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rollingsins · 10 months

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say my name

summary: While in bed with Wednesday, you accidentally moan Enid's name.

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, jealous!wednesday, fingering, dirty-talk.

word count: 2.2k words.

a/n: :) horny hour, kids.

Having sex with Wednesday is like a dance.

A weird, semi-formal gothic dance.

It would start with the lick of her lips. Her eyes, usually wide and emotionless, would narrow slightly. Her pupils would darken. The hair on the back of her neck would stand.

Then the staring would start.

Subtle at first, with the quiet tilt of her neck, waiting for you to notice. Then she’d become brazen, open.

Stare at you unblinking, the slight part of her lips betraying her intent.

She’d get you things. Water, soda, your favorite book. Like she was trying to court you into bed with her. Rub her hands over your shoulders, weirdly affectionate, so un-Wednesday. Like a black cat in heat.

She’s doing it now.

She’d given you a granola bar and a quick kiss to the head before mantling in her spot by her typewriter, just watching.

“YN,” She’d said, voice low. Lower than usual. The tone she took when it was something she wanted. Something she knew you couldn’t resist.

“You look very appealing, right now.”

You’d looked up from your spot on the bed. You’d had your head buried in one of Enid’s dumb romance novels, the kind where everybody seemed to be sans clothes. And you wouldn’t be lying to say the book, combined with the heady look in your girlfriend’s eyes has you more than worked up.

You cross your legs and bite your lip.

“I look appealing?” You tease.

“Alluring.” She corrects.

You tilt your head, smiling slightly. Your belly coils, and all you want to do is pull her onto the bed and on top of you.

But you can’t resist teasing her a little, first.

“I look alluring lying on the bed in my sleep shorts?” You ask, blinking. She stands, circling the bed like a lion closing in on its prey.

“Mmm,” She murmurs, “Very much so.”

“Huh,” You say, looking back down onto your book. You flip a page, “Well, maybe I should put on some more clothes. I wouldn’t want to allure you away from your writing.”

Wednesday’s gaze is piercing.

“That won’t be necessary,” Wednesday says, voice flat. She’s getting closer, hands pressed to either side of the bed, “You won’t be needing your clothes for the next hour or so.”

“Hour or so?” You say, trying to pretend like her words aren’t sending white hot arousal soaring through you. Instead, you tilt your head, playing dumb, “Are we going to have a bath or something?”

Wednesday gives you a look, like she knows exactly what you’re trying to do.

“No,” She says, voice gravelly. She leans down and brushes her lips against the side of your neck, “I would like to partake in intimacy with you.”

“Oh,” You say, as you tug her a little closer. You thread your fingers through her dark hair, voice hitching as she presses her lips to your neck, “You want to bang, babe? You should have just said.”

Wednesday frowns. She pulls back slightly, eyebrow raised. Your words lack eloquence, and despite the hungry look in her eyes, she can’t help but correct you.

“I would like to be intimate with you, yes.” She says and you kiss her.

A little while into partaking in intimacy, when Wednesday is half-naked on top of you, kissing you desperately, you hear the sharp thud of the door opening.

And you panic.

Enid is the first thing that flashes through your mind. You hadn’t locked the door. Again.

It wasn’t the first time Enid had caught you like this.

A couple of weeks ago, Enid had pranced in while Wednesday had her head buried between your legs.

Enid had screamed, you’d screamed, and clamped your legs shut so quickly you’d jutted Wednesday in the face with your knee.

It had more than ruined the mood.

Enid couldn’t look the two of you in the eye for weeks.

She’d scurried out without a word, and promptly relayed the message you and Wednesday were sleeping together to the entire school.

You didn’t want a repeat.

You withdraw only slightly from Wednesday’s lips to call out to Enid, warn her.

Unfortunately for you, it’s that exact moment Wednesday slides her hands into your pants. Your warning call slips into a low moan.

“Enid.”

The entire room stills. Wednesday’s hand freezes. The door creaks, slightly. It isn’t Enid, you can tell by the quiet pitter-patter of Thing’s fingertips on the floorboards. He makes a timely exit.

“Enid?” Wednesday says, pulling back. She’s frowning, confusion on her face. There’s something behind her eyes, hurt, and your eyes widen as you realize the implication of what you just said.

“Oh, no- babe - I wasn’t - I thought it was her at the door-”

Wednesday turns.

The door is shut, no evidence of it ever being breached. Thing had closed it behind him, the little shit, taking with him your only evidence. She turns back to you.

“There’s no one there.”

Fuck.

Wednesday withdraws from you. There’s that look in her face, you know it all too well. That look when she’s trying to figure out a puzzle, or a crime, or a string of violent murders. Appraising you like a gothic Veronica Mars.

“Do you find my roommate attractive, YN?” She asks, watching very carefully for your answer.

“No.” You groan, fall back onto the mattress. You rack your brain trying to think of ways to get her to believe you. You know her too well - she’s a skeptic by nature. Always inclined to believe the worst. Even in you, her favorite person. You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you like an x-ray. Trying to discern your intentions.

“If you were… fantasizing about Enid, that is information I should be privy to.” She says after a moment, voice clipped. You sit up, look her in the eyes. They’re guarded, her walls up. You take her hands in yours, try to push through the barrier.

“Baby, I wasn’t fantasizing about Enid, I swear. I honestly thought she was at the door.”

Wednesday’s lip twitches. She doesn’t quite believe you.

“Why would I be thinking about Enid?” You say, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, “When I have you?”

Wednesday blinks.

“Enid is arguably more attractive than me. She possesses a rarer color of eye - a deep blue. I find her sunny disposition nauseating but understand it is a far more alluring trait in a partner than my personal brand of nihilism.”

“That’s not true,” You say, reaching for her hand. She withdraws it from you. Her walls are up, and to anyone else she’d look like she was about to kill you. But you see through it. Behind the stark black of her eyes, she’s hurt.

You’d moaned her roommate's name, for god’s sake.

“Enid is not more attractive than you,” You say, hurriedly, trying to fix it, “You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen and I happen to find your personal brand of nihilism very attractive. I thought it was her at the door, babe, that’s all.”

Wednesday blinks.

It’s not in her nature to believe you, this you know. But she knows you by now, she’s studied you harder than her favorite cold cases. She swallows, and gives you the benefit of the doubt.

“Alright.” She says, voice still a little curt, but lets you pull her back down anyway.

You kiss a little while longer.

Her lips are addictive. Consuming. You thread your fingers through her hair, loosening the braids she keeps so perfect all the time. When you break away from her mouth to try and pull at the button of her black slacks, she withdraws again.

“Enid is in a relationship with Ajax,” She says, eyebrows knit. Her eyes are squinted as she watches yours, “And while I find their coupling odd at best, she seems very happy with him.”

You groan.

“Baby,” You say, rubbing your eyes, “I wasn’t thinking about her, I promise. I have no interest in Enid.”

She stares.

“You only moaned her name because you thought she was trying to come into the room?” Wednesday asks, eyes narrowed.

“It sounds dumb when you say it like that,” You mumble, “You just… put your hands in my… and I just-”

“Moaned her name.” Wednesday says, voice flat.

You lean up. Press your hands to her face.

“I don’t want Enid.” You say, looking her right in the eyes, “I only want you.”

She stares a moment. Wide brown eyes stare back at you, like she’s trying to decipher the look on your face for any hidden clues. She blinks, finding none.

“You believe me?”

Wednesday’s quiet a moment, but then she nods.

“Good,” You say, “Now come here. Please? I was promised some intimacy.”

Wednesday leans down and reclaims your lips. Her kisses deepen, tinged with urgency.

You moan out against her as her hands drop down to pull your shorts clean off your legs. She’s usually slower than this; Wednesday, despite her insistence that she wasn’t, had always been a romantic.

Usually, she’d kiss you until you were so worked up, you’d have to beg her to touch you. She’d whisper words into your ear, grind down on you until you were a wet, sloppy mess. Like jelly in her hands.

But not tonight.

Before you can so much as call out her name, she’s sliding your panties down your legs and cupping her hand against your sex.

You’re wet, embarrassingly so, and so she doesn’t have to tease long. A couple of slow circles around your clit before she’s sinking inside you, her long fingers curling to hit you right in that spot you like so much.

You gasp as she thrusts, hard, thumb pressing heavy against your clit. Her kisses don’t relent, and you spread your legs a little wider to take her deeper. Your belly coils as she fucks you, her breath hot against your lips. You grip her back with your fingers, sucking on her bottom lip as she sets her pace.

Hard. Rough. Like it would hurt if you weren’t so turned on.

She’s going to make me cum in all but three minutes, you think, mind whirling. She’s fucking you like she’s going for an Olympic medal, like if she slows down you’ll disappear on the spot.

She builds you right to the edge, all tongue and fingers and quiet sharp gasps against your lips.

And then, she’s withdrawing. Her pace slows, only slightly. Her eyes open, and she presses a long kiss to your lips.

“Say my name,” She murmurs. Her eyes are dark. Her nose brushes against yours.

You ignore her, words caught in your throat.

She’s never been this rough before, and it’s making you so wet you can barely think. All you can feel is the tightening of your belly as her fingers thrust into you. The weight of her body against yours. The quiet little noises of pleasure she makes, the feel of her lips against yours.

You try to draw her back in, quietly willing her to speed up her pace.

You’re so, so close.

She nips at your bottom lip, so hard it draws a little blood. Then, she stills her fingers.

You groan.

“Baby, please-”

“Say my name.” She demands this time, eyes flashing.

This is about Enid. You can tell by the way she’s looking at you. Hungry, a little possessive. She’s claiming you. She’s fucking you harder than she ever has to make you hers.

You swallow as a new wave of arousal courses through you. You half want to protest. Pull her down and murmur sweet nothings in her ear until all thought of Enid is gone.

But she’s hot like this. Dark eyes, rough fingers.

You don’t want it to stop.

“Wednesday.”

She’s satisfied with this, curls her fingers slightly and brushes up against that spot. You moan.

“That’s right. Wednesday. Not Enid, or Ajax or Yoko or any other student at this god-forsaken school. I’m the one who gets to do this. I’m the only one who makes you cum, understand? I’m the only name that should be on your lips.”

“Wednesday, fuck.” You gasp as her thumb brushes your clit, slowly, teasingly, like she’s trying to punish you. You lean in, try to kiss her, but she retracts, eyes dark and stormy.

“Who’s making you cum?” She presses, “Tell me.”

“You, baby,” You gasp, “Only you.”

“Not baby,” Wednesday growls, “Not sweetheart, not darling, not honey. Wednesday. Say it. Say my name.”

“Wednesday.”

She juts her hand up a final time. You cry out, moan her name once more as your orgasm flashes through you. You clutch at her back, legs locked around her thighs, starry-eyed as she leans down and kisses you desperately though it.

You sigh, body slumping back into the mattress.

She comes down with you, tilting her neck slightly to press lazy kisses to your neck. When you open your eyes, she’s watching, fingers still buried deep inside you.

“I wasn’t moaning her name,” You say, breath ragged, trying to plead your case once more.

Wednesday hums.

“No,” She says, and her tone of voice says she finally believes you, “But you were moaning mine.”

She offers you a small smile - sweet, with only the tiniest hint of a smirk. A smile of victory.

“Do that again,” You say, pulling her back down, “And I’ll moan your name as many times as you want.”

She leans down, and kisses your neck. Arousal sparks back through you. Her fingers draw, like a pistol ready to be fired.

“Wednesday.” You gasp.

#wednesday #fanfic #mine #jenna ortega #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #enid sinclair

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tflaw · 2 years

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— IT’S A RICH MAN’S WORLD.

The wealthiest man in Snezhnaya wants you. Is it a blessing or tragedy just waiting to unfold?

꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱ . . . f!reader. yandere!pantalone. dubious consent. coercion. blackmail. power play. unprotected. pee & uh cum. fingering. finger sucking. reader is smaller than pantalone. he’s a very nasty man and downright crazy.

++ anyways! it has been… weeks? months? since i’ve last written a one shot. this is my first yandere content that i’m actually a little proud of. a breakthrough. it cracked the writer’s block out of me fr. i’ve had so much fun writing this and i hope you’ll feel the same while reading! if ever i’ve forgotten to include a warning, please tell me! it’s 12 am where i’m at rn and my mind’s a biiit foggy. tell me what u think! <33

The air is sharp with perfume, rivaled by the redolence of wine placed in the hands of nobles completing the hierarchy in Snezhnaya. Bejeweled to the teeth and garbed with the finest silk, they filled the main hall of Zapolyarny Palace like scattered gemstones against the crystal blue shades of pillars and gothic windows. Buzzing noises of business talks, gossip of who wed who, which lord cheated on his wife, and the anticipation of whatever such lavish revelry might offer has taken over the place.

“We’re up in a few minutes,” a girl whispered before muttering the same to the other person standing beside you.

A feast is dedicated to the Harbingers’ return to Snezhnaya after months of diplomatic work. All over the country, everyone who possesses an invitation bolted to their favorite seamstresses and lapidaries. Even markets, shops, and stalls have all been occupied by the preparation. While you, on the other hand, have spent most of your days in the theatre to perfect the dance for the festivities.

You palm your stomach, blowing out the anxiety poking your belly with a few deep breaths. It’s not always that chances to wander around the Palace’s halls are bestowed upon someone like you. Hailing from one of the poorest villages in Snezhnaya, the elders would consider it the highest of honors to walk on the very halls as the Tsaritsa. However, your mirth has been lost to the acid in your throat, ignited by your need to flee.

If this night hasn’t been a turning point in your rather mundane life, you would’ve done just that. But the stakes are high and you couldn’t risk a misstep.

Even with knowledge of what is to come, you start as the drums begin to roll. Heads turn expectantly towards the huge frescoed doors. All face luminous except yours, as one by one, the Harbingers march into the hall clad in their regalia.

The throng immediately parts to make way for the Harbingers and Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. They say she is as cold as the snowflakes blanketing Snezhnayan soil and just as pretty. Seeing her in all her glory, the songs and poems proved to be true: she is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Forgetting for a moment the current plight you are situated in, your lips part in awe as your eyes trail her walking towards the crystallized throne. Heartbeat wild and frenzied, you’ve made a mental reminder to savor each moment. But your thoughts have been snuffed out like embers embraced by snow when your eyes moved a little further to her right.

In blatant recognition, Pantalone tilts his head at you. There he is, eyeing you like a predator. He walks into the place knowing exactly where you are. Watching and looming over like a storm gathering in the middle of the sea. Afraid of its familiar intensity, you are, but a small part of you seeks refuge in sniffing out its whereabouts to better equip yourself on how to escape its havoc. An endeavor you were yet to accomplish. Despite your swift effort to sever the connection, his eyes have lingered. They always do.

“It’s time,” the same girl says, bobbing her head before proceeding towards the made-up stage in the corner of the hall.

At the first beat, you attempt to steer your mind away from thoughts of Pantalone. He makes you unsteady. His very presence is hard to bear most especially when he looks at you like he owns you. Which, in more ways than one, is true.

You twirl and sway to the music, plastering a toothed smile whenever you spin to the center. If all goes well tonight, the theatre could attain favors from the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa. You could be a performer in Zapolyarny Palace and your future, as well as your family’s, will be secured. Perhaps, then, you won’t need to lean in on anyone for help. Such small hope but hope nonetheless.

Years of performing and blending your very soul with the stage have not prepared you for the attention that followed after the dance. For some reasons unknown, men and women alike flocked in your direction, congratulating a job well done. Alien you might be to the nobles’ way of conversation, you have treated the courtesy as your liberty from Pantalone’s presence.

If you can entertain these nobles long enough, perhaps you wouldn’t need to cross paths with the Harbinger tonight.

That has been the bane of your existence, has it not? Thinking that you can undermine, even for a little while, Pantalone’s eyes.

Your heart sinks as a hand slips around your waist, pulling your body close to a solid chest.

“I see that you have been enjoying the night without me, darling,” he whispers, shooing away the men attempting to approach with stares alone.

“Your Grace,” you breathe, hand tightening around your glass. Stomach coiling at the endearment, you shake out of his grip but he proves yet again how it’s futile to do so. He’s bigger than you. Stronger.

“It seems to be a challenge getting a hold of you tonight. What with all the men circling you around like vultures.” He looks down at you with a glint of mischief. His hand makes fast around your waist. “Worry not. They will not bother you any longer.”

You nervously sip from your glass, wondering when will you ever have the tongue to tell him that you’d rather conjure up fake smiles with the nobles than be in his company.

“I’m quite alright, Your Grace,” is all that you’ve managed to say. “And… and I wouldn’t want to deter your reunion with your fellow Harbingers,” you follow, hoping that he’d remember the comrades he has abandoned.

“Nonsense,” Pantalone scoffs. “In truth, I’m growing tedious of conversing about work and I’d assume you are, too. We shall retire to a quiet room.”

He leads you through the body of the crowd, as though parading the both of you together. Noticing the curious eyes thrown upon you by guests, your confidence evaporated. With his hand on your waist, claiming more than protecting, you know exactly the source of the next gossip in town.

Such a straightforward display of affection by a Harbinger, no less, is not to be taken lightly. You grow uneasy ruminating about what might be the impression of people around you by now.

The discomfort settles deep in your bones when Pantalone opens a door to a secluded room. Far from the crowd, no doubt, the distance muffles the music from the hall. Standing on the threshold, you hesitate for a moment, debating whether to run and make for the exit.

“Come on in,” he encourages, tone honey-laced. If he sensed your hesitation, he’s hidden it quite well with oblivion. But only when you’ve stepped inside the chamber does he finally look away.

Pantalone shuffles out of his fur coat, revealing his turtleneck sleeveless shirt embedded with jewels near the collar. “You may leave us now,” he commands the servant poking the hearth with a metal rod, whom you failed to acknowledge because of your nerves.

He politely bows to you both before departing the room.

“Come sit near the fire,” he says with a mirthful twitch of his brow on your unmoving frame. “One might think you’re afraid to come close. Come here.”

Mustering up all courage, you ask, “Why did you bring me here, Your Grace?”

There is nothing but the sound of wood crackling and liquor pouring down into two glasses after your question. Warmth might have enveloped the space, but you remain cold against his penetrative stare.

“Why, you ask? I know you’re not one for social gatherings. Therefore, I took it upon myself to save you from such dull conversations. Political matters aren’t your thing, I surmised. And they ken nothing else but politics,” he explains before walking towards you, offering the other glass with a smile.

Stop the charade. You know nothing about me.

“It matters not,” you insist, voice feeble as you reach for the glass. Frustrated are you by his theatrics, you have not forgotten that he is a Harbinger. Through and through, he gives away no sliver of doubt about his capabilities regardless of his laidback demeanor. “I have to be there with the others. This night is important to the theatre. We have to be there for when the Tsaritsa—”

“When the Tsaritsa, what?” He caresses your cheek, invading your personal space once again. “When Her Majesty bestows the theatre a favor of being permanent performers in the Palace?” he narrates as if he’s reading your mind.

“Is it a far-fetched dream, Your Grace?” You blankly stare at him, heart thudding.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” he says before turning away, taking your hand to sit you down on the sofa before the fireplace. “The dance was impeccable. But it failed in comparison to you.”

To that, you refuse to say anything.

Pantalone leans over your shoulder, tracing the side of your neck with his finger. “Although I have to remind you that for it to happen, the Harbingers need to be unanimous.”

Your breath hitches at the skinship. Reminding yourself that you need only get through the night, you close your eyes. “Are they, Your Grace? Unanimous?”

“Nothing has been decided yet,” he whispers against your skin. “But they’ve been quite enthralled by the performance— and by you, no doubt. I’ve seen it in every man’s eyes tonight.”

“Surely, you’re mistaken, Your Grace,” you reply nervously, sensitive to the direction of the conversation.

“They want you,” he insists. “And I’m not one to share.”

There it is— the words. His adamant claim to mark you. To claim you. To make you his territory.

“I’m not certain I understand, Your Grace.” Your throat bobs deeply, eyes fixated on the dancing flames as you await his response.

Pantalone sighs and takes a step back before circling around to crouch in front of you, blocking the flames from your sight. It has taken everything in you not to flinch when he took your cold hands in his warm ones.

“The Harbingers need to be unanimous,” he repeats while brushing your knuckles with his thumbs, as if consoling. And yet there is nothing in those eyes but unadulterated determination and yearning. So flagrant that his pupils dilate because of it.

“And you…” You release a shaky breath, realizing what he truly means by being unanimous. “You do not plan to agree, do you?”

He sighs in relief, as if grateful that you’ve finally understood his dilemma. “It is far beyond my patience to watch these men ogle at you—”

“Why are you doing this?” you croak suddenly, throat burning with anger and the need to lash out. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

It’s not only your life that’d crumble. The others… the whole theatre… and he cares not even the slightest bit.

Pantalone squints a little, confused at your unforeseen rage. He stands up, towering over your frame. “You look at me as if I’m wicked.”

Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, restraining the rancid words you wish to throw at him behind clenched teeth. How powerless you are under his mercy. It’s pathetic. It eats at your bones from within, leaving only a rotten mess behind.

Receiving silence, Pantalone tilts your chin up with a mere lift of his finger. “Am I truly that terrible?”

“It is… it is a terrible thing to be desired by you.”

At the look he’s given you, cowardice snakes into your ire and poisons what little bravery it has offered.

“Why? Because I want all of you and I have not a mind to share with anyone?” An odd sense of curiosity tints his voice. It sounds as though your disapproval over the matter downright confuses him.

“Pardon me, Your Grace. I am in dire need of fresh air.” You stand up but he catches your wrist swiftly, crashing your body onto his forcefully enough to have elicited a wince from you.

“Look me in the eyes. Say that you’re willing to face the consequences of leaving this room and I’ll let you go.” The threat echoes as a whisper. Sharp and baleful.

“Consequences?” Seized by terror, your lips went ajar and pallid. You face him completely, wrist hot under his fingertips.

He brushes the skin below your eye, as if plucking an invisible thread. “This is hardly the time to bring out the list, is it?”

The list. The list of everything your parents owe him: loans, mortgages, and debts. Who in Snezhnaya doesn’t owe him something? He’s the bloodline in which mora flows freely. A man of great wealth and influence, no one would dare displease him on purpose.

“One day, I swear, I’ll pay everything we owe you. To the last penny. After that, you won’t hear from me ever again,” you hiss, clueless as to where you’ve gained the courage. Perhaps it’s rooted in your hopelessness and exhaustion towards having to bend on his will.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to prevent such a horrible day,” he says, unaffected by your attitude. If anything, the determined set of your brows only deepened the flush on his cheeks. “Now, be a good girl and I might just change my mind…” he extends the last word, taking off his glasses before closing his mouth on yours.

Everything, up to this moment, is weighing on a scale. Perhaps ever since your family has been indebted to him. The other side of the scale fattens and grows heavier with each mora beside your parents’ name.

One day, Pantalone’s list will become as blank as your mind tonight.

One day.

Despite the frantic need that is evident in his eyes, Pantalone’s kisses are patient. He’s like an ocean on nights like this: dark, blood-curdling, and yet tempting. You couldn’t deny, no matter how you fight the admittance burning on your tongue, that he knows exactly where to touch and kiss you. How to coax lecherous sound after lecherous sound from your lips whenever his fingers would reach inside your cunt, curling and pumping until your stomach tightens.

“Don’t be shy,” he sighs a breadth away from your lips, breathing in your heavy pleas. “Let me hear you.”

You want to refuse him the pleasure of watching you melt under his playful ministrations. Want to extinguish the carnal lust painted in his eyes as he sucks and bites on your tit. Silence would wound his pride and crush his ego underfoot. And yet silence is the weapon missing from your arsenal.

“I do appreciate your efforts in trying to keep your moans.” The corner of his lips tips up. “But your cunt is so wet. Nobody will believe your displeasure.”

Panting, your mouth opens for a rebuttal but he quickly shoves his fingers on your tongue. Overwhelmed with a whiff of something vinegary, you gag.

“Taste yourself,” he commands. “Suck.”

At the first swirl of your tongue, Pantalone grabs your throat with his free hand to steady your head. He hisses on your cheek, “I’ll fuck you so hard tonight you won’t think of anything else.”

And he did fuck you. Hard. In many positions that have kept you exposed and embarrassed. He moves with his back flexing as he pounds your cunt.

Your eyes blurred with tears when he flipped you on your stomach, ramming his length completely inside from the back. You have been stretched open, reduced to a whining mess. And he, grunting and groaning, drives himself in and out while securing your waist with big hands.

Pantalone feels his cock growing harder, balls plumped and full of unreleased cum. His stomach clenches down to his cocktip. But before his release, he pops his cock out of your wet cunt. It bobs eagerly under its weight, shaft glossed with your arousal and ringed with white around the base.

The interruption has given you but a few seconds to breathe before he pulls your leg and guides himself completely inside once again. You both gasped at the continued connection. You shriek when he hooks your other leg over his shoulder and starts to fuck you sideways.

It’s embarrassing. The position is far too crude yet feels so good. It lasted for a minute before Pantalone shifted to face you. Both of your bodies are bouncing to his movements.

“I’m close,” he declares in the crook of your neck followed by a gutted moan.

Along with your head being fuzzy, the need to pee arises. “W… wait—” you rasp, palming his chest away. “I need to pee. Stop— stop!”

He stiffens and slows down, rising above you just enough to press a hand on your lower abdomen, before picking up his pace again.

The knot in your chest slides to your abdomen, to where his hand is pressed down your flesh. You look up at him, a harsh cry escaping your lips. Utterly devastated with pleasure, you haven’t the strength to stop yourself from gushing around his girth. The warm liquid secretion from your cunt squirts everywhere— on the sheets, your thighs, and his thighs.

“Archons,” you hear him sigh before an interval of unrestrained moans and grunts leave him. He gathers you in his arms, cock throbbing sporadically inside your walls.

You know, by then, that he had come hot and needy straight to your womb. The last you’ve seen are his eyes, stricken with nothing but satisfaction and desire before sleep tugged you in its embrace.

It’s the slip of the sun’s rays through the curtains that woke you up the next day. Sitting up on the bed, you’ve found yourself alone in the spacious room. No signs of Pantalone, and yet you still feel him in every corner of your body as if he’s stuck himself in your skin. Shivers thunder down your spine at the remnants of last night. The flashes of memory you’d rather forget have rendered you hankering for a good, long bath. And yet you have been faced with a dilemma right after stepping out of bed: your clothes are gone.

Panic rising, you clasp the sheets around your body before checking under the bed. The floor is spotless.

How are you supposed to leave now? You might’ve already sold your soul to the devil named Pantalone, but you hold a sliver of self-respect to even consider marching naked out of Zapolyarny Palace.

“You’re awake.”

You jolt at the sound of his voice.

He might’ve noticed your alarm, for he chuckles and raises his hands in defense.

“Where are my clothes?” you rasp, putting as much distance between you as physically possible.

“Oh, that?” He pumps his shoulders up in realization before snapping his fingers, then a servant carrying a huge box enters while looking at the floor. “I could not let you in those rags so I had someone burn them while you sleep.”

Stupefied beyond recognition, words have unfortunately failed you when you needed them most. You feel faint just sorting through his revelation. Rags? And burned them without your permission?

He motions to the servant, who placed the box on the bed beside you. “Go ahead and try the dress, my love. I’m certain the color will suit you.”

There is no doubt about it. The dress has been bought from the most expensive shop in the city. You know this because of the name written on the box. Once, you’ve dreamt of possessing a dress made in that shop. Yet now, all you can feel is dread.

“I can’t,” you counter, “I can’t take this. I have not the mora to pay for this.”

“Leave us,” he commands and the servant ran off without a backward glance.

Pantalone closes the distance between you, breaching your personal space and claiming it as his own. He takes your chin and says, “It’s a gift. And it’d please me so if I see you wearing it.”

“I do not want to please you.” You wag your head to take his hands off you. “I’d rather dress in rags or go home naked than… than wear that.”

From your peripheral, you’ve witnessed him wipe the sides of his mouth. He’s turning impatient, that you are certain. However, he reaches for your hand and holds it tightly despite your struggle.

“Although the latter entices my imagination, do you want me plucking out the eyes of each person that’d look your way? I suppose not.” He grips your chin and made you look at him this time. An eerie smile, one that would’ve appeared lovely to a stranger’s eyes, shapes his lips. “However, you do have a choice, my love. You always have.” Then he kisses your forehead and leaves the room.

Choice. You want to spit at the word. Trample on it until it’s reduced to pieces. He talks of choices but in truth, you have been left with none.

It’s either you wear the stupid dress or remain in this stupid chamber with your stupid pride. Nothing matters. Whatever it is you decide to do, it will end up pleasing no one but Pantalone.

do not repost, plagiarize, copy, or edit anything published by wtfkuni. check masterlist.

#tw dubcon #pantalone x reader #pantalone smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere genshin x reader

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vamp-domme · 1 year

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Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure

It feels as though you have been walking for days. The paved road changed to dirt miles back, and tall, forbidding fir trees press in on all sides, what little light there is barely reaching the ground, smothered out by the moss-draped branches.

You must press on. You're famished and exhausted, your ragged breaths stinging in your throat as the road snakes steadily upward. Whatever happens, you cannot return to the life you left behind - that choice has been made for you, and your only path is forward.

You've heard there are places to stay out here, abandoned manors that were inhabited by old recluses who passed on and left these dilapidated mausoleums behind. Perhaps one of those can shelter you until you come up with a plan. The locals may have warned you away from these paths, but they don't know your desperation.

The woods give way to a narrow track snaking along sheer cliffs. The wooded hills that stretch around you hunch like beasts about to pounce as the sun sinks low over the horizon, drenching the world in scarlet before a cloak of darkness descends. You continue, footsore and ragged, shivering from the cold, as the clouds begin to roll in.

The rain comes inexorably, first a few scattered drips, then a drizzle, until it pours down in freezing sheets. Water rushes down the cliffside, gathering in boggy puddles you can scarcely see in the dark, and you realize with a shudder that you can barely see the road ahead of you as tendrils of mist creep up from the forests below.

As despair threatens to swallow you whole, you see lights on the horizon, as the road terminates in front of a large castle that seems to cling to the hillside like a living thing. A fine, cobbled causeway leads up to ornate wooden doors gilded with devils dancing around a fire, a pair of bright torches burning nearby. Above, shadowed by clouds, you glimpse the castle's forbidding towers and turrets that seem to scrape the belly of the sky.

Feeling near death, unable to continue on, you stagger up to the door, grateful for the simple comfort of an awning over your head as thunder peals in the distance. Hesitantly, you test a golden doorknob jutting from the doors, and find it held fast. You spy a brass knocker, and rap at the door.

"God I hope there's someone there," you think to yourself. "Otherwise I'm going to freeze to death."

There is a long pause as you begin to fear the worst, when suddenly the doors open wide, revealing a lavish entryway carpeted in red.

But in front of that, stands a woman. She looks to be your elder, though not by much. She wears a gorgeous velvet dress of sheer black kissed with gold, its lace sleeves ending in frills that accentuate her hands, covered by a pair of supple leather gloves. Her hair is long and dark, her skin a pale white that makes her dark red lips stand out even more than they already would. You feel almost drawn to her, in a way you've never felt before, and it frightens you.

"And what do we have here? A wet, bedraggled little thing that has crawled its way to my door?" Her voice is like satin swishing across marble, as cool and elegant as a fine brandy on a summer's eve, and it draws you in further. You realize you need to respond, and you stammer out a reply.

"I... I'm lost. I've been walking all day, and I got caught in the storm. I was looking for somewhere to wait it out."

The woman purses her lips and leans down, and you notice her eyes are blood red. "Well then, you poor darling, you simply must come in out of the rain. I've a fire in the hearth, and a warm bed, along with plenty of company. You are welcome here, in my home, provided you follow my rules, and bring the happiness of your youthful life with you."

You feel a shiver of unease run through your body.

#vampirecore #my post #my polls #long post

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fastlikealambo · 1 year

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the invitation.|| a vampire!dream of the endless x black fem!reader fic part one.

summary: too kind for your own good, you release a trapped man in your boss's basement and strangely enough forget all about it.

one year later, you're invited to his wedding as a thank you for saving his life. as your memories of that fateful night start to return and things go bump in the night, you realize there's something very strange going on.

where is the bride?

a vampire! morpheus fic inspired by the movies the invitation and crimson peak. HEAVY on the gothic romance and melodrama.

18+ only, ageless and blank blogs will be ignored.

this is overdramatic okay just hear me out

also: i reference two major works of art (probably incorrectly) here and if you can guess which ones they are you get a forehead kiss

What is the opposite of a chill down your spine?

It was just supposed to be a simple job, reorganizing the library of some old rich guy for a week. You had a routine: arrive by five in the evening, work till midnight, and then be escorted out by a very scary man with a very scary gun. You did this everyday, calculating all the money you’d manage to finish on time.

That was until the very last night.

It had become a dance, waltzing between shelves, reorganizing and re-shelving all the books in the massive library with music blasting through your airpods to cut through the stillness that seemed to radiate through the entire mansion. You could taste the paycheck waiting for you as you got to the very last shelf, dusting off and picking up books with strange titles you weren't paid enough to snoop through.

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

You had shelved the last book and stood to return the keys to their spot when something went through your body. Not pain nor cold, like dipping your toe in a hot bath, on the precipice of comfort and agony coursing through your entire being in a matter of thirty seconds. You turned your music off with trembling fingers, peeking your head around the corner.

“Hello, I’m all finished!” You called out.

Nothing.

“ I’m ready to go home now!”

You took one step towards the exit before it happened again, a sweet searing heat that had you emit something between a gasp and a moan only heard when the lights were off. You wanted to tear at your clothes, at your sweat kissed brown skin, but there was a tug at your belly. The tug cut through it all and made you a marionette, one step after another until you were in front of The Door.

There weren’t many rules you had to follow in order to keep this gig but not going near this particular door was at the very top of the list, an imposing door where all light feared to tread, where your inner alarm should have been screaming, but there were two surprises there.

The first was that despite that you had watched the scary man with the scary gun triple check the door himself earlier that evening, the cold metal door twisted easily in the palm of your hand, very much unlocked.

The second was you were completely and utterly unafraid.

In fact, it was a strange sense of relief that fell over you as you opened the door.

Whatever lay behind that door wasn’t going to harm you.

It wanted you.

For a century and half, the vampire of dreams lay imprisoned.

The world above crumbled and rebuilt, aged and died but not him, never Morpheus. Even now it was hard for him, a once king among vampires, to fully grasp how Roderick Burgess, a human with stolen magic and a twice blessed cage of glass, tricked him into captivity.

Had he grown arrogant in his perpetually long life?

Had the time he had spent around humans softened his mind?

He had a hundred and fifty years to contemplate that yet had come to no conclusion other than that he was lonely and hungry and that no one, human or otherwise, deserved this.

There was no crown for him, just a cup of cold pig blood to keep him lucid every few weeks.

Oh, how he longed for flesh and scorching blood!

The passage of time picked him apart as his imprisonment passed from father to son to grandson and so on and so forth behind closed doors.

Therefore Morpheus was inclined to wait and in the darkness he waited.

And waited.

Till one night, he heard it.

Not the dull thud of his guards’ hearts, but a hot symphony of blood rushing through veins, a consecrated pumping heart, what music!

Your pulse brought the vampire to fervor and he called for you with every bit of his existence, if there was anything left of his power he called on it to cry out for you.

“Come to me, sweet one.”

And you did.

How he kept himself from clawing at his immortal body with every step you took down the stairs to him was an act of unholy restraint but the moment your face appeared in front of him, this was ecstasy.

Your beauty had made him Saint Teresa.

Though his glass imprisonment had been blessed by two popes, it was not immune to a black woman with the sheer determination to use a folding chair as a frisbee and accidentally slipping on ancient protection runes in the process.

Glass like the first snowfall of a season glittered the air and his prison of a hundred and fifty years fell to pieces.

Morpheus, the fallen vampire, was free.

“Are you hurt? I’m going to get you some help, okay?” You said kindly to the strange yet beautiful man in front of you who said nothing in return.

You had just discovered a caged up naked man in a rich guy’s basement, there was no way you were getting paid now.

“Let’s get you covered up, you must be freezing.” You turned away for a moment to shrug out of your jacket and hand it to the silent man but when you turned your face to him once more he was fully clothed.

“How did you do that?” You asked, the first splinter of fear flowing through you yet faded the instant his cold hand cupped your cheek.

“Sleep.” He whispered, fangs on display.

With a single question dying on your lips, you drifted to sleep in the vampire’s waiting arms.

Within one evening, you had made a madonna out of a monster, and a revelation had Morpheus sinking to his knees.

You were a feast but you were not for feasting.

He had other plans for you.

ONE YEAR LATER.

For each hour Dream had spent imprisoned, he would take his due in blood. That was a thing about the wealthy, they loved legacies and held the luxury of well recorded bloodlines.

Every single Burgess and Burgess adjacent mortal was drained of blood. He drank his way through cousins and uncles, he sipped on acolytes and jailers, dined and dined till his supper of punishment left him full.

And after that, the vampire yearned.

For you.

He would tear the devil in two for a single chance to dip between your brown thighs and drown.

With his vengeance satiated, Morpheus had work to do.

This was to be the crescendo of his immortal life’s work and it was all for you.

The vampire of dreams was taking a wife.

And what a beautiful bride you’d make.

@pinksirensong

@xasement

@morpheus-helm

@darkfairy102190

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x black reader #vampire!morpheus #yandere morpheus #FINALLY

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alphasunpup · 7 months

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Feedist Kinktober Day 20- Bloodsucker

I sighed walking down the street, looking out for new prey. They just didn't make em like they used to before. Everyone was so focused on fitness, and diets, and fucking wheatgrass. Why did mortals love wheatgrass so much?!

Where was the decadence? The opulence? The grandiose of hedonism that only the luxury of true nobility could experience?

No, all of that was gone. No longer was the plushness and fatness of hedonism celebrated, exalted, even. It was shamed. And that was truly the greatest failure of humanity.

Now, here I was stalking the streets. Hoping some gym bunny who was a little heftier would come by so I didn't feel like I was starving.

Instead you passed. You with your brown skin glistening with sweat. You with curly hair tied up with a bandana. You were huffing and puffing walking out of the gym. I narrowed my eyes and could see you snacking on some chocolate bar. Ah, you were a first timer. First time gym member were so delectable. So easy to have slip into those old habits again.

I decide to descend from the rooftop, gently floating down. I come up from behind you. Your blood throbs in your veins, loud enough for my hearing to pick up on. I have to stop myself from licking my fangs. Apparently humans didn't do that either.

I enchant you with both words and appearance. I invite you to dinner, using a little hypnotism to convince you. I let you go back to your place to get ready and then escort you back to my place.

You are enchanted with the castle I live in. It's a bit gothic in design but very modern on the inside. I escort you to a dining hall that a few centuries would've been considered a feast hall. I have you sit at the head of the table gazing at the feast before you.

There's glazed ham, stuffed turkey, fried fish, fruits delicately coated in sugar. Puffed pastries, cakes, even modern day candy. Whatever could've been imagined on the long dining table was there.

You obliviously say you can't eat all of this. It would be too rude to eat this sumptuous feast. I wave you off and encourage you to eat. You get a whiff and by then the magic has slipped in and seeped into your bones.

You feel compelled almost to eat now. A slice of glazed honey ham, melts down your throat. Tender and juicy meat as a bit dribbles down your lip. My eyes roll back again, getting simply a scent of how delectable your blood would be after this feast. It was just a matter of patience. All good things happened to those who wait.

It was a tantalizing two hours of you eating, talking. Surprisingly out of my victims you were the one who interested me the most. The one most fit to become my little blood bank for a while. You sat in your seat, tears ruining your makeup a bit. You had gorged yourself on the meal like a proper sovereign.

Your belly pushed against your dress, pushing into the table now. Your breast sat upon your belly like books placed on a proper shelf. A belch rippled from your mouth and you moaned. You shuddered and whined a little. Your eyes hazy and glazed over from the amount of food you filled yourself up with. Sitting there so pretty and fat, like a fattened up doe.

And just like a doe you had no clue when the predator had descended onto you. I finally sunk my fangs in, tasting your blood. I could get snippets of the flavors of the feast. A heady moan fell out of my mouth as the flavors danced on my lip. A small gasp and whine come from you. I ignore them as I take my fill.

Once I feel my own belly filled, I pull away. I ask my servants to take you to the princess suite of my castle. I held a hand to my own bloated stomach, pressing against my button-up and vest. I let out a small burp and shudder.

Oh you would do, you would do nicely. You were going to be my princess of gluttony, glutting yourself on my feast cooked up by my servants. Oh you were going to get fat, obese even, and I was going to get fat off you, my princess.

#soft feedism #fat vampire #mutual feedism #feedist kinktober #black feedee #woman feedee x gender neutral feeder #feedism kink #feedism story #sapphic feedism #magical stuffing

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do-you-have-a-flag · 7 months

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so i was watching Ken Russell's GOTHIC which is as inaccurate and horny as you would expect from him. and it was fun and probably the most slanderous take on the lord byron + polidori + mary and percy shelley party frankenstein was inspired from.

but i can NOT stop thinking about the fucked up orientalist erotic automaton of a belly dancing turk.... in a movie that already does a lot that was A Lot

here is the scene of Percy Bysshe Shelley discovering it. the music.... the tiddy button.... the heart shaped pubes.... i am going to push ken russell into the ocean

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jimmorrisonreal · 25 days

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Horse Latitudes

The barn is burning The race-track is over Farmers run out w/ buckets of water The horse flesh is burning They’re kicking the stalls (panic in a horse’s eye That can spread & fill an entire sky.)

The clouds flow by & tell a story

about the lightning bolt & the mast on the steeple

Some people have a hard time describing sailors to the undernourished.

The decks are starving Time to throw the cargo over

Now down & the high-sailing fluttering of smiles on the air w/its cool night time disturbance

Tropic corridor Tropic Treasure

What got us this far to this mild equator

Now we need something & someone new when all else fails we can whip the horse’s eyes & make them cry & sleep ~~~

France is 1st, Nogales round-up Cross over the border- land of eternal adolescence quality of despair unmatched anywhere on the perimeter Message from the outskirts calling us home This is the private space of a new order. We need saviors To help us survive the journey. Now who will come Now hear this We have started the crossing Who knows? it may end badly

The actors are assembled; immediately they become enchanted I, for one, am in ecstasy enthralled. Can I convince you to smile?

No wise men now. Each on his own grab your daughter & run ~~~

“Oh God, she cried I never knew what it meant to be real I thought all this was a joke, I never let the horror, or the sweetness & the dignity penetrate my brain”

“Let me up to see the window. Dark Riders pass in the sunset coming home from raiding parties. The taverns will be full of laughter, wine, & later dancing, later dangerous knife throws.

Antonio will be there & that *****, Blue Lady playing cards w/silver decks & smiling at the night, & full glasses held aloft & spilled to the moon. I’m sad, so full of sadness” ~~~

She’s selling news in the market Time in the hall The girls of the factory Rolling cigars They haven’t invented musak yet So I read to them From The BOOK OF DAYS a horror story from the Gothic age a gruesome romance From the LA Plague.

I have a vision of America Seen from the air 28,000 ft. & going fast

A one-armed man in a Texas parking labyrinth A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird in an empty lot in Fresno Miles & miles of hotel corridors & elevators, filled w/ citizens

Motel Money ****** Madness Change the mood from glad to sadness

play the ghost song baby ~~~

a young woman, bound silently, on a hostpital table, obviously pregnant, is gutted & rifled of her empire

objects of oblivion ~~~

Drugs *** drunkenness battle return to the water-world Sea-belly Mother of man Monstrous sleep-waking gentle swarming atomic world Anomic in social life

how can we hate or love or judge in the sea-swarm world of atoms All one, one All How can we play or not play How can we put one foot before us or revolutionize or write ~~~

Does the house burn? So be it. The World, a film which men devise. Smoke drifts thru these chambers Murders occur in a bedroom. Mummers chant, birds hush & coo. Will this do? Take Two. ~~~

each day is a drive thru history

#poetry #60s #70s #classic rock #jim morrison #psychedelic rock #the doors #writing #80s

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nefrumeritblog · 2 years

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Me on Shemakhinskaya Bayaderka Tribal Fest, 2021

Full perform https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwHbNHeTxkg

Like and sub <3

#tribalfusion #tribal fusion #tribal #bellydancer #tribal bellydance #tribal dance #dark fusion #fusion #gothic #nefru merit #cute belly #tattoo model #tattoo girl #tattoos #tattoolife

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thottybrucewayne · 1 month

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Thotty's Spring-Summer TBR

To be started

Excluded: Making Feminist and Queer Movements More Inclusive by Julia Serano Darkly: Black History and America's Gothic Soul by Leila Taylor Toward the African Revolution by Fanon Black Disability Politics by Samantha Dawn Schalk and Sami Schalk Notre Histoire: The First Hundred Years of Haitian Independence by Ghislain Gouraige Jr. Sexed Up by Julia Serano The Color of Kink: Black Women, BDSM, and Pornography by Ariane Cruz Flowers for the Sea by Zin E. Rocklyn Against the Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa Miss Major Speaks: The Life and Legacy of a Black Trans Revolutionary by Toshio Meronek Revolution is Love: A Year of Black Trans Liberation by Qween Jean and Joela Rivera Sisters in the Life: A History of Out African American Lesbian Media-Making Editor(s): Yvonne Welbon and Alexandra Juhasz Keith Haring's Line Race and the Performance of Desire by Ricardo Montez Queer Latino Testimonio, Keith Haring, and Juanito Xtravaganza: Hard Tails by A. Cruz-Malavé

To Be Finished

When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost by Joan Morgan Whipping Girl by Julia Serano Black Trans Feminism by Marquis Bey Reel to Real: Race, class, and sex at the movies by Bell Hooks Culture and Imperialism by Edward Said

Re-reads

Black Marxism by Cedric Robinson Anarcho-Blackness Notes Toward a Black Anarchism by Marquis Bey Anarchism and Black Revolution by Lorenzo Kom'boa Ervin Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire Cistem Failure by Marquis Bey Every Tongue Got to Confess: Negro Folk-tales from the Gulf States by Zora Neale Hurston The Book of Negro Folklore Editor(s) Langston Hughes & Arna Bontemps

Reccs

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon The Deep by Rivers Solomon Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity by C. Riley Snorton Some Wear Leather, Some Wear Lace: The Worldwide Compendium of Postpunk and Goth in the 1980s by Marloes Bontje The Blood of A Thousand Roots by Dane Figueroa Edidi My Soul to Keep by Tananarive Due My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite Street Style by Ted Polhemu Belly of the Beast: The Politics of Anti-Fatness as Anti-Blacknes By Da’Shaun L. Harrison The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi Insights: Film & Television by TRUDY Shuckin' and Jivin': Folklore from Contemporary Black Americans by Daryl Cumber Dance

#thotty speaks #Thotty's Library #Reading with Thotty #We making out the depression spiral with this one!!!!!!!! (maybe)

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whoneedscoffeeanyway · 2 years

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Arcane HCs !modern au! Tiktok star jinx x TikTok star y/n

CW: slight obsession, emo y/n, TikTok (all that stuff), fluff, excessive catcalling,

Pronouns: gender neutral y/n

A/N: felt bad for taking so long with posting part two to my vampire jinx fic. The delay is due to a combination of me being a procrastinator and me not fully sure of how to write it. So don't worry it's coming it just may be a bit, but I'll post it as soon as possible. So here's some headcanons of jinx being a TikTok star and being in love with a random emo.

Jinx was shocked at how popular she became on tiktok

She literally just got bored one day and was scrolling through it

Decided to do a random trend she thought was cool. A dance to some song she liked.

She always loved dancing but never made it obvious

She thought it was fun so she did a few more

She went to bed that night to wake up the next morning (if you consider 4:30 the next morning) to see she'd blown up overnight.

Ever since shes loved doing TikToks purely for the odd rush that came with all the approval

She'd do all kinds of things, dancing to music, showing off outfits of different aesthetics, or just random funny clips she recorded. She even showed off some graffiti art.

In a few days she'd become a legend. Making chaotic videos of her causing mischief and being a menace to her sister

Who has made abundantly clear wanted nothing to do with her silly TikToks. She was supportive at least

Pride cometh before the fall unfortunately

Overtime jinx noticed that fame comes at a cost

That cost being randos hitting on her in the comments

Some even on the streets

"what a buncha creeps!!! can't they take a hint!?!"

This behavior got under her skin more than she thought it would as more and more people made their attraction to her apparent

With some being rather persistent

One day at a convention she walked around with a mask and hat on as a disguise

Stealth 100

She was looking at some cute accessories when she noticed the person next to her as a follower of hers

Y/n; a fellow TikToker who did vids about outfits and fashion. Mainly gothic and emo stuff.

They also happened to be one of jinx's favorite tiktokers and she froze when they looked over at her

"hey aren't you that girl with the blue hair? jinx was it?"

(•\\\^\\\•;)

"oh God they recognized me, what do I do?!?!

She has no idea what to think in this moment having now been recognized by her idle irl

On one hand "OMG senpai noticed me!!"

On the other hand who's to say they won't just flirt with her like all the others who she met irl

"your stuff is pretty cool, especially that mural you did in the old subway station downtown, that was so cool"

She snapped back into reality and returned the compliment, sharing her affection for their outfits.

Her favorite one being the croptop that showed their belly piercing, but she didn't dare say that

After y/n asking for an autograph and more compliments they left, just like that

After that jinx was basically head over heels for them

She couldn't say why

The way they showed interest in her hobbies

The way they didn't seem to be interested in catcalling her or making passes at her

Plus the outfit they wore was just 👌😤👌

This began her new obsession

You

She couldn't help but follow you around at the convention

Just a little bit.

She wasn't stalking it was just...okay yeah she was stalking

She immediately stopped after she realized that

Not before "bumping into you again" to ask for her own autograph

Which she proudly framed and hung in her room

She felt so confused about her emotions towards you

She'd never felt this way before, nor did she ever act like a head over heels teen

She'd stay up and watch all your TikToks and admire you

Simps for you hard

Eventually gains the courage to send you a message

"hey I was wondering if you'd like to…Collab sometime

You excitedly accept

Soon you're both collaborating on an outfit

It came out something like this

You offer to wear it and she just stared at you

She couldn't stop blushing as she filmed you posing for the tiktok

You notice and ask if she's okay

"I'm good...you just- look nice"

You realize her feelings pretty quickly after that

As Time went on and you collabed more you grew to feel the same way

One day you two do the electric love trend as a joke planning to pull away or dab or something just before you kiss

Cue an on video make out session

Neither of you meant it to happen you just sorta went for it

You began dating shortly after

Best TikTok couple ever

Vi spit up her drink while watching your electric love TikTok

The end 😊

#jinx x y/n #jinx x reader #jinx headcanon #y/n x arcane #jinx arcane #arcane headcanon

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