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lovebugism · 7 months ago

Note

I love your ones with shy x king steve could you write more with lots of angst lolll

ty for requesting !! — the trials and tribulations of dating hawkins' golden boy (shy!reader, secret relationship, hurt/comfort, king!steve universe | 1.6k)

Gravel crunches under your feet, digging into the bottoms of your shoes with every step. You storm through the empty alleyway between the gymnasium and the chemistry lab despite that. Despite the whipping wind that threatens to pull you back. Despite the calls of your name from an achingly familiar voice.

“Hey! Hey, wait up!” Steve shouts at the back of you, laughing like it’s funny.

You hear his footsteps kicking up gravel as he rushes to catch up with you. It takes little effort on his part — legs long and mostly bare in his Hawkins Tigers basketball shorts. He towers over you accordingly, when he slides ahead of you to stop you suddenly in your tracks.

“Hey. What’s going on?” the boy pants with a crooked smile. His cheeks, freshly shaven, are now flushed from a merciless practice. The shirt clinging just perfectly to his torso, too, is damp at the neckline with sweat. “Why are you avoiding me, huh?”

He’s met with an emotionless scowl from you, which is strange, ‘cause you’re usually all smiles around him. But you keep your arms crossed over tight your chest, adamant in revealing nothing to him.

Steve’s smile wavers at the edges as he forces a breathy, unsure laugh. “Oh, you’re not— you’re not talking to me? Shit, I must have some serious groveling to do, don’t I?”

His wide hands settle warm on the outsides of your elbows, just before he ducks down to kiss you. You catch a smirk pulling at his pink mouth when the tip of his nose traces the bridge of yours — like it’s still so funny to him.

He frowns when you flinch back from him, boyish features twisting like a puppy’s might. “You okay?” he wonders, suddenly solemn.

“No, Steve,” you snap. “I’m not.”

He stammers hopelessly. “Well, what— What happened? Did I… Did I do something, or…?”

“No. You didn’t do anything,” you bite. “Because you never do anything.”

You try to walk past him, but Steve sidesteps to block you, his hands spread awkwardly before him in surrender. “Okay, well, now I’m confused,” he murmurs, face swirled with uncertainty. “‘Cause you’re saying I didn’t do anything, but… it kinda sounds like I did do something…”

His disregard sets you aflame from the inside.

“Tommy made fun of me in front of all your friends. In front of you—” You dig your finger into the center of his chest. “—And what did you do? Nothing, Steve… Nothing.”

Your voice breaks. You clear your throat when emotion starts to strangle you.

The memory of earlier that day pangs your chest like it just happened — like it’s still happening. And it’s not so much what Tommy said to you, but what Steve didn’t have the courage to say.

The boy sighs, swiping a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. “He’s a dick, babe. You know that. Don’t let him get to you—”

“That’s really easy for you to say, isn’t it?”

He flinches at your foreignly sharp tone. “Well, what was I supposed to do?”

Now, you can’t tell if he’s oblivious or just a coward. Neither is particularly attractive.

“Anything,” you spit. “Literally anything.”

“I just didn’t want them to find out about us, alright?” Steve argues, harsher now. “That was the agreement, wasn’t it? That we stay a secret—”

“‘Cause you’re ashamed of me,” you choke, eyes going glassy.

“‘Cause I didn’t want this shit to get any worse for you!”

“It can’t get any worse, Steve! I’m fucking— I’m fish bait!”

“What?!”

“Every day, I’m terrified of what your friends are gonna say to me,” you confess, despite the cracks in your voice and the tears blurring your vision. “I’m self-conscious, all the time, ‘cause they always have something to say. About my hair, my clothes, my makeup—”

Steve’s chest burns with a palpable ache. Every inch of your heartbreak is his own. His arms cross over his chest in a feeble attempt to quell the flame. “Really?”

You scoff a bitter laugh. “God, you’re so oblivious…”

“I didn’t know it was that bad, babe, I swear,” Steve says, voice suddenly fragile as he takes a step closer to you. His sneaker scuffs the gravel with hesitancy. “I thought Tommy was just being a prick, you know? He’s like that with everyone. I had no idea it was like that, okay?”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh. “The point is, Steve… That Tommy shouldn’t be doing anything to be at all. You should be protecting me— Not even as my boyfriend, but as a decent fucking human being.”

“I’ll talk to him,” the boy says with a firm nod.

“Steve—”

“I will. I-I’ll sort it out, okay? I promise.”

Even though the look of hurt twisting his features makes your eyes sting, you smack your lips indifferently against your teeth. “No. Don’t worry about it. I’d hate for him to find out about us—”

“Babe—”

“Or, god forbid, you lose any shot of being prom king,” you laugh cynically. “Wouldn’t that be a bite?”

Steve huffs, though it’s hard with the leaden weight on his chest. “Okay. Now you’re just being mean.”

You know you are. You wanted to be — wanted to hurt him like he hurt you. But you’re questioning if he deserves it now, so you shrink into yourself all over again. “I have to go. Me and Robin are going to the library.” When you walk past him this time, he makes no effort to stop you.

It hurts only slightly.

“Let me drive you,” he calls to you, anyway.

“So you can be seen with a bunch of dweebs at the library?” you scoff, not looking back at him. “I’d hate to see what that would do to your reputation.”

“Please, don’t,” Steve sighs, with his hands on his hips and his head tossed back like he’s talking to the sky. “Don’t leave when you’re mad at me. Please.”

His words are carried to you on an early fall breeze, which stills suddenly when you spin around to face him. The sight of you takes his breath in a similar way — eyes teary, chin quivering, face twisted with the hurt he caused.

“Do you know how humiliating it is?” you ask him, voice trembling. “To watch your boyfriend stay silent when all of his friends are making fun of you?”

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s fucking humiliating.”

His jaw clenches. So hard his temples shift. “I thought I was helping,” Steve explains, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I thought if I said something, then everyone would find out, and you said you didn’t want that—”

“Because you’re King Steve,” you retort, agonizing the point he seems to be forgetting. Your voice breaks like splintered glass. “And I’m— I’m nothing—”

“That’s not true—”

“—And I thought the only way I’d get to be with you was if no one else knew. So you could keep being Hawkins Royalty while dating the… the local fucking prude.”

An emotionless laugh sputters from your lips. It cuts through Steve like a knife.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know you felt that way,” the boy confesses, closing the short distance between you. The snapping gravel under his sneakers fills the silence. You duck your gaze when he towers over you again.

“Well… now you do,” you murmur.

“I’ll make it better, okay? I’ll fix it,” Steve assures. Unsure of what to do with his hands when they’re not holding you, he sticks the trembling limbs in the pockets of his short shorts. He shifts on his feet and kicks a rock with his sneaker. “You just… You just have to let me.”

He flashes you a look then, a pleading sort of glance from beneath his lashes, glimmering with a darkened honey. It makes your chest sparkle in a similar way. But still slightly hurt, you only shrug in response.

“Can I have a kiss, at least?”

You shrug again with eyes wide and pleading, shining now with a surer answer you hope he can hear in your silence.

Steve leans in slowly, testing the waters. His gaze darts from your eyes, to your mouth, and to your eyes again. When you don’t flinch away by the time his nose grazes yours, he finally kisses you — a chaste peck that makes your tense shoulders slowly relax. You fight the urge to chase him when he pulls back from you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really,” Steve says in a pained murmur. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “‘Cause you mean— You mean a lot to me, you know?”

It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to telling you he loves you, which is saying something, ‘cause he thinks he almost tells you every day.

“You mean a lot to me, too,” you mutter shyly in response.

Steve tries and fails to bite back a grin. He ducks down for another kiss –– the long and languid one he’s been dreaming about all day. The kind that tastes like strawberry chapstick and nicotine and yearning. The kind that pains you to pull away from.

Your kissed mouths smack apart in protest. You try hard to conceal a lovesick smile. “I really do have to meet Robin, though…” you confess in a mousy voice.

His rosy mouth falls softly agape. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh,” he clears his throat. “Call me later?”

You step back from him and shrug, still smiling. “We’ll see,” you lilt beneath the gravel crunching under your feet. Only when you’re at the edge of the alleyway do you glance at him over your shoulder. The puppy-like hurt on his face returns.

“You’re breakin’ my heart!” he calls to you, only partly serious.

“Just like seeing you grovel,” you joke. “That’s all.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #king!steve #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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aspenmissing · 2 months ago

Note

Arcane men x reader with a voice kink 😳

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪ�� ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 5869 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ). ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

JAYCE

The first time you realized it, it was completely accidental.

You weren’t even doing anything special—just sitting in the council chambers, watching Jayce give one of his impassioned speeches about Hextech advancements. But the way his voice carried, the way it dipped low and rumbled like a summer storm, made something tighten deep inside you.

He was always charismatic, but when he got lost in his own convictions, speaking with such firm belief and certainty, it was like he wove a spell around the entire room. His voice wasn’t just sound—it was presence, warmth, command.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat, a rush of heat crawling up your neck as you forced yourself to focus on the actual content of his speech. But the damage was already done.

That voice did something to you.

And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.

It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.

You were doomed.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.

The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.

He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.

Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—

Nope. Nope. Not going there.

Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.

“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”

His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”

You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.

“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”

Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort.

“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”

But then he chuckled.

A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh, hell.

Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.

You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”

“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”

You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.

He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.

“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And god, the way he reacted.

His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.

“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.

His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.

“You really do like it, don’t you?”

You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.

“What if I keep talking?” he mused.

You nearly whimpered.

“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”

Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—

“Say my name again.”

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.

But tonight… tonight was different.

You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.

But then—his voice.

“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.

Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did.

Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)

Your breath hitched.

He caught it—of course he did.

Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”

You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.

“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.

His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savouring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”

You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.

The air in the lab had changed.

It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.

Except this wasn’t an experiment.

This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.

"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?

His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"

The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.

His smirk deepened.

"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"

Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.

"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.

"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savouring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"

You bit your lip.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"

His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.

"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"

You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

He laughed. Soft and knowing.

His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."

He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)

Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.

"I—"

His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.

"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.

He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.

"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"

And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—

You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.

JAYVIK

Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.

By them.

Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.

Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.

Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.

Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.

“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”

Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.

“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”

Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.

“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.

Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.

“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.

Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.

Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.

Then he smirked.

“Flustered.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.

You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”

The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.

You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.

Damn them both.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.

“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”

A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.

He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.

“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.

Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.

He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”

You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”

Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.

“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.

You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”

“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”

His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”

“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”

A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.

“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”

Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.

“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”

His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.

And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.

You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—

You weren’t about to disobey that voice.

SILCO

Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.

No one would ever know.

Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.

And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.

Tonight, you were in his office—again.

The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.

That was always the game.

His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.

"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"

Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.

His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.

"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.

Not yet.

He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.

"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"

Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.

"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.

"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.

"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.

"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."

Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.

Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.

His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.

And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.

"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"

The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.

Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."

"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."

He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.

"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.

"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."

His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.

And he knew it.

His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.

"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."

His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

CLAGGOR

The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.

You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.

“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”

He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.

Gods, his voice.

It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.

You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.

Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.

“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”

“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”

Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”

There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.

Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”

Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Yes.

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The words left your lips before you could think better of them.

For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.

“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.

Your breath caught.

He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.

“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”

A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.

Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.

“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”

The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.

You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.

Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.

You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.

His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.

“…Should I keep going?”

You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.

“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”

Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”

He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?

Yeah. You were so in trouble.

And you loved it.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #Arcane spice #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #claggor x reader #claggor x you #Au!Claggor

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paxtito · 2 months ago

Text

coitus

pairings: wednesday x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+, strap-on used (r receiving), just lesbian sex, dom!wednesday, sub!reader (all characters are 18+)

summary: wednesday invites you to her dorm to engage in ‘coitus’— as she so sexily put it. (requested by anon which can be found at the end)

MASTERLIST

The last five minutes of class felt like they stretched into eternity. You were barely keeping yourself upright, blinking slowly, the professor’s voice fading into white noise. Your body screamed for rest, but then—

Slide.

A small piece of folded paper appeared on your desk, pushed toward you by none other than Wednesday— your girlfriend.

You straightened a little, eyes flickering to hers, but as usual, her expression was unreadable. Still, there was something expectant in the way she held your gaze, waiting.

Carefully, you unfolded the note.

‘My dorm. 7 PM sharp. Do not be late.’

No signature, no explanation—just Wednesday being Wednesday.

By the time class ended, you’d hoped to find her lingering outside, but she was already gone. Typical. With no other option, you went searching for Enid instead, if anyone knew Wednesday’s whereabouts, it would be her.

You found her in the common area, chatting with Yoko about something unimportant before perking up the moment she saw you. “Hey, bestie! What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Wednesday,” you said, crossing your arms. “She left me a note, but I have no idea what for.”

Enid’s ears practically perked up like an excited golden retriever. “Ooooh, mysterious.” Then, as if just remembering, she added, “Oh, by the way, I’m crashing at Yoko’s tonight.”

That made you pause. “Why?”

“Oh, Wednesday said she wanted to have—” Enid scrunched her face, thinking. “What was the word? Coitus?”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Yeah, coitus.” She shrugged. “No clue what it means, but it sounded kinda serious, so I figured it was best to leave.”

Your stomach flipped. Something about that word—coitus—felt… ominous. Like it held some kind of heavy importance you weren’t grasping.

“What the hell does ‘coitus’ mean?” you muttered.

“I dunno.” Enid patted your shoulder. “But whatever it is, have fun!”

After your conversation with Enid, you felt a creeping sense of unease settle over you.

Coitus.

The word bounced around your head like a stray ping-pong ball. It sounded scientific, almost clinical. And with Wednesday involved, there was a very real possibility that it was exactly that.

Which is why you now found yourself sneaking into the chemistry lab, eyes darting around as you grabbed a pair of safety glasses from the supply shelf.

Whatever Wednesday had in store, it was better to be prepared.

Sliding them into your pocket, you left the lab with a sense of grim determination.

—

Your knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door of Wednesday's dorm room, three sharp, decisive knocks that echoed in the quiet hallway. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides as you waited for a response.

After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open with a low creak, revealing Wednesday standing in the dimly lit entryway. She was dressed in her usual dark attire - a black turtleneck, long skirt, and those damned boots you loved so much. Her hair was slicked back into a tight braid, and her pale skin seemed to glow in the low light.

"Punctual," she observed, stepping aside to let you enter. "I appreciate your timeliness."

You stepped into Wednesday's room, your eyes immediately drawn to the bed draped in a white towel, the fabric stark against the dark decor. Beside it sat an unmarked cardboard box, its plain brown surface somehow more unsettling than any gothic trinket.

Turning to face Wednesday, you crossed your arms, a mix of curiosity and trepidation in your voice. "Wednesday, what exactly does 'coitus' mean? Enid mentioned it earlier, and... I want to know what I'm walking into here."

Wednesday closed the door behind you, the latch clicking into place with a sense of finality. She turned to you, her dark eyes glinting in the low light.

"'Coitus'," she repeated, as if tasting the word on her tongue. "It means... communion. Intimacy. The joining of two souls in the most primal, carnal sense.”

“Oh.”

You blinked, dumbfounded by Wednesday's blunt explanation. A flush crept up your neck as the true meaning of her earlier note sank in. You reached up and removed the safety glasses, feeling rather foolish for bringing them.

"Right," you mumble weakly, setting them down on a nearby table. "I thought... I mean, I didn't know if you meant..." You trailed off, suddenly tongue-tied.

Wednesday watched you, an almost amused smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Did you think I was going to conduct a science experiment?" she asked, one eyebrow arching.

She stepped closer, her skirt swishing softly with each step. "I have done extensive research on the techniques that are used when engaging in coitus. Our first time will be… superlative at best.”

She stopped just short of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, could smell the faint scent of her perfume - something dark and floral, like night-blooming jasmine.

"And I intend to discover every inch of you," she murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along your jawline. "Every curve, every quiver, every breathy gasp.”

Her hand slid down to cup your chin, tilting your face to meet her gaze. In the low light, her eyes seemed to glow with a fevered intensity.

“Clothes off.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. With shaking hands, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. You let it drop to the floor, standing before Wednesday in just your bra and bottoms.

Wednesday's gaze raked over your newly exposed skin, lingering on the curves of your breasts, the dip of your waist.

"All of it," she murmured, her voice a dark purr. "I want to see all of you."

You reached behind your back, unhooking your bra with deft fingers. It fell away, revealing your breasts to her hungry gaze.

Next, you shimmied out of your bottoms, letting them pool at your feet. You kicked them off, standing before her in nothing but your underwear. The lace felt too thin, too flimsy against the weight of her inspection.

Wednesday paused in her circling, standing before you. She reached out, tracing the delicate lace of your panties, her finger dipping just slightly beneath the fabric to brush against your skin.

"Lay down," she commanded softly, nodding towards the bed.

You did as you were told, the towel-draped mattress creaking beneath your weight as you settled onto it. The fabric of the towel was rough and cold against your skin.

She kicks off her boots before disrobing with precision, each article of clothing falling away to reveal more of her pale skin. First went the black turtleneck, pulled over her head in one smooth motion to expose the lacy black bra beneath. She reached behind her back, unhooking it with a flick of her fingers.

Her breasts, now freed, were full and perfect. She let the bra drop to the floor, kicking it aside carelessly.

Next, she shimmied out of her skirt, the dark fabric slithering down her slender legs. Beneath, she wore a pair of simple black panties.

Now clad in only her underwear, Wednesday turned her attention to the ominous box. She lifted the lid, revealing a black leather strap-on nestled within.

She lifted it out, the harness glinting in the low light. It was simple, black leather straps and a rigid, silicone phallic shape jutting out from the center. She stepped into it, securing the straps around her hips and thighs with practiced ease.

The strap-on nestled against her pubic bone, the leather of the harness smooth and cool against her skin. She adjusted it, ensuring a snug fit before turning back to you, a dark smirk playing at her lips.

"There," she murmured, drinking in the sight of you splayed out before her. "Now, let's begin our... communion."

Wednesday crawled onto the bed, the towel crinkling beneath her knees. She hovered over you. Her eyes, dark and intense, never left yours as she leaned down to press a kiss to your breastbone.

You gasped softly, your back arching off the bed as her lips brushed against your skin. She smirked against your flesh, trailing kisses up the curve of your breast to circle your nipple with the tip of her tongue. Your nipple hardened under her ministrations.

Without warning, she drew your nipple into her mouth, suckling hard. Pleasure sparked through you, shooting straight to your core. You tangled your fingers in her hair, gripping the strands as you arched into her touch.

Wednesday released your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to your breast. She grinned up at you, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Beautiful," she murmured, trailing her fingertips down your stomach, mapping out the dip and curve of your muscles. "You're exquisite."

Her hand dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin there. You squirmed, a breathy whimper escaping your lips.

Then, with a sudden tug, she pulled your panties down your legs. The fabric scraped against your skin as she dragged them lower and lower, until she was tossing them onto the floor.

Now, with nothing separating your most intimate place from her touch, Wednesday settled between your thighs. She brushed her fingertips against your folds, feeling the wetness gathering there.

"Already so wet," she purred, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I've barely touched you, and you're dripping."

To prove her point, she brought her fingers to her lips, sucking your arousal from her digits. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she hummed in approval.

"Delectable," she murmured, before leaning down to brush the head of the strap-on against your dripping slit.

She teased you with it, rubbing the smooth silicone tip against your clit, circling your entrance. She took her time, drawing out the anticipation until you were writhing beneath her, desperate for more.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmph…”

Wednesday paused, the head of the strap-on hovering just at your entrance. She looked up at you, her eyes glinting with dark amusement at your desperation.

"Please what?" she murmured, a wicked smirk playing at her lips. "Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it."

She pressed the tip of the strap-on harder against your folds, not quite entering you, but applying a pressure that made you ache for more. Her other hand slid up your body, cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh.

"Tell me," she urged, rolling your nipple between her fingers, pinching it lightly. "Beg for it, and I might just give you what you want."

"Please, Wednesday," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "I... I want you. I want to feel you inside me. I need you to... to fuck me."

The words felt foreign on your tongue, but the desperation in your voice was unmistakable. Your hips bucked up against the strap-on, seeking more.

Wednesday's eyes darkened at your plea, a flash of hunger sparking in their depths. "Good girl," she purred, before thrusting forward, burying the strap-on deep inside you with one smooth stroke.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as you were suddenly full. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but it faded into pleasure as your body adjusted to the size.

"Oh god," you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets beneath you. "Wednesday... it's so big."

"You can take it," Wednesday countered. She started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a hard, fast pace.

The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your wanton cries. She loomed over you, her pale skin slick with a layer of sweat.

"Fuck," she hissed, her hips snapping forward with brutal force. "So tight. So perfect."

One hand gripped your hip, fingers sinking into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. The other slid up your body to wrap around your throat, applying just a hint of pressure, just enough to make you feel your airway tighten.

Wednesday leaned down. She paused her m movements, the strap-on buried deep inside you, as she captured your lips in a searing kiss.

It started as a bite, her teeth sinking into your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. You gasped into her mouth, the metallic taste exploding on your tongue. But then her mouth softened, her lips moving against yours in a fierce, hungry rhythm.

She kissed you like she was starving for it, like she wanted to devour you whole. Her tongue entered your mouth, tangling with yours. She tasted minty, as though she had brushed her teeth beforehand.

As she kissed you, she started to move again, her hips rolling in a slow, sensual grind. The strap-on slid in and out of you with a maddeningly steady rhythm.

She broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, pausing to suck a dark bruise into the skin at the joining of your neck and shoulder. You knew it would be visible in the light of day - a mark of her possession, her claim on you.

"Mine," she growled against your skin, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust of her hips. "All mine. Say it."

She wanted to hear you say it. Wanted you to acknowledge who you belonged to, who owned you in this moment.

"Yours!" you cried out, your voice breaking on a high, keening wail as the pleasure crested over you like a tidal wave. "Oh god, yes.. fuck.. I'm yours, Wednesday! All yours."

Your nails raked down her back, leaving red lines of passion etched into her pale skin. Your legs wrapped around her waist, heels digging into her backside as you pulled her impossibly closer.

Wednesday grunted, a sound of dark satisfaction rumbling in her chest. She captured your lips again, swallowing your cries.

Wednesday's hand slid down your body, her fingers finding your clit. She rubbed the sensitive nub in tight, hard circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice a dark growl in your ear. "Let me feel you come around me. Now."

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" you moaned, your body twitching beneath Wednesday as the orgasm crashed over you. Your vision went black as pleasure consumed you.

Wednesday didn't let up, pounding into you through your climax with ruthless intensity. Each thrust pushed you higher, the coil of ecstasy in your core winding tighter and tighter until you thought you might snap.

Her fingers flicked over your clit, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

Your body continued to shake and convulse with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, legs trembling around Wednesday's waist. She slowed her pace, her hips rolling languidly as she worked you through the waves of pleasure.

Finally, with a low, satisfied grunt, she stilled completely. She hovered over you, chest heaving as she caught her breath.

"Beautiful," she murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.

She leaned down to press a soft, almost tender kiss to your forehead. Then, with another grunt of effort, she rolled off you and onto her side, pulling you with her.

You lay tangled in her arms, your head pillowed on her chest, listening to the pounding of her heart as it gradually slowed. Her fingers traced idle patterns on your back, a soothing, almost loving caress.

"Sleep now," she whispered, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. "Rest. You've earned it after that… ravishing first time.”

—

REQUEST: we need wednesday using a strap-on on us bro please and it's both our first time😭 please write it

#wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday smut #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega smit

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solsticehymns · 2 months ago

Text

campus: drabble

james potter x shy!f!reader / college au / fluff / james is relentless

Then I see you, you're walking 'cross the campus / Cruel professor, studying romances / How am I supposed to pretend I never want to see you again?

summary: James Potter is a lot of things—loud, relentless, charming to a fault. And now? He’s your unexpected (and very insistent) escort to class.

a/n: was thinking about this the other day walking to class, the amt of times i've been (or seen girls be) asked for my number when i'm literally just minding my business AND ITS ALWAYS THE MOST HORRENDOUS CREATURE. well, let's just say this came from a very real place but a cute spin hehehe. hope you love it!! xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 774

Campus hums with life today, the sun streaking long, honeyed light across the pavement, wrapping the morning in a golden haze. People congregate in nearly every open space available, chatting and laughing the day away.

You wish you had that privilege.

You’re on your way to class: physics lab, actually, no small ordeal. Second semester electricity and magnetism was kicking your ass.

Still, you trudged your way across the courtyard, not stopping to glance up for anything or anyone.

But someone notices you.

James Potter is lounging on a bench, legs spread, half-listening to Sirius go on about some party that’s happening later. He’s not particularly invested—until he spots you.

Something in him lurches, like a gear clicking into place, like a song he didn’t realize was stuck in his head finally reaching the chorus.

His breath snags, fingers twitching against his knee, a restless energy surging through him—sudden, inevitable, electric. A wire sparking to life. A tidal shift, pulling him forward before he can think twice.

He moves—fast, decisive—as if some unseen force has pressed go on his entire being, like the universe itself just rearranged to make this happen.

Sirius blinks, bewildered, as James abandons him without hesitation, gaze locked in on his new mission: you.

“Hold it right there, love,” he announces, like he’s caught you in some grand scheme. “James Potter, by the way. Figured you’d want to know the name of your future favorite person.”

You look up with a mixture of surprise, concern, and hesitancy. “Hello?”

The boy is smiling at you– beaming, really. His eyes are hazel, his teeth are straight, his hair is ridiculously messy and sticking up at odd angles. He wears glasses, and he has a strange sort of boyish charm to him. The grin he wears only broadens as you analyze him.

“Walking to class? Where to?” he says easily, falling into step next to you without a second thought.

You blink at him, utterly thrown off. Is this… happening? Is he actually talking to you? You don’t exactly make a habit of drawing attention—especially not from boys who look like that.

"...Physics?"

James grimaces so hard you’d think he just tasted spoiled milk. "Physics? Bloody hell, that’s worse than I thought. I’d rather—I don’t know, maybe—sit through an entire three-hour lecture on the history of staplers than suffer through that."

You huff a laugh, more out of confusion than anything else. “Thanks, I guess?”

He grins wider, like that was exactly the reaction he wanted. “No problem. I’ll be your emotional support on the way there.”

You hesitate. “That’s…not necessary.”

“Oh, but it is,” he insists. “Morale is key in academic success, you know. There’s actual studies on it.”

You squint at him. “I somehow doubt that.”

“Look it up,” he says, completely unbothered. “Now, tell me, do you always walk this fast, or are you trying to escape me?”

You falter slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how you’d picked up your pace the second he joined you. Your cheeks darken a shade. “I—um. No reason.”

James gasps��actually staggers, clutching his chest like you’ve just driven a stake through his heart. He even takes a step back, blinking at you in mock devastation.

Busted. Heat curls up the back of your neck. How does he notice everything?

"You are trying to ditch me."

You press your lips together, glancing at him warily. “I don’t even know you.”

James lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "That’s the tragedy of it all, isn’t it? You, tragically unaware of the life-changing experience that is knowing me."

You roll your eyes. "Somehow, I think I'll manage."

"Oh, sure," he says, nodding solemnly. "Just scraping by. Barely getting through the days. Probably wondering why you feel a vague, unplaceable void in your life." He places a hand on his chest. "That void? That’s me, love."

You scoff, but he catches the way you bite back a smile. James’ eyes flicker with something too pleased, like he’s just cracked a code.

“So what’s the solution then?” you ask dryly.

“Easy. Give me your number, and I’ll personally ensure you never feel empty again,” he quips, all confidence, no hesitation.

You make a noise of disbelief. “That’s the worst sales pitch I’ve ever heard.”

James hums, unfazed. “Alright, fine. Counteroffer—I keep showing up until you give it to me out of sheer exhaustion. Your call.”

You sigh, pausing in front of the physics building. He’s not going to let this go. And you’re tired of pretending you don’t find him charming.

You pull out your phone. “…Fine.”

His smile is bright enough to light the entire courtyard.

PART 2: walk me home?

☀️🌻 masterlist

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zerun0 · 5 months ago

Text

"Take My Hand" — Viktor x Y/N (Female)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I am more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work.

— ! WARNING NSFW(+18): ! — Sexual themes, Alternate reality, Dancing, Drunk , Sex, Flirting, Making out, Teasing, Vaginal.

— Word count: — 3.0k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The streets of Zaun buzzed with a unique energy that night. At Heimerdinger’s Zaunite academy, the halls that usually hummed with the clatter of experiment trays and whirring mechanisms were abandoned. Students and teachers alike had migrated to the glowing venue lit by an array of green and blue chem-lights. They swayed to music that rattled through makeshift speakers.

Y/N stood by the edge of the crowd, leaning against a post with her hands fidgeting at the hem of her simple, black dress. She had spent the better part of the evening people-watching. Powder and Ekko spun together in the center of the dance floor.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” — came a familiar, soft-spoken voice from beside her.

Y/N turned to find Viktor standing there, an almost shy tilt to his smile. He was dressed a little neater than his usual grease-smeared lab coat, though his cane and posture still set him apart from the crowd. A lock of brown hair fell across his forehead, and his golden eyes shone in the shifting light.

“I could ask you the same thing,” — Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m observing,” — he replied, slipping into his characteristic thoughtful tone. — “There’s... a beauty in the chaos. Don’t you think so?” Y/N chuckled. — “That’s one way to look at it. Though I think most people would call it a party.”

“And yet, you’re here, on the outskirts. Much like me.” — Viktor said softly, now closer to her ear. Her smile softened at his perceptive words.

Viktor always saw through the surface, always seemed to understand her in ways few others did. He had become more than a lab partner during their time at the academy. He was a confidant, an intellectual equal, and perhaps something more.

Before she could respond, Powder’s laughter erupted again, louder this time, drawing their attention. Ekko had twirled her, sending her braids flying as she stumbled with giddy delight. The scene pulled a smile from Y/N, and even Viktor’s lips quirked upward.

“You know,” — Y/N said, her voice gaining a teasing edge, — “if we’re going to stay here analyzing the ‘beauty of the chaos,’ we might as well join in.”

Viktor’s golden gaze met hers, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression. —“Dancing was never a skill I cultivated.”

“It’s not about skill,” — Y/N replied, holding out a hand. — “Come on, I will guide you…”

He hesitated only a moment before placing his hand in hers. His grip was warm and slightly calloused, a reminder of hours spent tinkering in the lab. She led him to the edge of the dance floor, where they found a pocket of space just big enough for the two of them. The music was slower now, a dreamy, lilting melody that seemed to wrap around them.

Their movements were awkward at first. Viktor shifted his weight uncertainty, his cane tapping against the floor in a hesitant rhythm as he tried to find his footing. Y/N, attuned to his unease, kept her movements slow and deliberate, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder to guide him without imposing. Her other hand held his gently, touch warm and steady, like a lifeline.

“It’s just us,” — she said happily, her voice barely audible above the music. — “No one’s watching.”

Viktor glanced down at her, his golden eyes searching her face for reassurance. He exhaled slowly, nodding, and allowed himself to relax just a fraction. Y/N adjusted her position slightly, mindful of the weight he shifted onto his cane. She kept their steps simple, matching his pace and making sure to move with him rather than against him.

It wasn’t long before they found a rhythm, a tentative, almost fragile harmony at first, but one that grew stronger with each passing moment. Viktor followed her lead with quiet determination, his steps gaining confidence as the music wrapped around them. Y/N’s movements remained fluid and patient, every motion imbued with a tenderness that spoke of her deep care for him.

She offered a small, encouraging smile, and Viktor returned it, his golden eyes bright as the prettiest constellation in the night sky, a soft laugh escaping him. — “You’re remarkably good at this,” he admitted, voice tinged with both admiration and surprise.

“Good at what?” — she teased, her gaze twinkling. — “Dancing? Or making sure you don’t trip?”

“Both,” — he said, his tone warm and self-deprecating.

Y/N laughed, her fingers briefly tightening around his hand. — “You’re doing great, Viktor. Better than you think.”

They continued to sway, their movements becoming more natural as they settled into the music. The chem-lights around them painted their faces in shifting shades of blue and green, lending the moment an almost dreamlike quality. Y/N’s attention remained pointedly on him, her every step and shift an unspoken promise to keep him steady, to make this moment as effortless for him as possible.

And somewhere amidst the rhythm of their shared steps, Viktor let go of his apprehension, his focus shifting entirely to her. The world around them blurred, the thrumming bass and laughter

of the crowd fading into the background. In that moment, there was only Y/N. Her gentle smile, her steady guidance, and the warmth of her hand in his.

The song ended, and the crowd cheered, but Y/N barely noticed. Viktor leaned closer, his voice low. — “Would you like some air? This place is... quite warm.”

She nodded, suddenly aware of the heat rising in her cheeks. — “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They stepped out into the cool Zaunite night, where the hum of the city was a softer echo of the celebration inside. Viktor led her to a quiet alley, where the faint glow of the lights still painted the walls in hues of green and blue. Turning towards her, his expression was more serious now, though his gaze held that same warmth she’d come to cherish.

“You’re incredible, you know,” — he said softly, the words tumbling out like they had been waiting for this moment. — “Not just in the lab. The way you see the world, the way you make it brighter. I... I admire you more than I can put into words.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. — “Viktor...”

He closed the distance between them, his movements hesitant, as though afraid he might break the moment. When their lips met, it was soft and tentative.

Viktor’s fingers brushed her cheek timid but deliberate, his thumb tracing the faint curve of her jaw. — “You’re... mesmerizing,” — he murmured, his voice low and rough, like a secret meant only for her.

Her breath caught at the raw honesty in his tone. Without thinking, she closed the small gap between them again, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was deeper, more insistent than before. Viktor hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning into her, his hand sliding into her hair as he returned her fervor.

The kiss intensified, and Y/N pressed closer, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. She could feel the faint tremor in his touch, the careful control he always carried giving way to something more passionate. His cane slipped slightly as he adjusted his stance, and Y/N instinctively steadied him, hands gripping his waist as if anchoring him to her. “Sorry,” — he murmured against her lips, a faint chuckle escaping him.

“Don’t be,” — she whispered, her voice soft yet firm. —“I’ve got you.” Her reassurance seemed to embolden him. Viktor’s free arm slipped around her back, drawing her flush against him. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the heat blooming between them, their breaths mingling in the narrow space they left between kisses. Their foreheads touched as a faint cheer erupted from the party nearby, reminding them of where they were.

“I believe we might be missed,” — he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair back.

Y/N grinned, her lips still tingling. — “Then we should make an appearance, shouldn’t we?”

With a nod, Viktor stepped back, and together they returned to the party. The music had shifted to a livelier tune, Powder and Ekko still at the center of it all, their laughter echoing above the beat. Y/N and Viktor wove through the crowd, the vivid energy brushing past them as they made their way to the bar set up in one corner of the room.

The bartender, a Zaunite teen you had meet in the academy as he studied mixology, you knew him for his friendly grin and a knack for mixing drinks. — “What’ll it be?”— The young man asked. “Something simple,” — Y/N said with a smile, glancing at Viktor —“Two ales?”

Viktor nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. — “Up to you.”

Two mugs of amber ale were slid across the counter. Y/N picked hers up, taking a long sip, the slightly bitter, malty flavor a welcome contrast to the sugary concoctions often found at parties like this. Viktor took a more measured sip, his expression thoughtful as he savored the drink.

“It’s good,” — he said, sounding almost surprised.

“Told you,” — Y/N replied, nudging her shoulder with his.

They found a quieter spot near the edge of the crowd, their shoulders brushing as they watched the festivities. Powder had dragged Ekko into another wild spin, her energy uncontainable, while others clapped and cheered them on, even the professor was there having a blast watching his young brilliant inventors.

“It’s nice,” — Y/N said after a moment, her voice softer. — “Seeing everyone like this. Happy, carefree for a change.”

Viktor nodded, though his gaze was fixed on her rather than the crowd. — “It is. Though I admit, I find the quieter moments more... meaningful.”

She looked up at him, catching the warmth in his eyes, and felt her cheeks flush. —“Me too,” — she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The warmth of the ale in her chest mixed with the gentle buzz of his presence beside her. After a moment, she tilted her head toward him, a playful smile curving her lips. — “What do you say we finish these and find somewhere quieter?”

He raised an eyebrow. — “Are you suggesting an escape?”

“Maybe” ——

The door creaked open, a loud bang echoing through the halls.

The small room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft yellow glow over the cluttered desk and neatly made bed. Then it clicked shut behind them, as the air between them shifted, the lingering alcohol stripping away the last of their hesitations.

Y/N turned to Viktor, her back against the door. — “Finally,” — she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Their lips met again, and this time there was no hesitation, no careful deliberation. The kiss was deep and unrestrained, their pent-up longing spilling over as their hands roamed freely. Y/N’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as she worked to undo them. Viktor’s hands slid down her sides, his touch firm yet reverent, as though he couldn’t believe she was truly here with him.

His shirt fell open, revealing the lean lines of his torso, and Y/N’s hands traced the contours of his skin, her touch igniting a fire wherever it landed. Viktor let out a soft groan, his head dipping to press kisses along her jaw and down the column of her neck. Her breath hitched as his lips found a sensitive spot, and she tilted her head to give him better access.

Her own dress was next, the fabric slipping from her shoulders and pooling at her feet. Viktor’s golden eyes roamed over her, his breath catching as he took her in.

Y/N tugged him closer, her lips finding his again as they stumbled toward the bed. They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, their kisses growing hungrier, more urgent.

Her response was a soft gasp as his hand found her bare thigh, his touch firm yet careful, as though he was savoring every moment. She pushed herself up slightly, her eyes meeting his as she began to undo the belt of his trousers. He stilled for a moment, watching her with a mixture of awe and vulnerability, before his hands came up to cover hers, guiding her movements.

They worked together to shed the rest of their clothes, their touches growing bolder, their kisses more demanding as each layer was discarded. When they were finally skin to skin, Viktor hesitated, his golden eyes searching hers.

Y/N cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. — “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” — she whispered back, her voice steady and filled with conviction.

He allowed himself a genuine smile that melted her heart, before leaning down to kiss her again.

Viktor’s hand slid down to the curve of your thigh, lifting it gently to wrap around his waist. His other hand steadied himself as he shifted his weight, positioning himself between her legs. The heat of him made her breath hitch, silently urging him closer.

“Plea-ase,” — she whispered, your voice breathy, laced with longing.

Viktor’s control snapped. He pushed forward with a deliberate, smooth motion, the head of his length pressing into her, filling her inch by inch. The stretch of him sent a sharp thrill through her, her body arching instinctively to meet his. A soft gasp escaped both of them as he fully seated himself inside her, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

“You don’t have to be gentle…” — she murmured. — "I like it as rough as you can be..."

"O-Ok" — Viktor groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping her waist as he began to move. His thrusts started slow, deliberate, each one igniting a spark that built into a flame. The rhythm of his hips soon grew more urgent, matching the way her body responded to him, her moans filling the air between them. — “Y/N,” — he whispered, his voice strained with effort and desire.

He pressed kisses along her neck, his lips lingering at her pulse point, where her racing heartbeat betrayed her pleasure.

She ran her fingers along his back, her nails grazing his skin as his movements became deeper, more insistent. His cane clattered to the floor, forgotten, as his focus remained solely on her.

The world around them disappeared, leaving only the two of them locked in a shared rhythm. Viktor’s lips found hers again in a kiss that was messy and desperate, their bodies moving in perfect sync. His thrusts grew harder, faster, her moans mingling with his as the tension inside her built to a breaking point.

When his hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, she cried out his name. The pleasure overwhelmed her, her body trembling as waves of ecstasy crashed over.

His movements faltered, his body tensing as he groaned her name in return. His release followed, his hips jerking as he spilled into her, the heat of him filling her completely. He buried his face against her shoulder, his breaths ragged as the two of them trembled in the aftermath, still entwined.

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond. Viktor lifted his head, his golden eyes soft as they met hers. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering.

The afterglow wrapped them in a warm, quiet cocoon, the kind where the world outside ceased to exist. Viktor rolled onto his side, pulling Y/N with him beneath the blanket they had hastily tugged up to cover their bare bodies. The fabric was soft and warm, a barrier between them and the cool air of the room.

Her body molded perfectly against his, skin to skin, their breaths slowing as the tension faded into a deep, shared comfort. Y/N traced idle circles on his chest with her fingertips, her touch light and soothing. Viktor hummed at the sensation, his arms wrapped securely around her, anchoring them both in this fragile, intimate moment.

“Tonight was … incredible, you truly are one of a kind,” — she whispered, her voice soft but filled with emotion.

His lips pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his golden eyes heavy-lidded but adoring as they met hers. — “And you,” — he murmured, his tone carrying a mix of awe and gratitude, — “you’ve made me feel... whole.”

She smiled, nuzzling into his chest. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, neither needing to speak, simply content in each other’s presence.

Then, a soft, scrabbling noise broke the silence. Y/N stiffened for a moment before a chuckle bubbled up in her throat.

“Oh no,” — she said, her voice filled with amusement.

Before Viktor could ask, a small, fuzzy creature leaped up onto the bed. Her poro, a round, fluffy ball of enthusiasm, bounded over the blanket and started sniffing curiously at the new presence.

“Is this...?” —Viktor began, but he didn’t get to finish. The poro, clearly delighted, jumped onto Viktor’s chest and started licking his face with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Ah! Hey !” — he exclaimed, laughing as the poro’s tiny tongue covered his cheek. He tried to fend it off with one hand while keeping the blanket modestly draped with the other.

Y/N couldn’t stop laughing, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she watched the usually composed Viktor flail under the tiny, relentless attacker. — “I think she likes you,” —she teased, reaching out to scoop the poro up. The creature chirped happily, snuggling into her arms but keeping its bright, beady eyes fixed on Viktor, as though sizing him up for future antics.

Viktor wiped his face with the edge of the blanket, his laughter subsiding into a soft smile. — “I’m glad to have made such an impression,” —he said dryly, though the warmth in his gaze betrayed how much he enjoyed the moment.

Y/N leaned in to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing the spot where the poro had been. — “She knows a good one when she sees it,” — she whispered, her voice tender.

The poro settled between them as if declaring itself part of their little haven, its contented purring filling the room.

“Barely a moment’s peace,” — he joked, though his tone was light and filled with affection.

Y/N grinned, resting her head against his shoulder. — “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

#arcane fanfic #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor #smut

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sunarryn · 9 days ago

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DP X Marvel #32

It all began when Dr. Jasmine Fenton—Jazz, to the brave and traumatized—walked into the Avengers Compound in five-inch block heels, a blood-red blazer, and a clipboard with everyone’s most damning psychological profiles printed in 12-point Times New Roman. She had been hired because, quote, “the last six therapists either quit, cried, or developed their own hero complexes.” SHIELD had gone through the best and brightest the world had to offer. They even tried a Wakandan empathy AI once. It cried. The AI cried.

So when Jazz Fenton walked in, armed with a dual PhD in clinical psychology and trauma therapy, the last thing they expected was that she’d personally know what hero trauma looked like. But she did. Her baby brother was a half-ghost interdimensional guardian who once got hit by a nuke and walked it off. Her parents were mad scientists who tried to dissect him. And her godfather was an immortal corporate vampire with a crown kink and a habit of kidnapping. She had seen things. She understood. And more importantly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to coddle them.

“Dr. Fenton,” Steve Rogers greeted politely that first morning.

“Please, call me Jazz,” she said with a smile that made even Natasha lower her coffee. “Or Doctor Fenton if you’re about to lie to me.”

Tony Stark made the mistake of raising an eyebrow. “Oh? What are you gonna do, psychoanalyze me into submission?”

She flipped to his file. “‘Severe abandonment issues, destructive self-worth tendencies, martyr complex buried under layers of narcissistic deflection, sleeps three hours a night, probably cries in the shower—’”

“I don’t cry in the shower!”

“That is because you don’t shower, Mr. Stark.”

That shut him up.

From that day onward, fear fell over the Avengers Compound like a thick, fragrant fog of anxiety. Jazz was everywhere. One moment she was on the roof with Clint discussing his grief over Budapest, the next she was in the lab with Bruce making him cry, and the moment after that she had Loki in handcuffs—not because he was arrested, but because he asked for them.

“I just think maybe I’m too attached to the idea of being hated,” Loki muttered, slouched on the therapy couch.

“You are,” Jazz replied, checking her notes. “You’re addicted to conflict because you’ve built your identity on being an outsider. Every time you’re offered genuine affection, you self-sabotage. You’re not a villain, you’re just a lonely youngest child.”

“I—” Loki blinked. “That is horrifically accurate. And incredibly offensive.”

“Cry harder, Sparklehorn.”

Thor, meanwhile, loved her. Adored her. Followed her around like an emotional support golden retriever with lightning powers. He kept trying to give her things—golden goblets, fur cloaks, an entire goat—until one day she casually picked up Mjolnir while fixing a crooked painting and everyone screamed.

“How the fuck—” Sam Wilson shouted.

“Why can she do that?” Peter Parker asked from the ceiling.

“Therapists shouldn’t be worthy!” Tony wailed. “It’s not natural!”

Jazz shrugged and handed the hammer back to Thor. “I was forged in the fires of Midwestern neglect and ghost radiation. You think Odin can break me? Try surviving your brother getting publicly disemboweled by a government robot while your parents take notes.”

She had no chill. None. She was the only person who called Wanda out on her grief projection, made Bucky talk about his repressed ballet skills, and forced Steve to draw a family tree so she could scream “YOUR ENTIRE FRIEND GROUP IS CODEPENDENT.”

“Group therapy!” she declared one Tuesday.

“No,” said literally everyone.

“Too bad. Show up or I will personally guilt you in front of the media using your own trauma receipts.”

And they did. They came. They came because they were afraid.

Tony sat with arms crossed. “This is stupid.”

“Tell that to your inner child.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Exactly.”

Clint sighed. “This is worse than Budapest.”

“Everything is worse than Budapest,” Natasha replied.

Wanda blinked slowly. “I think I just astrally projected my own anxiety. It’s hovering above me like a raincloud.”

Jazz didn’t even blink. “Let it hover. Let it watch you cry. Maybe it’ll finally grow up.”

Civil War? Canceled.

No one dared fight each other under Jazz’s watch. When tensions began rising between Tony and Steve over the Sokovia Accords, she locked them in a soundproof room with juice boxes and didn’t let them out until they hugged it out like the emotionally repressed golden retrievers they were.

“I will tranquilize you both,” she warned through the door. “I have the darts and the upper body strength. Don’t tempt me.”

They made up within the hour.

At one point, Nick Fury tried to get involved. He barged into one of Jazz’s sessions like he still ran SHIELD.

“What the hell kind of therapy involves throwing knives at a target while crying?” he demanded.

Jazz, unfazed, handed him a stress knife. “Want to try?”

He did. And then immediately rebooked weekly appointments.

By week four, the compound was transformed. Hulk was journaling. Peter was actually doing his homework. Wanda was learning healthy coping mechanisms that didn’t involve mind-controlling entire suburbs. Clint and Natasha were having pillow talks about emotional vulnerability. Even Loki was crocheting.

“Do you know what I’ve done?” he whispered as he stitched a duck.

“I’ve read your file,” Jazz said. “And your Tumblr tag. You’re not special.”

“I am special—”

“You’re traumatized, sweetie.”

Meanwhile, Tony—still deeply suspicious—began following her around trying to find proof she was a Hydra sleeper agent. What he found instead was her absolutely unhinged family.

“You’re related to who?” he asked over coffee one morning.

Jazz sighed. “My little brother is Danny Phantom, ghost-powered superhero and part-time physics major. My godfather is Vlad Masters, ex-billionaire and full-time supervillain with a complex. My parents are Jack and Maddie Fenton.”

Tony blinked. “The guys who duct-taped a rocket to a lawnmower and called it science?”

“The very same.”

“No wonder you’re like this.”

Jazz nodded. “Exactly. I was forged in chaos and trauma. Now I’m here to fix you.”

“I don’t want to be fixed.”

“Too bad. I’ve already started rebuilding your psyche.”

“What does that mean—”

“Check your inner monologue. Notice how it’s stopped calling you a worthless meat puppet?”

Tony screamed.

Even Doctor Strange, who allegedly had the answers to the universe, found himself in a corner drinking tea and rethinking the way he suppressed his emotions with sarcasm and facial hair.

“You’re not mystical, Stephen,” Jazz told him. “You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“I literally astral project.”

“Cool. Now try emotional projection. Maybe apologize to Wong.”

“…Wong is asleep.”

“Wake him up.”

By month two, even the press noticed. The Avengers were glowing. Smiling. Making eye contact during press conferences instead of brooding like middle school theater kids.

“What changed?” a reporter asked.

Tony grabbed the mic. “Her name is Jazz Fenton and she scares the hell out of us.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “She made me cry six times in one session. I told her about my dad.”

“She made me draw my feelings,” Clint added.

“I finally cried about Pietro,” Wanda whispered. “In public. It felt amazing. I think I vomited emotions.”

“Dr. Fenton helped me write a song about my grief,” Thor said proudly. “It’s a power ballad. With goats.”

And then came the incident.

The one time the Avengers tried to disobey her. Sam and Bucky had been arguing again. Loudly. And somewhere in the chaos, someone dared say, “It’s not like Jazz can stop us.”

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

Jazz calmly walked into the sparring room, confiscated Bucky’s knife mid-twirl, took Sam’s wings with one hand, and sat both men down with the force of divine intervention.

“You two,” she said in a voice that made the walls tremble, “are not enemies. You are trauma-bonded enemies-to-friends-to-exes-to-besties. You are a trope. You are a fanfiction tag. You are not about to regress into kindergarten slap fights because one of you forgot the others’ favorite breakfast order.”

“…He forgot my birthday,” Sam muttered.

“Because he has memory trauma! You have it too! You both need to go on a spa day and cry it out in a hot tub like normal people.”

And they did.

They actually did.

The day Jazz left for a conference—just one day—the entire compound fell into shambles. Loki started monologuing again, Peter accidentally built a sentient AI who wrote poetry about death, Wanda started glowing red again, and Tony tried to weaponize emotional damage via sarcastic limericks.

The moment she came back, they all lined up like chastised children.

“What did I say about emotionally projecting without supervision?” she asked.

“Don’t do it,” they chorused.

“And?”

Peter sniffled. “We missed you.”

“Damn right you did.”

Jazz smiled, terrifying and fond, and flipped her clipboard. “Now. Who wants to talk about their mother?”

And the Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, sat down.

Because nothing—not Chitauri, not Ultron, not even Thanos—was scarier than the therapist who could lift Mjolnir and your deepest childhood wound in the same breath.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton was the real hero. And everyone knew it.

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sh4nksslvt · 15 days ago

Text

Got married by accident… Thanks, Vegapunk?

You and Luffy accidentally get married by a hyper-intelligent vending machine on Egghead Island. The crew takes it way too seriously, but Luffy is surprisingly into it.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, acc!dental marriage, ooc a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 706

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Egghead Island sparkled like something out of a futuristic dream. Or a nightmare. Depending on who you asked.

Laser drones zipped overhead, holographic sharks swam through the air, and the vending machines charged a 40% service fee to flirt with you.

You were already over it.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, staring at the sleek, metal screen of a suspicious-looking marriage kiosk that had popped out of a wall.

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NUPTIAL INTEREST!" it blared.

You winced. “Nope. Not interested.”

Behind you, Luffy was already poking the glowing buttons like a toddler with a remote. “Oooh! What’s this do?”

“Don’t press that.”

He pressed it.

A beam of golden light scanned the both of you. "MATCH ACCEPTED," it beeped. “YOU ARE NOW LEGALLY MARRIED UNDER VEGAPUNK CODE 6.66 SUB-SECTION WE BALL.”

You blinked. “…What.”

Luffy blinked. “Cool.”

He grabbed your hand with that signature, easy grin. “We’re married now! Sweet!”

“LUFFY—”

Twenty seconds later, the rest of the crew found out.

Chopper: “You guys WHAT!?”

Sanji: (sobbing) “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, Y/N-CWAAAAN!?”

Robin: (smiling behind a book) “How lovely. I hope it was a beautiful ceremony.”

Zoro: “Of course you two would get hitched by a vending machine.”

Franky: “THIS IS SUPER!! WE GOTTA THROW A RECEPTION!!”

Jinbei: (serene) “I’ll call this divine destiny.”

Usopp: “Waitwaitwait—do we all have to get married now?? Is it contagious?!”

Nami, arms crossed, was the only one who looked vaguely sensible. “We’re not on a honeymoon, you idiots. We’re on a mission. Can’t believe you got fake-married on an island run by six genius maniacs.”

“It’s not fake,” Luffy said proudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“It’s legally binding,” the vending machine added.

“LUFFY,” you groaned, facepalming. “We are not actually married—”

“But you held my hand,” he said with a pout.

“I was trying to stop you from pressing the stupid buttons!”

“But you didn’t let go shishishi” he added.

You were going to kill him. Or maybe yourself. Or maybe the vending machine.

Over the next few days, the crew refused to let it go.

Nami “accidentally” started assigning you and Luffy shared quarters.

Franky built a honeymoon hover-chair for two that followed you around and played romantic music at inopportune moments.

Brook wrote a song called “Wedded Bliss on a Warped Island” and played it constantly.

Zoro made gagging noises every time you entered a room.

Even Vegapunk Stella got involved.

“Fascinating bond signature,” he mused, looking at the machine’s readings. “Unusual compatibility levels. Perhaps a cosmic entanglement. Or just dumb luck.”

You were ready to drown in holographic seagull juice.

Luffy didn’t help.

He insisted on calling you "my spouse."

He’d hold your hand while walking down the lab halls like it was the most casual thing ever.

He used you as a pillow during naps—okay, not new behavior—but now he’d nuzzle your shoulder and murmur, “This is what married people do.”

You tried to zap him with a soft stun from your energy-based power.

He laughed and asked for more.

He started sharing his food.

You shared back.

He offered you half his meat skewer.

You offered him half your fruit cube.

You even started sitting next to him at dinner on purpose.

...You were doomed.

One night, while stuck in a laser barrier room together (thanks to Luffy pressing another suspicious button), things got quiet.

“Hey, Y/N,” Luffy said, lying next to you on the cold sci-fi floor.

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna be married for real someday?”

You paused.

“With… you?”

“Yeah.”

You turned to face him. “You don’t even know what marriage is.”

He smiled, soft and crooked. “I know it means I get to be with you all the time.”

You blinked. Your powers, which usually sparked when you were annoyed or overwhelmed, glimmered gently around your fingertips like starlight instead.

You didn’t respond. Just nudged his leg with yours.

He took that as a yes.

The next day, the machine short-circuited itself trying to process “divorce.”

You pretended to be annoyed.

But when Luffy yelled, “Don’t worry, I didn’t want a divorce anyway!!” and tackled you into a hug, your powers sparked again—glowing soft blues and pinks this time.

And you let him hold you.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #fluff #idk man #luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #op luffy #monkey d luffy

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neuvitopia · 2 months ago

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➠ 𓈒 𝄞ׅ ֯ corporate weapon - zayne | 黎深・ 🍀 ⌯

synopsis ;; you’re a resident at akso hospital, chasing your corporate medicine dreams and accidentally tempt your superior, dr zayne :p, a little bit of a homage to my corporate baddie desires, help.

cw ;; NSFW, fem reader, kind of an open ending (sorry), lower case intended, girl failure reader(?) (same), panty stealing, still kind of new to this #sorry, ignore any silly mistakes, no protection(wrap it plz), zayne and reader have a bit of history, porn with some plot, office sex, semi public(?) (just incase), fem pet name, mention of aphrodisiacs

. . . wc → 3.4k

you were in the midst of your second year of residency at akso hospital, to say you were excited was an understatement.

you spent your early twenties dedicated to working for your bachelors and through the tears med school brought you.

working through your residency was a reflection of your hard work and brought you closer to your dreams of becoming an operations director. to say you were proud was an understatement.

fortunately for you, you were soon yanked from the miserable memories of your “golden years” as dusty old medical books and endless hours in labs weren’t exactly your fondest memories.

you’re knee deep in work once more, with blood tests and treatment plans from hundreds of patients flooding your tiny desk. the constant stimulation and stream of work made you wonder, for a moment, why you chose this career path.

in the midst of it all, you were positive that being a florist was your true calling.

an exhausted sigh escapes you as the day finally comes to an end. your stomach rumbles, and your bones feel achey, desperate for a good stretch.

running an equally exhausted hand down your face, you pack up the basics and contemplate how the rest of your night will go. the sweet thought of a nice bath and a cup... or five of wine soothe your sleepy mind.

your delusions (and exhausted heart) are soon shattered into tiny pieces when your tired eyes meet the ones of your superior standing as straight as a pencil at the opening of your office door.

you knew exactly what was going to happen next. overtime.

maybe being a psychic was your true calling.

you set your heavy bag down and accept defeat, your butt meeting the hard seat, once more.

"i assume you knew what was coming," zayne was the first to break the silence, his words laced with a edge of amusement.

you shrug and try your best to get comfortable in your chair once more, your eyes scanning the new adjustment treatments zayne places on your desk.

"if you listen hard enough, you can hear the pieces of my heart falling to the floor" you respond quietly, hoping to avoid a migraine from the sheer amount of time you've spent in this hospital today, the lingering smell of antiseptic not helping one bit.

he met your attempt at a joke with nothing but amused silence, his arms crossing themselves over his chest he speaks again.

“just a few more things to get done, and then you can go," he reassures you. the words sending your eyes flying across the sheets of paper, the shattered remnants of your plans for the night slowly begin to reassemble.

you offer him the extra chair in your office and zayne decides to be merciful and assists you with the work, causing your heart to soar with joy. if this continues at the current pace, you might even have enough time to squeeze in an extra episode of that drama you've been binging after work.

as you work through the mountains of paperwork, zayne engages in small conversations with you—unaware that his eyes drift to you in quiet indulgence.

the two of you gradually move away from your mahogany desk, settling in front of each other as lighthearted banter and serious discussion take turns.

but of course, all good things have their downsides and suddenly, your stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise, reminding both you and zayne of its presence.

after a short, nervous laugh, you quickly confess to him,

“i'm sorry, I didn't eat much today." you’re surprised at the fact that he didn’t scold you for your carelessness, something something, nourishing your body is important.

zayne simply nods and takes a moment to think, leaving a brief moment of awkward silence between you two, your eyes darting from his handsome face to the walls of your office. the low lighting casting shadows around the two of you.

"i believe the cafeteria is still open," he says, presenting the idea that you should grab something to eat.

“and if you're not feeling resentful for making you stay, could you grab something for me as well?" the question leaves you kind of flustered -- how could the man who gave you a chance to kickstart your career think you would hold resentment towards him for making you do your job?

you quickly reassure him that it's no problem, and you make your way down to the cafeteria.

the sounds of your flats bounce off of the sleek walls and floors, marking your every step in the now semi-empty building. you soon make your way into the cold cafeteria, goosebumps emerging on your skin as cool air kisses your flesh.

you take a moment to scan the cafeteria, your eyes fall on the odd remnants of food left behind. you settle for a box of pocky, a couple of servings of sushi and, drinks for you and your superior to share, which you struggle to carry in your arms all at once in.

you practically run to the elevator, eager to return to the comfortable uncomfortable solace of your office.

upon entering, you practically drop the food and drinks on your desk, the condensation from the drinks transferring to the smooth surface. you let out a small huff as the weight from your arms is finally gone.

"i brought back the best options, I promise," you tell him, making eye contact with him as you do. he in return sends a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and offers,

"I trust your word."

you nod back to him, returning a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes either, and push a serving of packaged sushi his way.

one of his eyebrows shoots up as he examines the item before him, your focus now shifted towards the food hitting your tongue as you nibble on some pocky. you're too busy with the food in your mouth that you miss his puzzled expression and gaze now shifted to you.

when his silence goes on too long for comfort, you finally glance up at him, only to freeze at the intense gaze he returns. zayne breaks the silence with a low, serious tone of voice.

"you are aware that this is an aphrodisiac, right?"

his words leave you dumbstruck, your brain struggling to process if it's a joke or not. you manage a small, half hearted laugh, an amused huff falling from your lips as you take a sip of your drink.

"ah well, you know, i'm just setting the mood, doctor zayne” you awkwardly stammer out, embarrassment nipping at your skin.

you’d become to occupied with your abashment that you’d forgotten about the treat in the corner of your lips.

before you can wallow any further in your self consciousness, you feel your office chair move, and you watch—frozen, as zayne’s dress shoe is placed on one of the rolling feet.

he pulls you closer with all the strength in his leg. the sudden movement jerks you forward and as zayne brings you closer with the help of his foot the feeling of the quiet breaths from his nose hit your skin.

your eyes are locked on to his, your voice barely above a whisper as you ask

“what are you doing?" the moment hangs heavy in the air, both of you motionless.

it feels like an eternity has passed before he finally speaks.

"i’m setting the mood," he mocks.

of course your words from before come back to bite you in the ass. he takes small a bite out of the neglected pocky that hangs out of your mouth. you're stunned, wide eyed and… aroused?

the moment hangs in the air, the two of you practically close enough to feel the warmth of each other's skin. your heart pounds in your chest, unsure of how to feel in this moment or what to do next.

"what exactly where you planning?" he questions, his tone playful but with an underlying seriousness that you can't seem to shake. your brain at this point is too fried to even acknowledge him.

"for someone so bent on setting the mood you've sure gone quiet." he teases you some more and you continue to try and find your words again.

you shake your head lightly, too afraid to make any extreme movements in fear of landing yourself in another embarrassing situation.

"i wasn't planning anything," you finally whisper, the words ghosted the skin of his face. the sound of your own heart beating practically deafens you as you reply to him.

the silence drags on, and your eyes remain locked on zayne’s, the seconds ticking by felt like hours. you’d soon notice that he leaned back into the extra seat you had offered to him, his eyes still trained on you.

as he puts space between you two, an ache you weren't even aware was there grew and twisted inside of you. your breathing becomes less labored as you try to stabilize yourself.

"the sushi's gonna go bad," you stammer out in a weak attempt to advocate for the abandoned food, and hopefully shake off the excitement buzzing in your body.

zayne shakes his head, his reply cuts through you like a knife.

"i don't care about the sushi," his words strike a chord in you that you don’t dare name.

your reply is silence and you continue to stare at him. you feel a lump form in your throat. was your skirt always this tight?

you want to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words were stuck in your throat, and you find yourself paralyzed. the only sound you register is your racing pulse, the blood threatening to burst through your skin.

the silence is deafening when zayne stands up to his full height, choosing to approach you properly this time. you decide to follow his lead not knowing exactly where this was heading.

it wouldn’t hurt to find out.

your heart skips a beat as he moves closer, one of his hands resting on your waist.

your blouse was rendered useless, it felt like you both were directly skin to skin. you were never buying this brand ever again.

but god, you swear you could have moaned right then and there.

you knew it would be way too embarrassing, so you instead watch his face, your eyes fixed on his as his hand roams your torso.

“have you changed your mind about making plans with me?" his question is raspy and low, fueling the fire in the pit of your stomach. you choose to nod softly, your mouth far too dry to speak to him properly.

“use your words." he commands just as his hand leaves your body, leaving you warm and achey all over.

“i won't touch you again unless you use your words."

you swallow the knot in your throat, breathing in as you attempt to calm yourself.

"yes. yes, i’ve changed my mind..." you hear a voice trail off, soon registering the fact that it was yours.

zayne doesn't give you any time to think about what you've said and puts his hands on you again, his hands shamelessly removing your short white lab coat, untucking your dress shirt from your skirt. he lets a hand meet your heated skin. he nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck as he kneads the skin of your torso, his fingers teasingly brushing past your bra.

"you drive me mad” he rasps, desperation dropping from every word. “you look so pretty walking around like this every day," he murmurs into your soft flesh. the low resonance of his voice sending a tremor down your spine.

zayne’s hand continues to roam your torso and you feel your entire body react to his touch. the feeling of his skin against your own is beyond electrifying.

his free hand goes to cup at the flesh of your ass, a groan falling from his lips as he feels you up like a starved man.

"i'm going to take care of you," he whispers into your skin again. your hands grasp handfuls of zayne’s expensive lab coat, the fabric soft beneath your fingers. a soft whimper escapes your lips as he continues to touch your body.

"seems like you enjoyed that” zayne states cheekily before peppering kisses at the base of your neck, your non existent resolve snapping at that moment and you melt into his arms once and for all.

zayne mutters your name, and you hum in response. your eyes close as you continue to grip onto his coat to keep you stable, relishing in the warm lipped kisses he places on your skin.

"i’m not all that patient; I'm sorry." he rasps as he pulls his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes meeting yours once again.

the excitement pooling in your underwear doubles. his face held the most lustful look you've ever seen in your almost three decades of living.

you nod at him, and he contentedly accepts your response this time around. his lips finally meet yours, and he groans against you, a long, muffled moan falling from yours. his tongue darts into your mouth as you voice your pleasure.

he quickly guides you back to your desk, pushing away all the paperwork you two abandoned how long ago?

he assists you in sitting on the now empty desk, his hand snaking its way up your skirt, teasing your skin through your oh-so-thin panties. his nimble fingers slither their way down to your covered slit, your arousal soon transferring to the pads of his fingers, a soft hum of approval from zayne is drowned out by your lips.

you pull away slightly and voice your approval as he continues to tease you through your panties.

soon enough though, slight frustration wells in your chest at his airy touches.

"i thought you said you weren't all that patient?" you utter in between the heated collision of your lips.

a soft chuckle bubbles in his chest at your obvious impatience, the sound of his voice causes a soft pout to form on your lips.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl." he breathes.

your reply is immediate. "you can make it up to me." you’re unsure where you got this boldness as the confidence you portray is definitely not your own.

“how about you lift that skirt up for me?" was his response, you quickly oblige and lift the side of your skirt as he continues to push his tongue into your mouth. he graciously assists you and lifts the other side of your skirt for you.

he runs a hand up and down the soft, supple skin of your thigh and impatiently pulls your panties down, breaking the kiss to guide your feet through the holes. the underwear is then quickly pocketed and you watch dumbfounded as he steals your property.

protest was heavy on your tongue, soon to be spat at him, but the swift finger collecting the arousal that pooled at your folds soon frees your mind of his perverted theft.

a string of curses leaves your lips as he uses the slick from your warmth to rub soft circles onto your aching clit, your hand grips at his wrist to avoid sudden removal of the pleasure.

your sporadic whimpers soon turning into full blown moans as he pushes a couple of his deft fingers into you. your heart threatens to burst out of your chest from the way his fingers alone stretch you.

he groans against your lips once more as your cunt practically sucks his fingers in, the dirty sounds you produce making the experience all the more erotic.

"on your back." zayne’s simple words cut through your pleasured sounds and cause your eyes to fly open to meet his lustful gaze once more. he removes his fingers from inside of you and you soon comply. you lean onto your back, the cold surface of your desk cooling the lust induced fire that was the surface of your skin.

using your elbows to help keep yourself propped up, you watch as zayne unzips and drops his expensive dress pants, and listen to him groan with the release of pressure on his bulge.

zayne soon pulls himself out giving you a perfect view of what you're dealing with. your cunt practically drools at the sight of him, your thighs squish together almost instinctively as zayne rubs himself for you.

“zayne…” you sounded pathetic as you quietly lust over the sight of him fucking himself but you don’t care. the wetness of your cunt and the excitement in your body washed away any feeling of shame. you greedily drink in the scene infront of you, hands itching to touch yourself to him.

he groans in response as he continues to touch himself to the sight of you. precum leaks from his red angry red tip, desperate to have a taste of you.

with impatience bubbling, zayne finally spreads your legs and settles his tip at your entrance, rubbing himself against the wetness he was responsible for.

a strangled moan leaves him as he teases the both of you.

“you’re so warm…” he mutters as he tortures your heat. you lock your legs around his hips, egging him to bottom out inside of you already. it seems as though he gets the message and begins to push himself inside of you the stretch has you throwing your head back and your spine arching.

the ache you felt was far from relieved, you needed more. you buck your hips into zayne, the slow pace he set paining you.

“not so fast.” he’d endured months of agony and pure pining, did you really think he’d give you what you wanted that easily?

he uses a slim to finger torment you even further. he uses it to tease your swollen clit, slip it inside your already stuffed full cunt, and he uses it to tickle the inside of your trembling thighs. punishing you, making you feel only a fraction of the agony he felt.

“do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?” he questions, frustration almost tangible, but the hushed sounds of your throbbing cunt being fucked into—rendered you speechless and you were only able to meekly shake your head.

you watched where the two of you met through half lidded eyes, your slack jaw threatening to let saliva escape. a hand under your chin soon forces your eyes away from the provocative show. dark eyes meeting yours.

“then i’ll show you.” his words were punctuated by an uncharacteristically rough thrust that forced a feeble cry out of you.

“akso’s pretty little intern underneath me like this…” the combination of the snap of his hips and the seductive tone of his voice manage to coax even more cute sounds from you.

“zayne..” you pant with need“i need it— fuck, please” you were babbling nonsensically, your vision was blurry with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. the new tempo he set had the volume of your voice rising steadily it has you reaching for something, anything to grip onto.

you catch him by surprise as one of your hands tangles itself his dark hair, a welcome addition to the erotic scene. he groans softly and hastens his thrusts, your grip egging him on further.

your desk shook underneath the two of you as he continues to gain speed but zayne soon slows himself down, much to your disdain, and muffles your sweet hums with a free hand.

“we can’t be too loud” he whispers above you, cock twitching in your heat as he forces himself to halt his movements.

he continues, “people might still be roaming the halls.”

you didn’t like this. at all. “but i was so close” you argue, “i’m sure they won’t hear us. i’ll be quiet” you clench around him in hopes to tempt him.

zayne simply shakes his head and sends you an amused smile, “you can’t seem to keep quiet when I speed up, so, we’ll just have to find a way for you to cum while i go at a more leisure pace.”

you could cry, you really could. the idea of being kept on the verge of an orgasm from him dragging himself slowly against your walls made you wetter than you liked to admit, but unhappy nonetheless.

“i don’t think i can do it” you whisper, arousal prominent in your voice.

zayne uses a hand to rest one of your smooth legs on one of his broad shoulders, taking another look at your soaked heat, before he speaks again, “let’s put that to the test”

#⛶ ˙ ˖ ıl lotus writes ❜ .ᐟ #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lads #lads zayne #lnds #zayne l&ds #li shen #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #l&ds zayne #dr zayne #doctor zayne #zayne x you #zayne smut #lnds zayne

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takeyrregrets · 10 days ago

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okay hear me out...

A himbo reader , absolute idiot, but buff and hot

Buff nerd

𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗝𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗚𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝘅 𝗕𝗶𝗺𝗯𝗼 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Thought this was really funny but cute 😭 Enjoy this short drabble anon with this guy I've deemed Zander

You’re standing in front of the vending machine, squinting at the glowing rows of snacks like you’re trying to decipher ancient runes. Your massive arms are crossed, muscles bulging under the sleeves of your T-shirt. Your face is twisted in pure, undiluted concentration.

"Okay... so if the Cheetos are in B3... but I press C3... would that give me like, bonus chips?" you mumble to yourself, voice low and serious, like you’re solving a complex equation.

Behind you, there’s a quiet clearing of a throat. You turn around and nearly bump chest-first into him.

Thick black glasses perched on his nose, notebook clutched in one hand, sleeves rolled up to reveal surprisingly ripped forearms. He looks like he walked straight out of a lab and a powerlifting competition at the same time. It's unfair, honestly. He’s got that kind of smart-and-dangerous vibe, like he could solve a physics problem while bench pressing you.

"You'll get Funyuns if you press C3," he says flatly, peering over his glasses at you. "And no. You don't get bonus chips. That’s... not how vending machines work."

You blink down at him, then break into a wide, blinding grin. "Whoa, you’re like, really smart, dude!" you say, clapping a hand on his shoulder a little too hard. He stumbles slightly from the impact. "Thanks, man! You just saved me from making a huge mistake."

He adjusts his glasses with a faint blush. "It’s not... it’s basic logic. I mean, it’s labeled."

You nod sagely, as if he just spoke the most profound wisdom known to mankind. "Dang. You must be, like, the smartest dude on campus." You pause, then grin even bigger. "And you're super jacked too! That's crazy! Are you like... a brainiac and a bodybuilder??"

He coughs awkwardly, looking down at his notebook. "...I... I do some lifting. After classes." (He doesn't mention he started lifting mostly because he read somewhere that getting stronger could help with anxiety. He also doesn't mention he definitely noticed you at the gym months ago.)

You’re still beaming at him like he just invented fire. "You’re like... the full package, bro," you say with awe, clenching your fists dramatically. "Brains and biceps."

You don't notice the way he fumbles his notebook a little. You also don’t notice the way his ears turn pink.

"...You should pick B3," he mutters quickly. "That’s Cheetos. You said you wanted Cheetos."

You gasp. "You remembered what snack I wanted?!" You clutch your chest like you've been mortally wounded. "Dude. That’s so... so nice."

He opens his mouth to say something — probably something very smart and logical — but you’re already shoving the vending machine code in with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever finding a new stick.

As the Cheetos drop with a satisfying clunk, you grab the bag and hold it out to him like a precious offering.

"You want the first handful?" you ask, still grinning ear to ear. "Since you’re, like, the hero of this story."

He stares at you, notebook limp at his side, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to figure out an equation that just doesn't compute.

Finally, he clears his throat again — quieter this time — and pushes up his glasses.

"...Sure," he says, a little too quickly..

#shrill..works #oc x male reader #male reader #x reader #x male reader #reader insert #male x male #oc x reader #mlm #male reader insert #male!reader #male reader imagine #male! reader #x male!reader

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hazelira · 23 days ago

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the pwincess & the bunny

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

It was a warm and golden afternoon at BE:LIFT Lab. The gentle hum of lullaby music played low in the background of the company’s private daycare, and the scent of baby wipes and animal crackers filled the air.

Jake crouched by the doorway, adjusting the little pink tiara in his daughter’s golden brown curls. “Okay, Jackie. Be nice, alright? Don’t boss the other kids around too much.”

Jackie puffed her cheeks and placed her tiny hands on her hips. “I iss da boss. Iss my job, Dada.”

Jake stifled a laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “But be gentle, baby. Especially with Hope, yeah? She’s a lil’ shy.”

Jackie blinked, not entirely listening. “Is dere dwess up? I wan' be pink pwincess.”

Heeseung came in a second later, holding his daughter, Hope, against his chest. Her head was tucked into his neck, and her arms curled tightly around Mr. Flopsy, her worn stuffed bunny.

“She still wants to be held,” Heeseung whispered with a chuckle, gently patting her back. “She’s nervous.”

Jake smiled. “It’s okay. Jackie’ll warm her up.”

“I dun wanna,” Hope whispered into her daddy’s shirt. “Wanna Mama.”

“I know, baby. But just for a lil’ bit, okay? Dada will come back soon. Promise.” He kissed her forehead and slowly passed her to one of the daycare workers, though Hope whimpered softly, clutching Flopsy with trembling fingers.

“She’s just gettin’ used to people,” Heeseung murmured, eyes soft with worry.

“She’ll be okay. Jackie’s a lot, but she’s got heart.”

Heeseung chuckled and gave Jake a playful shove. “Your kid is a tornado in a tutu.”

Jake winked. “That’s my girl.”

With one last glance back, the dads left for practice.

The moment they were gone, Jackie clapped her hands. “’Tention eberyone! Pwaytime stawts now! I’m Pwincess Jackie, and I say– we go to da cwastle.”

Several toddlers clapped and giggled. Hope, however, stayed seated in the corner, gently rocking Mr. Flopsy in her lap.

Jackie noticed.

She strutted over, tiara slightly crooked, puffing out her chest like a true royal.

“You da new one,” she declared. “Why you sittin’ like dat?”

Hope didn’t look up.

Jackie tilted her head. “You gots bunny?”

Hope’s fingers clutched Mr. Flopsy tighter. “He shy.”

“You shy, too?”

A tiny nod.

Jackie sat down cross-legged in front of her. “I’s not shy. I’s da pwincess. But I not mean. You wanna pway?”

Hope blinked at her. “…No. Flopsy sleepy.”

Jackie leaned in, peering curiously. “He sleepy in cwastle?”

Hope didn’t answer right away. But Jackie was patient. She waved a pretend wand from her diaper bag with flair.

“Boop! Now he not shy. Magic wand. Boom, boom, sparkles. He happy now.”

Hope’s eyes widened just a little. “…Boom boom sparkles?”

Jackie nodded confidently. “Iss da bestest kind. Wike… ’splosion of stawws!” She flailed her arms dramatically.

That earned Hope a tiny giggle—barely a breath of sound.

But Jackie noticed.

“Flopsy need pwotection,” Jackie decided. “You come in cwastle. I make you Knight Hope. You pwotect da woyal bunny.”

Hope looked down at her bunny, then back up at Jackie. “…I be knight?”

Jackie grinned. “Uh-huh. We be fwends. But I still da boss, ‘kay?”

“…‘Kay.”

Jackie gently took Hope’s hand, leading her toward the blanket fort.

A few hours later, Jake and Heeseung returned to seeing their daughters sitting under a “castle” made from chairs and pink sheets.

Hope was wearing a plastic knight helmet, Mr. Flopsy at her side, and Jackie had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders like a royal cape. They were eating goldfish crackers from a paper plate.

“I sworded da dwagon!” Hope exclaimed, holding up a foam sword.

“I yelled at him,” Jackie added proudly. “I said, ‘you no touch my knight!’”

Jake chuckled, crouching down beside them. “Hey, Boss. You takin’ care of Hope?”

Jackie nodded. “She da bestest knight. She got bunny fwuff and she say boom boom sparkles now.”

Heeseung kneeled beside Hope, cupping her cheeks. “You had fun, baby?”

Hope grinned shyly. “Yuh. Jackie gots magic wand.”

“And Hope gots bunny pwotection,” Jackie added, as if that explained everything.

Jake and Heeseung exchanged a glance—and both smiled.

Their girls were different as night and day, but somehow, they’d found a rhythm: a bossy little princess and a gentle-hearted knight with a stuffed bunny.

And for the first time, Heeseung heard his daughter whisper it without fear:

“Dada… can Jackie come home for tea pahrty?”

Jake held Jackie’s hand the next day as they stood before Heeseung’s front door. Jackie was dressed in her fanciest tutu dress—sparkly pink with puff sleeves—and insisted on carrying a sparkly purse filled with fake macarons and stickers.

“Remembah,” she told her dad, puffing her chest, “I bringed p’resents. Knights get gifties.”

Jake raised a brow. “That so, Princess?”

“Yuh. Hope gots bunny. I gots fwuff stuff too.”

When Heeseung opened the door, Hope peeked out from behind his legs. Wearing a baby blue dress and a paper crown, Mr. Flopsy clutched tightly in one arm. Her eyes lit up when she saw Jackie.

“…Hi, Jackie,” she whispered.

Jackie grinned. “Hiya Knight Hope! You ready for da Royal Tea Pahrty?”

Hope nodded shyly and stepped out, holding her hand like she’d been practicing.

Jackie took it without hesitation.

Jake and Heeseung stood back as their daughters disappeared into the living room. A tea set was already laid on a low table surrounded by plushies and blanketed floor pillows.

Jake smirked as he followed Heeseung into the kitchen. “When did your house turn into Versailles?”

Heeseung snorted. “The second she said pahrty and asked for pink cups only. Bro, she wouldn’t touch the yellow ones.”

“Sounds like my Jackie, alright.”

The two dads leaned against the kitchen counter, peeking into the living room as Jackie poured imaginary tea with exaggerated flair.

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck. “Y’know, I thought Hope was gonna cry yesterday. When I handed her off? She’s still learning how to… be without us.”

Jake nodded. “She’s come a long way, though. Do you remember that first day we met in the nursery? She wouldn't even look at me.”

“She used only to say ‘Mama.’ For everything. Wouldn’t even say my name. But now…” He paused as they heard Hope’s soft voice in the next room.

“Would you like mo’ tea, Your Highness?” she asked, voice so tiny.

“Yes pwease,” Jackie replied, lifting her cup. “And den we do pink dancin’!”

Jake smiled. “They’re good for each other.”

Heeseung watched his daughter gently brush Jackie’s hair with a toy brush. “…I think Jackie makes her feel brave.”

Jake's chest warmed. “And Hope makes her softer.”

The room went quiet for a moment. Two dads were just watching their girls grow up too fast, finding friendship in their own baby way.

“Hey,” Heeseung said suddenly. “You think we’ll still be doing this when they’re… twelve? Sleepovers. Braiding each other’s hair. Stealing our hoodies.”

Jake let out a soft laugh. “God, I hope so.”

In Hope’s bedroom, stuffed animals had been arranged in rows. Jackie stood on a pillow, declaring loudly:

“I knight you, Hope Bunny Pwincess!��

Hope giggled, bowing deeply. “Tank you, Jackie Qween.”

They collapsed in a pile of blankies and giggles, Hope tucked close to Jackie’s side, Mr. Flopsy between them like a soft, fluffy ambassador.

Hope leaned over and whispered, “I wuv you, Jackie.”

Jackie blinked. She was quiet for once. Then she whispered back, “I wuv you too. You, my bestest knight.”

In the hallway, Jake leaned into Heeseung’s shoulder, smiling softly.

“I think we just witnessed history.”

Heeseung nodded. “The beginning of an empire. Built on tea parties and bunny hugs.”

requested by: @jalicecookie

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

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prettygirl-gabi · 26 days ago

Text

Title: The Hideout 3.0

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader,

KK Arnold, Azzi Fudd, Caroline, Jana, Ice, Yanna, Kayla

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Summary: navigating quiet escapes with friends while managing overwhelming moments, TikTok lives, and a chaotic, loud love.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

The afternoon light spills into my room, soft and golden, as I sit cross-legged on the bed with beads scattered around me. My camera’s propped up against a stack of textbooks, TikTok Live is going, and Azzi’s perched at my desk working on her poli-sci paper while Caroline is laying next to me on the bed, typing out some lab report like it’s nothing. The Vampire Diaries is playing in the background—obviously. It’s become a tradition at this point.

“Okay,” I say into the Live, holding up a bracelet. “This one is for my little cousin. She loves dolphins, so yes, that’s a dolphin charm. No judgment.”

“Wait,” Azzi mumbles from her desk without even looking. “Is that the same cousin who made you watch that weird animated movie last summer?”

“The Sea Beast is art, Azzi.”

Carol snorts. “You cried at it.”

I glare at her but keep working on another bracelet. “I’m sensitive, leave me alone.”

The chat is full of laughing emojis and bracelet requests. People asking about classes, music in the background, and whether Caroline ships Stefan or Damon.

“I’m a Stefan girl. Sorry not sorry,” she says.

“You should be sorry,” Azzi calls.

I laugh and lean into the mic. “You heard it here first. The house is divided.”

Everything is chill. It’s just the three of us, being our usual selves. But of course, it doesn’t stay that way.

I see it pop up in the chat, at first like a whisper.

Why is Y/N never on the Lives with Paige and KK?

She can sit and make bracelets with Carol and Azzi but can’t deal with Paige for five minutes?

Then the tone shifts.

Seems fake tbh.

She always disappears when it’s Paige’s turn to shine.

Is she too good for the loud Lives or something?

I stiffen. My fingers freeze over the bracelet I’m making, and the beads fall out of my hand and scatter on the bed.

Carol notices first, her eyes flicking to the screen. “Y/N?”

I shake my head, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m gonna step off for a second. Gotta get more beads.”

Carol doesn’t question it. She immediately mutes the Live. Azzi’s already pushing her chair back.

“What happened?” Azzi asks as I stand up and walk toward the corner of the room, hands trembling a little.

I exhale slowly, trying to get my voice to not shake. “People are saying it’s fake that I only go Live with you guys. That I’m avoiding Paige. That I don’t support her.”

Carol frowns. “Seriously?”

“They’re acting like I don’t want to be around her. Like I can’t be loud or fun or whatever unless it’s with someone else. And it’s just—” I pause, pressing my palm over my chest, grounding myself. “It’s not even true. But it hurts, y’know?”

Azzi steps in first, her voice gentle but firm. “You don’t owe anyone that version of you all the time.”

Carol nods. “You’re allowed to protect your peace. That doesn’t mean you’re fake.”

Before I can respond, the front door swings open. Voices echo down the hall.

“Yo! We’re back!” KK calls.

I hear Paige’s laugh, Ice and Jana trailing in behind them.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” Paige calls out.

I glance at Carol and Azzi, and they both nod. I exhale, walk back to the bed, and unmute the Live.

We pick up right where we left off like nothing happened.

I hold up the finished bracelet I’d been working on. “Okay, y’all, this one’s got a little star charm. It’s my favorite so far.”

Carol jumps back in, no hesitation. “That’s because you’re a star.”

The chat starts lightening up again, but I can still feel the tension. So I clear my throat and speak without making it too obvious.

“I think some people forget that everyone needs different versions of peace,” I say softly, eyes still on the bracelet. “Some days peace is chaos. Other days, peace is silence. Both are valid. You can be both.”

No names. No direct callout. But enough to make people think.

Then Paige walks in the room.

She doesn’t say anything at first—just walks up to the bed, lifts me slightly, and sits down with me in her lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She wraps her arms around me and leans over my shoulder.

“What are we making?” she asks quietly.

“Bracelets,” I mumble, heart full.

She kisses my shoulder. “Then let’s make one.”

The comments blow up again, people fawning, finally calming down. KK yells something from the hallway about how “y’all are too cute” and Ice throws in a dramatic “PERIODDDD” for good measure.

Paige helps me pick out beads while I answer questions in the chat. She’s quieter today, but her presence is enough.

We finish the Live a little later. The second the camera cuts, Paige nuzzles into my neck and says, “Proud of you, babe. For being soft and strong at the same time.”

I smile. “Takes practice.”

Later that night, my phone buzzes.

It’s a notification from Paige’s account.

She posted a TikTok.

I open it and burst into laughter instantly. It’s an old draft from a few weeks back—me, Paige, KK, Jana, Yanna, Azzi, Carol, and even Kayla who had come over just to do my hair.

It’s a Crumbl cookie review. But it’s absolute chaos.

Everyone’s yelling over each other. KK drops her cookie. Yanna’s already eating hers before the camera even rolls. Paige is narrating with a British accent for no reason. Azzi’s pretending she’s a cookie sommelier. I’m yelling about how good the chocolate chip one is. Carol’s laughing so hard she snorts.

It’s one of those moments that’s so loud, so messy, and so us.

And the caption?

“get a girl that can handle both.”

The comments are a mess in the best way:

@/k2timez_: “she was louder than me and that’s saying something.”

@/janaelalfyyy: “i choked on the cookie bc of her ‘CINNAMON ROLLLLL’ scream.”

@/caroline.ducharme3: “get a girl who makes bracelets and throws cookies at KK.”

@/azzi35: “she passed the vibe AND the volume check.”

@/kayla.williams_: “i came to do hair and left with tinnitus.”

I repost it with the caption: “chaotic good. no notes.”

I may get overwhelmed sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be loud, can’t be fun, can’t love deeply.

And I’ve got a girlfriend—and a whole squad—who loves me whether I’m curled up in silence or screaming about cookies.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

389 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 3 months ago

Note

Omg I was thinking about how arcane characters would react to TikTok pranks that the reader plays on them like not saying ily or wiping off kisses - something along those lines.

I think that would be so cool and I love your writing! Thank you if you do end up writing this xx

ᴘʀᴀɴᴋꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? || 5780 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ/ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏɴᴇ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ!!! ᴀᴛ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴘʀᴀɴᴋ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ!! xx <3 <3

JAYCE

The warm glow of Piltover’s late afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of your shared apartment, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floor. A soft breeze drifted in through the slightly open window, ruffling the sheer curtains as you lounged on the couch, legs tucked comfortably beneath you. The weight of a well-worn book rested in your hands, but truthfully, your mind had started to wander long before you’d even turned the last page.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you glanced up just as Jayce strolled into the room. His broad shoulders stretched as he rolled his neck, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. He looked like he’d just come from the lab—his shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms, and there was a faint smudge of grease on his collar.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and warm as he walked up behind you, his hand coming to rest on the back of the couch. He leaned down, the scent of his cologne—something rich and faintly smoky—filling your senses before his lips brushed against your cheek in a soft, affectionate kiss.

As soon as his lips left your skin, you lifted your hand with deliberate slowness and wiped the kiss away, dragging your fingers across your cheek in an exaggerated motion.

Jayce froze mid-stretch.

His brows furrowed as he straightened up, arms still slightly raised as he processed what he just saw. His lips parted in disbelief before he looked down at you with an expression that was both wounded and dramatically offended.

"Did you just… wipe away my kiss?"

You pressed your lips together, trying—really trying—not to laugh, as you turned a page in your book without even glancing up. "Hmm? Did I?"

Jayce narrowed his eyes, suspicion gleaming in his golden-brown gaze. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it came to you.

Without missing a beat, he leaned in again, placing a slower, more deliberate kiss on your other cheek this time. His lips lingered, as if daring you to wipe it away.

You did.

Jayce's jaw dropped slightly. He blinked. "Okay. Now I know you’re messing with me."

You barely held back your grin as you looked up at him, feigning innocence with a slow, exaggerated blink. "Messing with you? What ever do you mean?"

Jayce scoffed, crossing his arms as he studied you with the intensity of a scientist analysing an experiment gone wrong. "Oh, don’t play that game, sweetheart. You know exactly what you’re doing."

You simply hummed in response, flicking your eyes back down to your book, doing your best to act indifferent.

Jayce clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Alright. That’s how you wanna play this?"

His warm hand found your chin, tilting your face up before he leaned in close, breath ghosting over your lips as he placed a lingering, teasing kiss at the very corner of your mouth.

Wipe.

This time, his hands went straight to his hips. "You are messing with me!"

A laugh bubbled up from your lips, but you only shrugged, looking unbothered as you flipped another page in your book—despite having no clue what it even said at this point. "Maybe your kisses just don’t last," you teased, shooting him a cheeky glance.

Jayce let out an incredulous scoff. "Excuse me?" His brows shot up. "Oh, that’s how you wanna play this?"

Before you could react, he moved.

A squeal escaped your lips as Jayce pounced, his large hands wrapping around your waist as he tackled you back onto the couch. His sheer weight and strength pressed you into the cushions, his toned body caging you beneath him with ease. You writhed in protest, but his grip was firm as he pinned you down, his strong hands finding your wrists and pulling them above your head.

"Alright, alright," you laughed breathlessly, trying to wiggle free, but Jayce only grinned down at you, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Truce?"

Jayce tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Mmm… no."

Before you could protest, his lips found your cheek again—warm, teasing, and relentless. You barely had time to react before he peppered another kiss on the other cheek. And another. Then your nose. Then your jaw.

"Jayce!" you squealed, writhing beneath him as you tried to twist away, giggles spilling from your lips.

"You wanna wipe them off now?" he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as his lips trailed down to your neck.

You gasped, but as soon as you tried to respond, his lips captured yours, silencing you with a deep, deliberate kiss. It was slow and teasing at first—his lips moving against yours in a way that left no room for argument. But when he felt you melt beneath him, he smirked into the kiss before pressing harder, deepening it.

Your head spun as you felt the warmth of his body, the heat of his kisses stealing every thought from your mind. His fingers traced down your sides, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, lips tingling, eyes dazed. Jayce grinned in triumph, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Guess you’ll just have to deal with them now, huh?"

You exhaled dramatically, though your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging slightly just to be playful. "Fine. But only because you’re so persistent."

Jayce smirked, pressing his forehead against yours. "Damn right I am."

And just because he could—he kissed you again.

This time, you didn’t wipe it away.

VIKTOR

The first time it happens, Viktor barely reacts.

A single, faint beep echoes through the lab—short, high-pitched, and utterly random. He pauses in the middle of adjusting an intricate mechanism, his golden eyes flickering toward the ceiling as if he could pinpoint the source by sheer intellect alone.

A moment passes.

He hums under his breath, a soft, thoughtful sound, and shakes his head before returning to work. Perhaps just a piece of metal shifting, or an irregularity in the lab’s machinery. Nothing worth his attention.

Perfect.

Across the room, Y/N keeps her expression perfectly neutral, the image of innocent focus. She scribbles notes in an open ledger, tapping the pen against her chin as if deep in thought.

Internally? She’s cackling.

This is going to be so much fun.

By the second day, Viktor is visibly irritated.

The beeping—occasional, unpredictable, and utterly impossible to locate—has begun to wear on him. His usual meticulous focus is broken every time the noise sounds. It’s never frequent enough for him to track, but just annoying enough to keep him on edge.

Y/N watches as his brows furrow a little deeper each time, his jaw tightens ever so slightly, and his fingers twitch around his pen.

“Did you hear that?” Viktor finally asks, his voice strained with controlled frustration.

“Hear what?” Y/N replies, perfectly innocent, peering up at him with wide, guileless eyes.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “That noise. It’s… high-pitched. Irritating.”

His golden gaze sweeps the lab, scanning each crevice like a predator seeking out an unseen threat. She knows him well enough to recognize the way his mind is already working—categorizing possibilities, eliminating impossibilities.

Y/N shrugs, tilting her head. “Maybe you’re just overworking yourself, love. Your mind is a marvel, but even it needs rest.”

Viktor squints at her.

He does not look convinced.

But, without proof, he has no reason to argue.

Not yet.

A week later, Viktor is losing it.

He has scoured the lab from top to bottom—twice. He has checked every instrument, recalibrated every machine, even gone as far as to ask Heimerdinger if there were any possible Arcane-based auditory anomalies in the structure of the lab.

(There weren’t. Obviously.)

The beeping continues.

And Jayce, bless him, is in on the prank.

“You know, Viktor,” Jayce says one day, scratching the back of his head while examining a schematic, “I think I might hear something.”

Viktor nearly slams his cane into the table in sheer relief. His head snaps up so fast that Y/N fears he might give himself whiplash.

“Thank you!” he exclaims, grabbing Jayce’s shoulders like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. “I was beginning to think I was mad!”

Jayce pauses, tilting his head as if straining to hear. Then, after a moment, he nods sagely.

“Yeah. I hear it now,” he says.

Viktor’s grip on him tightens. “Where? Where is it coming from?” His golden eyes burn with determination, laser-focused as if the answer might free him from this torment.

Jayce casually gestures toward the open window. “Outside. There’s a bird chirping.”

The betrayal on Viktor’s face is magnificent.

Y/N nearly chokes trying to hold in her laughter as Viktor physically recoils, his expression shifting from relief to horrified indignation in record time.

"A bird?" he echoes, voice flat, as if the very concept is offensive to his existence.

Jayce grins, slapping Viktor’s shoulder. "Yeah, man. Maybe that's all it was this whole time."

Viktor glares at him, jaw clenched. “I despise you.”

Jayce just winks. “Love you too, buddy.”

Y/N barely manages to keep her composure as Viktor storms off, muttering curses in three different languages, cane clicking sharply against the floor

By the third week, Viktor is begging.

“Y/N, moje srdce” he pleads one evening, head in his hands as he slumps against her shoulder. “Please. Tell me you hear it.” (My Heart)

His voice is exhausted, but not just in the way that comes from sleepless nights. No—this is mental exhaustion. His mind, a machine so sharp and brilliant that few could ever hope to match it, has been bested by something so utterly stupid and nonsensical that it is physically paining him.

Y/N hums thoughtfully, running her fingers through his messy curls. “Hmm. Can’t say I do.”

A muffled groan escapes him as he buries his face in her neck.

She swears she has never seen him this disheveled.

Viktor is a man of logic, of reason, of absolute control over his mind.

And yet, a single, insignificant, random beep is breaking him faster than anything Singed ever could.

It is glorious.

But then, Y/N does the unthinkable.

She removes the beeper.

And waits.

The first day, Viktor is cautious.

He keeps waiting for it, shoulders tensing slightly each time he expects it to chime.

But it never does.

The second day, he is suspicious.

He taps his fingers restlessly against his desk, staring at the walls like they might reveal some great, hidden truth.

The third day, he is outright panicked.

Y/N watches from across the room as Viktor paces—paces—the lab, leaning heavily on his cane as he mutters equations under his breath. He’s contemplating whether his brain has adapted to hearing a frequency that no longer exists or if—somehow—he has gone deaf to it entirely.

His golden eyes are filled with doubt, his entire existence thrown into question over the absence of something that once tormented him.

And it is so much better than Y/N ever imagined.

One night, as they settle into bed, Viktor finally allows himself to relax for the first time in weeks.

His body is warm against Y/N’s, his breathing steady but heavy with exhaustion. One arm is draped over her waist, his fingers lazily tracing patterns against the fabric of her nightshirt. She can feel the tension slowly unravelling from his frame, the madness of the last few weeks fading into the background.

Silence. Blissful, beep-free silen—

Beep

Viktor lurches upright, nearly knocking Y/N off the bed as his entire body locks up in pure alarm. His head whips around the room like a man possessed, wild golden eyes darting toward the ceiling, the walls, anywhere the sound could have come from.

“No,” he breathes. “No. No, it cannot be…”

He shoves the blankets off himself, gripping his cane as if preparing for battle.

Y/N? She’s already laughing.

Not just laughing—she’s wheezing, clutching her stomach as she doubles over.

Viktor slowly turns to face her, eyes narrowing. “Y/N,” he says, voice low, dangerously measured.

She doesn’t say a word—she just slides out of bed, still giggling, and walks across the room. Viktor watches, utterly frozen, as she kneels down by the dresser and plucks a tiny, inconspicuous device from behind it.

She holds it up between her fingers.

A beeper.

Viktor stares.

His entire world seems to crumble in real time.

His eye twitches. His jaw drops. His cane creaks beneath the pressure of his grip.

Then—realization.

"You," he whispers, horrified. "It was you."

Y/N finally loses it, collapsing onto the floor in uncontrollable laughter.

Viktor moves so fast that she barely has time to react before he’s on her, cane clattering to the ground as he tackles her into the bed.

"You absolute menace," he growls, pressing her into the mattress, his long fingers digging into her sides.

“Vik—Viktor, wait—” she wheezes, thrashing beneath him, gasping for breath as he mercilessly tickles her.

"You have tortured me for weeks!" he exclaims, voice raw with betrayal. “I have questioned my sanity! I have doubted my own mind!”

Y/N can’t even respond—she’s crying with laughter, kicking uselessly as Viktor ruthlessly exacts his revenge.

"I should build a machine," he threatens, lips brushing against her ear as his fingers dig into her ribs, "one that beeps—forever!"

She screams with laughter.

And Viktor?

He grins.

JAYVIK

Y/N sat at their shared desk, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she carefully tucked a folded piece of paper into her journal. It was no ordinary piece of paper—this was the result of careful study, patience, and deep, intimate knowledge of her two lovers.

A Bingo Card.

Not just any Bingo Card, either. It was filled with all the little habits, quirks, and predictable behaviours Jayce and Viktor did on a regular basis without even realizing it. She had been compiling this for weeks, discreetly noting things they said and did with eerie consistency.

Each square was a piece of their dynamic, things that made her heart warm and her lips curl in amusement. She tapped her pen against the journal, smirking to herself. All she had to do now was wait.

Morning

It took less than five minutes for Y/N to mark her first box.

She was still curled up in bed beside Viktor, half-awake and tucked comfortably under the blankets, when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Blinking sleepily, she turned her head just in time to watch Jayce emerge from the bathroom—shirtless, damp, and utterly oblivious to his own habits.

A towel hung loosely around his waist, water still dripping from his hair as he made his way to the dresser. But instead of grabbing his clothes like a normal person, he paused in front of the mirror.

Y/N’s lips twitched as she watched him tilt his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he inspected his reflection. Then, ever so subtly, he adjusted his stance.

One arm flexed—just a little. His biceps tensed, his shoulders squared, and he turned slightly to the side, as if checking the way his abs looked under the soft morning light.

From beside her, Viktor shifted, cracking one tired eye open. He stared at Jayce for a solid three seconds before groaning and burying his face back into the pillow.

"Gods, do you need a moment alone with yourself?" he muttered, his voice still heavy with sleep.

Y/N bit back a laugh, stretching lazily under the covers. That was her cue.

She reached for the hidden Bingo card she had tucked under her pillow the night before and, without hesitation, marked: "Jayce gets lost in his own reflection."

Jayce, caught, grabbed a shirt off the dresser with an indignant huff. "I was just making sure my hair didn’t look ridiculous."

Viktor snorted, still half-buried in the blankets. "You were posing."

"I was not!"

Viktor didn’t even bother arguing further. Instead, he rolled his eyes and muttered something in Czech as he sat up and stretched, the sunlight catching in his tousled hair.

Y/N barely held in a choked giggle as she casually marked another box.

"Viktor mutters a Czech curse under his breath."

Oh, this was going to be way too easy.

As they finally made their way to the kitchen, Y/N, ever the casual observer, watched as Viktor sighed dramatically before he even made it to the coffee machine.

Jayce, halfway through making toast, was slathering on an ungodly amount of butter. Viktor, still clearly waking up, leaned on the counter and sighed again, louder this time.

"You’re going to clog your arteries before you even finish our research, Jayce."

Jayce, mouth full of criminally buttered toast, squinted at him. "Let me live my life."

"Your life will be considerably shorter if you keep eating like that," Viktor deadpanned.

Y/N silently checked another mark. "Viktor sighs dramatically over something minor."

She was three marks in and it wasn’t even 7:30 AM.

Then, as she sat down at the table, minding her own business, Jayce absentmindedly pulled her onto his lap as if it were second nature, arms wrapping around her waist while he continued eating.

Did he even realize he did this? Probably not. Did Y/N mind? Not at all.

Mark. "Jayce pulls Y/N onto his lap absentmindedly."

She grinned to herself, sipping her coffee with satisfaction. Four marks down before the day had even really started.

This might end up being her fastest Bingo yet.

Afternoon

At the lab, Y/N played it cool, casually observing from her usual spot near the workbench, a book open in her hands. She turned pages at a leisurely pace, feigning deep concentration when, in reality, she was watching her two lovers with the keen eye of a scientist conducting an experiment.

It was only a matter of time before—

"That’s not what that word means, Jayce," Viktor said, exasperated as he tapped at their shared research paper. "If we say 'self-sustaining energy output,' it implies indefinite function, which we cannot guarantee."

Jayce groaned. "Viktor, it’s a research paper, not a philosophy debate."

"It is literally a paper that defines the future of hextech. Precision matters," Viktor shot back.

Y/N barely held back a victorious snicker as she checked off "Jayce and Viktor bicker about the wording of a research paper."

She hid her grin behind her book as they continued their debate, their voices rising and falling in that familiar rhythm of argument neither of them ever really won.

A few minutes later, still deep in thought, Viktor leaned over to press a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple before immediately returning to his calculations as if he hadn’t even done it.

Mark. "Viktor distractedly kisses Y/N while focusing on something else."

At this rate, she was going to win before dinner.

Then, as if the universe wanted to speed up her victory, Jayce—who had been idly flipping his hammer in his hands—sighed and leaned back dramatically, staring up at the ceiling.

"You know what? No, I refuse to let bureaucracy hold us back. We need to take action. We need to push for innovation, for progress. If we don’t challenge these outdated structures, then who will? Hextech isn’t just about science—it’s about hope."

Y/N, having heard variations of this speech at least five times in the last month, casually flipped a page in her book and checked off "Jayce gives an impromptu motivational speech."

Viktor didn't even look up from his work. "That was a very moving performance, Jayce. I nearly stood up to applaud."

Jayce rolled his eyes. "One day, Viktor, you’ll actually believe in my speeches."

"Oh, I believe in them," Viktor murmured, eyes still on his notes. "I just also believe you should write them down and use them once instead of recycling the same one over and over."

Y/N barely kept her giggle in check as Jayce gaped at Viktor.

Honestly, she needed to start playing Bingo with harder categories.

Evening

Y/N was perched comfortably on the couch, curled up with a book, but her mind was entirely focused on the two remaining unchecked squares of her Bingo card.

She had been so close all day, marking off every little habit and quirk of her two lovers like a seasoned researcher gathering data. But now, with only two left, she had begun to worry. It was nearly bedtime, and she needed them both before the night ended.

Her gaze flicked toward the kitchen, where Jayce was currently rummaging through the cabinets for a midnight snack. Viktor, sitting at the dining table and jotting something down in his notebook, was visibly exhausted, absently rubbing his temple as he scribbled equations at an increasingly aggressive pace.

The tension was there. The potential for Bingo completion was there. She just needed to nudge it in the right direction.

She set her book down, stretching her arms above her head in a way that was totally natural and not at all a distraction tactic. "Jayce, you’ve been working hard all day. I’m surprised you haven’t shown off at least once."

Jayce turned around, a grin already forming as he leaned against the counter. "Please, babe. I don’t just show off—"

And then, as if on cue, he flexed.

It was completely unconscious. The way his arms tensed as he crossed them over his chest, the way his broad shoulders squared like he was posing for a portrait.

It was instinct. Pure, muscle-memory-level Jayce behavior.

Y/N immediately checked off "Jayce flexes (unintentionally) or poses without thinking."

One more to go.

Viktor, still at the table, let out a long, exasperated sigh and rubbed his forehead, clearly at the end of his patience. "Do you ever stop being an insufferable peacock?"

Jayce, instead of responding like a normal person, smirked and winked at him. "You like the view, don’t lie."

That did it.

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose, dropped his pen onto the table with an audible clack, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear to the gods, Jayce, I will strangle you one of these days."

"Viktor threatens to strangle Jayce (empty threat, obviously)."

Y/N gasped dramatically and shouted at full volume:

"BINGO!"

Jayce actually flinched. Viktor snapped his head up so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

They both stared at her, completely thrown off by her sudden outburst.

"What the hell?" Jayce demanded, blinking in confusion.

Y/N was beaming, her whole body thrumming with excitement as she snatched the Bingo card from where she had kept it hidden and practically shoved it in their faces.

Viktor squinted at it. Jayce snatched it out of her hands and started reading.

His eyes widened. His mouth fell open.

"Oh. My. GOD."

Viktor, now reading over his shoulder, groaned. "You’ve been tracking us?"

"Studying," Y/N corrected, gleeful. "And I won!"

Jayce looked personally offended. "You—this whole time—you’ve just been waiting for us to be predictable?"

"I knew you two would come through for me," she said sweetly.

Viktor let out a long, suffering sigh. "She played us like fools."

Jayce shook his head, still staring at the card in disbelief. "You even got me with the flexing thing?!"

Y/N shrugged, unapologetic. "You literally can’t help yourself, babe."

Viktor smirked slightly, looking at Jayce. "She has a point."

"You’re supposed to be on my side," Jayce grumbled.

Viktor gave him a deadpan look. "You posed while getting peanut butter from the cabinet. I witnessed it."

Y/N cackled.

Jayce, groaning dramatically, tossed the Bingo card onto the coffee table before turning toward her. "You do realize this means war, right?"

"Oh?" she teased, tilting her head. "What are you gonna do, babe? Pose even harder?"

Jayce narrowed his eyes, but his smirk was already forming. "Oh, just you wait. Viktor and I are gonna make a Bingo card for you."

Viktor hummed in agreement, rubbing his chin. "Ah, yes. We can include ‘Y/N teases us mercilessly’ and ‘Y/N tries to act innocent after causing chaos’ as free spaces."

Y/N laughed, completely unfazed. "Oh, please. I’m way harder to predict than you two."

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a knowing look.

"You think that," Jayce said smugly, "but we’ve been together long enough to know all your little habits, darling."

Viktor nodded. "Indeed. You are not as mysterious as you believe."

Y/N scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

Jayce leaned in, grinning. "Challenge accepted."

And just like that, a new game had begun.

VANDER

Vander had seen a lot in his time. Wars, bloodshed, the slow, agonizing build of a rebellion. He’d taken his fair share of punches, thrown twice as many, made enemies in every corner of the Undercity. He’d stared death in the face more times than he cared to count and lived to tell the tale. He’d raised four stubborn, reckless kids who somehow found new ways to test his patience every single day.

But this?

This had to be one of the weirdest.

It was supposed to be a normal night. A good one, even. He was sitting in his usual chair, arms folded across his chest, the hum of The Last Drop settling into a steady rhythm around him. The usual sounds filled the air—clinking mugs, raucous laughter, the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. It was peaceful, or at least as peaceful as it ever got down here.

And then you happened.

Vander barely registered it at first, just caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. But something about it made his brain stutter, his instincts lurching from relaxed to immediately on edge. Because that movement?

That was you.

And you were walking past the doorway.

With a jackhammer slung over your shoulder.

His brow furrowed so hard it could’ve folded steel. The beer in his hand froze halfway to his lips.

“…What in the hell?”

He had to do a double take. A triple take. But no, his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. That was definitely you, striding past the entrance like you had somewhere important to be, carrying a massive, industrial-grade jackhammer over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even look at him.

Didn’t pause. Didn’t offer a single word of explanation. You just kept walking. Like this was a completely normal, everyday occurrence. Like you weren’t currently hauling a hundred-pound piece of construction equipment through his bar.

For a long moment, Vander just sat there, stunned. His brain couldn’t keep up. The sheer absurdity of what he was witnessing had short-circuited his ability to process basic logic.

And then, instinct kicked in.

His gut twisted with a deep, familiar feeling. Because he knew you. And if there was one thing he had learned about you over the years, it was that whenever you were up to something, it usually meant trouble.

So, naturally, he did what he always did when you pulled some reckless, hair-brained stunt.

He chased after you.

“Oi! Sweetheart!” His voice was loud, deep, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards as he pushed away from the table.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t even acknowledge him.

Just kept walking.

Vander’s frown deepened.

That was never a good sign.

Now, a couple of regulars had stopped to watch, heads turning as you strode through the bar, still carrying that damn jackhammer like it was a bag of groceries.

Because, really—who carries a jackhammer like they’re running errands?

Vander caught up quickly, his long strides eating up the space between you. He reached out, fingers curling gently but firmly around your shoulder, pulling you to a stop.

“Oi,” he huffed, his grip warm, calloused, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. “What the hell are ya doin’?”

You finally turned, tilting your head just slightly, your expression perfectly innocent.

“What do you mean?”

Vander gestured broadly to the literal jackhammer resting against your hip.

“That.”

“Oh, this?” You adjusted your grip, shifting it effortlessly in your hands, as if it wasn’t a massive, industrial tool meant for drilling through concrete. “Just need it for something.”

Vander let out a long, slow exhale, rubbing a hand down his face. His patience was hanging on by a thread.

“For what, exactly?”

You shrugged, easy, casual. “Dunno yet. Thought I’d figure it out on the way.”

His eye twitched.

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked like a man who was physically struggling to comprehend what he’d just heard.

Finally, after what felt like a full minute of stunned silence, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, strained. “Tell me right now if I need to be worried.”

You grinned. “I mean… I dunno, depends.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Depends?”

“What’s your stance on… surprise home renovations?”

Vander groaned. “You are gonna be the death of me, woman.”

You laughed, finally setting the jackhammer down with a loud clunk. Without missing a beat, you stepped up to him, arms slipping around his waist, pressing yourself into the warmth of his chest.

“Oh, come on, love. It’s just a prank.”

He huffed, still looking more suspicious than amused. “A prank?”

You nodded, biting back another laugh. “You know, like—‘let’s see how long it takes before Vander freaks out and chases me.’”

His lips twitched. He fought it—tried to keep the stern look on his face—but he was losing.

“So you mean to tell me…” he rumbled, voice gravelly, disbelieving. “You carried a damn jackhammer through my bar just to mess with me?”

“Yep.”

Vander exhaled a slow, deep breath, dragging a hand down his beard before shaking his head.

“You’re lucky I love ya.”

“Oh, I know I am,” you teased, rising up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Vander let you—for all of half a second.

Then, without warning, his arms tightened around you, hoisting you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing.

“Vander—!” you yelped, laughing as he effortlessly lifted you, your feet dangling in the air.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your forehead before he set you back down. “Y’think you’re real funny, huh?”

“Very.”

He just shook his head, exhaling another deep, exasperated sigh.

You grinned up at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return this before the guy I borrowed it from realizes it’s missing.”

Vander’s eyes snapped open.

“…Y/N.”

You were already backing away.

“Kidding!” you giggled, darting off before he could grab you again. “Or am I?”

And just like that, you were off again, laughing as Vander groaned, already resigning himself to forever chasing after you.

SILCO

You and Silco had a game you liked to play—one full of sharp edges and quiet affections, stolen moments between power plays and whispered threats. Love was a dangerous word in Zaun, but in the dim candlelight of his office, wrapped in the scent of cigars, ink, and the faint bite of shimmer, he had no trouble saying it to you.

He never wasted words. Everything Silco did was calculated, deliberate, necessary. He did not offer his affection freely, and yet, he gave it to you—every glance, every touch, every carefully veiled declaration. And tonight, he said it again.

"I love you."

His voice was smooth, steady, like the slow pull of a blade from its sheath, slicing through the silence between you. His mismatched eyes locked onto yours, unyielding, waiting, calculating the exact moment you would answer him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you smirked and turned away, feigning distraction, pretending as if you hadn’t heard him at all.

A test. A tease. A dangerous little game.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, piercing, demanding. His patience was not infinite, and the slow, measured way he inhaled through his nose told you he was already calculating his next move.

He didn’t like being ignored.

“Y/N.” His voice dipped lower, edged with something lethal.

You hummed, tilting your head as if deep in thought. “Hmm?”

“I said,” he repeated, deliberate now, “I love you.”

You turned to face him slowly, letting your eyes linger on his sharp features, the scars that told a thousand unspoken stories, the controlled fury simmering beneath the surface of his expression.

Still, you said nothing.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling a breath through his nose, long and measured, reigning himself back in. His fingers tapped once—twice—against the edge of the wooden desk, his gloves barely muffling the sound.

Ah. There it was.

That rare moment of restraint. That precarious balance of control and irritation, so finely honed it could snap at any second.

His patience was a fragile thing, and you had just shattered the first layer.

“Is this a game to you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile threatening to tug at the corners of your mouth. “What if it is?”

He didn’t answer right away. He only watched you, assessing, taking his time as if considering his next move in a game of chess.

Then, he stood.

Slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in.

The air between you shifted, thick with something unspoken, something electric. His steps were measured, unhurried, but each one sent a jolt of anticipation through your spine.

By the time he reached you, you could feel the heat of him, the quiet menace in his posture.

He placed a gloved hand on the armrest of your chair, his other hand trailing a slow, measured line along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His touch was deceptively soft, but you knew better.

"If you’re waiting to hear me say it again, don’t hold your breath," he murmured, his voice a quiet warning, but you could hear the amusement beneath it.

Your smirk deepened. "Oh? Are you upset, my love?"

His lips barely twitched, but his grip on your jaw tightened ever so slightly—a silent reprimand, a reminder that you were playing with fire.

“Say it back.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "And if I don't?"

Silco exhaled through his nose, and this time, his smirk was slow, knowing.

"Then I'll make you."

A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground, tilting your chin up in defiance. You had won plenty of battles with Silco before, but this—this was different.

His grip on your jaw remained firm as his other hand traced lower, gliding along the curve of your throat, ghosting over your collarbone before settling at your waist.

There was nothing rushed, nothing desperate—just slow, calculated movements, unraveling you bit by bit.

“Still nothing?” he mused, tilting his head, his gaze flickering over your lips before meeting your eyes again.

You swallowed.

Damn him.

Damn that knowing smirk, that unwavering confidence, that ability to turn the tables on you so effortlessly.

He was enjoying this.

You felt the pressure of his fingers at your waist tighten slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of exactly who you were dealing with.

"You were very bold a moment ago," he murmured, voice dipping into something darker, silkier. "Where did all that bravado go, darling?"

You licked your lips, heart hammering against your ribs. "I don’t know what you mean."

A quiet chuckle.

"Is that so?"

His lips brushed against your ear now, a ghost of a touch, enough to set your pulse racing.

"Say it."

His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it held the weight of a command.

Your resolve wavered.

You had played the game too well, and now you were at his mercy.

Fine. You’d concede—just a little.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze properly. Your smirk softened, the teasing glint in your eyes giving way to something quieter, something more genuine.

"I love you," you whispered.

The tension in the air shifted in an instant.

Silco hummed, pleased, his fingers pressing into your waist just a fraction harder before releasing you entirely, stepping back just enough to watch your expression.

"Good girl," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as heat curled in your stomach.

And just like that, the game was over.

For now.

But as Silco turned back toward his desk, as if nothing had happened at all, you realized something else.

You’d lost this round.

And he knew it.

The smirk on his lips as he reached for his cigar told you as much.

"You should be careful with games like that, Y/N," he mused, lighting the cigar with a flick of his wrist. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze flicking toward you in amusement. "I always win."

You scoffed, but there was no bite to it. He had won, and you both knew it.

Still, this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Because as much as Silco enjoyed winning, he enjoyed the chase just as much. And you?

You were already planning your next move.

JINX

Jinx was in the zone.

Her workshop was a mess—half-built contraptions scattered across the room, blueprints pinned haphazardly to the walls, and the faint scent of burning metal lingering in the air. Gears and wires tangled together in chaotic piles, balancing precariously on whatever flat surface was available. In the middle of it all sat Jinx, cross-legged on her workbench, completely absorbed in her latest masterpiece.

Her goggles were pushed onto her forehead, the lenses smeared with grease and fingerprints. Smudges of oil decorated her cheeks like war paint, and her blue braids swung wildly as she nodded along to the music blaring from an old, half-broken speaker in the corner.

And it was loud.

Not just normal Jinx-loud. It was window-rattling, floor-vibrating, hearing-loss-inducing loud. The kind of loud that made you question whether the building’s foundation would hold.

Jinx didn’t care. She thrived in the noise.

She was fully immersed in her work, absentmindedly singing along to the song playing. And by singing, that meant full-volume, off-key, and absolutely shameless.

“AND NO ONE CAN STOP MEEE—!”

She practically screamed the lyrics, her voice cracking in ways that would make even a dying cat wince. But it didn’t matter—she was having the time of her life.

Which made it the perfect time for a little prank.

You stood in the doorway, watching, waiting. Jinx was so lost in her own world that she hadn’t even noticed you creeping closer.

A grin tugged at your lips. This was too easy.

You tiptoed across the workshop, carefully dodging loose screws and half-eaten snack wrappers. Jinx was too busy hammering something into place to notice your approach, her head still bobbing wildly to the beat.

You inched toward the speaker.

Jinx, completely oblivious, was gearing up for the next chorus.

Her voice got louder.

Her confidence grew.

Her lungs expanded—

Click.

Silence.

“OH, I’M A LO-O-O—”

Jinx’s voice cracked as she hit the high note—except now, there was no music backing her up.

Her whole body froze mid-action, fingers still curled around the wrench in her hands. A split-second of pure, unfiltered betrayal flickered across her face.

Her bright pink eyes darted toward the speaker. Then at you. Then back at the speaker.

Back at you.

“… Did you just—?”

You crossed your arms, barely holding in your laughter. “What? Something wrong?”

Jinx’s eye twitched. “You did not just—”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Huh. Weird. Maybe your speaker’s broken?”

Jinx’s mouth opened slightly, like her brain was struggling to process the audacity of what you had just done. She looked genuinely offended.

And then—

She let out a gasp.

A dramatic, over-the-top, hands-on-her-chest gasp.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” Jinx exclaimed, flinging her wrench onto the table with a clatter. “I was about to nail that note! I was about to make musical history! AND YOU ROBBED ME OF MY MOMENT!”

You smirked. “Oh, you were about to nail it? Pretty sure the windows were about to shatter.”

Jinx pointed an accusing finger at you. “You are a menace. A gremlin. A villain.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted. “You were butchering that song.”

Jinx gasped again, even louder this time, her eyes wide with exaggerated offense. “Take that back, heathen! I am an artiste!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Artiste?”

She stood up on her workbench, striking a dramatic pose like a tragic opera singer about to perform. “A musical prodigy! A visionary! My voice is—”

“—a crime against humanity?”

Jinx screeched.

“You little—!”

She lunged at you.

“WORTH IT!” you yelled, bolting for the door.

Jinx tore after you, knocking over tools and sending loose bolts flying as she gave chase.

“YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE!”

You dodged past a half-built trap and vaulted over a pile of discarded blueprints, laughing as Jinx’s boots pounded against the floor behind you.

Five seconds.

That’s all the time you had before she tackled you from behind, sending both of you crashing onto the ground in a mess of tangled limbs and wheezing laughter.

Jinx, now straddling your back like some kind of victorious goblin, poked your ribs mercilessly.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” she huffed, but her voice was shaking from laughter.

“I know I’m funny,” you shot back, still breathless.

Jinx let out a dramatic sigh. “I should make you test out my next invention for this. Ooh! Maybe a whoopee cushion grenade! Yeah, yeah, I like that. Patent pending.”

You groaned, face still pressed into the floor. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Jinx cackled. “Oh, so now you’re against pranks?”

“…Okay, fair.”

She finally rolled off you, lying on her back beside you, both of you catching your breath. The silence stretched for a moment before—

“Y’know,” Jinx started, grinning up at the ceiling, “next time, I’m wiring that speaker to a shock trap. So good luck pulling that stunt again.”

You chuckled. “Guess I’ll just have to outsmart you.”

Jinx turned her head, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, game on, dumbass.”

Yeah. You had won this round.

But Jinx?

She was already planning revenge.

#arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #vander x reader #vander x y/n #vander x you #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #jinx x platonic!reader

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lostinlovingrevery · 4 months ago

Text

Head Over Heels

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

Plot: You have a major crush on Logan, and decided he's too pretty to not paint

A/N: This is purely me just being a huge romantic. I also got a polaroid camera for christmas that i use to take pictures of everything so...

Warnings: None! This is pure fluff, Reader is just a huge romantic, and crushes on Logan big time. Mentions of the other X-men, taking pictures, painting?

Word Count: 1741

Golden sun rays

Dusty library books

Tall, broody, and handsome

You were observing a photo in your study at Xavier's School for the Gifted. You were a professor there, teaching classes such as mutant ethics, mutant history, and mutant biology. Anything with mutants, that was your job; and that was by day- by night, you were an X-man. You went on dangerous missions in the name of making the world better and safer for people. You were strong, intelligent, compassionate…

And a total romantic.

You loved love. Not just romantic love, but platonic love, familiar love. You loved art, religion, and politics. You found beauty in everything, even the mundane. It didn’t matter if you’ve gotten your heartbroken before, if you were ridiculed for your passion, you enjoyed life and what it had to offer. Was every day like that? No, but that’s okay, because it only made the good days sweeter.

You carried a polaroid camera with you often. It allows you to take pictures of things whenever you want, things that strike your fancy. A pretty rose that bloomed in the garden, a sunset at the beach, Hank in his lab, Jean and Ororo painting each others nails, Scott glaring at the camera, students studying in the halls, a bird perched on the window sill, Charles in his office, a forgotten bottle of soda sitting outside-

And your most recent addition to the collection on your wall, a photo of the X-men's new-ish recruit, Logan Howlett, the big bad Wolverine.

He arrived close to 6 months ago. To say you immediately crushed on him the moment he showed up was an understatement. Love at first sight- was probably a more accurate description of what happened. It wasn’t enough that you already thought he was extremely handsome, his lovely face with those mutton chops , that thick head of chestnut colored hair, his hazel eyes - sharp and fierce one moment - sweet and pretty the next. He had the body that you could only compare to a Greek God.

The attitude though, when he opened his mouth, the attitude that pissed people off but only spurred you on.

You were head over heels. Ororo teased you that you practically had heart eyes for the wild man whenever he was around.

You two quickly became friends- if you could describe it as that since Logan Howlett does still try to be a “cool guy”, acting suave and nonchalant, but you would quickly break through the barriers he’d set up. Not because of your little “crush”, but because you were a naturally welcoming person. You understood people, had the patience of a saint, and the confidence to not take shit. All perfect for dealing with the Wolverine. You saw right through him. The sarcasm and the cockiness he would sport. As you grew to know him, your feelings turned less from a schoolgirl crush to something more serious deep in your soul, an ache to take care of him the way no one else has- the way he deserved. You felt he had the same feelings for you, the protectiveness that he had for you, the way he picked up on your habits and quirks, and how he always spoke just a bit more softly to you than he does to anyone else. Whatever was happening, was blossoming slowly- but surely.

Nonetheless, you weren’t going to rush anything.

But, when you saw him in the library, standing near a dusty shelf lined with books no one has touched in years, he was staring out a window, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his expression soft and reflective, with golden rays of the evening sun highlighting his features, you thought it was one of the prettiest things you have ever seen. You could see the thoughtfulness in Logans face, a relaxed expression that is rarely spotted on the Wolverine- who normally is gruff, a frown always seemed to be permanently painted on his face. It so happened you had your camera on you, so you quickly snapped a photo- and took off before he looked in your direction, knowing that with his amplified hearing, he would have heard the click of the camera.

The photo honestly captivated you, like a painting with the way the sun rays came in through the window. It highlights the warm color of his hair, the structure of his face, and the toned muscles of his arm.

You used to paint all the time. It was a hobby you thoroughly enjoyed, as it relaxed you- allowing you to take in the small details, slow down, and appreciate the gentle strokes of the brush as you carefully choose the perfect color to paint onto the canvas. You’d paint the pictures you’ve taken if they had an impact on you- much like how the Polaroid of Logan was impacting you now. You hadn’t painted in a long time, the work of being a professor and an x-men left little time to enjoy the hobby that takes a lot of time.

Seeing though, as you had time now. Why not?

Digging out your old stand, and your paints and old brushes, and fortunately, you still had at least one bare canvas left, otherwise you would have likely covered one of your older paintings- which were still stuffed in the closet of your study, to use instead. An intense need to create and make something just as beautiful as Logan was in that photo.

Starting with the background, you found yourself back in your familiar style of painting, eyeing the colors of the photo. The color of the wall, the floors, and filled in the shadows and got the placement of the window juuuust right, and was just starting to work on the bookshelf that would be behind Logan. You’d been working on it for nearly an hour, your normally overactive brain had silenced itself to focus on your task.

You hadn’t noticed Logan walking in at first. He had been looking around for you and found that no one else had seen you in a while, which was odd- since you were a complete busybody- and you could be spotted easily all over the mansion. He went to your study, and found you by the window, staring intensely at a canvas before you, sitting on a chair with your legs criss-crossed. He walked up to you- not silently, only clearing his throat to announce his arrival once he was next to you.

Jumping at the sound of his voice, and turning to look at him, your hand quickly snatched the polaroid that was perched against the canvas so you can look at it for reference. Logan didn’t miss how you grabbed it, and snuck it under your thigh. He quirked a brow.

“What you working on bub?”

“Oh…” You turned to look at the canvas, and a deep blush came across your cheeks. “Just…Painting.”

“I didn’t know you could paint.” He says, a small tone of interest in his voice, making you perk up a bit.

“I haven’t done it in awhile.” shrugging, and glancing at the canvas- and relieved you hadn’t worked on Logan's actual figure yet and suddenly very aware that you had been acting on impulse- wondering if it had been strange that you decided to just paint a picture of Logan after you secretly- but not so secretly took a picture of him earlier... “I just…got hit with inspiration I suppose.”

“Yeah?” He glanced at it. “What are you painting?...” He observed it and you let him work the details out. “A window…that a bookshelf?”

“Excellent observation skills Lo.”

He smirked. “You do anything specific with your paintings or just…whatever?”

“I paint things I find pretty.” You say simply tilting your head to look up at him. An expression came across his face- something you couldn’t quite gauge.

“Oh yeah?” He says. He glanced at it again. His eyes trailed over back to you. “What's so pretty about this one?”

“You’ll have to find out.” You tittered. He quirked a brow, before looking back at the canvas. The way he kept observing it made you nervous. The gears in that beautiful head of his turning. Did he recognize it?

“Hey, you take any pictures today?” He asked with a casual tone.

Your smile faltered a bit, and you bit your lower lip, chewing on it nervously.

He’s on to you

“I took a few.” You answered- your very best to be nonchalant, but he could hear the slight waver of your voice. As he placed a hand on the back of your chair, he leaned down towards you, his chin tilted upwards but his eyes bore down at you, a small quirk of his lips. Your heart started beating faster at his close proximately, and he lowered his chin down, leaving you both nearly face to face. His eyes glanced at your lips.

“Take any by chance in…the library?”

You swallowed, unable to tear yourself away, as a warm heat came across your cheeks. As he got closer, unable to bring yourself to answer just then- but you felt he knew what it was. Your eyes traced over his lips, and you decided you weren’t going to hide it anymore. A smile grew across your lips, as you tilted your head up at him. Confidence filled your chest,

“I did. Of something I thought was very pretty.” You say, looking him in the eyes. A sweet smile came across his face and he closed the space between you, softly pressing his lips to yours- a heartbeat passed, giving you a chance to pull away by some off chance he was wrong, but you eagerly returned the kiss. Turning your head softly to meet with him, your noses bumped together, and you began to giggle. Your whole self felt like butterflies as adrenaline ran through your veins at the fact that you were finally, finally, kissing him.

You separated, and you felt like he just stole your breath; He didn’t look like he felt no different from you either. His lips, slightly parted, curved up into a smile, and brought a hand up to your chin, his thumb softly pressing to your bottom lip, as you looked up at him with bright, adoring eyes.

“You got that camera on you? I got something pretty I want to take a picture of too.”

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