#imagine what he could do if he was there longer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

calebrity · 1 day ago

Text

panty-thieving caleb

do we need to discuss this? caleb truly does this. nobody’s undergarments safe from this man. does homeboy feel guilty? yes. will he do it again? u can bet ur ass on it

It’s… fine.

I mean, you’re gone for a few days, your little hunter’s gig requiring your presence elsewhere, and the apartment is quiet- almost uncomfortably quiet- for a short while; he has some room to wriggle. Be bad. He could throw a house party in your absence and you would never know. He’s good at keeping secrets, and he’s a masterclass in those pitiful puppy dog eyes that catch you for hook, line, and sinker. If he said he didn’t, then you’d believe him, ‘cause you’re a good girl.

(His good girl. Whether or not you’re aware of that has no effect on its truth.)

It’s not like the walls have eyes, that you’re watching, when he leans against the washing machine, his own dirty clothes swirling in a heap behind the clear window, and spots your hamper propped behind the door, a glint of interest in his eye- shameful as it may come.

You’re far from stupid. But you are naive, down to a fault- and Caleb thinks, flipping the lid of it and stooping over to rifle through your laundry, that it’s for the better.

It’s just marginally easier on his conscience if you’re unaware of what he’s about to do.

Look- to clear the air, he isn’t proud of it, alright? But fuck if he doesn’t need it. You’ve left him high and dry one too many times to count, and he doesn’t blame you for that, pipsqueak, he gets that your relationship had established boundaries from early on- too early to really even remember- and that you couldn’t begin to understand the depths of what he feels for you. He gets that. It’s only festering in the forefront of his brain on most days, squeezing in his chest in a way that reads longing just as much as it does guilt.

The knowing doesn’t stop him though, or the disgrace.

Might even drive him a little bit further, if he’s being honest.

He digs out a frilly pink article, pointedly ignoring all other clothes save for the few oversized shirts of his you must’ve snagged earlier this week- regarding them with a passive but somewhat smug smile- and pulls it taut between his fingers, marvelling a little at the intricate gusset.

Fuck.

And you know, the remnant of his guilt fades the longer he stares. Perverted or not, his imagination runs at a mile a minute and there’s a certain thrill he obtains in envisaging you wearing it. So, so beautiful, he’s sure, and how could you not be? A pretty nymphet strewn in blushing pink. He barely has the self restraint to pass up on finding the matching bra, but it’s a near thing.

He doesn’t think he really cares about how horrified you’d be, how much faith you’d lose in him- your precious Caleb- not as his cock stirs in his briefs and he pictures you wearing the underwear, sticking your ass out for him on full display. He’d touch it and grope it and guide you down onto his aching length- but not before getting your pretty pussy (well, he’s never seen it before, no, but he’s willing to bet his whole piggy bank that it’s as gorgeous as the rest of you) all primed and ready for him.

He’d worship you. Really, he’s just waiting on your green light.

In his dreams he kneels on the ground before you and laps at your folds ‘til you’re screaming and pulling his hair- but he doesn’t let up until he knows for sure you’ve nothing left to give him. When you’re wholly satisfied, then, and only then, does he hike his pants down his thighs and sink into your sopping heat.

The smell of you— “mmnh.”

Oh pretty girl, nothin’ compares.

Caleb lets out a little groan as he fists your dirty panties tight and thrusts it in his face, inhaling your scent- faded detergent mixed with an undeniably feminine musk- in lungfuls. He thumbs over the fabric with appreciation and gives it an oddly chaste kiss before getting to swift work on his growing problem.

This won’t happen again. He promises. If you were around for it, you’d hear him spew out his apologies and proffer out his little finger for a pinky swear. He never breaks a pinky swear, too. It’s sacrilegious in your household.

He’s half tempted to wrap your pretty panties around his cock and rub it that way, but he quickly thinks better of it, surprisingly clear-headed in his conviction to keep it untainted. Your underwear having been thrown in your dirty hamper or not- Caleb doesn’t want to mar them with his own release if he comes hard into the lacy folds of it- and no doubt he would. He respects you a little too much to tarnish your precious belonging, and while he knows his actions are disparaging in and of themselves, this is a front he’ll remain staunch on: your undies are valuable, not some material to use for jerking off before curtly disposing of.

He’ll be careful, he’ll be good to them. Okay?

Evidently, that respect he has for you isn’t quite enough to stop him from nabbing your dirty laundry and huffing it in like paint— but it’s the little things that count, right? The thought.

A rasping whine punches out from his chest, his eyes clamped shut as he strokes himself with long, slim fingers, desperately wishing them to be yours instead. Yours would be softer, more uncertain and unexperienced as they trail over his dick but fuck they’d feel so good, he knows this like he’s never known anything before. Just pines for it to become reality.

Of course, he’d start with something smaller to ease you in; he wants it to be romantic, your first time, full of sloppy, but meaningful kisses as confession and hands cupping your face as he vows to keep you happy forever.

But what he gets up to- you’d be so mad if you knew— He wants to save himself from the mortifying prospect of you ever unearthing his sordid inner world, but it’s a little too late to backtrack. He can’t reverse what he feels for you, in any case.

Shit. It sounds so bad- the dregs of his rationale rebuking him somewhere in the back of his head- but thinking about you frustrated just gets him riled up even more. ‘Cause you’re so cute like that... Furrowed brow and flushed cheeks, lips that pout and arms that cross over your breast and unwittingly press them up and present them to him before you either frown or inevitably turn your back on him.

He could die in peace to your catty moans and whines. And then he’d revive himself just to pull a few more out of you.

Hey, look, pipsqueak, he knows he’s a big meaniehead sometimes, but—

Pre dribbles from the tip and he smears it down the long column of his cock, sucking in a shaky breath as the washing machine drums out a steady tune. He could fuck you on it. It’d probably feel so good that way. Or he could drag you to the couch and eat you out for hours on end until his knees bruise on the carpet and you constrict your thighs around his head. Sounds like a dream. Like his dreams.

—but he just loves you so damn much.

And can you really fault him if he gets a little worked up over how you behave? I mean, yeah, he’s supposed to be your ‘gege’ and all, but c’mon... He’s still a man at the end of the day. You’re kind of setting a high bar for him, don’t you think? He’s only human. He’s fallen victim to love, and if you were experiencing even half of what he’s been for seeming eons now, then you’d understand it too.

It flourishes in his belly fast- the want to taste and take and consummate with you- pleasure reaching its peak as he keenly pumps his fist. He knows this is screwed up, he knows, but it feels so good and he just—

“Oh, ungh- pipsqueak-!” with a few sputtering gasps, he ruts his hips into his hand one more time before everything existing inside him erupts. He hurtles himself at the washing machine as it thumps, hugging your panties to his nose like it’s the one thing keeping him rooted in place right now and from buckling to the floor, dousing himself in the scent of you as his eyes flutter back. When he comes, he wants it to be to the essence of you and nothing else.

White gushes over the backs of his fingers; he rides himself through it, broad chest heaving as he talks himself down from his own high.

His inner dialogue is starker now as he settles and the desire searing his critical thinking abates. It’ll never happen again, he’s adamant on that. Because he’s more or less just betrayed your trust, to put it lightly, and it’s not right.

Guilt warms his heart to an unpleasant degree.

I-It’s fine.

When he’s done, he’s not quite comfortable with himself and the knowledge of what he’s just done- see? he’s not a completely depraved bastard, haha. He tucks himself in the waistband of his sweats with an almost rueful glance towards your hamper, grinding his jaw as post-nut clarity sinks its teeth into him— and pockets your panties.

It’ll make a nice triad to the other two he’s got stowed in his dresser.

You don’t need to know about any of this, though- you shouldn’t. Caleb’s the one who’ll shoulder this for the both of you. And if you come asking, he’ll just tell you the washer’s been eating up his laundry, too. No biggie.

It’s fine. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

#lads x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb smut #caleb x reader smut #caleb love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #calebrity #here have a scrap yall #in the meantime of the actual caleb fic coming #like breaking off bread and throwing it to geese lolll #take these crumbs 💛

250 notes · View notes

joonjuul · 1 day ago

Note

hii, are u comfortable with writing teacher x student trope?

chalk dust. jjk

pairing: professor!jk x delinquent!reader

wc: 6.2k

warnings: englishteacher!jk, softdom!jk, strict!jk, badgirl!reader, obsessive!reader, reader is a crazy tease but goes soft for jk, reader is of age, dorm sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), head pushing, light fingering (f receiving), pet names, creampie, this is absolute filth

a/n: tysm anon for requesting !! not only am i comfortable, but i lowkey love this trope and can feel a series blossoming… chalk dust jk™ has a nice ring to it no?

╋━

professor jeon was a poised man. he was intricate, careful, took pride in his control and restraint. he was a man who showed no weakness — and you were a girl who had nothing to lose.

it was your first semester at your new college prior to transferring, due to let’s say… academic differences. you were never the perfect student, far from it. you skipped class, kicked cigarette butts out your dormitory window, and scrawled half-assed answers on nearly all your assignments. all but your english assignments at least.

english was always different to you though, more specifically; poetry. you didn’t always try, but the moment your pen hit the paper, you found yourself peeling open like an onion, exposing sides to yourself you never even knew were there. and the topics that fell from your ink were never those that were comfortable for a casual reader — they were deep, intimate, and often times inappropriate for even a college school setting… especially when you wrote about him.

you had never been attracted to a teacher before, so it caught you off guard the way you would purposefully linger after class was over just to breathe in his air a little longer. but something about him was so compelling to you, especially the thought of making him lose control, break the rules just for once, just long enough for him to take you on his desk and leave ink stains on your skirt.

“what did you think, miss y/l/n?” his words cut you out of your daydream that isn’t entirely innocent as you realize you had been drifting longer than anticipated. he looked too good today… too good for you to stay focused.

“i’m sorry?” you blink up at him slowly. you should feel embarrassed that you were caught red handed, anyone else would’ve been, but not you.

“what do you think wilde meant when he wrote, ‘the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.’” his calloused hands with traces of chalk etch the sides of the book as his eyes thin out in front of you. he was the greatest test of all, a test of how far you could truly go to get something you want.

“are you asking for a literary analysis, sir?” the way you speak isn’t particularly respectful, but it’s laced with something else, something only professor jeon is able to catch on to, as most of the other students in your incredibly small class were paying attention elsewhere.

“that is the expectation, yes.”

“expectation… right.” you huff as you lean back in your chair, your voice coming out in a way that’s confident… too knowing. “well it’s just an excuse, isn’t it? wilde isn’t talking about temptation as a fleeting thing, he’s saying that once the thought exists, once you’ve imagined it… you’re already lost. the real choice left is whether you act on it or let it fester.”

the class is still, no one seeming to notice the change in atmosphere, the subtle weight of your words, except professor jeon. his jaw tenses slightly as his eyes narrow in your direction, reading between the lines of your words, the distinct way you looked at him while speaking, the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

“that’s quite the interpretation.”

“maybe, but it’s the truth. wilde knew that resisting something only gives it more power. because the moment you tell yourself you shouldn’t think about something… it’s already all you can think about.” your head subconsciously cocks to the side as your smirk now turns into a devious smile. your eyes rake his body language carefully as you admire the way he lets out a slow exhale at your words, his eyes never leaving yours. he should move on, call on someone else, change the topic at least, but for a fraction of a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“moving on.” he turns away from you, his voice sharp as his attention falls onto the chalk board behind him, outlining a different subject that he deems more pressing than entertaining your obviously suspicious behavior.

but you, your work here is done, as you’ve already planted the seed. in fact, you had been planting seeds for quite some time now, and the biggest one was going to come to fruition in about 21 minutes. your eyes flick over to the clock on the wall, the smallest hand ticking painfully slow as you recall the previous night. your hands fighting for breath as you wrote vigorously in your 3-ring notebook. you purposely bought a red one so it would easier garner his attention, but what would really catch his eye were the words written throughout the pages.

because see, it wasn’t just a normal red notebook, it was a confession — of boredom, of frustration, of a sharp, all-consuming fascination with him. your words were far from innocent, phrases and long run-on sentences describing the way he runs a finger over his mouth when he’s thinking, or the way his voice shifts when he’s discussing mature themes. you wonder, in writing, what it would take to make him snap. and you’re ready to plant it right where he can see, where his all too curious mind will force him to keep reading, even when he knows it’s wrong.

you feel your breath hitch in your throat as the bell rings abruptly, ripping you from your devious daydream of what only felt like a couple minutes. you struggle to hide the growing smirk on your face as you hurriedly throw everything in your bag, everything except one simple red notebook, and quickly rush out the door.

normally you’d take your time, enjoy the scenery and take one final smell of the chalk infested air before retreating his classroom for the day, but not this time. you couldn’t risk premature exposure, everything had to go according to plan, and you had a slight feeling it already was.

professor jeon’s eyes flick across the room before realizing how quickly it had emptied. normally there were a few stragglers, at least just you, but today there was nothing.

he lets out a long sigh as he turns back to the chalkboard, bringing an eraser up to his already forgotten lecture and wiping it clean, ready for whatever tomorrow may bring. his mind danced between a new topic within wilde’s book, and something slightly more intense — you.

you were always a question mark in his mind, a level of confusion he never quite knew how to decipher. you were incredibly smart, and anyone with a brain could see that, but you weren’t nearly as dedicated as you could be. you didn’t participate in any extracurricular activities that would distract you from your school work, nor did you get involved in any on-campus drama. yet you were still completely, and purposefully disobedient. it was almost as if you couldn’t care less about your education, nevermind the topics you always found a way to bring up in class. it was almost as if you were trying to crawl under his skin, infest his mind with your out of control behavior. it was nearly intolerable.

he turned away from the board and his eyes quickly fell on a notebook, a red one. he felt a brow quirk on his face subconsciously and before he knew it he was already taking leaping strides towards your desk.

you always submitted such incredible work. whether it could be considered inappropriate, or slightly out of range of what you had been discussing in class, it always found a way to linger in his mind, leave him questioning even his own class regimen.

before he was able to decide whether or not reading what could’ve been your personal work was an appropriate thing to do, he was already turning the pages to reveal your most intense inner thoughts.

his eyes widen as he finally realizes — the true extent to all your subtle innuendos, every time your eyes lingered on his longer during class, the way you would let out a gentle exhale of relief as he would call your name… it was all starting to make sense.

and not only that, but they were dated. they weren’t simple mindless phrases or sexual references sprawled across the paper with no direction. they were organized, almost like a collection of memories, of fleeting thoughts that you wanted to last longer.

september 14

Maybe he thinks restraint is noble. That if he denies it long enough, it will dissolve into nothing. But that’s the thing about hunger, isn’t it? It doesn’t go away. It just waits.

september 29

I started a new habit today—writing things just for him. Slipping them between the lines of my essays, curling them into the margins of books I know he’ll flip through. I wonder if, when he reads them, he feels it. That sharp, electric jolt of knowing something he shouldn’t.

October 25th

Tonight, I had a thought I shouldn’t have.

I imagined the moment—the exact moment—when he gives in. The silence before it. The way his breath would hitch, the way he’d close his eyes just for a second too long. The way his hands, always so careful, would finally stop hesitating.

he feels his blood thicken as he continues to read, the words rambling through his mind anxiously as if they’d have no ending. his heart rate quickens, his hands gripping the notebook tighter as he flips through the pages at lightening speed, barely slow enough to properly digest the gravity of your writing — until he lands on the final page.

his mind stutters as he arrives at the final entry, your handwriting much clearer now and he can almost hear your voice speaking it with perfect confidence and dictation.

October 31st

I wasn’t going to write this down. I wasn’t going to let it exist anywhere but inside my head, but I need to let it out.

I want him. Not in a way I should.

I want him in a way that sits heavy in my chest, in a way that makes it hard to breathe when he’s too close. In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.

And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?

I think I want to find out.

he feels a lump crawl at his throat as his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, meeting your perfect handwriting in a lighter, much smaller format.

If you’re reading this, then I already won.

after a few painfully long moments, he finally lets out the gasp of air he had been holding in the moment his finger tips met the notebook. and for a second, just a second, he imagines it too — the feeling of losing control. it’s just enough to scare him into putting your notebook back down, but not enough to shake away the tugging in his loins and the burning in his chest.

he finds himself pacing, more than he’s probably ever done before. his feet driving him in circles with his hands in his air as he realizes what he’s done, the situation he’s put himself in. someone who’s normally so controlled, prepared for nearly any situation, is suddenly doubting his lack of weakness. and for just a moment, he’s afraid.

he needs to put an end to this.

—

you’re unable to hide your smile of premature victory knowing there’s no way he was able to keep his curious paws off your notebook. your feet confidently carry you through the hallways, your mind littered with thoughts of how he’d try to tell you it’s wrong, try to deny how your words made him feel, maybe he’d even threaten to turn you in, but it was all apart of your plan.

see, confidence is key here. whether or not he ever had any feelings for you, or any sexual desires towards you didn’t matter, because you had already planted the seeds. so even if he felt like all your comments were merely innocent flirtations in the past, they gave him brief visions of what could be, maybe even more, and that guilt alone is enough to drive him to think about you further, especially after reading your notebook.

you feel your stomach tense as you approach his door, it wasn’t time for class yet and you knew he had a free period, so you timed your walk across campus to perfectly align so he’d be reminded of your presence again today, even though you knew he couldn’t think of anything else.

your breath hitches momentarily as he emerges from his door, nearly cutting you off in your tracks. his eyes narrow in on yours as he signals for you to enter his classroom.

you hide your victory smile quickly before following him into his classroom, watching as he approaches his desk, the red notebook sitting perfectly centered between his ungraded papers, almost as if you were his first priority.

the air was thick with tension, and you were loving every second of it.

“close the door.” his voice is rough, almost sleepless but you don’t question it, only following his orders and taking deliberate steps forward until there’s only the desk between you.

“tell me what this is.” he wraps a cold calloused hand around the rings of the notebook, his eyes narrowing in on yours.

“you already know.” his jaw tenses at your words, and his eyes flicker down to the notebook, memories flashing through his mind of your sinful words.

“you think this is a game?”

“isn’t it?” his gaze lands back on yours, sharp, unreadable — but there’s something lying beneath the surface, almost close enough for you to touch.

“you don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“that’s a lie.”

“enough.” he warns, his grip on the notebook tightening.

“why? are you afraid?” the question lands like a blow. he inhales sharply, but he doesn’t answer, and that’s all the confirmation you need. you take a slow step forward, your hands falling onto the desk as you tilt your head down at him.

“you read every word, didn’t you?”

“you crossed a line.” his voice is strained, almost as if he’s holding back.

“did i? or did i just say what you wouldn’t?” your voice drops down softly, just above a whisper as you’re unable to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, but his expression quickly changes, something in him snaps.

“this ends now.” his voice is firm as his grip tightens further on the notebook, his other hand pointing directly at you.

“sounds like you’re convincing yourself more than you’re convincing me.” your smirk turns into a smile as you watch his knuckles turn white, his silence deafening as he stares up at you coldly.

you lean off the desk carefully before turning back towards the door, walking away without any permission to leave. your hand curls around the doorknob as you turn your head to catch his final reaction, one of confusion and a breaking resolve.

“you can keep the notebook, professor jeon. i’ll just start a new one.” you smile at him before turning away completely, your feet carrying you to your next class in strides instead of steps.

this was going to be easier than you thought.

but for him, it was the most difficult.

his eyes stare at the door, wide and in shock as he feels the heavy air, still full of your presence glide over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its place.

he exhales sharply, his hand releasing the notebook like it’s something filthy, but he doesn’t walk away, he can’t. his hands move before he can stop them, the notebook falling open and mindlessly flipping to the page he already knows is there — your confession.

“I want him.”

his breath catches in his throat as the words stare back at him, bold and unforgiving.

“Not in a way I should.”

“In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling.”

“Wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.”

“And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?”

“I think I want to find out.”

he quickly slams the notebook shut, his heart drumming restlessly against his chest as his jaw locks so tightly into place that it nearly aches. he feels something strange brew inside him, the unbearable pull of something he refuses to name.

he should go to the principal, he should call your parents, he should put an end to this. but instead, he presses his hands against the desk as he leans forward, his breathing unsteady as he allows his eyes to close. and for one brief, damning second — he imagines it. the moment you wrote about. the moment you break.

he sees it too clearly, feels the heat of it curling in his stomach, the inevitability of it tightening within his throat. but it isn’t disgust that makes his breath hitch, nor guilt that makes his fingers tremble, but the fleeting image in his mind of his hand wrapped gracefully around your throat as you breathlessly moan out his name.

he swears under his breath, low and sharp before shoving the notebook into a drawer and slamming it into the desk.

but it’s too late now, he can’t unread your words, and he can’t stop the temptation now that it’s started.

—

the night was colder than normal, the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window as your eyes mindlessly scan the pages of the book you thought you were once reading. your mind stutters in its daydream at the sound of a knock at your door.

you freeze for a moment. no one comes here this late.

you feel your feet carry you out of bed as you slowly approach the door, the hardwood floors cold against your bare feet as your fingers curl around the doorknob, your mind going blank as you see him there.

his tie is gone, his shirt which is usually pristine is now rumpled like he’s been running his hands through his hair, through the fabric, like he’s spent hours fighting himself before landing here.

and now he’s standing at your door. soaking wet.

you lean against the doorframe, allowing your head to tilt to the side just enough to tease him.

“you shouldn’t be here, professor jeon.”

he swallows, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

“i know.”

you consider teasing him further, maybe even making him feel a little guilty knowing it’ll only intensify his feelings further, but you decide not to, knowing it’ll only driving him crazier, only stepping back just enough to allow the door to swing open further — an invitation.

his eyes flicker across yours for a moment as he hesitates. every expression questioning whether or not he should, or if he even dares. but he finally let’s go, taking a step inside as the door closes behind him, almost like a surrender.

the air is thick, nearly electric as he stands still, something predatory in your gaze as your eyes drag over his wet figure, something about it almost made you feel sorry for him.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” his voice is hoarse as his tongue darts over his lips quickly, his eyes barely meeting yours as he desperately tries to keep his distance.

“i think i do.” you take a step closer.

“no you don’t.” he takes a step back. “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you are.” your voice is calm and controlled as you do your best to talk him down from his inner turmoil.

“but you don’t understand this is wrong. it’s… it’s dangerous.” you watch as he takes another step back from you, his hands tightening by his sides as his knuckles turn white.

“i’m your teacher. i have responsibilities. i’m supposed to protect you, not let… this happen.” his voice cracks as he speaks and you can almost feel a trace of guilt within your chest knowing he really does care about his students. but you simply couldn’t take it any longer, you were both consenting adults, it shouldn’t matter, and you were determined to show him that.

you take a step forward and slowly bring a hand up to his arm, the feeling of the wet fabric against your fingertips sparks something inside of you, a heat blooming within your stomach.

“let… this happen?” you feel him flinch slightly under your touch, his eyes landing on yours, a warning sign flickering between them.

“y/n, stop.” you hear a tinge of desperation behind his voice despite his warning tone.

you take a step closer to him, a dark smile on your face as your hand draws up his arm, your finger tips set ablaze above his body heat, your stomach twisting at the thought of him finally giving in.

“i said stop.” your shocked at his sudden movement, his hands going up to grab your wrist, holding it in place in a way that’s firm but not rough.

“i’m not a boy you can tease until i break. i’m a man, and if i break — i won’t be gentle.” you nearly have to hold yourself up, your knees becoming weak from his words alone. you take a breath, stabilizing yourself before taking another step closer, your faces merely inches apart as you breathe in his air, his closeness becoming intoxicating, like a high you can’t get enough of.

“i don’t want gentle.” your voice is soft, but his features are furthest from that, his eyes holding every last bit of restraint he has as you watch them darken by the second.

silence closes the gap between your bodies as you watch his control slowly slip away. every thought, every image that ever crossed his mind, all playing at full speed, and it’s completely overwhelming.

he lets out a slow, shaky exhale. his eyes shutting carefully, almost like he’s preparing himself, before he tightens his grip on your wrist, the feeling of your pulse quickening under his touch only fueling him further as he pulls you into him, closing the gap between your bodies completely.

“god can you shut that pretty mouth for once?” you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, his demeanor quickly changing at he looks down at you, his eyes half lidded and full of lusted, sinful thoughts.

“what—“

“you wanted me to lose control? fine. but don’t say i didn’t warn you.” his voice is deep as it reverberates through your chest, your mouth slowly opening to make a response until he quickly cuts you off with his lips fully encasing yours.

you tense into his mouth, your eyes widening until you’re finally able to melt into his touch. his hands lowering to your waist to pull you taught against his abdomen, his belt rubbing roughly against your stomach, nearly hard enough to leave marks even through your shirt.

you moan into the kiss, your hands falling to the back of his neck at your fingers quickly find his hair, tugging it in multiple directions as your mouths fight for dominance.

you feel his grip on your waist tighten, his knuckles white as he uses your shirt to pull you closer, his feet frantically walking you backwards as you feel your back collapse against your bed, breaking the kiss just long enough to see his perfectly swollen lips and broad shoulders cradling above you.

“this is what you’ve been begging for, huh?” he shoots you a sly smirk before bringing his body to hover over you completely, his knees settling between yours as he uses them to guide your legs apart.

you subtly swallow a gulp, feeling more intimidated than you originally anticipated.

his smirk deepens at your silence, his head dipping down to your ear carefully as he brings his hands up to the hem of your shirt, his cold fingertips slowly running up the skin of your lower abdomen.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart? thought you could handle it?” you can nearly hear his smile through his voice, his large stature on top of yours making you feel almost completely helpless.

“i can.” you internally curse yourself for sounding so meek, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by professor jeon as a deep, low chuckle emits from his throat and directly into your ear, his hands slowly dragging up further as he begins to lift up your shirt.

“tsk, don’t lie to me baby, you’re already in enough trouble.” his voice is dark and hoarse, his fingers cold from rain as his movements pause just below your breasts, your cheeks heating up softly as you realize you weren’t wearing a bra.

he leans further into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss on your supple skin, your back unconsciously arching into him as you let out a breathless moan.

“is this okay?” his fingers carefully tracing just below your mounds.

you quickly nod, your eyes rolling back as you relish in the feeling of his body against yours.

“words, sweetheart.”

“yes. this is more than okay.” you say softly, earning a small smile from him as his hands slowly run up your shirt before cupping your breasts fully, his large hands encasing them like they’re his own.

“so perfect. all for me.” he mutters before diving back into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your skin, carefully tracing every patch your body had to offer, the speed and neediness from before being replaced with something more tender and sweet.

you can’t help the moans that leave your mouth as his fingers begin to trace your nipples, examining them with the pads of his fingers as he drags his tongue to the base of your collarbone.

he pulls away from you momentarily to fully lift your shirt off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the cold.

“so beautiful.” his hushed praises go straight to your core, your body responding to his every calculated praise.

he leans down, his face eye level with your chest as he takes each nipple in his mouth one at a time, taking care of them with ease, lapping over the buds and leaving you feeling desperate for more.

you feel worn, your breath quickening as you press your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the heat bubbling within your core, only to quickly be denied by the strength of his knees keeping you pried open for him.

after feeling satisfied with his ministrations, he pulls away, his eyes landing on yours — dark and lustful.

“do you know what you are?” he husks, bringing a hand down to your sides to soothe them gently.

you tilt your head to the side, leaning it against your pillow softly, a small smile creeping onto your face, your eyes hooded, nearly enough to look high.

“what am i?”

“you’re my biggest lesson.”

you quirk a brow at his response, feeling slightly confused and he notices your change in demeanor, his touch becoming slightly more rough as he grips at your sides, pulling you down so your closer to his pelvis.

“i stand in front of that classroom every day, teaching restraint, structure, rules. but you — you’re pure temptation written between the lines. you’re like the forbidden fruit. i should’ve closed the book long ago, but instead, i’m here, crumbling before you.”

his hands grip your sides tighter, his eyes traveling down your body as he speaks, taking a momentary pause to relish in your beauty, everything laid out so perfectly for him.

“you’re the forbidden fruit i can’t put down. the bad thought i can’t shake from my head. the red notebook i should’ve never picked up. and now I want to ruin every page.”

you can almost hear your heart rate increase at his words, every breath more tempting than the last, threatening to leave you laying beneath him for an eternity.

he brings a hand down to the band of your sweatpants, his fingers ducking beneath them just enough to tease you beyond repair.

“let me ruin you.” you nearly let out a moan from his words, only able to respond with the slight shake of a head before he starts undressing you like his favorite book — the cover, the sleeves, tracing each page along the way.

you feel like his muse, a piece of artwork laying beneath him, his eyes scanning you ravenously, taking in every curve and dimple on your body, his hands following suit, you almost didn’t notice when he had undressed as well, too distracted at his hushed praises as he hovers over you on the bed, a hand cupping your hair gently as his eyes gaze into yours.

“i need to hear you say yes, sweetheart.” his voice is a hushed whisper, his hair messily hanging over his forehead as he brings a hand beneath your bodies, his cock nudging at your entrance slowly.

“yes… i want this.” your voice is soft as it fills the air, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he brings a hand up to your mouth, cupping it gently, his head ducking into the crook of your neck.

you close your eyes tightly as he slowly pushes forward, his cock nearly splitting you in two as you let out a sharp gasp into his hand.

“shhh. good girl. that’s it.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice knowing you would struggle with his size, but his hushed praises are appreciated nonetheless.

his girth was unexplainable, spreading you apart in ways you never knew were possible. you certainly weren’t inexperienced, but it somehow didn’t matter. it felt like an eternity before he bottomed out in you, his hips stalling to give you time to adjust, but you’re nearly shaking when you finally come to, the sound of his breathless panting in your ear bringing you back to reality, his hand slipping away from your mouth and down to your hip.

“jungkook?” you whimper, not even realizing that you’ve never called him by his first name before.

“you feel… heavenly.” he groans, his hips stuttering forward sending shockwaves through your core, a small moan slipping past your lips at the sudden jerk.

“so goddamn tight.” he rolls his hips forward slowly, his cock grinding against your walls with ease.

“ahh — jungkook. please.” you didn’t mean to beg, but his teasing was making it nearly impossible for you to control yourself.

“fuck, you have to be quiet for me, sweetheart. can you do that?” he continued to slowly roll his hips forward, your body shuddering with every small movement. you’re only able to nod at him, gentle whimpers falling past your lips as you bite them tightly in an attempt to stay quiet.

he shoots you a glare, but decides not to tease you too much before he sets in on a quicker pace, his cock driving into you with intensity, but not too fast where you’re fighting for your life.

every stretch of his cock was delicious, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you down to meet his thrusts, occasional groans leaving his mouth and falling into the air as you stifle back desperate screams.

“fuck. you’re perfect.” he grumbles, his voice low with need as he dives back into the crook of your neck, licking it ravenously and you’re unable to suppress a moan, coming out much louder than you had intended.

jungkook slowly pulls away, his eyes meeting yours with a glare as he quirks a brow at you, watching as your face contorts with both pleasure, and discomfort at his size and the inability to be heard.

“sweet girl, you can be quiet, right?” he smirks, his voice teasing as he brings a hand up to grab yours at the wrist, pinning them above your head gently, as if he thought you would break from any more force.

you whimper again, your voice shaky as you let out a meek, “y-yes.”

he tsks at your response, unbelieving as he dives back down into the crook of your neck, his hips picking up their pace as he places gentle kisses on your skin, a deep contrast to the way he was fucking you now, pinned up like a doll.

“wouldn’t want anyone to catch us now would we? a cute little girl and her teacher, that wouldn’t blow over well i’m sure.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks in between kisses, trailing them down to your collarbone as your fingers wiggle under his hold.

“n-no. i’ll be quiet.”

he chuckles lowly, pulling away from you momentarily to appreciate your fucked out state — your forehead slick with sweat, lips puffy and swollen and eyes bloodshot.

“good. because i have ways to keep you quiet if you’re not sure how.” he drives into you forcefully, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion, your stomach feeling like it’s being prodded with every thrust.

he quirks a brow at your noise, his demeanor changing to one slightly stricter as his eyes zero in on yours, almost like a warning.

you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you feel his thrusts quicken once more, the feeling of his cock driving into you was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that left you with every movement of his hips.

he lets go of your wrists gently, his hands going down to your hips as he quickly flips you onto your stomach, a loud gasp from you easily being muffled as he places a hand on the back of your head, pressing it deeper into the confines of your pillow. you let out a moan of relief knowing you can at least make some time of noise now.

his thrusts quicken now, his other hand going under your stomach to angle your ass up for him, giving him the perfect view as he smirks to himself at how easily you respond to him.

“that’s a girl. feel better?” his cock prods your g-spot with every flick of his hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge till it was nearly unbearable.

you shove your head further into the pillow as you moan loudly, your impending orgasm sneaking up on you quickly with the change of positions, making it nearly impossible for you to respond to him.

he feels the way you’re tightening around him, and he can’t help but throw his head back at the sensation of your walls closing in — it was heavenly.

“f-fuck why are you so tight?” his voice gets huskier with every word, his grip on your side tightening as his thrusts become messy, the feeling of your cunt wrapped so deliciously around him driving him to insanity.

you felt euphoric, teetering on the edge of your orgasm and every stroke of his cock only pushed you closer to the brink, it was almost enough to make you dizzy.

“p-please.” you moan, muffled into your pillow but you can tell he can hear you by the way his hand snakes in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit with perfect accuracy.

you’re barely able to comprehend what’s happening before you’re sent spiraling over the edge, your legs shaking aggressively as you feel a wave of warmth run over your body.

“holy shit.” jungkook curses as he feels you cream over his cock, your cunt tightening so hard it makes it difficult for him to move, his hips stuttering as he does his best to continue his pace.

you’re a moaning mess, your head shoved deep into the pillow by his hand as you feel his cock continue to plow into you, your mind going blank as your body recovers from your orgasm.

“that’s it, baby. good girl. shh, i’m right here.” he mumbles barely understandable praises as he messily drives his dick into you, the tension on your g-spot quickly becoming all you can think about as your pleasure suddenly turns into overstimulation.

you’re writhing, unable to respond properly or tell him it’s too much due to his hold on the back of your head, your legs trembling harshly as you feel his hand settle back on your hip, his fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises.

“so perfect, fuck.” he breathes out before bottoming out into you, his cock twitching as he spills his seed deep into your cunt, your walls drinking up every last ounce he has to offer, not letting even a drop go to waste.

he lets out a deep moan, his head collapsing against your chest, his breathing unsteady as he rolls into you one last time, your walls milking him for every thing he has left to give.

you bring a hand up to the back of his head, the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you settle into his locks soothing you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

he slowly pulls away from you, your eyes meeting as he smiles at you softly, a hand going down to your hair as he tucks a strand behind your ear peacefully.

“you’re a lot to handle, you know that right?” he chuckles looking down at you.

“i think you did a pretty good job.”

he smiles softly, “now i just have to learn how to handle you in class.”

#bts smut #bts #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts au fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fanfic

247 notes · View notes

torawro · 2 days ago

Text

royal knight!caleb & princess!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless, and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a curvy, thick black woman but you do not have to imagine it that way ! anyone and everyone is welcome to read <3. historical / medieval au so there will be use of language & rhetoric relative to that era ( i.e., aye = yes or indeed . . . . i did my best doing research ). caleb is a high ranking knight in the kingdom they live in and is referred to as 'sir' because of his status. reader is a princess of royal status. mentions / descriptions of blood and injuries, and contains violence sprinkled with a little bit of gore (???). depictions of murder / character death. a liiittleeee bit of religious imagery & references, not sure but adding it just in case. hints at caleb having psychological issues and / or mental instability. kind of yandere(ish) behavior if you squint; caleb is obsessed with & in love with the reader. he is also a wee bit condescending ( not to reader ). instances of caressing ( groping? ) and slow, sweet kisses. veryyy subtle manipulation (?) via intentional omission of the truth. sorry if im exaggerating with these tags lol. directly based off this post i saw a few weeks ago. i tried my best to proofread at 1am pls excuse any errors. let me know if i missed anything!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! man…..🚬🚬🚬 i can’t believe i wrote this lmaaaoooooooooo like what. where did this come from even.....anyway hi everyone i’m back with another (short-ish) fic <3 my apologies it's been another two months since my last published work, you know what it is: it takes longer for me to put things out and i wanna make sure i put my best foot forward every time >< but whoop whoop here's to my second fic of the year! as u can see i have gotten into lads during this past month and some change....... and i swear, i really had no intention of writing for any of the guys any time soon, let alone the newest one..... i took a pause from working on my longer projects to write this LMFAOOOO. i honestly thought that if i really did have a burning desire to write about them, my first lads fic would have been about sylus cause he.....anyway i won't go on a tangent about him, but i sincerely hope u guys enjoy this one!!!!!! obviously this is my first time writing for any lads character so pls be kind to me. i also want to apologize if this characterization of caleb is weird or ooc, i haven't unlocked him yet but i have seen a lot of content of his story in relation to the mc, his lore, his voicelines, etc so i hope i did him justice!! reblogs + commentary are HEAVILY appreciated ♡♡♡.

THE SKY REMAINED DARK, BUT a deep navy hue began to seep into the heavens, soon giving way to the dawn; the early hours of the morning was nigh. The castle was silent— obviously, but still eerily so despite the hour. There was a draft that seeped through the miscellaneous cracks of the stone, the shutters, and the windows of the castle that had not been properly shut, and the brisk breeze that flowed inside caressed the walls with a whisper— quiet but forceful enough to sway the small flames of the candles. The unsteady flickering of the flames grazed and dimly illuminated the walls behind them. Upon its surface were fresh stains, which would permanently seep into the stone if not cleaned in time. The stains were red.

It was blood.

In the many corridors of the castle was a figure, trudging through the halls like a corpse that had risen from its resting place, exhaustion weighing down his every step down to the marrow of his bones. He was injured— not gravely enough to make him lose consciousness but enough to reopen the wounds he so haphazardly patched himself before returning to the kingdom.

His chambers in the keep, along with all the other higher-ranked Knights, was on the other side of the castle grounds. He should have made a left the moment the portcullis closed behind his heels so he could at least get patched up again, get some water, and something else for the pain. Instead, the soldier walked straight ahead, onward to the main structure of the castle, down the stretches of its veins, up the stairs– a path he had memorized after spending many a moon traversing it, sometimes without your knowledge.

But he needed to see you, and he was unsure if he would be able to wait until the sun’s ascension in just a few hours time to do so.

The knight was tired, and that slowed him down, but eventually he made it to your private quarters. He made sure to quiet his labored breathing and footsteps as much as he could; the king would have his head before he even made it to your chambers if he were to be discovered.

You laid underneath a thick blanket, the warmth of the fur against your clothed skin protecting you against the brisk cold. As comfortable as you were, however, tonight you had trouble staying asleep. It would greet you kindly, only to slip away from your embrace if you held it too tightly. Your eyelids were half-open, finally on the verge of drifting close again, when an abrupt but muffled thumping noise resounded on the wood of your door.

The sound caused your eyes to snap open with alertness, any waves of sleep that were about to wash over you retreated at the sound. You laid still, absently wondering if you were hearing things, but the noise reverberated in the air again, then three times— it was soft, as if the source of the sound was being careful not to be too loud.

As the sleepiness of the late hours continued to melt away, you began to remember what day it was, and your pulse quickened as a result.

He should have returned today, you thought. But could it be? It cannot possibly…

And yet, that possibility is what tugged your body forward to sit up and straight, and slide your legs out from underneath the layers of blankets. That possibility is what led you to slide your bare feet into your slippers, and move to swing the long, woolen robe on top of your nightgown. That possibility is what pulled you to the thick door of your chambers, and opened it by an inch to peek through the cracks.

The relief and subdued elation you felt when you saw the familiar features of Sir Caleb’s visage on the other side washed over you.

But that feeling faded as quickly as it came when you noticed the state Sir Caleb was in. While it wasn’t abnormal for him to have a deep scratch or a bruise somewhere, he looked . . . worse, somehow. And whatever it was seemed to reach deeper than just his physical injuries.

Without exchanging any words or outwardly questioning him, you carefully— for he winced at nearly every graze of your fingers on certain areas— led him into your room, allowing him to use your body as a crutch. Caleb let out strained puffs of air, both in relief that he didn’t have to carry the weight of his own body alone anymore, and with increasingly dwindling self-restraint.

He had hardly stepped foot in your bedchambers before; only about four steps past the threshold of the doorway at most, out of fear that his mere presence when he visited in your absence would become a noticeable, tangible thing. Like you’d be able to sense if he ventured too far in for too long, too many times.

Everything smelled like you. Your unique flowery scent was almost palpable with how it clung to every surface of your living space, even the air itself. The contrast between the fleshy softness of your body pressed against the cold, angular ridges of his armor was enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his pulse to miss a beat.

“M…milady.” Caleb croaked, his throat significantly lacking moisture to the point it almost ached to speak. At this point, the remaining strength in the knight’s body had become completely nonexistent; the sword he didn’t even have the strength to place back in its scabbard tumbled from his loosening grip onto the ground, the sound sharp and uncomfortably punctating.

“Sir Caleb”, you gasped, your grip tightening on whatever area of his stocky, towering figure you could reach. Both the suddenness of the sound of metal colliding with stone and your delayed realization of how serious his injuries were pulled your nerves all the more taut, the worried furrow in your brow growing more prominent.

Caleb’s legs gave out next, all while his heavier form still partially hung from your sleep laden frame. His arm slipped from around your shoulder as he descended to his knees, the movement clumsy enough to slightly throw you off your balance. The room was still dark enough that you did not readily see nor notice the blood that now permeated the folds of your nightdress.

The honorable knight— who did not quite look so on his knees like this— absentmindedly grasped at your calves, pulling another surprised noise from the back of your throat. It was as if making physical contact with you would steady his mind that swirled endlessly with fragmented thoughts, stained with the dark horrors that crawled from the depths of his subconscious, and keep him tethered to the plane of consciousness. The blood loss would soon catch up to him.

Silence descended upon your room, save for Caleb’s ragged breathing and your quiet, frayed inhales. He still held onto your lower legs like it was his lifeline, the mesh underside of his metal gauntlets sending a subtle shiver with each miniscule movement he made, but you did your best to silence any hitch in your breath or twitch in your muscles. Worry still festered underneath your skin, so much so that you were afraid if you moved, or even spoke, that Caleb might fall apart at your feet, considering his current state.

“Milady…” Caleb tried again, his voice still rough but a muted veneration was present underneath his words, as if your title was the beginning of a prayer. It was a thought that spurred another shudder to crawl across your flesh. “Milady, I have returned. The war with the kingdom to the east—Havencroft— is over now.”

The knight turned his head slightly so that his cheek was resting on the fat of your thigh, your nightdress being the only barrier between his skin and yours. Another stain of crimson leapt from the side of his face that rested on your leg to your clothes, but you could not see it from this angle. Caleb almost resembled a wounded animal, marking the territory that was once his after enduring an attack– not much for your sake, but purely for his own, as a reminder of sorts.

Even through the linen, you could feel the uneven puffs of warm air from his mouth fan across that small area on your thigh. Like a magnet attracted to a metal of the opposite affinity— a force yet to be explained or explored— your palm gravitated towards the knight’s armored shoulder. Whether it was an action of acknowledgement and commendation, to silently urge him off his knees, or as a means to steel yourself was unclear even to you.

“The enemies… have been defeated.” Each syllable felt delayed, each word tumbled from Caleb’s lips like a wispy trail of smoke from burning incense, and the casual hold you had on his steel shoulder imperceptibly tightened when you felt his gloved hands trail up the back of your legs. His movements were slow—almost reluctant and experimental— but deeply rooted in reverence, as if this was the first and last time he would be able to touch you so boldly.

The knight below knew better. He was well aware that his actions more than just bordered on bold, they fully reveled in it– embraced it, even. But he was having a significant amount of trouble caring enough to stop himself. It was always a difficult task reasoning with the thing that resided in the folds of his unconscious— especially and specifically when it came to you.

Caleb awaited you to halt the soft caress of his palms, either verbally or by action, but neither came. You were rendered silent, breath slightly restrained as you stared down at him from on high, your palm still resting upon his armor. A part of you was swayed by the currents of curiosity to see what he’d do next, just to see what might happen you allowed this moment to persist a bit longer.

And the other part…might have enjoyed this. It might have enjoyed the sight, the sound, the sensation of his iron skin, the subtle yet unknown metallic aroma that washed over your senses, mixed with his signature musk.

So he resumed, both his movements and his speech, which were languid and slowed. “Those that wished… to do harm to the kingdom, to you…They have been slain.”

The way his head shifted against your leg was like a cat nuzzling itself against its human companion. The weight of his body pressed upon you like this was even a bit endearing, and it began to melt your heart. Caleb’s hands glided from the backs of your knees down to the base of your ankles, only to carefully ascend back up the valleys and shores of your legs. In his ascent the hem of your dress got caught in between the gaps of his fingers, causing it to steadily rise like a curtain and expose the bare, supple brown skin hiding beneath it.

His touch was so gentle, like dragging the sharpened edge of a knife against one’s skin in fear of accidentally cutting it. As someone who has done so much damage and has scarcely been shown this kind of gentleness, it was a bit jarring to see himself embody it so naturally. “...The lot of them. I made sure of it.”, he continued, the knight’s noble heart raced so frantically about his chest, he thought it might reverberate and echo against his chest plate if it were to beat any more intensely.

Even with the sizable gauntlets weighing down his hands, Caleb was still able to tell just how delicate and cushiony your flesh was, and he released a barely-there, shaky exhale of his own when his fingers lightly clenched around it. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he was on the brink of death and was kneeling before the gates of heaven.

It was nearly impossible for you to distinguish the sensation of the carmine substance being smeared against your bare skin with each inch Caleb caressed, because your nerves had put all its effort into focusing on his breath fanning across your legs and the cold surface of his armor. At some point, the hand laying on his shoulder levitated to rest atop his head instead, the area unadorned without his helmet; a shiver rolled down the knight’s spine at the gesture. Sweat dampened the rich, umber strands of his hair, and the heat radiating from the crown of his head rivaled the one building underneath your face and chest.

“The army of the east kingdom, boasting numbers of over eight-thousand men, have all…. fallen. All of their strongest knights…”

Caleb’s words sounded a bit muffled as his mouth was slightly pressed against your leg, his pillowy lips continued to trail across the expanse of increasingly exposed limbs, “...their battalions, their village militia units…”

By this point, Caleb’s strong sense of rationale, his logical consciousness that usually never steered him wrong had finally caved in on itself. The void that it left in its absence would now be filled and controlled by the iniquitous thoughts that plagued him day in and day out. Such immoral, perhaps unhealthy, thoughts that always had you at the front and center of it all.

“...Even the gentry. Witnessing them …attempting to wield a polearm was almost pathetic. I would have pitied them, but one way or another, they would have attempted to harm you and our kingdom in some way, at some point…”

There was a brief pause, the surface of his parted lips and that of his artificial armor took turns savoring the feel and smell of you, even being so brash as to place tender almost-kisses across your thigh. You gasped silently at that, and the reflexive clench of your fingers in the tufts of his hair brought forth something of a purr that vibrated in the back of his throat. Embedded within that imperceptible purr in his deep voice lurked something more dangerous you did not notice— sharp, like having a dagger pressed against one’s jugular.

“And I cannot allow that.”

Caleb continued to murmur about his achievements of war into your chestnut-tinted skin as if he were talking directly into it and not you— as if it were actively listening. And with the way your nerves sparked and crackled with each syllable he pronounced, you could easily become convinced that it was.

Aye, he could not even pretend to spare an ounce of compassion for Havencroft’s gentrymen, or their local militia, their skilled battalions and armies, nor their most honorable knights. Not after their plans and intentions were discussed amongst the king’s council just months prior, which served as the reason why he and the rest of the kingdom’s army were dispatched there in the first place.

Swine, the lot of them.

The same could be said for his own king’s council members— your father’s most trusted political companions and advisors— that had the gall to speak ill of and scheme against the king and his realm.

The balls to speak ill of you when they believed there were no listening ears around; about how your future ascent to the throne would be this kingdom’s downfall, about how His and Her Majesty should have tried for more children in hopes of a young lad.

He could only thank the gods that he returned from his knightly travels when he did, for the dark-haired soldier knew within seconds of overhearing such idiotic arrogance what his next course of action should be.

Like some kind of cunning animal whose only purpose was to hunt and kill, Sir Caleb watched and waited for the opportune moment to present itself before closing in to strike. And that moment arrived when he realized the two men were making their way to the western-most side of the main castle, where the kitchen and laundry rooms were located. He sneered at how clever they thought they were being, choosing that specific place because they were aware most of the help and servants had retired for the evening.

Without a moment’s hesitation, when he had heard enough drivel, he attacked, administering two swift but fatal slashes to their vital points— one for each man. The pain from moving like that when his injuries had been previously reopened nearly caused his legs to buckle, but he remained steady and quick. This had to be quick, for it would be troublesome if they made noise or if he was too sloppy with his timing and execution. Blood splattered on the nearby walls from the sheer force of his swing, the blade cutting through the councilmen like a cleaver cutting through a slab of tender meat. He made a note to himself to come back and clean any remnants that remained later.

The councilmen fell to their knees, staring and cowering from Sir Caleb in confusion, shock, and unadulterated fear at the realization that their lives might end that very night, and that someone might have heard them.

Surely they blathered on in hushed voices, demanding to know the meaning behind his actions, begging for the knight to spare their lives, frantically questioning him if he had heard them say anything particularly controversial. But Caleb paid no mind and did not bother responding. All he did was stare at them, his eyes as empty as a weathered piece of parchment with no ink on it, his salmon-colored lips resting in a straight line that spoke nothing of his true thoughts.

Caleb’s gaze alone deeply unsettled them, for they had never seen him look like that before.

On his honor as a knight, Caleb would die before he let any harm— relative or distant, real or perceived, indirect or direct— fall upon you if it was in his power to prevent it. Because not only did he pledge his allegiance to the ruler of this land, but to you as well. And in performing his obligatory duties as a knight— guarding you from near and far, being graced with your kindness, your wit, your smile—it was inevitable that he would fall in love with you at some point along the way.

And wasn’t it a good thing, a true virtuous thing, a normal thing to do what you can for the one they loved? To keep them safe?

And so, with that resolve embedded in his heart, the knight Sir Caleb would do what he could, and did what he must when the steel of his blade at last collided with the mens’ uvula. The last thing those so-called loyal councilmen saw was his void eyes, and the slightest upturn in the corner of his lip.

But you need not worry or be privy to the gritty details. All you needed to know was that he fulfilled his duty in protecting you, in protecting this kingdom you loved dearly and would govern someday. He would see through this role until the day he could no longer.

Aye, you did not need to know that the blood that had now seeped into the fabric of your pretty lilac nightgown and smudged on his face was fresh; you did not need to know that in some other part of this very castle, two people that had been around since your youth had drawn their last breath, never to be seen again; you did not need to know that the faintest hint of guilt and regret for his actions was snuffed out the moment his eyes met your visage. You did not even need to know of the tender affection that he harbored for you– at least, not yet. A separate time for that should arrive soon, he would pray on it.

And now, all Caleb needed was to hear it from you. That you were proud of him.

“I hope my efforts in battle were satisfactory to you, milady. That my efforts …in keeping your safety and interests of the monarchy at heart pleases you.”

The knight's lips continued to drag across your skin in a lackadaisical manner, its touch at some point turning into undeniable kisses— pecks so light and fleeting you could have imagined it.

But you weren’t. You knew it to be so because the phantom sensation that was left behind after each one was as real as the ground you stood upon.

You were indeed proud of the knight before you, on his knees revering you with his mouth like you were some kind of holy thing that might disappear into thin air. For all of his years here, you have seen the scrapes, the faded scars on his ungloved hands, a limp in his gait or a straggle in his step, and you felt sympathy for him. You sympathized with him for having to sustain a number of different injuries in the name of your kingdom and its values. But seeing him hurt also inspired a great deal of gratitude within you, and you always made sure to take time at night before you fell asleep to thank the Lord above for uniting your paths– even though the two of you were on slightly different social standings. You secretly hoped that one day, that fact might change.

This is why you had no problem in saying that, “From what you have told me, Sir Caleb, your endeavors in battle are indeed quite….satisfactory to me,” Your words were momentarily interrupted with a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a pleasurable sigh, your fingers absently combing through his hair as you continued to speak, “So I must thank you, for doing your duty so well, and apologize that you were so badly wounded in the name of this kingdom. I truly appreciate all that you do.”

The words of sincere gratitude that spilled from your plush lips only excited the muscle beating wildly in Caleb’s chest, and they were enough to spur his heavy hands to glide higher underneath your gown, moving to the backs of your thighs once again. As his lips persevered in its affectionate assault of your legs, his palms mindlessly cupped the full roundness of your buttocks and gave it a slight squeeze, effectively losing himself in the suppleness of your curved body.

His name, without the proper prefix, was about to fall from your tongue, but you swallowed it down in exchange for something else. “This kingdom is— I am quite fortunate to have someone so capable…so strong and valiant at our disposal. Thank you, Sir Caleb, you have done well.”

And that was all it took for a quiet groan to be pulled from Caleb’s throat. A part of him hoped you didn’t hear it, he was already behaving so shamelessly.

But another part hoped that you did, so maybe then you’d realize without him having to potentially embarrass himself how much he cared for you, craved you, and impacted him so deeply.

“Thank you, milady. You are too gracious to me. I am unworthy of your praises, but will humbly accept them.” One palm resumed its directionless roaming to map out your lower body while the other remained on buttocks, interrupting his own reply by offering your skin doting, airy kisses in between. His reddish violet eyes were somewhat hooded when his gaze flickered up to look at you once more.

“I will continue to do my utmost…to serve you and your kingdom.... to the best of my ability.”

( # ) @smiley-babe @ramonathinks @dollwrites @valentineluvu @rinsko . my apologies if u did not want to be tagged. let me know if you want to be tagged in my future works!

148 notes · View notes

admiringlove · 17 hours ago

Text

tw: mentions of burns, grievous injury, death, etc. post shibuya au.

[07:32] . . .

when nanami kento wakes, everything is too bright. an unbearable whiteness floods his vision, so stark and unrelenting that for a few moments, he wonders if he’s still unconscious—floating somewhere between the waking world and the endless dark. then, sensation returns, all at once. a sharp, biting ache that throbs against his ribs. the sharp sting of burned skin stretched too tight under layers of bandages. the dull, persistent pain blooming along the left side of his entire body. he breathes in, slow and steady, and winces as his lungs protest.

his fingers twitch against stiff sheets. the sterile scent of antiseptic and clean linen fills his nose, mixing with something softer—something familiar. and then, when his eyes finally adjust, he sees you.

you’re curled up beside his bed, head resting on your folded arms, the rise and fall of your shoulders steady in sleep. your hair is a little messy, strands falling across your cheek, illuminated by the faint morning light filtering in through the half-open blinds. exhaustion clings to you, weighing you down even in rest.

so that’s where he is. the infirmary. and that’s where you’ve been all night.

a sigh leaves him, carefully slow, barely a whisper of breath. he doesn’t need to look down at himself to know the damage; his body is telling him everything in sharp, unmistakable pulses of pain. still, none of it hurts quite as much as knowing that you’ve been here with him, worrying yourself sick over something he should’ve handled better.

he lets his head fall back against the pillow, heavy with exhaustion, and watches you for a moment longer. the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers twitch slightly, even in sleep, as if reaching for him. as if even now, you’re trying to hold him together.

he closes his eyes, exhaling softly, and lets himself sink back into the quiet warmth of morning, the scent of you lingering in the air, a reminder that he’s still here. still breathing. still yours.

a few minutes later, when you wake, you see it.

his eyes, open. watching you. heavy-lidded with exhaustion, a little hazy from pain, but undeniably awake. undeniably here.

you inhale sharply, relief hitting you all at once, curling and uncurling in your chest. your fingers reach for him instinctively, seeking something solid, something real, and you find his unburnt hand, intertwining your fingers with his. warm, but weak. there’s barely any pressure when he tries to squeeze back.

your lips press together, brows furrowing, as you study his face. the paleness of his skin. the sheen of sweat at his temple. the deep lines of pain pulling at his features. he looks terrible. he looks perfect. he’s alive.

"hey," you murmur, voice thick with something you don’t name.

he blinks slowly, something shifting in his eyes. recognition. something else, too, something aching and desperate. he opens his mouth, though he already knows he shouldn’t.

"don’t," you whisper, squeezing his hand just slightly. "don’t do anything. just breathe. that’s all you need to focus on."

his lips part again, just barely, before he relents. exhales. listens.

because that’s what he’s always done—listen to you. listen to the way you talk, the way you narrate the world as you see it, the way you fill every silence with something bright, something warm, something uniquely yours. you talk, he listens. it’s how it’s always been.

but right now, more than anything, he wishes it was the other way around. he wishes he could speak. he wishes he could tell you everything. how sorry he is. how much it hurt, not the burns, not the exhaustion, but the thought of leaving you. how much he loves you, so much it carves itself into the marrow of his bones, so much he can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t exist beside you.

but he can’t. he can only lie there, useless, silent, while you stare down at him with heartbreak written into every line of your face.

for a few moments, you don’t say anything, and god, he hates it. then, your breath shudders, and a tear slips down your cheek.

"how dare you do that to me?" you whisper, voice trembling.

he blinks up at you, and something deep inside him fractures. he wants to move. wants to reach for you, to pull you into his chest, to press his lips to your hair and breathe you in, to murmur reassurances against your skin until the hurt subsides. he wants to dance with you again, barefoot in the kitchen under the glow of the refrigerator light, with no music but your laughter. he wants to live.

but he doesn’t. he can’t.

instead, you sniff, wiping at your tears, gripping his hand tighter, like you’re afraid he’ll slip away if you don’t hold on hard enough.

"'you take it from here'?" your voice cracks, and his stomach twists painfully. "how could you even think of saying that to me?"

his throat works, but no words come out. only a quiet, broken sound that escapes before he can stop it.

your eyes widen instantly, panic flashing across your face as you push yourself up. "don’t do that, i just told you not to do that! don’t try to talk!"

he exhales sharply, the pain searing through him, but when his gaze finds yours again, there’s something softer there. something fragile. something undeniably, painfully, his.

a quiet hum escapes him, almost like an apology, almost like a reassurance.

he’s still here. he’s still listening.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely a breath, fragile and thin. "i won't yell at you, i promise. just... get better. i need you. and i know that's selfish, but, please."

your fingers tighten around his hand, and he hates it. hates the way your lips tremble, the way your lashes clump together with unshed tears. hates that you’re pleading with him like this. hates that he’s put you in this position at all.

he exhales slowly, the breath shaking in his chest, and then, he moves. just barely. just enough.

his hand, weak and shaking, shifts in yours. you freeze, watching him with wide eyes, as he lifts it—slow, uncertain, as if even gravity is against him. his muscles protest, pain thrumming through every nerve, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t stop.

his fingertips brush your cheek, and you gasp, quiet and startled.

"what are you—"

but your words fall away, lost in the warmth of his palm against your skin. he cups your face, thumb dragging against your cheekbone, catching a tear before it can fall. it’s useless, because another one slips down right after, then another, and another, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t.

it’s the only thing he can do. the only way he can tell you everything he wants to.

his chest aches, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. of the way your breath stutters as you lean into him, pressing your face into his palm, grounding yourself in his warmth.

he can’t speak. he can’t pull you close the way he wants to. can’t make you promise to never look at him like this again, like he’s something breakable, something that could slip through your fingers if you let go for even a second.

but nanami kento can do this. he can touch you. he can breathe. he can look at you.

and for now, that’s enough.

part two coming soon!

a/n. he made it and that's all i have to say. he's alive, he's well, and he loves us all <3 © all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

#nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami fluff #kento nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento #nanami x you #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami

115 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 12 hours ago

Text

Handle With Care 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your work blurs the lines between professional and personal.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"Sam's not gonna make it," Bucky huffs as you stand at the sink. He puts his phone face down. "He's an important guy now." He turns and leans on the counter as you rinse the plate in your hands. "I told you, I can clean up after myself."

"And I told you, it's not too much," you put it in the rack. "My mother tried to raise a lady, despite how I turned out."

He tilts his head as he eyes you, "there's a dishwasher."

"Aren't you the cranky old man who tells the youngins they don't know what hard work is?" You scoff.

His lips thin, "you heard that?"

You shrug, "you're a good trainer, Barnes."

"It's a short leash," he growls.

"Is that what you think?"

He sighs and crosses his arms. "You're not like me. I know what people see when they look at me."

"Is that barbecue sauce on your chin?" You smile. He frowns and quickly rubs his chin with his knuckle. You chuckle. "Messing with you."

He huffs.

"What do you know about me, Barnes? You read my file."

"I don't know," he scratches his neck. "You're a demolitions expert."

"Oh, and do you know how I got to know explosions so well?"

"File said you worked with the PD--"

You scoff. "You really didn't dig into the archives? The real ones?"

He shakes his head.

"I didn't work with the PD. I got arrested for setting up IEDs around a farmhouse. Several."

"Farmhouses?" His eyes flash. "Why--"

"Long story short, you meet a lot of backwards people out in the country," you put the second plate in the tray and scrub a knife. "Couple years in, they showed up. Offered me a deal. I saved an embassy. Got my freedom. With conditions."

"Hm."

"Should they really trust me? You think I won't go back and try again? After they've taught me how to do it ten times better?" You laugh. His cheeks twitch. You shake your head. "Barnes, really."

"Well..." he drops his arms. "I don't know, do I?"

You laugh. He lets himself smile.

"Sorry about Sam. I'll let him know he's a real shit for bailing," you pull the stopper in the sink. He hands you a towel. You dry off and give it back. "If you can tolerate me a little longer, we could watch something. From this century."

"You didn't like Showtime?"

"Oh, it was fun, but I need more than moony eyes and tapping toes," you retort. "And I don't mind the snuggles." His brows furrow and you turn to look around, "where is that kitty?"

He's silent as you make clicky noises in an effort to entice the cat from her hiding spot.

"Didn't take you for an animal person."

"Might say the same of you," you toss back. "I had a pet snake. Wasn't much of a cuddler."

"Huh," he utters.

"Huh, what?" You turn and face him from the doorway.

"Nothing. Just the definition of a lady's changed a lot since my day."

"I'm sure a lot's changed. Can't even imagine," you say. "I did three years and came out, totally lost. You did... a lot longer."

"Yeah, well, it was easier... before."

You know who he's referring too. You can't blame him for being bitter. It must sting more now that Sam chose not to come hang. You almost want to call him up and bitch but you doubt he'd answer.

"Alright, my choice," you declare as you enter the front room. "You need a dose of pure schlock."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," he grumbles.

"If I did, you'd know it," you scoop up your phone and ignore him. "I'm thinking the trashiest action crap we can find."

"You really don't have to--"

"Barnes, I'm here, and to be honest, I don't really feel like dealing with rush hour," you sneer. "So be a good host and get me a beer."

He stares back at you and blinks.

"Oh, wait, wait, I'll ask like a lady." You bat your lashes and force a smile. You add a few octaves. "Oh, please won't you get me a drink?"

He makes a face, "don't ever do that again."

You snort. You look around for his television remote. You click on the screen and flop onto the couch.

His suggested is a bit predictable; war docs, Lord of the Rings, The Sopranos? Alright. No wonder he's so goddamn serious.

He comes back with two bottles. He offers you one. He turns and stand next to the couch as he presses the glass neck to his lip but doesn't drink.

You continue your search for something less dire. Arnie is always a good time, right?

"Barnes," you select a classic; Predator. "You wanna sit? The whole lurking in my peripheral thing makes me itchy."

He flinches, "uh, sure."

He steps around the couch and sits right against the armrest. You look down at yourself. There's the stain on the borrowed shirt but otherwise you're presentable. You lift your arm and sniff.

"I smell or something?" You ask and put the remote down.

"Huh?" He glance at you.

"You think I'm contagious, or something?" You tease.

His forehead wrinkles and he shows his teeth.

"You don't have to tuck yourself into the corner like a misbehaved child," you say.

"It's not... no, just making sure you have space."

"Relax, I don't got any explosives on me," you sit back and face the screen.

A white blur jumps up beside you and you wince. Bucky does too. Alpine walks in a circle, seeking pets from her owner before spinning back. She comes to nestle against your leg, putting her head on your thigh. You stroke her gently.

"I can see why you don't like to go out, Barnes," you snort.

"She's alright." He eases just a bit. "She'll be making all sorts of racket at midnight."

"Good kitty," you praise and reach for your beer. "You give him hell, pretty kitty."

He sighs and turns his bottle in his hands. Too bad that stuff can loosen him up.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #handle with care #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #avengers

83 notes · View notes

eoe-1379 · 1 day ago

Text

Between the stacks

18+ MDNI: Sexual themes and language

SnowApple Smut-Shot continuation of The Bits Between 2 (requested by @hwangintakswifey )

This isn't as long as it could be but I've got lots more SnowApple in the works, saving the longer form stuff for the chapters, so stay tuned :)

"Don't play dumb," Zayne chided.

Caleb sighed, glancing around to ensure no one was nearby before answering quietly.

"What do you want me to say, huh? That I liked it? That I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your cock? Fuck, I've even been dreaming about - never mind. I like you too, okay? Is that good enough?"

Zayne smirked.

"I suppose."

"You're a dick," Caleb retorted, smiling.

"Apparently that's what you like about me," Zayne quipped.

Caleb rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Are you in, or not?”

Zayne crossed his arms and leaned nonchalantly against the shelves as if pondering a complex decision. In reality, he already had his answer, but he was thoroughly enjoying watching Caleb squirm.

"I'm open to it," Zayne murmured, his green eyes sparkling as the sun streamed through the windows, casting a beam of sunlight over the dim, dusty stacks. "Shall I come over for dinner later so we can discuss the details?"

“Sure, that works.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Eyes studied lips, fingers clenched, and breaths quickened. Zayne wore a knowing smirk, observing Caleb's cheeks redden so adorably.

"I'll be honest," he began, "I've been thinking about that night quite a bit as well. Among other things."

"Other things?" Caleb asked, hooking a finger into Zayne's belt loop. He pretended to examine the material, but in reality, he was imagining gripping the fabric so tightly around his knuckles that the waistband constricted Zayne's slender hips, drawing him nearer.

Zayne watched Caleb’s hair, the boy's gaze bent out of view.

"I haven't had much occasion to get physical with other men in my life. You were the first."

Caleb looked up.

“Really?”

“Is that surprising?”

“Kind of. You seemed so comfortable.”

Zayne smirked.

"I was with people I trust," he said, taking a chance as he carefully reached out to caress Caleb's lower lip with his thumb.

Caleb tensed, his muscles flexing with restrained effort as he bit back a noise of arousal.

“Don’t do this to me here.” Caleb’s breath grew ragged.

“Shouldn’t we make sure we're still compatible? What if you don't feel the same now as you did then?”

Caleb narrowed his gaze, his purple eyes meeting Zayne's green ones in a flash of lustful understanding. He pulled on Zayne's waistband, drawing him closer before slamming an arm on the shelves and pressing him further into the books with the breadth of his chest. Their faces hovered, mere inches apart.

“I know what I want,” Caleb said roughly.

Zayne's lips parted in an invitation, one that Caleb accepted without any hesitation.

He crashed his lips onto Zayne's, his free hand encircling the med student's neck to support their passionate embrace. Their muscles battled for dominance as they intertwined tongues, like lovers separated for centuries, as if they could only breathe the air from each other's lungs.

Zayne forcefully grabbed Caleb's face, and Caleb's strong arms encircled his lower back to keep them both in an upright embrace. Tongues wrestled, teeth clashed, and hands roamed. Zayne released a desperate breath as Caleb finally pulled away, though neither broke their embrace.

“Are you satisfied?” Caleb asked, violet gaze lidded as he stared hungrily at Zayne’s lips.

“Not even a little.” Zayne pulled Caleb back, and they started all over again.

Caleb allowed the solid wall of his body to press Zayne flat against the spines of higher education books. He stroked his hair, squeezed his biceps, and eventually, undid the belt buckle around his hips.

"What if someone sees?" Zayne gasped between passionate kisses.

"Fuck ‘em," Caleb growled low, skillfully creating space for his hand down the front of Zayne's slacks. His fingers brushed against the man's erection through his briefs, causing Zayne to twitch.

"Mmph," Zayne moaned into Caleb's mouth as his hand began to stroke over the fabric. Initially gentle, he teased Zayne the way he so enjoyed, until he could feel the wetness of pre-cum seeping through the thin fabric. Then, with eagerness, he freed Zayne's smooth cock from its confines, taking care to maintain the man's dignity by shielding their actions behind his thigh. He skillfully spread the pre-cum down Zayne's shaft with precise strokes, observing Zayne's sensual reactions unfold on his usually composed features.

Caleb's touch was firm yet tender, his hand moving rhythmically along Zayne's shaft. Zayne's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure coursed through him. Caleb watched, captivated by the raw vulnerability on Zayne's face, the way his typically guarded expression melted into pure, unadulterated desire.

Zayne's fingers dug into Caleb's shoulders, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. He opened his eyes, locking gazes with Caleb. There was a silent question lingering there, a plea for more. Caleb responded by pressing their bodies closer, his free hand moving to cradle Zayne's face, thumb gently brushing against his cheek.

Their lips met again, this time with a new urgency, a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface now boiling over. Caleb's hand moved faster on Zayne's cock, his own arousal straining against his pants. He wanted to take this further, to explore every inch of Zayne, but he also wanted to savor this moment, the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the taste of Zayne's lips on his, the sound of Zayne's ragged breaths filling his ears.

Zayne broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Caleb's as he panted, breathless.

“You have to stop,”

“I don't have to do anything,” Caleb said through a grin, continuing his pace.

"I can't walk out of the library covered in...mmm," Zayne's head rolled back against the shelf, his teeth biting his lower lip in ecstasy, unable to even complete his thought.

"Ohhh, right," Caleb said, slowing to a stop and making sure to savor the last few long, firm strokes before he looked around again and knelt between Zayne's trembling knees. "Let me help with that."

"Uhn, fuck,” Zayne's arm swung out wildly for support, grabbing desperately onto the shelf behind him as Caleb's hot mouth slid around his cock.

Caleb's tongue swirled around in a way that threatened to make Zayne lose his balance. His fingers found a hold in Caleb's hair, his grip tightening as Caleb pleasured him. The sounds of their heavy breathing and intimacy filled the otherwise quiet library, just soft enough so others wouldn't hear.

Caleb's hand found its way to Zayne's balls, his touch gentle yet firm. He rolled them in his palm, the sensation causing Zayne to buck his hips. Caleb took the hint, his mouth moving faster, his tongue flicking against the sensitive head of Zayne's cock.

Zayne was close, he could feel it. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in his stomach. He tried to warn Caleb, to tell him he was about to cum, but the words got lost in a strangled and muffled cry as his body tensed, his release hitting him like a tidal wave.

Caleb swallowed around him, his mouth milking Zayne for every last drop. When Zayne finally sagged against the bookshelf, boneless and sated, Caleb pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"That," Caleb said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "was worth maybe getting banned from the library."

Zayne could only nod in agreement, still trying to catch his breath.

Caleb then pressed a lingering kiss to Zayne's lips, allowing the med student to taste himself on Caleb's tongue as he meticulously refastened Zayne's pants around his hips. He even buckled the belt, though a tad tighter than Zayne would typically wear it. "Come on," Caleb murmured, "I'll buy you lunch."

#love and deepspace #lads #lads smut #zayne smut #caleb smut #zayne x caleb #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #zayne fic #lads fic #caleb fic #mxm #l&ds caleb #l&ds smut #smut writing #smut #zayne love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #smutty smut smut

39 notes · View notes

corawithfanfiction · 3 days ago

Note

For the ATJ future series I think it would be a good idea if the younger actress isnt even that young (like not 18-22) but if she was like 23-29. it would also be cool if she was in a relationship w/ an okder guy/girl like hozier or Hayley Kiyoko (anybody really thats older or like in their 30s).

Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Actress Fem!Reader

( Actress Female Reader - Request)

MY MASTERLIST! - EVENTS! - HOME!

This is an original story and may not be copied or translated into another language without permission!

summary: Y/N feels trapped between career pressure and their controlling partner. With ATJ support, they face the truth of their unhappiness and decide to break free from the toxic relationship. In the end, they reclaim their freedom and make a fresh start.

warning: toxic relationship, emotional abuse, anxiety, stress, identity x self worth issues, mild gaslighting, manipulation, romantic tension, slow burn, implied intimacy.

Author note: I didn't give a specific name for the character's boyfriend, think of whoever you want to imagine when you're reading, and I'm sure the person you think of is a good person, but at some point I have to make peace between the reader and Aaron, so :)

(2345 word)

Hope you like it @shiningdyingmoon :)

When the camera lights went off, Y/N took a deep breath. Their breath trembled slightly, but they weren’t sure if it was from exhaustion or the storm raging inside their mind. Each day of filming was becoming harder. The pressure from the media, the weight of their relationship… Relationship. They turned the word over in their mind, but it no longer carried any warmth. Things hadn’t been going well for a while, and it wasn’t just them who noticed—it was the entire

Sitting in a quiet corner of the set with the script in hand, Y/N was startled by a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t loud. The voice was soft yet strong, so familiar that their heart seemed to stop for a second. Looking up, they saw Aaron Taylor-Johnson standing there.

“Aaron?” Their eyes focused on him, unable to hide the surprise in their voice. “You… What are you doing here?”

Aaron offered a slight smile, but it lacked the usual ease they were used to. Instead, there was a certain seriousness in his expression.

“I heard about your new project. I knew this was a big step for you, so I wanted to come and see how you were doing.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Aaron hadn’t come just to ask how they were. Over the past few weeks, he had seen the headlines, read the social media posts, heard the whispers about Y/N’s relationship. He had seen how their partner was suffocating them, treating them like a trophy rather than a person. And he had noticed the light in Y/N’s eyes slowly fading.

It had been painful to watch.

Y/N averted their gaze. “I… I’m fine. Really.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly. “You’re fine, huh?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but it wasn’t mocking. It was the kind of tone someone used when they could see right through a lie.

Y/N sighed. “Did you come here just to judge me?”

Aaron shook his head. “No. I just… I know you. And I know when you’re lying.”

For a moment, silence settled between them.

Then Aaron asked, “Does this relationship make you happy?”

Y/N parted their lips to answer, but the words got stuck in their throat. The fact that he had asked the question forced Y/N to confront something they had been avoiding.

Just then, a voice called out from the distance—her boyfriend’s voice. “Y/N! I’m waiting for you!”

Y/N closed their eyes, taking a deep breath. They felt the overwhelming urge to run. But Aaron’s gaze was fixed on them, as if silently urging them to tell the truth.

Finally, Y/N murmured, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

It wasn’t much of an answer.

But it was heavy enough to say everything.

That night, filming had wrapped. Y/N was heading to their dressing room in silence when they saw Aaron already there, waiting.

Y/N stopped in the doorway. “I need to go home.”

Aaron crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “No. We need to talk.”

Y/N sighed. “Aaron, really—”

“Are you truly happy?” he asked, his voice firmer this time. “You can’t even ask yourself that, can you? Because you already know the answer, and you’re afraid to hear it.”

This time, Y/N said nothing.

Because Aaron was right.

Aaron sat on the edge of a table. “When I first met you, you lit up every room you walked into. Now, you’re just… a shadow of yourself.”

Y/N closed their eyes. Was it really that obvious?

Aaron continued, “If you’re happy, if this relationship is really good for you, I won’t say another word. But if you’re not…” He stepped closer, his face mere inches away. “Then stop trapping yourself. Because you are so much more than someone’s accessory, Y/N.”

Y/N had never heard it put that way before. And something inside them started to crack.

That night, for the first time, Y/N really thought about it.

Aaron’s words echoed in their mind:

“You are so much more than someone’s accessory.”

They had never seen anything wrong with fighting to keep a relationship alive. But when had that fight become this exhausting? When had they become too scared to even ask themselves if they were happy?

They couldn’t sleep all night. Their memories with their boyfriend replayed—both the good and the bad. And they realized something.

The good moments were far fewer than they had thought.

And even those moments had always come with conditions.

As the morning light seeped through the curtains, Y/N had made their decision.

This had to end.

Sitting in the makeup chair for the morning shoot, Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Their boyfriend was on his way to pick them up.

They clenched their coffee cup, their heart pounding in the quiet morning. But something inside them had shifted.

They were ready.

Stepping outside the set, they spotted his car waiting. Behind the tinted windows, they could practically feel his impatient glare. With quick steps, they approached, opened the door, and got in.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone already laced with irritation.

“I had filming.” Y/N’s voice was calm but tense, hands clasped in their lap.

“And not texting me last night—was that because of filming too?” His voice was cold, sharp, carrying that same need for control that had become too familiar.

Y/N turned their head, studying his face—the same expression they had seen so many times before, the one they had always silently accepted.

But today, it would be the last time.

“This isn’t working.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

For a moment, Y/N thought they might lose their nerve. But then, Aaron’s words resurfaced in their mind:

“If you’re happy, if this relationship is really good for you, I won’t say another word. But if you’re not… stop trapping yourself.”

“We’re done,” Y/N said, their voice clearer, stronger. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m not happy.”

For a moment, his face was blank, as if hearing something he never expected. Then, his lips curled into a bitter smile, followed by a dry, mocking laugh.

“Y/N, don’t be ridiculous. This is just stress. You’re overworked, the media is pressuring us. But you—”

“No.” Y/N cut him off, their voice steady. “This isn’t about stress. You’ve been controlling me. You always have. And I let myself believe it was okay. But I’m done.”

His smile vanished instantly, his expression hardening.

“So, just like that?” he said coldly. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re just walking away? Why? Huh?” His voice dropped, laced with ice. “Is this because of Aaron Taylor-Johnson?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Of course. Do you think I’m an idiot? He shows up on set, spends the whole day with you, and suddenly you want to break up? Y/N, you’re telling me a cliché love story.”

Anger simmered inside Y/N. Their hands balled into fists, but they forced themselves to stay calm.

“This has nothing to do with Aaron,” they said through gritted teeth. “This is about me. And you. And the fact that I don’t want to lose myself anymore.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “If you say it’s over, then it’s really over, Y/N.” His voice carried a quiet threat. “But I can’t wait to see how you handle this decision.”

With one last look, he shook his head and started the car.

“I hope you regret it.”

As the engine roared to life, Y/N closed their eyes. Would they regret it?

They already knew the answer.

No.

Because for the first time, they could finally breathe.

When Y/N returned to their dressing room, Aaron was waiting by the door.

Seeing him there, waiting, sent a warmth through their tired heart.

Aaron studied them for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.

“So? Is it over?”

Y/N took a deep breath. The weight was gone.

And they smiled.

“Yes. It’s over.”

Aaron’s lips curled into a soft but knowing smile. “Then, we’re going for breakfast.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Aaron shrugged. “You need to celebrate. And breakfast is the best way to do that.”

Y/N sighed but couldn’t hide their smile.

For the first time, they felt free.

Aaron and Y/N decide to wander around the city after leaving the set. Since it’s still early in the morning, the streets aren’t too crowded yet. Aaron takes Y/N to a small café he likes. As they sip their coffee, they chat, and Y/N feels at ease with Aaron’s relaxed demeanor. However, she can’t shake the feeling that something has changed. There’s an unnamed sensation fluttering inside her, like butterflies in her stomach.

After breakfast, they spontaneously decide to go to the beach. As they walk along the shore, Aaron takes Y/N’s hand out of her pocket and holds it. Y/N is surprised at first but doesn’t pull away. Even the silence between them now carries meaning. They laugh and have fun throughout the day; at one point, Aaron even lifts Y/N onto his back and runs around, creating a playful yet sweet memory.

Later in the evening, they return to Y/N’s place. But since neither of them wants to part, Aaron offers to cook dinner for her. They head to the kitchen together, playfully teasing each other while preparing the meal. Y/N laughs at the way Aaron holds the knife incorrectly, and in response, Aaron playfully fires back, leading to a mini flour fight.

However, as they sit down for dinner, the atmosphere subtly shifts. When their eyes meet, they realize something much deeper has been building beneath all the playful moments. For the first time, Y/N allows herself to truly look at Aaron—to take in every detail of his face, the warmth in his eyes. When Aaron reaches out to wipe a bit of flour off her cheek, his touch sends a spark through her.

After dinner, Y/N feels something stir inside her. Her heartbeat quickens. Aaron’s presence, the magnetic pull he has around him… She knows they are heading toward something inevitable.

As they clean up the kitchen, the energy between them shifts even more. The laughter from before fades into lingering glances. Y/N places the plates in the sink, only to feel Aaron’s gaze on her. When she turns, she meets his intense, unreadable expression.

“What is it?” Y/N whispers.

Aaron takes a few steps closer and hesitates for a moment. The hesitation reflects the weight of words he wants to say but can’t. Finally, in a low voice, he asks:

“Would it be a problem… if I stayed here tonight?”

They both know exactly what the question means. Y/N’s heart races. Under normal circumstances, she might have agreed without a second thought. But now, it feels different. This isn’t just about sharing a night; it’s about crossing a boundary she has silently recognized yet feared to admit.

But in Aaron’s eyes, she sees nothing but sincerity and certainty. Despite the storm of thoughts in her mind, she slowly nods.

As Y/N leads Aaron to her room, her nerves tingle with anticipation. Each step heightens the fluttering sensation inside her. The moment the door closes, the space between them disappears. When Aaron’s hand settles on her waist, the warmth of his touch sends a shiver through her.

The first kiss is hesitant. They both know they are stepping into something they can’t take back. But as their touches deepen, every emotion they had buried surfaces. Y/N’s fingers tangle in Aaron’s hair, stealing her breath away.

Aaron moves slowly, his gaze locked on hers as if silently asking for permission. His carefulness erases any lingering doubts Y/N might have had. She pulls him closer, and suddenly, the connection between them shifts into something far more profound.

As their touches grow more fervent, they lose themselves in the night. Their whispered names, their intertwined hands—every moment strengthens the bond between them. When their movements transition from slow and tentative to something more urgent, Y/N rests her head on Aaron’s shoulder, realizing this isn’t just about physical closeness. This is the culmination of something that has been building for months.

Hours later, as Y/N lies in Aaron’s arms, trying to steady her breath, he gently runs his fingers along her back. The silence between them feels sacred, as if neither wants to disturb the moment.

Aaron buries his face in her hair, taking a deep breath before whispering with a soft smile:

“I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner, but…” He pauses, then continues in an even softer tone, “I know we’re going to do this again.”

Y/N smiles as she closes her eyes.

TAG LIST: @kyancat @ivyblue20-blog @chlodavids @chilombodragon @agirlwithmanytastes @polamtz @novaawayne @theofficialpimpworld @buymesomechickentenders @devilslittlehelper @ohadberger @whatis-much @666kpopfan @sunnysomeonesworld @blazingfox23 @ilovethelove-sweetcat-blog @zulema222 @ijustwannaread03 @flyboysgotme @peachcheeksss @daddys-girlie @al-whatever @imabooknerdgetoverit @chocolatestudentllamabanana @valenftcrush @sinfullypassionate @intaerestelares @lauren555 @harlowhockeystick @bigbadbmattyboy @adrianapetrova538 @princesssunderworld @kozmosambrose @memeisbeingcheeky @iamstillovingyou

#aaron taylor johnson x reader #aarontaylorjohnson #aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #atj fic #Aaron taylorjohson x femreader #sergei kravinoff x reader #sergei kravinoff fanfiction #kraven x reader #sergei kravinoff #pietro maximoff #pietro marvel #pietro maximoff reader #kraven the hunter #sergei x reader #atj #ao3 fanfic #corawithfanfiction

44 notes · View notes

starrihan · 2 days ago

Note

Imagine losing your vcard to jo and he makes love with you PASSIONATELY and gives you the best aftercare likeee 😩😩 and he takes care of you so well you end up craving more of him 🥴

NO BECAUSE JO IS SO SWEET HE IS THE AFTERCARE KING!! im gonna go feral because this idea is so 😫😫😫

༄ ༄ ༄

He would be the sweetest when it comes to your first time. Like you were sitting on his lap on the couch, making out and it gets a little steamier than usual. Your hands are in his hair and his hands are on your waist, one of them in your shirt and rubbing circles on your naval.

He pulls away, face a deep red but he’s so drawn to you that he’s kissing your neck, lightly nipping at it when you stop him. ‘Jojo… I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything like this before.’ And he looks at you confused so you have to say it to him straight. ‘I’m a virgin…’ and his eyes go wide, not in shock but in awe. He reassures you that nothing has to happen today and that he can wait until you’re ready.

But you’re so happy that he’s considerate of your feelings, you don’t want to wait. You just wanted to let him know. He's so gentle with you, acting like you'll break if he goes too hard.

I don't see him as much more experienced than you are, but he's had sex a couple times before and knows the ropes of what to do. He would slowly nip at your neck, working his hands gently up and down your sides. You wouldn’t be sure what to do with your hands, leaving them on his hair as you’re already losing yourself to the pleasure his lips on your neck is bringing you.

He’d feel more confident in himself knowing that you were a virgin, like he couldn’t make any mistakes. He chuckles, pulling away before politely asking, ‘may I take off your shirt sweetheart?’

He would LOVE calling you sweet nicknames, especially for your first time. Things like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ because he knows you’d get flustered but he likes that look on you.

Lowkey corruption kink???

You let him take your shirt off for you, trying to cover up your chest as you feel embarrassed, but he’d push your hands down, telling you that you’re beautiful and asking if it was okay for him to touch you. You can’t deny the feeling between your legs as you nod, closing your eyes and leaning your head in his shoulder as he gropes your chest. Your breathing is slightly heavier, the need catching up to you.

‘Do you think you could take my shirt off for me baby? I wouldn’t want to leave you bare by yourself.’ And of course he’s looking at you with the sweetest little crinkle by his eyes, staring with hearts in his pupils as you take his shirt off. He can’t help but kiss you again, but even hungrier this time.

He would hold you by your thighs, picking you up as you yelp. He’d take you to the bedroom, not wanting your first time to be on an old couch. He’d lay you down gently before traveling his kisses lower, down your chest and to your naval, stopping right above the waistband of your sweats.

‘Mind if I take these off darling?’ He’d hook two fingers into your pants on either side, sliding them down with ease. He might’ve been acting confident, but the growing wet patch on panties makes him blush hard knowing he was the reason for this, cock straining tight against his sweats.

You’d squirm a little. ‘Jojo stop staring… it’s embarrassing!’ And he’d reassure you that it’s not embarrassing and that he’s honored that he’s the one making you feel like this. He would admire you for a bit longer before getting the go ahead to take your panties off, watching in amazement as strings of your arousal pull from your panties.

The groan he lets out is low, but doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you lay there, propped up on your elbows and watching as he leans in, tongue grazing your fluids. You shiver at the contact, not expecting it but feeling good at the same time.

‘Sorry baby, I got carried away. You’re so… gorgeous.’ He’s looking at your fully naked body, one that you’re no longer trying to cover. You giggle a little, feeling at ease with him. ‘I think I’m ready Jojo.’ But you’re not prepared for when he pulls his pants and boxers down, huge length springing free and hitting his stomach upon being freed from its confines.

Your visible gulp has him laughing nervously. ‘I know it’s big but, I’m gonna prepare you first.’ He says, climbing back on top of you, kissing you as he slides a finger in first to test the waters. Your gasp into the kiss has him smiling against your lips, asking if you’re okay. When you agree, he puts in another finger, slowly thrusting them both in and out of you until you’re reeling for more. ‘Please Jojo…’ he laughs and inserts a third finger. ‘I need to properly prepare you, I don’t want to hurt you too much.’

After a couple minutes of pushing you as far as you could go without cumming, he slowly pulls his fingers out, using your slick to lube up his cock. ‘This might hurt love. Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, okay?’ ‘Okay, just put it in!’ He laughs, commenting on your eagerness to which your face burns up. He finds your impatience endearing before slowly pushing in, just the head first.

You wince at the pain but you knew it was coming. You nod your head, signaling him to continue. ‘So tight baby…’ he says, trying his hardest not to slip in all the way, but it’s so hard when your walls are so warm and welcoming.

After being in fully, you reach up and grab his arm, nails digging into his bicep as you adjust to the feeling of being so full. ‘So big, Jojo…’ it was like you almost couldn’t speak. Your head was dizzy, full of him. No thoughts about anything but the man in front of you. ‘I tried to tell you,’ he’d laugh nervously. After triple assuring him that it was alright for him to move, he’d place a hand on your waist to steady himself, slowly dragging his hips outwards before lightly pushing back in.

You swear you saw stars with the way your eyes rolled back into your head. The slight stinging pain slowly being replaced by pleasure has you moaning like crazy. Little curses and praises rolling off your tongue would only fuel Jo to continue his pace, lifting your hips up and driving in at a deeper angle. Your back was arched off the bed at this point, a loud ‘JO!’ Reverberating through the bedroom walls, loud enough for anyone outside to hear.

He would take this chance to kiss you, knowing you’d be cumming soon with the way your walls were clenching around him. It wouldn’t take much more before you were letting out a long, drawn out moan as your cum coated the base of his cock. Panting like a dog, you’d reel back almost instantly, the overstimulation after cumming so hard already affecting you.

‘Just a little more baby, I know you can handle it’ he’d say, giving you a few more hard thrusts before pulling out, cumming all over your stomach. You’d whine at the feeling of being empty, watching as he runs out to get wipes and water for you.

He’d wipe down the cum on your stomach and cunt, giggling as you wince at the contact. He’d wipe down your face before helping you sit up, handing you an open bottle of water to drink. He’d shower you in kisses; on your forehead, on the top of your head, and up and down your arms and neck as you sip on your water, giggling throughout the whole thing. ‘I drew you a warm bath too. I even put the bubbles in it that you like! I’ll take you whenever you’re ready’ and he has the sweetest, most angel-like smile on his face that you can’t help but to pull him in and kiss him as passionately as he was kissing you earlier.

‘Thank you Jojo, you’re the best boyfriend ever. Thank you for making my first time so special,’ you’d say before he pulls you in again, laying you back down as he kisses you. You can’t help the way your hips instinctively buck up directly onto his dick. He pulls away, quirking a brow at you before laughing. ‘Are you turned on again?’ You look away as you nod, glad that he caught on without you having to say anything. ‘You take care of me so well. How could I not?’ So there he goes, carrying you to the bathroom to continue your night, each session getting more passionate than the last.

༄ ༄ ༄

I always see shy/ soft dom Jo or sub! Jo fics on here so I decided to take it a little differently. I feel like Jo is getting more confident these days compared to previous comebacks especially since he received so much love and praise during yukiakari/ deer hunter era so this is how I think it would translate to the bedroom 🤭

#starrihan #&team #&team smut #&team jo #&team jo smut #andteam #andteam jo #andteam smut #andteam jo smut #asakura jo #asakura jo smut

41 notes · View notes

mischievous-piltovan · 2 days ago

Text

The Undying Oath (NSFW)

Chapter 5: In Dim Carcosa (SFW)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader navigates troubled waters. The Herald is no longer Viktor, he’s merely wearing her late lover’s visage. Yet, she can’t leave him - the guilt of her past betrayal and her duty to the denizens of Zaun keep her bound to the Emberlift Alley Workshop. But not all is lost.

A/N: I had the outline for a way longer chapter, but the more I worked on top of it, the longer it became. So I decided to chop it off in two chapters. Bad news: this might be a harder read, a bit morose with no immediate pay-off. The good news: the next chapter is gonna come much quicker since I not only already have an outline, I also have it fairly written. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one.

Warnings: Major Character Death. Loss of a loved one. He came back wrong. Angsty. War.

Word Count: 5.2K

Also on AO3

Somewhere far away, embedded deep into the veil of the Cosmos, the stars were cackling. At least, they must have been. Because whatever the celestials had planned for her was undoubtedly a joke. And a bad one at that.

After the fiasco that was their moment of intimacy, Viktor explained the origin of his lack of feelings. The procedure Dr. Raveck performed - a mixture of open-chest surgery and chemical infusion -, although resulting in his successful recovery, came with a side-effect: the complete removal of his capacity to feel.

“And what about all this metal?” She asked, motioning at his artificial limbs. “Was this the Doctor too?”

“No, these are my doing,” Viktor responded calmly. “I got rid of the hexcorized tissues in favor of parts I had control over.”

Yet, the cosmic punchline was in the bittersweetness of it all.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was glad Viktor was alive. A part of her was thrilled to be by his side again, to be able to watch him use his intellectual prowess to aid those in need. Like he always dreamed of. After all those months beside him, watching him decay bit by bit every day. After mourning his loss for weeks, engulfed in guilt imagining his last days all alone. This opportunity to be with him again felt like a blessing.

But something wasn't right, he wasn't right. He miraculously came back from the dead. But he came back wrong.

Viktor was not the man she loved anymore, just an echo of who he once was. An uncanny simulacrum, not completely different, but an ill-imitation of the original.

Like a song she knew by heart, but every now and then he changed the lyrics, sang off-key, outpaced the tempo. In every exchange, every act, no matter how mundane, something was always frustratingly wrong.

It was in the way he walked, still impaired and aided by a cane, but it lacked the grace of before, being replaced by an almost robotic stride. It was in the way he was built, still thin with long and lanky limbs, but he was now rigid, standing artificially straight. It was in the way he spoke, with his still low and accented voice, but with a new dull lint of his speech, tempered and softened, lacking the once alluring sharp edges

And all of it seemed to mock her.

In this new form, Viktor was both her persecutor and warden - his very presence tormented her, made her acutely aware of her love for his old self and the fact he was forever gone. But it also kept her in place, for she couldn't leave him. She had no right to.

Not when she had done it once already. Not when he needed her help again. She just had to endure, to bear the cross of her own mistakes in spite of her feelings. And so she did.

—--

Luckily, he kept his mask on throughout the day, blocking out the world from his remaining humanity, and unknowingly shielding her from excess torment, albeit a little. In his full herald garb, the girl could pretend he was someone else entirely, his accented voice was the only hint of his old self, and even that was attenuated by the modulation of the mask.

She started to use his metallic veneer as a tool to help her envision him as someone else entirely. While masked, he wasn't her once fianceé Viktor, but the transhumanist scientist known as the Herald. By clinging to the difference on these labels, she was able to keep some semblance of sanity.

The schedule around the Emberlift Alley Workshop was divided in three blocks. The mornings were designated for new patients, people whose issues were yet to be assessed and properly diagnosed. It was also when Viktor took their measurements in order to build them their prosthesis. Around noon came those whose synthetic limbs were already built and just had to be attached, as well as those in need of maintenance. The evenings were devoted to building the prosthesis based on the measurements taken in the morning. She only needed to be present for the afternoon appointments, when her healing was necessary.

And she'd take every opportunity available to not be present in the same room as him. To avoid unnecessary feelings and ruminations from clouding her mind. To keep her focus on her work.

Instead of remaining idle, she started to organize the rest of the house bit by bit during her free time, trying to bring back some of the home aspect to the place. The busy work kept her from dwelling on the stalemate, preventing her from spiraling into dark thoughts. The people of Zaun needed her in topnotch condition, there wasn't room to come undone. Viktor didn't comment on it, but noticed the effort - the organized space brought him further clarity of mind.

One evening as she was sweeping the floor in the living-room, a familiar voice called her name from behind her. It belonged to Ralph.

“Long time no see, Ralph!” She greeted him, turning around. “Are you here for mainte- what's all that?”

Ralph grinned as he approached her, a small wooden crate in his arms filled to the brim with… Junk?

“It's material for the prostheses!”

“No offense, but,” her hand delicately plucked a corroded rusty screw from the crate, rolling it between her index finger and her thumb. “I don't think these can be used.”

Before Ralph could respond, an accented modular voice rang from behind them.

“They can,” its sound alone sent a shiver down her spine, inching her dangerously close to the precipice of her own mind. “Ralph brought these for me at my request.”

That day she learned just how Viktor was able to keep providing people with prosthetic limbs even under the shortage of resources the conflict between the two cities was causing.

Stricken by curiosity, she followed him as he took the crate down to the workshop below. He placed it on the desk next to the HexCore, its pulsating cold light casting ghastly flickering shadows over the stone walls of the basement. She watched as the Herald pressed various keys on the machinery the HexCore sat atop before the runic matrix reacted, spinning faster than before. Her breathing hitched when an energy beam erupted from the core, elevating the material from the crate and amalgamating its contents together - sorting it by material, no less. In the next moment, all the contents inside the crate were gone, and sheets of different types of material rested on the desk next to it.

An almost inaudible ‘amazing’ escaped from her lips. She swore the Herald chuckled before continuing.

“Those I've helped come bearing whatever form of scraps they find as a show of gratitude,” he explains. “Although the sentiment is unnecessary, the gesture allows me to help more people in the long run.”

Ralph is one of those who often visits with scraps, and in the days that follow is the one person tethering her to some semblance of lucidity. Whenever he comes, he makes sure to stay a while, a warm smile always on his face.

“Your situation is so unique, I'm not sure I have the words necessary to help you,” Ralph relented during one of his visits. They both sat across from each other at the recently uncluttered dinner table. “But I need to encourage you to cut yourself some slack.”

A chuckle escaped her lips.

“I cut myself some slack when I betrayed his trust, didnt I?,” she murmured with a long exhale. “I don't think I should be allowed to do so ever again.”

Ralph rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly in mock annoyance.

“You know what, you actually shouldn't. You are the worst person to ever step foot in Runeterra, and your sins could never be forgiven,” he conceded, looking away from her. “For instance, leaving your gilded life in Piltover to come to the Fissures just because you refused to build weapons to be used against us. What a crime.”

She arched an eyebrow in a knowing look. “Ralph…”

“Not to mention all the years in the Academy, fighting to bring positive change to the Undercity!” He turned back to her, crossing his arms. “And spending all her energy healing our sick after getting her shiny new arm? What a monster!”

His words held good intentions, but failed to truly reach her. Every moment interacted with Viktor was a dire reminder of her mistakes, a memento of her subsequent loss, and an omen of her guilt.

She woke up one day in the middle of the night in full alert. Sitting up on the bed and quickly scanning her surroundings proved there was nothing to worry about, it was just another rough night for a troubled mind. On instinct, her eyes landed on the bed on the other side of the room, and she was graced with Viktor's sleeping form.

It was a rare sight, one she subconsciously tried avoiding by opting to always go to bed before him. The Herald had a habit to stay up late tinkering away at the workshop downstairs, which gave her ample time to get ready for bed and be fast asleep before he was even in the room. The last thing she needed was being further damaged by the sight of him stripped down from his Herald form to something more akin to the man she once knew.

And that was the right call, because seeing him now with his face bare, lips slightly parted, and a peaceful look on his face was… Blissfully painful.

And dangerously magnetic.

Her limbs moved on their own as she slowly rose from her bed, tiptoeing her way to his side, eyes locked on him, committing this Viktor to mind as much as possible. She sat on the floor next to his bed, resting her head over one arm atop the mattress.

She watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The same sharp jaw, now framed by metal, the thin cracked lips, moles dotting the area above his upper lip, just under his eye, and the twins at the side of his neck.

This was not the Herald. This was Viktor.

Her eyes landed on his hand closest to her and she dared to snake her marbled hand towards it, stopping right before touching it. One marbled pinky curled around his and something akin to elation blossomed inside her chest.

Her eyes fluttered close. In the dark behind her eyelids, she could almost pretend they were back at their shared bedroom in Piltover. His scent and the ongoing soft sounds of his breathing lulled her into a false sense of security, and before she could do anything, sleep claimed her.

When next she woke, the clarity of the day lit up the room from the window. Lifting her head up from her arms, she winced as the stiffness of her neck made itself known. Massaging the region, her eyes searched for Viktor but found an unsurprisingly empty bed.

With a groan, she rose to her feet while mentally chastising herself for falling asleep on the floor. Not to mention having Viktor waking up to her sleeping creepily at his side like an obsessed lunatic. She dreaded what he'll have to say about it.

A glance at her own bed proved she wouldn't have to wait to find out. On top of the mattress rested a vial - filled with a clear liquid she recognized as the calming concoction Viktor offered upon their first meeting - and a note. She picked it up and read it ‘Drink it whenever you feel restless’.

Apart from that, he never mentioned that night again. And she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

—--

The day she dreaded came earlier than anticipated. After nudging a frame on the wall to the side and back, rotating it ever so slightly clockwise and counterclockwise for the ninth time, she exhaled in resignation - the frame was fine as it was the first time, she was merely stalling. Stalling from recognizing her work was done, the whole house had been thoroughly organized.

Which meant her only excuse to be absent from the workshop outside of the afternoon hours was no more.

She exhaled once more, trying to weigh her options. On one hand, she could keep on being present only when the prosthesis were being attached, she'd just have to find other things to do around the workshop in the meantime - sitting idly with her thoughts was an easy way to slip into spiraling. There was the option of going out and finding purpose somewhere else, maybe going back to the Firelights Hideout to be a part-time inhouse healer. But then again, there was a conflict happening out there, and exposing herself to being caught by enforcers or in the crossfire of a shooting just because she didn't want to spend more time with the Herald than necessary was… Stupid. On the other hand, being present during assessment could prove useful - getting to know the patients and their woes beforehand could give her more insights and perhaps make her work better. She could even heal them beforehand in case they had wounds still open, or even aid them with stuff completely unrelated to the prosthesis whatsoever.

She glanced at the wall clock and felt a chill run down her spine - it was still mid-morning. She could do this, couldn't she? They say consistent exposure to a trigger tends to dull its effects on a person. She already spends a lot of time in his presence daily, a little more couldn't make such a big difference. Let's not think about the different circumstances each part of the day schedule entailed, with the afternoon time being more busy work and her being able to ignore Viktor's presence entirely, while the morning period would consist of observing and learning on her part. Just. Don't. Think. About. It.

With a resolute exhale, before resolve could escape her, she patted the remainders of dust off of her clothes and made her way down to the basement.

Viktor was sitting at the HexCore desk, noting something down on a parchment paper. She fought the icicle in the pit of her stomach signaling her to run.

“Greetings, sit on the table. I'll be there in a moment” he spoke without facing her, the orange glow of his mask kept firmly at the paper before him.

“No, uhm… it's actually me” She greeted shyly. He turned to her upon hearing her response.

“Oh,” he interjected. “There's still a couple hours before the afternoon appointments start.”

“I know, it's just… “ She could feel her resolve faltering, but pressed on nonetheless. “I was thinking about being present during the morning assessments as well, to learn of your methods and perhaps lending a helping hand where I could.”

A pause befall the two and suddenly the air was thicker. Her eyes kept away from him, fixated in the glow of the rune matrix beside him. The icicle in the pit of her stomach evolved into a dagger and was risking becoming a sword each second that passed between them.

She started deliberating being torn asunder from the inside or just bolting out of the door, not to set foot in the workshop again, when Viktor spoke. “I believe your contributions could be valuable. You may stay.”

Before she could respond, the creaking of the wooden stairs behind them announced the arrival of a patient. She turned around and was greeted with a familiar face.

“Hey, Miss Architect! Long time no see!” A middle-aged man with an athletic build and thinning gray hair stood leaning on a crutch, his left leg missing from the knee down.

“Yo-you're Wenn, right? The courier?” Memories of the countless times she visited the Undercity for data gathering flooded her mind, his face a constant presence. But once the words left her mouth, her eyes did a double take at his missing limb. “Oh… “

“Yeah, I know… “ Wenn jested coily. “But Mister Herald here is gonna make me all good, isn't he?”

“Correct,” Viktor agreed curtly. “Please sit on the table so I can get your measurements.”

Wenn did as commanded while Viktor prepared the tools. The girl stood by the HexCore desk, crossing her arms. “So, what happened to you?”

“Same as everyone else, Enforcers,” Wenn answered nonchalantly. “Was doing my rounds in a permitted area and was still met with a landmine. I was darn lucky it only got my leg.”

“Please, hold still.” Viktor’s robotic voice cut through.

“I wish I could say a mine buried in a permitted area surprised me, but I'd be lying…“ she commented dryly. Enforcers brutality against Zaunites was already a well-known reality often overlooked by the Piltovan state, but ever since the conflict broke out, it felt like it had been cranked up to eleven. The Enforcers filled Zaun with barricades and checkpoints, stipulating permitted areas for passage. Unfortunately, it looked like they didn't keep the bombs solemnly in prohibited territory.

“Tell me about it… “ Wenn sighed. “This whole situation was bad enough before, my radius of operation had shrunk significantly because of it, losing my leg was the cherry on top of this shitcake.”

“We'll solve that part at least.” She assured him.

Viktor turned around and was about to rise from his chair when she stopped him. “I can note down his measurements for you.”

“That would be helpful, I appreciate it.” Viktor acknowledged it, turning back to Wenn after informing her the number.

The girl diligently grabbed a pen on the desk and started writing down what Viktor was telling her when something grabbed her attention - the schematics she was scribbling on. Something was off, the schematics was for a standard prosthesis, something that he usually builds for the common folk. A courier like Wenn, who spends his whole day on foot, walking around the uneven stone pathways of Zaun needed something more sturdy, with more padding. Viktor certainly had something like that designed, didn't he?

“Is this the right schematic?” She prodded.

“It's the leg one, correct?” He retorted.

“it is.”

“Then it is correct.”

Did Viktor really only have one-size-fits all for each single prosthesis?

She shook her head slightly, brows knitted as the gears turned inside her head. She could see where Viktor was coming from, by working with standard models he could attend to a larger number of people in less time. Tailoring each design individually was simply not time-efficient, despite the boost in quality for each piece. Not to mention, to most people the standard design would suffice.

But how about these edge cases such as Wenn's? If they give him the standard module, he'd be back in two weeks or less for maintenance, or replacement altogether. Sure, they'd be making his life better, but only slightly. Wouldn't this be considered inefficient?

Her eyes traveled back to Viktor, and something clicked. Viktor and Jayce were brilliant scientists whose sharp minds worked meticulously to solve complex problems. But she noticed early on in their partnership that they more often than not lacked the ability to perceive what the problems were in the first place.

“We were analyzing some of your data and we came across the fact that the average commute time for those who come topside to work varies from two to three hours during rush,” Jayce began, running his index over the papers in front of him. It had been a couple of months since the partnership between the Undercity Development Section and the HexTech Research Division began, the Ventilation System project was already underway. The pair of scientists had pulled the architect aside as soon as she arrived at the lab that morning, seemingly eager to show her how serious they were. At least that's the vibe she was getting from Jayce. “And we were brainstorming some ideas for a faster and more robust Public Transportation System using HexTech.”

Jayce rolled out a parchment paper in front of them with a map of the Undercity. On top of it, he placed a translucent sheet of butter paper. Then, he grabbed a marker and started sketching on top of it. The girl leaned in closer.

“We noticed that the existing lift's engine is rather old, and demanded that the ascension was done as horizontally as possible,” Viktor chimed in as his partner sketched. Her eyes met his golden ones for a brief second before returning to the paper before them in a fluster. She was still digesting why the leaner scientist had such an effect on her. “This resulted in a longer route between the Undercity Terminal and the Topside Terminal. And that in itself already largely adds to the commute time. So we moved the whole system to a location in which the distance between the terminals is the shortest, since building the new lift vertically is not a problem anymore.”

She studied Jayce's croquis on the translucent paper for a second, before calmly bringing her index finger to it and tapping on a location on the map. “This district right here has historically been formed by people who go to work Topside. It grew organically around the terminal,” she spoke calmly. “These are the people we'd be affecting by tackling this problem. If we move the system to the other side, even if technologically and logistically seems more efficient, we're failing to address the practical effect of such a change.”

She took a marker from Jayce and began scribbling on the paper as she spoke.

“Nowadays, the people start gathering at the Terminal around 4 am. They leave their houses and are promptly met with a line to get to the lift,” she wrote down ‘4 am’ and ‘house -> terminal’. “If we move the system here, all these people would have to find a way to go from their houses to the terminal, adding time and fatigue to the commute. Especially to those carrying wares, goods and tools with them. We'd need to address that.”

She finished writing down all points on the paper, before setting the pen aside. Then, she leaned back where she sat, meeting the scientist's gaze. “Your plan might be the most efficient time-wise, but it wouldn't be solving the problem. I'd suggest building the new system near that district, even if that means sacrificing some of its efficiency. The problem was not simply shortening travel time between Topside and the Undercity, but rather bringing more quality to the existing commute.”

She sighed at the memory, a little twinge of longing constricting her chest. She quickly shook it off, this wasn't the time for sentimentality. Her gaze lingered on the schematics a bit, before turning to the Herald with newfound resolution. If the goal was to aid the people of Zaun, then the magic in her marbled arm was not the only tool at her disposal. She needed to address his methods as an academic peer.

When Wenn left the Workshop, she pounced without hesitation.

“He's gonna be back here in need of maintenance in a couple of days,” she spat, looking down at the schematics.

The Herald stopped in his tracks. She felt the glow of his eyes on her, but didn’t turn to him. “How would you know that?”

“Didn't you hear? He's a courier,” she retorted. “The exertion of his line of work is bound to damage the structure of the prosthesis. Rather quickly even, I'd wager.”

The Herald didn't respond right away. Instead, he slowly made his way to her side. His focus on the schematics in front of her.

“In the assessments, are you taking into consideration the lives of who you help?”

“I don't pry much outside of the measurements,” he stated calmly, almost in a whisper. “I see what you are suggesting, but working with a template is far more efficient than tailoring each piece individually.”

“I don't disagree with that on a theoretical level, but do we have data on returning patients? Those with need for maintenance or replacement altogether?”

The Herald paused. “No.”

She finally turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Then we don't know at what rate we're helping new people compared to returning ones,” she concluded. “Nor do we have data regarding what caused certain types of damage in returning patient's prosthesis, I presume?”

Another beat. “Correct.”

The silence lingered between them. She kept her eyes on him expectantly. With the mask, it was impossible to read him.

“I was focused solemnly in helping the largest number of people in the most efficient way possible,” he stated finally. “I failed to acknowledge those points.”

Although spoken in a dull, flattened manner, his words spoke of regret. She could almost hear Viktor instead of the Herald. Her hand reached for the metal on his shoulder on instinct.

“You were doing what you thought best,” her words were soft. “Besides, it doesn't matter how big that brain of yours is. You're still a single person who tasked himself with this gargantuar endeavor of helping the people of Zaun. Something was bound to slip past you.”

He finally faced her and she thanked the gods for his mask. She'd unravel where she stood if she was to meet his face bare at this proximity. She quickly cleared her throat.

“I was thinking we could pinpoint the most prominent use cases and expand our line of templates,” she proposed. “That way we avoid having to tailor each prosthesis we make from scratch while also addressing the issue at hand. It's not perfect, but I believe it's a good improvement. I might not have the documents here, but I have some information of the average Zaunite jobs and occupation as well as geological differences from when I worked at the UDS.”

“Perhaps I've… forgotten the benefits of intellectual collaboration,” the Herald contemplated. “That is a truly elegant solution.”

“Glad I could help, I'll jot down the information I can recall and I'll get you the notes later,” she responded, taking a step back. “I'll go get some water before the afternoon patients start rolling in.”

In truth, she needed some breather from the whole interaction. The Herald was dangerously close to becoming Viktor and she couldn't allow herself to spiral. She was at the foot of the staircase when the Herald spoke again.

“I was hoping you would join me later tonight so we can design the new templates,” he proposed. “Work together, as we once did.”

She froze in place, her back turned to him. Her marbled arm pulsated with warmth with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The interval between them getting shorter as his words registered. She was already pushing her limits by taking the morning assessments with him, - doubling the amount of time she spent in his presence - and that alone was already taking its toll. Working with him at night would triple it. She couldn't possibly do it.

“Yeah, I think that's reasonable.”

Her words betrayed her.

—--

If she was asked to describe at least one of the patients that passed through the workshop that afternoon, she wouldn't be able to do it. She went through the motions absentmindedly, completely engulfed inside her own mind, dreading the last third of the day.

Why would she agree to his proposal? Was it another facet of the guilt she felt at his betrayal? Was it the sense of duty to the Zaunites in need? Was a product of the self-loathing she harbored throughout all the months she believed he was dead? Was it a combination of all of that?

Or better yet, was it a foolish hope of rekindling something between them through intellectually collaborating on a project, like it happened the first time? Even though he is not capable of feeling anymore?

Whatever the reason behind it was, her fate was sealed.

Despite that, she still took all means necessary to stall her return to the basement. As soon as the last afternoon patient was gone, she excused herself to freshen up. After splashing water on her face more times than necessary, she made a quick detour to the kitchen to brew some coffee. Only then, holding a mug in each hand, did she finally make her way back down.

She found the Herald where she left him - sitting in front of his desk, bathed in the purplish glow of the HexCore. With a long exhale, she made her way towards him.

“Here, unbearably sweet,” she said, placing one of the coffee mugs in front of him. “Just the way you like it.’

The Herald turned to her and her heart sank when golden pupils swimming in dark scleras met her gaze. She had failed to notice his metal mask sitting next to the core on the desk.

“Thank you, although I’d rather have it black,” Viktor spoke in his own accented voice. “Sugar adds nothing but empty calories.”

This was still the Herald. He was just wearing Viktor's skin.

She stood rigidly beside him, putting as much distance from him as possible at the current setting. She kept her eyes low, opting to focus on the schematics in front of him instead of his face. But the space between them felt heavy, his very presence pulled her in and pushed her away simultaneously. It made the coffee she sipped go down like sandpaper. This was not going to work.

“You spoke earlier of information on the average jobs and occupations of the denizens of Zaun,” the Herald spoke without looking at her.

“Ah,” She gasped, snapping out of her thoughts. “That's right.”

Her eyes quickly scanned the desk, spotting a blank piece of paper and dragging it to the space between them. Next, she grabbed a pen, uncapped it, and leaned the tip onto the paper. “Okay, so this is what I remember.”

She started narrating everything she could recollect, annotating it as she went. She scrambled her brain for information, and for each piece recalled, the neural path to the next one unfolded. In her head she could picture the Zaun of another time, when it still was simply known as Piltover's Undercity. The hum of the machinery and pipework vastly drowned out by the cacophony of everyday life. The thick air laced with the smells of the fishery, combined with the fumes of the factories and the sickly-sweet aroma of chemicals. The brief amounts of sunlight hitting the underground at noon when the sun was at its zenith, passing through like an eclipse. The neon artificial lights flooding the streets for the remainder of the day.

Each new canvas her mind painted brought forth a description of how the citizens lived, how each human was a product of their environment. And how they molded it and were molded by it.

It was chaos. Flawed. In dire need of quality for its resident’s life. But oh, so beautiful.

“I have forgotten how elucidative you could be when explaining your craft,” the Herald's voice brought her back to reality. The dim light of the Workshop felt more oppressive as her surroundings came back into focus.

“I uh- Thank you,” she responded sheepishly.

“I am serious. My mind is already brimming with a handful of design solutions from your explanation alone,” he continued. “Although I believe it is rather late and I’d like to let those ideas simmer down as I sleep.”

“Late?” She glanced at the wall clock and silently gasped. No less than three hours had passed since she began her lecture. Any semblance of the worries from before, gone.

Maybe this could work after all.

-----

Also on AO3

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor my beloved #viktor lol #mischie writing

36 notes · View notes

danieyells · 3 days ago

Note

Hello!!! Was reading some older posts, was wondering where in the story it was implied that Jin has a sleeping disorder? Thank you xx

To be fair it may just be my interpretation but Jin's constant exhaustion, needing to sleep, etc is a sleeping disorder as I see it. My guy is always trying to go back to bed. I mean, I relate but still. It seems abnormal that he's always always tired like this? It could be an extension of his possible depression(and, given Subaru's stigma also exhausts him, I can imagine it's an extension of his pact or the current state of his stigma) but that doesn't really make it less of a sleeping disorder. Insomnia is still insomnia even if anxiety is what's keeping you up.

But basically it's just the fact that he seems to be tired all the time. Hell even when he's awake he's often lying on the couch in his room looking kinda tired.

Episode 1 - Chapter 50

It's already the middle of the night and he doesn't wanna be woken until tomorrow evening? So like 12+ hours? Combined with that he has the pc wake him up at higher affinities suggests he can sleep uninhibited for nearly a day or longer? No food no bathroom breaks nothing? It could be genuine exhaustion or maybe just loafing in bed and sleeping on and off but? That's still kinda sleeping disorder isn't it?

(Jin affinity 4) Jin Chapter 2

(Jin Affinity 6) Jin & Tohma Chapter 1

(Jin Affinity 20) home screen, 5am-11am

“Waking me up every morning was your idea, so I’d better see you here tomorrow too. That’s an order.”

(Tohma, Spring/March-May) home screen, 11am-4pm

“I once heard a poem that went, "In spring, one sleeps a sleep that knows no dawn.” I’m sorry to inform you dawn must come eventually, Captain.“

(Tohma Affinity 2) home screen, 11am-4pm

“How delightful… It seems our king’s peaceful slumber has yet to be disturbed.”

It's anecdotal, not outright stated, but he is abnormally tired and sleeps an awful lot don't you think? He could be secretly working really hard in the middle of the night, and he does work behind the scenes for sure, but. . .I'm still not sure it'd add up to the amount of sleeping he feels the need to do.

#jin kamurai #tokyo debunker #danie yells at tokyo debunker

27 notes · View notes

lov3rachan · 3 days ago

Text

I.N my heart

Summary: The youngest member of the band is (forced) to sign up for a dating app but, perhaps, he didn’t really need technology to score a date.

Pairing: I.N x reader

Genre: humour , gender neutral (you/your)

Warning: none

Word count: 683 words

Series: ValenTinder

Comment: Based on a convo between me and CC. Apparently, I can say very I.N coded things. So sad that this series is coming to an end but I hope y’all can look forward for the rest!

Requested by: no one

Written: 12.03.2025, 19.03.2025

Thanks to: @skzdreamer13, who supported me through this series and who (given the incredible amount of wisdom) I quoted in this Drabble.

Taglist: @heartsbyani , @modesttiger , @my-neurodivergent-world , @urlocalmultigroupfan , @skzdreamer13 , @blueohs

Network: @supernovanetwork

Jeongin didn’t know how long he could hold out for.

He had seen all his band mates go on dates and fall in love one by one, turning into lovesick fools, at least the ones that weren’t goners already, and, normally, he would have accepted that.

It meant that they were less all over him and more all over their partners so for him, it was a win-win.

That was how he imagined it to go.

Reality, however, was slightly different.

Having all coupled up, they soon started doing what no-longer single people did: play matchmaker with their single friends.

What used to be aggressive and never-ending affection, turned into continuous nagging about his love life.

I.N would have never believed it, but he was starting to miss their overbearing behaviour, as anything would have been better than being asked how he felt about going on a date every single time.

After a few months, they tired him out and he finally gave up.

He didn’t even want to know and he let them make his account.

That was a decision he regretted.

“Adorable?” He shouted, his voice resonating in the room, “I am not adorable! I am scary, fierce and intimidating! Cute is not in my vocabulary!”.

As his protests echoed in the dorm, the members cooed at him.

“I mean, look at my performances! Dark, sexy and cool! I’m that!” He explained.

Hyunjin replied with a teasing smile: “Except you're not! You’re adorable and just really good at acting sexy, dark and cool”.

I.N seemed on the brink of exasperation, which to be fair was an apt description, and stormed out.

Jeongin wasn’t actually mad, more like embarrassed because his profile was filled with his hyungs saying how cute he was.

And because Han and Seungmin teamed up to choose his username and… suffice to say that they came up with ‘Sexy bread’.

How was he supposed to be taken seriously by anyone, with a username and profile like that?

But again, he had no intention of going on a date so, perhaps, that could be a blessing in disguise.

Not that he’d ever tell them.

“Me, adorable?” He scoffed, with his eyes glued to the screen.

Then, ever the walking disaster, he tripped over nothing and fell face first, his hands dropping the phone to save his looks.

What if he stayed there? Maybe no one actually noticed and the ground would take pity on him and swallow him whole.

Then a voice called him out: “Are you okay?”.

And he swore he saw an Angel.

You were beautiful, holding out your hand to help him up, and your voice…

Jeongin’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, I’m good. It happens a lot” he said, accepting your help and brushing off his clothes, his cheeks dusted with pink.

As you handed him his phone, he blurted out: “Have we met before?”.

You did look familiar but he couldn’t quite place you.

When you introduced yourself, though, he recalled: you had met at an award shows.

“Listen… I didn’t mean to invade your privacy but I couldn’t help but… you know, notice the app. Were you looking for a date?” You shyly asked, avoiding his gaze.

“No!” He quickly told you.

“I mean, yes. But not anymore. If you… maybe we can get coffee together? My treat! To… to thank you for the help” I.N added.

“Are you asking me on a date?” You teased him.

“Uh, yeah” he answered, with a red face and puppy eyes.

“Let’s go” you agreed before whispering in his ear “By the way…Sexy Bread?”

“You read that?!” He exclaimed, quickly covering his mouth afterwards, as passer-by’s stared at him.

“Maybe?” You feigned innocence, with a teasing smile.

Jeongin simply buried his face in his hands, and cursed his band mates.

They were dead meat. Especially Seungmin and Han.

Lee Know’s threats were going to be the least of their worries.

But first and foremost, he had a date to get to.

And maybe, just maybe, it would spare them from his murderous intentions.

#supernovanetwork #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #in x reader #i.n x reader #I.n #skz i.n #skz jeongin #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #[🦊] djin's writing #[ ✍️ ] djin’s writing

37 notes · View notes

shizuturnspages · 18 hours ago

Note

What about a black swan (hsr) like reader with Yandere Kaeya, Dulic, and Nevulette

Whispers of the Abyss

Synopsis: You were an enigma, a ghost woven into the fabric of history, whispering forgotten truths and unravelling the threads of fate. You did not speak of the present—you spoke of the past, of things long buried, things that should never have been unearthed. And they were captivated by you. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Kaeya, & Neuvillette x Black Swan-like Reader

Diluc — The Man Who Fears the Past

Diluc had never been a man to indulge in superstition, but you… you made him believe.

Your words, always spoken in a soft, lulling voice, carried truths too real to ignore.

"You still dream of that night, don't you?"

He had frozen the first time you uttered those words, your gaze piercing straight through him, as if you had been there—standing in the fire-lit night, watching his father’s final moments.

No one knew the details. Not Kaeya. Not Adelinde. No one.

But you did.

And that terrified him.

At first, he tried to avoid you. You were too dangerous, too all-knowing, and he did not need another shadow looming over him.

But the more he stayed away, the more the emptiness grew.

Because deep down, he needed you.

You understood his grief in a way no one else could. You spoke of his father as if he still existed, as if his memory had not faded into ash.

He hated it.

He craved it.

And soon, he could not imagine a world without you.

Even if you terrified him.

Even if you whispered truths that he wished to forget.

"Diluc… do you ever wonder what he would think of you now?"

He grips his glass of wine tighter, his knuckles white.

It no longer matters.

Because whether you were a prophet, a ghost, or something far worse—you belonged to him.

And if keeping you meant burying every other voice in your head, so be it.

You would speak of him alone.

And no one else.

You become an obsession. A mystery he must unravel.

He watches you—studies you. The way you drift from place to place, the way you never linger too long in one spot.

Are you running from something?

Or are you simply waiting for something to catch up?

The thought of you leaving terrifies him.

One night, he catches your wrist—a rare moment of physical contact.

"Stay."

His voice is deep, raw. A plea wrapped in steel.

But you merely smile, as though you have already foreseen this moment.

"You cannot cage the wind, Diluc."

And yet—

If fire cannot bind you, then perhaps he simply isn’t burning hot enough.

Kaeya — The Man Who Embraces Shadows

Kaeya had always been drawn to secrets.

But you were a mystery that even he could not solve.

"The snow fell that night, just like it did the day he left you."

The first time you had spoken those words, he had laughed—charming, teasing, feigning ignorance.

But there was no amusement in his eyes.

Because you had just dug into his past, into the deepest part of him—the boy abandoned in the snow, left with nothing but a whispered purpose.

And you had done it so effortlessly.

It was exhilarating. Infuriating.

"Do you still hear his voice, Kaeya?"

Your words wrapped around his mind like a snake, whispering, whispering—never letting him forget.

He couldn’t have that.

Not anyone’s voice but yours.

You were his to unravel, his to study, and if you thought you could disappear like a fleeting vision—

You were wrong.

Kaeya would find a way to bind you to him, even if it meant letting the past consume him entirely.

Because you knew too much.

And if he could not possess your secrets, then he would possess you.

You know things you shouldn’t.

You see things you shouldn’t.

And oh, how he adores it.

But he also hates it.

Because no matter how close he gets, you remain untouched. Unaffected.

No teasing remark can unsettle you. No flirtation can break your composure.

And for once, Kaeya is the one being played with.

It drives him mad.

One night, he corners you, his usual smirk absent.

"Tell me, little dove, do you care for anything in this world?"

You blink at him, silent.

That silence? It’s unbearable.

So he does what he does best—he tightens the noose ever so gently.

"If you don't, I suppose I’ll have to make myself the exception."

You do not answer.

But Kaeya is patient.

And oh, he does so love a challenge.

Neuvillette — The Man Who Mourns the Forgotten

Neuvillette felt the rain before he ever felt your presence.

It was always that way—whenever you spoke, whenever your voice lilted with the weight of forgotten history, the skies wept.

"The sea remembers, Neuvillette. Even if you try to forget."

He never asked how you knew.

You simply did.

And that alone was enough to make something deep within him stir.

He was a being of law, of logic, and yet… there was nothing logical about you.

You spoke of things long before his time, whispered truths he had never uttered aloud, as if you had walked the same path as he had, seen the same tragedies.

"The rain is not weeping for them, Neuvillette. It is weeping for you."

The weight of those words unravelled him.

Because for the first time, someone understood.

And he would not lose that.

Would not lose you.

Even if it meant breaking his own laws.

Even if it meant keeping you where no one else could ever steal your voice away.

Because your whispers belonged to him alone.

And no one else.

You are a storm with no thunder. A tide that never turns.

Your presence unsettles him, though he does not know why.

Your words carry too much weight.

"The sky remembers the sorrow it once wept. But do you?"

Something inside him stirs.

An ache.

A longing.

And it is your fault.

He watches you. Not as a judge, but as something far more dangerous.

As a man who fears losing something before he even understands what it is.

"You know too much," he tells you one day, voice carefully controlled.

"And yet, you still ask."

His grip tightens.

"Do not think you can drift away like mist, little one."

For if you do—

The sky itself will weep until you return.

27 notes · View notes

toastedpinata · 21 hours ago

Text

like.....like mark scout literally underwent ethically dubious brain surgery to get away from the memory of gemma. And then he did it again when he found out she could be alive. So why wouldn't his innie also be willing to choose the person he loves over everything else. He tells his innie to imagine his and gemma's relationship as being 20x more significant becuase they had eachother for longer and had an entire life BUT WHAT ABOUT WHEN THE ONLY LIFE YOU DO HAVE IS 6 HOURS A DAY IN A FUCKING FLUORESCENT WHITE LIT MAZE OF A PLACE WHEN THAT LOVE FOR THE PPL AROUND YOU IS ALL YOU HAVE LIKE OF COURSE HIS INNIE DOESN'T WANT TO LEAVE THAT

#severance #severance spoilers

31 notes · View notes

detectivestucks2 · 4 hours ago

Text

Toji as Your Stalker

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Toji x F!Reader

Summary: Toji sees you while working and quickly becomes obsessed with the wife of his hit job. Once the dust of the murder trial settles, he comes back to take his prize

Warnings: NSFW, DubCon, unprotected sex, facial, murder, funeral

Word Count: 2.4k

Your stalker, Toji, who meets you on a job. He was hired to kill your husband, but found you far more interesting than some adulterous jerk he had to kill.

Your stalker, Toji, who hates the man you married. He doesn’t appreciate what he has, always going to clubs and paying for women when the idiot has a diamond back home. What if he infects you with something he catches from his whore’s? Toji’s brain spins with worry.

Your stalker, Toji, kills many people as a sell-sword. Some of them bad, some of them good, some of them children, all of them because some rich scum needs them removed. He didn’t particularly love his occupation, but it kept him rich and he was good at it. This time though, he definitely enjoyed his job. An excuse to watch you and a payment to knock out his competition. Toji’s never been more lucky.

Your stalker, Toji, who follows you around far more than he follows your husband. He already knows his strategy for killing him, but he doesn’t know what you love. He knows what you don’t like, your husband, but what are your interests and hobbies? Who are your friends? What do you look like under those clothes?

Your stalker, Toji, who learns all those things, making appearances here and there. One day he walks up behind you in a book store. You're searching for a title you saw online when his hulking chest rubs up against the back of your head. “S’cuse me.” he grunts as he reaches for a book on the shelf.

Your eyes widen as you realize how tall the man is. His firm muscles press up against your back with a hand casually placed on your hip. You feel you could get lost in a hug from this stranger and with one glance at his compression shirt, stretched out from his herculean figure, you want to.

Your stalker, Toji, who started popping up everywhere. Where there had once been attraction, there is now fear. The more places he appears, the greater that terror grows. You tell your husband about it but he scoffs, saying you have an overactive imagination. You insist that he should beef up the home security system but he doesn’t, claiming you’re just trying to get his attention.

Your stalker, Toji, who watches the exchange through the window, amazed that this POS has the nerve to call himself a husband. You are by far the most important person in his life, so why does your husband not feel the same way. It doesn’t matter though, he won’t be around much longer, and when he’s gone…that’s when Toji will strike.

Your stalker, Toji, who watches from the shadows during your husband’s funeral. He sees you staring at the casket, unsure whether to be sad or relieved. The man didn’t love you. It was an arranged marriage. He was barely kind to you, but he was your husband and he had been murdered.

You stand there, face perplexed when you realize there is a flower on the casket that was not added by any of the mourners. It is a snapdragon; your favorite. So how did it end up here?

Your eyes dart around the graveyard at all the guests, searching for the person who brought snapdragons but no one has any blooms that match the one in question.

Your stalker, Toji, who makes an appearance as the rest of the crowd leaves. He stands behind your shoulder as a singular tear leaks out from your eye. You may not have loved him, but without him you are alone in the world. You will be able to live off of his money for a year, but after that, the life you once knew will be gone.

Your stalker, Toji, whose footsteps take you by surprise when he steps forward to look down on your husband in his grave. He gives the ghost a glare before looking up and turning to you. Your eyes widen like a doe, alone with the man who’s been following you for weeks. The fear for your safety makes you tremble, especially when your eyes pan down to his hands, his very large hands, and you see a bouquet of snapdragons clutched between his fingers.

Your stalker, Toji, who walks over to you, reaching you in just a few strides, even as you step back. With a hint of a smile he presses the flowers into your hands before walking away.

You stand there, shaking in your solitary, you know this isn’t over. This is far from over.

Your stalker, Toji, who disappears from your life as quickly as he entered it. Your head remains on a swivel cause you know you’re not wrong about your gut feeling at your husband’s funeral. The man has targeted you, a lone widow, and part of you believes he’s the one who created your new marital status. As crazy as it sounds, you know you’re not wrong.

Your stalker, Toji, who disappears for months, missing the entirety of your husband’s murder investigation. You’re acquitted of all charges due to the violent nature of the murder. There is no way you are capable of such strength, but you know who is. You are certain it’s him and the thought makes you tremble. What if you’re next? What’s to stop him from coming back to finish you off? Your thoughts spiral with worry but you don’t dare say a thing to the police because you’re afraid of just that, him finishing the job. The blame for the murder is eventually shifted to a gang your husband was secretly a part of. They uncovered his favorite brothel was a front to launder money for a gang comprised of violent offenders. They attributed his death to a deal gone wrong and the case was closed.

Your stalker, Toji, who let himself into your kitchen ten months after your husband’s death, ready to steal his prize. Oblivious to his presence, you came down for a late night cup of tea. Turning on the light over the stove, filling your kettle and setting the burner on high, you wait, zoning out on the floor as you hear the water roar into a boil. Once the kettle sings your hands motion to pour the steaming water on autopilot, not noticing the water flowing over the brim of your mug.

“Careful now, that’s hot.”

Your stalker, Toji, who steps out of the shadows and makes his presence known startling you so severely that you drop the kettle, sending hot water all over the kitchen floor and splashing on your legs. You wince from the pain of the fresh burns when the mammoth of a man stoops down to assess your skin. “Silly girl, who taught you to be so careless.” he mutters more to himself than you.

You’re frozen in fear, unsure if you should run or do whatever he says. Maybe he’ll make it quick. Maybe it won’t hurt. But then you see him get up and grab a kitchen rag, wet it, and press it against your seared flesh.

Your stalker, Toji, who feels the shiver that rocked your body and looks up at your surprise-struck face. “What?”

You blink a few more times before you whisper, “Are you going to kill me too?”

“Of course not.” He grunts and stands up to his full height, his finger hooking under your chin. Another shiver shakes your bones and his opposite arm circles your waist, pulling you into his body heat. “Your husband was a bad man, a greedy man, an idiot who thought he could show you off like a prize and then shove you away while he fucked his whores.”

You suck in a breath, hurt by the truth of his words but anticipating where he was going.

“Yes, you should be shown off like a prize, but you should also be fucked like a whore.” His fingertips graze your cheek and rest in your hairline, his palm hiding the side of your face. “The dumb shit didn’t know how to fuck you, but I do. I don’t care that you’re a lady out there. In here, you’re my little slut, and my little slut is coming upstairs with me now.”

Your stalker, Toji, who sweeps you off your feet and carries you bridal style up the stairs to your bedroom door. He kicks it open and repositions you so that you’re straddling his stomach, ankles locked behind his back as he heavily kisses you, panting from want. “Fuck, you taste so good.” he growls, parting from your mouth. He sits down on the side of your bed, pulling down the spaghetti straps of your pajama top. “Mind if I taste these too?”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. A moment ago you thought he was going to kill you, now you’re making out with him on your bed. What has gone rotten in your brain that you’re suddenly desiring this man with every bone in your body?

With parted lips you nod yes. Toji grabs two fistfuls of your weighty chest and begins to feast, switching back and forth between each peak, melting your mind into a puddle of need.

Your stalker, Toji, who is making you wet between your legs, your pelvis absentmindedly grinding into his lap while he focuses his attention on your tits. You’re supposed to be more ladylike than this; you’re supposed to be scared. Yet neither of those things are true. You desire him more than you ever desired your husband. You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anyone this much in your entire life.

“My, my, aren’t we anxious. Hmm? You need me to stuff you full?”

It was so lewd but you can’t help the dribble of drool that forms in the corner of your mouth thinking about how it’d feel to have sex again. It’d been so long since you laid with a man and even longer since you actually enjoyed it. You stopped sleeping with your husband when he started fucking prostitutes, and doing the deed with him was never enjoyable. You guess that’s why he had to start paying someone, so they’d pretend to enjoy it.

Yet here in the dark, you have a beast of a man ready to tear you apart like you’re a virgin and you might as well be, given how long it’s been.

Your stalker, Toji, who flips you onto the bed. Your back lay against the sheets and he steals off the satin bottoms of your pajama set. As he rubs his massive length against your folds, spreading your slick along the entirety of your sex you begin to panic, remembering just who this man is and regretting your choice. Suddenly wanting escape, you try to sit up and push him away but he slams you back down, pinning you against the bed with his forearm. “Too late to turn back now, pretty.”

His cockhead slips into your slit and he thrusts with an angry strength, hitting your back wall and causing you to choke on the air in your throat. Toji pulls out and fucks into you again, just as hard as before, making you wince and once more attempt to push him off of you.

“No.” he sneers, “Take it like a good slut. Fuck your husband’s killer.”

The widening of your eyes unleashes an animal within his mind and his hips run away at full speed, snapping into you as if you were a seasoned slut when in actuality you were holding on for dear life, screaming from discomfort.

Your stalker, Toji, who bears down on your neck with one hand and pulls on your hair with the other, fucks into you till you give in. You can’t deny the gorgeous madman any longer. Your fear turning into shameful lust, your body starts to welcome his intrusion, producing so much slick that you squelch around him with every thrust.

Your stalker, Toji, who throws your body around the bed like a paper doll. From one position to the next, you lose your balance and never know where to grip. Your hands claw at him and then the at the sheets, looking for anything to hold you steady.

Eventually, he rolls you onto your knees, pulling on you at your hips, and slamming into you at a jarring pace. Your fingers grip small chunks of your comforter while his hips jackhammer away at your back, his large and heavy palm slaps at your round behind like he hates you with every fiber of his being.

Your stalker, Toji, who has you crying from the intensity of his bedroom activities. You’re overwhelmed and at a loss of control. You’ve came more times than you can count and just want him to have mercy on you. But he doesn’t. “Over a year,” he snarls into your neck, landing another blow on your backside. “Over a year of waiting. You’re not going to reject me, and you’re not going to run from me. I’m here permanently sweetie, and no one will touch what’s mine.”

Your stalker, Toji, who presses both hands on the small of your back, pushing you down into the mattress, making you scream from the angle. “And when I say ‘no one’ sweetie, that includes you. You will not touch yourself. Only I can touch your pretty little body. Only I can bring you to orgasm, understand?” He punctuates his question with an extremely heavy spank against your ass causing you to shout ‘yes!’

Your stalker, Toji, who loses all control from the sound of your submission and pushes you down before yanking you back to the floor. He pulls you to your knees by your hair and cocks your neck back, fucking his fist till spirts of seed fly out, coating your face.

You close your eyes trying to avoid the sting but he rubs his cum into your skin, leaning down so his breath cools your wet cheek.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispers

“I belong to you now.”

“That’s right. And who touches you?”

“Only you, sir.”

“Do you touch yourself?”

“No, sir, just you.”

“Good slut.”

Your stalker, Toji, who moves you out of your ex husband’s house and into his, allowing you to maintain the lavish lifestyle you knew under your dearly departed, using his blood money. Each night when he comes home you wait on your knees by the door and when he’s ready, he ravishes you like the whore he promised.

“Who do you belong to?” He grunts each night, hips plowing into yours

“You, sir!” you scream in marital bliss

“And who touches you?”

“Only you, sir”

“Good slut… or should I say, wife.”

Masterlist

#jjk smut #toji smut #toji headcanons #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji x you #jjk toji #stalker toji

28 notes · View notes