she says, though her voice is still tight with anger. “He isn’t worth it.”

She turns to the guards, her tone curt. “Take him away. Make sure he’s secure.”

The men nod, yanking Jaime forward once more. As he’s dragged past you, he risks a glance in your direction. You’re watching him now, your expression unreadable, though there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—disdain, perhaps, or pity.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. What could he possibly say? That he thinks of you more than he should? That your wolf haunts his dreams as much as you do? That he still carries the weight of Bran’s fall, that the deed has begun to feel like a noose around his neck?

Instead, he says nothing, allowing himself to be pulled back into the camp, his chains rattling against the ground.

That night, as he sits alone in his makeshift cage, Jaime’s thoughts refuse to quiet. Your voice echoes in his mind, soft but cutting: Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.

And maybe you’re right.

He presses his hands to his face, the cool iron of the shackles biting into his skin. For all his arrogance, for all his bravado, Jaime Lannister feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.

And through it all, he can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with anger, but with something far worse. Indifference.

For the first time, Jaime wonders if the cage he’s trapped in isn’t one of iron and chains but one of his own making—woven from lies, guilt, and the ghosts of what might have been.

The week crawls by in the cold, damp cage Jaime Lannister has come to know as his new home. Each day feels heavier than the last, the chains at his wrists a constant reminder of how far he has fallen: a prisoner of war, kept alive for reasons he can only guess.

He leans back against the wooden post, his head tilted upward as he watches the stars through a small gap in the tent’s fabric. It’s one of the few comforts he has—staring at the sky and pretending, for a moment, that he isn’t shackled like an animal.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts. They’re too quiet to belong to one of Robb’s guards. Jaime sits up straighter, his senses sharpening as the tent flap is pulled aside.

Lady Catelyn Stark steps inside, her face set in grim determination. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across her features, making her look even more formidable than usual. Behind her stands a tall, broad-shouldered woman clad in armor—her presence impossible to miss. Jaime recognizes her instantly: Brienne of Tarth.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Jaime says, his voice dry as he sits forward, his chains clinking faintly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit, Lady Stark?”

Catelyn doesn’t respond immediately. She steps closer, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. Brienne remains just inside the entrance, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, watching him like a hawk.

“I’ve come to make a bargain,” Catelyn says finally, her tone low but firm.

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A bargain? How intriguing. And here I thought you only kept me alive so your son could parade me through the Riverlands like a prize stag.”

Catelyn’s lips tighten, but she doesn’t rise to his bait. Instead, she steps even closer, standing just out of his reach. “My daughters,” she says, her voice heavy with emotion. “Sansa and Arya. They’re in King’s Landing, held by your family.”

Jaime leans back slightly, his smirk faltering. “Ah, so this is about them. And here I thought you’d come to finally finish me off.”

“I’ll do what I must to protect my children,” Catelyn snaps, her voice cutting through the cold air. “Even if it means dealing with you.”

Jaime studies her for a moment, his gaze flicking to Brienne before returning to Catelyn. “And what exactly do you propose, my lady?”

Catelyn straightens, her expression hardening. “You will go to King’s Landing. Brienne will escort you there. In exchange, you will ensure the safe return of my daughters.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then Jaime chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “You’re asking me to trust you? To believe that I’ll make it to King’s Landing in one piece with your she-knight as my escort?”

Brienne bristles at the insult, stepping forward, but Catelyn holds up a hand to stop her.

“I’m not asking,” Catelyn says coldly. “This is not a negotiation. I will not sit idly by while my daughters remain hostages to your family’s schemes. You’re going, Lannister—whether you like it or not.”

Jaime tilts his head, considering her words. “And what does your son, the King in the North, think of this… arrangement?”

Catelyn’s expression darkens. “Robb doesn’t know. And he won’t know.”

At that, Jaime’s smirk returns, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Ah, so this is treason. How delightfully unexpected from the honorable Lady Stark.”

Catelyn steps closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will have you hunted down and killed before you can utter a single word. Do you understand me, Lannister?”

Jaime meets her gaze, his smirk fading as the weight of her words sinks in. He can see the desperation in her eyes, the fierce determination of a mother willing to risk everything for her children. It’s a look he knows well—he’s seen it in Cersei’s eyes more times than he can count.

“Fine,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to play the dutiful knight. I’m not doing this for you, Lady Stark.”

“I don’t care why you do it,” Catelyn replies sharply. She turns to Brienne, nodding. “Release him.”

Brienne steps forward, her movements deliberate as she unlocks the chains binding Jaime’s wrists. He rubs them absently, the cool air biting at the raw skin beneath.

“Be warned, Lannister,” Brienne says, her voice steady but firm. “If you so much as think of trying to escape, I will kill you.”

Jaime smirks, his gaze flicking to her. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. I’ve heard you’re quite the swordswoman. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity to see that skill firsthand.”

Brienne doesn’t rise to his bait, stepping back as Catelyn moves toward the tent’s entrance. She glances back at Jaime, her expression unreadable.

“Pray that my daughters return safely,” she says quietly. “For your sake.”

With that, she leaves the tent, Brienne following close behind. Jaime watches them go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The chains may be gone, but the weight of what lies ahead feels heavier than ever.

The night is dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds as Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth slip through the edges of the Stark camp. The cold air bites at Jaime’s skin, but he keeps his discomfort to himself, his smirk firmly in place despite the ache in his muscles. The rattling of his chains has been replaced by the quiet shuffle of his boots on the damp earth, a small mercy he’s too proud to admit he appreciates.

Brienne leads the way, her broad shoulders hunched and her hand never far from the hilt of her sword. Jaime follows reluctantly, his steps slower than hers as if dragging his feet might somehow delay the inevitable.

“You’re remarkably quiet, Ser Brienne,” Jaime says after a while, his tone light but laced with mockery. “I’d almost forgotten you could speak. Do the Maiden herself guide your steps in this noble act of treason?”

Brienne doesn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she presses forward.

“Come now,” Jaime continues, his smirk widening. “We’re far enough from the camp. Surely you can share a word or two with your prisoner. Or do you fear the wolves might overhear us?”

She glances back at him briefly, her blue eyes cold. “You’d do well to keep your voice down, Kingslayer.”

“Oh, I see,” Jaime drawls, feigning understanding. “You’re brooding, aren’t you? Thinking of how your honor is tarnished, sneaking me away like a thief in the night. Do you think your dear Lady Stark would weep for you if she knew the shame you bear?”

“I’m doing this for her daughters,” Brienne snaps, her voice low but fierce. “Not for you. Don’t mistake my duty and oath for anything else.”

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Duty. Oath. Such a fine excuse for treachery.”

Before Brienne can respond, a low growl pierces the air, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Jaime freezes, his smirk slipping as he looks ahead.

From the shadows, Winter emerges, his pale fur gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The massive direwolf stands rigid, his icy blue eyes locked on Jaime with unmistakable menace. Behind him, a figure steps into view, cloaked and armed—a bow drawn and an arrow pointed directly at Jaime’s chest.

It’s you.

Jaime’s heart stutters in his chest, though he forces his expression to remain neutral. The sight of you, standing there with unwavering determination, is both captivating and terrifying.

“What are you doing, Brienne?” you ask, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the air like a northern wind. Your gaze flicks briefly to Jaime before returning to the woman beside him.

Brienne hesitates, her hand instinctively moving to her sword. “Lady Y/N… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, it looks exactly as it is,” you say coldly, your bow steady. “You’re sneaking him out of the camp. You’re committing treason against Robb.”

Brienne’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m following Lady Stark’s orders. She believes this man’s life can buy the safe return of your sisters.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. Jaime shifts slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but Winter’s growl deepens, silencing him instantly.

“Stay silent,” you say sharply, your eyes locking onto his. The force of your words, the raw authority in your tone, sends a shiver down his spine.

Jaime swallows hard, his usual bravado slipping as he watches the scene unfold. Brienne steps forward slightly, her hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“I understand your loyalty to your brother,” Brienne says carefully. “But this is about Sansa and Arya. Lady Stark gave me her trust, and I intend to fulfill her wishes. Let me pass.”

You don’t lower your bow, your gaze unwavering. “And if you fail? If this man escapes? What then? Do you think Robb will forgive you for putting his sisters’ lives in the hands of a Kingslayer?”

“He won’t escape,” Brienne says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’ll make sure of nothing,” you reply, your voice hard. “You might trust him to play along, but I don’t. I won’t risk it.”

The words sting more than Jaime expects, though he knows you’re right. If given the chance, he would run. He would escape this madness and return to his family, to the war he knows how to fight. But something about your gaze, the sheer intensity of it, roots him in place.

“I’m going with you,” you say finally, lowering your bow but keeping the arrow nocked. “It’s a long way to the capital, and I won’t trust a prisoner like him in the hands of one person. If he tries to escape, I’ll be there to stop him.”

Brienne hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Lady Y/N, you can’t—”

“I can,” you interrupt, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will. If my sisters’ lives depend on this, then I’ll see it through myself.”

Jaime exhales softly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “A family reunion on the road. How quaint.”

Winter growls again, silencing him once more. You glance at him, your expression colder than the northern winds.

“You’ll speak when spoken to, Lannister,” you say, your voice sharp. “If you even think of trying to escape, I’ll put an arrow through your knee and let the wolves finish the rest.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly despite himself. “Charming.”

You don’t respond, turning to Brienne instead. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

Brienne hesitates for a moment longer before nodding, her expression grim. The three of you begin to move, the sound of boots crunching against the frozen ground breaking the silence. Winter pads silently at your side, his presence a constant reminder of the line Jaime dares not cross.

As they walk, Jaime glances at you from the corner of his eye, his thoughts a chaotic mess. You’re closer now than you’ve been in months, but the gulf between you feels wider than ever.

And yet, he can’t deny the spark of something he doesn’t fully understand—something that terrifies him more than chains or swords ever could.

The night air clings to Jaime’s skin as they travel under the faint light of the moon, their footsteps muffled by the soft crunch of the dirt road. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of the trees and the steady padding of Winter, your ever-present shadow. Jaime walks between you and Brienne, his hands bound once more, though the chains are lighter than before.

He knows he should keep his mouth shut. Your warning earlier was clear enough, and Winter’s growls had been more than persuasive. But silence has never been Jaime’s strength, and the anxiety pressing down on him feels unbearable.

“So, Ser Brienne,” Jaime begins, his voice light, “how long have you been in Lady Stark’s service? Or are you simply a sword for hire with an impressive knack for loyalty?”

Brienne’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t answer.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Jaime presses, smirking faintly. “I suppose that’s fitting for a lady knight. Though I must admit, your… femininity is rather understated. Do the men in Tarth prefer their women to be more—what’s the word—formidable?”

Brienne halts abruptly, turning to face him. Her glare is as cutting as any blade, but before she can speak, you cut her off.

“Enough,” you say suddenly. You don’t look at him, your eyes fixed ahead, but the authority in your tone leaves no room for argument. “Keep walking, Lannister. And keep your mouth shut.”

Jaime raises his bound hands slightly in mock surrender. “As you wish, my lady,” he replies, though the grin tugging at his lips suggests otherwise.

The group resumes their journey, the silence settling in again like an unwelcome guest. Jaime bites his tongue for a few minutes, but the words bubbling inside him refuse to stay contained. He’s not even sure why he does it—whether it’s the need to distract himself, the desire to provoke a reaction from you, or some desperate attempt to find absolution for the weight he carries.

“So, Lady Y/N,” he begins, his tone softer now but still laced with mockery, “do you often accompany prisoners on secret midnight journeys? Or is this a special occasion?”

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as Winter moves silently at your side.

“I suppose it’s for your sisters,” Jaime continues, his smirk faltering slightly. “A noble cause, to be sure. Though I wonder, do you trust her?” He gestures toward Brienne with a tilt of his head. “Or are you here to make sure she doesn’t fail?”

Still, you remain silent, your steps steady and deliberate.

“I must admit,” Jaime says, his voice growing more pensive, “it’s strange, isn’t it? Traveling with someone like me after everything that’s happened. I wonder—do you think of him? Your brother? Of what happened to him?”

At that, you stop. Jaime nearly stumbles to a halt behind you, his breath catching as you turn to face him. Your eyes, so cold and unreadable, burn into him now with an intensity that makes even the lion feel small.

“Do I think of my brother?” you repeat, your voice low and steady, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “Every single day, Lannister. I think of how he fell, of how he might never wake because of you.”

Jaime swallows hard, his smirk finally slipping entirely.

“And do you know what I think of you?” you continue, stepping closer, your voice cutting through the night like a blade. “I think of how pathetic you are. A man who threw a child from a window to cover up his sins. A man so desperate to hide what he is that he nearly destroyed my family to do it.”

Your words strike harder than any blow ever could, and for once, Jaime is left speechless.

“You disgust me,” you say coldly, your voice shaking slightly with restrained fury. “And if you speak again, I’ll make sure Winter tears out your tongue. Do you understand me?”

Jaime forces himself to nod, though the weight of your words presses down on him like a mountain.

“Good,” you say simply, turning away from him and resuming your pace.

Winter lingers for a moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto Jaime as if daring him to try something. Then the direwolf follows you, his steps silent and deliberate.

Jaime exhales shakily, his thoughts spiraling as he begins walking again. Your words echo in his mind, each one carving deeper into the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury. He doesn’t know why he provoked you, why he pushed you to the point of breaking. Perhaps it was to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of his own failures.

But now, as the silence stretches on and your words linger like a brand, Jaime wonders if he’ll ever be free of the choices that brought him here.

The small camp is quiet, save for the crackling of the fire Brienne has managed to coax to life. The days of travel have been grueling, and Jaime feels every ache in his body, though he’d never admit it aloud. He sits with his back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, the chains digging faintly into his wrists. Brienne sits across from him, her eyes never leaving him for more than a moment.

The air smells of pine and damp earth, the kind of crispness that can only be found far from the corruption of cities. It would be almost peaceful if it weren’t for the weight of his own thoughts and the absence of you. You’d disappeared into the woods not long ago, your bow slung over your shoulder and Winter trotting at your side, leaving Jaime and Brienne behind to stew in the silence.

Jaime shifts slightly, his gaze flicking to the direction you’d gone, though the trees obscure any sign of you. He tells himself it’s simple curiosity, nothing more. Yet, even as he tries to convince himself, he knows it’s a lie. There’s something about you that pulls at him, an invisible tether he can’t sever no matter how much he tries.

“Stop it,” Brienne says abruptly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Jaime turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“You know what,” she replies, her tone firm but not unkind. She leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees as the firelight flickers across her face. “Stop watching her.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though there’s no real humor in it. “Am I not allowed to look at the person who’s been kind enough to threaten me with death every few hours?”

Brienne’s expression hardens. “It’s not just a look. You’ve been watching her since we left the Stark camp. Whatever you’re thinking—whatever you’re feeling—stop it. She deserves better than someone like you.”

The words sting, though Jaime doesn’t let it show. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening slightly. “Oh, I see. You’re her protector now, are you? The honorable Lady Brienne, guardian of Northern virtue.”

“I’m protecting her from you,” Brienne says, her voice low but cutting. “I’ve seen men like you before, Kingslayer. You think you can charm your way into anyone’s favor, but it won’t work here. Not with her.”

Jaime’s smirk falters, and for a moment, the weight of her words settles over him. He exhales softly, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.

“She hates me,” he says after a long pause, his voice quieter now.

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze steady as she studies him. “She has every reason to,” she says finally.

“I know,” Jaime replies, his tone almost bitter. He looks at the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. Every time I look at her, I see… I don’t know what I see. Something I’ll never have. Something I don’t deserve.”

Brienne’s expression softens slightly, though her resolve doesn’t waver. “Then leave her alone,” she says firmly. “She’s already lost enough because of you. Don’t make it worse.”

Jaime chuckles dryly, though the sound lacks any real mirth. “As if I could. She barely acknowledges my existence unless it’s to remind me of what I’ve done.”

“Good,” Brienne says simply. “Maybe that’s the only way you’ll understand the weight of your actions.”

The silence stretches between them again, heavy with unspoken truths. Jaime shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to his bound hands.

“She reminds me of someone,” he says suddenly, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Brienne raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt.

“My sister,” Jaime continues, his tone distant. “Not in looks, of course. They couldn’t be more different. But in… strength. That fire in her eyes, the way she carries herself. It’s maddening, really. It makes me want to—”

“To what?” Brienne presses, her voice sharp.

Jaime shakes his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “To believe I could be better. But we both know that’s not true.”

Brienne watches him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You’re not better. Not yet.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire as your footsteps approach from the trees. Winter trots ahead of you, his silver coat gleaming in the firelight as he pads over to sit beside you. You carry two rabbits in one hand, your bow slung over your shoulder, your face unreadable as you step into the clearing.

“Talking about me?” you ask, your voice calm but with a curious undertone.

“Nothing flattering, I assure you,” Jaime replies, his smirk returning faintly.

You glance at him briefly, your expression as cold as ever, before turning to Brienne. “Let’s get these rabbits cooking. We’ll need the strength for tomorrow.”

As you and Brienne begin preparing the meal, Jaime leans back against the tree again, his thoughts a tangled mess. He knows he should stop. Stop watching you, stop thinking about you, stop searching for something he’ll never find.

But as the firelight dances across your face, illuminating the resolve in your eyes, Jaime knows he’s already lost that battle.

124 notes · View notes

lovrx-s · 3 days ago

Text

Unheard Cries

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

Contains: contains themes of depression, self-harm, and suicide.

a/n: [Please proceed with caution and seek help if you’re struggling :(] I have a part two of this! Idk if i should still post it or not

The light in the apartment had dimmed over the past few months, and so had you.

You and Jenna used to fill this space with laughter and late-night conversations, but lately, it felt like she wasn’t really there anymore. Physically, sure—her bags in the hallway, her perfume lingering in the bathroom—but her presence, the love and warmth you once felt, seemed to have disappeared.

You’d started feeling like a ghost in your own home.

Day One

You stared at the bedroom ceiling as the morning light filtered through the blinds. Jenna was already gone. Again.

She had left early, as she often did, muttering something about a meeting or an interview. She didn’t even kiss you goodbye.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself that she was just busy. That this distance wasn’t personal. But as the hours dragged on and the silence of the apartment grew deafening, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest.

By the time Jenna returned, you were sitting on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself for comfort.

“Hey,” you greeted her softly, but your voice came out weaker than intended.

“Hey,” she replied absentmindedly, her attention already on her phone as she kicked off her shoes.

“Can we talk?” you asked, the words sticking in your throat.

“Not now,” she said sharply, not even looking up. “I’m exhausted.”

Your heart sank as you watched her retreat to the bedroom, leaving you behind with nothing but the growing weight of your loneliness.

Day Three

You tried to reach out again. Tried to let her know that you were drowning in your own head.

“Jenna,” you began hesitantly, watching her sip her coffee across the table. “I’ve been feeling… off lately. Like, really off.”

She sighed, placing the mug down a little too hard. “Can we not do this right now? I just got back from a 12-hour shoot.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me, okay? You just sit here all day while I’m out working my ass off, and then you want to unload all your problems on me? It’s too much.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Forget it,” you mumbled, standing up from the table.

“Good,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her coffee and walking away.

Day Five

You stayed in bed most of the day, staring at the ceiling, replaying Jenna’s words over and over. Clingy. Too much. Annoying.

She hadn’t come home the night before, and she didn’t bother to text you.

The apartment felt emptier than ever.

You got up only to look at the small collection of pills in the medicine cabinet. The thought lingered, but you shook it off, telling yourself, Not yet.

Day Nine

Jenna’s absence had become your new normal. She was always out—at work, with friends, anywhere but with you.

When she was home, she was distant, distracted, and irritable.

That night, you tried again. You sat beside her on the couch, your hands trembling as you reached for hers.

“Jenna, can we talk?” you asked quietly.

“What is it now?” she groaned, pulling her hand away.

“I’m not okay,” you admitted, tears welling up in your eyes. “I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

She looked at you then, her expression hard and cold. “You’re always like this. Do you even hear yourself? It’s exhausting, Y/N. You’re so clingy and needy all the time, and honestly? I can’t deal with it.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening as the tears spilled over.

“Do you even love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

She hesitated, and that pause was louder than any answer she could’ve given.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, standing up and leaving you alone on the couch.

Day Fourteen

You hadn’t eaten in two days. Your body felt weak, but the heaviness in your chest was worse.

Jenna had left early that morning without saying goodbye. Again.

You sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the blade in your hand. The thought had been creeping closer every day, and now, it felt impossible to ignore.

But a small voice inside you whispered, One more chance. Just one.

You stood up and cleaned yourself up.

Day Fifteen

When Jenna walked through the door that evening, you approached her cautiously.

“Hey,” you said, your voice trembling. “Can we talk? Please?”

“God, what is it now?” she snapped, throwing her bag on the couch.

“I just… I need you,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. “I need you to listen to me, to be here for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Y/N. You act like the whole world revolves around you. I can’t keep doing this.”

Your heart broke into pieces, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

She sighed and walked past you, heading to the bedroom.

You watched her go, the final thread of hope snapping inside you.

That night, Jenna woke up to an eerie silence. She rolled over, expecting to find you beside her, but the bed was cold and empty.

“Y/N?” she called out, but there was no answer.

Panic set in as she searched the apartment, finally finding the bathroom door locked.

“Y/N! Open the door!” she shouted, banging on it desperately.

When she finally forced it open, her heart stopped at the sight of you on the floor, lifeless, a crumpled note beside you.

Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees, cradling your lifeless body.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

But it was too late.

You were gone.

And Jenna was left with nothing but guilt and the memory of every cruel word she’d ever said.

#jenna ortega x reader headcanon #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x reader angst #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega angst

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violentdeliiights · 10 hours ago

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my baby

eek this is my first time properly writing for ghost gasp

this was supposed to just be a quick little drabble but i kind of got into the writing mood and couldn’t stop

also disclaimer i have never first hand played the games, but i’ve watched friends and family play them so any inaccuracies please ignore!

cw: details of car accident, hospitals, angst, female reader (i think that’s all pls let me know if there are others)

word count: 1.8k - not proofread, ignore any mistakes thank youuu

Simon could feel something was wrong.

Something in his bones, a rippling wave of nausea, a shift in the breeze on the back of his neck.

The other lads had always made a joke of his seemingly supernatural levels of superstition, how he was able to almost always accurately predict when or if something was going to go wrong.

Information had been from a dodgy source? Simon had guessed from the way Gaz had dropped his mug of coffee that morning.

One of their safe houses was infiltrated? Yeah, he’d known something was coming after Soap had stubbed his little toe getting out of bed and they’d heard the Scot’s high-pitched swearing from the mess hall.

They were being ambushed whilst on a seemingly harmless mission? You guessed it, Lt. Simon Riley had warned them in the helo the day before that Price’s favourite hat going missing was a sign.

One thing about Simon- he never, ever ignored his intuition.

So the forlorn look on Price’s face as he approached Simon’s hulking frame in the gym caused his stomach to drop. He’d been stood supervising Gaz and Soap training the newbies when that god awful sensation washed over him- and now he could tell Price was going to confirm that feeling.

Turning to face the Captain when he reached his side, Simon nodded out of respect, “Cap’n”.

The sigh that he received in response only made his stomach plummet further.

“Simon,”

Price never called him by his first name. Only ever Lieutenant or Ghost.

Something was really wrong.

“…it’s your girl. She’s in a bad way.”

✯ ✯ ✯

Unlike your husband, you’d never been one for superstition. All those things online about a woman’s intuition made you feel slightly out of the loop- you don’t think you’d ever predicted something bad before it happened.

In some ways you were thankful; you never lived with the lingering sense of dread and suspicion that Simon seemed to. You’d never woken up filled with anxiety over something that was a possibility.

However, in some ways, it was a curse. Every bad thing that had ever happened to you or your loved ones seemed to blindside you. Breakups, whilst sometimes predictable, had always gutted you in a deep, physical way. Betrayal, death, accidents, injuries. They all seemed to hit you deeper when you never saw them coming.

Being stabbed in the back hurts worse when you can’t see the knife coming.

That was why that morning had felt like just another Thursday. Your normal day to go food shopping, knowing the supermarket would be relatively quiet and that you would need to stock up for the weekend when Simon tended to snack like nobody’s business.

You had just packed up the car with the bags, pulling out of the car park and onto the large roundabout the led onto the main road.

Just like every other time you’d made the trip.

Only, those other times didn’t include a huge Land Rover who hadn’t seen you in your tiny Volkswagen Beetle- the one your husband had bought you when you’d told him it was your dream car as a little girl.

The Rover pulled out just as you passed him, driving head first into the passenger’s side and sending your car spinning, careening out of control and straight into a sign post on the other side of the road, tipping the car onto its side.

The accident had happened at such a speed that you hadn’t even mentally understood what was happening before your eyes closed involuntarily, shards of glass from the smashed windshield and doors littering your skin, your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, cuts all over your body and your seatbelt digging painfully into you.

Your last thought before your body shut down was the face of the man you loved.

✯ ✯ ✯

Simon had never driven as fast in his life.

He was well over the speed limit, his foot on the accelerator almost parallel to the floor.

The hour drive to the hospital from the base took him 25 minutes.

He hadn’t even bothered with a response when Price had informed him of which hospital you were in, Gaz and Soap only looking up from their training when they heard the door slam after him, the gym feeling slightly colder than it had minutes prior.

He had no doubt that the rest of the task force wouldn’t be far behind him: you had become somewhat of a staple around the base over the years, bringing the boys hot meals, helping with odd jobs, making sure they were all taking care of themselves.

Sometimes, Soap would come to you with his issues instead of Ghost- that was when you knew your husbands colleagues were more than just colleagues. You had been welcomed into their little dysfunctional family.

Throwing his car into the first parking space he found, Simon stormed into the reception area, his aura more that of Ghost than Simon with the palpable anger and tension radiating off of him. The elderly receptionist seemed to cower in his shadow looming over the desk, ignoring the funny and fearful looks he got from the rest of the waiting area as he barked out your name.

“R-room 414, pet,” He made a mental note to thank the woman a bit more softly and charged his way down the hall to the stairwell. The lift would only hinder him and he knew fine well he would run up a million flights of stairs to get to you. Hell, he’d scale Everest blindfolded. Wrangle the moon with a rope. Anything. For you.

After reaching the fourth floor, he flung the door stairwell door open and began his search for you, scouring each and every door number until he found it

Despite his earlier efforts to get to you as quickly as possible, he felt himself take a shuddering breath before he dared to enter- he had no idea what he was walking into. The only information Price had been given was that you’d been hospitalised a handful of hours ago. It was harder to reach a next of kin who worked on a military base, apparently.

When his eyes landed on you in that hospital bed, the only thing keeping his legs from giving way beneath him was the thought of getting to you.

Your usually glowing face was pale and sunken. Your lovely rosy cheeks he loved to pepper with kisses were hidden beneath tubes and cuts. A bandage wrapped around your head skewed your hair from his sight. The feeling of seeing you lying there, helpless, relying on machines to keep you going was so much worse than any bad intuition he’d ever felt before.

He would swap places with you in a heartbeat. No physical pain would ever compare with the utter devastation he was experiencing. His heart was no longer in his own chest, but lying battered and bruised in a hospital bed attached to machines.

His large hands swept delicately over the side of your head, “My baby,” his voice wavered, heavy with fear, “My sweet girl. What happened to you, baby?”

The taste of salt on his lips was his only sign that he was crying.

Big, bad, Lieutenant Simon Riley. Ghost. His name drove terror into the hearts of men across the globe.

Reduced to tears at the sight of you.

His knees hit the floor by your bedside, both of his hands delicately cupping your bruised face, “Come back to me, baby. You promised forever, yeah? I’m holding you to that,” A quiet sob ripped from his throat before he could control it, pressing a delicate kiss to your cheek and moving to bury his head in your stomach to muffle any more sobs.

Simon had no idea how long he had been sat slumped over you, still on his knees yet not willing to leave your side for more than a second to grab a chair. He would never let you out of sight again. Judging by the fact that the sky was significantly darker by the time he heard the door open, he could tell he’d been here for a while. Jerking his slumped head up to the door, he left out a silent breath of relief when a familiar face appeared with a sorrowful smile.

“Hey, Si. How’s our bonnie lass?” To Soap, you had been their girl since the moment Simon had introduced you to the group. His best friend- second only to your husband.

When Simon said nothing, only looked at him in silent despair and flickered his eyes back to you, Soap pushed open the door and revealed the other two men stood patiently behind him. Filtering into the room, both Gaz and Price removed their hats in respect as the three of them came to stand by your bedside but Simon couldn’t remove his eyes from you. His baby. His sweet, funny, intelligent girl.

“Hope you don’t mind, LT- we found ‘er doctor a bit ago, asked ‘im what happened, thought we’d give you some space,” Price’s voice had never been so soft, so cautious not to disturb the sullen atmosphere of the room, “Said she’d been in a car accident. Some idiot had pulled out on her, thankfully on the passenger side so she avoided the brunt of it,”

“They’ve said to let her rest, should hopefully come round in a bit, but she’s gonna be sore for a while,” Gaz finished Price’s explanation as gently as he could, knowing his LT’s tendency to become protective and hostile at the flip of a switch.

“She’ll be just fine, Si. Just needs her beauty sleep.” Even Soap’s usual humour couldn’t calm Simon. Someone had done this to you. You were in her because of the careless mistake of someone else.

He wouldn’t leave your side. Never again.

✯ ✯ ✯

Price had managed to coax Ghost into a chair before they’d left to return to base, hoping to save his knees and back but allowing him to stay with you.

Simon had resumed his previous place of laying his head gently on your stomach, clutching the hand closest to him in both of his.

At some point, the utter terror he had been feeling since the minute he saw Price’s face that afternoon caught up with him and he had passed out, still clutching your hand.

The feeling of gentle fingers weaving into his hair was what stirred Simon from a dreamless sleep, confusedly lifting his head to see you looking down at him with a pained smile when you caught sight of his red-rimmed eyes. The only time you’d seen your husband shed a tear was at your wedding.

His mouth dropped open slightly as he took in your eyes. Your beautiful, open, awake eyes. He’d never take those eyes for granted ever again.

“My baby.”

#fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #x reader

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 2 days ago

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You don't really read into my melancholia / When my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room / Sapphire tears on my face, sadness became my whole sky / It only hurts this much right now was what I was thinking the whole time / Ask me what I earned from all those tears / My sadness is contagious / I vowed not to cry anymore if wе survived the Great War / Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness / You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough / The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign / All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier / Never take advice from someone who's falling apart

#the theme is midnights + BEING SAD #lyric parallels #midnights #when I was listening to the full album today it just struck me again how SAD it is #it’s like every other song she’s like ‘I’m fucking sad’#or ‘I’m gonna try not to be sad’#or ‘this is how I ignore how sad I am’#or ‘I’m broken and I’m SAD’#anyway where was that post of mine about grief in Midnights and TTPD lol #midnights is… a lot when you think about it too hard #which thankfully for my own self preservation I don’t lol #and it also strikes me how it can all be summed up with ‘I prefer hiding in plain sight’#which is a whole other essay

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owlwithanapple · 1 day ago

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Eternal Engagement

An unexpected new life?

Y/N Kent, daughter of Superman Clark Kent and twin sister of Superboy Jonathan Kent. You thought you were born with innate powers and talents, but you haven't awakened any superhuman powers since birth. Not to mention flying, you don't even have the strength to break a piece of iron rod. Your mother Lois Lane once doubted whether you were incapable and born mortal?

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Superman and Batman, Guardian and Dark Knight, are also the best of friends. Their relationship is complicated, characterized by mutual respect and protection for each other. The relationship between the two occasionally causes tension due to their different approaches to the arts heroism.

Being in harmony is a good thing, but unexpectedly...your father and Bruce Wayne made a marriage engagement for their children when they were young, that is, you and Damian Wayne. Until you were an adult and just turned 20, you learned the truth of this matter. Your first reaction was of course anger. Don’t know how many arguments you had with your father, but in the end, it ended in failure.

Metropolis, a certain cafe -

As usual, you spent your time at work, a black luxurious car stopped at the main entrance. An ominous premonition came up, a familiar figure walked out of the car. The man in a black suit, he opened the door and walked in, stealing the attention of many women. When his emerald eyes met yours, you suddenly realized who he was, Damian Wayne.

You avoided his gaze and walked behind the counter, facing away from him, silently wiping the cup with a piece of cloth. At the same time, an enthusiastic female colleague came forward to take his order. He raised his index finger pointed at your back, revealing a hint of arrogance and a demanding attitude in his tone, "Black coffee, I want Kent to make it."

"Huh? Oh...Kent, are you available now?" Your colleague approached and asked.

You stopped the work in your hands and nodded helplessly. You used the coffee machine to brew, the aroma of the rich coffee came out, and every drop of coffee dripped into the mug. You brought the brewed coffee to him, his emerald eyes slowly moved from your face to hands and then to the cup of coffee.

"Sir, your black coffee, please enjoy it." You nodded and returned to your post.

"It's Damian, your fiancé's name." He answered after sipping his coffee.

You were helpless and annoyed, wondering why your father wanted you to marry this arrogant and ruthless man, even uncle Bruce agreed. Really don't understand what they’re thinking. You put down the tray, "I don't want to hear the word fiancé."

"Facts are facts after all. Kent, who has no talent." His tone was biased.

You put your hands on hips and retorted to him, "Gene mutation, there's nothing can do about it."

You always felt inferior because no talent, it hurts your scars exposed by him. After the quarrel, you feel relieved and continue to work. His eyes locked on you, and you avoid him several times and continue to ignore him. He taps the counter with finger to attract your attention, as if he is ordering you.

You approach him and ask nicely, "Sir, what else would you like to order?"

"Where's the engagement ring?" He takes a sip of coffee and glances at you, focusing on your finger.

This question makes you feel very embarrassed. Last month, your father suddenly brought a black exquisite ring box from Gotham, which contained an engagement ring. You dare not wear it at all, "It will affect my work and hinder me."

"Terrible excuse." His tone was arrogant. He finished the remaining coffee. Before leaving, he took out a few bills and put them next to the cup. You were surprised that the hand he stretched out was wearing your engagement ring.

You were silent, hating this inexplicable feeling. It's not a relationship between lovers, which makes you feel very heavy. He and your brother are partners, the Super Sons are the duo of Damian Wayne, the Robin, and Jonathan Kent, the Superboy. But you are just a superfluous Kent, with no talent, no strength, and no ability to help others, proving that you are a mortal.

"Fuck..." You clenched your fists and gritted teeth.

Kent Farm, Smallville —

You went home, and held the doorknob still struggled with heart. You smelled the aroma of food coming from the house, almost dinner time. You adjusted your emotions , opened the door and stepped into the house, you sat in the entrance and untied your shoelaces. You were shrouded by a shadow, and you turned around and saw that it was Damian.

"You... why are you here? Didn't you go back to Gotham City?" You stood up immediately in surprise, you thought he only came to your workplace, but he even came to visit your home.

"Little princess, welcome home. Damian is staying at our house tonight, he will sleep in Jon’s room." Lois smiled and poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Huh?! This guy sleeps in Jon's room?! Jon's bed is very hard!" You told Lois in confusion, but you heard your mother's happy laughter.

"Hahaha, indeed. Or do you want to sleep with your fiancé?" Your mother laughed after hearing your words and couldn't help but want to tease you.

Your mom's words made you feel extremely embarrassed. Even if you two are engaged, actually have no relationship. It's purely because of the relationship between the two families. You glared at Damian and walked past him to upstairs. "No way!!"

Damian watched you leave and sighed helplessly. Seeing that his figure did not seem as arrogant as usual, Lois took the initiative to step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "My little princess is a little stubborn, but not bad."

"TT. The only shortcoming is that she has no superpowers." The cold response from Damian hit Lois's pain point. Lois took her hand back. Damian sat on the sofa and browsed his phone, his eyes occasionally peeking at the stairwell.

You turned on the desk lamp. You opened the drawer to take out a book but saw the ring box placed inside. Your mind was in a mess. Why is your life so unsatisfactory? You took out the ring box and opened it. Inside was an exquisite engagement ring with the words of eternal love of Y/N & Damian engraved on it.

"He doesn't know the size of my finger..." You put the ring on, but it unexpectedly fit the size of your finger. You were surprised. How did he know your size?

When you wanted to remove the ring, found that it was stuck and couldn't pull it off no matter how hard you tried. You carefully looked at the details, felt that it was so expensive. Wayne's family has money. The engagement rings were made by experts. You touched it lightly, thinking how valuable it is.

"Little princess! Come down for dinner!" You pulled out the ring with all your strength, but nothing happened until you heard Daddy's voice coming from downstairs, and Jon's laughter came too. The two of them finally finished saving the world.

You left the room and went downstairs, and saw Mommy and Daddy bringing food to the table. Jon and Damian were discussing what happened today, such as aliens invading the earth. You seemed out of place without a common topic.

You went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mommy noticed your emotions change, and what Damian just said made her care more about your feelings. She took the initiative to ask you, "Little princess, did your work go well today?"

You held the cup felt a little sad. You pretended to be strong and nodded, "Yes, I was so busy, almost forgot to get off work."

At this time, Daddy walked in. His super hearing heard your heartbeat and was very flustered. He realized your mood change, he first gave you a hug, patted your back gently and comforted you, "Little princess, what's wrong? Tell Daddy?"

"I... I'm fine. Just a little tired." You answered vaguely.

"Little princess, don't be like this. I'm worried. Don't suppress yourself." Daddy said after loosening the hug and holding your shoulders, his face full of worry.

"I'm really just tired." You left the kitchen and walked to the dining table to sit down. Lois and Clark looked at each other and guessed your thoughts.

"I'm telling you! Today, Superboy and Superman are teaming up together - puff!" Before Jon could finish his words, Damian threw a pillow on his face.

Jon was confused, Damian ignored him and walked to the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat next to you. You avoided him, but his eyes stayed on you. He was surprised to notice your emotions and expression changes, and to notice that you were wearing the engagement ring.

"Why are you wearing a ring?" His tone was like an accusation.

As expected, he found out. You put your hand under the dining table awkwardly and trying pulled out the ring. "Just try it on. I didn't expect the size to be so perfect. Now I can't pull it out."

"Haha, your knowledge is really low. We were taught in elementary school that you can take it out by applying soap on hands. You not only have no talent, but also no knowledge." His tone was humiliating and sarcastic, as if he was accusing you.

At first Jon thought it was just a bickering, until he realized something was wrong, and immediately rushed forward to stop Damian's bad behavior. He held Damian's shoulders and said, "Hey, buddy, don't say that. She is a girl after all, and also your fiancée, be gentle."

"It's the truth, she knows it best. It's a pity that Superman's daughter has no superpowers. Ah, no, it's so pitiful." Suddenly you felt like the sky was falling. You couldn't refute his bad words. What he said was... the truth.

Everyone knows Damian's character. He is a proud and self-centered person. He always spits out some facts when he speaks. Mommy approached Damian and flicked his forehead with her index finger, leaving a red mark. "Damian Wayne, we agreed to marry our little princess to Wayne family because of trust, not to humiliate and belittle her. This is not what a future husband should do."

Daddy came forward and ruffled Damian's hair, with a smile and tenderness on his face. He once said that Damian's personality is exactly the same as Bruce's. He always speaks harshly, but still very gentle in his heart. "Damian, treat her well. When she is frustrated, you should encourage her instead of mocking her."

"She should thank me. If our two families were not good friends, who would want to get engaged to this untalented idiot." He emphasized made his words more unpleasant.

"Damian, you-" Just as Jon was irritated, you stood up from the dining chair.

Except for Damian's expression, which was equally annoying, everyone else was worried. You wanted to scold him but you didn't have any advantage over him. He was an experienced Robin. He struggled to this day with his own efforts and perseverance. He is a very brilliant person. But you have no talent at all, unlike Jon who is strong and reliable.

"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to my room." You walked away silently. Dad followed you but you stopped him. You wanted to stay quiet didn't want to hear any more sounds.

"Buddy, what are you doing? You know my sister-" After you left, Jon glared at Damian in front of Clark and Lois, his eyes glowing red as if he was going to shoot a laser at him.

At this time, you were in the bathroom. You applied soap to hands to wash them as Damian said. Just as he said, the ring was successfully taken out because of the moistness of the soap. You put the ring back in the box and closed the drawer, drew a cross pattern on the calendar to indicate that no signs of awakening.

"Maybe I have no hope..." You fell on the bed, looking at the ceiling and sighed silently.

Knock Knock—

There was a knock on the door, you got out and opened it. As soon as you saw Damian's face, you slammed the door and locked it, venting your anger on the door. Damian outside the door did not feel disgusted with your behavior. He knocked on the door again, but you did not respond and curled up in bed.

"I'll leave the food outside, don't starve." You heard his voice fade away, and out of curiosity, you opened the door to peek. He really brought dinner, you were stubborn and didn't want him to meddle in other people's business, which would give him the opportunity to feel superior. But in the end, you were defeated by hunger, you compromised and brought the food into the room to eat.

"Help—I can't swim—" Suddenly you heard a strange noise, like a cry for help. You thought it was an illusion, maybe someone downstairs was watching a TV series, until you heard "Superman—Anyone—save me—"

"Help?" you murmured.

You didn't even touch the food, pricked up your ears to listen carefully. The painful cry for help, the sound of water rising and falling in the waves circled intermittently. You ran downstairs in a panic and saw Daddy washing dishes in the kitchen and Mommy tidying up the dishes. Life was just like usual. Jon and Damian put on their hero suits and were discussing today's patrol work and adjusting the route.

"Um... Daddy, Jon. Did you hear a girl's cry for help?" Your voice trembled, but your question instantly attracted everyone's attention.

"Little princess, what did you just say?" Mommy asked with a puzzled look, and Daddy, who was standing behind her, noticed your abnormality and wanted to get closer to you.

"Help me—I can't breathe—" The cry for help came again.

"Again! I heard it again—" Just as you panicked and tried to prove that you were hallucinating, Jon and Dad heard it later than you. Two red lights flew out from in front of you with lightning speed, the impact of the wind made your hair messy as if you were hit by a tornado.

"Super hearing..." Damian murmured, he stood by and stared at you with his cold emerald eyes like a knife.

"Little princess, how long have you heard it?" Mommy put her arm around your shoulders and let you sit down.

"About... a few seconds ago. I thought it was a hallucination, so I didn't pay too much attention to it." You tidied up your messy hair and looked directly at your mommy to answer the question.

"Several seconds faster than Superman and Superboy, should we say they were stupid enough to ignore the cry for help or it was just a coincidence..." Damian deduced the result from your answer.

"Little princess!" Daddy's voice came, a gust of wind blew and messed up your hair again. Daddy rushed back home and appeared in front of you at the speed of lightning.

"Buddy! Someone almost died just now!" Jon rushed into the house and rushed towards Damian, muttering non-stop, so fast that his cloak blew on Damian's face.

"TT, shut up, you're making so much noise." Damian slapped Jon in the face impatiently and pushed him away, then approached you and Superman.

Daddy didn't even change out of Superman costume before he immediately knelt on one knee in front of you and held your shaking hands tightly, with a serious and shocked expression, "Little princess, what you just heard was not an illusion, someone really was drowning."

"So it's not an illusion... Wait, why can I hear it?!" You were shocked.

"Idiot, one of Superman's powers is super hearing. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe the awakening period has come, after all, it's just a short reaction." Damian intervened between the two of you, his words were as harsh as usual.

"Little princess, try to concentrate and see if you can hear mommy's heartbeat." Daddy was a little nervous, his palms were sweating.

You nodded and tried it as he said, looking in the direction of your mommy, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. After waiting for several moments, you could only hear your own heartbeat and everyone's breathing. You opened eyes and looked at your daddy, sighing and shaking your head to indicate no, it was just a coincidence.

"I didn't hear any sound..." You muttered in frustration.

"Oh... But little princess, thanks to your reminder, Jon and I were able to save people in time. Thank you." He hugged you in his arms and stroked your head.

Damian stroked his chin gently, his eyes focused on you. For a moment he guessed that you were about to wake up, just like a caterpillar showing signs of growth. An idea came to him, he took out a piece of Kryptonite from his utility belt to do an experiment, but Jon quickly stood in front of him to stop him.

"What are you doing?! Using that thing to murder your fiancée?!" Jon panicked.

"It's an experiment. If she really has a part of superhuman genes, then this thing will definitely weaken her if it touches her." Damian said to Jon expressionlessly.

"That doesn't mean you have to use this-" Jon grabbed Damian's arm.

"Damian, try touching her with Kryptonite. I want to see what changes will happen to her body." Superman was worried but moved away from you.

"That's-" Before you could even finish your words, Damian put the Kryptonite on your arm, suddenly you felt a wave of weakness and anxiety. You were about to fall dizzy, Damian came forward to catch you.

"Sure enough, she is not an ordinary person, there is a superhuman part in her body." Damian muttered.

"Damian, she is temporarily in a coma, take her back to the room and let her rest. I will contact Bruce and then decide how to deal with this matter." You can't feel any strength in your body, as if you have been completely hollowed out, but you can hear the conversation between Daddy and Damian.

"Wait, Damian. You will take good care of her, right?" Mommy pointed at Damian's chest and angrily like warning him, because he was not gentle to you at all, even said something sarcastic to his own fiancée.

Damian ignored Lois's words, easily picked you up and went upstairs with his hands. Jon and Lois were worried and wanted to follow, but they were stopped by Clark. He shook his head to signal them not to worry and said, "Don't worry, let Damian take care of her. They will be husband and wife in the future, and the little princess' husband should take care of her."

"Hubby, you just heard what he said to your daughter—" Lois was dissatisfied.

"I know your concerns, but always protecting her is equivalent to alienating the distance between the two of them. Damian and little princess need each other, believe them." Clark put his hand on Lois's shoulder and comforted her gently.

Damian carefully put you on the bed, covered with a quilt, then pulled a chair to sit beside the bed. He took off the Robin mask, crossed his arms under chest and quietly stood by you. Thinking about the possibilities and changes that will happen next, he raised his head looked at the ceiling to deflate.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-Damian took out his phone and browsed the chat interface.

Dick: Hi~ are you getting along with your fiancée?

Damian: Something happened.

Jason: You abused her?

Tim: Didn’t Dick tell you to be gentle with her?

Damian: No, you guys should stop meddling in other people’s business.

Bruce: Clark contacted me just now, and I think I know what happened.

Dick: Damian didn’t abuse her, right?!

Damian: I’m not that shameless.

He logged off and closed the chat room, scratching his cheek. He stared at your sleeping face, quietly approaching your bedside to avoid waking you up, his index finger gently brushed your forehead, he leaned down and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Lois was still worried even if Clark trusted Damian, she came to your room, quietly turned the doorknob and peeked in through the crack, she found out what Damian did to you, she was shocked but still chose to leave and let him take care of you.

READ IT ON AO3 owlwithanapple

Like and Repost to motivate me!

Tag : @chibiduck

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feinyan · 2 days ago

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WHAT THEY DO WHEN YOU’RE BEING HIT ON featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago, wolfgang akire, desmond hall and mark berskii.

this sucks ! ill be posting a lot less frequently now, sorryyyy motivation gone and im supa busy now ><

# damon maitsu

who gets pissy under his breath, shooting mean glares from beside you toward the perpetrator, and hes not hiding it. the moment they continue making comments, immediately makes it known you have a boyfriend and you aren’t interested. “hey, can’t you tell they have a boyfriend? or do you choose to just ignore it? watch it.”

# kai monteago

who becomes pouty, somewhat jealous. tightening his grip within your fingers, sliding a hand around your waist in order to shoot them a hint. if they’re persistent, he’ll step in. “.. um, hey, like, could you not say those things to my so?”

# wolfgang akire

who politely tells them not to speak to you like that. his eyes staring at the person with a somewhat disgusted gaze. doesn’t waste any time with it, nor allow them to continue making comments. “i’d ask that you please don’t make suggestive comments like those.”

# desmond hall

who is pretty casual about it, not the type to get jealous in a situation where someone hits on you casually. doesn’t butt in, simply begins paying more attention to the conversation. if it gets to the point where someone is making you uncomfortable with their words, he’ll give them a gentle yet stern reminder to tone it down. “sorry, could you stop making flirty comments? we’d both appreciate it.”

# mark berskii

who grows irritated at comments. though he doesn’t mind much at first, the continuation and persistence with them sets him off. therefore, with a tight pull on your arm, he begins dragging you off. “what’d you say? creep. eugh, come on. lets go.”

@ feinyan

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midnighvtm4ss · 8 hours ago

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Oh you sweet, poisonous thing

summary: just Arthur yearning and being jealous of reader and Javier. Enjoy😽

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

content: fluff, jealousy, a hint of angst maybe ?? idk

wc: 1,8k

a/n: *taps into the mic* heyy,,, how y’all doing *voice echoes, crickets can be heard in the distance* so i kinda disappeared from tumblr ik. I went through a rough period and I thought a lot about what to do with this account. I lost all motivation to write for a while ngl, but after some thinking i decided that no matter what I’ll keep writing and posting here. After all this was and still is my little safe space where i can just forget about my life and post silly things about cowboys sooo yeah have some Arthur yearning because we should bring back yearning in 2025. ok i yapped enough bah byee

The cracking sound of the campfire travels softly in the center of camp, casting long, flickering shadows that stretch and shift over the familiar faces of the gang, dancing on their features to the sound of the soft music leaving Javier’s guitar.

It had been a rare, uneventful day—the kind where, surprisingly, nothing went wrong, and the world seemed to hold its breath afraid to burst the serene and quiet bubble that engulfed all round the camp. The stillness settled over the gang’s members like a balm, soothing old wounds and lifting everyone’s spirits. By evening, an easy carefree air had taken root, boosted by a few shared drinks and Javier’s guitar.

You sit near the fire, sandwiched between Karen and John, the blonde slouched lazily at your side, her cheeks flushed from the too many whiskey glasses she downed. Javier is in a contagious good mood, sitting on the ground near John strumming another lively tune as he leans toward you, his bronze skin glowing in the campfire’s light and he’s grinning like at you like the charmer he is.

“Why don’t you sing with me, cariño,” he says, his voice playfully teasing. A chorus of groans and exaggerated complaints come from around the campfire, the gang all too eager to tease you about the first and fortunately the last time you sang around the campfire in Horseshoe Overlook after you had too many to drink. You remember waking up the morning after with a terrible headache and the sweet memory of laughter shared around the warmth of the campfire.

You laugh at their reaction, shaking your head. “I think I’ll save everyone’s ears this time, thank you.”

Javier chuckles and with that resumes playing, his voice low and smooth. His energy is infectious, pulling easy smiles and a few soft laughs from everyone. But in the back of your mind, you can feel that there’s a subtle shift in the air—a pull, a presence that tugs at your attention like a ping you can’t ignore. It’s faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows stronger, undeniable, familiar. You glance toward the edge of camp, and as suspected there he is.

He’s leaning against one of the wooden posts near the horses, half swallowed by the shadows, the dim firelight barely reaching the brim of his worn hat. His broad shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s trying to protect himself, to keep something away though you’re not sure he even knows what it is. His aqua eyes are sharp even in the shadows, and they’re fixed directly on you.

As the weight of his gaze settles over you like a heavy fog, thick and tangible, despite the distance between you, a shiver runs down your spine. Your chest tightens, as if the very air around him has thickened with unspoken things.

You’ve known him long enough to feel a quiet storm building in the depths of his quiet, unshakable composure. It’s not indifference nor anger. It’s something else—something raw and unspoken but you can’t, and maybe won’t, put a name on it.

When Javier nudges you playfully, you force yourself to focus back on him, offering him a smile that you hope conceals the tension swirling inside of you. Still, the weight of Arthur’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even as the evening stretches on.

As the night deepens, the fire crackles low. One by one, people begin to drift off, leaving just you, Tilly, Lenny, Javier, and Karen around the fire. Tilly, who had joined your little circle a few hours earlier, is lively chatting with Lenny about some gossip she’d overheard in town, her voice bright with excitement seemingly unphased by the late hour. Meanwhile, Karen has fallen asleep with her head resting on your shoulder, undoubtedly drooling a bit on your blouse. This leaves you and Javier alone, the conversation between you two flowing easily, until he eventually sets his guitar aside with a stretch, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.

“Already going to bed ?” you tease, nudging him gently on the side. “Won’t you play me another song before you go to sleep ?”

He smirks, shaking his head with a wink.

“Tomorrow.” He promises winking at you. He stands up and disappears into the shadows of the night. After a few minutes Karen stirs awake, mumbling something about needing another drink before bed, lazily getting up on her feet, shuffling toward the camp’s supply.

After that it’s just you, Tilly and Lenny sitting near the dying fire. From your peripheral vision you can see the dark silhouette of Arthur sitting at the worn wooden round table under the tall tree in camp. You don’t look at him, not directly, but you feel his presence like a thread pulling between you. You sit there, looking at the fire contemplating if approaching him or calling it a night.

When you finally stand, your feet move before your mind can catch up with your actions. You carefully walk towards him, finding him hunched slightly over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he stares down into the nearly empty glass in his hand.

“Mind if I join you ?” you say pausing a few feet away. The sound of your voice softly filling the cold air around you both.

Arthur doesn’t immediately look up, his focus still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. You nearly contemplate leaving when after a long moment, he tips his head in a slow, deliberate nod. “Suit yourself.”

You take a seat across from him, your hands folding in your lap playing with a few loose threads as you settle into the quiet. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The noise of the evening has faded away, leaving the camp wrapped in the soft rustle of trees and the distant sound of crickets.

“Tired ?” you finally ask, your voice hesitant, breaking the silence.

Arthur huffs a low breath, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Long day,” he mutters, a simple response that tells you nothing.

You nod, though his answer feels like a wall, a quick, easy way to avoid revealing something deeper. There’s something bothering him, and maybe it’s the alcohol in your system or maybe you simply care too much for him but you’re determined to find out what.

“Javier kept everyone entertained tonight,” you say lightly, your words casual, trying to spark a conversation, though you’re watching him closely.

Arthur’s grip on his glass tightens just enough for his knuckles to go pale against the clear glass. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone flat. “He’s good at that.”

The space between you feels heavier now, filled with something unspoken, a tension that neither of you acknowledges directly. You lean back in your chair, letting the silence settle between you, but you can’t ignore the flicker of his eyes as they meet yours, then quickly shift away like he’s afraid of what might show if he stares at yours too long.

“What’re you drinking ?” you ask after a moment, breaking the quiet.

“Whiskey.”

“‘S that the good whiskey Pearson’s been hiding, or the usual watered down crap ?”

Arthur’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, clearly fighting a smile. “Usual crap,” he murmurs. “Pearson ain’t that generous.”

You laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension that’s built between you. But still, it lingers, just beneath the surface, like something you both know but can’t put into words.

“You seemed quiet tonight,” you say after a pause, studying him closely.

Arthur shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips, the movement slow, as if every motion is carefully measured.

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You watch him, your gaze tracing the line of his jaw, his wet lips and the way his fingers absently trace the rim of his glass. He’s not being completely honest—that much you know, but you’ve learned to read between the spaces of his words.

“Or maybe you just didn’t like the company,” you offer, your tone playful but with an edge to it.

Arthur’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unmoving. “I didn’t say that,” he replies, his voice low, almost a growl.

He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary, and you feel the weight of it settle deep in your chest, making your breath hitch. There’s something in his eyes, something raw, vulnerable that makes your heart stutter. You’re not sure if he sees how your composure falters, but he’s the first to look away, tipping his hat lower over his brow to shield his expression. You’ve always hated when he does that—you’ve always hated the way he uses it to put a distance between you, but now more than ever you hate it because it feels like the wall between you is growing thicker and you’re not sure if you can get through anymore.

“You’re a hard man to figure out Arthur Morgan,” you say softly, the teasing edge gone from your voice.

He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

You bite your lower lip in frustration but then you force yourself to swallow down your disappointment. The conversation shifts then, moving toward more trivial things like the weather, the horses, Pearson’s latest disaster with the stew. But even as you talk, you know that there’s another conversation happening in the spaces between words, in the glances you exchange, in both your body language, in the way the silence sometimes wraps itself around you both.

You don’t speak of it. You don’t name it. Neither of you can, but you know it’s there.

“Good night Arthur,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. You give him a sweet smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before you stand, the weight of your own tiredness forcing you to seek the sweet embrace of your bed.

He doesn’t reply right away, just gives a slow tip of his hat. “Night.”

As you start to take a few steps away from the table, you feel his gaze on your back—steady, unwavering. It feels like it’s burning into your skin.

You glance over your shoulder, just once, and meet his eyes. For a moment, they’re distant, almost lost, like he’s somewhere far away in thought. But as your gaze lingers, you catch something else—something in the way his eyes soften, the barely perceptible softening of his eyebrows. It’s not a look of anger or frustration that he gives you, no, he’s looking at you with something deeper, something raw.

It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, a sweet warmth settling between your ribs. He doesn’t need to say anything; you can feel it in the glance between you—the weight of all the things neither of you will dare to speak aloud.

In that brief moment, you understand. And it’s enough to leave you walking away with butterflies storming in your stomach and the strange sense that you’ve just shared something deep, something fragile with him without ever needing to say a word.

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur morgan

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voxslays · 1 day ago

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Hiiiii! :D I have a request!

Do you remember a post you made in December called “Hazbin on ice”? (here’s the link if you don’t know what I’m talking about!) At the end you said that you can make a part 2 with more characters if anyone asks!

Would it be okay for you if you could make a second part to that post with more characters from the hotel? It doesn’t have to be long or have a lot of bullet points!

I’d be thankful if it’s possible for you to do that but it’s totally okay if you don’t want to!

I hope you have a fantastic day or night! 🩵

HAZBIN ON ICE - PART TWO

Featuring >>> Vox, Angel Dust, & Adam x Reader (separately) you ice skating with them headcannons!

ANGEL DUST

Surprisingly, he is amazing on a pair of skates—a true ballerina on ice. In his younger human years, he grew up in New York, therefore being very used to the ice and snow. He probably even took his younger sister Molly ice skating at Rockefeller center during Christmas time. So, Angel knows his way around the rink.

Is very willing to help you—no matter if you’re a newbie or a total pro—he has some tricks up his sleeve from years and years of practice…and if you’re lucky, he might teach you a spin.

VOX

Another relatively graceful one. He knows how to stay on his feet and maybe do a minor twirl…but that’s about it. Vox will also put up a huge fight about even going to the rink, because he considers it a ‘feminine activity’…those fifites beliefs are still going strong in his brain, unfortunately. Just drag him.

Once you finally arrive at the ice rink, you hold hands to keep eachother warm—while the paparazzi hide behind snowy bushes (you can see them but just chose to ignore it. Any publicity is good publicity right?) Once you get past his little tantrum, Vox is extremely fun.

ADAM

A total show-off, even though he’s absolutely terrible. I highly doubt this man could last five seconds on the hard ice without slipping and falling on his ass. Like Vox, you would have to drag Adam to the rink because he considers ice skating a ‘girl’s sport.’ Yeah…still a little misogynistic…At least he looks hot-

Speaking of hot, this man will warm you up quickly. Adam has a lot of body warmth and is a very good snuggler. You will probably just be either holding onto the rails the entire time, or standing outside the rink (on those metallic benches/bleachers), cuddling.

A/N: The reason my original post is so short is because tumblr refused to save any of my work after I had already saved it! I kinda rage quit…but then re-wrote Husk, Velvette, and Lucifer’s parts (not Alastor’s because that was the only one that saved lol) and just eventually forgot about my plans to make a part two. Thank you for reminding me!

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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 days ago

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Track Limits - Part One

(author's note: this is a fully original series that I wrote this summer, with fully original characters. I will be posting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I won't be using my tag list for my F1 Fanfics, so if you want to be added to this one, please leave a comment! As always, my inbox is always open for suggestions, comments, questions, etc. I love love love hearing from you guys!!)

Warnings: brief talk about cheating boyfriend and panic attacks, but nothing serious on page Word Count: 3.1k

Intro Post Series Main Navigation Page Master List

Celine

CelineStG posted

CelineStG Siri, play 'Home' by Good Neighbors RealMollyGrace bitch, what? >>>CelineStG oops? AlexStGerard I’m sorry, since when are you home? >>>CelineStG Hi big brother, consider this my official notification that a sister visit in imminent. Hope you’re prepared! >>>AlexStGerard When am I ever prepared for a sister visit? >>>CelineStG Never. >>>AlexStGerard Exactly SebSimonet STG C if I don’t see you before quali I’m running you over with my car >>>CelineStG What an awful thing to say to your bestie. User123 Are you in town for the race? User34 Of course she is, her family literally owns a team. Idiot.

“Ms. Saint Gerard, what a pleasant surprise to see you today! Your father didn’t say anything about you visiting this week. Would you like me to take you to the estate then?” George Fishburn asks as he holds the car door open for me.

“No, no.” Waving him off, I slide into the back seat of the SUV. “I’m staying at the Hermitage this week.” I ignore the man’s raised eyebrows, choosing to pretend like he isn't giving me the opportunity to give him a little bit of gossip like I always tend to do. I’m certain he’s dying to ask why I won’t be staying with my father and on a normal day, I would have been happy to answer his questions. George has been my father’s driver and all around errand man for as long as I can remember and normally I would have gladly chatted with him about why I was suddenly home.

Today though? Today I was glad he was giving me the quiet distance that my melancholy mood craved.

“Could you take me to Alex’s condo and then drop my bags off at the hotel though? If it’s not too much trouble.” I ask once George has loaded my bags in the trunk and settled himself in the drivers seat.

He chuckles and rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s not too much trouble, you know that. I’ll leave you with your brother and take them up to your room myself.”

“Thank you.” I sigh as he starts the engine, sinking into the supple leather seats that are a sharp contrast to the turmoil rolling through me.

Moments later, he’s smoothly navigating the car out of the parking lot and is making his way towards the highway that leads from Nice to Monaco. My clenched jaw softens as I watch the French country side slip by, a wash of relief unknotting the constant stomachache I’ve been living with for weeks. Kilometer by kilometer, the tension that I’ve become quite acquainted with seems to melt away. I had woken up that morning in my townhome in London but this afternoon, I found myself home again.

Technically, Monaco isn’t really home, in the strictest sense of the word. I had lived in New York City until I was 14 but the tiny principality had always felt more like home than any apartment in the city or home in the country I had ever shared with my mother. My father had always brought my brother, Alex and I here during our summer visits after my parents had divorced when I was three. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of a London rainstorm swearing I can smell the salty air of the Mediterranean and perfume of the wealthy residents.

So it really wasn’t quite a surprise that the only place I thought might be able to fix me after what I’d been through in the last six months was Monaco.

Slipping my phone out of the pocked of my bag, I check the notifications on my Instagram post earlier. It had been such a last minute trip to come home this week that I hadn’t even told my best friend, which she was apparently not very pleased about.

Moments after the I send the last text, my phone vibrates, interrupting the quiet tranquility that I had been soaking in.

“Are you okay?” Guilt sits at the edges of Molly’s tone when the call connects.

Glancing out the window, I tip my head back against the soft leather head rest as I ruminate over my answer.

“I’m...alive?” A dark chuckle escapes before I can stop it while I stare out the window as we begin to pass through the outskirts of Monte Carlo. I briefly catch a glimpse of the glittering sea that sits at the edge of the city. Even just the briefest of looks at the water chases a bit more of the anxiety that sits heavy in my chest away.

On the other end of the phone, I hear Molly shuffling about and the muffled voice of someone that sounded a lot like Bev, Molly’s PR manager. Checking my watch I suck in a breath, “Molly! You have a show in like 45 minutes, shouldn’t you be warming up?”

While Molly might be my best friend, she is also multi-Grammy award winning singer Molly Sharpe. We met five years ago when she had nearly thrown a punch at a drunk guy that was getting a bit too handsy with me at a party during the Cannes Film Festival. We had never said a single word to each other before she came to my rescue, somehow picking up on my panic from just a glance, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Even when we were on opposite sides of the globe, which happened more often than not now that she was on tour, we try to FaceTime at least once a day.

“Nah, this is more important. I’m already warmed up anyway, so stop trying to deflect. What happened that made you literally flee the country?”

I barely fight the urge to groan. “I ran into William at a coffee shop thi-.” I stop mid-thought to correct myself. “No, no! I saw my cheating ex-boyfriend at MY coffee shop this morning, Molly! In MY neighborhood. On MY side of London!” I cry, my molars grinding together. “With whatever the fuck her names is, that stupid red head that he cheated on me with.”

Heat rises in my cheeks as I remember the scene from this morning. I had just left my pilates class and had been planning on making a quick run to the barn to exercise my horses even though that was the last place I wanted to be. But all of my plans came to a screeching halt when I saw William arm in arm with the girl he had cheated on me with walk straight into my favorite coffee shop.

“Coming from anyone else, I’d say you claiming it was ‘your’ side of London was simple hyperbole but I genuinely don’t doubt you and your family actually own a significant portion of the city.” Molly teases.

A smile tugs reluctantly at my lips, “Shut up.” I scoff. She was right, of course. My family had been the founding investor into the Formula One team that all these years later, still bares our last name. We had a luxury road car division that was the first bit of our business, the racing coming second after my great-grandfather fell in love with the sport. Simply put, St. Gerard was as synonymous with luxury car production as Chanel was with haute couture.

“So anyway, I saw him with her and I couldn’t breathe. I completely panicked. Between that and,” I pause, my breath catching in my lungs. “What happened last month, I just lost it. So, I did the most mature thing I could think of at the time.”

“And what was that?” Her tone held an edge of a laugh, like she knew this was going to be ridiculous.

“I called an Uber right there on the street corner, packed a bag, and chartered a flight home.”

“Céline Cristelle St. Gérard! That is the most out of touch way to deal with your problems.”

I let out a chuckle. “Thats rich coming from a girl who quite literally chartered a jet to fly her favorite chef from New Orleans to Portugal just to make her chicken noodle soup when she was sick last year.”

“That was a medical emergency.” She pouts.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing?”

Molly cackles and I could just imagine her throwing her head back laughing in the green room at whatever stadium she was performing in tonight, “Oh no, I would. We’re both equally insane and privileged. It’s a dangerous combination. Go on.”

“That’s it. I flew home. I don’t even have any luggage packed. We were 20 minutes off the ground when I remembered that the race was in Monaco this weekend and panicked that I wasn’t going to be able to find a place to stay but I somehow managed to find a room at the Hermitage.”

“You’re not staying with your father?”

“Ha! Absolutely not. He’ll be furious with me when he hears about what I did yesterday.”

In addition to a cheating ex-boyfriend that had just broken my heart recently, I'd also decided a few days ago that I was done with show jumping for the season. There had only been a few competitions but after what had happened six weeks ago to my heart horse, I just didn't have the competitive drive in me anymore. For as long as I could remember, show jumping had been my 'thing'. Alex had racing and the team but I had always had my horses.

Until I didn't.

On the other end of the phone, my best friend gasps. “You haven’t told him yet?” She shrieks.

“I was kind of hoping the press would do it for me, to be honest.” I wince, nibbling at a cuticle my manicurist missed at my nail appointment yesterday.

“Céline!” Molly hisses.

Rubbing my free hand over my face, I groan into the phone. “I know! I know! I’m a coward. I’m actually on my way to see Alex to try to figure out how the hell to break it to the old man. He’s going to be so mad.”

Molly’s tone softens at the guilt that I know fills my voice. “He won’t be if you’re honest with him.”

I stay silent for a moment, considering Molly’s words. I know my father is going to lose his mind when he finds out that I had made this huge, life altering decision without even so much as consulting him. Not because he’d tell me that I wasn’t allowed to but because show jumping is such a big part of my life and making such a big decision like pulling out of competition for the year without even so much as consulting him was going to set him off. My father was solidly of the 'the St. Gerard family is not a family of quitters' belief and this was going to break his heart.

“Listen. We just pulled up to Alex’s place so I’m going to let you go. Say a little prayer that I survive the first firing squad?”

“Alex will be on your side, he always is. Text me later and I’ll call you after the show if it’s not too late.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too Cece.”

Theo

TheoJHighgate Posted

TheoJHighgate Rolling into Monaco race week like... user918 the curls are curling evansracing so excited!! user0199 does this man know what he does to us??? >>>user029 oh 100%

The Evans Racing garage thrums with the kind of energy that only happens during race week. Mechanics scurry around my car making any last minute adjustments before the first of three rounds of practice tomorrow, the sounds their tools make a familiar grind in my ear. I lean against one of the many sleek orange and black toolboxes that line one side of the garage, taking it all in.

Monaco is my favorite track on the entire circuit. I have so many good memories here that every time this weekend rolls around, I try to soak in as much of the energy I can. The team has been really consistent so far this season but we’re still winless and this weekend feels like the perfect time to remedy that situation.

“Theo.” A sharp voice yanks me out of my podium day dreams. “My office. Now.” Scott Hayes, Evans Racing’s team principal stands just outside his office door, his expression all storm clouds threatening a downpour. Fuck, he does not look happy.

I straighten, ignoring the stares from the mechanics who are trying to look busy while hoping to overhear the verbal undressing I feel like I’m about to get. I shuffle through my memory quickly as I push off the tool box. While I have somewhat (read: huge) of a reputation in the paddock of being the driver that gives the PR team the most headaches before race weekends, I don’t think I’ve done anything recently to bring the wrath of Scott Hayes down on me lately.

“Sounds like I’m about to be on the receiving end of one of your inspiring pep talks boss.” I flash him my most disarming smile, trying to hide the pit that has suddenly formed in my stomach.

Scott simply rolls his eyes and steps back into his office without another word, leaving me no choice but to follow.

Fantastic.

“Good luck in there.” My performance coach Levi McAllen claps me on the back when I walk past him. “Find me after and we’ll go through what he says, okay?”

What he means is ‘I’ll talk you down off the ledge Scott is about to put you on’. While Scott Hayes is a legend in Formula One, he’s also one of the scariest mother fuckers I’ve ever worked for. I hate being on his bad side, which seems to happen on a regular basis more and more lately. Thankfully, my driving makes up for it. Most of the time.

“Yeah, yeah.” I sigh dramatically, running a hand through my mess of dark brown curls that are in desperate need of a haircut. I make a mental note to get to my barber before tonight’s charity gala, knowing our PR manager Loraine will have my head if I don’t. If I can show up with a clean cut mullet, she usually doesn't give me shit. The way that woman had almost buzzed off my entire head of hair when I showed up one day a few months ago with said mullet was almost scary. There might have been tears.

Weaving my way through the labyrinth of the garage easily, I manage to pretend I'm ignoring the engineers who keep tossing what look like sympathetic glances my way.

This is not going to be good.

I shut the door behind me, the snick of the latch the only sound in the quiet office.

Scott waves a hand towards one of the two white plastic chairs in front of his desk.

“Theo.” He begins, his voice softening a fraction. “We’ve invested a lot in you. You’re our number one driver, the face of Evans Racing in F1.”

I nod, a flicker of pride settling the anxiety still churning in my stomach a bit. Being a Formula 1 driver has been my dream since the first time my dad plopped me down behind the wheel of a go kart. It’s exactly where I want to be. Fast cars, pretty girls, the roar of the crowd dressed in your team colors - it’s a life I’ve dreamt of since I was a scrappy little kid fighting for the podium on dusty, back woods karting tracks.

“Frankly, Theo,” Scott continues, his voice turning rough again, “The results haven’t been there. A few podiums, yeah, but no wins. We’ve poured resources into this car and it’s showing. We need you to step it up, to translate that speed into wins.”

I lean back in my chair, shoulders dropping. He’s not wrong. We certainly had the fastest car on the grid most weekends but I hadn’t capitalized on it yet. The media was starting to chatter about how I might not have the skill or mentality to handle a fast car and championship fight. Here I was, my sixth season in F1 and only one win to my name. And that singular win had taken me four and a half seasons to get. Sure, I was consistent enough, I hold the record for the most podiums before winning a race in all of F1 history. Second and third place finishes will only get you so far in this sport though, especially when your team has made huge leaps in technology in the last half dozen years.

The responsibility of translating that speed and those improvements into wins sat squarely on my shoulders.

“I know, Scott.” I say. “Believe me, I want to win just as much as you guys do. Probably even more.”

It was true. My entire career I’ve been the ‘solid, consistent, well performing driver’. Good enough to gain the attention of Evans back when I was just 16 years old driving in F3 but never quite good enough to be considered one of the greats. And the reputation of being ‘almost good enough’ starts to grate on your ego after a while.

Scott studies me a moment, a hint of doubt lingering in his eyes. “Theo,” He says finally, “you have the talent we want here at Evans. We wouldn’t have signed you otherwise. You’re a natural behind the wheel, your race craft impeccable. But sometimes…” He trails off, the silence of his unfinished words hanging heavy in the air.

I know exactly what he’s trying to say. The late nights, the tabloid headlines, the reputation for being a player that follows me like a shadow. It’s a tightrope I usually walk a little better than I have been lately. Balancing the bad boy image with the laser focus I need on the track was something I’m usually good at. Or at least I thought I was.

Maybe I’m not as good at the balancing act as I thought I once was.

“I’ll do better.” I promise, meeting his heated gaze head-on. “This race, this whole season? It’s mine. No more distractions, just wins.”

A flicker of something that might have qualified as a smile crosses his lips. “We’ll see.” He says, a hint of steel still in his voice. “We’ll see. Your contract is coming to an end this year and we want you to be in this seat next year. You are the heart and soul of this team but we need you to start winning.”

We both knew my word is only as good as my last race. The pressure was on. I had to get serious about my driving. I know I have it in me to be a better driver, that I haven’t hit the peak of my career yet. I was just running out of time to finally find the missing piece to the puzzle that was my career. I had to find it and I had to find it fast.

Tag List (reminder, this is 100% different from my normal tag list!)

@ahgase99

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monayen · 2 days ago

Text

Ranfren texting headcanons !!

a/n - wellll not actually the author since this post was submitted by a lovely person who wanted to share their own headcannons without it glitching out in my inbox </3 i tried to only change the formatting a bit since i think these are sooo well written and i really appreciate the effort put into this !! everyone give them a round of applause ^_^

Luther

- Doesn’t usually text. He loves using his rotary phone for making calls. It’s on a side table next to his armchair and he can sit there and chit chat over nothing for hours

- He has an emergency cellphone for when he’s away from home. It’s the most basic fliphone in existence

- Sometimes doesn’t notice he’s gotten a text/his phone is muted or dead so he unknowingly ignores messages

- His texts are stilted with accidental punctuations

- Autocorrect is his enemy. It will mix up what he was trying to write and at the same time not catch all mistakes

- Always signs off with his name

- Example:

Good morning My Dead.Remember to water the Plants I will Be home soon .?

Luther von Ivoty

* Nyen & Nyon have matching flip phones that are different colors

Nyen

- Will leave you on read. His phone is for Luther to contact him only

- He doesn’t use it aside from that. There’s nobody he wants to be in contact with

- It’s a hassle to use with his long nails, plus he has large hands that lack dexterity

- If he needs something from you he’ll just shout for you to come to him

- He has a hard time adjusting to new technology. If you showed him how to take pics and send them back and forth he’d become more interested in using his phone

- If you don’t want frequent blurry pics of him flexing shirtless and him expecting pics in return don’t teach him that though

Nyon

- has some difficulty with reading & writing English so his texts are short and to the point

- He won’t text first but he will always reply to you

- Mostly with single words or a thumbs up emoji

- Will sometimes send memes

- Texts you first when he’s high. Quite a few messages and longer too

- Expect some texts in Russian

- You never know what they mean and when you ask him the next day he will just stare at you silently as always

Sebastian

- has no phone privileges

- If Luther thinks he’s well behaved enough he might give him a toy phone or maybe one of those with lipgloss inside

- Don’t let Randal near the lipgloss. He will make a mess and torment Sebastian with his "makeup skills"

- Before becoming a pet he had a cheap smartphone with a slightly cracked screen

- Ran out of battery when he was lost and if nobody’s taken it it’s probably still at the pound

- Used to be an awkward texter

- Didn’t have a ton of people who’d talk to him so he’d get very excited if somebody sent him a message. His nervous fumbling is a result of that too

- Example: if you’d text him asking to go get ice cream he’d reply like

Okay sounds good haha ;)

Oh my god

That was an accident!!

I didn’t mean to send that wink I’m sorry!!!

I pressed the wrong button I just wanted to send a normal smiley

Like this :€

Sorry…

- And he’ll agonize over it forever

- Fun to tease if you’re up for it and over time he might even quip back. He’s a bit bolder over text than in person

- You could even get him to send a bathroom mirror selfie if you encourage him enough

Randal

- broke the emergency cellphone Luther gave him

- Now he has a phone he pilfered from the human school. It had a tiny voodoo doll as a phone charm and he didn’t think twice about taking it

- Super annoying, will double and triple text and if you don’t reply will send you messages where he’s just talking to himself

- Texts all hours of the night and it’s just weird unfiltered thoughts

- His phone looks horrible, he’s so careless with it. You can barely see the screen with how many cracks there are

- Annoying and frequent use of kaomojis

- Will attempt to start roleplays that always escalate

- Example:

HEEEYYYY ψ(｀∇´)ψ

*glomps u*

*noms ur arm*

*bites a chunk of flesh out of u and chews* mmh sho tasty (*´Д｀*) *drools on u*

Satoru

- has a ridiculous amount of charms on his phone. One is part of a friendship set and he gave Randal the matching one

- Texts in a weird mix of Japanese and English characters that makes sense in the dream (something likeトoトally)

- tasteful and sparing use of kaomojis (^_−)v

- Doesn’t send many texts because he prefers hanging out when everybody’s lucid and his phone can’t reach the real world

The Ratmen

- The only way they’d get their hands on a phone is if they stole it or you gave them one

- To avoid one of them hoarding the phone and a fight breaking out giving them a tablet would be a better solution. Plus it’s big enough to they can all look at the screen

- It’s probably best if you leave it plugged in your living room so nobody can take it for himself and it doesn’t run out of battery unexpectedly

- Stick to making voice messages and show them how to play them only. Lie about the tablet not having a microphone if you need to

- If you don’t want to be annoyed every hour of the day don’t tell them how to call you or send voice messages themselves

- Since they can barely read they mostly communicate with emojis

- Robert & 3 don’t text much

- Robert doesn’t have a lot to say over text and is self sufficient anyways. He can wait till you come home if he has something to tell you

- 3 is insecure about not being able to read/write well and would rather leave you on read than embarrass himself by sending messages you don’t understand

- Michael gets emojis mixed up. He will send a 😂 and it means he’s sad. You will only know what’s up when you’re home

- He’s not smart enough to communicate with symbols alone. Sometimes he just sends emojis he liked the looks of, no meaning. Expect to be confused when he’s the one sending a message

- He gets distracted easily looking at the food emojis too

- 4&5 are good at using emojis to form more complex messages. 5 is probably the best

-Example:

🫵🏠🍳🥓➡️🐭🍽️❓

🌙📺👩‍🍳❓

🐭🤓🍽️🧼➡️🤮

🫵🏠🧽🪣

- Don’t ask if they want something for the store or they wil send every food emoji

- They all crowd around the tablet to listen when you send a voice message

- Referring to themselves with emojis is kinda tricky. The others will use 🤓 when talking about 3 and he hates but they all think it fits him too well. Same with 🤥 for 5. He never uses it for himself and since he writes most of the messages you’ll hardly ever see it

- Don’t download games to the tablet if you value peace in your home. If they can fight over an account or their turn they will

- If bored enough the ratmen will still play around with the pre installed apps like the calculator or the compass. The camera roll is a mess too

- If you put something on for them like a movie they will be enraptured. Depending on what they’re watching they might become scared an believe it’s real. Remember the SpongeBob episode where he thinks mr krabs is a robot? Kinda like that

- And if you put on a cooking show they will pester you to cook what they’re making in the program. Also there will be marks on the screen from somebody trying to lick it

Hope you enjoy these :)

#mona.submissions #submissions #ranfren #ranfren x reader #randals friends #randal ivory

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