#like am i supposed to take him seriously?

[aaksuitac]

[04:24 am] “what are we?”

wc: 2.3k

a/n: [fluff viktor brainrot thanks to @dilemmars. t dije q me vengaría baby, así q zas, un payback por tus podcasts jdjfjjsd. hope u like cause its ur fault]

he’s humming something you don’t quite understand, a distant tune that sounds familiar —probably you’ve heard him sing it before—, and even if you don’t recognize the melody aside from that, you can’t help but appreciate it.

his hands fidget with whatever he can reach as he sighs once more, as if he was stealing breaths from the world, heavy, almost as lidded as his eyelids. his hair falls on his eyes and in between his slender fingers while he curls the untamed strands, and you fall into an endless pit of staring at him as he scribbles, grunts, sighs, and finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“statistically speaking, i’m starting to feel like the chances of me getting this right are adversatively proportional to the chances of you accidentally swallowing a fly.”

and you just blink, once, then twice.

he stares at you, gives you a pointed look. he can’t really say if you understood that you were just staring at him with your mouth parted, but you squint at him, snickering.

“what,” his low voice fails to ask, unbothered, knowing that you’ll answer regardless.

and you do, answering. “you haven’t even uttered a word in a while. i was just surprised that you could still talk, is all,” you grin cheekily, playing with a screw on the table as you turn left and right on the chair you’re sitting on.

viktor looks at you, and he can’t help but crack a smile. point for you.

“what you laughing for, mhh, mister science?”

“isn’t it enough to bother me from the moment i get inside the lab in the morning that you need to do it at night too?” he pretends seriousness, side-eyeing you teasingly.

“fair enough. i will consider your offer, man of fleeting memory, and take it upon myself to bother you longer.”

his mean stare wouldn’t even make a kitten mewl, but you take you hand to your heart, pretending to be wounded.

“don’t look at me like that! you’ll hurt my feewings,” you pouted, much to his amusement.

“fleeting memory?” he scoffs, accent rolling off his tongue. “when’s the last time you lost a hairtie, mmh?” he mocks.

“unfair!” you can’t help but giggle as you pretend to hide your hair from his view. point for him. “besides. i take better care of my hair than you do of yours.” you pouted smuggly. “mine looks prettier.”

“what?” he finally asks, letting out a chuckle this time as his eyes land on you for the first time in the good part of an hour.

you play with your hair to style it, and funnily pose, hands on your cheeks as you lay your elbows on the table.

“what, don’t I look pretty?” you smiled, letting out a cheeky giggle.

yes. he doesn’t say it, but his eyes haven’t dodged back to his papers just yet. it’s another point for you. so very pretty.

he doesn’t dare. he knows it. his mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that still ties him with the occasional reminder that he’s human, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

so viktor resolves in looking at you. maybe only for a moment, maybe only on those fragments of time when he’s tired enough that he looks at the stars and at the moon, yearning to reach them, only to think he’ll miss the moonlight, finally blinking to the realization that he had been staring into your eyes for too long.

his eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “viktor?” you mumble, softly, sleepily, warily. he can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling as you move your chair towards him by a push against the floor, solely accompanied by the sound of the little wheels rolling to him.

he grabs his walking stick and turns it around, pretending to poke at your chair, as if to teasingly shove it away. if you realize that he settles the walking stick just in the correct place so that your stool can’t move back, he doesn’t know. viktor just stares at the floor, to pretend that maybe the way your eyes turn tender when his reflection shines on them has nothing to do with what you’re about to say.

tsk, tsk. clueless viktor.

he’s expecting it, yes, but even with that on mind, he can’t phathom how your course of action chooses laughing as you fidget with the loose button on his vest, the second one from the top down. viktor purposely forces himself to stable his breathing, worry seeping into him, thinking that maybe you could feel his heartbeat grow faster beneath the layers of clothing.

and he feels like the remnants of a cheap ring that stain a finger blue, when comparing himself as he stands —sits— close and next to you. maybe its because you usually wear rings, and he can feel the ghost of them as your hand trails up and absentmindedly fixes his collar.

he can almost see it. your mind working, the pieces falling into place, the—

“either my eyes are deceiving me or yours have been on my lips for a rather long time.”

and he can just. blink. as if that could break how mesmerized he feels, how his heart swells up and covers his throat, how inexplicably he feels when you’re with him, near and alone. the need to know more. the need to use every trinket and screw to map out your body for him to explore, and to map out the wonders of your mind for the world to admire and maybe then find out the reason of his inability to look away.

he was so focused before. used to be.

he is. now, at you. of you. on you.

you.

another point for you. he isn’t keeping count, but something tells him he’s losing.

and as his gaze falls back to your lips in between a battle against your eyes, lost in which to stare and sink into their devotion, he hesitates again.

he thinks its funny. so funny, viktor holds back the dry chuckle that threatens to go past his lips. how to cherish you in a way that matters. how to love, the scientist wonders. is there a way that would allow him to unveil and unravel himself to you? could there be some kind of language, able to express the depth of his insides, that you, too, could understand?

what is love, anyways? is he in love with you because his coffee tastes better when it matches the dark of your pupils? because when he takes the mug from your hand and his fingers brush against yours, it seems warmer? because he notices how the dark shade in your eyes seems to mix with that of your irises, and the way the black eats the colour when you stare at him? because he claims to hate company while he studies alone, but one chair remains empty as he works, waiting for who it was meant for? because when he fails and surrenders himself to the fall, throws his walking stick against the wall, he yearns for your embrace and how your hair smells in the evenings?

is that love? and if it is, could you understand it?

if it is love, and he could say it, would such a short word convey its meaning, or was he speculating just a couple of paragraphs ago? was he assuming the meaning of what love entails?

even so. if he said it, would you repeat it? would you claim you love him because he loves you, claim to love him too? would you instead claim to love him despite everything, even the uncertainty of love itself?

…does he accept it himself?

he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of voices in his head. there’s too much chatter. too many questions he can’t answer, too many commas, too many question marks. too much, too much, too many.

so he silences them. makes the voices dim to a deep silence. and when his lips find themselves suddenly against yours, he finds out the true, effervescent meaning of quietness.

his hand fails to pull you closer because of the damn walking stick that gets in the way. or maybe its the chairs you’re both on that clash against each other. maybe its matter itself. for a while, its the first time viktor doesn’t want to know.

in a bold statement, he couldn’t give a fuck.

he’s kissing you.

and it should be bad because of all the unanswered questions. he’s skipping procedure. he’s gone from the fuck around to finding out and he doesn’t know where he is at this point.

what he does know, is that your hand pulls him by his necktie, and he’s gone. science? yours only. the science that he’d study all of the nights he may have left. the science behind what makes you. the science behind how your hand craddles his face while stroking his cheekbones. the science behind how you’re the closest you’ve ever been to him and somehow still not close enough. the science behind the reason why when you pull away makes his heart beat so loudly, as if it had forgotten how to a second ago.

your forehead rests against his. he shouldn’t have done that. he just… did it. maybe that was bad. was it? could it be? he had been waiting for so long too. he never thought he would…

“viktor, what are we?”

and he’s dead. he knows what the question implies, but he doesn’t want to answer. he could follow you like a lost puppy through piltover and zaun and hell knows where else. if he wasn’t dead now he would die right there and now without a second thought, because the feeling that overcame him was that love was suddenly a sentence or two away.

he knows he doesn’t dare. it’s one of the only thing he knows, one of the things he’s sure of.

but somehow, he moves. he stands up, takes the walking stick, and attempts to walk out the feeling that bounces inside him.

the walking stick always makes a noise when he walks, one with dificulties to interpret in terms of onomatopeia. not quite a thud, not deep enough to reach that quality. not a clack, for it is not entirely made of metal. still, as if it was a mix of both, he keeps walking.

viktor is nervous. thud-clack. he’s not moving far from his chair, nor is he going somewhere else. thud-clack. he still keeps pacing. thud-clack. maybe the answer is somewhere in the room. thud-clack. maybe he can reply.

thud-clack, thud-clack, thud-clack.

only does he then realize that he hasn’t answered your question. and a non-answer statement might as well be a rejection.

no. no, no, no. fuck.

he’s sitting again, but you stand up. your hair follows, long. moving and brushing against the skin of your shoulders in a way that he can’t help but claim it to be endearing.

you’re walking. you don’t make any kind of extra sound when you walk. your heels reverberate against the floor like any other, yet also they mark the beat of his heart.

he can’t reach for you. you walk too fast.

you stop when you feel the walking stick on your side. the part made for him to lean on as he walks hooks you, and you stand, not facing him.

he doesn’t use the walking stick as he stands. no, he keeps it hooked to your core, scared that you might leave. you could, he wouldn’t blame you. but he can’t allow it.

he holds it in the air as he takes one step. another step. you’re turning, surprised to see him standing, and you gasp when he lets himself fall on you.

your touch surrounds him. yes. that’s the closeness he needed. he drops the walking stick, his hands slithering on your body, pressing you against him, for no reason at all yet because it is all needs.

“what can we be?” he whispers. he takes the science approach. the viktor approach.

he isn’t too clueless after all.

he raises enough to look at your darkened, sleepy eyes. he wants to drown in them.

“if i wanted to kiss you everytime you hand me coffee, wanted you to sit on the same chair as ne and hug me from behind as I work, wanted you.” he swallows dry. “then, what can we be?”

he doesn’t want to say the words, and its petty.

it’s the 31st when the clock strickes five am and your hands travel through his hair to kiss him again. to unbalance him enough that he falls back on his chair and you follow him, sitting on his lap.

and as he kisses you, his hands worshipping the skin he can touch, the warmth he can feel through layers of clothing, he feels like maybe there’s a life worth living, so he can’t ask.

he’s heard boys and girls when he was young talk about it. “he didn’t want to celebrate our month-versary,” a girl cried as he played with his little boat, watching from afar as she was comforted by her friend.

it’s the 31st. and he can’t really ask the question now, because if he says it, how could you celebrate each month?

he moves the chair and holds you in his arms as your back falls against the table before him. maybe he can kiss you until next month. until the clock strikes and it’s the 1st.

he smiles as he kisses you, feeling you pull his necktie off. he thinks it’s the best idea he’s had in a while. and a true scientist always tries out their hypothesis.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

aaksuitac, november 2024 ©

[limerence-17]

leave the door open

based on: number 7.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

masterlist

warnings: 18+ mdni p in v (bc mentioned,) explicit language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

word count: 1.6k

A/N: all characters are 18+ here. obx season 4 didn't have to make rafe this sexy but here we are and i hope u all enjoy <3 also psa yes i know kinktober is over but i feel kinky all year and what about it

i wasn't going to touch myself. in fact i wasn't even thinking about it, and yet here i was about to spend the night at my best friend sarah cameron's house and all i could think about was the way her older brother looked coming into the house after getting off his motorbike. the way his hair swayed as he ran his hands through it, and the way he grunted as he walked by us in the kitchen.

he didn't even make eye contact and yet i couldn't stop myself from staring right at him as he walked by.

but here i was laying in the guest room, in this giant house that i still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my best friend lived in and all i could think about was god damn rafe cameron.

────── 〔✿〕──────

that night, it was rather warm out, but i was feeling tired, dazed perhaps. sarah had come into my room, told me john b wanted to see her which was predictable as usual and snuck out through the guest room window. she told me she'd be back by 7 am which meant i'd be spending the night on my own. i didn't mind it but it could get lonely.

the sun was setting, and i felt strange spending such a lovely summer evening inside getting ready for bed but i suppose that was alright considering i spent the entire day out and about.

i nustled my legs smoothly against the satin sheets. something about staying at the cameron's house always reminded me of staying in some nice hotel. everything just smelt clean, like oranges and fresh air.

my shorts rode up my ass slightly, but i paid hardly any notice to them. it was so hot out anyway. i turned over, glancing outside the window. it was quiet out, too quiet and yet my mind wandered back to rafe in the kitchen. his hair falling ever so slightly in front of his eyes, the way he smelt. like sea salt and expensive cologne.

i couldn't help but shift my body so that my back laid against the bed, slowly arching my back as my hand glided to my shorts, placing soft slow circles against my clit. slowly, but i applied more pressure the more i circled. i couldn't help but let out a moan and had to cover my. mouth as i continued on. i wanted to take off my shorts as i thought about rafe. his hands, his hair, god his hands.

"holy fuck...rafe..." i moaned out in a hushed whisper.

my eyes kept closed, but my fingers continued to roam beneath the sheets until i heard a creak that was louder than i would've thought. i stopped dead in my tracks, moving both of my hands up over the sheets pulling them up swiftly to my chin.

oh my god it was rafe cameron. standing there with his zip up sweater, and clean cut pants. but the way he looked at me, well i couldn't tell what he was thinking but his eyes were wide. very wide.

"shit i didn't mean-"

"swear to god i wasn't listening or anything," said rafe dumbly. he ran his right hand over his mouth, looking at the ground.

"whatever you think you saw or heard or whatever the fuck you didn't rafe!" i was too embarrassed to muster up anything else. i just held the covers high.

"hey it's no big deal seriously... i mean i jerked one off like six hours ago so like-"

"jesus rafe, i mean it! delete this from your mind or i swear to god i'll-"

"see the thing is i can't really delete that from my mind. you moaning my name and all..." rafe closed the door behind him and took a few steps towards the bed.

"oh fuck you heard that?" i was mortified. just mortified. what was wrong with me?

"now the thing is...you're my sister's best friend so so like... i mean that's kinda fucked up-you thinking about me while you touch yourself and shit," rafe said in a drawl, using his hands to express it. rafe was now sitting at the edge of the bed. his eyes were glancing around quickly, his thoughts clearly racing.

i lowered the sheets but made sure that they were still just above my chest. but holy fuck, i was soaking wet now.

"but hey it makes sense- the way you look at me, always thought it was in my head and shit but-"

"it's not." i interrupt him. the more he looks at me the more i just picture his tongue in my mouth and i'm starting to get needy, my legs are clenching together now.

rafe's eyebrows raised, and he froze for a moment. but then his hands slowly crept up the sheets grabbing my thigh. i gasped feeling his hand there. his eyes widened, watching my expression.

"this what you were thinking about, huh?" his hand crept up agonizingly slow. i couldn't get a word out. just stiffled moans until eventually the sheets were down below my chest.

i let out a longing sigh as i felt his sturdy hand cup my pussy, using his other hand to move the bedsheet off completely, exposing me completely.

he looked up, asking for approval as his hands slowly tugged at the hems of my shorts and i nodded quickly.

"yes rafe."

rafe obliged immediately, pulling my shorts down, i pulled my tank top over my head. my legs lifted in the air as he threw them onto the floor. he slowly separated my legs, ogling at my obviously wet cunt.

he used his middle and ring finger to slowly trace a line up against my folds and i gasped at the touch.

"god damn my sister's best friend is a little slut huh? you're wet as shit and that's all for me huh?"

all i could let out was an innocent "mhmm," since the feeling of his fingers tracing against my folds was driving me lust drunk.

"yeah... i'm gonna need to taste you...." he said, now crouching so that his head was between my thighs.

"wait rafe-" rafe stopped immediately, glancing up at me.

"take off your shirt."

rafe smirked, obliging as he pulled it over his head, and i felt my eyelids grow heavy from lust as i looked at his chest. jesus, he was ridiculously hot. my best friend's ridiculously hot older brother was about to eat me out.

this time, more aggressively he separated my thighs and before i could comprehend it his lips were against my pussy. his tongue moved up and down, circles against my clit. as if it was instinct, i gripped at the bedframe. but it didn't last long as he gripped my hips, pulling me in closer to him. my thighs tightened against his head and it felt insane. i'd never had someone eat me out like this. so hungrily and quickly. he was incredible.

"shit you taste fucking unreal-" he grunted and gasped before licking me once more.

rafe's tongue moved quickly but he pulled away, moving so that he was now on top of me. he made eye contact before inserting a finger into me and i gasped. it was only a few pumps, hard and fast before he pulled out.

"taste yourself-" he said and i obliged, sucking on his finger. rafe licked his teeth, letting out a low hum of a laugh as he watched.

"you are fucking wild-" he said. my hands reached towards his pants and he looked down and then back up at me.

"what- you wanna feel me too?"

"rafe i wanna feel all of you- i want you inside me."

that set him off and he quickly reached to his pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. he was hung, like way more than i ever would've imagined. and hard too.

"looks like i'm not the only one whose this turned on either huh?"

rafe let out a sarcastic laugh "ha...ha...."

he got on top once more, this time pinning my legs higher in the air.

"yeah fuck i need to see all of you when i fuck you," rafe commanded.

"you're on that girl pill or whatever it is right?" rafe asked. i let out a quiet snicker.

"birth control, rafe? yeah i am," i said running my hands through my hair.

rafe nodded quickly, obviously thankful since it was clear neither of us brought condoms.

he positioned himself so that his tip was directly against my folds and then slowly pushed himself into me. i gasped, immediately reaching my fingernails against his back.

rafe grunted as his pumps started slow, but eventually quickened up. he moved quickly, thrusting and grunting into me. i let out stifled moans and he clasped his hand over my mouth.

"hey...hey... you've gotta be more... quiet than that... holy....fuck" rafe moaned between thrusts.

his paced quickened, his strong arms now moving to my waist as he pulled me to the edge of the bed. he thrusted deafening quick and i clenched my fist placing it against my mouth in a stupid attempt to silence myself. he was too fucking good at this. too strong, too fast, too fucking hot.

"don't stop! rafe jesus i'm gonna cum!"

"shit... me fucking too..."

it only took a few more thrusts before i let out a stiffled sigh and rafe collapsed, falling on top of me. both of us sweating, exhaling and my hands running through his hair.

he pulled away, laying beside me. i turned over to meet his gaze, my hands still running through his hair. he looked back at me.

"alright round two-"

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Shameless

Warning ⚠️; internalized homophobia, Homelander is his own warning, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, fluff. 🔞

Pairing; Bottom!Homelander/Top!Male!Reader

Summary; John and you are two opposites. He is a comedian and a liar, you are bluntly honest and direct. He cares about his image, you don't. He is ashamed of your relationship while you are shameless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa sipping at your drink, eyes staring at John with amusement. Still in his costume, your lover walked in circle while biting his nail. He looked ridiculous in your eyes. All those fake muscles and the cape were too much. He looked always better naked, natural, and not so fake.

- “You are going to get yourself dizzy, my love. Just get out of those ridiculous clothes and come sit with me.” You said, waving your hand to show his costume. “We have so little time together, I would prefer having you by my side than whatever you are doing right now.”

John stared at you, eyes glowing red and you just laughed at him. You weren't scared, never was, because John couldn't kill you. No one could. It was part of your power, your curse, but in a moment like this, it was a blessing. Watching your lover get worked up for nothing was funny.

- “How can you laugh in such a situation?” John asked, voice hissing at you as you rolled your eyes. “Its a disaster! I cannot be seen like… like…”

- “Like the man you truly are?” You finished his sentence, sighing. “John, no one cares about that picture. Everyone will call it fake and those who don't, well who cares? Just discredit them and forget about it.”

John said nothing and looked away, his eyes back to normal. You shook your head as he kept walking around the room, trying to find a solution. You didn't understand him. Why come to you when you couldn't help when you were the source of this situation? Well, you weren't fully responsible. It wasn't you who had decided to kiss on a rooftop where anyone could see, that had been John.

And now there was a picture of you two kissing, your hands squeezing Homelander’s ass, circulating around the internet. It was, for you, hilarious. For John? The end of the world was happening.

- “Can't you stop being overly dramatic for five minutes?” You asked, harsher than you wanted.

You gasped in surprise as the back of your head hit the floor, hard, making you see stars. John had pined you down after knocking over the sofa and sat on you. You shivered, licking your lips as you plunged your gaze into his glowing one.

- “And can't you take it seriously for once? Don't you realize how serious the situation is for me? I am supposed to be perfect with no weaknesses and I can not be seen like that with another man.” John spat, his hand grabbing your chin painfully tight.

- “But you are not perfect John and you'll never be!” You replied with a sneer.

It was the wrong answer because next thing you knew John punched you and pain exploded in your jaw. Blood splashed all over your lover and you as your jaw hit the wall and fell onto the ground. From anger, John expression turned to horror as he realized what he had done. From amused, you became enraged.

You didn't gave John any chance and kicked him in the chest, sending the sup flying against the ceiling. You watched your lover fall loudly on the ground as you got up, spilling blood all over the place. You closed your eyes, pain swallowing you up as nerves, bones and everything else slowly regrew. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt like your lower jaw was burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

You heard John begging, swearing he didn't mean to hurt you like that and you didn't care. What mattered was how he still did it.

You opened your eyes staring angrily at the hero still lying on the ground. You walked up to him and saw John tensing and closing on himself before you grabbed the man by the collar. Without a word, you back-slapped like he was a bitch, splitting open his lip before grabbing his jaw like he did to you. You leaned down until your nose brushed his.

- “Listen here you pathetic excuse of a man; you are nothing. You are not a hero, you are not perfect and you are not an inspiration. The only thing you are is a childish man who can't take no for an answer and can't live without the approval of the world.” Your words hit home as you saw tears building up in John’s eyes and you sneered again. “You are pathetic. Truly pathetic. The world loves the fake image of you and would turn on you at the first opportunity. Their love is conditional unlike mine and yet you chose those worms over me. I who had always been here for you no matter what. I who helped you bond with your bastard son and helped you when no one wanted to. I bloodied my hands for you! And after everything that how you thank me?”

Venom filled your words as you stared at your lover. John was silently crying and looked away, not daring to look at you. You felt betrayed, and humiliated. You did so much for that man child and he turned against you so easily. You didn't want to see him anymore, wanted him gone from your sight.

- “Think about it John. Who will take care of you when you are old and your body is betraying you? Who will be there for you when the world cheer for a younger and more attractive hero? Them? Your so-called fans? No. They won't, but I would have.” You said, turning your back to him as you walked away. “Now get out.”

- “I’m sorry! I didn't…” John tried but stopped as you turned your head, eyes filled with anger.

- “GET OUT.” You snarled.

And just like that John was gone. A soft breeze caressed your face after he flew away. Sighing, you cleaned the room and threw away your jaw. The pain still lingered and you massaged your chin before sighing. You hated fighting with John like that, but recently it was every other day. The more time passed the more he became unhinged and impulsive. You could barely recognize the man who sought love and attention, the man who melted under your hands at night seemed gone.

It was late that night when John came back. He didn't call, didn't text. He just showed up. You were in bed reading a book in the light of a candle when you heard your front door opening. Only John had a spare so you knew it was him.

He didn't come up directly and you ignored him. You were still angry at his stunt and, frankly, didn't wish to see him. Not right now, not tomorrow. But there he was, walking into your home as if it was his.

After a few minutes, you heard John walking up the stairs and coming toward your room. You didn't look up when he entered nor when he called your name with a timid and soft voice. Instead you clenched your book harder.

- “I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house, John. What are you doing here?” You asked, voice cold as you turned the page of your book.

Your lover didn't answer. Instead, John approached the bed and put down a mix of things; a gift basket filled with your favorite snacks and drinks and another full of books. Sighing, you closed your book and turned your attention on John.

There he stood in civilian clothes and his head low. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Had you not been angry at him you would have hugged John. But you were still pissed off.

- “I am so sorry for what I did and said.” John whispered, looking away as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have no excuses and you are right. You've always been there for me and you didn't deserve any of this, but I did.”

You could see tears in his eyes and the sight was almost pitiful. Of course, John couldn't live up with what he did and would regret his actions. You didn't. The brat had deserved your words and hands.

- “I don't want… I can not lose you…” John whispered so low that you barely heard it.

You sighed and leaned back against your pillows, crossing your arms and studying him. John was clearly remorseful and you knew he had his lesson, for now at least. Shaking your head you gently tapped the mattress next to you and John didn't wait to lay down. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your chest. You brushed his blond hair with your fingers, heart almost getting softer as you saw how happy he was now.

- “You are losing me, John. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but stop it. I don't have the patience to deal with your childish tantrum just because a picture of us leaked on the internet. We are celebrities, it's going to keep happening.” You said and your lover held you tighter. “Hush now. I forgive you this time, but I might not give you another chance.”

John nodded and didn't let go. You kept brushing his hair and let your fingers down his neck. He was cold, colder than normal and you could feel his heartbeat racing. He was scared and terrified which pleased you. Maybe he wouldn't go against you anymore, maybe he would stop thinking he could do as he wished.

After all, he was your pet, yours to use as you wished and you couldn't have a bad dog by your side. As much as you loved John, you didn't want him if he was to lose his mind and become a liability. But at that moment he looked so small and delicate in your arms, almost broken and you couldn't resist him.

You smiled as you felt his body relax against you as he slowly fell asleep. Maybe you could use his fear and remorse against him. Maybe you could force him to come clean about your relationship. Not now, the fight was still too fresh but soon enough he might give in. And once you were out to the world, John would truly be yours entirely.

[soapssuds]

stubborn heart ch. 9

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

previous | next

You paced your shared room with the Captain, the urge to bite your lip in nervousness becoming strong until you heard the bathroom door open. Your pacing came to a quick stop as you glanced towards the door where Capitano stood.

“Bed, now.”

The way his voice reverberated in his chest sent chills down your spine when he came up to you, his hold all but firm when he grabbed you. Then, he bent down. His mouth pressing to your neck and your senses went on overdrive.

And that was all could remember when you woke up the next morning, but it was clear what had happened.

Groaning to yourself, you sat up in the bed and tugged the covers up so you could hide your face into the soft blankets, “I- I can’t believe I fainted again!”

You could feel your face become increasingly hot at the mere memories of everything that had happened yesterday. How you admitted to being experienced, how he said he would show up what a wife and husband do, and consummating a marriage…, “when am I going to stop making an idiot out of myself in front of him?!”

You plopped back into the bed, your hands pulling the covers just enough for your eyes to peek out so you could stare up at the ceiling.

“I wonder if he is already regretting taking me as his wife,” you all but muttered to yourself as someone gave a few knocks to your door – that someone being Atri as her voice piped up behind the barrier separating you both.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”

You, in fact, did not want to rise and shine. You would much rather fall and dull. Granted it seems you did enough falling last night.

“I’m getting up,” you called out to her, your body moving on its own but quickly winced when you felt a slight sting on your neck. Raising your hand to the sensitive area, you felt a few indents that suspiciously mirrored a set of teeth. The realization was quick to slap you in the face as you felt your face grow hot again.

He bit me?!

Your mind was working on overdrive as you stumbled over yourself to get ready. Pure steam basically coming out your ears as you got your clothes on.

You weren’t mad, far from it. You were just incredibly embarrassed. When he kissed and bit onto your neck, you must have gotten to overwhelmed and fainted. You seriously wanted to hide away by this point. What was wrong with you?1

Shaking your head, you exited your room.

“Good morning, y/n.”

“Morning Atri- what’s wrong with your face?”

You quirked an eyebrow when you looked at her and then you followed her gaze and realized what she was looking at.

“Atri, no-“

“Ohh! I’m so happy! I wonder if you’ll have a boy or a girl. Maybe even twins-“

You covered her mouth to quiet her. Your face darkening a deep shade of red across your (color) cheeks, “we didn’t- we didn’t do anything like that! I mean, we were, at least I think we were, but I- I- fainted the moment he got his mouth on my neck-“

You talked fast, almost in a panic as you talked to your maid, and when you were done she had gently pried your hands from her mouth and patted your head, “it’s alright-“

“No it isn’t.. I’m supposed to be his wife, but I- I mess everything up. I can’t even be in the same room as him without fainting. I just… I just think he’ll be better off within someone else.”

Atri studied you for a moment before smiling. Her hand gently running through your hair as she pulled you in for a hug, “it’s been tough on you, hasn’t it? Getting married to a harbinger without a say in the matter, being moved to an unknown place with unfamiliar people. Then there’s your life before Capitano. Your life at the hearth. I may not know what you went through, but I can tell it’s been an uphill battle. And you want to know something?”

You opened your eyes and looked up at her then.

“You’re stubborn.”

You deadpanned, “what?”

“What?”

You quirked an eyebrow again, your previous sorrow momentarily forgotten, “I’m… stubborn?”

Atri smiled and nodded, “yep! Stubborn hearts like yours are hard to come by in such a cold place, Lord Capitano must have seen that and immediately took interest in you. You being here is a testament to all the hardships you endured, so it’s ok to embarrass yourself and to relax, ok?”

You nodded along while trying to keep up with everything she was saying. Back then, there was never any room for error. You either do it and succeed or don’t and let the cold kill you. There was never an in-between.

“So… it’s ok to just… not do anything at all?”

Atri nodded almost enthusiastically, “of course! No more silly work, or worrying about stupid bills. It’s just you enjoying your new life with Capitano, and don’t think for a second of trying to back out of this. You deserve this. So just sit back and relax.”

You sighed but eventually surrendered causing Atri to be pleased with herself as she grabbed a hold of your hands again, “now, time for breakfast, and afterwards we can go shopping for a dress for you!”

“What for?”

“For a small party the Tsaritsa is holding for her harbingers that you and Lord Capitano will be attending.”

“Oh, ok- wait, what?!”

taglist

@littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch @venicecherryblossom @squirrelboxer @temperamentupgrade @avalordream @immahuman @xavlyzn @greensunflowerjuna @sarah22447 @naviabestgiirl @nevermoresworld @depressedbearblogs @ppancakesforu @0vendettaself @lilyalone @mochiivqi @pbjts @chewwyaaa @c4xcocoa @ren-ren23 @tazuduck @atrebiusr @simpingbigtime @aryuunachigiri @judithregulus @crowleysthings @yns-sister @satori-runa @meowmeow999999 @beeskn3es @tamikahoshiko @shoyosdoll @ngadasblog @sugacor3 @xiana21 @melancholyae @jjkysnk @s1mppp @that1weirdshipper @himikoquack @sugaryesplease12 @gallantys @wiltedpoison @vamqyx

[danielmolloystits]

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (2/2)

Summary:

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?” Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.” “Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.” He shrugs. “You get used to it.” “No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.” “Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.” “Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Pairing: M/M (Daniel/Lestat, Armand/Daniel) Rating: E WC: ~3,200

Daniel’s first thought after his climax is that Armand is going to kill him, for real this time, and his cock is still going to be twitching from the aftershocks when he does.

He thinks it’s probably indicative of something deeply, deeply wrong with him that it makes a spark of renewed arousal alight in his gut.

Quietly, he scrambles to pull his boxers and t-shirt back on. The other two vampires don’t appear to notice.

“Lestat,” Armand says, voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. And, wow, Daniel really gets what Louis meant when he’d described this expression as ‘half-blank, half-apocalyptic.’ “It would be a good idea for you to leave now.”

The blond just raises an eyebrow at him, still holding Daniel in his hand, still absolutely covered in the mess Daniel made. “Can you not see that I am a little bit busy here?”

Armand’s jaw is clenched so tight that Daniel can hear the creak of bone on bone. “Now.”

“My apologies, mon frère, but someone has to ravage your fledgling, and if you’re not going to do it—”

In an instant, Lestat is flung off of the bed and into the wall at speed, the plaster buckling from the force of the impact. Daniel is grateful, suddenly, that their team sprung for a nice hotel; if this were a Motel 6, Lestat would be clean into the next room, easy.

“Guess we’re not getting our deposit back,” He says, because he can’t help himself. Because he’s never had even an ounce of self-preservation. Armand’s eyes cut to him briefly, his irises vibrating like a dragonfly’s wings, and Daniel’s stomach bottoms out. Mostly from fear.

Lestat, meanwhile, huffs a pained laugh and stands. “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted,” he says, his hands spreading in a gesture of appeasement. “Monsieur Molloy, do you mind if I borrow your room for the evening?”

Wordlessly, Daniel tosses him the key card.

“Merci, darling.” Lestat bows, then begins to take his leave. He pauses, however, as he passes by Armand, swiping two fingers through the stickiness that decorates his cheek and presenting them to the other vampire. “Parting gift?”

A muscle above Armand’s lip spasms in an aborted snarl.

“Fine then,” Lestat says with a shrug, popping the digits into his mouth instead and grinning once they’ve been sucked clean. “More for me.”

Then, he exits, closing the door soundly behind him, and Daniel and Armand are alone together for the first time since...well, since.

“So,” Daniel says, drawing out the vowel sound sarcastically as he sits up against the headboard. “The last time my dad walked in on me with a boy was a pretty long while ago—I forget, are you supposed to ground me now, or do we just pretend it didn’t happen and never bring it up again?”

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but Daniel doesn’t let him.

“Or is this more of an infidelity situation? Because I’m gonna be honest with you, Armand: I didn’t realize we were together. On account of how you fucked off immediately after turning me.”

“You’re angry with me,” Armand says, and it’s insane how quickly he melts from predator back into prey, all slumped shoulders and big, wobbly doe eyes.

“You think?”

The other vampire isn’t meeting his gaze, his own fixed somewhere on Daniel’s cheek like he can’t bear to look straight at him. “I didn’t want you to hate me. For what I did to you.”

“And you thought abandoning me to figure this shit out by myself was a good way to prevent that?” He asks, incredulous. “News flash, Amadeo: it wasn’t.”

“I’m here now,” Armand points out—hopeful, fragile, as though he’s afraid the words will shatter in his mouth if he isn’t careful.

“Yeah, and why is that?” Daniel asks, lacing it with all the righteous indignation he can muster. But despite his best efforts, he finds himself losing steam in the face of Armand’s complete and utter supplication. “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re into me.”

The other vampire finally looks at him head-on, his eyes piercing straight through to the core of Daniel. To the knot of uncomfortable, complicated feelings that sits just beneath his breast. “Is it really so difficult to believe?”

“Kind of,” He says, reflexively shifting under the weight of Armand’s stare. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, how easily the man sets him off-kilter. How easily he comes in and turns Daniel’s life upside down, as though it’s nothing to him.

Armand stalks towards him slowly, then, managing to appear at once like the nervous rabbit and the cat hunting it from the bushes. Like both the thing to be eaten and the one doing the eating, like both the consumer and the consumed. He approaches the bed until he arrives at the edge of the mattress, sitting down delicately atop it and never once looking away from Daniel as he does. His expression is painfully open; achingly earnest.

“You have no idea the things I’d like to do you,” he says, and Daniel understands why he was so cautious earlier, because the words come out cracked and fractured, the edges of them sharp enough to cut.

(Belatedly, Daniel wonders when exactly his life turned into a trashy harem romance novel. He thinks that maybe he ought to be more upset about it.)

“Hard to know when you don’t tell me,” he replies, his voice a lot rougher than it was mere moments ago. It’s humiliating, he thinks, the obviousness of his desire. The fact that he even still wants the fucker after all the shit he’s put Daniel through.

Armand slides the rest of the way onto the bed, crawling forward on his knees until his body cages Daniel’s from above. His gaze falls to Daniel’s lips. “I could tell you now, if you wanted.”

And he is simply too weak to say no to that, so instead he murmurs, “Yeah,” his hand reaching up to tangle in Armand’s hair. “That might be good.”

Armand ducks his head down to lay a kiss beneath the sensitive skin of his ear. “I want to claim you,” he whispers, before dragging his tongue over the spot his lips just brushed, “I want to make you mine.”

Daniel gasps, his fingers tightening in the silky black curls. “What else?”

“I want to taste you.” As he speaks, he grazes the tips of his fangs down until they rest at his pulse point. “I want your blood to fill my mouth; I want to stain my teeth red with the very life of you. I want to memorize how it flows over my tongue.”

“Is that all?” He means it to sound cool, nonchalant, but the attempt is belied by how each exhale grows quicker and quicker with every teasing touch.

“No.” He can feel Armand’s smile pressing into his neck. “I also want to fuck you,” he starts, his hand snaking down to palm at Daniel’s hardening cock through his underwear, “until you forget the name of every other person who has ever touched you.”

Daniel moans, hips canting into the contact; Armand rewards him by firming his grip. “Okay,” he says airily, as Armand licks a filthy line back up his throat. “I can agree to those terms.”

“Say it, then,” Armand orders, stroking his thumb over where the head of Daniel’s cock tents his boxers. “Say you’ll belong to me.”

If Daniel were any less turned on right now, if the scent of Armand wasn’t filling his nose all earthy and sweet like honeyed cloves, then maybe he could respond with something snarky. Maybe he would be able to say no. As it is, he rasps, “I’m yours, Armand,” as fervent and breathless as a desperate prayer. “I’m yours.”

Armand kisses him then, hot and raging like a wildfire. It sucks the air from his lungs and replaces it with burning smoke, lights every nerve ending in his body aflame. It consumes him, destroys him, unmakes him and reduces him to smoldering ash in the shape of the man he used to be.

What happens after that is a blur, soft and surreal like a hazy memory: Armand strips Daniel and takes him into his mouth, painting over the places Lestat kissed with his tongue until his spit is all that remains. He writes his name into Daniel’s skin like a promise, like a brand, like he plans on doing it to every inch of Daniel until he’s covered in reminders of Armand’s existence.

Then, once Armand has him reduced to a wanting, whimpering mess, he pulls Daniel into the cradle of his arms, spine to sternum, and fucks into him as though he’s trying to make a home for himself in his lover’s body. As though it isn’t enough for Armand to claim his lips or his throat or his skin; he needs to mark Daniel’s insides, too, his guts and his organs and the viscera that holds him together.

When Daniel comes, Armand’s fist wrapped around him and Armand’s cock buried deep in his ass, it is a revelation. It is an epiphany. Armand follows him shortly after, clutching him close and tight and perfect.

Daniel doesn’t think he ever intends to let go again.

After Daniel’s had enough time to recover and he can be sarcastic again, he jokes, “If I had realized that fucking Lestat would bring you back, I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

Armand looks at him with an exaggerated pout. “Hm. That’s no good.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Then, the other vampire is climbing back on top of him. In between kisses, he murmurs, “You still remember his name. We’ll have to remedy that.”

And, well. Daniel’s not about to argue with him.

[everythingiloveblog]

Some people are acting like the viewers are arguing whether Jack’s anger is justified or not. That’s not what I’m seeing. It’s more about the actions resulting from that anger, the timing, the targets, just...I don’t know. Something feels off.  

The weird levels of intensity as well. Like, am I the only one thinking that the Save is a snake reveal was so underwhelming? Like, Hope gets 2 punches, Save gets a "Don’t let me see this bastard’s face again" and that’s it??? But if Joke stole the ring and gave him to Boss "We might have to kill him"????

Also, it feels repetitive. Like, again? Ep10-11 bringing us back to ep1-2 like...(on purpose probably but still)

Again, we don’t know what’s gonna happen in ep11 and how the rest of the hospital scene is gonna go, but personally, I guess I want something like:

Joke telling Jack that he did it to free him, that he didn’t know the consequences, etc and Jack being like "Idgaf.  Am I supposed to be thankful? Well, I’m not. You and grandma just scolded me about taking big decisions without consulting you first. The next day, you go and do the same thing. Now look where we are. At this point the broken promise isn’t the problem, you fucked up the whole community, you better find a way to fix it, you and your little idiots (Hoy, Tattoo and Arun)...and I’ll also help...and then we seriously need to talk". And then during the whole preparation for the final fight, Jack could be cold as fuck, because he is rightfully angry, not just at Joke, but the heist crew, Save, Hope, Boss, the Horsemen, everyone.

But from the next ep teaser, it seems like the scene will end in a separation (again) and I’m just a little bit done. Communication issues, while realistic, also get old and my annoyance is just as real (unless it's part of a plan, which I also doubt with Joke writing "100 ways to say thank you without having to see each other"...yeah)

[konbuandmayo]

i love how the entire power balance between humans and literal killing machines (imbued with such complex abilities only those with special training can understand) is held together by some 30 year old virgin

[taxed-up-trotter]

after studying how to draw cat heads i can confidently say i still have no idea what im doing ;_;

[ooeygooeyghoul]

Starting another collection to go with the shots of Shiun Not Fitting in the Frame.

[fleabagdiaz]

NO I WILL NOT zip my lips. it’s actually sossoosooso crazy that tommy calls buck evan. like. that’s not his name!!!! the people who know him call him BUCK. this is not even subtext it is TEXT. and I will never find it cute that tommy does it. I have never even found it cute when eddie does it in fics!!!! because it’s NOT his name!!! it is representative of a person to whom he no longer feels a strong connection, it is a name to which he no longer feels a strong connection. because everyone in his life that loves him calls him buck. and it’s actually kind of fucked up to me that he’s like having this journey of queer self-discovery or whatever. and it’s tied to this guy that insists on calling him by a different name than every other important person in his life. like is that not weird to. certain individuals. ? his first queer relationship being dissociated from the name that he has said people who know him call him? like it’s sequestered from the rest of him, rather than being a part of the whole person that he is??? I don’t like it!!!!!! at allllllll!!!!!!!!

[volfoss]

it is beyond infuriating how anne rice seems to insist on marius being a positive force in anyone's life ever. like she can't fully commit to exploring the fact he groomed armand and has repeatedly taken away his consent for what marius thinks is best (take the end of TVA as an example) and just kind of flatly puts it in the narrative. there's not really much interest in how these horrific events make marius come across as the worst because EVERYONE loves him. for gods sake, lestat learns from armand exactly what marius did to him in TVL and then proceeds to go find marius and be super friendly to him in the same fucking book. even armand and pandora, two of the people who have MORE than enough right to hate him, do not. it doesnt feel like shes trying to explore the toxicity of the abusive dynamic he traps them in, it just is there. and like yeah ofc the toxic vampire romance series but i think that this should be handled with more care. and it is not ever really framed in a way that she is interested in exploring how marius should easily be one of the most horrific characters in this series because it kind of feels like sa/rape/grooming/other things of that sort are just put there to further plot and not to really get the respect that they deserve in a medium.

[moodyvoid]

I don’t like this sequence of words

[stinkrascal]

listen if emmrich turns into a skeleton it wont kill me… i’ll still romance that old man… but like truly i dont want that at all. it will upset me just a little bit lmao

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

'...you know jokes like those actually hurt me, right?'

"who said I was joking?"

.

.

.

'oh.'

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[biscuityskies]

Right lads I believe tumblr has successfully made me a codywan shipper