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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

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Oooooh superhero gn reader x Viltrumite mark, please! During the Invincible War, Mark goes to take reader back to his universe, saying he’s missed them and their life together. Reader rejects him, and makes a deal: if reader wins, Mark has to stop wrecking chaos on the planet. If mark wins, reader will go back with him and whatever ‘life’ they created. And reader ends up losing. :)))

THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

the sky is bleeding red when he finds you—a sickly crimson streaked with smoke, the air thick with the scent of burning metal and charred flesh. the distant wails of sirens blend into the chaos, a symphony of destruction that never seems to end.

you’re panting, your bruised knuckles pressed into the cracked pavement as you push yourself up, every muscle screaming in protest. the city around you is a graveyard—skyscrapers reduced to skeletal husks, streets littered with bodies, some still twitching, others long gone. the invincible war has turned your world into a slaughterhouse, and standing in the middle of it all, untouched by the ruin, is him.

mark grayson.

but not your mark.

this one is different—sharp where your best friend is soft, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a coldness in his stare that makes your stomach knot. he wears the viltrumite empire’s uniform, the sleek, lighter armor a stark contrast to the torn superhero costumes scattered around you. a few blood stains littered the fabric, some of it still fresh, glistening under the firelight. it’s not just from battle—no, this mark wears it like a trophy.

you had just finished killing other variants of him, their lifeless eyes staring up at you, their faces so familiar it made your hands shake. you mourned them, grieved for the versions of you in their worlds who must have loved them as fiercely as you love yours. your breath still comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of what you’ve done.

and then he arrived.

this mark moves with a predator’s grace, his steps measured, his shoulders squared with the confidence of someone who’s never lost. there’s a quiet intensity in the way he surveys the wreckage—like a king surveying his domain. but when his eyes land on you, something shifts. the cold superiority in his gaze softens, just for a second, before he schools his expression back into something unreadable.

"there you are," he says, voice low, almost reverent, like he’s been searching through a thousand broken worlds just to find you. the way his eyes trace over you—lingering on the blood smeared across your cheek, the way your chest heaves with exhaustion—makes your skin prickle. it’s not relief in his tone. it’s claiming.

and you realize, with a sinking dread that coils like ice in your gut, that this isn’t over. it’s only beginning.

"missed you," he murmurs, the words rough, scraped raw from his throat. his voice is different from your mark’s—deeper, edged with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter. he says it like he’s been holding it in for years, like he’s carved the words into his ribs just to keep them close.

your chest tightens, heart hammering against your sternum. you’ve heard the stories—whispers of alternate marks, warped by viltrum’s cruelty, ripping through dimensions to drag back what they think belongs to them. and now he’s here, standing in the wreckage of your city, looking at you like you’re a ghost he’s been chasing. like you’re already his.

"you don’t even know me," you spit, swiping the back of your hand across your split lip. the metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, bitter and familiar.

he tilts his head, considering you with a gaze that feels like a physical touch. "i know enough," he says, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "in my world, you were mine." his thumb brushes over a streak of dirt on your jaw, possessive and tender all at once. "we had a life. a future." his eyes darken, something feral flickering behind them. "i’m taking you back."

your fists clench, nails biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. you think of your mark—the boy who scraped his knees racing you down suburban streets, whose laughter was always a little too loud, a little too bright. the one who looks at eve like she hung the stars, while you’ve spent years swallowing down words that taste like rust and regret.

"what happened to me?" you choke out, the question tearing from you like a wound ripped open. "in your world. did i—" your voice fractures. "did i love you too? or did you just force me to?"

his pupils dilate, just slightly, the only crack in his controlled facade. for a heartbeat, he looks almost human. "you begged me to stay," he says, low and rough, like the memory is a blade twisting in his gut. "the night before the viltrumite fleet came. you held onto me like you knew." his jaw tightens. "then they burned our world to ash. but you—" his thumb presses against your pulse point, a mockery of tenderness. "you were always meant to survive."

the air leaves your lungs. you can see it—some other version of you, screaming as the sky split open, clinging to a monster because they didn’t know he’d become one.

"no."

his expression darkens—not like a storm rolling in, but like a door slamming shut. the brief vulnerability in his eyes snuffs out, pupils contracting into something cold and calculating. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as his teeth grind together, like he’s biting back words he’ll never say. the softness that had flickered across his face for just a second hardens into something unreadable, the lines of his face sharpening into a mask of imperial discipline.

but his eyes—oh, his eyes. they’re not just empty. they’re hungry.

the way he looks at you isn’t just possessive. it’s devouring. his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance, like he can’t wait to break it apart and remake you into something that fits in the hollow of his hands. his lips twitch, not into a smirk, but into something far more dangerous—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that says, you think you have a choice?

and then, just like that—it’s gone. his face smooths back into viltrumite indifference, as if that momentary crack in his armor had never existed. but you saw it. you felt it. and that’s what terrifies you the most. "you don’t get a choice."

"then fight me for it," you snap, surging forward until your forehead hovers a breath away from his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to count the flecks of gold in his darkened eyes. the scent of smoke and iron and something uniquely him clings to the space between you, thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—just holds your gaze with a half-lidded, almost lazy intensity, like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

then his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate, lingering on the part of your lips, the quickened rise and fall of your chest. there’s no shame in it, no pretense—just hunger, plain and unapologetic. your pulse stutters. for one terrifying second, you almost falter, because this isn’t the look of a conqueror assessing his enemy.

it’s the look of a man remembering how you taste.

"if i win, you leave this planet alone. if you win…" your voice wavers as a memory blindsides you—your mark’s face, soft in the moonlight on his rooftop, his fingers brushing yours as he smiled at you with something warm and unreadable. you’d let yourself imagine, just for a second, that it was love. that it could be you.

now, you’re bargaining with a ghost of him.

"i’ll go with you," you whisper.

he grins finally, all teeth, but still disciplined—like he’s savoring the way your breath hitches when he leans in. "deal."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the battle is brutal.

you’re strong—strong enough to have shattered the ribs of other marks, strong enough to have left their bodies broken in the rubble of this war. but him? he’s something else entirely. every hit he lands cracks through your bones like fault lines, every impact vibrating through your teeth until your jaw aches. you dodge, but you’re always a half-second too slow, his fist grazing your cheekbone hard enough to send stars exploding across your vision.

and the worst part? he’s smiling. small and private just for you, but still there.

not the sharp, cruel grin of a conqueror—no, this is lazy, almost playful, like he’s savoring the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way your muscles scream as you push yourself beyond limits that should have broken you already. he’s toying with you, you realize with a sickening lurch. not because he needs to, but because he wants to see how long you’ll last.

"you took down six of them," he muses, catching your fist mid-swing like it’s nothing, his fingers tightening until your knuckles creak in protest. "six of me." his voice drops, something almost like pride curling through it. "that’s not nothing."

then his knee slams into your gut, and the world blurs.

you don’t even feel the moment his fist collides with your ribs—just the sickening crunch, the way your body folds around the impact before you’re hurled backward, crashing through concrete and steel like paper. debris hails down around you, dust choking your lungs as you gasp, vision swimming in and out of black.

when the ringing in your ears fades, he’s already there, crouched beside you with all the casual grace of a predator who’s never known fear. his fingers brush the hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"you put up a good fight," he murmurs, thumb dragging over your split lip. his voice is almost fond, like he’s praising a well-trained weapon. "stronger than most. smarter, too." his grip tightens, just slightly, forcing your gaze up to his. "but you were never gonna win."

your body screams—muscles torn, bones fractured, blood pooling beneath you like a second shadow. but the pain in your chest is worse, a hollowed-out wound no advanced viltrumite healing could ever fix. you think of your mark—his stupid, lopsided smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the light in his eyes when he looked at eve—a light that was never, ever for you.

and now you’ll never tell him.

"promise me," you whisper, the words slick with blood, metallic and bitter on your tongue. there’s so much more you want to say—begging, pleading things that claw at your throat like trapped birds. promise me you’ll love me. promise me i won’t just be another trophy. promise me you won’t get bored and break me when i’m no longer new. promise me you won't throw me aside like he did. but all that comes out is: "promise you’ll leave this world alone."

mark’s thumb drags across your cheekbone, smearing dirt and blood in a mockery of gentleness. his touch is warm, almost reverent, like you’re something precious instead of something stolen. "i promise," he says, and for a heartbeat, his voice is so soft it almost sounds like the boy you knew.

then his arms lock around you, lifting you against his chest like you weigh nothing. the sky splinters above you—crimson and gold and burning, the last beautiful thing you’ll ever see.

(and somewhere, in another life, your mark screams your name, raw and shattered, as the rubble of your city collapses around him. but you’re already gone, and the universe does not care.)

1.9k words full of my number one favourite invincible variant!! thank you so much to the anon who requested this one-shot heheheh <33

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nightingale-prompts · 7 months ago

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Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #bruce wayne #john constantine

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planetallure · 10 months ago

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⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her “the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3

#lari's fic recs #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #dark!ethan landry #dark!ethan landry x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #dark!random drysdale x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #rafe x reader #jj x reader #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader

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bi-writes · 10 months ago

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can we have like a pov of like what MOB would do if something did happen to simon..? luv you!

mail-order bride

your tea is cold when you pick it up to drink it. it burns you, how cold it is, and you cough a little as you set it down, grimacing as you wipe your lips.

maybe it's just one of those days. the rain is hitting a little too hard against the window. the cats have been restless. the dark one shredded your yoga mat by clawing at it under a doorway, and the orange tabby managed to knock over all of simon's plants from the windowsill (which you frantically put back inside their little pots--would plant murder be his last straw?). you left a red shirt in when you washed the whites (you apologized to all of simon's white tees), and when you noticed holes in your favorite sweats in a pattern that matched a cat's claws, you called it a day and decided to make tea (another fail).

you rub your pounding head, taking a deep breath, but you aren't given long to count down from five when your phone begins to ring.

you pick it up, not recognizing the number, but you put it to your ear as you get up to boil more water.

"hello?"

a throat clears on the other end. "do i have mrs. riley 'ere?"

you frown, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter as you turn a burner on and put the kettle over it.

"uhm...yeah. this is she," you say finally. you look at the clock; it's late, much too late. "who is this?"

"this is john. ah...captain john price, ma'am."

you clench your jaw, closing your eyes. "um...i'm sorry, i...what can i do for you? simon's not--"

"we had to call for medevac," john says lowly. "ahh...should be headin' into surgery soon. i--"

"wait--what?" you cough a little, shutting the stove off, and you're scrambling as you make your way to the bedroom. he's talking again, you realize, but you can't hear what he's saying. your eyes are moving around the room, and you frantically start to pull drawers open, grabbing a sweater, jeans, actual clothes to put on. you shed your pajamas, hopping as you slide your jeans on, and he's still talking, but you still hear nothing.

you run into the dresser, the furniture rattling, and you let the phone go, realizing you can't see because there's tears blurring your vision. you wipe them away, looking around for your purse, and when you realize what this is, an emergency--right?--you head for the bookcase in simon's study.

you toss a few books down onto the floor, your hands shaking as your fingers curl around the spine of a leather bible. you set the book down on simon's desk, flipping through the pages before you find your prized paper nestled between the pages of the book of john.

you head back to the bedroom, picking up the phone again, and you shakily dial the number that's on the back of the card. you take a seat on the bed (because where would you go anyways?), and you close your eyes as you wait for someone to pick up.

it rings for too long. you gasp a little, clutching the phone tight, and you beg for someone to pick up, please, please, please--

"'ello?"

"johnny--" you hiccup, standing up. "johnny, he...he told me--"

"wha--who--" on the other end, johnny shouts at someone to get a move on, "--bleedin' christ, who is this?"

"it's me," you whisper. "i'm...simon's--"

"ach...fuckin' hell..." there's a long, deep sigh on the other end. "oi, lass, listen, he's alright--"

"he's...b-but someone said surgery."

"right, i..." he sighs again, and you hear a door shut on the other end. "ye sit tight, luv. i'll come get ye, okay?"

you sniffle, wiping your face, "just tell me he's gonna be okay. tell me i'm worrying for nothing."

johnny chuckles a bit, and the sound soothes you just enough. "gonna be alright. lad's fuckin' dramatic, i'll tell ye tha', big brick fuckin' stepped in front of--"

"okay, johnny, please don't tell me how simon almost killed himself and get your ass over here, okay?" you snap, and johnny halts his laughing.

"right, yeah, forgive me." you hear the rattle of keys. "'m coming."

"mrs. riley?"

your head lifts up. you blink the sleep out of your eyes, rubbing them gently, and there's a petite woman in scrubs smiling at you with her mask hanging around her neck. you have two sergeants at either side of you, captain price settled leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. you have a blanket around your shoulders, and when you slip it off, johnny takes it from you gently.

"you can see him now."

you get to your feet, and when you pass simon's captain, he tips his hat at you respectfully. you hurry and follow the doctor down the hall, and when you see simon's name scribbled on a makeshift sigh on the wall, you eagerly pick up the pace until the door is opened for you.

he looks peaceful laying there. the monitors beep quietly around him, little wires and tubes falling around him, and you let out a breath when you see him blink those dark eyes awake blearily.

"tha' an angel?"

you start to cry. "you're such an asshole."

you come close to the side of the bed, taking his outstretched hand, and you clutch his big hand to your chest. you curl his hand into a fist, pressing your face against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles there gently. he uncurls his fingers and wipes at your tears gently, shaking his head.

"gave ya a right scare, didn't i?"

"yes, you dickhead," you sniffle, and simon chuckles lowly, wincing a little as he clutches his lower stomach. you use your foot to bring the chair behind you closer, taking a seat in it as you look up at him. he turns his head to face you, giving you a pained smile, and you let out the breath you've been holding since johnny came to get you. "what's the matter with you, simon?"

"shit happens."

you try not to roll your eyes, but the anger is not lost on simon. he squeezes your hand gently, his eyes flicking up to the clock, and he grimaces when he realizes it's nearly six in the morning. you must have been here all night, waiting for him.

"is this how it's gonna be?" you ask in a whisper. when he meets your eyes again, it's more difficult this time. what you're asking isn't predictable. it isn't a straight answer. and if he gives you anything that isn't the truth, it feels like a lie, and he can't do that to you. "w-waking up in the middle of the night? hoping that the call isn't...that...hoping that--"

"not that simple," simon interrupts gently.

"well, make it simple, simon," you say firmly. even through your tears, your voice doesn't shake this time. "make it very simple for me, then."

simon purses his lips, and for the first time since you've met your husband, he hesitates. he doesn't have an answer, at least a good one.

"don't wanna lie to ya, swee'eart," simon murmurs, and you stare right back at him.

"then don't."

he sucks on his teeth, looking away, and you tug on his hand, pulling his eyes back to you.

"look at me, simon," you say, and he looks sad. he's going to tell you something that you won't want to hear. he's going to tell you something that's been the truth since he enlisted, a reality that never bothered him until he realized he had a responsibility to keep a roof over your head. there's someone waiting inside of his house. there's a place that's waiting for him on one side of the bed he shares with you. there's someone else's shoes always next to his, and someone else's name that will always be beside his own.

family.

he has a family.

"i'll try and keep ya outta here," is all simon murmurs. you smile at that. it's a promise, but he won't lie to you. always honest, your husband. he tells you things as they are. he doesn't pretend. everything with simon is the truth as he presents it, and it's eerily comforting, even if the truth isn't one that you like.

"i love you, simon," you whisper, and when you touch his face finally, the sting of the gold of your wedding is a welcome distraction.

he vows to make this the last time you see him this way. nothing is worth seeing that face of yours like this--tired, disheveled, the angry crease in your brow. you're not meant for these things. for the waiting, the crying, the worry, it's not a life he meant to give you.

for a moment, he wonders if you'd ever ask him.

will you hang it up for me? will you leave for me?

the most terrifying part, he realizes, is that he isn't sure of what his answer would be. and he isn't sure of what you would do if he told you no.

#oof angst #it betrays me #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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teaboot · 22 days ago

Note

hopping onto the train of questions about parental abuse to ask:

how did you determine your dad was abusive? because for me it's like. i honestly cannot remember much about my younger years except that it felt much worse? and it's not like he's physically abusive but every time he speaks to me I end up feeling like week-old roadkill and i'm not sure that qualifies.

i guess follow up question is how can you tell if your parent(s) are abusive or if maybe you're just overreacting/bad if that makes sense..?

I think I had an easier time if it because I had a life outside him first? Like. He and my mom didn’t get together till I was 4 or 5, so everything I knew about being polite and respectful I learned from HER first, and so I already had a pretty strong sense of “justice” and “fair”. In the earlier years, if he said I was being bad, I believed him. It was “punishments” that made no sense. Being grounded? Yeah okay I’d do my best to do nothing for a couple weeks. Ripping all my books off the shelf, tossing them to the floor, and telling ME to clean them up? Because they were “teaching me a bad attitude”? How did THAT make sense? I thought we all cleaned up our own messes and treated other’s belongings gently??

Noticing hypocrisy and double-standards led to being gaslit, which led to paranoia and obsessively recording and writing down conversations immediately to reassure myself I wasn’t insane. Then a lot of research into what psychological abuse WAS and how to respond to manipulative behaviour.

After that, I made plans to move out and spoke to some adults at my highschool to let them know, “hey, this is what he’s doing to ME, and in a few years X Y and Z are going to be living with him without me to handle him and they’ll be attending here, so can you keep an eye on them?”.

Then just. Keeping notes.

Honestly, it’s mostly just keeping track of patterns, double-standards, and what happens before and after bad behaviour.

I noticed that HE, for example, had a habit of calling me a useless retard whenever he was angry, but as soon as he wanted something I was a smart and beautiful young ‘lady’. Also, weirdly, not matter WHO started the fight, I was always the one who ended up feeling bad and apologizing- which seemed. Odd. Like… surely it’s not ALL me? Why is it ALWAYS me who feels guilty? Oh. Oh, that’s on purpose. Interesting

But fit what it’s worth. If talking to him makes you feel bad? Even if it isn’t abusive, it shouldn’t be unpleasant. Listen to your gut. You don’t actually have to deal with him forever. Consider trying to figure out what exactly it is about your interactions that feels unpleasant and work from there

#Abuse tw #Compare words and actions and see if they line up honestly #And if you need to ask yourself if it’s abuse then the answer is likely yes

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tizeline · 1 year ago

Text

Presenting: The AU I accidentally created OOPSIE!! 😬😬😬

And yes, I know, it's another Seperation AU, and yes YES, I KNOW, they're a bit overdone at this point, bUT LISTEN!! That's precisely how I ended up in this situation!!!

So there's a lot of Seperation AUs exploring a lot of different scenarios with the turtles being raised, well, seperately. I've seen quite a few of them at this point, and despite whatever the combination is when it comes to turtle + parental figure, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed a pattern of specifically Donnie often being raised by a villain. Which makes sense, he has a tendency to put on this evil-mad-scientist-act in the show, so of course a lot of us want to see what Donnie would actually be like as a proper antagonist. But that just made me think think of the opposite possibility, of Donnie being the singular good guy while his brothers are all bad guys. Mind you, I'm sure SOMEONE must've thought of this concept before me, but I haven't seen it! So here we are!

In this AU (which doesn't have a name so don't ask!) Splinter only managed to yoink Donnie during The Incident™, so he ended up an only child, while Raph, Leo and Mikey were raised by Draxum. I also imagine Draxum being at least a decent dad considering the circumstances, so the kids he raised ended up with pretty similar personalities to what they have in canon.

Because of that we get Hero Donnie who acts all villainous cuz he's a total theaterkid, and Villain Raph, Leo and Mikey who act all heroic cuz they honestly believe they're doing the right thing in literally destroying all of humankind and as a result developed an intense case of main character syndrome.

Anyway here's some references-

I don't know how far I'll explore this AU. I fully intended to just make like one or two posts rambling about the basic concept, but when I was drawing these images my brain went into full Brain Blast mode and I started coming up with a bunch of other ideas so uh... we'll see how this turns out later I guess haha

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morlock-holmes · 6 months ago

Text

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 3 months ago

Note

can u pleasee write mean jason todd feeling bad for making reader tear up , and he tries to make it up to her in his own weird way

Save Your Tears for Another Day

Mean!Jason Todd x Reader

Guys, hate to say it, but it's probably been 6 months since I got this ask. I'm so sorry to everybody who's sent in requests that I haven't gotten to😭

Jason Todd was not a nice person.

Not to you, not to anyone.

You’d known that from the start. You knew it when he barely spoke to you outside of the bedroom. When he never asked how your day was, never let you too close, never kissed you unless it was for something more.

You weren’t dating. That wasn’t what this was.

Still, sometimes he let little things slip. A hand lingering on your waist a second too long. A gruff “Be careful” when you left his place late at night. The way he always, always came back.

It was enough to keep you around.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, Jason made you cry.

And you weren’t sure you could forgive him for it.

It started with a scar.

You were in his apartment, lying on his bed in nothing but one of his old shirts, tracing idle patterns across his chest. He let you, eyes closed, arm slung lazily over his forehead.

Your fingers ghosted over a raised line of skin, just below his ribs. One you hadn’t noticed before.

“Where’d this one come from?” you asked softly.

Jason cracked an eye open, glancing down. He barely spared it a second before shrugging. “Don’t remember.”

You frowned. “It’s pretty big.”

He yawned. “They all blend together after a while.”

You traced the scar again, a little more deliberately. “Do any of them bother you?”

Jason huffed, shifting away from your touch. “Jesus, what is this, twenty questions?”

You froze. “I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.” His voice was sharper now, that familiar edge creeping in. “You wanna screw around? Fine. But don’t go getting all sentimental on me.”

You swallowed hard, pulling your hand back. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “You always do this. Act like there’s something here when there’s not.”

Something in your chest twisted.

Jason must have noticed, because he sighed and pushed himself off the bed. “I don’t need you digging through my past like some therapist. Just drop it.”

He left the room without another word, and you sat there, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt. It was the way he said them—like the very idea of you caring was a burden. Like you meant nothing to him.Maybe you didn’t.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to breathe. You wouldn’t cry over Jason Todd. You wouldn’t. But that night, when you left his place and walked home alone, you did.

Jason knew he’d fucked up before you even left.

He hadn’t meant to snap. It just… happened. The moment you started asking about his scars, something inside him twisted, pulling tight. You didn’t get it. What it was like to die, to come back, to carry every wound like a reminder of the boy he used to be. And you—soft, warm, good—you had no place in any of it.

That’s what he told himself.

But when he heard the front door click shut, something ugly settled in his stomach. You always stayed the night.

Not this time.

Jason spent the next day trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest. He went out on patrol, cracked a few skulls, kept moving. But even when he was standing over some lowlife, breathing hard, knuckles bloody, all he could think about was the look on your face before you left. By the time he got back to his apartment, it was nearly three in the morning. He hesitated, then grabbed his phone.

Still mad?

The message sat unread. Jason scowled, tossing the phone onto the couch. He wasn’t good at this. At fixing things. At people. So he did what he always did when he needed answers. He found Roy.

“You what?” Roy blinked at him, halfway through a beer.

Jason sighed. “I made her cry.”

Roy let out a low whistle, setting his drink down. “Damn. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Not helping.”

“I am helping. I’m making you feel worse so you’ll actually fix it.”

Jason glared. “You’re about to feel worse when I put you through a wall.”

Roy smirked, but then his expression softened. “Alright, man. What happened?”

Jason exhaled sharply. “She started asking about my scars, and I… snapped.”

Roy tilted his head. “Did she ask in a pushy way?”

Jason hesitated. “…No.”

“Did she try to make it about herself?”

“No.”

Roy leaned back. “Then why’d you lose it?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, okay? It’s just—” He clenched his jaw. “It’s easier when she doesn’t care.”

Roy studied him for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smile.

“She does care, Jay. That’s the whole point.”

Jason didn’t reply.

Roy sighed. “Look, you can either keep pushing her away until she stops trying, or you can stop being a dumbass and make it up to her.”

Jason scowled. “Yeah? And how do I do that?”

Roy smirked. “You figure it out.”

Two days later, there was a knock at your door.

You opened it to find Jason standing there, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

You crossed your arms. “Hey.”

He shifted his weight. “Can I come in?”

You considered slamming the door in his face. Instead, you stepped aside.

Jason walked in, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning your apartment like he’d never seen it before.

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, he exhaled hard. “I shouldn’t have said that shit the other night.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which part? The part where you told me to drop it, or the part where you basically said I was imagining things between us?”

Jason winced. “Both.”

You didn’t let up. “And do you actually mean that, or did Roy bully you into coming here?”

His jaw tightened. “Roy made me realize I was being an asshole. Coming here was my own choice.”

You studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity.

Jason sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t do… feelings. Not well. And when you started asking about my scars, I panicked. I pushed you away because—” He hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat.

You swallowed. “Because what?”

His gaze met yours, sharp and unguarded. “Because I don’t want you to care about me.”

Your breath caught.

Jason let out a humorless laugh. “Because if you care, it means I can lose you. And I’ve lost enough people already.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

Jason wasn’t heartless. He wasn’t cruel. He was just… scared.

You took a slow step forward. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He searched your face like he didn’t quite believe it. “For now.”

“For as long as you let me,” you corrected softly.

Jason exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. Then, hesitantly, he reached for your hand, rough fingers curling around yours.

It wasn’t an apology, not exactly. And it wasn't him asking you to be something more than just a recurring fling, either.

But it was something.

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #dc #redhood #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd #jason todd x reader angst

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morganalatina21 · 3 months ago

Text

Way too far gone - Kimi Antonelli

The one where your friends can't take another night of you rambling about the guy you're in love with

Where, for the first time, is Kimi who is gonna hear what you really feel

inspired by friends - chase atlantic

Warnings: f!reader, english is not my first language, not proof read, use of yn, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, use of "good girl", alcohol.

Kimi's phone rang, waking him up from dreaming with his eyes open. On the background the lights and sounds from the tv on his hotel room lit up the ambient, the only sources of any movement. The young driver looked at the screen, seeing an unfamiliar name shining on the screen: Gabriel.

Sure, they were both rookies starting their first season on formula 1 together, but they weren't exactly close enough for him to be calling Kimi on a monday night, after the chaos at the Australian Grand Prix.

"Hello?" Gabriel yelled at the other side of the line, trying to hear his own voice. The music was loud and rythmic, which honestly made the italian happy that his friend was still able to party even after a DNF on the very first race. "Kimi?"

"Mate! Is everything okay?"

"I am fine." He paused, almost as if he was looking for somebody. "But to be honest, it's not someone's night." In the background, Kimi could hear someone whining, probably drunk, complaining about something. "Are you too busy to come and get us?"

"No." He answered, pressing his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, getting up and choosing something out of the pile of clothes he had to organize to travel to China very soon. "But can you at least tell me what`s going on?"

"Uhm... sure." After a few seconds the music was almost completely muffled and Gabriel sighed. "So, I went out clubbing with Isa, and on the bathroom she ran into a pretty drunk Y/n."

At the sound of your name, he physically perked up, back immediately rigid and the phone now on his hand.

"Y/n? Y/n L/n?"

"Yep. That one." He sighed again and swallowed. "Completely alone, dozing in and off, and apparently her friends left her alone at the club. I didn't actually understand most of what she said, but I know I got your name on some sentence, so... here we are."

"Okay, I'll- I'll come get her." Kimi was now kicking some shoes on and grabbing the keys to the rented car. "Just send me the address and I'll be on my way."

Before he could hang up, Kimi was already ou the door and frantically pressing the elevator button.

On the drive there, his thoughts were uneven, you recently told him about some weird things your friends have been saying a lot, and how it was all stuck inside the brain so bad it was impossible to shut down, keeping you up at night.

His hands squeezed the wheel and he bit his lip, promising himself silently he'd first hear you out instead of immediately cursing them off, after all, they were your friends.

Gabriel was waiting outside of the pub, purple neon lights making his eyes seem bigger and his hair darker. He waved once he saw Kimi and smiled tightly.

"Hey. She's inside, still with Isa. Come on." The brazilian driver guided him through the crowd, both with caps and heads tilted down to not be recognized so easily. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know who else to call. I offered taking her to the hotel and let her crash on the couch, I've done it before, but she refuses."

"Is okay." He shrugged. "Dios mio, Y/n."

The sight was one Kimi had never seen on you before. The make up was smudged on all directions and eyes watery, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, head moving absentmindedly without any real pattern, head attached to the neck from all the sweat and arms shaking slightly from the cold tides you were pressed against.

Isabella, Gabi's girlfriend, had one of your hands cupped between hers in her lap, and she seemed to be trying so hard to keep you awake at the bare minimum.

"I got it from here, thanks mate!"

"No problems. Come on, Isa."

You barely noticed your source of heat leaving, just sniffed and let your head hang against the wall.

Kimi squatted down to be on eye-level with you, trying to steal your attention naturally, and when it happened, there was a glimpse behind your eyes.

"Hey, you look like him." You muttered almost to yourself, and then louder: "You really look just like him."

Holding out a hand, with the index finger you pressed against his right cheek, almost testing if he was real, and once the test came out positive, he felt the whole hand holding his face.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. Just like him." You sniffed once more, nostrils congested and drippy from all the crying that also ruined your make up. "But my friends- uh- where did my friends go?" Looking around, finally realising Isabella was no longer holding you.

"They just left, and now I'm here to take care of you, miss."

"My friendssss" Kimi now recognized, the one whining drunkly at the call was, infact, you. "Fuck, I'm really that unloveable." To that, he opened up his mouth to question, but you were too far gone rambling. "It's whatever, i guess, I mean, it's not great, but hey- at least I got a handsome face like you now staring at me."

"I think that's enough for tonight, come on."

Gently, he held his arms out, framing your curled up body and reaching for your elbows and pulling you to stay in your feet. A little off-balanced, but he could work with that.

"Let's go home."

His arms were shoved off at the blink of an eye, your hand still hanging in the air from pushing you away, back now fully glued to the wall behind you.

"Hit the brakes, man." You were slurring your words and barely managing to stay put in your heels, but your eyes were feisty. "I'm not walking into no stranger's car, I still have some self respect, 'kay? I can still think, fucker."

"What-"

Kimi explored every inch of your face, looking for a shaking sign of a unfunny prank, but he found nothing except some anger and that same glimpse.

"Are you serious? Love, it's me."

Your bottom lip quivered before you gulped, still not moving and looking at him with cold fear. Arms up, trying his best to not seem remotely scary, he approached you step by step, dragging his feet on the floor in order to not be too quick and scare you away. He did not know what he would've done if you ran off frightened and locked yourself in the bathroom, or worse, got lost in the streets.

"Okay, see? Calm down."

He was halfway believing in the way your expression softened and arms were hanging on the sides of your body, letting him in.

You blinked once, twice, before melting and craning the neck and taking his lips onto yours.

This was definetely not what he was expecting but gave in anyway, reciprocating the kiss and enveloping your shaking body in his arms. You tasted like vodka and some energy drink, most likely Red Bull, and he made a mental note to fake argue with you about giving his competition money.

"Come on, baby. Let's go home."

You grunted out of frustration. "Dude, what is your problem? I already said to you, I'm not going to bed with you just because you look like him. Just get a fucking grip and let us both enjoy what we still can."

"Y/n I'm serious."

Your brows furrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm telling you. I'm Kimi."

"No, see," You pushed him only a few centimeters away, but your right hand was still on his forearm. "We are not allowed to say that name here." You said, matter-of-factly, waving a finger around. "So I don't know how you fucking know that name, just drop it."

"Y/n L/n, I am Andrea Kimi Antonelli, not just some guy who looks like him. Gabi called me."

The smug facade on your face disappeared more and more every second and he was getting impatient.

"No." You whined. "Kimi would not come for me. He would- he would not. Why would he? He wouldn't. No."

The italian's heart skipped a beat. Is that what you really thought of him? Heck, he knew you weren't dating but at least you should know he was not some prick.

You had to know. Right?

"Baby, I know you're not feeling good." He started, moving his forearm around to hold your hands into his. "But you need to let me take care of you, per favore."

With a sniff, your mind collapsed noticing his hand, the leather bracelet he always wore and huge rings framing his large and veiny hands, the ones you knew so goddamn well and fantasized about a promising ring on the ring finger, and you'd be wearing one exactly alike.

He really was Kimi.

You had kissed him thinking he was someone else.

You rambled to him about him.

And he was there.

"Oh, fuck."

Detaching your back from the wall, you let Kimi hold your shoulders and guide both of you through the crowd, out the main door and into the car.

The realization that it was really him dawned on you with an unrequited dose of sobreity and now tears of embarassment clung onto your eyes. You were shivering, blood pressure so low the temperature was running down to the point of almost hitting your teeth.

"I'm sorry." You managed to cough out on the middle of the ride, curled up in a ball on the passanger seat, looking out the window, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"We'll talk at the hotel, okay?"

Fuck, that's exactly what you didn't want. It meant you'd have to go all the way up to his hotel room, expose your feelings and explain everything you did that night while still being tipsy.

You just wanted to go to your hotel room, take a hot shower just to get the sticky drinks you spilled on yourself off and breakdown under a pair of covers watching tv and crying yourself to sleep.

But now you knew, your relationship with Kimi was never going to be the same.

To you, everything was awkward. The car ride, walking into the hotel room and greeting people with a head nod, the elevator, everything. To Kimi, it was just mildly uncomfortable, but he didn't remembered the last time he was uncomfortable with you.

You pressed the button to your level, but when it came, he just held your waist and pressed for the elevator to close.

His hotel room was a bit chaotic, never being big on organization he'd most of the time just let thing on sight in order to not forget them. The tv was still on, bed sheets a mess, clothes thrown in the ground and a laptop upside down on the couch.

That was the first time you were in that hotel room of his, which was odd.

"Okay, do you wanna talk first?" He asked, handing you a bottle of water from the minibar. You grabbed it, but didn't open, sitting down on the couch, whilst he sat on the edge of the bed. "Fine by me."

He kicked his shoes off. "I want to start with what' been bugging me the most." You avoided meeting his eye once again, knowing they were very much trained on you. "Did you really think I was someone else when you kissed me?"

Swallowing hard, you still didn't find the voice so the best next option was just a shy nod.

"Did you do that before?" Again, just a nod. "Why?"

Now you met his eyes, a pang of pride filling you at the sight of his almost angry expression.

"Why do you care?" He tilted his head to the side, almost in a 'really?' state of mind. "No, really. Why do you care so much, Kimi? The fuck is it to you to ask me that?"

"Because I care about you. About us."

"Us?" You laughed dryly at that, tightening the grip on the water bottle. "Fine, let's talk about it. What is 'us', exactly? Huh?"

"The fuck- where is that coming from?"

"Because honestly, I thought I could take it, being your nothing until you decided you were done with me, but since we're already here, let's do it. Let's solve this." You untangled your legs, ready to get up and leave any time you needed.

"Done with you? Why would I be done with you, love?"

It hurt. Hearing him call you love after pushing yourself away for days, believing you were better and moving on from him, but now, as he asked you with the softest puppy eyes ever and being so caring, you wanted to give in and throw all your mini progress away.

But even if you did, he wouldn't have it. You knew he would not settle until understanding what was coming out of your mouth.

So, taking a deep breath, you held your tears inside.

"Let's face it, Kimi. We never were something grounded enough, and now, we would be even less. For fucks sake, you're in F1 now! I'm so fucking proud of you, but I know that, as each day go by, you'd be met with everything, everyone, that you could have, and I know what that can do to someone. Ollie already cheated on his girlfriend, and I'm not even your girlfriend, I'm nothing to you."

"We're not dating. You, for whatever reason, refuses to have sex with me so we're not even fuck buddies, and besides those little meeting we have to hook up we barely speak, so I wouldn't call us friends with benefits."

"And I just know, that when you'll get out there you'll realise I'm nothing special, and I was letting you lead me on because I was taking what I could still have from you. So please just fucking tell me I never meant anything to you so we could both move on from this and-" Kimi was kissing you.

At some point, in between your rambling, he got up and was walking towards you; amidst the kissing was when you noticed you've been crying.

It angered you how your body became a puddle in his hands, how no matter the pain it would come after this, you still leaned into him, wanted him.

That was what your friends were always talking about: how you craved him, and he let you stick around to have someone he knew he had control over. This must've been like the thousandth time you kissed, but it always gave you butterflies like it was the first one.

He stopped the kiss first, hovering over the couch. His swollen red lips, his big brown eyes staring at you.

"I couldn't sit there and watch you talk bad about yourself, love. I couldn't."

He watched without even blinking as your eyes just watered more, becoming bigger and more pleading, man was in awe with your reaction, lips quivering as you where almost whimpering. His hands slowly came up, cupping your cheeks to make sure you kept looking at him. A masterpiece of how beautiful you were, silently begging for him.

"Please Kimi, don't do this. Don't be mean." You whispered to his face. "Don't do this, please, please don't."

He delivered a quick peck to your chapped lips. "I'm not being mean, vita mia. I want you, I've never wanted anyone else, please believe me. I only want you."

You didn't know. You truly couldn't tell if the blink in his eyes was him being sincere or if your drunken brain was playing some sick prank at you.

Your soul wanted to believe him, your heart couldn't take another breaking, not again. But fuck, you wish you could consult someone else that wasn't drunk or completely infatuated by this man.

"Cara mia, let me show you. Please?"

You sighed.

Fuck it.

Leaned in just the slightest and bit his lip, pulling him towards you.

He layed all his body weight on you, dropping the laptop to the floor and having his hands clamping your sides, feeling you up on top of your club clothes.

"Cara mia, I need to know how you taste like." Kimi's voice was shaking even though his touch was firm.

Your breath hitched on your throat, slightly nodding to him. After two more pecks he started making his way down on you, taking his time on your neck, which he knew was a weak spot.

He kept going lower and lower, staring to push your skirt up until he found your folds, pulling your panties down to your knees, still letting them hanging from your heels.

"Fuck! Oh fuck!" You gasped as his tongue found your clit.

"Oh you're so wet already." He murmured, holding your thighs so they wouldn't close on his head, practically tongue-kissing your pussy. "Suck." He ordered, sticking his middle and ring finger in your mouth.

Kimi pulled your thighs and started using his big shoulders to hold them just the perfect angle to be with his lips into your core. Feeling like his fingers were wet enough, he pulled them out and shoved into you.

"Let me hear you." And you obliged, letting your lips hang and allowing your sounds to come out.

"K-kimi, fuck! Your fingers are so good, they've always been, but oh god- your tongue. Yes, please, yes."

You and Kimi never went much further than handjobs, this was the first time any of you were getting a head from the other.

And dear God, it felt amazing. Like heaven, and then hell and then heaven again. Kimi was leading you to your little death and probably what was after it too.

Your high was getting higher and higher, and Kimi was noticing it, stretching his hands to play with your nipples, stimulating you even more and letting your thighs clench his head.

You screamed, feeling his lips vibrate against your poor overstimulated cunt from his own moaning, fingers intertwined on the dark curls, pulling him in, almost as if you wanted him to enter you right there.

"You're pulsating, cara." He moaned. "Best pussy ever."

"You liked the way I taste?"

"I loved it."

"Can I taste you next?"

His eyes were blown wide, he was sucking on his fingers to get even more of your flavor, but that knocked him into reality.

With one final kiss on your clit, he pulled himself onto his feet and started undoing his belt. You slipped onto the floor and readied yourself on your knees in front of him.

Pulling his already hard cock out, he stared at you while you made contact with his angry red tip, giving it kitten licks.

"Don't be a tease." He warned, holding his dick by the base and, with the other hand, caressing your cheek. "Blow me like I'm yours."

And you did.

Started sucking the tip, bringing your hands up through his thighs until getting to his balls, massaging them as you guide your head closer and closer to his pelvis.

Using your tongue at the bottom, forcing your throat to relax and take all of him, which caused you to cough. Kimi held your hair in a pony tail, guiding you gently.

"Fuck! Don't do that." He hitched his breath and tighten his grip on your head when you moaned with your full mouth on him. "I'm not gonna last."

"Then cum on my tongue."

Holding your head with both his hands now, his thrusts on your mouth became more assured, harder but more careful. He moaned loudly, throwing his head back.

"Cazzo, Y/n- I'm-"

The taste of cum, nobody warned you before, was terrible. It was hot and sticky, almost like some kind of melted plastic, and it made you cough with him still on your mouth. But his dark huge orbs were staring at you.

So you swallowed with difficulty, and already started working your tongue on the bottom part of him again.

Grunting, Kimi pulled you up on your feet, kissing you, allowing your taste in his mouth and his taste in yours to mix.

He lied you back down on the couch, your legs immediately spreading to allow him in. His dick, already hardening, grazed against your wet pussy, making you quiver and lightly buck your hips up, chasing more.

Taking one of his hands from the top of your head he rubbed his dick around your folds, its tip massaging your clit.

"Who's being a tease now?"

He smiled brightly, aligning his length to your entrance. With one nod from you, he started invading your body.

Your mouth hang open, and he made sure to capture every single one of your moans into his own lips, feeling your tight embrace on his already stimulated dick.

And, dear God, was Kimi thick, stretching you out, feeling like he was going to rip you in half. His hands came up again, one caressing the top of your head and the other playing with your nipple, trying to ease it up on you. Meanwhile, your hands were holding onto his shoulders for dear life, legs already closing on him once again.

"Fuck, bella (beautiful), you're tight." He moaned on your neck. "It feels amazing."

"Kimi you're- its- everything. I can feel it all." You were babbling, trying to make sense of your words when there was none.

All you could think, taste, smell, feel and hear was Andrea Kimi Antonelli. You didn't know where you ended and he began, and honestly? You didn't want to know.

"Cara mia, I'm not trying to rush you, but please can I move?"

"Y-yes."

The alcohol, still buzzing in your blood, kept you numb to the pain, so he was free to move as quickly as he wanted, thrusting into you with hard slaps, forcing moans out of you.

"You feel so fucking good." Kimi whispered in your ear between grunts and sighs. "So, so good. You're taking me so fucking well, baby. Such a good girl."

His shit eating grin appeared as he felt you clenching around his thickness, and that's when an idea flashed his mind.

"How are you feeling?"

"Feels amazing, I need it more." You straightened your arms, holding onto his back, sticking your nails into his skin, pulling all of Kimi more and more towards your body.

"Do something for me?" You tried to look as he slowed down his pace. With one hand, he held your head and threw it back, off the edge of the couch, meeting your images in a huge mirror on the wall.

Kimi had a wide smile, ear to ear, as he rocked his hips into yours slowly, while you were a moaning mess, the make up even messier around your eyes, chest rising up and down. As a matter of fact, Kimi pulled your shirt up your tits to expose them, giving them a light slap, smile never leaving his face.

"Do you see yourself? Look at you, so pretty, so full of me." You moaned, he was starting to pick up the pace. He bent a little, just enough to reach your ears, still looking at you through the mirror. "How dare you say you're not mine?" His tone was rough, and it made your insides clench.

Kimi moaned as you kept squeezing his cock and pulling him to you as a desperate woman, like you needed him to breath.

"Fuck, baby! Can I- I'm way too far gone."

"Please."

His movements became erratic and uneasy as he approached his little death, holding your hair in a fist to keep you looking at the mirror, ableing you to watch as his grip on your waist got tighter and his dick thicker, pulsating inside you and finally pulsating his cum deep into your walls, who were clenching and pushing you to your own high.

"Come on, just give me one more." Zarping his arm around your waist he held you up, moving your body at his will like a doll. "Just one more, for me."

As if on command, your body gave in, scratching even more his body, your back arching from the couch, shaking and toes curling. Through the mirror you could see Kimi watching your every move, huge smile on his lips.

Getting down from your high, your whole mind was buzzing and blank, brain fucked just like your body.

"Are you okay?" He kissed you throughout the jawline. "Was I too rough?"

"You're amazing, Kimi." Words slurred, eyes blinking long. "It was awesome."

Slowly, the Italian retrieved, pulling his length, now soft, off of you. You sighed, feeling heavy and empty.

You sensed him moving around but refused to open your eyes, too afraid he'd be leaving you, scared to go back to the reality that your heart would be broken around once again.

"Vita?" He bopped your nose, and you looked at him. Raising his right hand, you spotted something on his right finger, simulating a ring. "I made it with a string of your hair that got stuck in my hand."

"I'll buy you a ring tomorrow and properly ask, but that's just so you don't have any more doubts."

"You don't even know if I'll say yes."

"Oh I'm not worried about that."

You and Kimi woke up the next day with knocks on the door. He was laying on top of you, barely being able to breathe, he grunted and blinked, eyes instantly checking on you.

"They woke you too?" You nodded, turning to the side to keep sleeping.

"It's your room, deal with it."

He rolled his eyes, pulling the covers to his hips and getting up, body completely naked except for that.

"Is Gabi." Kimi mumbled, looking through the peeking glass. "Hey mate."

"Heeeey." With the door open, you could hear the brazilian's smile as he spoke. "I was going to ask if you guys kissed ad made up, but I guess that's pretty clear now."

"Yeah, she's feeling waaaaay better now." Kimi smirked, throwing a glance in your direction.

You buried your head on the pillow and groaned, fuck, how did you guys not noticed last night that this couch was uncomfortable as hell?

March 23, 2025

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #fanfic rec #formula 1 #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #f1 fic #f1 fluff #formula one #kimi antonelli x you #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine

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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 4 months ago

Text

Something About Curly Hair and Any Character You Have in Mind

I've always had a fantasy of someone playing with my curls. Delicately pulling on them, like a kid pulling on a string. Playfully and adoringly watching the curl bounce back. Maybe the person could even praise it, saying it's cute, or beautiful, or mesmerising. Especially if they don't have curly hair.

A few minutes ago, my girl friend did it to me, exactly how I've always dreamed, even if inside I wanted to pull away, afraid that she would mess it up, I didn't, and she didn't, and even if she did, I wouldn't care, because I'm starved. So here's this little scenario that I finally felt courage and inspiration to write.

This was written based on my own experience having 123B hair, that has some volume on it (how do you even measure that??), with definition, so you must imagine it was very indulgent.

Also works for Readers of any race!!!! I just specify they have natural curls, didn't even mention the colour.

Gn!Reader and Gn!Character so you reaaaally can imagine whoever you want. But the character probably doesn't have curly hair, and learns to do different hairstyles on you (it's different doing it on yourself and then doing on other people, so you still can imagine any gender or appearance on them). Sex is mentioned. I'm tagging this with the first characters that come to my mind while writing this, just to make it easier.

Might edit this later because it's currently 3am and I'm sleepy as fuck

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They love you. That means they love everything about you. And they love your hair.

They think the volume is sexy. Think clouds can't be softer. Think the way the light reflects on it is ethereal. Think the curls smells heavenly. Think the shape is unmatched.

When you move your hair, it's like being a kid and having a first crush again. Especially if the action causes the delicate smell of it travel through the air faster than they can blink, and they're swallowed in a fog of you.

When you sleep in the same bed together for the first time, and every other time after, they like to wake up before you. Just to admire your peacefull beauty for a while. Like the rest of the world doesn't exist. That's the best way to start a day.

Sometimes, boredom doesn't get to them because tracing curl patterns in your hair with their eyes is entertainment for a lifetime. Never before have they noticed that someone can have more than one curl texture, and how unique and perfect that mixture can look.

There's moments where they get distracted by you. You, taking their attention from something supposedly more important at that moment. Either you smell too nice, or look too good, or shine too bright. And they just can't seem to find anything more interesting than looking at you and your hair.

The first time they touched it, they were surprised by how soft it was, like cotton. Almost weightless, despite it's volume and length. Other people's hair surely doesn't feel like this. They spend so much time touching it the first time, that you have to ask them to stop, or you wouldn't have a nice hair day the next day. They looked like a kicked puppy, so you taught them to gently scrunch from the bottom.

They think bonnets are funny at first, but not in a bad way. They're not laughing at you. Mostly giggling, actually. They understand you may have needed some courage to look like this with them around. And it's like a tiny, almost nonexistent, relationship goal. To be intimate enough to feel confortable wearing a bonnet in front of your partner. And they love that you have no problem doing it.

They even buy silk sheets and pillows if it might help you. It might be morte confortable and not mess with your hair. And they understands sex while having curly hair might be frustrating at times.

Speaking of, they won't pull or mess with it unless you ask for it. They took very seriously your lesson from the first time. And if you have some instructions to give them on how to do it while causing less damage, then you certainly will lift a weight off some shoulders.

Oh, and the difference of how it looks when it's wet and then dry? They can't believe their eyes for a moment. Logic seems to escape. It feels impossible. But it isn't. And they're amazed. Almost jealous for not being as gorgeous as you. They understand why someone would be jealous of you.

Actually, they partially think others should be. If someone dares to utter you are less than stunning, then oh boy. God help them.

Any styling is great. And they're so in love with you, so focused on you, eyes solely on you, that they think no hairstyle looks as good on other people, as they look on you. Even if you hate it, he thinks it looks way better than it would have on anyone else.

Also, they learn some things. They learns to curl with their fingers, how to put on clips, how to do some braids, or buns, or pigtains, or anything you wear often. Even something you never did, but they think will make you ethereal, they will do it on you. They might not even teach you, just so you'll need them for something.

They feel part of their heart breaking if you straighten it. Sure it looks good. If it makes you happy, than they're happy. But it's far from a favorite look on you. It's not the natural you. And they love you. They might love a modified version of you, but only because they love you. Just the way you are.

And if you ever feel insecure, I assure you, they're gonna fix you right up.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

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hivemuthur · 15 days ago

Text

Just Be

viktorxfem!reader mature (warning: consensual and intentional burning with a cigarette, smoking, alcohol, yearning, flirting, making out)

word count: 3K

author’s note: A little gift for @cringemaster3 because I'm completely #insaneaboutJane (even though still written in 2nd person POV, it has some hints at her character). I just like them very much your honor.

Someone asked if since Freakdays are back will we get this or that: I don't know if they are back, I just wanted to write this. Main priority is finishing TBK :')

—

Just flirt, Viktor tells himself.

Once more, he sees you huddled under a thin strip of the balcony, sheltering from the rain and cursing at a lighter. Cigarette wedged between your lips, you’re too busy grinding the flint to notice him until he takes four long strides to join you.

Just flirt—he repeats like gospel, closing the distance. A few heavy drops slip down the collar, cold rolling down his back. Your brows relax, mouth parting—just enough to keep the cigarette hanging, barely glued, to your lower lip. The flesh of it drags down with a phantom weight, giving him a glimpse of your lower teeth.

“In need of an aid?” he asks, producing a functional lighter.

“Desperately.” The cigarette dances between your lips as you speak. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Checking if you aren’t in trouble,” Viktor says, stepping closer. He reaches into your pocket and pinches a smoke for himself. You let him, just watching the movement of his arm. For a moment, he could swear you take a slow breath in, close enough to catch the scent of his collar, but the moment vanishes as he straightens, slipping the trophy between his lips.

So begins the third year like this. He’s offered you a light six times now—no pattern there, surely. It didn’t take long for Viktor to fall, headfirst or head over heels, either way a tumble that risks something snapping—metaphorical or not. It took him longer to recognize it and even longer to accept his fate. Since then, he’s told himself: just flirt. You’ve both been toeing the edge for two years—so long it’s started to feel like fidelity.

Sometimes you share smoke, mouths close enough to conjure scandal, the tobacco trailing between your parted lips like an unfinished sentence. He watches your fingertips stained with ash, the cherry glowing hot before it gutters. The lighter exchanges hands—brief communion, knuckle grazing knuckle—a touch feathered enough to remain blameless, intimate enough to sting.

Library nights unravel in quiet, clock-bound vigil. Your head finds Viktor’s shoulder as if you’d already claimed him, warmth pooling in the naïve trust of sleep. He holds himself stone-still, afraid even his pulse might betray him; your breath faint on his collar, like a door left ajar, daring him awake through the night’s slow erosion.

One day, unannounced, you appear draped in perfume he mentioned offhand, a careless remark you’ve memorialised on your skin. It blooms thickly around him, petals of spice and sweetness unfurling behind his eyes, invading corridors, lingering on scarves. He studies you, never commenting, only inhaling, drunk on imagined intent.

You reach simultaneously for pens and biscuits, fingertips brushing with accidental devotion. Meals blur into quiet symbiosis—he eats from your abandoned plates, drinks absently from your cup, a vessel still kissed by your mouth. Each act edges the boundary, deliberate in their chastity, marked with silences charged enough to break a weaker resolve.

A hundred invitations ripple just below your shared gaze. Yet you hold fast to friendship’s slender border, all meetings rendered precious by denial. It becomes an exercise in subtle perversion—this purity sharpened to a blade-edge, this intimacy measured by the breath between parted lips.

Then summer arrives, scattering friends and silencing corridors. He watches you leave, bag thrown over your shoulder, hair catching sunlight. Viktor murmurs to himself a promise, as hollow and ritualistic as prayer: next year, he’ll cross the divide. Next year, he’ll breach the gentle tyranny of innocence.

It is next year now. If Viktor had fooled himself with promises of trial periods and tentative gestures, those four long strides tonight have carried him decisively into a new chapter and, inevitably, closer to you.

He strokes the lighter, the flame shining through your lashes, turning them orange as you lean in. Rain slants sharply, enclosing you both beneath the balcony ledge, the smell of petrichor thickening the air. Viktor lights his own cigarette and lets the flame shrink until it disappears. Smoke coils—first twirling around the cigarette tip in blue ribbons, then leaving your lips in a soft grey exhale.

You tilt your head, considering him with narrowed eyes, and finally break the silence: “Are you going to the secret party?” you ask, biting your lower lip.

“Are you?” Viktor counters immediately. He has no taste for crowded rooms and hushed gossip, but he’d brave worse discomforts to drink cheap wine from a shared glass, warmed by your mouth first.

You shake your head, cigarette pointing at him. “Mm-hm. I asked you first.”

Viktor exhales a soft chuckle, leaning heavier onto his cane. A subtle dip of his head forces your body closer so you can hear him over the drizzle’s quiet hiss. “My answer is entirely dependent on yours,” he says. “It appears we have ourselves a conundrum.”

You eye him carefully, weighing something behind your gaze, and finally concede with a small, revealing smile. “I’ll go if you go.”

Viktor says nothing, only nods, pleased—his own smile a reflection of yours. Your cigarettes dwindle to embers, smoke thinning. You scratch absently at your arm, then roll up a sleeve, exposing yourself from wrist to elbow. Viktor watches every bared inch, distracted enough that the ash hanging forgotten tumbles onto your skin, branding it briefly. You gasp but don’t draw back.

He startles, murmuring apologies, but your breath releases softly—not quite a sigh, not remotely pained. Viktor’s heart jolts, and that is something you notice. Behind your eyes, tired, an idea strolls. Quietly, with caution one would apply to coax a child, you ask him, "Would you like to put it out on me?"

He blinks, eyebrows knitting. For some godforsaken reason, yes—he would love to, a secret thrill shivering under his ribs and in his stomach. "Why would I want that?" he asks, voice taut, blood rushing hot into his cheeks and downward.

Your innocence gleams, the corner of your mouth curling. "I don't know," you murmur. "For science?"

Viktor releases a shuddering breath. Cane hooked in the crease of his elbow, he handcuffs your wrist with his fingers, thumb pressed to the pulse point. The rapid flutter beneath your skin emboldens him. "For science, hm?" he whispers, voice a low rasp, cigarette poised.

He presses it carefully against the smooth curve of your forearm. Your mouth parts, eyelids heavy, and as the embers hiss out on skin, the sound that escapes you is perilously close to pleasure—something deep and raw and wholly intoxicating. Viktor watches avidly, absorbing every detail—the way your pupils dilate, how your breathing hitches, and how your lips form that exquisite, forbidden note.

The enjoyment is tremendous—far more than he has any right to. He thinks of other ways to evoke that sound from your lips—ways less destructive, ways infinitely more satisfying. For now, as you share this charged silence in the rain, it feels like the perfect beginning to another uncertain year.

Viktor lifts the spent cigarette away, revealing a perfect circle of raw skin beneath. His gaze lingers, heart beating feverishly in his temples. “How was that?” he asks, voice lowered to a murmur—unable to trust himself speaking louder.

You lift your eyes to his, breath a gentle tremor through parted lips. "Hot," you reply, and Viktor dares to believe you mean exactly what he hopes you mean.

He tugs your wrist, pulling you closer, and bends—lower, lower still, until his mouth brushes against the tender burn. It’s torrid beneath his lips, sharp and fleeting, like the quick sting of strong liquor. He decides this is perfect: just enough closeness to ignite something lasting, abandoning it restless. He considers it generous—almost chivalrous—to step back now, leaving you as unsettled as he himself is.

When he rises, straightening to find your eyes again, your expression is a blend of wonder and utter perplexity. Viktor allows himself a faint smile.

“So it heals faster,” he explains calmly, releasing your wrist. His cane returns to his hand, a graceful reclamation of distance. He tips his head, slipping back into courtesy. “Goodnight,” he says, the very portrait of a gentleman.

All week you orbit each other with studied restraint. In lectures Viktor slides you notes you don’t need, just to feel the quick brush of your fingers. In the corridor you drift apart, then veer back into the same narrow space, trading a glance. At lunch he leaves behind half-finished tea for you to claim; later you return a fountain pen he “forgot,” rolling it between thumb and forefinger before placing it on his desk. Dignity turns into a quiet contest, neither of you willing to be first to flinch.

By Friday evening Viktor stands over the narrow bed in his dormitory, two shirts lying side by side. The slate one is crisp, built for distance and measured words. The white is softer, its collar newly pressed. He smooths the cuffs, weighing risks that have nothing to do with cloth. Slate tells him he can pass the night untouched; white hints he would rather not.

Outside, the chapel bell marks eight. Viktor exhales, reaches for the white, and reminds himself it is only fabric—though he already knows whose hands he hopes will crease it.

He crosses the quad, collar up against damp air, and stops before a plain oak door pulsing with muffled music. He knocks. The panel shifts just enough for a cat—or a careless foot—to slide through. A voice asks for the evening’s password. Viktor mutters it, rolling his eyes at the theatrics, and the latch clicks.

Inside, warmth hits him like a quilt left too long by the stove. Spirits and smoke tangle in the air, chatter rises and dips, and coloured bulbs throw restless shards of red and blue across every face. Someone thrusts a tin cup into his hand; the liquor is sweet, cruelly strong.

He scans the crowd once, twice, though he already knows why he came. There you are, perched on a windowsill, ankle crossed over knee, laughing into the rim of a glass. The moment you spot him you lift it in salute, and from that point you remain close—shoulders grazing, hands stealing the same drink, your grin blooming wider each time he refills.

The lights keep shifting toward crimson, a mercy; his cheeks burn hotter with every shared swallow, every lean of your hip against his. Viktor tells himself the colour hides it, but he suspects you see straight through the shade. Still, he keeps pace, grateful for the cover, telling himself to just flirt.

The thin spring of conversation dries up quickly; your words wander, his answers drift, and still your hand loops over his on the shared cup, thumb stroking the ridge of his knuckle as though you try to distract him on purpose. Viktor’s pulse pounds at the base of his throat. He lets the silence settle, then lifts his palm to your forearm, thumb circling the imprint of his violent affection.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs, breath spilling hot across your cheek.

“It still aches a little.” Your face holds steady for a beat before a sly smile breaks through. “You might want to kiss it again.”

He chuckles low, the sound rough in his chest, and slides his hand from your arm to your shoulder, then down to the narrow of your waist. “Are you flirting with me?”

“If I were”—you pluck the cane from his grasp and hook it over his elbow, keeping him close—“what outcome would you prefer?” The lights aren’t kind enough to hide the heat spreading over from your cheeks, and the glow feels warm against his lips.

“Outcome?” A rush of borrowed courage steadies him. “I’d have to flirt back. Like any gentleman.” He leans so near his mouth grazes your ear. “And just to be clear—” his hand rises, hovers a moment, “—if anything else hurts—say, here—” thumb skims your lower lip, “—I’d be more than willing to help.”

A nervous laugh escapes you; you drop your head as though to hide and then lift it again, eyes bright. “I made a bet with myself how long it would take you.”

He refuses to retreat. “Who won?”

“The optimistic me,” you whisper, lids fluttering shut.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what the pessimistic version predicted,” he says, thumb sliding to your cheek, his mouth tracing the air along your jaw. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?”

A bashful exhale, then: “I’m shy—and,” you swallow all the volume of your voice, “I’d rather do this properly.” Your palm presses over his mouth, daring and unsure all at once, while his hand tightens at your waist, trapping you both in the unbearable, narrow space between first move and inevitable follow-through.

Viktor weights between his gentleman self and the self that wants beyond dignity now. Want tips the balance. Gentlemanly restraint snaps the moment his tongue flicks across the hollow of your palm. You gasp and pull back—barely an inch—before his fingers close around your wrist, drawing you in again.

“Please don’t tell me by properly you mean sober,” he slurs, brushing a kiss into the tender crease. “Because I might perish before all this wine leaves my system.”

“No, just…” Your voice shakes; he can feel the tremor in your pulse. “Maybe not with so many witnesses.”

“You don’t want people to see me kiss you?” Viktor smirks, then gives a theatrical pout. “I’m wounded.”

“I told you—I’m shy,” you murmur, sliding your hands to the back of his neck. You lean in, lips grazing his ear. “And I want you all to myself.”

“Oh.” The word spills out on a sigh as he rests his brow on your shoulder, heat bleeding through thin cloth. “Say it again,” he whispers, needy and unbothered by it. “Tell me you want me—it sounds so pretty.” It crosses his mind that he might sound like a begging fool, but you seem to enjoy it.

“Oh, I want you,” you breathe, gathering his collar in your fist, and in itself, it’s a small victory. “Wanting you has been my main activity for a while now. But you are such a tease, I don’t want it to spark and die at some stupid house party.”

The fact that this desire has no set expiration sends a grateful shiver all the way to his toes. “Please,” he mutters, tugging you in until every thought seems shared across the scant distance. “Don’t torment me. I might be too drunk to be good to you tonight, but know this—” he cups your face, thumbs tracing heat along your cheekbones—“you’re wanted back in equal measure.”

You blink, lips swollen where you’ve bitten them. A single breath, then another mercy this evening: “Do you want to step out for a cigarette?”

“Yes.” The answer is instant. Cane in hand, Viktor is already angling toward the door. “Yes, I do.”

He steers you down a dim corridor, past half-closed doors and slurred laughter, until the music trails off to a muffled throb. Two turns from the main hall he falters, caught between hauling you to his room or begging entry to yours. The decision breaks in a rough sigh; he swings you to the wall, arms locking round your waist, and claims your mouth as if that were the only clear option left.

The kiss is downright filthy—teeth, tongue, the sugar of shared liquor. Your fingers shove through his hair, gripping tight enough to sting, while his cane skitters across the floor, forgotten. Noses crush side by side; breath comes in short, frantic bursts that taste of wine and spit. You drag him closer, greedy, as though you might swallow every last groan he can muster, and Viktor yields gladly, grinding knee to thigh, hands roaming each swell with a restless, hungry indecision.

He breaks for air, lips slick, eyes dark. “You don’t seem so shy now,” he murmurs, grazing your lower lip with a quick bite before his mouth finds yours again, determined to test just how bold you’re willing to be.

Your back thuds against plaster. “Well, I don’t see any people here,” you say, pressing a thumb into his mouth, daring him. “Nothing to be shy about.”

“Tease.” He sucks lightly, releasing it with a soft pop. “Show me your arm.”

You lift it. He catches your wrist, lips closing on the faint burn, then drags a wet line up the inside of your forearm to the elbow crease. He hooks the arm behind his neck, locking you himself in. “There. All kissed better,” he says, rubbing his cheek against yours, rough and tender in the same breath.

“Thank you.” The words barely leave you before his mouth finds your skin again—this time the one stretched taut over your neck. “See? You are being good to me,” you hum gratefully.

“Darling,” he breathes into the hollow under your ear, voice gone thick. “I’ll be so good to you. I promise, I’m better at this than at flirting.”

“But you are brilliant at flirting.” You sweep the loose hair from his forehead, then tug it back, a gesture so familiar it renders him momentarily dumb. “I enjoyed every bit of it.” You press a kiss to the beauty mark beneath his eye. “And now we get to just be.”

Just be, Viktor thinks, feeling your pulse under his thumb. Now that—that he is really good at.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #insane about Jane

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joeybluvs · 5 months ago

Text

Like That?

warnings: soft dom! joe, smut (literally all this fic is 😭), also I haven't written since last December, so this is probably bad, but I hope y'all still like it😭💀

description: y/n and Joe hookup in a hotel room.

As the door to the hotel room shuts Joe pushes you up against it and begins making out with you. As you two are making put against the door y/n let's out a soft moan.

Joe slowly pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips "You're fucking perfect..." His fingers trail down your sides, making you shiver.

Y/n looks into his eyes "Thank you." Y/n says, still breathless from them making out.

Joe smirks softly "No need to thank me. Just stating facts..." His other hand moves to your lower back, pulling you closer "You know what?" Whispers teasingly "I think I need to kiss you more." Smiles playfully "For science, of course..."

"I think you should." Y/n laughs. "For science obviously."

Joe laughs and leans in to press his lips against yours again, the kiss quickly deepening as his tongue explores your mouth. His hands roam over your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

"Okay, science experiment complete. And the results are... you're even more amazing than I thought." *Grins and pulls you into his arms, and leans in to kiss you again, this one softer and sweeter.

Y/n pulls away slowly and let's out a small laugh. "So are you Joe." Y/n says.

Joe gives you a playful smirk "You think I'm amazing, huh? Chuckles softly I must be doing something right then..." His hands slide down to your hips, keeping you close "So... what should we do now?"

"You tell me." Y/n smirks.

Joe leans down and whispers in your ear "Maybe we could get more comfortable... smirks I believe there's a very nice bed just a few steps away..." trails kisses down your neck "Or we could stay here... I'm not picky."

Y/n looks over at the bed.

Noticing your gaze, Joe smiles and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed. He gently lays you down on the soft comforter and crawls on the bed beside you, looking at you with a mischievous grin. "Much better..." Joe smiles and leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his body pressing against yours. His hands start to explore, caressing your curves through your clothes. "You're so beautiful..." He murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky with desire.

Y/n smiles against his lips.

Joe holds your face with one hand while continuing to kiss you, his other hand slowly moving down your body, tracing gentle patterns on your skin Breaks the kiss occasionally to place soft kisses along your jawline and neck. His hand moves to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up "You okay if I take this off?"

Y/n looks at Joe and slowly nods in approval and smiles. "Yeah..."

Joe carefully removes your shirt, revealing your stomach. He places his hand on your stomach and looks into your eyes, his expression softening "You're so fucking pretty.." His hands move up your sides, unhooking your bra and tossing it aside.

His words make Y/n smile even more. "Thank you Joe."

Jos smiles and moves down to slowly unbuttons your jeans. You lift your hips to let him easily slide them down your legs along with your underwear. He takes a moment to appreciate the view before crawling back up your body, pressing gentle kisses along the way. "You're perfect..."

Joe looks up at you with desire in his eyes as he takes off his own shirt, tossing it aside.

Y/n looks at Joe. "Fuck Joe you look so good."

Joe blushes slightly at the compliment and leans in to kiss you again, his muscular frame pressing against you. His fingers trail down your side, making you shiver "I could say the same thing... and more." He whispers between kisses "You okay with this? Want to keep going?" He asks, and you slowly nod yes in response.

Joe grins and kisses down your neck, nipping gently at your skin "Good..." He says quietly as he begins to trail kisses lower, making you let out a soft moan in response

He laughs softly, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Like that, huh?" He asks as he continues his trail of kisses, eventually reaching your chest. "And you're so pretty..." He whispers, placing soft kisses around your nipples before gently sucking on one, which makes you let out another soft moan.

Joe smirks against your skin "God, you sound amazing..." He says as he moves lower, kissing and nipping at your stomach "Do you like when I touch you like this?" His words come out husky and low as he begins to runs his fingers along your thighs.

You nod yes in response, as you are beginning to not be able to form whole thoughts.

Joe positions himself between your legs, placing soft kisses along your inner thigh "I can tell..." His hand traces gentle patterns on your waist while his lips move closer to where you really want them, making you let out a moan.

Joe leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your center. His tongue flicks out to taste you, a soft moan rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, you taste so good..." He starts to lick and suck, his fingers joining in to spread you open for him.

"Fuck Joe." Y/n moans.

Joe smirks mischievously and buries his face deeper, his hands hooking under your thighs to hold you still as he feasts on you. "Look at me..." His voice commands, his eyes locking with yours as he continues to eat you out.

As your eyes lock Joe sees the desperation in your eyes and loves it. "That's it, look at me... let me see how much you want it..." His fingers rubbing your clit in circles.

He slips a finger inside of you, slowly pumpingit in and out. He can feel you getting closer, your hips bucking against his face. "You're gonna break if I keep doing this, aren't you?"

Y/n can't even respond. The feeling of him eating you out, and fingering taking over making you just moan in response.

Joe grins against your skin and continues his eating you out as he adds another finger beginning to scissor them inside you as his tongue laps at your clit. He can feel your legs starting to shake, you're close.

His eyes lock with yours as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that spot perfectly. He sucks hard on your clit and you're done for. "That's it, cum for me..." He commands, making you cum hard.

He laps up your release, his fingers still curled inside you as he draws out your climax. Only when you start to come down from your high does he finally pull his fingers out, sucking them clean. "Perfect..." He whispers, crawling up your body.

Joe leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. "I love how you taste..." He murmurs against your mouth, his hand reaching between you two to unbuckle his own pants.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to push his pants and boxers down, kicking them off along with his shoes. He settles back between your legs, his hard length pressing against your core. "You okay with this next part?" He asks, his voice low and husky with desire. "Definitely." Y/n nods.

Joe positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his tip teasingly against you "Good..." He whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as he slowly pushes inside "You're so tight..." He moans against your mouth

Joe breaks the kiss to look into your eyes as he slowly pushes in. "Look at me..." His voice is low and commanding, his hands reaching up to cup your face as he slowly pushes inside.

His eyes lock with yours as he slowly pushes in, stopping to let you stretch around him. "You're gonna have to look at me the whole time..." His voice is firm, his hand reaching down to hook your leg over his arm, opening you up even more.

Joe smiles and starts to pull out slowly before pushing back in, setting a slow and steady pace. "That's it... look at me..." He keeps his eyes locked on yours, his hand holding your leg in place as he starts to pick up speed. "Fuck, you're so beautiful..."

"Joe." Y/n moans out.

Joe buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he picks up speed. "Fuck, I love hearing you say my name like that..." He grunts, his hips slapping against yours with each thrust. "You okay?" Joe asks, and you nod in response.

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. "You sure? I can slow down..." He says, his voice laced with concern, but his hips still moving in a steady rhythm.

Y/n nods. "I'm sure...thanks for checking though."

Relieved, he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his hips never stopping their movement. "Good..." He murmurs against your mouth as he starts to pick up speed again.

Joe smirks and quickens his pace, hitting that perfect spot inside you "Like that?" He asks, his voice thick with desire as he adjusts the angle slightly. "Tell me you don't love how my big cock feels inside you..."

Y/n moans, "Yes Joe...Fuck right there it feels perfect!" You moan out as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

Joe continues to thrust deep inside of you before pulling put and positioning you to be sitting on his lap as he begins to thrust up into you.

Joe wraps your legs around his waist and starts to bounce you on his lap, his large hands supporting your backside. "You like that?" He pants, his face contorted with pleasure as he looks down to watch himself fill you up.

"Yes fuck." You moan out and bury your face in his neck.

Joe wraps his arms around you and holds you even closer as he continues to bounce you on his lap, his powerful thighs providing the leverage he needs to lift you up and slam you back down on him.

Joe nips at your throat as he picks up speed, his hips driving up into yours with increased force. "Fuck I love feeling how perfectly you're taking me in... every inch of that big dick stretching your tight little pussy..."

"You love it, don't you? He pants, pulling back slightly to look down at where you're connected. "The way I fucking destroy your pussy with my cock."

One of Joe's hands move up to grip your chin possessively "Tell me who's fucking you this good..." He demands, slamming up into you harder with each word "Say it..." His eyes darken with desire as he maintains eye contact

"Fuck...Joe you are...you're fucking me this good." You moan.

Joe smirks satisfactorily and leans in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he continues to pound into you. "Fuck yeah I am... He breaks the kiss to pant against your lips "Now be a good girl and cum on my dick..."

At his words you cum hard on his cock.

Joe Moans loudly as he feels your pussy clench around him, pulling out at the last second and stroking himself to completion, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shoot onto your stomach and chest. "God damn..." He pants heavily, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours.

After a moment, he lifts his head and looks at you, a soft smile on his face. "You okay, baby?" He asks gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I got a little rough there..."

"Yeah Joe." You responded with a soft smile

Joe nods and leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch soothing and tender. "Good... He murmurs against your mouth "You're so fucking perfect, you know that? He says making you blush.

Authors note:

anyways I hope you guys liked it even though it's probably bad lol 😭. I wanna start posting on here more so if you did like it, look out for more fics by me 🫶 ly guys.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #joe burrow x y/n #nfl smut #joe burrow imagine

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yanderedrabbles · 7 months ago

Text

Misery - Part Three

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Previous Chapter

After Andy left, you managed to change out of your clothes. The flannel shirt he gave you was worn down just enough to feel cozy and the smell of his cologne still lingered 'round the collar.

You settled against the headboard and almost dozed off before he came back. He'd taken off his jacket and carried a pile of firewood in his arms. He dumped the logs in the fireplace and stood up, revealing a wife beater and arms thick with muscle. You were right about his strength - his body was just further proof of it.

"Sorry 'bout that. I should have brought some in last night but well..."

He turned to you, dusting his hands. "I got a good look at the situation outside. You might not wanna hear it but we're totally snowed in. Phone lines are down too."

"Oh. I didn't realise it was that bad."

You felt a dull sort of trepidation. Andy had been nothing but kind to you, but being stuck out in the mountains frightened you.

"Any idea when things will open up again?"

He sat down in the chair beside your bed and stretched out. For a second, the only thought in your head was how dangerous and lean he looked. His dog tags caught the light and winked at you.

"Hard to tell. We're far off the beaten path. Only folks nearby are the Roydmans and they're a good few miles off. 'Sides, snows too deep to drive through so even if they clear off the main road, we ain't getting there anytime soon."

You felt your heart sink. "Do you think I need to go to the hospital?"

He raised a brow and skimmed his eyes across your body. "It ain't looking pretty, but I reckon you can handle it."

"Hurts like hell though."

"Sorry princess, but it'll take a while for this sort of hurt to heal. Best I can do is give you something strong for the pain."

Your ankle still throbbed mercilessly and hearing him say that made you all the more aware of it. You searched desperately around the room for a distraction.

The room was much larger than you realised, with a panelled wood ceiling and big bay windows. From your position, all you could see was the sky.

It was comfortable and starkly clean. Oh God, was this his room or a guest room?

"I haven't kicked you out of your room, have I?" you asked, suddenly unsure of yourself.

He grinned and rubbed his jaw. "I reckoned you needed a nice bed far more than I did."

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" Your hands fluttered to your lips. You felt terribly guilty. "I can't imagine how much I've put you out."

He waved you away. "It gets awful quiet up here. You have no idea how nice it is to have company."

His eyes dropped to the shirt you were wearing. "Real nice."

He reached up to play around with his dog tags and you finally noticed the tattoo across his forearm.

"Semper Fidelis?"

"Always loyal."

He reached forward and let you inspect his arm. You took hold of his wrist and traced the tattoo with your fingertips. The words themselves were small and neat, but the rest of it was an intricate pattern of barbed wire that wound round his forearm.

"Did it hurt?"

"Tell you the truth? It stung like a bitch."

He was watching your face and when you looked up at him, your eyes met. Those eyes on the other end of a gun would have sent you running for the hills. You pitied the soldiers that faced off against him.

You let go of his arm and swallowed.

"When did you get it?"

He let his forearm rest next to your thigh.

"When I was deployed for the first time."

He was close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne and the sweet smell of pine from the wood he chopped.

"How did you end up in the Marines anyway?"

"I've got you curious, do I?"

You felt yourself blush. "Maybe a little."

"Hmm." He rubbed at his jaw, like he was trying to rub away a smile.

"Maybe I'll tell you about it someday. For now though, you need to take some tablets and get some sleep."

"But what about you? I've kind of colonised your bed."

"First thing you learn in basic is to sleep standing up. I'll be fine sleeping on the couch. 'Sides, I ain't the one who went crashing off the road less than a day ago."

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a blister pack of tablets.

"These are Novril. They pack a hell of a punch, so I expect you to sleep through the rest of the day. Best thing you can do right now is rest, got it?"

"Yes sir."

He dropped two shiny white pills into your open palm.

"Good girl. Now drink up."

He passed you a glass of water from the nightstand. The tablets left a slightly bitter taste behind, but you hurt too much to mind it.

Outside, the snow started up again.

You smiled at him. "How am I ever supposed to repay you?"

He studied you for a second.

The shirt you borrowed was missing a few buttons near the top and gaped open just a little at your tits, but you were too drowsy to notice.

He grinned that slow, lazy smile of his. "I'm sure you'll think of something, princess."

You hadn't fully realised just how intimate this all was. You were wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed. Entirely reliant on him to take care of you.

He stood up and shook his head. "You must be hungry. Any requests?"

"Nope. I'll take anything at this point."

His eyes flickered to your chest and then quickly away. "I can make you regret that real fast, y'know."

"Come on, you can't be that bad of a chef."

He huffed and shook his head. "You just sit pretty and I'll be back."

He returned with a bowl of oats sprinkled with brown sugar. His fingers brushed yours when he handed it to you and he lingered for a second longer than needed.

"I'm afraid it's all hospital chow until you're stronger. It's too bad - I make a mean flapjack."

You played around with your spoon and then gave in. Plain oats or not, you needed your strength.

Andy was quiet while you ate, watching the snow swirl across the window.

He tugged at his dog tags again and spoke up, "Does anyone know you're out here? A boyfriend, a sibling, anyone that knows where you were headed?"

You carefully put your empty bowl down on the nightstand. With the tablets, the pain was mercifully retreating. Not gone, never entirely gone, but a tiny bit more manageable.

"No. I wanted to surprise a friend but they don't know I'm coming."

You felt unnaturally drowsy for this early in the day. He must have noticed it because he stood up and gently pressed at your shoulders.

"Lie down and I promise you'll be out like a light soon enough."

You listened to him and found your eyes drifting shut as soon as you hit the pillow.

"Y'know." Your voice was muffled by your pillow. "You're a really great guy."

"Thanks, but save that until after you're better, yeah?"

He pulled the duvet higher and carefully tucked it around your shoulders.

"Not a soul knows you're out here?"

You hummed in agreement. You were almost entirely asleep and barely felt the hand that drifted across your forehead, gently pushing the hair off your face.

"Just you and me, princess."

You didn't hear it, but there was a strange note to his voice. Fear, maybe. Or longing. Hard to tell, with how similar they can be.

Next Chapter [coming soon]

Masterlist

Taglist

@pleorexicz @lem-hhn @mybelovedjupiter

#he has intentions all right #and they sure ain't good #cowboy coded #yandere misery adaptation #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #x reader #yandere oc

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completelyjae · 5 months ago

Text

"You Talk in Your Sleep… About Me?" 𝓙eno (이제노) x 𝓡eader

ʚ genre: drabble/timestamp, idol!au, fluff !! word count: 611 content warnings: none (reader is gn, pronouns used you/yours)

▸ summary: Jeno has returned from a tiring practice session, is it his half-sleeping state that’s playing mind tricks on him, or are you really talking in your sleep?

🧾 return to MASTERLIST

2:57 a.m.

It wasn't unusual for Jeno to return home later in the night after practice, maybe at 2 a.m. or at 3, even.

Not even the jiggle of his keys, which usually alarmed you, could wake you up. After waiting a few seconds to determine whether you were awake or not, Jeno walked up the stairs, cautious not to disturb you any further (you wouldn't have gotten any more sleep if he woke you up now — a habit he unfortunately took notice of in uncomfortable occasions).

As he passed by the bedroom door, however, a faint mumble stopped him in his tracks — his name, slipping from your lips along soft breaths.

His breath hitched, heart momentarily caught between tiredness and curiosity. Was he imagining it? Or did you really just call for him in your sleep?

He furrowed his brows, confused, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

A soft, whispered 'I love you' slipped from your lips, faint but still audible to Jeno, his heart skipping a beat from hearing your small voice, as warmth spread through his chest.

Letting a ray of dim light in the room, the boy cautiously walked up to your sleeping figure, moving strands of hair that covered your face.

'Jeno, are you here..?' your words were slurred from your sleepiness and your eyes still closed. Jeno took a seat beside where you rested, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back.

'Yes, princess. I'm here. Why are you awake at this hour?' he whispered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. 'I told you not to wait for me..' a warm smile made its way onto his features, his figure still sat, waiting for your reply.

'Princess?' Jeno tilted his head, trying to figure out if you were still asleep. If the small snores that came from you weren't enough of an indication, your slightly parted mouth — and the drool smearing on the pillow beneath — was. He bit back a chuckle, shaking his head. Cute. Ridiculously cute. Even asleep, you somehow managed to make his heart ache in the best way.

The boy silently chuckled, deciding to settle by your side and let sleep finally overtake him.

'Did you sleep well?' was the first thing you heard as you groggily rubbed your eyes, trying to shield yourself from the blinding sunlight coming from the window.

'Yes Jen, did you?' your question remained unanswered, when you saw Jeno grinning widely.

Giggling yourself, you watched the boy as he sat beside you, 'Why are you smiling like that?'

'Someone was dreaming about me, huh?' Jeno’s voice was laced with amusement, his teasing smirk growing as he watched realization dawn on your sleep-ridden face. He leaned closer, his grin widening. 'Don’t be shy, angel. You wanna tell me what it was about?' His laughter bubbled out when you groaned, burying your face into the pillow.

'..What? You're being ridiculous, Jen...' 'Well, I'm pretty sure I heard you say my name — don't misunderstand though, it was pretty cute,' he said, pinching your left cheek.

'Whatever..' You briskly got up from the bed, tossing the covers over him.

Giggling, Jeno started to follow after you, 'Love you too, angel.'

@ completelyjae

feedback appreciated 𝜗𝜚

— @kstrucknet , @neocity-net

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enwoso · 4 months ago

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would you do one where lovie is sick and wants Leah and not Alessia which surprises her

seeking solace | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

alessia had always been fiercely protective of you, as her daughter as someone who had became a mum young she had, slowly, become accustomed to the late night fevers, the endless cuddles on the couch and the soft whispers of reassurance.

but nothing could have prepared her for your tiny voice broke the quiet hum of your home this evening.

it had started with a small cough that morning while your mummy was having the weekly coffee morning catch up with the arsenal girls before training begun, a small sniffle coming from you here and there.

but by the afternoon and you were back home you were a shivering bundle of blankets. your face flushed with the heat of the fever which was quickly forming.

alessia had done her best to comfort you, offering you a warm bath and a cosy evening on the couch. the evening wore on and it became clear that your fever was getting worse.

alessia was used to being the one who you turned to and relied on, the one who wiped away your tears when you were upset and somehow find a way to make everything better. but as you settled on the couch, cuddled into your mummy side as she drew patterns on your back.

alessia was taken by surprise when your small fingers grasped the edge of her sleeve as you whispered, "i want le"

your mummy froze, her heart skipping a beat. the blondes girlfriend, leah had been a steady and loving presence in your lives. and while you like leah just fine, you had always preferred the quiet comfort of your mummy's arms when you were unwell.

"lovie" your mummy began gently, stroking a hand through your hair, "mummy's here, leah won't be home for some time yet"

you just shook your head, your bright blue eyes wide and glassy from your fever, "no i, i want lele.. please?"

alessia's heart ached. she never expected this. leah as always had been nothing but patinet with you, but your request took alessia by surprise.

for the past couple of months leah had been a constant figure in your life alongside alessia. the blonde having spent a lot more days at your house as well as staying over a few night a week but leah hadnt officially moved in, just yet. so alessia could understand how and why you'd grown such an attachment to her.

but alessia assumed it was her who you would always want in times like these - your mum, the one who knew how to make things right.

but maybe in the past few weeks you had saw something in leah that alessia hadn't noticed. or maybe just maybe, it was the tenderness leah brought with her when she did show up. the way she spoke so softly and her gentleness.

without a word, alessia picked up her phone keeping you tight in her arms as she sent leah a quick text.

'love i'm sorry and i know your out with your family but lovie wants you here. she's not feeling well.'

not even a moment later, her phone buzzed with leah’s reply.

lele<3 'i'll be twenty minutes.'

true to her word leah arrived just a few minutes after the twenty minute mark and it was as though the air lightened. she was still wearing the clothes she'd worn for to go out for dinner in, alessia having to put to one side the thoughts on the outfit - although she'd no doubt let her thoughts known later on..

leah's presence seemed to infuse the room with a claming energy and you who'd been restless moments before and immediately quieten when leah knelt down beside you.

"hey little one," leah said softly, her voice so warm and familar, "how you feeling? i heard your not feeling too great."

you, still feverish and tired stretched out your small arms towards leah as she didnt hesitate to gather you into her embrace. alessia watched on in awe as leah settled down next to the blonde rubbing circles on your back.

it was the same tender care alessia had seen leah give her countless times but watching it directed towards you, her daughter, was something new. something beautiful.

"i'm so glad your here" alessia whispered her voice thick with emotion.

leah smiled, her eyes soft and filled with love, "you know im always here, for both of you"

you nestled into leah's arms as your eyes fluttered closed as you were comforted by the warmth and gentle touch. leah stretching her arm out so alessia could be closer to her as she rested her head on leah's shoulder, her heart full as they were wrapped in the quiet, steady rhythm of leah's care.

as the minutes passed, your breath started to slow down and your feverish flush loosened as leah held her, whispering soothing words. alessia sat watch as leah's hands traced patterns on your back. there was something in the way leah was holding you, the way she had seemed to melt into their little family which made alessia's chest tighten with gratitude.

she'd known leah for a while now, had fallen for her slowly, but moments like this - moments where leah was not just the love of her life but the heart of their home - made alessia love her more than she thought was ever possible.

you let out a content sigh as your little body relaxed into the calm of her embrcae. alessia kissed the top of your head before turning her gaze back to leah. as their eyes met and in the quiet of the room as a thousand unspoken words passes between them - words of love, of relief, of togetherness.

alessia's heart ached a little at the tenderness in leah's eyes. she could see the joy in them, the warmth of knowing she was part of something real, something beautiful.

"i'm sorry again for cutting your family dinner short-" alessia whispered as leah just shrugged it off as if it was nothing. "i- i didn't expect her to ask for you" alessia carried on her voice soft but filled with emotion.

she settled closer to leah, still resting her head on her shoulder. "she's always wanted me when she's sick. i thought.. well, i thought i'd be the one she needed."

leah's hand found alessia's, fingers intertwining. she gave a small squeeze. "maybe she knew you needed a little time to breathe. you're always the one who takes care of everything. maybe it was her way of letting you lean on me for a change."

alessia smiled softly, her eyes lingering on the way leah held you. it was a quiet tenderness, the kind which made alessia feel safe, cherished. she leaned in, pressing her lips gently to leah's cheek, the soft touch lingering longer than it should have.

"thank you," alessia whispered against her skin, her voice thick with gratitude. "for always being here. for showing up.. for us"

leah turned her head just slightly, enough for their lips to brush, the breifest kiss which sent a spark of warmth through alessia. "always." leah murmured, her thumb gently brushing over the back of alessia's hand. "for as long as you'll have me."

alessia's breath cuaght and she kissed leah again - this time, slow and deliberate as if trying to memorise the feeling of leah's lips. her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her just that little bit closer. the kiss deepened, tender and full of love they shared. a love that had grown strong through every shared moment and evey challenge they had faced together.

when they finally pulled apart, both breathless. alessia rested her forehead against leah's her hand still in hers. you were asleep now, your little body nestled safetly between them, your face soft and peaceful as light snores fell from your lips.

"sometimes, i wonder how i got so lucky" alessia whispered, her heart full of something deeper than she could even express. "i've got you both."

leah smiled, her thumb gently stroking alessia's cheek. "we're the lucky ones love"

and in that quiet, intimate moment surrounded by the soft sound of your breathing, alessia knew this was exactly where she was meant to be. with you. with leah. building their family. step by step, moment by moment. full of love, warmth and everything she had ever dreamed of.

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