#wanted to get this out of my system first!

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[screamlet]

♞: Caring for each other while ill

thank you for the prompt! have another 1.2k of fluff, this time set during the summer between s7/s8 when bucktommy was new and anything we wanted it to be, lol. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

On a really good, horny day, Buck might be strong enough to haul Tommy off his living room floor and drop him on the couch. That's not one of those days, though: Buck is sick, Tommy is sick, and they might be better off dying together in each other's arms on the floor of the loft.

"I should just go home."

"Tommy, you fainted when you tried to put on a sock."

They're lying side-by-side on the floor of the loft; Tommy did try to put on a sock and faint, but Buck caught him before he shattered his skull on the floor. Once he had saved Tommy's life, he felt vertigo kick in and slowly lowered himself to the floor, too, where he and Tommy could lie together for the last 10-15 minutes of their lives.

"I don't need socks to drive," Tommy answers.

Buck laughs quietly. "Don't make me laugh, everything hurts."

"It's too early for flu season, it's the fucking Fourth of July."

"Eighth."

"It's the fucking Eighth of July."

"You know, the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4th, but on July 8th at 12 PM, it was read aloud in public for the first time."

"So… Happy Public Declaration of the Declaration of Independence Day?"

"It's a little wordy."

"Just a little."

"And it doesn't need to be flu season for my niece to get us sick." Buck turns his head and pouts. "I'm sorry you're sick. I'm sorry I'm sick, too, but I'm more sorry you're sick."

"Don't apologize. People get sick sometimes. This'll probably be the last time I'm sick, though, since I'm gonna die from this, whatever it is."

"No you're not." Suddenly Buck's eyes widen as he flails at Tommy. "Are you? You don't have like a compromised immune system or anything? Are you actually dying? Tommy, we're first responders, why haven't we called 9-1-1?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat. "I'm not dying, I'm just a very melodramatic 39-year-old man who doesn't want to be sick in front of this guy he really likes."

"Oh," Buck says.

Tommy turns his head to look at Buck. "I'm sorry. I was saving that for my deathbed confession, but that could be now. You can't cringe at a guy's deathbed confession, Evan. It's the law."

Buck doesn't—he doesn't know how to—how he can talk to Tommy. He doesn't know how to keep up with him when he's so—he's funny and flirty and sexy and sometimes he seems so serious that everything in Buck's soul quakes in a way he doesn't understand because he's never felt it before. There's a hundred, a thousand things Buck wants to say to him: he wants to flirt back, he wants to be funny, he wants to say something that will get Tommy to smile in this way he has, when the grin breaks across his face like a sunrise Buck stayed up all night waiting to see. He's so—he's so much, and Buck wants so much.

Buck softly replies, "Okay, I won't."

Tommy's eyes soften, too, like Buck had done or said any of the things that might make Tommy fall in love with him. He hadn't, though. Maybe Tommy just likes him.

"Is it more embarrassing to DoorDash Gatorade and more cold medicine, or to text Eddie and make him our DoorDash guy?" Buck asks.

Tommy's eyes crinkle a little. "Do you think either of those entities have the capacity for shame?"

"No, it's me, I'm ashamed. Which is more embarrassing?"

"Well how about this." Tommy closes his eyes and sighs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone like it's made out of lead. "You keep your shame and I will get a whole pharmacy delivered to your door, and no one will ever know that you have a cold, too."

"Now it just sounds silly. It's fine, I'll do it."

Tommy swings a hand to Buck and holds it out. Buck rolls his eyes and takes it, links their fingers together. "Let me treat you to some electrolytes and cold medicine before we spend our 48 off on this floor, choking on our own phlegm."

"Yeah, not even each other's," Buck says. "I bet your phlegm tastes great."

It slips out of Buck's mouth and makes Tommy stutter and laugh with his whole achy body. Buck's so embarrassed and so proud and so embarrassed, but how can he want to wither and die when Tommy's looking at him so—

The way Buck looks at him? This warm look like—like he can't look away from Buck, the way Buck can't look away from him.

"I can't believe you've been depriving the queer community of hits like that all these years," Tommy replies, still grinning at him. Buck squeezes his hand and hopes this lightheaded feeling is just—it's that he likes his boyfriend, not that worms are eating his brain or anything.

"Hey, uh." Tommy's hand has loosened around Buck's. Buck wants him back, but maybe he's letting go for a good reason. Or a bad one. Buck doesn't care, he wants it back. "So I'm gonna build this delivery order to end all orders, and then maybe…"

"Maybe…"

Tommy turns his head, but he looks less confident than he did 90 seconds ago. "I know we had really amazing plans for this 48 off, so many things we were going to do to each other's bodies that didn't involve cold compresses and acetaminophen. But now that's all been crushed… would it be so bad if we… like if we still, I don't know, spent them together?"

Buck stares at him, long enough that Tommy looks away and shakes his head. "Never mind, I was—"

"Tommy, you fainted trying to put on a sock," Buck interrupts. "You're not leaving here until I say you can."

"I mean, that sounds very hot and in charge of you, but this was supposed to be a fun little weekend. You didn't sign up for—"

"Yes I did," Buck says. "You're gonna stay here until we're strong enough to fuck each other's brains out again. Upstairs. On the bed." Buck links his fingers with Tommy's again and squeezes (clutches) his hand. "It might take a while. We might even need to take a sick day."

There's something around Tommy's eyes that Buck wants to rub away. Tommy, his fun Tommy, the one who's been funny enough to keep him on the floor for this long, is slowly coming back, but Buck wants—he wants. He wants to be the one to say or do the thing that gets Tommy to stop thinking dumb things like is he gonna kick me out of his house when I'm sick. Just like Tommy makes him laugh and think, Buck wants to be the one to—

He just really wants to be something, mean something, to him.

"If you mean it." Tommy lets out a long-suffering sigh. "If you'll have me, Evan Buckley, I would really like to take a sick day with you."

Buck nods with more confidence than he actually has. "Good. Cause you're gonna. Add some popsicles on there, too."

"Oh, good idea, you're very smart."

Tommy flashes him a grin that makes Buck an even weaker puddle on the floor. Good thing he doesn't have to get up yet so he can lie here, watching Tommy order them Gatorade and popsicles and cold medicine, and try not to fall in love with him.

[himbosandhardwear]

He's managed to talk himself into - Robin thinks Eddie likes you and Wayne thinks it's about time - and out of - that's no guarantee of success and you just figured out you liked him four minutes ago, maybe sleep on it - asking Eddie out by the time he comes out of his room, finding Steve standing in the hallway like the twins in The Shining. At least that's what he assumes he looks like, based on the way Eddie jumps when he sees him.

“Jesus, Harrington, why save my ass if you were gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack three months later?”

He moves Steve bodily to the side so he can pass by, hands to Steve's arms, and then heads to the kitchen to dig through the cupboard above the sink.

“Wayne, have you seen the spider cup?” He asks as he leans up on his tiptoes to reach into the back. His shirt rides up and gives Steve his own heart attack when he catches a glimpse of the dimples on the small of his back.

Fuck. Yeah, not the first time Steve's seen Eddie's waist and gotten flustered. He's never felt so stupid. And he'd once chewed and eaten not one, not two, but three plastic grapes before realizing something was wrong.

“Check underneath,” Wayne says, snapping Steve's eyes away from Eddie's skin.

He opts to return to Eddie's room and wait; if there's a spider somewhere in the room, he'll take his chances.

He still has no idea what he's going to say to Eddie by the time he comes back, empty handed and pouting.

He glances down near Steve's feet. “Oh, she's gone anyway.”

“Who? The spider?”

“Yeah, you must've scared her back under the bed.”

“Cool. Good luck with that later.”

He shrugs like it's no big deal. Steve supposes you don't tattoo a big fuck off spider on your chest if you're scared of them.

“You figure out your big epiphany?” Eddie asks as he flops back down next to Steve. The bed jiggles with his weight.

“Mmhmm,” he confirms.

Eddie waits patiently for Steve to go on and when he doesn't, he gets a dry stare. “Is it a secret?”

“..........no?”

Eddie snorts. “You know, as the resident freak, it's my duty and my pleasure to inform you that you're being weird.”

Yeah, he knows that already. He rubs at his eyes, praying for inspiration, and somehow, it works.

“I'm heading to the VFW, boys. Money on the table for pizza if you want.”

They make eye contact as Eddie yells his thanks.

“He knows we both have money, right?”

“Yeah but he's never been able to treat me before. It's kinda sweet. Don't tell him I said that.”

“Never.” It is sweet and it's the exact thing he needed to push him into… “Hey, so you said something about Mexican food earlier?”

He swings his head up from where he'd just laid it down on the mattress. “Yeah!” He goes up on his elbows next. “You interested?”

His stomach swoops like he's on a roller coaster. “Yeah. You know a good place?”

“Hell yeah I do. If you don't mind a drive, there's a little joint in Indy that has enchiladas the size of your head.”

“Awesome. Tomorrow?”

He drums his hands on the bedspread in excitement. “Hell yeah! Let's make a day of it! The Plex might be playing something good and my favorite record shop is right around the corner.”

Dinner and a movie! God, he's nailing this. It was so much easier than he imagined-

“I'll pick Rob up first and then swing by your place, say noonish? Maybe oneish, I shouldn't promise noon.”

“Oh.”

Eddie looks up at the tone of his voice. “What? You wanted to drive?” The longer Steve doesn't answer the more worried he gets. “Or Rob can't come? I assume that's why you called her.”

“No,” he drawls, slow so he doesn't have to confess the truth right away.

“Okay?” Twin lines bracket his mouth, not sweet like his dimples but deep set frown lines that immediately make Steve feel like dirt.

“I thought maybe…it'd be just you and me?”

It might be that Eddie can't parse why Steve is being weird about something as normal as two friends spending the day together, but Steve's nervous system interprets Eddie's silence as apocalyptically bad. He starts fiddling with the frayed bit of his cutoffs so he doesn't have to look at Eddie anymore.

“Sure?” Eddie eventually answers. “Any particular reason why Robin isn't coming?”

Steve rubs at his eyes in frustration, convinced he's about to blow this whole thing to shit before he's even started. “How is it that I was better at this at fifteen than I am now?” He mutters. Probably because he was young and dumb and everyone wanted him so it was easy. After a moment to collect his courage, he looks Eddie in his huge Bambi eyes and says, “Because you generally don't invite your friends to go on a first date with somebody.”

“Date?” Eddie coughs.

“Yeah.”

“Date?” He asks again

“Yes.”

“Like, a date?”

“Just like a date.”

“As in you. And me. On a date?”

“Ideally.”

“.........Date?”

This would almost be funny if it wasn't so frustrating. “Edward Munson, would you like to go to dinner and a movie with me? Otherwise known as a date?”

He's still staring at Steve like maybe Steve is turning into a blueberry. Which reminds him the whole plan for today was supposed to be ‘get high and watch Willy Wonka’, but they'd both got distracted, being consumed with each other's company. And then Eddie changed his life forever by explaining what liking something felt like. Steve's used to having to have things explained to him but being talked through having a crush on someone is a new low.

“Why?”

“Why?” Steve boggles at him. “If you don't understand that part-”

Eddie waves both hands. “No, why me? Since when do you even… You're not… I don't understand where this is coming from.”

“Right,” he agrees, since this whole thing would seem sudden to Eddie, “uh, I guess since you said your interests consume you day and night, you become obsessed, you want to spend all day with them, and the first thing I thought about was…you.”

‘Me?’ Eddie mouths silently.

“Yeah. You. You're my interest. Took me a little bit to catch up, but, yeah, I'm totally obsessed with you.”

Eddie cracks a disbelieving laugh and then slaps a bunch of his loose hair in front of his face, like a little kid trying to hide.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie laughs some more but it's just hysterical enough that he gets it's not at his expense, it's still in disbelief.

“I don't want to rush you to make a decision but I'm kinda freaking out over here-”

Eddie launches himself across the bed and lands heavily in Steve's lap, which is pretty great.

He takes Steve's face in his hands and jiggles him a bit. “You like me?”

“Yep.”

“What if I kissed you?”

He snorts. “I'm not sure what world you live in where I admit to being obsessed with you and wanting to take you out but somehow I wouldn't want to kiss you.”

“So….yes?”

Fuck it. Steve pulls him down and kisses him. He kisses him like his subconscious had been more than aware he wanted to for months now.

They fall back onto the bed, Eddie still straddling him, and make out like it's 2am on prom night.

Things are starting to really heat up when all of a sudden Eddie starts giggling into Steve's mouth.

Steve pulls back enough to scowl a bit. “Wanna share with the class?”

“No.” He tries leaning in again but Steve stops him with a yank on his hair, which gets him a groan. He files that info away for later.

“Seriously, what's so funny?”

“Agh! Nothing! I was just thinking about how I used to fantasize about this but I always had this grand speech prepared first. You know, back when I had any pride. I was gonna tell you all about how I wouldn't be your secret and if you wanted me it had to be out in the open, but I'm realizing now I could not give two shits about that. I'll be your back door man. Hell, you could get married and have kids and I'll be the other woman for as long as you want.”

He tries to kiss Steve again but he yanks even harder this time. “Eddie, that is fucked up and I'm going to be so mad at you later for even saying it but first, that's not even an option considering Robin and Wayne already know.”

Eddie leans up on his hands, looking down at Steve in shock. “They do?! Wait, how the hell does Wayne know?!”

“Obviously I told Robin as soon as I figured it out and Wayne heard the whole conversation through the wall. He thinks it's about time I got my shit together, so I think we've probably been flirting with each other a little too much in his presence for him not to know.”

Eddie scowls, staring off into the distance as he contemplates this. “That’s why he left, huh?”

“Yeah. He's an ally.” Steve giggles.

Eddie looks back down. “Well then. Can't waste this opportunity. You're cool with kissing… How do you feel about blow jobs?”

Steve rolls Eddie onto his back and shows him how cool he is.

Tag List

@ravenfrog @disrespectedgoatman @grtwdsmwhr @pidgeaf7 @quartzandsundry @resident-gay-bitch @sheldarp @karakro @beckkthewreck @xocowilde @racer-reader @comedictragedy

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[prettydaisygirl]

part 2 of the recent frat!james drabble i’m begging 😭

Just for you, my love! Hope you enjoy <3

frat!James Potter x fem!reader who finally get to hang out ✿ 777 words

cw: fem reader, frat boys, alcohol, a hint of wolfstar

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

please read part 1 here

You find some of your beer sloshing out of your cup and over your fingers as you lean forward. Your body heaves with laughter, hand slapping James’ thigh like he’s the funniest man in the universe. He takes the cup from your hand and sets it aside so you don’t spill more. 

When you sit back up straight, stomach sore from your heavy laughter, you see the look on James’ face. He’s flushed, the two of you having indulged more than you should have. But James makes you feel safe, you know you can trust him. Both with you and with your drink.

He runs a hand over your hair, eyes moving softly over your facial features. When he brushes his thumb over the bridge of your nose, you find your cheeks warming. You take his free hand in yours. For a moment, it feels like everything in the world narrows down to the two of you. The loud, booming music fades out, screams and chants of frat bros go unheard. 

“You’re so beautiful.” James whispers, and the butterflies in your stomach explode. 

“James…” Your voice is whispered back just as softly, as sweet as pie. 

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your brow. Your breath catches and you let your eyes fall shut as you take in the feel of him. 

“‘M so glad you’re here…” James’ sugary-sweet whisper is warm in your ear and you feel like you could melt into his arms. The alcohol flowing through your system makes you softer, more open than you normally would be. You take your free hand and run it through his hair. He looks at you like you are everything. 

You find yourself giggling at him, drunk and happy and relishing in his attention. 

“What?” James asks, smiling with you even though he doesn't know what is so funny. 

“You’re cute.” You tell him, and he turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. That has you giggling even more, but you’re silenced when James lowers his lips to yours. Just for a moment. Once, twice, three times before he pulls away. You two look at each other like you’ve discovered something new. 

So of course you have to go and ruin it.

“Did you mean what you said in that voicemail?” You ask him before you can stop yourself. You don’t mean to ruin the moment, but the question has been on your mind all night. James’ smile falters, then falls entirely. Your own does too, and it’s like everything comes back into focus. The music is too loud, there’s too many people. 

“I thought you said you deleted that?” James’ voice is smaller than you ever want to hear it, and he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“I did!” You sit up, quickly trying to fix your mess as the moment with James slips from your fingers. “But I did… listen to it first. While you were buying the beer.” 

You hate the look on James’ face, his frown making your stomach churn painfully. 

“I didn’t mean it.” James tells you, and his voice is earnest. “I was just angry.” “It’s okay.” You tell him, and you squeeze his hand. His eyes glance down to where your fingers are interlaced. Your hands fit perfectly together. “You thought I stood you up and left your party without beer. I’d be mad too.”

“But it’s not fair.” James says with a shake of his head. Your eyes watch the soft bounce of his curls and you find yourself leaning in his direction once again. 

“I promise I’m not upset.” You say, but he puckers his lips like he’s eaten something sour. You take the chance to kiss him again, and he flusters. 

“I called you selfish.” His brows furrow in a way that takes over his expression and you run a thumb between them. 

“Jamie…” You say for the first time, and his whole face instantly softens. “I told you. I’m not upset with you.”

James stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, nodding and the tension seems to leave his body.

“And besides, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.” You say with a small tilt of your head. James gets the hint and presses his lips to yours again.

“Oi! Get a room!” James hears Barty shout, but he reaches out his free hand to flip Barty off. 

“See, Rem?” Sirius pipes up from the other couch where his legs are sprawled across Remus’ lap, drunk as a sailor. “They’re ‘hanging out.’ We should hang out, Rem.”

Remus leans forward to press a kiss to Sirius’ lips too.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[jude457]

So I’ve been getting a lot of asks lately questioning my characterisation of Inho, and I figured it’s time I just lay it all out. Here’s how I personally interpret his character, and how I view his relationship with Gihun.

To me, Inho is a deeply broken and traumatised person. Not just morally conflicted, but someone who’s spent years building a carefully controlled facade. Underneath the precision and control is someone who harbors a deep resentment for humanity, a philosophy born from intense personal suffering and emotional isolation.

Returning to the Games to become the Frontman wasn’t a power grab—it was a form of emotional self-destruction. A kind of psychological self-harm. He built an identity where he could carry out the unthinkable by pretending it wasn’t really him doing it. He’s compartmentalised so heavily that he views the Frontman and Inho as separate people. A shield. A way to detach from the horrors he’s enforcing. Inho is the man behind the trauma; the Frontman is the role he steps into so he can function within a system that destroyed him. It’s all about control and surviving by suppressing what’s left of his humanity.

His relationship with the VIPs is not one where they are equals or where there is an inkling of respect—far from it. While Il-nam was a peer to them, Inho has always been a player. Player 132. Just another body who survived. To the VIPs, he’s not a partner in their cruelty—he’s a well-dressed dog they keep on a leash. I headcanon their relationship as one that’s exploitative, abusive, and dehumanising. They exert control over him in every way, including sexually, because they don’t see him as a person, just a tool. Just dirt.

And Inho survives that, too, by dissociating. He tells himself it’s happening to the Frontman. That this is the price of keeping them entertained. Keeping them happy. He can endure anything if he keeps believing it isn’t really happening to him.

And then there’s Gihun.

Gihun is the one person who disrupts all of that. He’s proof that pain doesn’t have to rot you from the inside out. That empathy and defiance can survive. Gihun becomes this accidental mirror to Inho’s own buried innocence—something I like to believe Young-il represents. A ghost of who he used to be. The version of him that might have believed in people before everything broke. And without meaning to, Gi-hun speaks to that part of him. Gi-hun becomes the embodiment of an idea Inho no longer believes in: that suffering doesn’t always destroy, that people can still choose kindness in hell.

Which brings me to their relationship.

I love the idea that their dynamic flips post-canon. Gihun, after everything he’s been through, carries this weight of grief and guilt for the people he couldn’t save. He becomes quieter, more guarded. Meanwhile, Inho—freed from the mask—starts to feel again. He’s almost childlike in how he approaches love, like someone experiencing it for the first time. He’s giddy, awkward, overwhelmed. There’s a tenderness to him that he’s terrified to express but desperate to hold onto.

But that tenderness—what Inho starts to feel around Gihun—it terrifies him. Because it’s unfamiliar. It’s fragile. And deep down, he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

Inho is someone who has learned to equate intimacy with danger. Submission, control, violence—those are the currencies he knows. Love? That’s alien. And more than that, it feels like a trap. So as their bond deepens, he does something tragic: he tries to twist it. To make Gi-hun hurt him. To turn their closeness into punishment.

He’ll push. He’ll provoke. He’ll offer himself up not as a man who wants love, but as one who wants to be used. Because that, at least, he understands. That, at least, makes sense in the broken framework he’s built to survive. If Gihun hurts him, then maybe the guilt becomes manageable. Maybe it justifies everything Inho has done. Maybe it makes it easier to believe he can’t be forgiven.

But the tragedy is—Gihun won’t play into that script.

Gihun sees the cracks. He sees the pain beneath the bravado. And even though he’s carrying his own unbearable grief, he refuses to become Inho’s executioner. He won’t give him that out. He doesn’t offer redemption through punishment—but through presence. Through patience. Through refusing to stop seeing him.

He touches Inho with intention, with care. And that’s what makes it so much harder. Because being touched gently doesn’t just feel unfamiliar—it feels dangerous. His body remembers what he worked so hard to forget. Every soft moment risks unearthing something he locked away.

Sometimes Inho flinches at things that aren’t threats. Sometimes he pulls away when he wants nothing more than to lean in. Sometimes Inho weeps and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he shakes under the weight of a kiss. Sometimes he begs without words for it to stop—not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t. And that makes it harder than anything. And sometimes—worst of all—he tries to recreate the conditions of his own abuse. He offers himself up like he’s disposable, hoping Gihun will use him. Hurt him. Confirm his worthlessness.

Because if someone like Gihun—someone who has every reason to walk away—can still choose to stay, to try, then maybe Inho has to face the scariest truth of all: that love might not be something he has to earn through suffering. That maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of being loved as he is.

While I do enjoy reading bottom!Gihun/top!Inho dynamics (and there’s some really great writing out there that explores that side of them in compelling ways), when it comes to how I personally write them, I’ll always lean toward Inho as the bottom.

For me, it’s not just about preference—it’s about what it means for his character.

Inho is someone who’s spent so much of his life exerting control or being controlled in dehumanising, painful ways. His entire existence—especially as the Frontman—has been defined by rigidity, repression, and survival. So when I write him as the one giving up control, it’s not about dominance or submission in a traditional sense—it’s about catharsis.

It’s about him choosing to be vulnerable. About letting someone else take the lead not to hurt him, not to punish him, but to give him something. To care for him. To make him feel good. That, in itself, is radical for someone like him.

To be at the mercy of someone else—not for violence, but for pleasure—is the clearest way I can express how his relationship with Gihun is healing. It’s not about erasing his trauma. It’s about rewriting the narrative. About allowing his body to become a place of comfort, safety, and intimacy again.

[terraswallows]

Diary of an Awkward trans-girl : Day 16 - A Friend Like No Other.

You know how you sometimes have that one friend—the one who's just always there, no matter what? For me, that friend is Francis.

He's a cis white dude, and honestly? I can say without hesitation he’s had my back more fiercely and more consistently than almost anyone else.

For some context: Francis was the very first person I came out to when I began my transition.

He looked me dead in the eyes and asked—serious as anything—if this was truly what I wanted. If it was something I needed. And when I told him yes, he didn’t hesitate. He just nodded, calm and steady, pulled me into the biggest bear hug, and said, "If you ever back out, I’m gonna bitchslap you... then hug you all over again."

Because that's what real support looks like—someone who's ready to fight for you and hold you when you need it most.

He didn’t just support me—he showed up for me. He drove me to my first endocrinologist appointment, refused to let me pay for gas or breakfast, and even celebrated with me afterward. And because he had experience working in the medical field, he helped me navigate a system I was absolutely lost in—guiding me to where I needed to go for bloodwork, for meetings, for everything. I would’ve been a terrified little lost sheep without him.

When I told him the name I wanted to go by, he just smiled, asked for my pronouns, and promised that whatever changed, he'd be there—no hesitation. From that day on, he has never called me anything but my name. Not once. Even better, he corrects people when they slip up, without making a scene but making it very clear. He's fought for my name and my identity in rooms I wasn’t even in.

Beyond that, he’s just… Francis. He buys me little drinks and snacks for no reason other than vibes. He hands me Magic: The Gathering cards just because he knows they’ll make me smile. He gives me lifts home when things are tight without even blinking. He talks to me. Confides in me. Listens when I need to scream or cry or just exist.

Today was no different—but also, it kind of was.

He’d seen my posts online about how rough things had been lately. So he showed up at my work, unannounced, just to hang out and keep me company, casually doing his usual thing—buying me little drinks, joking, handing me random nerdy treasures because that’s just who he is.

Later, as he was driving me home, he glanced over and said, "Hey Terra, what meds do you still need this month? I noticed you’ve been stressing about money." I tried to brush it off, tried to tell him it was fine. But he pressed, gentle but firm: "Okay, what’s the important one? What do you need to top up next?"

I told him it was my blockers. He just nodded and said, "Done. Don’t even stress about it. I’ll buy your blockers this month, no questions. You need them. Consider it your birthday present from me, since your birthday’s next month anyway and I suck at gifts."

I tried to protest. He cut me off, voice soft but steady: "Terra, you need this. This is your life. And if it helps you get where you need to be, even a little bit faster, then it’s not even a question. I got you, girl. Always."

I cried a little when I got home, not gonna lie.

I guess I just needed to say it somewhere: I’m so fucking lucky to have someone like Francis in my life. Someone who doesn’t just say they support me, but proves it, over and over again. Someone who sees me—the real me—and never flinches.

I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like that. But, am I grateful. More than I could ever put into words.

[thirtyorolderpls]

some of them do just need love and care but largely men get fucked up because of videogame addiction which they don't accept to be real in the first place, not all of them are porn addicted some are genuinely gaming most of the day.

i was addicted to games for some years and managed to have it under control but my brother is exactly like what you just described and refuses to acknowledge that he has a problem other than "depression".

addiction is addiction my literal brother. it takes a toll on your nervous system and meddles with lots of your natural processes, you forego eating so you don't have to leave the chair and then you gorge yourself with whatever's fast and quick so you can go back to the grind. at least with cigarettes you're not chained to a screen.

he wants help but bites your hand if you give it to him, he thinks he can be loved out of a situation HE created for himself and that it's the world's fault he's like this.

like even if you got all the help you wanted you would need to do *something* to keep those changes in your lifestyle you dingus.

I hate how kindness, unlike in books or films, do not yield anything when it comes to men.

My friend’s brother is the typical loner-gamer, and he seemed rather depressed to me, and I thought it must be not easy for him—he never had a girlfriend, spends most of his time alone, and the only socialization activity he has is video games.

So, I figured we could be nice to him. On his birthday, we got him a Lego set, which he seemed to like. We would often visit him with his favorite snacks, ask how he was doing, and overall make him feel cared for.

We did that for nearly a year, and that man not only has been ungrateful (at first we thought he just needs time to show emotions), he laughed how annoying we are with his game friends and mocked we keep bothering him with our “nonsense”. He also gifted us nothing back on our birthdays, and we tried to be understanding that perhaps he is shy.

Looking back, it’s sad how naive we were—he didn't need love or attention to be uplifted and encouraged, he was “lonely” because he was an asshole.

Why did we think his heart would soften, his negative thoughts would leave him, and he would begin to trust people more once we showed him continuous love and care? That's a grown-ass man, 30 years of age—his life, as miserable as it seems, is HIS active choice.

Don't believe in male loneliness epidemic propaganda. These men probably have people who care about them deeply—mothers, sisters, whoever—it’s them who do not give a single fuck about them.

[lavandadiana]

just more than i like you

Yes, the title is an Xdinary Heroes song lyric. I feel like this song is somewhat yandere OG Nice x Lin Ling coded.

Once again I got inspired by @kiraisrika post of yandere OG Nice but instead of spreading out my time for my writing, I wrote this in a day. Never again...

It's not connected, but here's Nice's Support System :)

🜲Ao3

WC 🜲 3,522

TW 🜲 Yandere OG Nice, Possessive behavior, A little bit of horny Nice, a bit of a creep Nice, Mentions of sexual thoughts and behaviors, no sex, minor (1) murderous thoughts, minor (1) thoughts about permanently disabling someone, if I miss any TW's let me know!

Once again, constrictive criticism is very much welcome!

It has been a couple of weeks since Lin Ling saved Nice from suicide. Since Lin Ling brought the light back to Nice’s eyes. Since Lin ling became the only reason for Nice to live; to be a hero, to be perfect. ”Everything else must be perfect for him. I am already perfect, but everyone else isn’t. Only Lin Ling and I are perfect. Soon they will see it too.” Nice thought as he stared at a sleeping Lin Ling on Nice’s bed.

”A little truthful lie about a nightmare and that I can’t go back to sleep without someone sleeping next to me.” Nice smiled at the memory. “Maybe next time I’ll ‘accidentally’ cuddle with him in my sleep.” He thought as his heart begins to raise and heat flushed to his cheeks. “Ah~ I thought I could never go back to sleep with Lin Ling being so close to me~ Our faces, our bodies, inches apart. I must’ve spent hours staring at Lin Ling’s face. I could draw him memory, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to the real Lin Ling.”

Lin Ling’s dark brown hair is messy, strands poking out every which way, soft snores from Lin Ling filling the silence in the room. Drool escapes from Lin Ling’s mouth, leaving wet marks on Nice’s bedsheets, yet Nice isn’t disgusted by this. No, rather, it was the opposite. ”Oh~ I don’t want to wash the sheets. Perhaps I’ll just put them away, preserve them. Although, I wouldn’t mind getting the bed sheets dirty with other fluids~” Before Nice could ponder on those type of thoughts, Lin Ling shifted in his sleep, moving to a more comfortable position, which caused Lin Ling’s black T-shirt to rise a bit, showing a bit off Lin Ling’s Stomach.

Nice’s eyes widened as his heart beat faster; blood flows to places not acceptable for the scene, as unpure thoughts filled Nice’s mind. Nice had to bite his finger to hold back the groan that almost escaped from his throat. "I need to calm down. I can’t do anything yet. Our first time needs to be perfect; I want it to be perfect. I need to get my mind off this. I’ll make breakfast for him. Yes, that’s ideal. I’ll surprise him with breakfast. Hmm... What shall I make? Cereal? No, too basic. Eggs and toast? No, too bland. Pancakes? Hmm... Maybe. Ahaha! I got it! Chili crisp fried eggs with rice and French toast sticks, topped with fresh berries, powdered sugar and honey, and a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice and freshly brewed coffee. Yes, a perfect breakfast meal for the perfect person to be with the perfect hero."

Nice nodded, quietly walking away from the sleeping Lin ling and towards the kitchen to cook the meal for the love of his love, even though Lin Ling doesn’t know it yet. Nice puts on a white apron with a pair of cute white and brown bears embroidered on it. A gift from Lin Ling after a couple of days of living together. He said that it reminded of them. First, Nice washed the rice till the water ran clear and put the washed rice in a rice cooker. Then he prepares his French toast mixture. A cup of milk, and 2 eggs; he mixes them to combine in a bowl. Next, he added a teaspoon of cinnamon, a quarter teaspoon of nutmeg, and a quarter teaspoon of ground cloves. Then he mixes the spices before adding a tablespoon of sugar and half a teaspoon of pure vanilla extract before mixing once last time. He warmed up a skillet with clarified buffer over a low flame. He dipped 2 slices of brioche bread into the custard for 10 seconds per side and placed them on the low flamed buttered skillet, letting it cook for 7 minutes and 30 second per side.

While Nice waits for the French toast to cook, he heats up another skillet over a medium flame and scoops a couple of spoonful of chili oil in the skillet, letting the oil of the chili crisp to spread and heats up for a couple of minutes before cracking 2 large eggs over it. “Lin Ling likes his eggs runny, if I remember correctly.” Nice finishes up making breakfast and starts to squeeze fresh oranges in a juicer and brewed a cup of coffee with freshly grounded coffee beans from Brazil.

Nice softly hums a song from Lin Ling’s favorite band, Xdinary Heroes. He doesn’t remember the song’s name, but he likes the song. After all, anything Lin Ling loves, Nice will support it. He tops the French Toast with fresh strawberries and blueberries, raw honey and powdered sugar. He plates the chili crisp fried eggs over a bowl of freshly made rice, topping it with chopped scallions, a pinch of sea salt and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. He strained the squeezed orange juice to remove the pulp, remembering that Lin Ling didn’t like his orange juice with pulp. He poured the now pulp free orange juice in a clear glass. He poured the brewed coffee into Lin Ling’s favorite mug, a mug that has a picture of Nice and Moon posing.

Nice didn’t know how to feel when Lin Ling brought the cup when he moved his stuff in with Nice, but he knows that Lin Ling’s new favorite mug will be a picture of Nice and Lin Ling posing once the public and his fans know and believe that Nice and Lin Ling are perfect for each other, and soon Lin Ling will believe it as well. For the coffee, he added 3 spoonsful of sugar and a splash of caramel creamer. “Yawn~ Good morning, Nice! What are you making? It smells delicious!” Lin Ling says as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Good Morning, Lin Ling! I’m making chili crisp eggs with rice and French toast topped with fresh berries, honey and powdered sugar. Also, I squeezed some oranges and removed the pulp for orange juice and brewed coffee for you.” Nice stated as he set down the plates of food on the dining table, while Lin Ling washes his hands for breakfast. As Lin Ling dries his hands, Nice handed Lin Ling his cup of coffee. ”3 spoonful of sugar and a splash of your favorite caramel creamer.”

Lin Ling took a sip of his coffee and sighed in relief. “Ahh~ Thank you Nice, I love you~“ Lin Ling teased. On the exterior, Nice smiled and bowed his head, but on the interior, oh Nice was jumping for joy. “You’re teasing now, but soon you’ll mean those words, my love~“ Nice thought as he took a sip of water. Lin Ling sat down and eats, with Nice sitting next to him, hands in lap as he watched Lin Ling eating. “Mhmm~ this is so delicious!” Lin Ling eats for a bit before noticing that Nice wasn’t eating with him. "You’re not eating?" Nice shook head. "No need. I have a photo shoot soon. I’ll eat once we’ve done with it." Lin Ling frowned for a bit, then he got an idea. He cuts a piece of French toast and offered it to Nice on a fork.

“Eat.“ Lin Ling demanded. Nice’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting this. “Huh-mmph!” Before Nice could speak, Lin Ling shoved the food into Nice’s mouth. Nice chews as unpure thoughts filled his mind. “An indirect kiss?! Did I die and go to heaven?” “You have honey- here I’ll get it.” Lin Ling leaned forward and wiped a bit off of honey from the corner of Nice’s lips. If Nice’s face wasn’t red now, it would be now because Lin Ling licked his finger that wiped the honey from Nice’s lips.

Suddenly Nice stood up and exclaimed, “Bath-ugh. Uh-b-uh, bathroom!” He stuttered out as he flew quickly to the bathroom. Lin Ling jumped at his exclamation before returning to eat once Nice flew out of view. The sound of the shower starting broke Lin Ling’s train of thought. He shrugged his shoulders and finished eating. He cleans up the dishes and washes them.

Time passes as Lin Ling finishes up washing the dishes, he noticed that Nice was still in the bathroom, the shower still on. “He’s still showering? I guess this is normal since he usually showers while I’m still sleeping ...” Lin Ling got ready for the day in the guest bathroom. Once he was done getting ready, the shower stops running. Nice steps out, his hair dried and in his usual hairstyle. “Finally done?” Nice nodded. “Yes, sorry about that. Just remembered that I hadn’t taken my daily shower yet, so I had to do it before my photoshoot.” A small lie, but Lin Ling didn’t need to know that.

Lin Ling nodded as he grabbed his packed messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You going somewhere?” Nice asked. On the outside, he was calm, cool, and collected. Oh, but on the inside? He was panicking. “Is he going to leave me? No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that, not Lin Ling. I’ll break his legs before he would ever leave me.” Lin Ling broke Nice’s train of thoughts. “Yeah, I kinda want to do some sight-seeing now that I don’t have an overbearing job. I already asked Miss J, and she said it was okay since you only have a photoshoot and training today. I’ll be back before you know it!”

Nice nodded, accepting Lin Ling’s reason for leaving his side for the day. He hated it, but he accepted it. “Very well then. I’ll count down the seconds till I’ll see you again.” Nice said as he bowed down and kissed Lin Ling’s knuckles. Lin Ling chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Haha! Don’t say corny shit like that!”

Lin Ling looked at the time and saw that he needed to go now if he wanted to catch the train on time. “Oh! I gotta go if I want to catch the train on time! Bye! Have a great day! I’ll see ya later!” Lin Ling yelled as he run out of the floor and into the elevator. Nice waved back till he couldn’t see Lin Ling anymore. He sighed, already missing Lin Ling.

The elevator chime interrupted Nice’s thoughts, signaling someone’s arrival on his floor. Nice faced the elevator, hoping that it was Lin Ling coming back, but the elevator opened. It was just Miss J, already stepping out, her heels clacking against the floor. Nice hunched his back, saddened that it wasn’t Lin Ling returning. “Back straight, Nice. Disappointed that I’m not your boyfriend?” Miss J said, a small smirk appears on her lips. Nice rolled his eyes and straighten his back. “He’s not my boyfriend yet. But for your information, I already planned our wedding.” Nice said, beaming with joy as if he said nothing wrong. Miss J rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. Now let’s start our schedule.” Nice softly groaned, mentally preparing for today.

A couple of hours passed, and Nice was still at his photo shoot when his phone dinged a specific ringtone, only for Lin Ling when he sends a message. He steps off the platform, to the objections of the photographers and Miss J. He ignored their cries as he checked his phone.

Yup, he knew it. It was a message from Lin Ling. Nice hopes it’s a selfie or a check-in. Instead, his blood ran cold and his heart raced with terror. The message read ”Help train out of control“ and a location tag. Nice, not even telling Miss J, flew through a closed window, glass breaking and scattering, and flew away and towards Lin Ling’s location.

Within the minute, Nice arrived at the location tag, yet the train nor Lin Ling wasn’t there. He flew forward where the train was heading. Another minute passed when he saw the train; the scene scared Nice to the core. The train was speeding fast and going faster every second. If Nice doesn’t do something soon, the train will derail and crash into the terrain, possibly killing Lin Ling. “No way in hell am I going to let that happen to him.“ Nice flew the fastest he’s ever flown, passing the train, making sure the passengers see him.

“Oh, god! Why today?!” Lin Ling thought as the villain cackled inside of the train. “Hahaha! Now! Unless my demands are met, you all shall perish!” A man stood up, removed his glasses and pressed a button on his watch at grey metallic hero suit wrapped the man’s body. “Haha! In your dreams, villain! Justice shall never bow down to evil! For I am Justice Man!”

“Is this a fucking staged villain fight?!” Lin Ling thought. After saving Nice from suicide and becoming his emotional support civilian, Miss J and Nice talked about how his fight with Wreck are staged fights and that is common in the hero industry. Lin Ling’s thoughts were interrupted when Justice Man rushed forward, trying to tackle the villain, but because of bad timing, the villain accidentally knocked out the hero. “Uh... O-Oh, the justice that Justice Man emits has caused me to stop my evil doing and flee in fear!” The villain pressed a button on his watch and waited ... and waited... and waited… “What the hell?!” The villain muttered under his breath as he continuously pressed the button on his watch. “It’s not going as planned!” Lin Ling panics.

Lin Ling took his phone out and sends a quick text ”Help train out of control” and my location. I prayed-no, I believed that Nice will be here soon. ”Save me, Nice!” The villain looks panicked, he looks around while still pressing the button. “Come on, come on! Work, you stupid thing!” The villain grasped his hair. “Look, it’s Nice!” A passenger yelled, pointing out the window. Outside of the train, Nice was flying next to the train. He waved and smiled at the passengers. “Oh, thank God, we’re saved” “Come on Nice! Save us!” “You can do it!���

With the cheers of the passengers, Nice was able to fly faster, and could get to the front of the train. He held his arms out forward and braced. Nice landed on the train track, pushing against the speeding train. His feet hitting track after track. Using all of his powers, the train was slowing down.

Finally, the train stopped. Nice, breathing heavily, removed his hands from the front of the train and flew to where Lin Ling was at. As soon as he entered the train, it was very obvious to like that this was a staged villain fight, a very bad one. Nice was furious! How dare this idiotic duo try to stage a villain fight while the love of his life is here! His sweetheart, his darling, his mon chéri, his 여보, his 爱人, his cariño, and all the other foreign endearment terms that Nice had been learning since Lin Ling saved him.

Nice smiled at ‘villain’ and at that moment the fake villain felt fear coursing through his body and the only thought that appeared was “Oh shit.” before Nice punched the villain in the face, knocking him unconscious. Nice, his back facing the crowd, scowled at the unconscious duo, before forcing a smile on his face, turned around and did his signature finger gun pose. The passengers cheer for Nice. “Yay, Nice saved us!” “You’re my hero, Nice!” “Nice is the best!” “I love you, Nice!” Yet, all that cheering didn’t matter. AII that mattered to Nice was Lin Ling.

Nice ignored all of his social and public training and ran towards Lin Ling, hugging him. Nice cries into Lin Ling’s shoulders. “I thought I almost lost you...” Lin Ling hugged back, finally letting the event sink in. He almost died because of a wannabe hero. “Nice... You’re breaking your training” “Fuck training! I’m never letting you out of my sight again!”

Lin Ling chuckled as he also cries. “Thank you for saving me, Nice." Nice hesitantly pulled away from the hug and placed his hand on Lin Ling’s cheek. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Nice looks over Lin Ling, checking for injuries. “No, I’m okay. Just relieved that you're here. I’m glad that you’d read my message.” “Of course. You’re my hero, after all.“ Nice whispered to Lin Ling. The sound of police cars arriving at the scene interrupting the moment.

“Mr. Nice; is he your boyfriend?” A little girl, who looks like a 5 years old, asked Nice. Nice wanted to scream yes, and hug and kiss Lin Ling, but Lin Ling beat him to it. “Nah, he’s just a really great friend!” Lin Ling said, kneeling down to the little girl’s height. “Oh, my God, he’s great with kids! Ahh! He’s so perfect!” Nice thought before the police and paramedics entered the train cabin, apprehending the unconscious fake villain and checked on the unconscious wannabe hero. The police asked the passengers questions and for their statements.

Before the police can ask Nice and Lin Ling questions, Miss J entered the train cabin and says “Officers, please, it has been a long day for them; any questions can be asked tomorrow morning at Hero Tower.” The officers nodded, accepting the conditions, and left them alone.

Miss J, in all her sternness, looked at Nice and Ling before giving them a look that says “Follow me.” With fatigue setting in Nice, Lin Ling noticed and took Nice’s hand in his, and pulled him into the limousine with Miss J and her bodyguards. Miss J, not looking up from her tablet, spoke up. ”You’re lucky that Nice x Lin Ling is trending on social media." “Huh?!” “What?!”

“How in the hell did they know my name?” “A former coworker of yours recognized you. And some people found the news article from when Nice saved you from suicide a couple of weeks ago. Nice x Lin Ling is tied with Nice x Moon in terms of popularity. We’ll see where it goes in a couple of weeks before we make drastic decisions. For now, go home, take a shower, eat and sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow morning." Miss J finally locked up from her tablet and glared at the fatigued Nice and mentally tired Lin Ling. She turns her attention to Lin Ling. “Glad you’re okay, kid.” Lin Ling nodded, still reeling in from the event. He knows it was staged, but he also knows that it didn’t go as planned. He and the other passengers almost died because of their stupidity.

At least with Nice and Wreck, their staged fights had the support of Treeman Corp. They can pay any damages off, but with Justice Man and his friend, they’re new. They didn’t have any ties with an agency. No proper hero agency wouldn’t allow this kind of stunt. Too many variables. What if Nice didn’t come on time? What if Nice didn’t have enough trust value? What if Lin Ling didn’t send a message to Nice?

Nice, still reeling from fatigue, almost fell asleep in the limo. If the passengers weren’t there, if Lin Ling weren’t there, Nice would’ve killed the wannabe hero and villain duo. Nice was pulled away from his murderous thoughts when the limousine stopped. “You’re home. Get some rest. I’ll clear your schedule for tomorrow, Nice.“ Miss J says as a bodyguard opened the limousine door revealing the home of Nice, Lin Ling and the other heroes.

They both stepped out and walked into the building where Nice took out his phone and let the scanner scan his ID. The elevator took them to floor 12. The elevator dinged and opened its doors, revealing the large Nice statue. Both Nice and Lin Ling walked out of the elevator. Before Nice could ask Lin Ling if he could sleep with him, Lin Ling beat him to it.

“Can I sleep with you for tonight?” Nice softly gasp before nodding. “Yeah...“ With that single word, both Nice and Lin Ling removed their shoes and got into bed together. At first, Lin Ling and Nice kept their distance, before Lin Ling scooted closer to Nice, till Lin Ling’s head was on top of Nice’s chest. ”Is this okay?” Lin Ling asked. “Yeah.“ Nice said, wrapping his arms around Lin Ling. “Is this okay?“ Nice asked. “Yeah.” Lin Ling said softly, falling asleep to Nice’s heartbeat.

It took all of Nice’s will to make his heartbeat normal. Nice may have wanted to kill the duo, but he may just let them live if it got Lin Ling to initiate this. Maybe Nice will just hurt them enough to leave them disabled. Yeah, he’ll do that. Nice hugged Lin Ling closer, breathing in his scent. The circumstances in how they got there were chaotic, but in the end, the result was perfect. The perfect hero, cuddling his perfect love after a perfect job well done. Yes, this is perfect. This is perfection~

🜲 Mon chéri ✧ French for “my dear” (masculine version)

🜲 여보 (yeobo) ✧ Korean for “darling” (married couples refer to their spouse as this)

🜲 爱人 (àiren) ✧ Mandarin for “lover” (also means your “love person” and “spouse”)

🜲 Cariño ✧ Spanish for “darling” (is gender-neutral; can call any romantic partner this, regardless of their gender.)

I got the endearment terms from Drops

[quietplace26]

Furina!MC au: Diary of Secrets

Notes: Another alternative take to my Furina!MC au..only this takes place in canon. Furina!MC returns home, and is now just MC again... Leaving chaos behind in the now post Prophecy Fontaine.

Warnings: OCness, cringe, thoughts of depression and suicide, yandere thoughts. Romantic yandere! Neuvillette, and Platonic yandere!Fontaine cast.

Furina!MC stares blankly at the thing before her. It was a computer... her old computer. The one she owned back in her last life.

The Genshin Impact logo flashes ominously on screen...

Furina!MC shakily shuts it off, standing up slowly and looks around.

She was in her old room. Everything still in the same place as it was the last time she saw 500 years ago...

She pads into her bathroom, marveling at the modern style bathroom she missed having, and gasps when she catches her face in the mirror.

She... she looked like her old self again! Her hair, eyes, nose, and even the little scar or mole here and there. She was herself again!

But how? The last thing she remembered was-

Furina!MC freezes. Her body begins to shake as tears started building up in her eyes.

The trial. How could she forget that?

Neuvillette, he... He had given the verdict of death sentence as her punishment, like canon did, but...

Now she's home? ...Maybe Focalors dying and the Hydro throne being destroyed freed her from her forced role? Finally letting her go home...

Furina!MC- no, MC sniffles as she smiled a true smile in the first time in 500 years.

She was home. She was free. And she was human again.

Glancing back at her computer she makes the decision to delete Genshin Impact from its system... Later on.

Right now? She wants to go spend time with her family and friends... And maybe she would forget all the pain and loneliness she went through...

So, rubbing her eyes dry, she pads out her bedroom, quietly calling out to her parents and siblings... Only she never notices her computer flicker on again.

The Genshin Impact logo flickers, and the usual log in screen of the game flickers to a scene of Fontaine. A Fontaine that was dark and rainy...

...Fontaine was in a state of chaos. Yes, the prophecy was avoided, meaning Fontaine and its citizens were safe... But their Archon? False Archon? Where did she go?!

After the verdict of a death sentence was given, she just faded away! Did she die?! Did she ever actually exist to begin with?!

No one was sure, but one reporter from the Steambird wanted to get answers, so he snuck into the Palais, and managed to find the former Hydro Archon's old room.

Digging around he finds what could be the Archon's diary and takes it back to the Steambird where he and his colleagues could go over what would probably be the biggest scoop of the century.

But all they got was some horrifying information...

The workers of Steambird, Charlotte included, all stared down at the old, beaten-up diary nervously... and guilty.

Should... Should they actually post what's in there?

Charlotte pushes for them to post it. The young reporter said the truth needed to be heard... and for their Archon's cry for help to heard as well...

So, they end up posting the article... and the Ludex himself, along with many others of Fontaine showed up in front of the Steambird, demanding answers.

The Article itself titled, 'Under the mask of our Hydro Archon-'

It spins a tale that their Hydro Archon was never their actual Archon, which Fontaine already knew, but it's revealed she was the HUMAN side of the Hydro Archon.

Neuvillette reluctantly admits he himself found out that info during the whole mess of a trial.

But here's the thing... Even that wasn't true.

Oh no, turns out Furina!MC wasn't even Focalors human side to begin with! Well, the body maybe, but the soul? The soul was once someone else.

A poor human that woke up in Focalors body double and was essentially made into a puppet for the Archon's bidding.

But even that wasn't the biggest shock!

The surprises continue as Furina!MC wrote about her past life, about how Fontaine, its people, Neuvillette, and even all of Teyvat had been a game in her old life.

Basically, she saw through the Traveler's eyes and explored Teyvat with them.

But if that's the case then why didn't she helped Fontaine?! Help people who were going to die or worse?!

The answer, as it would turn out, was because of Focalors.

The goddess' only goal in life was to prevent the prophecy and protect Fontaine... So, in her eyes, a few or more deaths didn't matter in her eyes.

So that meant she would NOT allow Furina!MC to act out of character and help those that could be saved.

And poor, poor Furina!MC was forced to watch as every soul she could've help, could've saved, die, or in Wriothesley's case, lose his childhood.

Carole, oh poor Carole... There were tears mark all over the page as Furina!MC cried through her words.

Navia's father, oh, his death could've been prevented if Marcel, no, Vacher had been caught. If only Focalors let Furina!MC bring up the evidence she had and KNEW, then-

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Navia-' the rest of the page had the same lines over and over again.

And Wriothesley. Oh, Furina!MC had been planning on fostering him, maybe even adopting him, but Focalors could never allow that, oh no.

Then there's Neuvillette.

Most entries showed how... Scared she was of him, how nervous... But also showed how she admired him.

She admired him for his abilities, for how he treated the Melusines, affectionately even writing being a dad was a good look for him.

It was obviously now that Fontaine's Hydro Archon had a crush on the Ludex, which apparently even shocked Neuvillette as he never knew that...

But for the rest of the diary entries, it mostly spoke of Furina!MC steadily declining mental state.

She started writing more about how it would feel to sleep die and not wake up one day. How lovely it would feel just to sleep drown deep in the sea, all alone where no one could hurt you...

Apparently sometimes when she was alone, she would test out her immortality to see if she could find a loophole and rest... and the way she described what she did to herself made several people sick.

It only got worse when they got to the last entry. The day before that trial...

Furina!MC wrote how she didn't hate any of her would be betrayers. She wouldn't hate Fontaine for turning its back on her. She LOVED Fontaine, truly...

It was just inevitable. There was no changing this 'story'. There would be no happy ending for 'Furina'.

All she asked for.... Is that when Focalors died... She could go home.

"...Lady Fur- I mean, Lady MC must have returned back to her world after Focalors' death." Neuvillette murmured as he closed the diary that a steam bird employee timidly handed to him.

All around him, nervous whispering could be heard. There was no hate towards MC like before, no, it was sorrow, it was worry, and guilt.

"Even if that's the case... would she even be alright? 500 years... and all the torture that Goddess put her AND us through..." Navia says, eyeing the nearby Archon statue in pure disgust.

That bitch let her father die! Of course she's angry! MC said she had evidence counting the fact she KNEW about Vacher, and even so, Focalors forced MC into silence.

"...Should we try to bring her back?" Clorinde suggests, fingers gripping her blade. She failed as a guard... and a friend. She raised her sword towards an innocent soul who has been silently crying out for help for 500 years... She had to make it right somehow.

Fontaine's citizens look at one another, and there's chimes of agreements. Their Archon was fragile right now, she should be brought back to Fontaine where the best doctors and therapists could help her now that no meddling Goddess was in the way.

Sigewinne was the loudest with this. "Lady MC is in a delicate state right now, both mentally and physically. Even if she did return home, that doesn't erase 500 years' worth of trauma, especially on a Human soul!" The Melusine nurse needed to see MC right away!

"Monsieur Neuvillette there must be a way to bring her back!"

"Please! We need to apologize!

"Lady Fur- MC needs help! Chief Justice, please!"

Neuvillette silently still gazes down at the diary.

To think... 500 years, and he never knew of the pain his lady was under.

When he saw Focalors, he felt the same affection he felt for Furina!MC, as they had the same face, but acted so differently.

But hearing the truth. Hearing how Focalors treated Fur-, no, he must in call his lady that name anymore! It... It wasn't her name. She deserves to be called her name!

...Hearing how Focalors treated MC, forcing her to act how like a puppet, keeping her quiet when the poor girl wanted to help... Unforgivable.

He glanced over at the nearby Hydro Archon statue and walks towards it, standing before it.

He sees Focalors' face, not MC's. It was never MC's. Focalors took that away from her l, didn't she. Took away her identity, her will...

With a flick of his wrist, Hydro shoots out and destroys the statue.

With the once grand statue in pieces at his feet, he turns to the crowd before him, face emotionless but eyes dark and determined.

"...We will bring back Lady MC back."

The resounding roar of agreement from the crowd echoed through Fontaine.

Fontaine would have its Hydro Archon back. The one they should've had to begin with.

Not a bratty, selfish, arrogant one. No. The shy, awkward, but oh so very kind and gentle Hydro Archon that was human just like them.

Fontaine will treat her gently, spoiling her with the love she was denied for so long.

The Melusines will have a chance to be closer to MC, to tell her Carole's death wasn't her fault. That they care about her, LOVE her.

MC took care of them without the Melusines noticing. Protecting them the best she could from Focalors.

.... Oh... That... that kinda sounded like a mama protecting her children. Was MC their mama? They had a mama and never noticed!

Navia wanted to apologize to MC. Both for her words and that awful test she tried to force MC through with the Primordial Sea water.

The President of the Spina di Rosula wanted to be MC's friend. Her best friend. Navia could tell by her diary entries MC was so lonely. She wanted a friend... And Navia would be that friend.

From her 500 years of being forced to act as 'Furina', poor MC must be so confused as to what she likes and dislikes anymore. Navia would help her with that.

She could take her to Fontaines best boutiques and pick out outfits she actually likes and then they could go out for a spa date. Navia would treat her friend right.

Clorinde needed MC back in her sights. She needed to keep her safe, to make up for her betrayal and failure. She would be the protector MC needed... The only one she will need.

Wriothesley... He originally held resentment towards the former Archon for all her failures towards him and his foster siblings.

But hearing the truth? It made him feel ill with guilt. The woman he held quiet hatred for had wanted to foster him and his siblings, and maybe even possibly adopt HIM.

He could've had a mother... but Focalors ruined everything.

Even though there was probably no way to have a family relationship with MC now that he was a grown adult, Wriothesley at least wanted to be someone that she could rely on.

Someone close to her, a friend... Or maybe more...

And Neuvillette? He wanted MC back. He NEEDED her back. He wanted to know the true MC, see the true MC.

She was probably very adorable; he could tell with the way she shyly wrote about him in her diary. Such a sweet little thing.

But he bet she was also beautiful as well...

No matter the cost, Neuvillette would bring MC back to Teyvat. Back to Fontaine... And back to where she belongs the most... With him.

Even if he had to bind her to his soul.

And with his Authority and status as the Hydro Sovereign returned, he was MORE than able to accomplish that.

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Both Ends Clear Bonus Story

Masterlist

Bonus Story: Your First and Final Love

After praying that I would find one thing that I would not be able to give up, despite having let go of everything else, A free-flying robin willingly chose to fall into the reaper’s grasp.

Victor: Please, do come in.

Kate: Okay…

A month after we began our relationship, I invited Kate to the room where the queen was supposed to be living, and where many previous monarchs had stayed. The way she timidly shuffled in while anxiously looking this way and that made her look like a recently-adopted kitten trying to get used to its new home.

(Too cute…)

I closed the door behind her and locked it. Kate was studying the portraits on the walls with an earnest intensity.

Kate: This is…

Victor: The previous king, yes. The policies he enacted were very effective, and I respect him very much.

Kate: And this portrait is of…

Victor: The ruler who instituted what would eventually become our present day legal system.

I could spend all day watching her amazement as she spun in the middle of the room.

Victor: Kate, over here.

I felt a little sorry for her, so I pulled out a chair so she could sit.

(I know this room very well, but this is still new to Kate.)

She still seemed a little nervous as she sat, but gave me a bashful smile.

Kate: I’m happy to be here again.

I continued to speak as I opened the closet and searched for something.

Victor: You’re welcome to come here at any time. Victor: I’m sure the people depicted in those portraits would be happy for the company.

I was confident that Kate wouldn’t steal or damage any of the valuables in this room. Not just because we were lovers, but because I knew that Kate was a genuinely good person. Finding what I needed, I left the closet and made my way back to Kate. She blinked in surprise when she saw what I was holding.

Kate: Is that the queen’s veil?

The thick veil of pure white cloth was meant to conceal my identity, and as a result, it barely let any light through.

Victor: You asked me before if I could see anything while wearing the veil.

It had been a comment she made about a week after we became lovers, when she had come across the veil. At the time, I just told her that I was used to it.

Victor: Since we have the time, why don’t you try it for yourself?

Kate: …What?

Kate’s mouth dropped open, but she pulled herself back together after a few moments and violently shook her head.

Kate: No, no, no, I can’t wear something that important! I wouldn’t even dare to touch it!

Victor: It’s just a veil. I suppose you could call it an antique, but…

Kate: Saying that does not help!

As I held the veil out to her, she raised both of her hands in refusal. She frowned and said:

Kate: It’s important to you, isn’t it, Victor? I don’t want to ruin it.

Hearing her concern, I stopped pushing it at her.

(...Of course you’d say that.)

To me, the veil was just a piece of cloth. But Kate cared for it, and what it stood for, a lot more than I thought. Because caring about the veil also meant she cared for me during the times I wore it.

Victor: That’s exactly why I’d like you to wear it.

She stopped shaking her head when I spoke.

Victor: You are the only person in the world who is worthy of holding this.

It was a nice declaration and all, but mainly, I just wanted to see Kate wear it.

(I really do mean it, though.)

That seemed to have changed Kate’s mind, though she was unaware of my ulterior motive.

Kate: Okay, I’ll do it!

With a look of determination, as if she were about to ride into battle, she slowly reached out for the veil.

Victor: I can put it on you. Hold still for a moment.

Kate: Okay.

I unfolded the veil and placed it over Kate’s head.

Kate: Whoa, it’s so heavy!

She hunched over, arms suddenly flailing as the full weight of the floor-length veil settled over her. Holding back my laughter, I gently caught her flapping hands.

Victor: The cloth is quite heavy since it’s meant to hide my identity.

I pulled her to her feet with one hand, and she waved the other hand in the air like she was searching for something.

Kate: I can’t see a thing. How do you even walk with this thing on?

She turned her head from side to side, but apparently still couldn’t see anything, because her grip on my hand tightened.

Victor: You get used to it. It just takes a bit of practice.

Kate looked like someone playing dress-up as a ghost. She couldn’t see a thing in front of her, and what’s more the cloth got caught under her feet, making walking difficult.

(What if I let go of her?)

That would be mean of me. Just a little bit, though.

Kate: …Huh?

Without a word, I let go of her hand and took a couple of steps back.

Kate: Victor?

Kate extended both her arms out in front of her, searching for me. But she quickly realized that I wasn’t nearby.

Kate: Where did you go?

Her voice was full of confusion. I watched her wave her arms about as she took a few wobbly steps.

(...Oh no, she’s too adorable, I can’t stand it.)

I clenched my hands into fists, holding back the urge to run over and take her into my arms. But then, in a very, very small voice…

Kate: …Victor?

Her voice wavered as she whispered my name, and I could no longer hold back. I swept her into a tight hug.

Kate: Ack!

Victor: How on earth are you so adorable?

As I pulled her even closer so I could press my cheek against hers, she reached up to grab my coat lapels.

Kate: Got you!

The veil parted when she looked up, revealing a brilliant smile. Her radiance rivaled the sun.

Victor: …That’s it.

Kate: Huh? What was tha- whoa!

I picked her up and moved towards the bed.

Kate: Um, Victor…?

Victor: If you keep acting so cute, you’ll get swept away by a very wicked man.

Kate: Nn…

I sat her down on the bed and greedily kissed her.

Kate: Mm… ah…

Shifting closer, I captured her lips again, not giving her the space to breathe. When I slipped my tongue into her mouth, I could tell that Kate’s mind was beginning to grow fuzzy. As my hands crept up her thighs, I could feel when she started to relax and spread her legs for me.

Kate: Ah…

I pulled up her skirt, caressing her exposed legs. I couldn’t get enough of watching my fingers sink into her soft skin. Rolling down her socks, I let my tongue trace down her calves.

Kate: Mm, Victor–

I gripped her thighs as I pressed kisses to the tops of her feet.

Kate: That’s– dirty…

As I kissed her toes one by one, she blushed scarlet and shook her head.

Victor: And yet, your face says you want more.

Kate: Aah…

I lightly bit her ankle and she let out a moan.

Victor: I have to teach you that being too adorable is a sin.

I moved back to her thighs, kissing and sucking until I left a mark at her inner thigh. Seeing this, Kate reached out for me.

Kate: Too late. I’ve already been caught by a very, very wicked man.

She kissed my cheek and gave me a naughty smile.

Kate: So what should I do now?

I blinked in surprise, briefly stunned by her expression. Then I pulled off my coat, tossing it along with the queen’s veil to a chair. After giving them a glance, I turned back to her.

Victor: Unfortunately for you, there’s no escaping this situation anymore.

I pushed her onto the bed and chuckled.

Victor: You’re stuck being loved by a very wicked man for the rest of your life.

-----

I was roused from slumber by daylight falling across my eyelids. As I squinted at the morning sun peeking in through the curtains, Kate shifted lightly in my arms. I ran my fingers across her neck, tracing the marks still leftover from last night, and stroked her hair. Her breaths were still even as she slept.

(...I never imagined that I’d see such bliss in my lifetime. Not until I met you.)

Waking up with someone asleep in my arms. And not just any person, but the one woman in the world I was madly in love with. I sat up and continued to stroke her hair.

(All of this is the happiness Kate has given me.)

I wanted to savor this moment forever.

But alas, work called. There was a lot to do today.

(I won’t be able to spend as much time with her…) (I’m going to have to find a full day to set aside just for the two of us, next time.)

As I was planning out a schedule in my head–

Victor: Mm, Victor?

Kate’s lovely voice drifted to my ears, and I turned back to the bed to see Kate’s sleepy eyes blinking up at me.

Victor: Good morning, Kate. Sorry to disturb you.

I approached the bed to press soft kisses to her eyelids. She giggled.

Kate: Hehe… good morning.

She greeted me with an adorable voice as she accepted my kisses.

Victor: I’m sorry to do this right after you just woke up, but I need to leave. Victor: Do you know how to go back?

Kate: Yep, the passageway to your room is hidden behind that portrait. I just need to pull the lever over there.

Victor: I knew you’d remember. Victor: That’s my sharp girl.

She smiled in contentment as I stroked her head. When I stepped back, she also hurried out of bed. She was wearing one of my spare shirts, sleeves rolled up as she picked up the queen’s veil from the chair it had fallen on last night.

Kate: Let me.

She stood on her tip-toes to try and place the veil on my head. It was adorable, and I laughed and bowed my head so she could put the veil on for me. She smiled with satisfaction once I was fully dressed in the regalia of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. As a reward, I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Victor: I’ll be off now.

And that was when Kate lifted the edge of my veil, stretching as far upwards as she could to kiss my forehead in turn. With a smile and eyes full of soft affection, she said:

Kate: Good luck. I’ll see you soon.

I opened the door and stepped outside.

(Our lives from now on would not be simple.)

I would one day destroy her, erasing her from history itself. Sadness and suffering would befall her, and even after despair led her to her death, she would be fated to walk into the depths of hell forevermore. No one in their right mind would call it a happily ever after.

(But I can’t let her go. And even if I could, I won’t.)

When I looked over my shoulder, Kate was smiling and waving to me. I smiled back, closed the door, and shut my eyes for a moment.

(You don’t need to know the weight of my love.)

It was a tale that had been written on the day we first met, a fate that was set in stone when you fell into my arms.

Victor: I am your first and final love.

The only man you will ever love.

[heartsforjh]

Ｐｏｌａｒｏｉｄｓ

window - pt. 1

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: slow burn, very dramatized (are some of these situations the most realistic? no, but it’s for the plot so just try to enjoy the whimsy aspect of it all 🔥)

word count: almost 4k (3,914)

summary: little y/n and quinn meet for the first time!

a/n: credits to @beenucks for this cutesy idea, and helping me with the graphics + storyline! it’s been in the works since like february 10th, so definitely thank you for your patience as well 😭 this is an AU INTRO! the masterlist for it is right → here! hope you guys enjoy!

Ontario, Canada 

Winter 2007 

You watch as the figures outside your window dance around on the beautiful ice rink. People laugh and skate in their own little world—a world you wish you could be a part of. 

The glass keeping you from the bustle outside fogs as you let out a disheartened sigh. It’s not really the window that’s keeping you… trapped. It’s your parents—or rather, what your parents are afraid of. 

When you were just a baby, you got extremely sick, and doctors were worried about the outcome. Thankfully, you made a successful recovery for the most part, but you were left with a very weak immune system. Since then, your parents have treated you like the most fragile thing to grace the Earth. 

“Y/n! Lunch!” your mother calls, cutting through your thoughts. 

You get up from your seat on the windowsill and make your way downstairs, taking it one step at a time. 

When your feet finally hit the first floor, you head to the dining room and sit at the table. Your mother serves you your food, and you say your thanks. After a while, as you eat, you decide to bring up the topic that’s been plaguing your mind. 

“Mommy?” you start. “Do you think I can play outside? The outside where the ice and the other kids are?” 

Your mother’s head snaps up, a surprised look flashing on her face briefly before calming herself. “Now, why would you want to do that, silly?” 

You think hard. This is your shot to convince her to let you go explore and make new friends instead of just observing like you’ve always wanted. 

“I like it out there. It’s nice,” is all you manage to get out under pressure. 

Your mother chuckles, amused. “What do you like about it, honey? 

“I like the tree by my window. And I like the ice, Mommy. I want to go on the ice. All of the people that get to play on the ice have a lot of fun,” you inform her, your voice filled with hope. 

Your mother brings your lunch over, setting it down in front of you. “It’s nasty out there. We’ll find something more fun for you to do where you won’t get sick.” 

The next day, you wake up early in the morning, a little more bummed than usual. However, you make your way out of bed and go sit at your window, like you do every day without fail. 

You sit and watch for a few minutes, zoned out and zoned in at the same time. You’re watching everything and nothing. That is… until something catches your eye. 

A small figure is stood still in the middle of the ice, waving. Surely, not at you. 

You look around, but nobody else seems to be interacting with him. You lean closer to your window to get a better look. 

It’s a little dark-haired boy, and he’s facing you with his head tilted up to your second-story bedroom. He is waving, and it is at you! 

You’re stunned for a good moment before realizing you need to do something back. Excitedly, you hold up your hand, moving it side to side quickly. You’re aware you probably look incredibly eager, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. 

The little boy smiles, and you can’t believe someone from out there is interacting with you like this. Usually, everyone is locked into what they’re doing, where they’re skating, and certainly not worried about you. 

This one is different. He’s different. He looks like he wants to be your friend. He’s not ignoring you the way the other skaters always have. He noticed you. 

The rest of the time he’s there, you watch as he moves around the ice. He goes around in circles and shows off his tricks that have you giggling with amusement. The entire time he’s doing this, he’s constantly looking back up at you, making sure you’re thoroughly entertained. 

After a while, the little guy waves goodbye, then leaves with a blonde woman and two other little boys—who you’re assuming are his family. 

You don’t see the boy for a couple of days after that, despite waking up earlier than usual to make sure you’re ready at the window during the exact time you saw him last. On the third day, as you lay in bed, you accept that it was probably just a one-time thing. 

However, when you finally get up and go to your window to peek out—there he is. He’s standing in the same place he was just some time ago. You let out an excited gasp, and when he sees you he perks up. 

He immediately waves, and you return the action. You’re overwhelmed with joy that he’s back. But suddenly, he begins to walk—and not away. He leaves the rink and walks the few feet it takes to get to the wall where your window is. 

Now, you’re caught off guard more than anything. The little boy stops right in front of where your window is and waves. You can only think to do one thing. You open the window. 

He smiles when you do, and calls out. “Hi! Do you want to come play?” 

“One second, please!” you yell back. 

The boy nods, and you shut your window. Opening your bedroom door, you start for the downstairs window that’s facing the rink. You don’t use this one as much. It’s got a pretty view, but you simply can’t see as much as you can from the highpoint that is your bedroom window. 

When your feet leave the final step you run over to the window that you can see the boy standing near, and open that one up. 

He notices, and turns to you, smiling even brighter now. “Hi. My name is Quinn.” 

“My name is Y/n,” you tell him, relatively shy. 

“I saw you up in that other window. Do you want to come play? We can skate, and look,” he says, lifting his hand to reveal that he’s holding a camera. “I got this for Christmas. It’s my first time opening it. My mom said I can bring it here. We can take pictures of anything.” 

You nod, thinking up a response to your complicated situation. “That sounds nice, but I can’t go out there. I’ll get sick.” 

“No, it’s okay. You just have to put a coat on, then you’ll be alright,” he says, his voice full of hope. 

You smile at him trying to help. “Thank you, but I’m not allowed.” 

“Ever?” he asks, his eyebrows raised. You shake your head no, and his eyes widen a little bit. “Uh… maybe I can come in there to play with you!”

You go to reject his offer again before realizing that it’s not a bad idea. Your mom has a problem with you being outside and playing with people because you’ll get sick, but she never said anything about playing with people inside. 

“I can ask my mom!” you say, ecstatic at the thought that this might be your first real friend. 

Quinn matches your smile. “Okay! I’ll ask my mom too. She’s just at the rink.” 

You nod and shut the window, turning to go ask your mother if your new friend can come inside, but Quinn stops you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Can I have a picture of you to show my mom?” he yells through the window. 

You come back to the window, smiling for a photo. Quinn takes it and watches as it develops with a wide grin on his face. He holds out a thumbs up to you before running off in the direction of his mom, and you do the same with yours. 

You finally find your mom doing laundry and tug on her shirt to get her attention. “Mommy? Can my friend come play with me?” 

“Um… sure, sweetie,” she says with a laugh, glancing at you before getting back to what she’s doing. 

You’ve always been a super imaginative, and honestly, quite the lonely kid. You’ve had “friends” before but they’re the kind that you’d pretend are there when playing, or that you’d blame something you obviously did on when you’re in trouble. 

You're a little surprised at her agreeing just like that, but you don’t question it and go back to the window waiting for your new friend, Quinn, to get back. 

When he finally arrives he’s got a huge smile plastered on his face, and you give him a thumbs up, pointing to the side of your house where the front door is. The boy quickly makes his way around the side of your house, and you meet him. You open the door excitedly as soon as you reach all of the locks and figure them out. 

“Hi, Y/n! We can play?” he asks, his eyes all lit up. 

You nod, opening up the door further to let him in. You watch as he steps inside, and sits on the floor of the foyer. He takes his skates off, then sets them up as neatly as possible.��

You watch his movements carefully, studying him almost. “Do you have fun on the ice outside?” 

“Yeah, I like skating! It’s for hockey… or it can be for ice skating. That’s kind of like dancing on skates,” he explains. 

You take in all of this information, then glance back to his skates that are sat on the floor. “Those ones are yours?” 

“Yeah, these are mine. You can hold them if you want, but don’t touch this silver part. It’s called a blade, and you could get cut on it,” he says, picking up one of his skates and holding it out to you. 

You take the skate in your hands. It’s heavier than you imagined, and you can’t seem to figure out how anyone could balance on a blade so thin. 

“I like your shirt. You wore one just like that last time,” you point out. 

Quinn looks down, then back up at you with a smile. “This is called a jersey. It’s for hockey players to wear. Or… you could wear one—anyone can, even if they don’t play hockey.” 

Once you’re done asking Quinn a million questions you decide he’s definitely hungry and you should make sure he gets something to eat. 

“Stay here, Quinn,” you order, and he nods. You leave the room and go find your mother again. 

She greets you with a sweet smile. “Hello, sweetheart. What do you need?” 

“Mommy, my friend… is hungry. He needs a snack,” you inform her, serious as can be. 

“Oh, does he?” she laughs, figuring this is your own silly way of letting her know you’d like something to eat. “I’ll be right out.” 

You nod, say your thank yous, and make your way back out to Quinn. He’s sitting on your family’s couch and you climb up to join him. 

The poor boy is bombarded with wave two of questions. However, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, answering every question with more enthusiasm than the last. 

Your moment of getting all of the info out him that you can is cut short when you hear your mom’s footsteps approaching. She finally comes out of the hallway, turning to glance at you but immediately doing a double take. You and your new friend watch as your mother stands there wide eyed—staring right back. 

“Y/n, baby… what… who… um… who is this?” your mother asks in a half-collected half-panicking tone as she walks closer. 

You look at Quinn then back to your mom. “My friend, mommy. Remember? You said he can come in and play with me.” 

“Right… your friend,” your mother repeats slowly, her eyes flickering between you and Quinn like she’s waiting for him to magically disappear

“He’s… actually sitting… on our couch right now,” your mother says with a nod and you swear you can see her eye twitching a little bit. 

You simply nod back to her, unsure of why Quinn sitting on the couch is so crazy. Your mom takes a deep breath and turns around, heading to the kitchen to make that snack, not knowing what else to do. When she finally brings the snack, she’s the one bombarding Quinn with all of the questions now. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” 

“When have you got to leave?” 

“Are you… okay?” 

“What’s your name?” 

“How old are you?” 

Over the course of practically interrogating him, your mom does grow quite fond of the random little boy you’ve invited in. She lets you continue your play date, except now that she knows he’s real, she’s supervising. 

Your play date with Quinn is going very smoothly. You find that he’s very funny and very polite. Unfortunately though, your fun is interrupted when there’s a knock on the door and everyone, including your mom lets out a little gasp. 

“I think that’s my mom,” Quinn says a little defeated. 

Your own mom gets up. “I’ll go see, honey.” 

She makes her way to the door and opens it. You and Quinn stare at each other as all you can hear is mumbled talking, and you try your best to make out what is being said. 

“Quinn!” your mother calls after a little while. “Time to go!” 

Quinn’s shoulders slump and he sighs, turning to you and giving you a hug. “Bye bye, Y/n. I’ll come back, okay?” 

You nod your head and hug him back before he hops off the couch. You watch as he makes his way towards the front door and picks up his skates then disappears out of view. You turn around to watch out the big window as you see him leaving with that same blonde woman and two little boys. 

Quinn does in fact come back. He comes back a lot. The two of you become very close with time. Your mother and Ellen even start to really get along and hang out during playdates. You come to learn that Quinn’s two brothers are named Jack and Luke. Jack is rowdy, and Luke is constantly just trying to keep up with the chaos of his brothers. 

One day, during one of your many playdates Luke accidentally slips up. Your mom and Ellen are sitting at the kitchen island talking, Jack is nowhere in sight–probably getting into something he’s not supposed to, you and Quinn are sitting on the couch drawing pictures, and he is laid on the ground, eating Goldfish, and listening in. 

“Quinny, I think one day when we’re older maybe my mom can let us skate together,” you tell him, voice full of hope. 

Quinn smiles and looks up from his page at you. “Yeah, one day. Only when you’re healthy though.” 

“Wait… how will you skate together if we’re leaving?” Luke asks. 

Your brows furrow, and you look up at Quinn confused. “Leaving?” 

“Luke! Why would you say that?! You’re not supposed to tell her yet! I wanted to tell her! You ruined it!” Quinn raises his voice. You can tell this is really frustrating him, but you still don’t know what it all means. 

He sighs, then looks back at you. “Y/n, we’re all going to be moving soon… to a different place. We’ll still be in Ontario, but just really far. So, we won’t be able to see each other as much.” 

“But, I don’t understand. Why are you guys leaving me?” you ask, fighting back tears. 

As long as you can remember your world has only been the one outside of your window. It doesn’t go any farther that, because you can’t go any farther than that. Somehow, you had a good friend delivered to you right at your doorstep and it led to this. You’ve never been more grateful for anything in your life than you are the Hughes family. Now, your people are going beyond your world. They’re leaving your world! 

“Our dad got a job,” Jack answers, coming around the corner to sit on the couch. 

You sigh, shoulders fully slumped and a saddened expression on your face. “He can have a job here. Why can’t he just have a job here?” 

“I wish I could control it, but I can’t. Trust me. I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” Quinn explains. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s not the end or anything. I can still visit you. I’m gonna ask my mom every single day until she finally lets me. Then, when I get back, I’m going to bother her until the next time.” 

Your nerves settle a little at that, but your heart still hurts. “Everyday?” 

“Everyday, I promise.” 

You nod, starting to be semi-okay with the idea. It could be worse. “When are you guys leaving?” 

“Two days…” Jack answers, he puts a hand on your back and looks closely at your expression, feeling bad. 

Your face immediately changes to one of anger. “No! Not two days. That’s too soon! Why didn’t you tell me?! You’re not leaving in two days!” 

“I’m sorry. We didn’t want to upset you, but it looks like that didn’t really work either way,” Quinn says, a sympathetic expression on his face. 

You lean back on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “I can’t believe this.” 

All three boys look around at each other, unsure of what to do. Jack is the first to make a move. He wraps you up in a hug, laying his head on yours. That’s when it clicks for the other boys, and they join the hug as well. 

“We’re sorry, Y/n. We love you, and we’re gonna miss you. I hope you’re not mad at me,” Quinn says, and you could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle. 

You look up to check on him, but you can’t really see his face as he has it down. Finally, you hug them back. “I love you guys too. I’m not mad. I’m just… surprised.” 

The time for them to leave comes quicker than you’d like it to, granted, you only had two days to mentally prepare. They swing by your house one last time, kind of in a hurry. 

You tell Ellen, Jim, Luke, and Jack all goodbye. It’s absolutely heartbreaking, but when it comes time for Quinn you’re immediately in tears. 

He leans down, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m honestly so sorry. We can see each other soon! I’ll make sure, okay? It won’t be long.” 

“Okay…” is all you can get out, crying as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Then, it’s obvious. It’s not a simple sniffle. You can hear him clearly this time. He’s crying. You’ve never seen him cry before. It’s an odd feeling. You don’t want him to be upset, but this isn’t something you know how to fix. 

“I love you, alright? You’re my best friend,” Quinn says, pulling back to look at you. 

You nod, staring right back at him. “You’re my best friend too. I love you. I won’t replace you.” 

As if you could. Once these boys are gone, you’ll have no one again. No one to drive your mom crazy with the yelling or making a mess. No one to come see you and stay for hours. Before Quinn and his family, you were all alone. You know what this means. You know that feeling will be back. How will you ever find a friend as great as Quinn? 

He noticed you when the world had never even come close to acknowledging you. He waved, he asked to play, and he wanted to be your friend. 

The goodbye is much longer than Quinn’s parents probably would’ve wanted, but they couldn’t bring themselves to make the two of you separate without being ready first. 

You watch out the big downstairs window as they drive off. And when you can’t see them anymore from there, you run upstairs to see if you can get a better look out of your bedroom window. You watch silently as your second family fades away. 

It’s painful.

You don’t know exactly what to do with yourself after that. You just sit at your window, and watch the people below. It makes you realize that you haven’t done this in a long time—since Quinn. Sure, you’d look out of it occasionally, but that was only when you were trying to see if Quinn had arrived at your house yet. Now, you’re really looking out again. You’re back to square one. 

It’s been months since Quinn moved. There hasn’t been a play date since then either. Your mom would always tell you that she’ll ask, but nothing ever comes of it. Is she even really asking? How would you know? 

You’ve still not got a singular new friend—not surprising considering you still aren’t allowed to go outside and play. You’re fed up. You’ve decided that it’s time you get to do something. You’re gonna convince your mom today. 

“Hi, honey!” your mom says with a smile when you come downstairs. 

You sit at the dining table watching as she cleans up the counters. “Hi. Can I skate?” 

“What?” your mom snaps her head to look at you, caught off guard. 

You nod your head, signaling that… yes, she did in fact hear you correctly. “I wanna skate. Quinn does it for his sport—remember, Quinn? Yeah, I want to do that too.” 

“Okay, well, Quinn plays hockey. You’re absolutely not doing that,” your mom says, catching your snappy tone. 

You huff. “Mom, it doesn’t need to be hockey. I just want to skate. Quinn told me that there are places like the rink outside but inside instead. I won’t get as sick! There’s one in Toronto. That’s what he told me. I want to go there.” 

“Do you know how far Toronto is? And besides, you don’t even know how to skate. You’ll hurt yourself,” she counters. 

You raise your eyebrows. This convincing thing is harder than you thought. “So then get me lessons. Plus, it’s still a car ride away! Isn’t it worth it for me to be happy? I don’t get to do anything.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna pull the sick card?” she says, annoyed. 

You cross your arms, not budging. “You do it every time I ask to do something harmless.” 

“Okay… I get your point. I’ll look into it. Now, go play,” she says with a sigh. 

You get up from the table, frustrated, unsatisfied. You’re sure she’s not really gonna look into it. Luckily, you won’t let her brush this off. You feel a little bad—it’s your mom and you weren’t the nicest, but you’re tired of being coddled and having your wants ignored. 

Safe to say, your plan to get your mom to let you skate worked. You’re hopping out of her car in your big pink jacket and new white skates, ready to go into the rink. 

When you step inside, it completely amazes you. You thought you knew everything about it from the things Quinn told you, but his words don’t do it justice. You cannot wait to step on the ice for the first time ever. 

You immediately sit down to put your skates on. You struggle quite a bit. Gosh, Quinn made this look so easy. You don’t even bother asking your mom, as she’s already in a bad mood about having to be here. 

“Hi, need some help?” a voice says, getting closer with each word. 

You smile at the offer, and look up to see who’s trying to do such a kind gesture. “Luke?!”

PLEASE BE SURE TO UPDATE YOUR TAGLIST SUBMISSION IF YOU’D LIKE TO KEEP GETTING TAGGED FOR THIS AU! THANK YOU! :)

creds to @beenucks for the polaroids 🙏

tags: @beenucks @nic0-hischier @azure-dawn81 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @puckfics @editzcp @r0wdymaize86 @ccomandercody @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix @greensnakegobblep @whitegirlsworld @dancerbailey3 @cheesecakeinahole @multifandom-2091

join the taglist here! :)

[airosuiren]

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 ℌ𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔎𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔗𝔬

A/N: You know what’s better than revenge? Power they have to bow to. This sequel isn’t about getting even. It’s about standing so far above the ones who left you bleeding that they have to look up — and ask permission — just to survive. This isn’t a comeback. This is an empire. Built from everything they discarded. Ruled by the one they never thought would outgrow them. And this time? It’s your rules. Your game. Your throne. Let's rebuild Gotham — with [Y/N]'s foot on its throat. 🖤👑

Thank You @arislia for this Idea!

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 4

Gotham rotted faster than anyone expected.

Crime evolved. Corporations hollowed the city out. Politicians sold off everything that wasn’t nailed down. It wasn’t Joker or Riddler or Two-Face that broke Gotham this time.

It was greed.

And for once, fists and gadgets weren’t enough.

They needed something else. Someone else.

They needed you.

They sent Dick first. Always the diplomat. He showed up to your office in Metropolis—sleek, fortified, guarded by systems he couldn't even begin to hack.

You let him sit.

You didn’t offer him coffee.

You didn’t offer him forgiveness.

"Gotham needs you," he said.

You didn't flinch. "Gotham never wanted me."

He swallowed. It looked painful.

"We were wrong," he said.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him like you would any desperate client. "Yes."

No anger. No bitterness. Just truth.

When he left, he promised Bruce would reach out.

You didn’t wait by the phone.

Bruce came two weeks later. No cowl. No cape. Just a man who looked older, heavier, carrying more regret than pride.

"I failed you," he said.

You said nothing.

There was nothing he could say that would rebuild what he broke. Some things aren’t healed. They’re replaced.

"Gotham will fall without you," he said.

You tapped your pen against your desk. "It already did."

He didn’t argue.

He only said, "Help us. Please."

And for a second, you saw it—the boy in the Manor who waited by doors that never opened. The ghost who stopped hoping.

You closed the file in front of you.

"Here are my terms."

You weren't offering charity.

You were offering dominion.

If Gotham wanted saving, it would be on your terms. Your systems. Your vision.

And they would have to kneel to it.

To you.

You weren't their forgotten child anymore.

You were the architect of their survival.

And this time, they'd never forget it.

A/N: They made you beg. They made you bleed. They made you a ghost. And you made yourself a god. They came asking for help — and they had to kneel for it. Not because you needed the validation. But because survival itself finally had your name written all over it. You weren't the child at the edge of the cave anymore. You weren’t the mistake they tried to forget. You were the architect of Gotham's future. The hand on the city's pulse. The memory they could never erase — because you became the only thing keeping them alive. And they would never, ever forget again.

—Your still-smirking, still-scorched, empire-crafting author 🖤🔥

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @kneelforloki, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia

Let me know if I missed someone!

[rafesbimbo]

Exclusive Access pt.3

Warnings: 18+, 4.3k words, oral (f), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, Dark themes ??, RAFE IS A STALKER, innocent!reader, strip-tease, lots of kissing, use of pet names, intense yearning ۶ৎ NOT PROOF READ !!!, lmk if im missing anything!!

pairing: Jealous!Rafe Cameron x Camgirl!Reader

part one , part two

It got worse after that night.

For both of you.

You tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

You tried to pretend you didn’t feel his eyes in every shadow.

Didn’t feel his touch in every brush of cold air against your skin.

But Rafe...

Rafe couldn’t pretend anymore.

Every night without you was agony.

Every sunrise felt like another blade twisting in his gut.

He couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Couldn’t breathe without you clogging up his fucking lungs.

You were everywhere.

He’d drive past the diner at midnight, headlights off, just to see if you were still there.

He'd sit in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes down to the filter, staring at your window like a man waiting for salvation.

He didn’t touch anyone else.

Not even to get the ache out of his system.

No one would do.

No one but you.

The flowers started two days later.

Small at first.

White lilies tucked into the booth you always used at work.

Then pink roses — shy, almost sweet — left at your apartment door with no signature.

Then bigger arrangements.

Orchids, peonies, gardenias — expensive, excessive, like he was trying to drown you in pretty things.

Each bouquet came with a note.

Short.

Intimate.

Painful in their tenderness.

"You’re the only thing that makes this world bearable. I don’t want anyone else. I never will. Every day without you is worse than the last."

You told yourself you weren’t keeping the notes.

You told yourself you were throwing them away.

But they piled up anyway — tucked into a shoebox under your bed, hidden like a secret shame.

And Rafe?

He knew.

He knew

Sometimes, when you opened your mailbox, there’d be a letter.

Old-fashioned. Handwritten.

Pages of messy scrawl, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

In one, he confessed:

I think about you more than I think about breathing.

I want to be good for you. I want to be better. I’d kill for you, sugar.

In another, darker:

I see the way men look at you. It makes my hands itch. It makes my heart bleed.

You belong to me. Even if you don’t want to admit it yet.

You should have been terrified.

You were.

But you were something else too.

Something worse.

Curious.

Drawn.

Like a moth beating itself bloody against a flame it couldn’t resist.

And Rafe?

Rafe was losing himself inch by inch.

Some nights he sat outside your building for hours, just... watching.

Making sure you were safe.

Making sure no one else got too close.

Convincing himself he could wait.

Convincing himself he could be patient.

But every second without you clawed at him.

Every laugh you gave to someone else shredded him inside out.

Every accidental glimpse of your smile made him want to tear the world apart, just to tuck you somewhere no one else could ever see.

He whispered your name into the darkness like a prayer.

One day you’d understand.

That you were already his.

Had been from the moment he first saw you behind that cheap little webcam, blushing and shy and perfect.

You were his sugar.

His salvation.

His curse.

And Rafe?

Rafe would wait forever if he had to.

Because loving you — needing you — was the only thing keeping him alive at all.

=========================

The notes kept coming.

Every day.

Every night.a

You stopped pretending you didn’t read them.

Stopped pretending they didn’t matter.

Each one carved deeper under your skin.

Each one left you raw and trembling in ways you couldn’t explain.

He wasn’t asking for anything.

He wasn’t begging.

He was waiting.

Loving you from a distance with a patience so violent it made your chest hurt.

And you hated yourself for it —

for the way you craved him back.

For the way you curled up in bed at night, clutching his letters to your chest, whispering his name into your pillow like a dirty secret.

You fought it.

You fought him.

But the more you pushed, the tighter the cord wrapped around your throat.

Around your heart

====================

The night you broke was a Tuesday.

Cold and mean and wet, the kind of night where the world felt hollow and cruel.

You found another bouquet waiting on your doorstep —

wildflowers this time, messy and beautiful, tied together with a rough piece of twine.

No card.

No note.

Just a single slip of paper tucked between the stems, smudged with rain:

Still waiting, sugar.

Still yours.

You stared at it.

Heart pounding.

Throat closing.

You stood there for what felt like hours, soaked to the bone, shaking with something too big to name.

And then — without thinking, without breathing —

you grabbed your coat.

Grabbed your keys.

And went looking for him.

You found him exactly where you knew he’d be.

Sitting in his truck, parked two blocks down from your building, engine off, window cracked just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette curl into the cold night air.

He didn’t see you at first.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there —

head back against the seat, eyes closed, mouth moving in silent prayers you couldn’t hear.

You stood on the sidewalk, heart rattling in your ribs.

Watching him.

Feeling the full, brutal weight of what you were about to do.

And still —

you moved.

One step.

Then another.

Until you were right outside his door, shivering, dripping rain onto the pavement.

He must’ve felt you.

Some instinct deeper than thought.

Because his eyes snapped open —

and when he saw you, he froze.

Like a man staring down a miracle.

Or a ghost.

Or the last breath he ever expected to take.

"Rafe," you whispered.

Voice thin.

Breaking.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Like you’d vanish if he reached for you too fast.

You lifted a trembling hand —

and knocked once against the glass.

That tiny sound shattered him.

The door flew open.

He was on you in a second —

but he didn’t touch.

Didn’t grab.

Didn’t even move closer.

He just stood there, dripping wet too now, fists clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back with every scrap of willpower he had left.

You stared up at him —

the boy who’d spent months haunting you.

Loving you.

Waiting for you.

And you realized:

He’d never really wanted to steal you.

He just wanted you to choose him.

Slowly — so slowly — you reached out.

Curled your fingers into the front of his jacket.

Tugged.

His whole body jolted.

A shudder ran through him so deep it made you ache.

Still, he didn’t move until you whispered it:

"Rafe... please."

That single sentence broke him.

Undid him.

He cupped your face with trembling hands, like you were made of glass.

Pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking against your lips.

"You’re mine," he rasped.

A confession.

A prayer.

A promise.

You nodded.

Tears mixing with the rain.

"Yours," you whispered back.

And for the first time in months —

Rafe Cameron smiled.

Soft and wild and starved —

like a man who'd finally found his way home.

===================

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

The rain dripped from your lashes.

Your fingers clutched tighter into his jacket.

You could feel the way Rafe was trembling — this big, dangerous boy who could ruin you without even trying, shaking like you were the only thing holding him together.

And then —

slow as the tide pulling out to sea —

he leaned in.

His mouth brushed yours so lightly it barely counted as a kiss.

A whisper.

A plea.

He pulled back almost immediately, searching your face, waiting for a sign —

Begging without saying a word.

You whimpered.

Soft.

Needy.

You crushed your mouth back to his.

That was all he needed.

Rafe groaned — a low, guttural sound that made your knees buckle — and caught your face in both hands, kissing you like he was drowning and you were the only air left.

Not rough.

Not violent.

But desperate.

His lips moved over yours again and again, slow and deep and aching, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Like he’d been dreaming of this for so long he couldn’t believe it was real.

You whimpered into his mouth, and his whole body shuddered against you, a helpless noise tearing from his throat.

"Sugar," he breathed.

"God, you’re so soft... so sweet... been waitin’ so fuckin' long—"

You clutched at him harder, soaking wet and shivering and starved for him in ways you didn’t know how to name.

He kissed you through it — patient, tender, worshipful — like he could feel how scared you were, how much you wanted him but didn’t know how to ask.

He was shaking just as bad.

Not from cold — from restraint.

From the agonizing, brutal need he was barely keeping caged.

Still, he didn’t push.

Didn’t try to take more than you gave.

Just held you — kissed you — poured every filthy, aching, adoring thing he felt into the way his mouth moved over yours.

Eventually, the cold got too sharp.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, voice cracking:

"Come inside?"

Rafe stared at you like you’d just handed him the stars.

Like you’d saved him.

He nodded once — a tiny, broken movement — and let you take his hand, leading him up the stairs, into your tiny apartment that smelled like vanilla candles and soft laundry.

The door clicked shut behind you.

The world outside disappeared.

Inside, everything slowed even more.

You stood there in the soft glow of the living room lamp, dripping rainwater onto the carpet, breathing hard, heart hammering in your ears.

Rafe didn’t move.

Didn’t rush.

Just stared at you —

— and the look in his eyes made your breath catch.

Like you were something sacred.

Like he was standing in front of an altar.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, voice raw and wrecked.

"You don’t even fuckin' know, do you?"

You shook your head, overwhelmed.

He smiled — a soft, broken thing — and stepped closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

When he reached out, his fingers skimmed your cheek — featherlight, reverent.

Tracing the line of your jaw, your throat, the hollow where your pulse fluttered wildly.

You whimpered again, and Rafe cursed under his breath, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

"Let me take care of you," he rasped.

"Please, sugar... let me show you how good I can be."

You nodded.

Tiny.

Breathless.

And that was it.

That was all Rafe needed.

He let out a shaky breath — like he was barely holding himself together — and stepped even closer.

His hands, still trembling, moved to your jacket first.

Fumbling the zipper like he’d never undressed someone before.

Like the idea of peeling away your layers had short-circuited his whole brain.

You laughed — soft and sweet and nervous — and Rafe groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was about to fall apart right there.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"You’re killin' me, baby. You don't even know..."

You reached up, shy, and pushed the jacket off your shoulders yourself.

Rafe watched it fall to the floor like it was something sacred.

Like every inch of skin you revealed was another piece of heaven he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

He took his time.

His hands slid up your arms, slow and reverent, tracing every curve like he was memorizing you by feel.

The pads of his fingers skimming over your elbows, your shoulders, the dip of your waist.

Leaving goosebumps in their wake.

When he finally cupped your face again, you leaned into him without thinking.

Like you belonged there.

Like you wanted to.

He kissed you again — deeper this time, but still slow —

and you whimpered when his tongue brushed yours, tentative and gentle, like he was asking permission.

You gave it to him.

You gave him everything.

Your hands fisted in his damp shirt.

Tugging.

Begging.

Needing him closer, closer, closer —

He groaned into your mouth, the sound filthy and broken.

And for the first time, you felt the heavy, aching proof of how much he wanted you.

Hard against your stomach.

Throbbing.

Desperate.

Still — he didn’t push.

Didn’t grind against you.

Didn’t take.

Just shuddered and kissed you harder, like he could pour all of it into your mouth instead.

When you whimpered again — a high, needy sound you couldn’t have swallowed if you tried —

Rafe pulled back, gasping, forehead pressed to yours.

"Tell me what you need, baby," he rasped.

"Tell me — I'll do anything. Anything you want."

You stared up at him, trembling, heart breaking under the weight of how much he loved you.

How badly he was trying to be good.

You swallowed.

Opened your mouth.

Nothing came out at first.

Then, barely a whisper:

"Touch me... please."

Rafe made a sound you didn’t even recognize —

half-growl, half-whimper —

and dropped to his knees in front of you.

He kissed the bare skin just above your hip, hands sliding under your soaked shirt to push it higher, higher —

tugging it up and over your head with slow, reverent hands.

When you stood there in just your damp little bra, shivering and wide-eyed, Rafe leaned back on his heels, eyes dragging over you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

"Fuck," he whispered again, almost broken.

"You’re a fuckin’ angel, sugar. My sweet girl. My perfect fuckin’ girl."

His hands were on your hips now, gentle but firm, smoothing up to your waist and back down again like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he needed to touch every inch of you just to make sure you were real.

He nuzzled into your stomach, breathing you in, scattering kisses so soft they barely registered except for the way they made your whole body shiver.

You whimpered again, and Rafe's hands tightened — just for a second — before he caught himself, pulling back like he was terrified of hurting you.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispered.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head so fast it made him smile —

that soft, broken smile like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

"Need you," you whispered.

"need you so bad.."

He kissed the inside of your thigh through your jeans —

a desperate, reverent little kiss that made you gasp —

before reaching for your waistband.

Still slow.

Still giving you every chance to pull away.

When you didn’t — when you whined and arched into his touch —

he groaned again and started to peel the soaked denim down your legs, inch by slow, agonizing inch.

Every bit of skin he uncovered, he kissed.

The sharp point of your hip.

The soft curve of your thigh.

The delicate skin behind your knee.

By the time you stood there in just your panties, shivering and bare and aching, you were crying.

Silent, shaking tears sliding down your cheeks.

Rafe noticed immediately.

Shot up to his feet so fast you barely saw him move, cupping your face again, wiping the tears with his thumbs.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey, no, shh, sugar, don’t cry.."

You nodded, choking on a sob you didn’t even understand.

"Just— feels good," you whispered.

"Feels too good."

Rafe’s whole face crumpled.

He kissed you again, soft and slow and filthy, mouths wet and trembling, like he needed to taste your tears just to prove to himself you were real.

"I got you," he whispered between kisses.

"I got you, baby... gonna make you feel so good... so fuckin' good..."

Rafe kissed you until you stopped shaking.

Until your sobs melted into gasps.

Into tiny, desperate sounds that made his hands clench where they cradled your face.

He pulled back just enough to look at you —

really look at you —

and the way his eyes darkened made your whole body throb.

"Gonna make you feel good now, sugar," he rasped, voice low and wrecked.

"Gonna taste you... been dreaming about this — about you — for so fuckin' long."

You whimpered, thighs clenching together, but Rafe was already moving —

sinking back to his knees at your feet, hands skimming reverently down your body.

He kissed your belly again, slow and messy, leaving a slick trail of heat.

Then lower —

the dip of your hip, the soft curve of your inner thigh —

so close to where you needed him, but never rushing, never taking.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and paused —

looking up at you through wet lashes, pleading:

"Let me see you, baby. Please."

You nodded, dizzy, and lifted your hips just enough to let him pull them down.

Rafe’s breath caught.

Hard.

He dragged your panties down your legs with shaking hands, baring you inch by inch like he was unwrapping the most precious thing he’d ever been given.

When you stepped out of them, shy and trembling, he groaned low in his chest.

The sound of a man breaking.

He tossed the scrap of lace aside without looking.

Didn’t care about anything but you.

His hands slid up your calves, your knees, your thighs —

spreading you gently, reverently, just enough to see.

You flushed hot all over.

Tried to turn your face away, overwhelmed.

But Rafe caught your chin, made you look at him.

Made you see the devotion in his eyes.

"Goddamn," he breathed.

"You’re so fuckin’ pretty, sugar... so wet already... all for me?

You'd whimper.

His eyes fluttered shut for a second like he was in pain.

Like he was trying to memorize this moment forever.

"I’m gonna take my time," he said, voice rough with need.

"Gonna make you come on my tongue... over and over."

Then he kissed you there —

a slow, open-mouthed kiss right over your soaked, swollen clit —

and you sobbed.

He moaned into you like he was tasting something holy.

Something he’d been starving for.

His hands slid under your ass, holding you still, tilting you just right.

His tongue moved slow at first —

broad, heavy licks up your slit, savoring every inch.

Dragging across your clit with torturous, aching pressure that made your knees buckle.

You gasped, clutching at his hair, tugging without even meaning to —

and Rafe groaned, like your need made him harder, made him hungrier.

He mouthed at your clit, slow and messy, letting spit and slick coat his chin.

Suckling softly, then lapping at you like a man possessed.

No rhythm at first — just desperate worship.

"Taste so good, sugar," he mumbled against you.

"So fuckin’ sweet... fuck, can’t get enough..."

His tongue slid lower, teasing your entrance —

flicking, pressing, dipping inside —

and you cried out, hips jerking helplessly.

He held you down, moaning when you squirmed, like your writhing was the best thing he’d ever felt.

"That’s it," he panted.

"That’s my good girl... give it to me... wanna feel you come on my mouth, baby, c'mon..."

You were already so close it scared you.

The way your body tightened, pulling taut like a bowstring.

The way your thighs clamped around his head, trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once.

Rafe didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop.

He just wrapped his arms tighter around your thighs, grinding his mouth into you with filthy, desperate sounds, his nose bumping your clit in time with the frantic flicks of his tongue.

Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard, and he growled —

low and guttural —

sending vibrations through your core that made your vision blur.

You sobbed his name.

Over and over.

A broken, wrecked little chant.

"Rafe — Rafe — Rafe —"

That did it.

He groaned again, louder, sucking your clit into his mouth with devastating pressure —

and you shattered.

Your whole body went taut —

then broke apart, spasming against him as you came with a high, keening cry.

Rafe held you through it, moaning against your pulsing cunt, drinking down every tremor, every sob, every desperate, wrecked gasp.

He didn’t stop.

Even when you started to twitch, to push at his shoulders, too sensitive —

he just kept licking, softer now, coaxing you through every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless, sobbing mess in his hands.

When he finally pulled back, his face was wrecked —

chin slick with your arousal, lips swollen, eyes wild and reverent.

"You’re mine now," he whispered, voice thick and shaking.

"You hear me, sugar? Always fuckin’ mine."

You couldn’t even speak.

Just nodded, whimpering, reaching for him.

Needing him back against you.

Inside you.

Everywhere.

And Rafe — sweet, obsessed, broken Rafe —

crawled up your body, kissed your wrecked mouth, and whispered:

"Not done yet, baby... gonna make you feel even better..

=============

Later that night, after you’d both caught your breath —

after he’d kissed every inch of your body, whispered every filthy, worshipful thing he’d ever dreamed of saying —

you found yourself perched on the edge of your bed.

Still trembling.

Still wide-eyed.

Rafe sat back against your headboard, legs spread, shirt half-open, eyes wild and hungry on you.

His hand rested lazily on his cock —

thick, flushed, heavy in his palm —

but he wasn’t stroking yet.

Not really.

Just teasing himself, like he was trying to savor it.

Watching you with a hunger so sharp it almost hurt.

"Show me, sugar," he rasped, voice low and ruined.

"Give me a fuckin' show."

You blinked at him, cheeks burning.

"W-what?"

Rafe’s lips curled into a slow, wrecked smile.

He fisted himself once — a slow, filthy drag of his palm — and groaned under his breath.

"Strip for me, baby. Real slow."

"Like you do on that fuckin' cam."

"But this time... it’s just for me."

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

You could barely breathe.

But the way he looked at you —

like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, ever needed —

made your thighs clench with desperate, aching heat.

You swallowed.

Nodded.

And rose shakily to your feet.

Rafe’s eyes never left you.

Not once.

Tracking every single movement like a predator locked on prey.

You started slow.

Just swaying your hips a little, hands sliding up your own sides, across your breasts, down your waist.

You bit your lip — shy and unsure —

but the way Rafe groaned when you tugged your ruined little panties back up your thighs gave you a rush of wicked confidence.

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband —

dragging them down, inch by slow, teasing inch.

Rafe’s breath hitched.

His hand started moving —

slow, steady strokes along his cock, squeezing the head just enough to make his whole body twitch.

"That’s it, sugar," he panted.

"God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect... show me what’s mine."

You stepped out of the panties, letting them fall to the floor.

Ran your hands up your thighs again, swaying a little more now.

Arching your back just enough to make your tits press tight against the too-small bra you still wore.

Rafe’s eyes darkened.

His hand moved faster.

His thighs tensed under his jeans, a vein popping along his neck.

"Take it off, baby," he rasped.

"Wanna see all of you."

You reached behind your back — fumbled for the clasp —

and Rafe’s hand squeezed almost painfully tight around his cock as the bra loosened.

You slid it off your shoulders slow, teasing, letting the straps fall one at a time.

Barer and barer with every heartbeat.

When you finally let it drop, standing there naked, flushed, trembling —

Rafe broke.

He let out a rough, shuddering groan —

stroking his cock hard now, frantic, messy, leaking precum down his fist.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"You’re a fuckin' angel... my angel... gonna come just from lookin’ at you, sugar, fuck—"

You whimpered, thighs pressing together at the filthy, desperate sound of him.

At the way he stared at you like you were some vision he’d conjured out of a fever dream.

He fisted himself harder, faster.

Head thrown back against the wall, jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out sharp and aching.

"Touch yourself, baby," he gasped.

"Please— wanna see you fall apart for me."

You whimpered again but obeyed —

hand sliding between your thighs, fingers brushing your slick folds.

The moment your fingers touched your clit, Rafe growled.

A savage, broken sound that made your knees shake.

"That’s it," he snarled.

"Rub that pretty little clit for me... show me how you get off, sugar... show me how sweet you sound when you come."

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

You circled your clit with trembling fingers, hips rocking helplessly, gasping his name over and over.

Rafe jerked himself harder, breathing ragged, cock twitching in his hand.

Watching you fall apart pushed him over the edge.

You saw it happen —

the way his whole body stiffened, the way his hips jerked up off the bed —

the way he roared your name as hot ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, dripping down his fist, messy and feral.

"Sugar — fuck — fuuuck—"

He kept stroking himself through it, chasing every last drop, moaning low and wrecked.

His eyes locked on you the whole time —

wild, fevered, possessive.

Like he’d burn the whole world down just to keep you right there.

All his.

Forever.

tags: @xoxobellamy , @hanneh69 , @marinrscomplex , @love-4-rafey-lando

[mechncheese]

what made you like thundercracker and jetfire so much?

Hmmm— I really like characters that struggle fitting in or characters who hang around the wrong crowd and realize that the people they hang out with are Bad influences. I also think they are both similar and yet very different, the way they both contrast each other is fascinating to me. I’m about to give you a very long yap I apologize BAHAHA this is my pandora’s box

For Thundercracker, he has the fear of consequences if he were to leave the Decepticons. His quote from his Dreamwave bio is “the deadliest weapon is terror” and I think that it applies to him in a sense that he understands this more than anyone, his fear of Megatron, fear of having no meaning in his life if he were to leave because really he has nowhere to go and nothing going for him if he were to leave and that’s why he stays. It’s such an interesting character trait !

For Jetfire, he’s almost the exact opposite despite being in a similar situation. He has such a strong ambition and his dream to pursue science pushes him forward. Unlike Thundercracker, he has a drive in his life and he chases it no matter the consequences. He is willing to fight back against a system that restricts him from being who he wants to be. THAT’S VERY BEAUTIFUL TO ME, Jetfire’s drive in life is very beautiful to me

I love that IDW Thundercracker eventually finds a passion in writing, something he was never able to explore as a Decepticon. I love that even though Thundercracker sucks at writing he doesn’t give up because it’s what he loves ! I think that’s very inspiring. I love characters who find themselves, who struggle with their identity— I love characters who go through hell and fight to get the happy ending they deserve and IDW Jetfire and IDW Thundercracker really fit that niche for me perfectly. They truly deserve the world !

Of course I also love other iterations of Jetfire and Thundercracker all for different reasons !

My first introduction to Jetfire and Thundercracker was in generation 1 and I loved Skyfire because he was Big and Different and full of Whimsy and I liked that Thundercracker was blue. Im serious that was the only reason, I liked that he was blue and I thought his name was really ridiculous— ALSO MY ATTACHMENT TO THUNDERCRACKER MIGHTVE BEEN INFLUENCED by a friend when we were first getting into transformers and we saw Skywarp and Thundercracker and we were like “oh my god Starscream’s fucked up recolors, they’re like us” (based solely on color because the black and purple color scheme for Skywarp was like them while Thundercracker was blue and that was my associated color BAHAHA)

[luvvcho]

criminal!Toji x detective!Reader

a/n: i totally dont have a full fic about this coming out soon. this was inspired by the rookie hehe!

m. list

criminal!Toji, whose file was passed down to you from a fed up detective, slammed onto your desk with a heavy sigh and muttered "Good luck, you'll need it." Now it’s been nearly a year since the file landed in your hands, and you seem to be no closer to arresting him than you were on day one.

criminal!Toji who somehow always knows when you’re getting close, slipping through your fingers like smoke, like he’s watching you just as carefully as you’re watching him.

criminal!Toji who, despite being a notorious serial bank robber, has the strange reputation of never unnecessarily hurting civilians—something even you have had to grudgingly admire.

criminal!Toji who’s shown up enough on grainy security camera footage that you know every detail of his face by heart—the lazy glint in his green eyes, the sharp cut of his jaw, the scar splitting the curve of his lower lip, the slow, dangerous smirk he always seems to wear like a challenge.

criminal!Toji who you tell yourself you hate; you hate his arrogance, hate his audacity, hate the way he makes a complete fool of the system you believe in—but who still somehow sneaks into your mind when you’re lying awake at night, restless and irritated and wanting.

criminal!Toji who was finally spotted on a convenience store CCTV two nights ago, just a few blocks from the station—the owner called it in, the tip line lighting up like a gift from the universe you didn’t dare question.

criminal!Toji who, if it weren’t for that small stroke of luck, wouldn’t be sitting cuffed in an interrogation room right now, waiting for you to come face him, finally, in person.

criminal!Toji who, even chained to the table during questioning, never once looks rattled, if anything, he looks amused, like he knows something you don’t.

criminal!Toji who teases you so relentlessly—low comments about how good you look in your badge and how he wonders what you'd look like out of it—that the simmering tension you’ve fought for months finally snaps.

criminal!Toji who manages to have you bent over the interrogation table, cuffs still dangling from one wrist, with your fingers gripping the edge hard enough to leave marks, the viewing room unlocked, the hallway just outside busy with officers coming and going.

criminal!Toji who whispers filth into your ear, rough hands pushing your hips back against him, who chuckles darkly every time you whimper his name and reminds you that you were the one who broke first.

criminal!Toji who doesn’t even pretend to be sorry when it’s over, just tucks a strand of your hair back into place, fixes his cuffs, and smirks like he’s already looking forward to the next time you lose control with him.

pls do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own :) if you have any issues with what i wrote or noticed any mistakes, let me know privately. thank you for reading <3

[sarahroutldge]

a night out

a/n: hey y'all! this is my first rafe fic - just had a random idea and decided to go with it

pairing: rafe cameron x reader (established relationship)

summary: you convince your boyfriend rafe to take you to the boneyard for the night.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: fluff/humor, marijuana use, drinking, mention of drugs, mention of kinks but nothing explicitly sexual takes place, idk this is mainly just a fluff slice of life piece

“C’mon, Rafe, please… it’ll be fun,” you beg, hoping that he’ll get the stick out of his ass for at least one night. “We haven’t been to the boneyard in forever…”

He just rolls his eyes as he continues to scroll through his texts with Kelce and Topper. With his head against his headboard and his legs stretched out on the bed, you’re trying your best to convince your boyfriend to make a rare appearance with you at a not-Kooks-only party. “You were there last week,” he says, finally shutting his phone off and tossing it onto the bed.

Making eye contact with you, his lovable but sometimes annoying girlfriend, Rafe stares into your eyes, quietly wondering what it’ll take to get out of tonight’s event. But he can tell from the determination in your face that you’re being more pushy than usual. And hey, Rafe Cameron can be a nice boyfriend, contrary to what others may choose to believe. But he wants to see just how far you’ll take this.

Now in a staring competition, you take a breath in, and he feels the ghost of a smirk on his lips, knowing you’re about to promise something else. Grunting in a way he finds absolutely adorable, you mumble, “If you go with me to the boneyard tonight, I’ll come with you to your tee time tomorrow.” 

Not quite wanting you to see that you’ve won yet, he eggs you on, knowing that he’s already accepted your terms. “You know that we’re playing the full course tomorrow, right? Not just the front nine holes?”

“Ugh, yes, I’m aware.”

“And you know that our tee time is at 6:45 AM?”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time in the past thirty minutes of trying to convince him to accompany you to the boneyard. “Sadly, yes.”

Rafe tilts his head from side to side and waits a whole minute before surrendering. “Fine.”

You stick your legs out from under you and jump to your knees, doing a quick hop before messily kissing Rafe on the cheek. He wipes it off, pretending to be grossed out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you repeat, before grabbing your phone and texting your friends that you’ll see them later tonight. 

Waiting a few seconds, he says with a smirk, “You know I probably would’ve caved eventually, right?”

Without looking up from your phone, you sigh. “Don’t tell me that or else I’m making you come to Sarah’s pregame, too.”

After meeting Sarah, John B., and the rest of your friends at the Chateau, you make your way to the boneyard. With a few shots and an overly-sweet hard seltzer already in your system, you’re buzzed, excited by the fact that Rafe has actually agreed to meet you later. While you know that he used to come to these more often, ever since they’ve become what he describes as “Pogue-infested orgies,” he’s stayed away, perfectly fine with his Kook-only parties on Figure Eight. But every once in a while, he makes his way to the boneyard because he knows that you, his social butterfly of a girlfriend, loves a rare occasion where all the people you adore are gathered in one place (with the promise of no fights—at least not between Rafe and her friends). 

Rafe wasn’t so approving of you being a kook-turned-pogue just like Sarah and her friend Kiara, but over time he got used to it. He’d matured in the past year or so, dropping cocaine and becoming less of a disappointment to Ward. And though you want to believe he did it for himself, Rafe knows wholeheartedly that he wouldn’t be where he is now if you hadn’t believed that he could do it first. So with that in mind, he’s waiting at the boneyard, chatting with Topper and Kelce, sipping on an overpriced beer that he brought from home. 

When he hears the noise of laughter over the cheap speakers increase, he rolls his eyes, immediately recognizing the presence of his sister’s loud boyfriend and his somehow even louder friend JJ. A small grin sneaks onto his face, though, knowing that means you can’t be far behind. 

It’s only when Topper starts annoyingly tapping him that he realizes he’s checked entirely out of the conversation with his friends just so he could find her. He shoves him off playfully, asking “What?” even though he’s sure the conversation is simply not worth his time. 

“I’m trying to tell Kelce here that if he actually respected himself he’d be applying to transfer to UNC. Dude, Clemson is below you.”

Kelce shakes his head, knowing that Topper isn’t wrong but not wanting him to win the argument so quickly. “I’m not not considering it, Top. I’m just saying that it’s not the only school I might apply to–”

“If you say you’re applying to Duke, I might actually hit you,” Topper interrupts, mostly jokingly but with a seriousness that makes Rafe chuckle.

Distracted again by this useless conversation, Rafe jumps a bit when he feels pressure around his midsection, before he recognizes the voice of the woman behind him. “Kelce, don’t listen to them,” you say, clearly tipsy as you squeeze Rafe’s stomach, leaning your head into his back.

Rafe chuckles. “C’mon, Y/N, you know I never do,” Kelce responds, and you make your way in front of Rafe. Leaning against his front now, Rafe encircles your stomach with his left hand, kissing the side of your head in greeting as his right hand continues to hold his beer. 

“Good boy,” you taunt, patting Kelce’s head. Though he knows there’s nothing to worry about, Rafe rolls his eyes. 

You hold the hand on your stomach, squeezing it so that he knows for sure your comment was in jest. You smile, and Rafe looks down at you, the smile on your face never failing to soothe him. You reach for his beer, and he passes it to you, before letting go and sitting down on the log behind him. Kelce and Topper sit down on the sand in front of the fire, but you make no move to join them. Rafe pats the space on the log next to him, but you just shake your head. 

Trying not to whine in front of his friends who would make fun of him endlessly for it, Rafe’s eyebrows bend in confusion, and you take one last sip of his beer before handing it back to him. “JJ’s rolling joints,” you explain, and Rafe nods his head. “Wanna join?” you ask, though she already knows the answer.

Rafe scrunches his nose, and you giggle at the action. You lean down and press a small kiss to his nose, before skipping off to the rest of your friends, very obviously tipsy as you fail to walk in a straight line.

Rafe won’t deny that he’s smoked in the past—and certainly found it relaxing—but after quitting cocaine and experimenting with a few other drugs, he doesn’t really partake. Not only would he refuse to ever smoke a joint rolled by JJ Maybank of all people, but he no longer craves the haze. It makes him anxious, and he loathes the loss of control. Even if he does get wasted on occasion, he never drinks too much when he knows you are at the same party, letting yourself have fun. And he finds that he doesn’t mind it; he enjoys being an extra pair of eyes and ears for you, and even more than that—though he won’t outright say it—he enjoys being the one who gets to take care of you, 

Within thirty minutes, you are baked. You’ve abandoned the alcohol—the beer from the keg is just as nasty as Rafe always warns you it’ll be—and you’re giggling happily with Kiara and Sarah in the sand. Pope, JJ, and John B. are off doing god-knows-what, but you can’t even be bothered to think about them. Laying down on the towel Kiara brought, the three of you are high as kites.

And you can’t be entirely sure how you arrived at the current conversation about pet names, but you don't particularly care.

“I hateeeeee it when JJ calls me ‘baby,’ and I’ve told him that,” Kiara explains, covering her face with her hands. And it’s not that funny, but in your high state, you let out a cackle. “It’s like… dude… I’m not your baby.”

“You call your boyfriend dude?” Sarah asks through her chuckles. 

“Nooooo, it was just an example. But it’s like, if you want to call me something, just call me my name, you know?”

“Okay, but like, does he not call you anything else, when you’re… you know?” you ask, and you’re not sure why she’s acting so shy about it when the three of you talk about sex on a regular basis (it’s probably—no, definitely—the weed).

“Look, my name is Kiara. He calls me Kie, sometimes. But anything else? It’s cringey as hell,” she explains. “Why? Is that weird?”

Sarah turns her head. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s weird, but—”

“Sarah!” you interject.

“What?”

When no one says anything else, you all burst out in laughter again. “Okay, so what does John B. call you when you two… you know?”

Sarah blushes, though you can hardly tell in the darkness. And before you can think twice, the words are out of your mouth. “Oh my god, does John B. have a mommy kink?”

Kiara shrieks and Sarah playfully slaps your shoulder before another round of laughter overtakes the group. “You’re not denying it,” Kie adds, just making you laugh even harder. 

“I mean, hey, we’ve all been there,” you say, though you’re not really sure you believe your own words. 

Kiara turns to you. “Well what does Rafe say when—”

“Ew, Kie, that’s my brother!” Sarah interjects, as she pretends to retch. 

“Then cover your ears, girl!” 

As if she’s a child, Sarah playfully covers her ears. 

Thinking you’re whispering, you answer. “Well, he’s not really big on pet names. Because, you know, it’s Rafe. Sometimes I call him Mr. Grumpy.”

“You call him Mr. Grumpy during sex?!” Kiara asks, and Sarah just groans because apparently she didn’t cover her ears as effectively as she wanted to.

“No, no, no,” you deny, cackling in between your objections. “Not during sex, but like, I don’t know, sometimes he calls me babe.”

Kiara just squints at you. “C’mon, Rafe’s definitely freakier than that.”

“Kiara, I love you, and I know we’re all high as hell, but I refuse to scar Sarah for the rest of her life.” 

“Thank you!” Sarah shouts, before standing up and then laying herself on top of you. “You’re the bestest friend in the world!”

You groan at the added weight, but your annoyance quickly turns into laughter.

Elsewhere, deciding he’s bored and too sober for a conversation this mind-numbing with Topper and Kelce, he gets up from his spot on the log. Leaving his empty beer with the two idiots who are somehow his best friends, Rafe makes his way over to the other side of the beach. He looks around amongst the random splintered groups of Pogues and Kooks and Tourons alike, searching for you. Before he can find you, though, he feels a shove. 

Turning around, his anger at the shove quickly turns into annoyance, when he sees that JJ Maybank of all people is interrupting him. Deciding that JJ can be useful at points, he asks, “JJ, have you seen my girlfriend?”

When JJ takes a second to formulate his words, Rafe can tell that he’s absolutely hammered and that he’ll get no help from the blonde in front of him. “Uh, yeah, I’ve seen her. I think.”

When he doesn’t elaborate further, Rafe continues. “Let me make this easier for you: have you seen her in the last ten minutes?”

Taking a second to think, JJ pats Rafe’s chest with both of his hands, before Rafe shoves him off. “Yeah, she was with Sarah and Kiara, I think,” he answers. 

Rafe nods his head in thanks before turning around to resume his mission, but JJ jumps in front of him, blocking his way. “Hey, dude, do you think that Y/N would ever agree to be our third?”

And Rafe does everything he can to prevent his hands from curling into fists. “No, JJ, I don’t.”

“Woahhhh, man, it was just a question. And, like, me and Kiara have talked about this–”

Before JJ can get into further detail, Rafe lets out an “oof,” when a body collides into his back. 

“Babyyyyyy…” you say, and the tension in his body starts to diffuse. Slowly, you turn around to face him, and JJ’s drunk rants are suddenly not worth listening to. Wrapping your hands around his neck, you smile up at him, eyes red and sleepy from the weed. “I think I love you…”

“You think you love me?” Rafe asks, amused at your state. 

“Well, I think I love you, do you love me?”

“I think me being at this party for you answers that question, babe,” he responds, and you giggle, squeezing him. Rafe leans down to briefly kiss your forehead, before bringing his hands up to your face. Looking right into your eyes, he’s reminded of how much he loves the absolutely baked woman before him. “You are high as hell,” he says.

Giggling into his chest, you don’t argue, sighing in contentment at the way he squeezes you. “‘M sleepy,” you mumble, and Rafe nods his head. 

“Let’s head home,” Rafe suggests. 

“Nooooo, let me sleep here,” you argue, shifting most of your weight onto his chest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe. You’ll be much happier in an actual bed.”

You can’t find it in you to disagree, instead just humming and mumbling a “fine,” that he can barely make out.

“Am I taking anyone else home?” Rafe asks. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Dunno, but she said she’s staying with John B. tonight. She said he’s a teddy bear.” Rafe winces, not needing that mental image of his sister and her boyfriend. “But I said you’re a teddy bear, too.”

Rafe blushes, and he’s glad the crowd around him has dissipated and the beach is too dark for anyone to notice. “Babe, you’re gonna ruin my reputation if you tell people that.”

“I don’t care about your reputa–” you say, not having enough energy to even finish the word.

“Yeah, it’s officially time for us to go home,” he says, watching as you practically fall asleep against him. 

Briiiiiiiiiiiing. Briiiiiiiing. Briiinng.

You groan at the blaring, obnoxious noise, not moving your head from the pillow. “Five more minutes,” you say.

“You already slept through the first alarm, babe,” Rafe says, far too chipper for 6:00 AM. When your eyes move around the room, you notice that Rafe’s already dressed, ready for the golf course. “I even laid out your clothes for you, so all you have to do is brush your teeth and put them on.”

“That’s still so much work,” you say, twisting your face slightly, your brain slowly waking up. Finally lifting your head up, you yawn, and then rub your eyes. “I’m such a good girlfriend,” you say, and Rafe chuckles. 

“Hey, it was your suggestion,” he reminds her.

“I hate you,” you bite back, before swinging your legs out of bed, and stretching your arms above her head. Rafe stares as the hem of your sleep shirt rises with your arms, before shaking his head to not get distracted.

“No, you don’t,” Rafe rebuts, watching as you walk to the bathroom in an almost zombie-like manner.

“Ugh, I hate that you’re right,” you fight back, before shutting the bathroom door behind you, as Rafe laughs. “Stop laughing at my pain,” you add, and he shakes his head.

“If you’re ready in the next five minutes, we can get coffee first,” Rafe shouts.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

so... please lmk what you think (send an ask, comment, reblog, etc.). I'm a bit nervous about this one because rafe's characterization is... hard to get at points lol. but I feel like this rafe is at least somewhat similar to how he is on the show (like if rafe had a fluffy side idk). anyways hope you enjoyed, and requests are always open <3