#pa-dart

[cosmique-oddity]

Sorry if you dont like question(and to bother you ) but I dont know anyone who like radiant so : who is your favorite radiant character?

I loooooooove questions dont worry little one !

I have a lot of favorites, because Radiant is peak, but my first was Dragunov cuz he is very interesting both in morals and looks

But my all times favorite must be Diabal………..my precious man, I wish him nothing but the best in life

[cacaitos]

no hay vaina más desabrida que un mcdonals es que x diosssssss

[thcgoodwitch]

Cuando alzó la mirada de su libro, le sorprendió la visión frente a ella. Aquel par de reconocibles ojos verdes la miraron desde su lugar y Hestia inevitablemente sonrió. "Hola, Harry, hace mucho que no te veía" la manita del bebé reposaba sobre su rodilla y Jones dejó de lado su lectura para enfocarse en el pequeño. "¿Y tus padres?" Preguntó, a sabiendas de que el infante no le respondería. En cuestión de segundos atisbó la figura de James aproximándose. "Oh, ahí estás."

♡ para james / @meetmeafftcrdark

[dannyriccsystem]

if you’re comfortable could you do oscar smut 🤭

GIRL, YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME…

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: There is no summary this is literally just smut

WARNINGS: Smut. Y/N usage. Freaky

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

YES GAWD

You discovered that when it came to Oscar Piastri, it didn’t take much for him to turn you on.

You felt shameful with the way your eyes were constantly searching his entire form, each part of your brain working together to imagine the nastiness you could get up to together. You could have him whenever you wanted, but waiting until you couldn’t wait anymore was part of the fun.

One evening in particular had sent you over the edge. Oscar just returned home from a workout, his white shirt just slightly see through and sticky from sweat, clinging to his subtly toned figure. Your tongue darted out, licking your lips as you took in the delicious sight before you.

He stretched his strong arms out above his head, and the same shirt rode up, letting you get a peek at both his happy trail and the waistband of his boxers. You were already flooded at this point— Actually, you have been since he walked through the door.

When he sat down, you wasted no time straddling his lap. His hands found your thighs, and his eyes crinkled with mirth as he stared up at you in your elevated position. He looked so innocent, but your thoughts were anything but. You batted your lashes at him every so innocently, your hands rubbing the muscle that connected his collarbone and shoulders. Your honeyed voice asked him, “How was your day?”

Oscar’s thumbs ran over your soft thighs, an innocent act that made you feel exponentially worse. He hummed, a deep grumble in his chest. “Good,” He began, his accented voice slightly hoarse. It always was after an intense workout.

He continued, but you were too zoned out to pay attention to everything he said. You just nodded when you should, but your attention was more pinpointed on the chain around his neck. It was a necklace you bought him for your second anniversary, and he practically wore it everywhere.

“I tried to push m-my… Li-… Limits…” He stuttered, his voice trailing off when you lightly tugged on said chain. He blinked, surprised. When you peered up at him through those thick eyelashes, he cleared his throat to continue. This time with flushed ears. He couldn’t explain why it had such an effect on him, but it did.

You leaned in, your lips finding the pulse of his neck. He was quick to shut his mouth, his once innocent hands now firmly grasping the fat of your thighs. He hummed, and Oscar’s typically steady voice began to shake. “Y/N,” He whispered pathetically.

You trailed your lips to his collarbone before pulling yourself to his lips, letting him enjoy your taste just as you did his. Oscar’s hands traveled upwards, exploring the skin of your stomach as warm palms slid up your shirt. He pulled away to take a deep breath, only to dive back in immediately after.

He was instantly hard, and you could tell, because he’d slowly grind his erection up against you, drawing soft little gasps from your boyfriend. Apparently it didn’t take much for him to start acting up, either. Just a few kisses and he was desperate to be buried inside you.

“C’mon, pretty- Please,” He whispered against your lips, which were now red and swollen from his. He pressed his forehead against yours as he lifted his hips, using one hand to shimmy out of his shorts, and then his boxers followed. You wanted to tease, but you couldn’t wait any longer.

You lifted your hips, and with his help— Which mostly included tearing the fabric of your panties— you managed to free your lower half. He slowly pushed himself inside your hole, throwing his head back around halfway through. “Hold still,” He muttered, and you did.

He could barely handle the sensation, needing just a few seconds to adjust to your tightness. It wasn’t the first time ever, but it was the first in quite awhile. His lips were agape, letting him pant heavily as he pulled you down further, until your hips were flush against his.

“Mnhh, Oscar.” You arched your back against his chest, burying your face into his neck as you slowly lifted your hips, bouncing up and down on his thick cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” He normally kept his language clean, but it was impossible with you gripping him so tight. “C’mon, let me see your face,” He grunted into your ear, leaving a sloppy kiss just below it. You pulled your face back, tilting it down to stare at him with that fucked out expression.

He helped you fuck yourself on him, using his strong grip to lift you up and down. His eyelids were fluttering, like he had to hold himself back from cumming too soon. Everything about him was perfect, especially now.

“You’re not usually this sensitive,” You try to tease, but your voice is shaking just as much as— if not more than— his.

“Been too long,” You could tell it was taking everything in him not to ruin the moment, but he really needed that release now. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. He pressed his forehead to yours again, this time his mouth just slightly ajar and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

You could feel him twitching inside you. He’d stop his movements momentarily to collect his bearings, and then continue to thrust. It was like he was edging himself with your hole, trying to make sure you came before him. “Oh, Osc… Y-… Yeah, that feels good-! Just like that,” You pressed yourself close to him, closing your eyes with him. “I’m-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. You felt your orgasm wash over you, a pleasured cry being ripped from your throat. That’s all he needed before he finally let himself go, filling you up. He left his forehead against yours, panting like crazy to catch his breath.

“You did so good, Osc.” You muttered as he collapsed back against the couch, pulling you even closer to him. He was still buried inside you, but was beginning to soften at that point. He smiled, his chest still heaving with every breath.

“You’re insatiable.” Especially considering you were already grinding against him, hungry for round two.

Hell, who wouldn’t be?

[batsandbirdbrains]

And another one where Dick gets trapped in a fantasy in his own mind, but this time the other batboys have to go in and snap him out of it.

There was some weird magician in Gotham and Nightwing saw him about to hit one of the others with a spell, so he pulls his brother out of the way. But he’s not quite quick enough, and he gets hit instead. And yadda yadda big fight happens and now the batboys have Dick in the med bay in the batcave, because he’s totally out cold and they’ve called in Zatanna to help figure out what’s wrong.

And one big magical explanation later about how he’s stuck in an ideal fantasy world his own mind created, the other three boys are now inside Dick’s fantasy world, and it’s so disorienting. It’s colorful and the smells are vivid - sweet candy and musky hay and the smell of dirt and grass and chalk - and they’re staring at a giant fair ground with a big red and white circus tent, red and white flags flapping in a light breeze.

They’re expecting to find their brother. They’re looking for their brother - for the twenty-something Dick Grayson. An adult.

Instead, they see a blur of a boy they’ve only seen in pictures and videos, because he’s darting by them quickly to duck inside the circus tent. They follow after him, trying to call his name, trying to get him to slow down.

“Mama!” the little voice calls. “Pa! Towners in the tent!”

A woman they’ve seen in faded photographs drops from a ladder and is quick to pick the boy up, and a man starts walking towards them. He’s large, muscular, but he looks friendly. He has a smile on his face, and he glances briefly to where the woman is speaking soft French to the boy, before turning back to the three brothers.

“The show doesn’t start for another few hours,” the man says kindly. “You’ll have to explore the fairgrounds until then. We have plenty of games to play to pass the time.”

“I like the ring toss!” the little boy calls, a grin on his face. The woman smiles and pokes at his belly, making him laugh.

“My little Robin,” she says sweetly, still smiling at him, smoothing back his wild hair, “why don’t you show them where the games are?”

And it makes Tim and Jason feel like they’ve been dumped in ice. Because they thought Robin was a name Bruce came up with, they thought it only came about when Dick joined Batman. Damian is the only one who isn’t surprised, he’s the only one who ever asked Dick where the name came from. And Dick has often called Damian his little Robin in the same soft tone that the memory of his mother just used.

“But I need to practice, Mama!”

“You can practice after you show them the ring toss,” she insists, setting him down. Dick pouts at her, grasping at her costume, silently begging to be picked back up. She just continues smiling and laughing and pushes him gently towards the other boys.

“I’d like to see the ring toss,” Damian says, staring at this little version of his big brother, of his Batman. “Could you show me?”

Dick stares at him for a moment, but when Damian holds out his hand, he eventually steps forward and takes it, dragging Damian out of the tent.

“Alright,” Dick says, pulling Damian along. “Gustav always lets me play the ring toss, he might even give you an extra ring since you’re with me!”

“Perhaps you can show me the best technique.”

“Sure!”

Tim and Jason are whispering together, trying to figure out what to do, how to snap Dick out of this fantasy, but Damian turns and glares at them. They clearly know nothing about Grayson. Damian will be the one to save him.

They’re in a row of carnival game booths, and Dick is standing on his toes, head bobbing above the edge as he speaks in German to the man running the ring toss booth. Then he grins at Damian, handing him six rings of various sizes.

“Usually you only get five!” Dick tells him. “Told you he’d give you extra!”

“Would you like to toss three of them?” Damian asks, and he hauls Dick to sit on top of the edge of the booth so he can see the pins.

“You have to hold them like this,” Dick tells him, showing jin the perfect technique. It’s similar to how he throws his Wingdings.

They’re on their second set of rings when Damian tells him, “You know, you’ve shown me this before.”

Dick turns and tilts his head. He’s sitting on his knees, and he slumps a bit.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he says softly. “I’ve never met you.”

“But you have,” Damian says gently. “You showed me how to throw birdarangs. Do you remember?”

“I don’t know what a birdarang is,” Dick insists, shaking his head. But his voice is shaking, too.

“I know it’s difficult to think about,” Damian says. “I know it makes you sad. But this isn’t real, Richard.”

“Yes it is,” Dick says, but he sounds very unsure of himself. “It’s the circus. I live here, with my family. We’re acrobats.”

“You used to live here,” Damian tells him, and he’s standing in front of Dick now, holding his arms gently. “But this was a long time ago. You’re not supposed to be this young.”

“Yes I am,” he says. “I’m seven. I live at the circus with my family and I’m seven. We’re performing in Copenhagen next week. We’re only here for another couple days.”

Damian turns to Jason and Tim, and they all are having the same thought. He’s seven in his fantasy because he lost all of this when he was eight. He can’t be any older than seven, because then this all crumbles away.

“Do you know where here is?” Jason asks.

Dick looks around. Everything the eye can see is circus-related. There’s no other buildings. No roads. No train tracks. Just a big empty field.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick says, voice shaking. “I need to go back to the tent now.”

He tries to get away, tries to go right past them, but Tim holds onto his shoulder.

“Please, Dick,” Tim begs. “Can you try to remember us?”

“I’ve never met you,” he cries, sucking in a shaking breath. “We’ve never met! I have to go find Mama and Pa.”

“Dick, please.”

“Let go of me, Timmy!”

Dick freezes, because the boys never said their names. He stares at the three boys, his lip wobbling, his chest heaving.

“I want Mama and Pa,” he cries.

“I know,” Damian says, and he kneels down in front of Dick after pushing Tim aside. “I know you miss them. But you have us, and if you got stuck in here, in this fantasy, we would miss you.”

“I want to see them, I want to see them,” Dick begs, but he’s fallen against Damian’s chest, holding on tightly to his shirt.

“Do you think you could leave if you saw them again?” Damian asks, and Tim and Jason are baffled at how gentle he’s being.

“No,” Dick sobs. He hides his face in Damian’s shoulder, and the world around them starts crumbling. The colors start to fade, the sky starts chipping away into black. The smells are fading, the music is shorting out, the chatter of the other circus goers turns to whispers until it’s quiet, the only sound left being Dick’s cries.

Everything has withered away until they’re standing in the middle of nothing. There’s a faint circus tent in the background, and lights are flickering from it, and they can hear a woman’s voice calling Robin? Where are you, my little Robin? and it makes Dick shudder.

He pulls back and looks Damian in the eye, asking in a miserable, terrified whisper, “She’s not real, is she?”

Damian takes a breath before answering, “No. I’m sorry.”

They hear Dick let out a miserable sob before they’re all pulled away suddenly, and they’re back at the batcave, and Dick is gasping from his place on the bed.

He’s depressed for weeks following the incident. No one blames him.

[hxzbinwrites]

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560

[chithereader]

losing my cool / aaron hotchner

part 2 to playing it cool !!! hope you like it word count: 1.6k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader genre: angst at first, but fluff!!!!!! cw: more sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, mentions of insecurities

The smile on Aaron’s face slowly fades as he takes in your frozen stance. You’re staring at him like he just shot you in the back and worry starts to fill him, “Honey..?” waving his hand in front of your face, hoping it would be enough to break you out of your stupor. 

 “Hello?” Still waving his hand in your face, your eyes darted to his. Your body is in a state of shock– in your mind, there’s a tiny version of you desperately digging her way out of a landslide of disbelief. Waves and waves of doubts and insecurities hindering you from processing what is happening. 

Aaron watches as your mouth moves with barely any sound coming out. Like a fish out of water, you’re scrambling, “W-what?” That’s… a bit too shaky to be good. 

He pauses to think. The doubts are starting to creep up on him. 

Maybe he was too rash with his question. 

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to spring it on you. 

Maybe he should have waited for a better time.

Maybe he should have planned something. 

Maybe she isn’t ready.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me. 

He tries hard to swallow all these dark thoughts, clearing his throat to fake the confidence that’s slowly diminishing, “I said, ‘Marry me.’” After he says those words again he stills, hoping that this time he’ll get an answer. And that.. it would be the answer he so badly wants. 

But time slows down and his heart soon follows as he watches tears start to pool in your eyes. You’re shaking your head– they’re tiny shakes and you look panicked. This isn’t good. Not good at all. 

He really wasn’t expecting this. It never occurred to him you’d say no. Or ..not yes. Aaron’s mind is running a million miles per hour. He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He barely even knows how he feels. And so he defaults to doing the one thing he does best (as a prosecutor at least): object. 

This is triggered by your movement. You move around him, leaving the kitchen towards your living room. Your goal was to sit on the couch, craving some stability as your legs get weaker the more you’re processing what was asked, how you reacted, and how it could be coming across. 

But Aaron’s legs are longer than yours. Before you even reach the couch, he’s holding your arm firmly and gently at the same time. He’s got that furrow in his brows that makes him look stern, but his eyes betray him as you can clearly see the worry in them. 

“Well yes!” he says in disagreement. He doesn’t understand why you haven’t said yes, and as much as he isn’t the kind of man to ever force a lady into anything, a part of him is scared of what he’ll hear if he asks you why you’re not saying yes. 

Though instead of allowing that fear to paralyze him, he allows it to control him. To bear its face because the softer, more rational part of him is hiding. 

You’re avoiding his gaze, crossing your arms– you’re turning away from him. “No- Aaron, you– I don– I ca–” 

You know he’s studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your face, your neck, your body. He’s taking in everything he can because you’ve given him absolutely nothing so far. And oh how you wish you could voice it all out. 

You just wish it was easy to say I don’t think I’m enough for you. What if you realize one day that I’m not good enough? Are you sure? Are you sure about this? About me? What if you start to want someone smarter? Prettier? Hotter? What if you want someone who is as accomplished or important as you? What if you get bored of me? What if– 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when he suddenly straightens. He looks as if he’s realized something and the next thing you know you’re hit by a gust of wind because he’s running up the stairs. 

Within an instant you run after him. A dozen scenarios are running through your head, the worst being Aaron packing your things because he’s going to ask you to leave. Your heart beats faster as you reach the top of the steps. You peek into your room and see him rummaging through drawers. 

Your worries quiet significantly when you realize they’re his drawers. And just when you’re about to approach him, he turns around meeting you halfway. You’re both illuminated by the sunlight that’s coming through the bedroom window you’re standing in front of. 

He’s still. He’s got a serious look on his face. You take him in, trying to read him but he’s got his profiler look on– unreadable and determined. His voice rattles you, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” Firm and devoid of any emotion. 

Oh god.

You’re shaking your head, reaching to hold him by his arms. You start to cry, “Aaron please, that’s not what I–” but… he’s going down on one knee. 

What?

He watched multiple emotions flicker on your face. Defeat, panic, confusion– “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. I– I planned to do it better than that. I don’t know why I let it slip out, you deserve better than that.” 

Before you can process it, Aaron’s holding out a ring. He’s holding your hand in the other while tears are streaming down both your faces. You have no idea how you heard it but you guess it’s simply a testament to how attuned you are to him when he whispers, “Please, please, please. Will you marry me, honey?” 

Time stops. Literally. You can feel your heart in your chest beating louder, heavier. It’s pounding as if begging to be heard. Begging to let Aaron know that it beats for him and him only. You’re lowering yourself to kneel before him. You want to see his face properly. His eyes. His nose. His lips. This is the man you love. This is the man you want to marry. Your eyes are simply capturing every angle of this moment. 

You’re leveled now. Equals. You grab both his hands in yours and you stare into his brown eyes. You want him to know you mean it, as you nod your head slowly and breathe out, “Yes.” A smile breaks across his face, tears starting to stream again. 

You watch him as he tries to put the ring on your finger, getting it on the first try even if his sight is slightly hindered by his tears of happiness and relief. The sun makes the ring sparkle, catching your attention and you look at it properly for the first time. 

It’s beautiful. Aaron would argue that the stone screams you – grace, loyalty, peace. He catches your eye and the both of you start to smile. You start to giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms snake around your waist. 

He buries his head in your neck, breathing in your scent while silently thanking the heavens for granting him this. You break apart, startled to hear tiny footsteps nearing. The both of you start to stand up from the floor, straightening yourselves out and wiping the remaining tears staining your faces. 

You both look to the door, waiting for the little boy to show himself. You hear a soft knock right before the door opens slowly, a head peeking in, “Daddy?” 

Aaron goes to the door, opening it more for Jack to come in. The little boy goes straight to you and you pick him up in your arms with ease, resting him on your hip. You have your left hand holding him stable, and even though the little boy’s still groggy with sleep he notices the sparkling addition to your hand. 

You take notice of how his little face lights up in excitement and you have no idea what about it he understands, “I help Daddy buy you that!” His voice is full of pride, genuinely proud that he had played a part in picking. 

You’re confused, not fully understanding what Jack means. Looking to Aaron for an answer, you’re surprised to find him blushing. He looks shy and he’s shrugging at you but you can tell he’s trying hard to play it cool. The smile fighting its way on his face betrays him. 

You decide to take your chance on the adorable kid that is now fiddling with your ring, watching in amazement at how much it’s twinkling in the light. Children are the most honest people you know anyway. Pursing your lips with squinted eyes, you investigate “What do you mean, bubba?” 

“Daddy asked me what ring pop you want, so I asked you when we watched Spiderman and you said your favorite is the green one so I tell Daddy you want the green one!” 

Your heart stutters and the tears start coming in again. Aaron asking Jack for his opinion for your engagement ring. Jack thinking it's a ring pop. Jack asking for your favorite ring pop flavor. Jack being proud that you got the ring you want, pop or not. 

Brought out of your thoughts by Jack wanting to leave your hold, you put him down. You watch as he happily walks out of your room, presumably to go to the kitchen. You look at Aaron again, and just as you’re about to say something about what you just found out, you realize one thing. Spiderman.

You gasp. Covering your mouth in surprise, you slap his arm lightly, “That was our third date!”

Aaron laughs loudly, rushing out of the room before you can throw questions at him or even comments about how insane he is. He couldn’t care less. He was right. 

a/n: just want to say thank you so much for the love and support i've been getting for my hotch fics!! as someone who's new here, it all means so much to me <33 i recently made a masterlist as i plan to write so much more and branch out to other characters i've been perpetually in love with!! leave requests of what you want to read or characters i can write about, i'd love to write for you guys ◡̈ tagging the people who wanted a part 2 for this: @pear-1206 @dedicatedfangirl2001 u guys are so sweet

[justageekk]

Heyyy, could you do Hector fort x reader, where she does the ‘current boyfriend’ trend. I would love to see what type of reaction he has hahaha

IN WHERE : playing the 'current boyfriend' joke on hector

THIS ONE SHOT IS : fem!reader x hector fort

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: dialogues in spanish (translation at the end of each one).

request open!

A few days ago, you’d seen tons of videos of girls doing a viral trend where they said things like “having lunch with my current boyfriend” or “going for a walk with my current boyfriend”, while secretly recording their boyfriends—just to see how they’d react. Some laughed, others were confused, and a few straight-up got offended, as if they’d just been told they were the appetizer.

And you, who couldn’t resist playing a prank on Héctor, stored the idea in the back of your head.

Today, while you two were on the way to his match in his car, you knew it was the perfect moment. Héctor was driving with his left hand on the wheel and his right one resting casually on his thigh, like he always did. The 6 p.m. sun hit his face just right, and the light breeze from the half-open window ruffled his hair. He looked insanely good.

So good you almost forgot you were about to trigger his monthly emotional meltdown.

You waited for the right moment—just as he was parking in front of the stadium, fully focused on fitting the car into the tight spot. You pulled out your phone subtly, opened TikTok in front cam mode, hit record, and with the sweetest, most neutral voice you could manage, you said:

“Yendo a un partido de mi novio actual.” (“On the way to my current boyfriend’s game.”)

The car came to an abrupt stop.

“¿Perdón?”, he said, turning his head toward you with one eyebrow raised. (“Excuse me?”)

His eyes darted from your phone to you, then back to the phone. It took him two seconds to put the pieces together. “¿Cómo que ‘novio actual’?” (“What do you mean, ‘current boyfriend’?”)

“Sí, mi novio actual. No sé si se los había enseñado, chicas,” you told the camera sweetly. (“Yeah, my current boyfriend. I’m not sure if I’ve shown him to you, girls.”)

Héctor turned to face forward, silent.

“Ah, vale,” he muttered, very seriously, staring at the windshield like he was doing emotional math. (“Oh, right.”)

You weren’t sure what was going on in his head—until he turned back toward you, stared into the camera, and said sarcastically:

“He traído a mi novia del día a mi partido, chavales. Hoy me ha tocao esta, pero mañana me toca otra. Voy rotando, porque todas se merecen un día.” (“Brought today’s girlfriend to my match, guys. Got this one today, tomorrow it’s someone else. I rotate because they all deserve a turn.”)

You burst out laughing, and seeing you like that only encouraged him further.

“Yo es que soy muy justo, ¿sabes? No me gusta que ninguna se sienta excluida. Esta semana voy por la letra ‘C’, creo. Claudia, Carmen, Carlota…” (“I’m just really fair, you know? Don’t like any of them to feel left out. This week I’m on the letter ‘C’, I think. Claudia, Carmen, Carlota…”)

He glanced sideways at you and clicked his tongue. “Y tú, que no sé ni cómo te llamas hoy. ¿Cristina? ¿Claudia dos?” (“And you, I don’t even know what your name is today. Cristina? Claudia Two?”)

“Qué gilipollas eres,” you told him, barely holding back laughter as you smacked his arm. (“You’re such an idiot.”)

“¡Oye! No me pegues, que soy un novio en prácticas. No vaya a ser que me eches y entre el siguiente.” (“Hey! Don’t hit me, I’m just the trial boyfriend. Might get subbed out if you get bored.”)

“¿El siguiente?”, you raised an eyebrow. (“The next one?”)

“Claro. Tú tienes pinta de tener suplentes en el banquillo listos pa’ calentar. Como digas ‘me aburro’, entra otro. Uno con más tatuajes, probablemente.” (“Of course. You totally look like you’ve got backups on the bench ready to warm up. Say ‘I’m bored’ and in comes another one. Probably with more tattoos.”)

He pointed at you like he’d discovered something.“Siempre os molan los de los tatuajes, no sé qué os pasa con eso.” (“You girls are always into guys with tattoos, I don’t get it.”)

“Héctor, es un trend de TikTok. No es real.” (“Héctor, it’s a TikTok trend. It’s not real.”)

“Ah, perdona, perdona. Que claro, como es TikTok, no duele,” he said dramatically. (“Oh, sorry, sorry. Right, since it’s TikTok, it doesn’t hurt.”)

“Es como si me pones los cuernos pero como lo grabas y lo subes: ‘¡No pasa nada, cariño, es solo contenido!’” (“It’s like if you cheat on me but record it: ‘It’s fine, babe, it’s just for content!’”)

You doubled over laughing.

“¿Quieres que corte el vídeo ya o quieres seguir haciendo el ridículo?” (“Should I stop the video or do you want to keep embarrassing yourself?”)

“No, no, súbelo entero. Quiero que la gente vea cómo me rompen el corazón en tiempo real.” (“No, no, post the whole thing. I want people to see how my heart gets broken in real time.”)

“Eres idiota.” (“You’re an idiot.”)

And just as you were about to end the video, he leaned toward you, took your chin gently between his fingers, and gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

❝ justageek, 2025 ❞

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 02

-SO I HOPE AND PRAY YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊ 3.2k

author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D 

p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)

prev. | next

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board. 

Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier. 

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.” 

He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”

“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”

“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”

“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”

You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk. 

“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him. 

“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”

“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness. 

“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”

You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”

“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?” 

“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails. 

“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.

“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard. 

You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.” 

At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.

His choice.

Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do. 

Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same. 

Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato. 

You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.” 

Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”

You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.” 

He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”

“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”

“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond. 

“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly. 

“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.” 

He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous. 

Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good. 

“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly. 

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”

You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him. 

“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door. 

“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.

A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you. 

You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there. 

You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city. 

Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good. 

You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?

WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.

The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade. 

Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?

Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”

She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked. 

You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:

Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed! 

What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”

“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”

You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem. 

“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”

“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”

“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside. 

“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from. 

“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse. 

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand. 

In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was. 

You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.

A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something. 

You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang. 

KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm. 

One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”

Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space. 

He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.

Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”

“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath. 

“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do kinda inspired by new season where Rafe finds out what Sofia did and confronts her and calls her saying get out of his house but it’s bitchy!kook!bsf!reader x Rafe where they’re kinda more than friends and she tells Rafe a lie about Sofia and he believes her and gets super mad at Sofia

Passenger Princess || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: love this idea tysm!!

Warnings: r is manipulative, slight angst

Word count: 1,583

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“Wanna come over?” you ask, your voice casual but your eyes lingering on Rafe’s profile, gauging his reaction. He turns his head to you briefly, pausing as the car idles at a red light. Without missing a beat, he reaches over, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin in a way that makes your heart flutter.

But tonight, his words hit you before the warmth of his touch does. “I can’t. Sofia wants to go out later,” he says, his gaze flickering back to the road, oblivious to how your expression shifts instantly. The mention of her name is like a slap, and your expression falters instantly. You let out a scoff, the sound sharp and almost bitter.

Without thinking, you pull your hand out of his grasp and cross your arms over your chest, turning your gaze out the window. The hurt and jealousy you’ve been pushing down surge to the surface, making your chest tighten.“She’s still living with you?” The words leave your mouth more accusatory than you intend, but it doesn’t matter now.

You need him to feel what you’re feeling, to understand just how much Sofia is getting under your skin. Rafe’s eyes flicker to you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He rolls his tongue against his cheek, his gaze narrowing as he presses down on the gas pedal when the light turns green. You can tell he’s frustrated, but you want him to feel more than that.

“Y/n…” he says, the soft plea in his voice making you grit your teeth. He’s clearly trying to de-escalate the situation, but you’re not having it. His voice falters slightly when he says your name again, as if he’s unsure of how to handle you when you get like this. You don’t respond, eyes fixed on the road, even though you don’t see anything.

Your mind is consumed by the thought of Sofia still lingering in his life. “I don’t understand why you’re still with her!” you snap, turning to face him, your voice sharp with frustration. Your heart races, and you know exactly where this is going. You’ve been waiting for the right moment to make your move. Then, with a practiced vulnerability, you let your eyes soften, allowing tears to well up.

You turn your head slightly toward him, making sure he sees the hurt in your eyes. You know the exact tone to use, the one that cracks just enough for Rafe to feel guilty, to feel like he’s let you down. You draw in a deep, shaky breath, letting your eyes glisten with tears. With a careful tremor in your voice, you speak softly, like you’re letting out something painful. “After everything she did to me…”

Just as you anticipated, Rafe’s head snaps in your direction, confusion and concern filling his expression. His eyes dart between you and the road, brow furrowing as he tries to process your words. “What are you talking about?” You let the tears begin to fall, looking down as though ashamed, your shoulders subtly shaking as you pretend to hold back sobs.

“What did she do to you?” His eyes flickered back and forth from the road to your tear-streaked face, searching for answers. He was desperate, each glance showing his growing frustration and need to understand. “Y/n…” he said, his voice lower now, tinged with an edge of anger that made you shiver. “Tell me—what did Sofia do to you?”

His tone was a mix of urgency and something fiercer, like he was barely holding himself back. You continued to sob, letting your shoulders shake as you turned away, keeping up the act. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he stared ahead, but his entire focus was on you.

~

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Sofia’s voice rings out, saccharine sweet, and it instantly makes you cringe. The way she says it, as if she’s trying to mask something, makes your skin crawl. Rafe’s eyes flicker over to you for a split second, taking in your tear-streaked cheeks, red from how much you’ve cried.

Your heart races, a cold pit settling in your stomach. You’ve made sure Rafe is in the right headspace, pushed all the right emotional buttons, and now it’s time to watch it unravel. Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he presses the phone to his ear, his expression hardening into something unreadable.

The silence that stretches between him and Sofia is palpable. You can feel the tension in the air, the unease settling like a storm cloud. “Rafe… what’s wrong?” she coos, trying to soften the tension. You can tell she’s trying to maintain control, but you know it’s slipping. But Rafe is done. He’s had enough.

“Is it true? Is it true what Y/n just told me?” he demands, his voice suddenly low, razor-sharp. The words are a punch, sharp and deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding. There’s a long pause, a dangerous silence on the other end. You can hear Sofia’s shallow breathing, the way she’s stalling, trying to figure out how to save herself.

It’s almost like she’s trying to put on a mask for him, pretending everything’s fine, but you both know it’s not. Sofia’s mind races, the memories of her deal with Hollis flooding in through her mind. “Is what true?” she finally asks, her voice faltering, a hint of nervousness breaking through her usual façade. “Don’t play games with me, Sofia,” Rafe’s voice is firm now, his jaw clenched.

You can feel the weight of his anger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to burst. You watch Rafe closely, your chest tight with both anxiety and satisfaction. This is what you wanted. You wanted him to finally see her for what she truly is. And now, it’s all about to come crashing down for Sofia.

On the other end of the line, Sofia’s silence is deafening. You can almost hear her panic, her inability to talk her way out of this one. Rafe’s anger is too much, too raw. And it’s all aimed at her. Rafe can’t contain it anymore. He slams his fist against the steering wheel with a deafening sound, making you jump in your seat.

The force behind it makes the entire car shake, and his anger is now fully unleashed. His knuckles are white, his body tense with fury, and for a moment, you think he might explode. You can see the muscle in his jaw working, his anger mounting as he struggles to keep his cool. The tension in the air is suffocating, and you almost feel bad for Sofia—almost.

You got him here—you’ve got him angry at her, and it’s exactly what you wanted. “Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” Rafe says through gritted teeth, the words biting and final. His voice is low, full of rage that you can feel in the pit of your stomach. Sofia’s voice cracks on the other end. “What?” Her voice wavers, like she can’t believe what’s happening.

You can practically hear her trying to regain control, but it’s too late. Rafe scoffs, his patience wearing thin. “We’re done, Sofia. Done.” he seethes, his hand slamming against the wheel again with a force that makes the whole car jerk. You jump slightly, but you can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that pulls at the corners of your lips.

“Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” Rafe repeats, his voice steady now, but laced with disgust. There’s no room for negotiation, no chance of a second chance. This is it. With one last frustrated breath, he ends the call, the click of the phone punctuating the finality of it all.

[lomlhwa]

navillera (x.mh)

pairing: ballerina!reader x ballet teacher!minghao

preview: minghao can see your raw potential. you just need a little... incentive.

tags/warnings: fem reader, age gap (minghao is 35 and reader is 21), lots of flexible positions, kinda mean dom minghao, sir kink, fingering, oral (fem.receiving), degrading, monster cock minghao, dacryphilia, choking, marking, praise, pet names (slut, baby, pretty girl), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.6k

song rec for this fic: all i got by baekhyun

a/n: sorry for scarce posting mls

training for the nutcracker has been more difficult than you had anticipated. your teacher has been so hard on everyone. his perfectionism was definitely showing. the constant cries of “straighten your leg!” or “point your toes!” have been ingrained in your brain. you’ve honestly become paranoid about messing up in front of him. currently, you’re just trying to perfect small things near the end of the show.

you and your dance partner dance carefully together, making sure your legs are straight and there’s not a flat foot in sight. your spun around and lifted effortlessly and you can almost feel a sense of pride filling your bones. but, as you’re put down, the hard box of your ballet slippers lands right on your dance partner’s foot, causing him to cry out.

suddenly, minghao cuts the music off and gestures for everyone to gather around him. “we have our first show next week, i cannot have this show looking this dogshit. we haven’t had a single run that didn’t have a mistake.” everyone around you looks defeated at his words. not a soul in the room isn’t out of breath from his vigorous training demands. “y/n.” he says your name and your eyes dart up to meet his. “do you even know how to do a pas de bourrée?” you gulp, looking down at the floor. “yes, i do, sir.” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “show me.” 

you hesitantly walk to the open space in front of him and get up en pointe. you perform the travelling movement, making sure to keep your legs straight and keep your body lines looking flowy. when you finish, you look over to see the most intimidating scowl on your teacher’s face. “i’m gonna need you to stay after class.” your face flushes bright red as you rush to disappear within the crowd of your classmates. 

the rest of the class is a blur. you can’t focus after your teacher embarrassed you like that in front of the whole class. finally, the class ends and you watch as your classmates rush to leave the studio. you and minghao stand on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other. “how long have you been doing ballet?” he asks, stretching arms over his chest. “um, 4 years.” he laughs, wandering over to you. “that’s like nothing compared to your classmates.” he looms over you, his shadow filling you with darkness.

“show me your pirouette.” he moves away from you, gesturing to the empty room. you lift yourself onto your toes and demonstrate a few spins, more than necessary. you stumble at the end and you can feel minghao’s blazing fury. “come here. put your hand on the bar.” you scurry over and do as instructed, your hand resting gently on the wooden bar attached to the wall. he leans down and grabs your ankle. he lifts it until your foot is above your head, your legs spread in a perfect split. “you’re very flexible and your moves are graceful, you just can’t follow through.” he runs his hand down your leg, his hand pausing to rest on your core. you jump, your legs fighting to hold their position.

minghao presses his palm against your core, electricity surging through your veins. you moan slightly before pressing your lips together in a thin line. he runs his finger over your slit through your tights. the thin fabric gives way to how wet you’re becoming at simple touches. “are these your performance tights?” minghao whispers. you shake your head, your legs beginning to ache. suddenly, the sound of fabric ripping fills the room. you gasp at the sudden cold feeling. your knee bends, your leg begging to be let back onto the floor. “keep your fucking leg up while i please you.” he demands as he pushes your panties to the side. 

you use your free hand to hold your foot, desperately trying to keep your leg up. minghao licks a wet stripe up your core, salivating at how wet you’d become. you shiver as he licks stripe after stripe up your cunt, savoring your taste as if he’d never tasted something so delicious. “if you can be a good girl and keep your leg up, i’ll let you cum,” he instructed. he dove into your core like he may never eat again. the sideways angle having him gripping every expanse of your ass and thighs he could get at. he rips your tights open more so he can feel your bare skin in his hands. 

his tongue jabs at your hole, barely dipping in to feel your dripping walls. his eyes roll back into his head at the way your body jerks whenever he sucks on your clit. your grip the bar on the wall so hard your knuckles turn white. your legs shake as they threaten to close against your will. “p-please sir,” you beg. you don’t even really know what you’re begging for at this point. his fingers find their way to your hole, replacing his tongue. he fingers you with such intensity that you’re worried he might break his hand. your whines and whimpers grow in volume quickly.

he chuckles against you, beginning to eat you with even more intensity. his fingers and his tongue move in sweet tandem. you start to piece together that he doesn’t intend to let you cum, he wants you to let your leg down. your whole body trembles as he licks and sucks on your wet heat until finally; your leg comes down. you stumble backwards and your ballet teacher looks at you with a sinister grin. “so sad, the poor baby doesn’t get to cum on my tongue.“

you look at him, defeated. your legs are so sore you can barely stay standing. minghao seemingly glides over to you before hooking his foot around you to force your knees to bend. you fall backwards and he lays you down on the floor. “can barely follow dance moves, let alone instructions while i’m eating you out. what a disobedient slut.” you whine, writing around on the cold dance practice floor. he slots himself between your legs, pressing his growing erection against your core. your cunt leaves a wet spot on his light colored tights. 

he looks down between your legs and sighs dramatically. “look at the fucking stain you’re leaving on my tights. so fucking pathetic,” he spreads your legs into a split again, grinding against your exposed core. your hands find their way to his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. “you’re so flexible and yet you can’t keep your legs straight when dancing. you’d think with a split like this, it would be effortless to you. do you use your split for sex more than dancing? is that it?” you whine at his disapproval. 

he separates from you to pull his tights down, a much more gentle gesture than the way he had torn yours open. your eyes widen, watching as he frees his cock. he catches your feverish eyes with his sinister ones. “you think you can take it, baby?” you shake your head slowly and he fakes a look of pity. “you can, and you’re going to.” he takes his place between your legs once again, his cock dragging against your slit. “hold your legs open.” you hook your hands around your thighs, doing your best to stay spread.

he guides himself into your desperate hole, the sting of the stretch filling your senses. your nails dig into the skin of the back of your thighs as you shake underneath minghao. he finally bottoms out and his jaw falls slack. he places his palms by your head, trapping you between his arms. he holds eye contact with you as he draws his hips back before thrusting back in slowly. you savor the feeling of every inch dragging along your walls. 

your forearms begin to ache from holding your legs open, your grip slipping. minghao rises to his knees and swats your hands away from your thighs. he replaces them with his own, folding you in half. his thrusts pick up in speed, drilling you full of his cock. “such a good fucking girl, taking my cock. you like when your teacher fills you up, huh?” you nod, your brain not even computing what he’s saying. “words, slut.” you pant desperately, trying to even muster a few words. “y-yes, sir.”

he lands a couple hard slaps to the soft skin of your thighs, leaving bright red hand print marks. you squeal, clenching around him. your senses go into overdrive when he wraps one hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure for your vision to go slightly fuzzy. tears spring to your eyes and flow down the side of your face. he stops holding you down and moves his other hand to your clit, rubbing over it quickly. “fuck, i’m so close, pretty girl. want you to cum for me, can you do that?” you nod to the best of your abilities and he smiles. 

your body spasms as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. you wrap both your hands around his wrist as he tightens his grip just a little more. “c-cumming,” you choke out. minghao lets out an animalistic groan as you clamp down on him. you wrap your legs around him to lock him into place, his last couple thrusts chasing his own orgasm. his hips stutter as his cum fills you to the brim, leaking out of you and onto the floor. he finally releases your throat and you suck in a few labored breaths. 

he pulls out of you and admires your spent body on the floor. “god, i think we should have more after class practices. do you agree?” you’re too tired to even respond but the way you shiver tells him everything he needs to know. he chuckles before reclothing himself. “there’s a pair of extra leggings in the closet. you might wanna put those on before you leave.” he grabs all of his things and walks away to the door. “see you tomorrow, y/n.”

© lomlhwa 2025

[sturnstarrz]

three times fwb!chris showed you one of his favorite hobbies, one time he chose to make you never forget…

contains: smut, oral fem receiving, spanking, friends with benefits trope

ᰔ the first time, chris was so gentle. you had only known him for a few weeks, yet things had moved fast between you two. he was always talking about this obsession he had. who could blame you for wanting to find out what his "oral fixation" meant? when he had you beneath him for the first time, he showed a tenderness that you didn’t expect. he held your hand, knotting your fingers with his. he kept a soft grip on your thigh with his other hand, his mouth warm against your core. tongue sliding through your folds as you cried out, your body weakening against the sheets of his bed. it felt incredible. and you never wanted him to stop.

ᰔ the second time was on the wooden desk in your dorm room. you barely had time to lock the door when chris pressed against you, standing in between your legs as you sat on the edge. he had slipped his fingers under your skirt, tugging your panties down your legs. his breath fanned across your neck as he touched you, feeling how wet you were. your eyes darted to the door, the thrill and fear of someone walking in making your heart race in your chest. “chris…” you started, but he kneeled down then, pushed your legs apart and yanked your hips closer, making you yelp quietly. “shhh…” he hushed, smoothing his hands up your calves. he looked up at you, a glint in his eyes that left you dripping. “try not to be too loud.” he warned before placing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face into your pussy. you whimpered as softly as you could, your fingers tangled into his hair. he moaned lowly when your grip tightened, tugging on his roots as he fucked you with his tongue, already building a warmth in your belly.

ᰔ and the third time… was different. you didn’t know whether it was the argument you two had earlier that day or your constant attitude you’d had since then. he was frustrated with you, as much as you felt pissed off at him. yet the sexual tension was increased and you couldn’t deny how hot he looked when he was mad. “what d'ya want then? what do i need to do to get you to drop the fuckin' attitude huh?” he demanded as he towered over you from your spot at the end of his bed, a look of defiance across your face. you didn't really have an answer. you didn't know why you were so worked up. all you knew was that there was a throbbing ache between your legs growing stronger with each passing second. chris looked down then, noticing the way your thighs were squeezing together with need. he knew your body well enough by that time to figure out exactly what you wanted. a smirk appeared on his lips as he spoke. “mm, i see.. you just need me to make it all better don't you.." the tone of his voice had turned low and raspy, a shiver running down your spine as he slid his hands upwards on your bare thighs. chris knew exactly how to fix your little problem but he wanted to hear you say it. to know that you could only get the relief you needed from him and him only. he always did have a big ego.

within a matter of minutes, he had you flipped around on his bed, your panties shoved to the side and your face pressed into his pillow. your ass was up in the air, giving him complete access to your weeping pussy. he held a firm grip on the backside of your thighs, keeping you spread open for him. he dragged his tongue through your core torturingly slow, circling around your clit before switching to your entrance, tasting you with an approving hum. the vibration of his sounds and the feeling of the wet muscle against you had your head spinning. you were moaning his name, a small puddle of drool forming from your mouth. you wanted more but he was enjoying teasing you a little too much. you whined impatiently, but it turned into a gasp as he landed his hand against your ass cheek with a quick but sharp sting. "be fuckin' patient." he scolded, before pressing a soothing kiss to your skin. "gonna make you feel good.. that's what you want, don't you baby?" you nod your head quickly in response and grip onto the sheets beneath you. "then stop bein' such a little brat." he replied, attaching his lips back onto your folds, his tongue sliding into you deeply.

[heartshapedmisery]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 | art donaldson

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which you and art can't seem to keep your hands to yourself after your first victorious win in weeks.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex (please stay safe y'all), art references to being turned on by watching reader play tennis, power dynamics?, switch!reader, switch!art, semi-public!sex, praise kink, hair pulling, oral (fem!receiving), obsessive!art (he is literally obsessed with the reader omg), p in v sex, art and reader almost get caught lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.1k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ standford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

PART 2 OF LOOSEN UP!

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  if you haven't read part one, please do so before reading this! also i am a firm believer in art giving you aftercare after sex, no matter where it is in case you couldn't tell ;) i kinda rushed the ending sorry i just wanted to get it out in time :/ hope you enjoy!

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  may 17th, 2024 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

A breathy groan escaped your lips as your racket smacked the tennis ball across the net, your final attempt at winning points in the match. You intensively watched your opponent—some hot-shot blonde from North Carolina—as she darted to hit the ball back to you. Your breath hitched as you saw her ankle roll from the impact, making her legs give out beneath her and ultimately miss the ball.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as the ball bounced out of the court. The game was yours.

"Game, (L/N)," the announcer sounds over the PA system, cheers erupting from the stands. Your eyes searched for Art, before seeing him standing on the sideline clapping his hands proudly with a smile.

Ever since his visit to your apartment, the two of you had been inseparable. Your preceding professional relationship had blossomed into a personal one within the blink of an eye, and your once light-hearted repartee had become rather flirty and intense.

He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of you, and you couldn't seem to ignore how much you loved it. Whether it be at his place, in the locker rooms, or even on the fucking tennis court (it was late at night and dark, and of course, art had been adamant to make sure everyone had gone home before he proposed the idea.)

You were addicted to each other. Drunk on each other's touch, and you never wanted to get sober.

"You did great out there. Congratulations," his lush voice cuts into the sporadic ringing in your ears when you finally make your way over to him, your chest still buzzing after your win as the two of you walk off the court.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and not just because Art's hand didn't leave the small of your back until you were out of everyone's view and walked down the somewhat empty hallway of the athletic center.

"You think so?" you pondered lightly, still trying to catch your breath as you caught his eye. You recognized the look on his face; it was one you had grown to know all too well. The way his lips parted slightly, and his eyes seemed to darken as they drank in your elated state.

It was a look of lust.

"Oh, I know so," he corrected you, his voice low. His arm snaked around your waist as the two of you came to a stop outside the women's bathroom, your chest flush against his as he pulled you into him.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of you," he admitted. "The way you lose yourself when you're out on that court, it's mesmerizing."

His gaze trailed from your face to your chest to your ass, drinking in your appearance. He had always loved the skirt you had decided to wear for today's match; just a simple, white tennis skirt that seemed to be just a little bit shorter than the rest and hugged you in all the right places.

"Oh yeah?" you tested, a small smirk tugging at your lips. A giggle escaped your lips as his hand ran down your hip before settling on your ass, giving it a good squeeze as he leaned into you.

"Yeah," he whispered against your lips, before pulling you in for a hungry kiss by the back of your neck with his free hand. You let out an excited moan from the back of your throat the second you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, completely enveloping himself in you.

"Fuck, you're killing me, sweetheart," he muttered to you once he finally pulled away, grasping your arm and pulling you into the women's bathroom behind him. Thankfully, there was nobody in there, or else it would've made for a very awkward conversation.

"You wanna do this now? Here?" you ask unsteadily as the two of you stumble over to the sink, looking around at the highly impractical place he had chosen to hook up with you.

"You did so well today," he told you sweetly. "You deserve a reward, baby."

The spot between your legs dampened at his words, your thighs rubbing together as he pushed you up against the sink with his hips, searching for any sort of relief.

"Yeah?" your worries washed away. You decided to have a little fun with this.

"You wanna be my trophy, baby?" you played lightly, running your hands through his hair. A slight gasp escaped your throat as you felt his erection press against your thigh, a dazed grin on his face.

"Always," he growled in your ear, his nose nuzzling the soft skin of your neck as he left sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the side of your jaw.

Carefully, his hands ran up and under the hem of your skirt, caressing the softness of your thighs before he hooked his fingers on your panties and tugged them down in one swift movement. A smirk cracked across his face as he tucked them into the back pocket of his shorts, the pale lace hanging out messily.

A surge of excitement ran through your veins as your eyes fell on the unlocked bathroom door. Anyone could walk in on the two of you and see just how well your tennis coach really treats you.

The mere thought itself drove you wild.

Quickly, he set you up on the sink and nudged your knees apart, giving him the perfect view of your soaked core as he sunk to his knees to be level with your lower half.

His eyes poured into yours as he pulled your legs over his shoulders, grasping your thighs firmly to keep them in place. The mere sight of him before you made a shaky whimper blow past your lips, your fingers moving to brush the stray strands of hair that hung over his light eyes.

"So, so pretty," you whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips met your soft skin.

He pressed wet kisses along the inside of your thighs, slowly making his way to where he wanted you most. You shuddered deeply when you felt his tongue finally lay flat against your wet core, his nose budding against your clit as he delved into you as if you were his last meal.

"Oh my g-god," you whined, digging your heel into the muscle of his back, his grip on your thigh tight enough to leave a mark. He held you in place as you squirmed around at his touch. You simply couldn't keep still as his lips sucked at your wetness, his tongue lapping at you mercilessly.

A groan reverberated in his chest when your legs tightened around his head, your ankles interlocking and pulling him closer to you.

"Please," you whimpered, the vibrations of his low moans stimulating your core. Your eyes peered down as his hand moved to the crotch of his shorts, palming the erection he had gotten from the sweet taste of you.

It no doubt sent you over the edge, a moan falling from your lips as you watched him pleasure himself. You couldn't take it anymore; you needed to feel him.

"Art," you breathed, pulling him away from your core. His head lulled back lazily, his pretty eyes meeting yours as a dazed smirk bloomed across his lips. His chin was glistening with your slick. "Please fuck me."

He didn't hesitate to stand to his feet, his lips smashing against yours exasperatingly. Despite how much he loved pleasuring you with his tongue, you didn't need to tell him twice.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth, moaning against your lips. His behavior was obsessive, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you as close to him as possible as his clothed hard-on rutted against your bare core.

"See you what you do to me?" he whispered to you with a sigh, bringing your hand to the front of his shorts to feel him. You couldn't help but moan, taking it upon yourself to dip your fingers into his waistband and grasping him.

"It's a good thing I know how to control myself when you're the court," he laughed lightly. "Otherwise we'd have a real problem."

You nodded as you gently pumped him, excited at the thought of Art getting a boner while he watched you play. "Yeah? Do you like watching me play, Coach?"

He groaned into your neck at the nickname as you continued to jack him off, his balls stiff and his tip reddened. You were being such a tease and he hated it.

"I like watching you win," he suddenly pulled you off the counter and spun you around, bending your body over the sink.

"And you're a winner, right baby?" lips brushed against your ear as he caged you between his body and the counter. You could feel his dick pressed against your ass, eager to feel you.

"Yes," you whined, white-knuckling the counter as you could feel him moving around behind you, running his tip along your wet slit.

"Yes, what?" he was having fun with you now.

"Yes, Coach," you groaned, meeting his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark, and you could've sworn you saw a mischievous smirk flash across his face before he pushed himself into you swiftly.

His hips stuttered at the sound of the moan that fell from your lips, his grip on your hips tightening mercilessly.

You whimpered pathetically as he bottomed out inside of you, his pelvis bone flushed with the round of your ass. You stretched around him sweetly, watching his face contort in the mirror with pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he breathed out, but his tone was almost desperate. His hips slowly began to move, which you were thankful for. The sweet burn of his cock sliding in and out of you was something you had only dreamed of, especially after the night at your apartment.

His free hand moved from its spot on your hip and reached around you to squeeze your right breast, his large and veiny hand cupping it perfectly. You couldn't help but moan at the dense feeling as it heightened your pleasure, your core clenching around him subconsciously.

"Feels so good," you mumbled as his hand moved from your chest to your hair, his slender fingers combing through it before giving it a harsh tug, the force pulling your back to his chest roughly.

"That's it, baby," he groaned in your ear, not letting up on his rhythmic thrusts up into you. "You can take it."

He watched you through the mirror as your eyes rolled back, his grip on your hair still tight enough to hold you in place against his chest. He took the opportunity to attack your neck with kisses, trailing from the spot right beneath your jaw down to your exposed collarbone.

His lips sent you into a frenzy, the sensation making the familiar coil in your stomach tighten as it mixed with the pleasure between your legs. You wouldn't last much longer at this rate, and Art could feel you coming undone with each thrust.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" he cooed gently to you as he met your gaze, holding it intensely as you nodded lazily. He wasn't far off either, so he quickened his pace to bring the both of you to your climaxes.

"So good," was all you were able to say, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a chant as he panted behind you from his relentless momentum.

Before you knew it, warmth spread throughout your lower belly as he pulled your orgasm out of you with a helpless cry, your head lulling back against his chest as your muscles tensed. An unsteady groan ripped from his chest as he sighed into your hair, his eye screwing shut as his release washed over him as well.

A string of incoherent pleas fell from your mouths simultaneously, the both of you in utter awe of one another. It took a moment for both of you to come back down from your highs, speechless from what had just unexpectedly unfolded in the women's bathroom.

Art helped you look presentable again after he tucked himself away, moving the stray hairs from your face and slipping your underwear back up your smooth legs for you. You watched him with a smile, elated at the way his hands lingered on your hips as he flattened your skirt down.

"Good as new, sweetheart," he placed a kiss to your temple as the two of you moved to walk out the door until it swung open.

You were met with a disgruntled old lady as the two of you stood awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, unsure of what to say.

Oh shit, you thought. You would guess Art was thinking the same thing based on the deer-in-headlights look that he had on his face.

"Excuse me," she brushed past the both of you with a confused look, before disappearing into one of the stalls. She wanted no business with whatever she had just walked in on.

You looked at Art, finding it hard to hold back the laugh that bubbled up from your chest.

"Let's get out of here before we traumatize more little old ladies..."

[mydearestbeloved]

#?.6 [Chapter Concept]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: Some OOC-ness, kinda crack-fic (my poor attempts at humor), & UNEDITED

⚠️ MINOR SPOILER ALERT to my Trial Player AU

*This is Trial Player AU's Side-stories/Sequel Materials—subject to change. Draft-status—not detailed, messy, and currently lack major relevance to the main story.

This scenario is so unserious 😂, but I wanted to share something more light-hearted after posting that summarized drafts of The You I Love.

Take this with a grain of salt.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

You had spent the better part of the day organizing the house, tidying up and preparing dinner for your husband. Jinwoo had been particularly stressed lately, and you wanted to do something to lift his spirits. Humming softly to yourself, you made your way to the living room to call him for dinner.

“Jin, I—!” you started, pushing open the door to his study with a cheerful tone, only to freeze mid-sentence.

Three Jinwoos turned to face you.

The first was a younger Jinwoo, looking bewildered in his baggy hoodie and longer hair—the telltale appearance of his E-rank self. His wide eyes darted around the room nervously, trying to make sense of the situation.

The second was a hardened yet cautious version of Jinwoo, his posture rigid, his sharp gaze fixated on you with a familiar suspicion. This was him in the early days of leveling up, you took a lucky guess this Jinwoo had encountered you, but didn’t fully trust you he met yet, much less the current you.

And then there was your Jinwoo, standing between them with an exasperated expression, his broad shoulders and the way he instantly perked up at the sound of you immediately marking him as your husband.

“Love—” your Jinwoo began, but before he could get another word out, you held up a hand.

In a yoga-like motion, you brought your hand together, lips touching the sides of your fingers.

Deep inhale…

—And exhale.

“Haha, yeah, no.”

Without giving any of them a chance to respond, you spun on your heel, marched straight to the nearest window, and vaulted out of it.

. . .

Inside the room, the three Jinwoos stared at the empty space where you had just been.

“Did… did she just—” Oh, the lovely, lovely, lovely E-rank!Jinwoo looked completely baffled and horrified.

“She jumped.” A?-rank!Jinwoo stated flatly, his suspicious gaze flickering toward your husband. “What the hell is going on here? And what's up with her?”

Jinwoo—who just seconds before being asked looked on pleadingly to the you who supposedly decided to let your dear husband handle this himself, left him alone—pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on. “She’s my wife,” he said, with a hint of irritation spiking when he didn’t exactly want to correct himself say the word—‘our’.

Both younger versions of him stared at him in disbelief and more.

“W-wife?!”

E-rank!Jinwoo sputtered, his face turning bright red. “I-I get married? To her?”

A?-rank!Jinwoo’s lips parted, but Jinwoo quickly interjected, “You’ll understand later.”

Jinwoo’s fingers twitched. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, grabbing his phone when a notification came in. “I need to get back my wife.“

Outside, you landed gracefully on the lawn, brushing yourself off with a resigned sigh. The cool evening air did little to quell the flustered heat.

“…At least it’s not multiverse-shenanigans again,” you muttered to yourself, already pulling out your phone to text your husband.

Me: I can handle you, but 3 of you???

Jinwoo💕: Sweetheart, please don’t leave me.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Me: I’m staying at Hae-in’s. Or Mom’s.

Not even three seconds passed before your phone buzzed with a reply—

Jinwoo💕: Please, come back? 🥺

—And he started using emoji.

You bit your lips.

It was going to be a long day.

——oOo——

The moment your little Aera reached out her tiny hands toward A?-rank!Jinwoo and squealed, “Pa-pa!” with all the enthusiasm her little lungs could muster, time seemed to stop.

Everyone in the room:

Absolute silence.

A?-rank!Jinwoo froze, brain clearly short-circuited, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face—confusion, awe, fear, and something dangerously close to adoration.

“P-Pa…?” he choked out, staring at the small bundle of joy who was now babbling nonsensically while insistently reaching for him. His entire existence felt like it was collapsing under the weight of this tiny child, who, according to logic, should not even exist yet.

Jinwoo, standing off to the side, twitched violently. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out. His eye twitched again. Finally, he turned toward you with a pleading expression.

“(Name)…” he began, “My dear, my love, my star, my goddess, my queen, my wife, mother of my children—” Oh. Oh. Your husband was definitely crashing out right now, “did Aera just—?” He cut himself off, as if even saying it might make the heartbreak worse.

You, still standing awkwardly by the door, suddenly found yourself in the worst position imaginable. If you denied it, you’d hurt your husband. If you confirmed it, you’d definitely hurt your husband. You felt the weight of his expectant gaze, but also the absolute need to protect your sanity.

“I…” you started carefully, your eyes darting between the three Jinwoos and the two children now playing in the middle of the chaos. “…need my morning coffee. It’s way too early for this.” Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked straight toward the kitchen.

Jinwoo let out a low groan and slumped into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. You didn’t even have to look back to know he was growing mushrooms in the corner, spiraling into an existential crisis at the realization that his daughter’s first word wasn’t for him (technically).

E-rank!Jinwoo, meanwhile, was sprawled on the carpet with Aera’s big brother climbing all over him. There was a distant, blissed-out smile on his face as Baby Suho tugged on his hair with surprising force.

“I get married…” he murmured to himself in awe, his voice almost reverent. “I have kids… a family…” His eyes turned misty as he gently poked Suho’s chubby cheeks, causing the little one to giggle. “She’s beautiful… They’re beautiful… My future is beautiful…”

His bliss was interrupted when Suho decided to slap him across the face with a tiny, surprisingly strong hand. “Bah!” Suho declared.

“Yes,” E-rank!Jinwoo said, utterly unbothered as he cradled his cheek. “Even that feels beautiful.”

A?-rank!Jinwoo, still cradling Baby Aera in his arms like she was made of glass, stared down at her with wide eyes. She babbled happily, patting his face with her tiny hands and tugging at his hair. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“…She’s my daughter,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking. He looked up at Jinwoo, eyes brimming with confusion and wonder. “She’s my daughter?”

“Yes,” Jinwoo mumbled from his corner of despair. “And apparently, she loves you more.”

A?-rank!Jinwoo blinked, staring at the tiny child in his arms who was now trying to gnaw on his finger. His lips twitched into a small, helpless smile.

When you returned with your coffee in hand, you were greeted by the sight of:

Your husband still brooding in the corner, muttering about betrayal.

A?-rank!Jinwoo gently bouncing Aera in his arms with a soft, almost boyish expression.

E-rank!Jinwoo letting Suho climb all over him, grinning like an idiot despite his slightly disheveled state.

You sighed deeply and sipped your coffee. “I swear, they are in so much trouble.” You muttered.

Baby Aera, hearing your voice, turned toward you and squealed,

“Ma-ma!”

At least that was something.

——oOo——

BONUS:

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

There was no other word to describe the utter pandemonium that unfolded in your living room.

You barely reacted when the ceiling decided to gift you another migraine.

CRASH.

You remained sipping your coffee for the nth time today as ‘Trial Player’!You landed in a heap of dust and debris on the living room floor, looking disheveled. The younger you blinked rapidly, taking in the scene of three Jinwoos, two babies, and you casually sipping coffee in the midst of it all. Not missing the slightest detail of matching rings on your and the oldest-looking Jinwoo’s finger.

“What…is… this…?” She scrambled to her feet, backing into a corner like a trapped animal. “This—this isn’t real. This can’t be real. I got married? I got married to Jinwoo???” ‘TP’!You’s voice went up several octaves, pointing a trembling finger at A?-rank!Jinwoo, who was still being emotionally annihilated by baby Aera, looking entirely lost in her cuteness.

“And I have child—” Her voice crackedas she finally registered Baby Suho with E-rank!Jinwoo. “C-Children…”

The chaos didn’t stop there. With a snap of your finger, the cabinet door opened in your signature golden glow, fully expecting what you’d find. Sure enough, another version of yourself, younger than ‘TP’!You—Hermit!You—came tumbling out, looking disheveled and thoroughly irritated.

“Was that really necessary?! I was fine where I was—”

Hermit!You didn’t get to finish her complaint because E-rank!Jinwoo, with Suho hanging off his shoulder like a delighted little koala, wrapped his arms around her in a hug like he’d just found the missing piece of his soul.

“You,” E-rank!Jinwoo said, his voice soft and full of awe. “It’s you. My benefactor…” His hold on her tightened, and he rested his chin on her shoulder with a dazed, but definitely an incredibly happy-kind of expression.

“Thank you.”

Hermit!you combusted on the spot. In record time. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears, spluttering incoherently, completely immobilized as Suho patted her cheek.

Meanwhile, ‘TP’!You was hyperventilating.

Before you could even begin to address the madness, your husband decided to add to the chaos. Suddenly revitalized after his earlier devastation, Jinwoo marched over, picked you up with one arm, and hoisted ‘TP’!You up with the other.

He sandwiched his face between your chests with a satisfied groan, a gesture you were all too familiar with. ‘TP’!You, however, was not.

Her flustered as she flailed in his grip.

“W-What are you doing?! Unhand me, you—you—perverted future me husband thing!”

You could feel Jinwoo’s hold tightening on both of you.

“I’m in heaven,” he declared, his dreamy murmur muffled against your skin.

You remained perfectly calm, sipping your coffee with a smile. “You will be,” you said sweetly, your tone saccharine enough to curdle milk, “if your wandering hands on my younger version don’t stop, dear.”

Jinwoo froze. ‘TP’!you stopped struggling in horror. Hermit!You, still in E-rank!Jinwoo’s hold, managed to mutter, “Oh, she’s—I’m scary.”

“…Noted, my love.” he said meekly, though he made no move to put either of you down.

And as you took another sip of your coffee, watching everything and nothing at the same time—

System?

{…Yes?} {…Yes?} {…Yes?}

—There were three of them? …Of course, there were. Your migraine wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

You, Neonie, and Tusk are in timeout until further notice.

{ (╥﹏╥) }

All of you.

{ (╥﹏╥) } { (╥﹏╥) }

…Just prepare the memory-alter mechanism while you’re at it.

In another plane of existence—

Butterflies to each other versions of them in eerie synch: “Hello! ~”

Two versions of shadow soldiers simultaneously: “By our King(s?)’s will and our Queen(s?)’s benevolence, there’re triple of them…”

Three Neonies praying for their life: “Mother is going to kill me…”

Two Tusks also not knowing what to do: “…at least our Liege(s?)’s seems (kinda) happy…?”

End Note:

Extra explanations for those who's confused:

E-rank!Jinwoo: The version of Jinwoo before the system, haven't meet you (Hermit!You at the time), already aware of someone helping him.

Hermit!You: The version of you freshly out of the garden, still pretty isolated, already started helping E-rank!Jinwoo in secrecy.

A?-rank!Jinwoo: The version of Jinwoo after the system, already meet 'TP'!You but is still at the getting-to-know you stage, still not fully trusting you.

'TP!You: The version of you already discovered by A?-rank!Jinwoo, before his rank reevaluation.

Just "You" and "Jinwoo" (exclusive to this draft): Already married and have kids in the revised timeline.

It's straight back to college for me tomorrow 🥹

I want to write more... 😭

Anyways—happy reading, everyone! 💕

[lucy-literates]

Helloooo my favourite Arthur writer. In honour of the charity football match, here’s another request 😉

Arthur’s girlfriend comes home and as she opens the door she narrowly avoids getting hit in the face with a football. She finds Charles and Arthur playing with the ball INSIDE the house, because the charity football match is coming up and Charles has decided he is the expert and will train his little brother so that he doesn’t “disgrace the Leclerc name on the football pitch”. After the ball nearly hits Arthur’s helmet, a trophy and her for the third time she grabs the ball and demands they all go outside as she is taking over said training. Basically she runs rings around them and Arthur is in awe that he wasn’t aware how good she is & Charles tells him that he should just marry her and then she can take his place on the pitch as that’s the only way to keep the Leclerc football talent legacy alive…

Basically just the Leclerc brothers being the loveable dumbasses they are pls 🥺🩵

The Leclerc Legacy

A/N: I loved this, it is so cute. They are adorable dumbasses, and I think I managed to capture that. It is a little bit on the shorter side, but I think it works. Enjoy and, as always, my inbox is open :)

The moment you opened the front door, a blur of white and black whizzed past your face.

You blinked.

The football hit the hallway wall with a loud thud, knocking a picture frame crooked. A helmet tumbled off a side table. Somewhere in the distance, something that sounded suspiciously like a trophy hit the floor.

“WHAT—”

“C’est pas possible—Arthur, you were supposed to catch that!” came Charles’ unmistakable voice, thick with laughter and a total lack of remorse.

You stepped fully into the flat and stared.

There, in the middle of your living room, were Charles and Arthur — mid-football match. Inside. In socks. Arthur was still in half his Ferrari gear, helmet forgotten on a chair, and Charles was shirtless, like that somehow gave him the upper hand.

“I live here,” you said, holding the door behind you. “You do realize that, right?”

Arthur gave you a sheepish grin. “Hi, baby.”

“She almost got hit in the face, idiot,” Charles said, then turned to you. “You okay? That pass was meant to be low, but your boyfriend’s got the reaction speed of a baguette.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you both that maybe — just maybe — playing football inside the house isn’t the best idea?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck. “Char said I need training before the charity match. Apparently I’ll ‘disgrace the Leclerc name’ if I don’t improve.”

“He will,” Charles said, proudly. “So I offered to help. Big brother duties.”

“You just wanted an excuse to show off,” you muttered, ducking as the ball flew past your head again, this time knocking over Arthur’s helmet.

“Okay, that’s it.” You snatched the ball mid-roll before it could hit the wine rack. “Outside. Now.”

Charles frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m taking over training before you destroy my apartment and Arthur’s confidence.”

Arthur laughed. “You play football now?”

You gave him a look. “Now? Honey, I was captain of my school team. Striker. National semis. Sit down.”

Arthur’s eyes widened.

Charles grinned, intrigued. “Alright then, let’s go. Prove it.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three of you were out on the nearest patch of grass. The moment the ball hit your foot, everything changed. You darted between the brothers like it was second nature — fast, fluid, composed. You nutmegged Arthur, spun past Charles, flicked the ball into the air, and volleyed it right between two trees that had become makeshift goals.

Silence.

Arthur blinked. “What just happened.”

Charles stared at you. “We are so screwed.”

You smirked, brushing hair from your face. “Any other questions?”

“No,” Charles muttered, grabbing the ball and handing it to Arthur. “You know what? You should just marry her and let her take your spot on the pitch. It’s the only way the Leclerc football legacy survives.”

Arthur was still watching you like you’d just discovered fire. “Where have you been hiding this?”

You leaned in close, grinning. “Wouldn’t want to destroy your ego too early in the relationship.”

Charles groaned. “Too late.”

Arthur grabbed your hand, looking borderline smitten. “Seriously. You’re amazing.”

“I know,” you said, tossing the ball back to him. “Now show me what you’ve got, Leclerc. You’ve got a legacy to uphold — and I’m not saving your ass in front of thousands unless you earn it.”

Charles clapped dramatically. “Oooh, she’s ruthless. I love her.”

Arthur just smiled, unable to take his eyes off you. “Yeah. Me too.”

Would you like a follow-up with post-match fluff, like Arthur being all cuddly and overwhelmed that his girlfriend is the coolest human alive?

Part 2