#language lab system | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

youthguk · 1 month ago

Text

Entropy | jjk (m) | one-shot

College AU | Fuckboy Jungkook x Physics Student Y/N

“The universe tends toward chaos.” You thought that only applied to black holes and entropy equations — not boys with lip rings and midnight eyes. You were wrong.

genre: smut, one-shot, college AU, fuckboy!jungkook, explicit sexual content, strong language, alcohol consumption, casual hookup, reader is sexually inexperienced but very willing, Jungkook is fully feral and obsessed

Wc: 10k

author's note: your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe naturally tends toward disorder. That every system, left to its own devices, will eventually fall apart.

You never thought it would apply to people, but by the third week of finals season, everything begins to decay.

Not in any spectacular, cinematic way—no dramatic breakdowns in the hallway or rain-soaked monologues—but in smaller, quieter disintegrations. You begin to lose the will to care whether your iced coffee is more milk than caffeine. Your drawers become a graveyard of crumpled hoodies and socks that don’t match. Your planner, once color-coded with obsessive devotion, now lies somewhere under your bed, abandoned and blank.

Entropy, you think. The tendency of systems to slide into disorder. You remember the diagram from second-year thermodynamics: the universe’s cruel, inevitable drift toward chaos. You’d once found peace in it. A kind of comfort, knowing it wasn’t your fault when things fell apart. It was just nature.

These days, you’re not so sure. You stand in front of the mirror in your dorm’s bathroom, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth, hair piled into a loose, too-honest bun that makes your ears look uneven. You’ve been wearing the same oversized MIT hoodie for three days straight. Not because it means anything to you—you didn’t even apply there—but because it smells like clean laundry and covers the fact that your bra is somewhere inside a laundry basket you no longer have the energy to dig through.

You look exhausted. Not dramatically so, but in the way that makes people hesitate before asking you for anything. You’ve started getting that look in the lab, in lectures, even from your professors: the quiet, pitying glance that says, You’re doing too much, and it’s starting to show. And still, you keep doing it.

Physics doesn’t reward soft emotions. It rewards answers. You know how to calculate momentum, how to model projectile motion, how to explain wave-particle duality to a room full of distracted undergrads—but you don’t know how to mourn something that was never truly yours. You don’t know how to feel cleanly. You only know how to function.

You open the bathroom cabinet, close it again, stare blankly at your own reflection. Your eyes are ringed in fatigue. Your lips are chapped. Your last kiss was over a month ago and didn’t even taste like goodbye.

You don’t miss him. Not really. He was nice. Predictable. Gentle. He always held your hand like he was asking permission. But the moment he ended it—voice calm, like he was discussing his meal plan—you didn’t feel heartbreak. You felt relief.

And maybe that’s worse. Your phone buzzes on the sink. You glance down and see Hyeri’s name.

Hyeri: *I swear to god if you ghost me I’m breaking into your room.*Hyeri: *Put on a dress. He’s throwing a party.*You: *Who.*Hyeri: *Jeon fucking Jungkook.*You: No thanks.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

There it is—that name again. A name that lives in the background of your life like ambient noise. Jeon Jungkook: a boy you’ve never actually spoken to, but whose existence seems to follow you in ways you can’t explain. Shared classes. Group projects. Dorm parties where he arrived shirtless and left with a girl on his arm. Mutual friends who describe him with exasperated fondness. A smirk that belongs on someone far less academically average.

You’ve never had a reason to care about him. Not really. Except for that one night at the start of second year, when you sat across from him at a friend-of-a-friend’s birthday and watched him lick whipped cream off his thumb while explaining something about SEO strategy. You’d gone home that night and googled what the hell SEO actually was.

You’d forgotten about him after that. Or tried to.

Until your best friend started playing matchmaker in group chats you weren’t in. Until the campus gossip pages kept posting blurry photos of his arms. Until his name started appearing in conversations he wasn’t even part of, and every girl said the same thing:

Jeon Jungkook fucks like it’s a contact sport.

For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to be tackled by him, but quickly buried that thought beneath a mountain of coursework, equations, and meticulously organized lab notes - all those neat, contained systems that made sense.

Hyeri: Come. Please. One drink. One dance. You’re not allowed to rot in that hoodie forever.

Chewing your lip, you glance from the worn hoodie to your reflection, then finally to the door. Maybe this isn't about Jungkook, or even your ex - maybe it's simply time to feel something real before summer consumes what's left of you. With a quiet sigh, you make your decision.

You: Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m faking a panic attack and leaving.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You don’t know when the universe started to unravel.Maybe it was the breakup. Maybe it was that lab partner who kept messing up your simulations. Maybe it was all the times you sat through lectures with tears threatening at the corners of your eyes and no one noticing, not even once. But tonight, it feels like something bigger. Like the universe itself has decided to press its thumb against your spine and push.

Entropy unfolds around you like a slow dance. The universe's natural descent into disorder feels inevitable tonight as you stand before the mirror, half-heartedly curling your lashes. Mascara won't fix the exhaustion in your eyes, won't erase the weeks you've spent hiding from your reflection. You barely recognize the person staring back at you anymore.

Hyeri’s outside your door, already half-drunk, yelling through the crack like she owns the world. “If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m breaking in and dressing you myself!”

You shout back a profanity, then drop your towel and step into the dress she brought you. It wasn’t made for physics students. That much is clear. It’s navy satin, too short to be safe and too tight to be responsible. The neckline dips like a threat, the fabric clings like it knows something you don’t. You smooth it down your sides, catching your reflection by accident — and then not looking away.

Your hair’s still wet from the world’s fastest shower. You didn’t bother with foundation. Just a bit of liner, a swipe of something sheer on your lips. You look like someone you don’t quite know. Someone who might dance. Someone who might say yes to something reckless. The zipper sticks halfway up your back, and when you reach to fix it, a strand of hair slips free and falls across your face. You look messy. Unpolished. A little chaotic.

A laugh escapes your lips as you realize that in your disheveled state, you've finally aligned with the universe's natural tendency toward chaos.

There’s a knock at the door. “I swear to god, Y/N—”

You open it before she can finish, and Hyeri shuts up mid-rant.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

You grab your bag. “Don’t say anything.”

“Okay,” she says, eyes wide, “but if Jungkook doesn’t try to kiss you tonight, I’m checking him for a concussion.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters with a newfound awareness - the whisper of satin against skin, the cool night air dancing across your thighs.

Following Hyeri through the dimly lit stairwell and into the waiting Uber, you can't help but notice how different the city feels tonight. Summer lingers in the air, heavy with possibility, as if the universe itself is contemplating what kind of chaos to unleash. For once, you're ready to embrace whatever comes.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You smell the party before you hear it. It’s not unpleasant — not the kind of sour, suffocating stink of undergrad dorm parties you’ve long since grown out of. No, this one smells like summer. Like too-sweet alcohol and chlorine and night air that clings to bare shoulders. There’s music, loud enough to rattle the pavement beneath your heels, bass bleeding through windows too big to hide the chaos inside.

Jungkook’s house is exactly what you’d expect from a rich boy with too many friends and too little restraint. Modern, massive, perched on a hill just far enough from campus to feel forbidden. The front door’s already wide open. People flow in and out like blood through a vein. Someone’s laughing on the porch. Someone else is making out against the railing. You pause before going in.

Hyeri’s already halfway up the steps, turning back when she notices you hesitate. “Don’t look like you’re here to study. Shoulders back. Chin up. You look hot as hell.”

You follow her inside. The temperature rises immediately. The music hits your chest in waves, something fast and rhythmic that people pretend they know the words to. There’s a sheen of sweat on everyone’s skin, cups half-empty and already sticky with fingerprints. Lights pulse in warm golds and deep reds, designed to make everyone look better than they are.

You keep your eyes low at first, weaving through bodies, careful not to bump into anyone. You’re not used to being seen. Not like this. Not in something this tight, this short. You feel the way the fabric pulls across your hips, how it shifts with each step. You’re suddenly aware of the line of your thighs, the exposed stretch of your back.

The weight of someone's stare draws your attention upward, and there he stands: Jeon Jungkook, watching you with deliberate intensity.

Slouched on the arm of an expensive couch, drink in one hand, tattooed fingers curled around plastic like they’ve never had to hold anything heavier. He’s wearing a black button-up — open halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows — and a pair of dark jeans that might as well be a crime. His lip ring catches the light when he smirks at something one of his friends says, and his head tilts just slightly — because he’s looking at you.

You almost miss it, the way the smirk dies and reforms into something slower. Sharper. His gaze lingers, dips — not in a crude, hungry way, but in a way that makes you feel scanned. Like he’s logging every inch of skin, every tilt of your body, every second you hold eye contact.

His expression remains neutral as his gaze lingers, drinking in every detail of your presence. The intensity of his stare follows you across the room as Hyeri pulls you toward the kitchen, chattering about shots and mixers while reminding you to "hydrate between drinks, you nerd." Even through the press of bodies and pulsing music, you can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

The kitchen is a chaotic display of solo cups and liquor bottles, with fruit swimming in something that promises tomorrow's regret. You grab a drink more for something to occupy your hands than anything else, the cold plastic a flimsy shield as cherry and vodka touch your lips.

When Hyeri tugs at your hand with an excited "Come dance!", you pause. The familiar heat of his gaze draws your attention back across the room. He's standing now, drink still in hand, and when your eyes meet, his lips curve into a smile that's neither cocky nor practiced. It's something more dangerous - slow, curious, possessive - as if he's already seen how this night ends. As if the universe itself has chosen its preferred form of chaos.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You lose Hyeri somewhere between the kitchen and the music.

She disappears into the haze of bodies with the kind of confidence you’ve never been able to fake—throwing her arms around someone you don’t recognize, laughing too loudly, swaying like she’s part of the beat itself. The living room’s been cleared just enough to form a makeshift dance floor, though calling it that feels generous. It’s a swarm. Sweaty, uncoordinated, pulsing with bass and alcohol.

You hover at the edge for a moment, half-expecting yourself to turn back. But your feet don’t move. You feel warm. Lightheaded. A little less real with every second. And you know, before you even look again, that he’s still there.

He doesn’t approach like he’s chasing something. He approaches like he’s already caught it.

You feel him before you see him—something magnetic pulling at the corner of your awareness. Then you turn your head, and he’s suddenly beside you, crowding your space without brushing you once. His shirt clings to the lines of his chest. His breath smells faintly of whiskey and mint.

“Didn’t know physics majors danced,” he murmurs, not loud but close enough that the words slide against your neck.

You don’t flinch. “Didn’t know business majors could form full sentences.”

That earns a laugh. Low. A little sharp. He doesn’t look away. The song shifts, something slower, bass-heavy, almost liquid in the way it pours over the crowd. His hand doesn’t touch you—not yet—but you feel his presence pressing in, daring you to move first.

“You wanna?” he asks, a single word softened by the tilt of his mouth. It’s not polite. Not romantic. But his tone says he already knows the answer.

You shouldn't dance with him, but nothing about tonight has followed any semblance of reason. When you nod, he steps behind you, eliminating all space between your bodies. His hands find your hips with casual precision, thumbs brushing the exposed skin between your dress and thighs - not quite inappropriate, but enough to make your breath catch and spine straighten.

You let the music guide your movements, following pure instinct rather than practiced steps. The weight of his hands sets your rhythm, his grip subtle yet firm as heat radiates from his chest against your back. He stays silent, letting his touch speak volumes - possessive, intentional, marking.

When his lips graze your ear, he murmurs, "You're not what I expected."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your voice emerges unfamiliar - soft, low, wrapped in heat.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You just… move like you’ve been pretending not to want this.”

You lean back—not into him, not quite. Just enough to let your head fall against his shoulder, enough for your cheek to brush the edge of his jaw.

“Maybe I have,” you whisper.

That makes him exhale through his nose, a near-silent sound of disbelief.One of his hands slides lower, fingers dragging down the side of your thigh through your dress, subtle under the colored lights. You don’t stop him. Don’t even flinch. You’re past that now—past logic, past caution. You gave up control the second you walked through the door. Your hips roll against his, slow, testing. He curses under his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You smile, dizzy with the rush of power you didn’t know you had. “Good.”

The beat slows again. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You're suspended there, in the strobe-flecked dark, wrapped in the tension of something neither of you is ready to name. You can feel the way his body hardens against yours. The restraint in the way he keeps his hands from wandering farther. The storm gathering behind his eyes.

And then someone spills a drink, somewhere close, and the moment fractures just enough for you to step away.

You walk toward the back door without a word. Toward the warm night air, toward the sound of water, toward the next inevitable collapse in this universe gone fully to chaos.

Behind you, Jungkook follows.

The patio is cooler, but it doesn’t help. Not really.

You step out into the night air with your plastic cup still clutched in your hand, the condensation sliding between your fingers. The hem of your dress clings to the backs of your thighs, slick with sweat and static, and your pulse hasn’t slowed since the dance floor. You try to blame it on the alcohol. On the heat. On the music still throbbing behind you.

Not on him. You don’t dare glance behind you. You don’t have to. You already know he’s there. The pool glows in blue and gold, lights flickering beneath the surface like someone bottled the stars and poured them into water. A few people are floating lazily, limbs draped over inflatable chairs, laughter drifting up like smoke. The jacuzzi hums beside it, steam rising from its surface, soft and almost cinematic. Someone’s speaker plays a slower song now—trance-like, sensual, too low to sing along to.

And there he is again. He emerges from the shadows like the night belongs to him. Still shirtless, only now his skin shines with a sheen of sweat. His boxers ride low on his hips, exposing just enough to make your mouth dry. His chest is cut, stomach taut, tattoos black against golden skin. A towel slung over one shoulder. That stupid, crooked grin.

“You look hot,” he says. His tone is casual, but his eyes aren’t. They’re scanning every inch of you, unhurried. “You should cool off.”

You take a slow sip from your drink. “What, in there?”

He nods toward the jacuzzi. “It’s basically mandatory.”

You raise a brow. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Neither does he, clearly. He steps closer anyway. “Neither do I.”

Before you can respond, Hyeri appears beside you with a shriek, nearly stumbling as she tugs off her dress in one motion. Her red bra and matching lace panties flash under the porch lights like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Come onnnn,” she whines, laughing, already halfway into the water. “It’s just underwear! No one cares!”

“I care,” you mutter, gripping the hem of your dress like it’s the last thing tethering you to reality.

“Then stop being so uptight,” she says—and with no warning, she shoves you forward.

You stumble with a yelp. The cup flies from your hand. Your knees buckle as hot water surrounds you, silk dragging against your skin, heavy and clinging. You surface gasping, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead.

“Hyeri!” you snap, voice shrill, but she’s laughing too hard to answer.

Someone whistles. Someone else claps. Jungkook’s smirking as he lowers himself in across from you, water sloshing up over his chest. He leans back, spreads his arms wide across the edge, like this is his throne and you’ve just been delivered to it.

And your dress—god, your dress.

The satin is ruined. It sticks to your stomach, your thighs, your chest. The neckline’s slipped almost indecently low, and you know without looking that the fabric is nearly see-through now, the curve of your bra showing underneath. You tug at it beneath the surface, cheeks flaming.

“It’s not that kind of party,” you mutter, voice tight.

But he’s already watching you like it is. “You’re overdressed.”

You shoot him a look. “Not anymore.”

He smiles, slow and lazy, and leans closer. “Then lose it.”

You hesitate. But the water is warm, the music hazy, the alcohol swimming in your bloodstream like a tide. And your dress is clinging like second skin, dragging with every breath. You sigh. Slide the straps off your shoulders. Shimmy out of the fabric under the surface until it floats around you like a drowning petal. You drape it over the side without ceremony.

Now it’s just you in your bra and underwear. Bare legs. Wet skin. Nothing left to hide behind. And he’s watching you like he wants to ruin you with just his eyes.

Conversation rises around you—someone retells a wild hookup story, someone else splashes a drink over the jets—but none of it registers. You can feel Jungkook's thigh brushing yours beneath the water. His hand finds your knee. Slides just above it.

You breathe in. Let it happen. The moment holds like that. Suspended. Like a physics problem with no solution—just two bodies and friction and heat, variables with too much potential energy, waiting to snap.

Then someone splashes. Water flies up into your face, and you blink hard, flinching.

“Shit,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. Your contact is out of place—stinging, burning, blurring your vision.

"Everything okay?" Jungkook's voice softens with concern as he moves closer.

"Just got something in my eye," you manage, blinking rapidly.

He pulls himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles glistening as he reaches for a towel. "Bathroom's inside - I've got eyedrops upstairs. Plus something dry you can change into."

The offer hangs between you. Water drips from his hair down his neck, his soaked boxers clinging to his frame as he extends his hand. You pause, just for a moment, before accepting both his help and what it implies.

The hallway is quiet—eerily so after the chaos of the party below. The music becomes nothing but a muffled hum, thudding through the floorboards as if the house is holding its breath with you. Water drips from your hair to your bare shoulders, your bra clinging uncomfortably to your skin beneath the oversized towel Jungkook threw over you. The soaked fabric of your underwear sticks between your thighs as you walk, your steps squelching against the hardwood.

He walks just ahead, shirtless and dripping, his boxers clinging to every muscle of his thighs. His back is broad, his tattooed arm flexing as he opens a door on the left, pushing it open with casual ease.

“Bathroom,” he says, flicking on the light. “Eyedrops are in the cabinet.”

You step inside. The air is cool, the tile colder beneath your feet. A dim light above the mirror flickers before settling into a soft glow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror—you already know you look like something undone. Makeup smudged. Hair clumped into wet strands. Skin flushed from heat and embarrassment and him.

You open the cabinet, find the eyedrops instantly. Your fingers tremble as you tip your chin back, blinking the liquid in. The sting fades slowly.

When you lower your gaze, he’s leaning in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t speak. Just watches. Like he’s cataloging every movement, every breath, every second you give him.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Didn’t want your eye falling out on my watch.”

You laugh, quiet. “So thoughtful.”

“I am,” he says, straightening. He steps toward you, slow. Measured. “You should let me show you.”

Your pulse skips. “Show me what?”

His eyes dip. “How thoughtful I can be.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. Your body’s already reacting, legs stiffening slightly, breath catching when he stops in front of you, close enough that the heat of his skin warms yours. The water still dripping from his hair catches the light.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, glancing down.

“Sharp observation.”

He hums. “Not just from the jacuzzi, I think.”

Your eyes snap up. His are burning now—darker, lower, slow-burning coal beneath thick lashes. His voice dips.

“You gonna let me dry you off?”

You don’t answer.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Or should I make you wetter first?”

Your knees threaten to give out.

He steps back before you can respond, smirking like he already knows he’s winning. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll give you something dry to wear.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You know what this is. But you take his hand anyway.

The bedroom is dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the moonlight spilling through half-closed blinds. The air is warmer here. Softer. And everything smells like him—spice, skin, shampoo. The bed is rumpled. There’s a hoodie thrown over a chair, a single black ring on the nightstand, and a half-empty glass of water.

You stand awkwardly at the edge of the room, arms crossed tightly over the towel.

He crosses to a dresser, pulls out a black T-shirt and a pair of soft-looking sweatpants, both oversized. He tosses them to the bed and turns to face you.

“You can change here,” he says. “I’ll be good.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even believe that.”

He grins. “No. But I like hearing you say it.”

You look at the clothes. You look at him.

And then—very slowly—you loosen the towel.

It falls to the floor.

The air shifts. It goes still. Almost reverent.

His eyes drag down your body in a slow, devastating sweep. Your wet bra clings to your chest, nipples clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric. Your underwear is nearly transparent, stretched taut across your hips, the waistband twisted from the way you shifted under the water. Your skin is flushed, dotted with goosebumps. You don’t cover yourself.

He doesn’t move. For a moment, he just stares—mouth parted, throat working as he swallows hard. His cock twitches in his boxers, and the fabric can no longer hide it.

You speak first.“Thought you were gonna be good.”

His gaze lifts—slow, hungry. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “I lied.”

He sits on the bed, legs spread wide, his cock hard and obvious beneath the wet fabric. He leans back on his hands and looks at you like he already owns you. “Come here.”

You move towards him with slow, measured steps, each movement drawing his gaze along the curves of your body. Your soaked bra clings to your skin as you approach, and when you finally stop before him, his exhale is strained with barely contained desire.

He tilts his head. “Can I touch you now?”

You nod. It’s barely a breath.

He reaches forward, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, then over your hips, thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up. “You don’t even know.”

“I think I do,” you whisper.

And he grins, wild and crooked and starved. “Good girl.”

His eyes are on your mouth when you breathe.

“Come here,” he says again, voice husky, deeper than it was downstairs. There’s no playfulness in it anymore. Just want.

You step forward, letting your knees brush the outside of his. He doesn’t move. Then, slowly, deliberately, you lift one leg over his thigh, then the other, and lower yourself into his lap.

The second your hips meet his, you feel it — the hard line of his cock pressing against the thin cotton of your panties. You both freeze. His breath stutters, jaw flexing as his fingers curl into the sheets beside him. He looks up at you like you’ve just ruined him.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t look away.

He reaches for your waist, fingers spreading wide as he guides you gently — forward, then back. The friction is slow. Torturous. His cock slides along the soaked crotch of your panties with every pass, dragging over your clit in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. “You’ve been wet since the dance, haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to argue, but it comes out a moan instead.

His hands roam. Over your waist, your ribs, thumbs grazing the undercurve of your breasts. He doesn’t touch your nipples — not yet. He’s savoring. Mapping you like something rare and sacred. Your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance, and he lets his head fall forward, lips grazing the slope of your neck.

“You smell like heat,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your pulse. “Like you’re meant to be fucked.”

The air leaves your lungs in one sharp exhale. He sucks at your throat once — soft, then harder — enough to leave a mark. Your hips grind down harder by accident, and he groans into your skin.

“God, baby,” he breathes, voice crumbling, “I want you to ride me just like this. Slow. Fuck—just like that.”

You drag your hips again, letting your soaked panties rub over his cock, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You like that?” you whisper, breath shaking.

He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and smiles like the devil.

“You have no idea.”

He rolls his hips up into yours once, sharply. You gasp.

“Wanna feel you come on me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw. “Make a mess all over my lap. Let me ruin these pretty little panties you wore just for me.”

You whimper. His cock pulses beneath you, hot and thick and aching against your soaked center.

“Say you want it,” he whispers. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I want it,” you gasp, breathless. “Jungkook—please…”

And he groans, deep and raw.

“I’m gonna take my fucking time with you.”

You don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until he stills you.

His hands slide beneath your thighs, gripping them firmly, and with a strength that shouldn’t feel as gentle as it does, he lifts you. You gasp as he lays you back across the bed, your legs draped over the edge, your hair fanning against the pillows like you were made to be framed like this—bare and gasping beneath his stare.

He follows you down slowly. Drops to his knees like it's instinct. Not cocky. Not rushed. Like he’s been waiting to kneel here since the second he saw you. Your thighs tremble as he presses them open, fingers leaving faint imprints against your skin. He slides his palms under your knees, pushing them farther apart, and for a second, he just looks at you. At the damp curve of your panties, the way the fabric clings, the way you shift slightly under his stare like the heat between your legs has turned unbearable.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes.

His hands grip the waistband of your panties, and you lift your hips without thinking. He peels them down slowly, watching them drag over your skin like he wants to memorize every inch. When they reach your ankles, he tosses them somewhere behind him—but his eyes never leave you. Then he leans in.

The first touch of his tongue is almost too soft to process. Just the tip, a teasing flick across your clit that makes your entire body jolt. You clutch at the sheets, your back arching when he does it again—firmer this time. He groans the second he tastes you.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue from your entrance all the way up. “How the fuck do you taste like this?”

Your thighs twitch. He presses his palms against them to keep you open, steady, and lowers his mouth again.

This time, it’s not soft. His tongue laps at you with purpose, flattening against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes that make your legs tense and your fingers curl. He moans against you like he’s the one being pleasured, and the vibrations send shocks through your entire body.

You cry out. It’s instinctual—your hips trying to buck, your hand flying to his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you run. He wraps an arm around your thigh, holds you down, and slips two fingers inside you without warning. Your moan is wrecked.

The stretch, the heat, the way his tongue moves faster now—circling, pressing, teasing just to the edge of pain. It’s too much. Not enough. Everything. Your head falls back against the mattress.

“Jungkook—” It’s a whimper, broken. “Oh my god…”

He groans again, tongue working faster, fingers curling inside you like he knows exactly where to find you, exactly how to press until you’re gasping like you’re drowning.

“That’s it,” he rasps against you. “Fuck, baby… let me feel you come on my mouth. Right here. Come for me.”

The pressure builds with each movement of his tongue, your body trembling on the edge as pleasure coils tight and hot within you. When release finally comes, it hits you like a wave — back arching, thighs shaking, lips parting in a cry you can’t control. You feel yourself pulse around his fingers, your orgasm ripping through you in hot, wet pulses that make you sob his name.

He groans low against you and keeps going, tongue flicking as your body shudders, milking every second out of it, chasing every last twitch of pleasure until your hips collapse and your legs fall open. He finally pulls back, face glistening, lips swollen, pupils blown. You’re panting and he stares at you like he’s just won a war. And then—without giving you a second to recover—he grips your thighs and says, voice rough, “Get up.”

You blink, dizzy. “Wha—”

“Mirror,” he says. “Now.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs your wrist. Not harshly. Not with force. Just enough pressure to tell you you’re not going anywhere. Your skin is hot, oversensitive, your thighs still twitching, and he’s already pulling you upright like he hasn’t just made you come with nothing but his mouth and two fingers. You follow, unsteady on your feet, your knees weak. Your bra is twisted around your chest, half-askew. Your hair’s stuck to your neck. You feel undone.

And he’s still hard. You catch a glimpse of it as he steps in behind you — the thick outline of his cock straining against the wet cotton of his boxers. You must’ve soaked through his lap earlier, because the front of them is completely dark, clinging to every inch of him. Your throat goes dry.

“Come here,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, already steering you toward the mirror in the corner of his room. Full-length. Gold-rimmed. Slightly fogged at the edges from the humidity of your bodies.

“I can’t—” you start, still dazed, and his hand cups your jaw from behind.

“You can,” he says, soft but firm. “You’re not done. Not yet.”

He stops you just a step in front of the mirror.

“Look,” he tells you. His voice is low, breathless now. “Look at yourself.”

You do and the girl in the reflection is… not you. Her lips are swollen. Her bra half-off. Her thighs gleaming. Her chest rising and falling like she’s been running for hours. You can see Jungkook’s frame behind you—tall, shirtless, flushed—his arm reaching around your waist, the other pressing flat against your lower back.

Then his hand slides down. Over your stomach. Your panties are gone. You’re bare for him, wet and pulsing and still aching from before. His fingers dip between your legs again.

You gasp. Your head drops forward—but his voice sharpens, right against your ear.

“No. Eyes up. Watch.”

You do. You watch the way your mouth falls open when two fingers slip back inside you, slow and deep. Watch the way your body rocks forward slightly, forced to brace against the glass as he curls them perfectly, his palm dragging over your clit just enough to make your knees buckle.

He wraps his other arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Good girl,” he whispers, lips brushing your neck.

Your hips twitch. The angle is too perfect. Too much. Every thrust of his fingers sends you crashing forward against your reflection, breath fogging the glass, lips parting with every ragged moan.

“Look how pretty you are when you fall apart,” he murmurs. “You see that?”

You nod, barely. He pumps his fingers harder. Deeper. You feel them hit that spot again, and your entire body shudders. His hips are pressed to your ass now, his cock grinding against your skin with every movement, leaking through his boxers as he fingers you mercilessly.

“You like being watched?” he growls, voice breaking. “Like seeing yourself like this?”

You whimper. “Yes…”

“You wanna come again, don’t you?” His fingers slam into you harder now, knuckles wet, your slick echoing obscenely in the quiet. “You wanna do it while you’re looking me in the eye?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze in the mirror.

And that’s what breaks you. You cry out, loud and raw, body shaking against his, pressed full-length to the glass as your orgasm rips through you again — messier this time, faster, overwhelming. Your legs quake. His fingers never stop. He holds you through it, one arm locking you in place as you fall apart a second time in front of yourself, because of him.

Your breath fogs the mirror in quick, shallow pants. He finally pulls back, wet fingers sliding free with a low, satisfied groan. He looks at you in the mirror—flushed, panting, nearly gone—and leans in to press a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“I could watch you come all night.”

And somehow, you believe him. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe. The mirror’s cooled now, the glass smeared with your fingerprints and fog, the reflection a blur of tangled hair and sweat and wrecked pleasure. Your thighs are shaking. Your skin is damp. You feel like you’ve melted and there’s no putting yourself back together.

Jungkook turns you gently, hand on your waist, guiding you like he’s still not done claiming you.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you let him push you down until you’re flat on your back. Your arms fall limp beside you, and for a moment all you can do is stare up at him. His chest is heaving. His skin is flushed. His cock — thick, red, twitching — strains beneath the cling of his boxers, soaked and sticking to every outline.

Then he hooks his thumbs in the waistband. You can’t look away. The cotton peels down slowly, catching on the head of his cock. He frees it with one hand, and it slaps up against his stomach, flushed and dripping. Your breath catches.

You’ve seen porn. You’ve read things. You’ve imagined. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of him — him— standing between your knees, eyes dark, cock hard, and so clearly turned on by you. Your thighs press together instinctively. He sees it and smirks then climbs onto the bed. He doesn’t ask. He just leans over you, one hand sliding beneath your back, the other tugging the straps of your bra off your shoulders. You lift your arms without thinking, too far gone to hesitate, and he slides it down and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Your breasts spill free, heavy and flushed and still damp from sweat.

He freezes. Just for a second. “Jesus fuck,” he breathes.

His hand comes up, fingers splayed, and he cups one breast gently, reverently, like it’s something sacred. His thumb grazes your nipple. You shudder.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “So fucking soft… I’ve been staring at these all night.”

You laugh breathlessly. “You haven’t even seen them until now.”

He leans down, presses a kiss between them. “Didn’t have to. I just knew.”

And then he’s straddling your hips, cock in his hand, eyes dark as sin.

You watch, completely still, as he spits into his palm, slicks it over his length, and nestles the head of his cock between your breasts.

Your stomach tightens. He reaches down, gently lifts your hands, guiding them to your own body. “Hold them together for me.”

You obey. Press your breasts around him, the weight of them closing snug around his cock. His breath stutters.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “Fuck—just like that.”

And then he starts to move. It’s slow at first. The head of his cock slides up, nudging under your chin, wet with pre-come. You gasp as it drags back down, gliding slick between your breasts, your skin burning with friction and arousal and humiliation, but god, it turns you on more than you thought possible. You’ve never done this before. Never even thought about it.

But the way he moans? The way his eyes fall half-lidded, hips starting to stutter as he watches his cock disappear between your breasts? It wrecks you. Your thighs press together again. You can feel the wetness leaking out of you — fresh, sticky, proof that even after everything, your body’s still begging.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, one hand gripping the headboard for balance, the other fisting your hair. “You have no idea what this does to me.”

You whimper.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Tits so fucking perfect. Taking all of me. You’re so good—so fucking good—”

The head of his cock taps your chin again, your lips, your throat. You open your mouth on instinct, and he moans loudly.

“You wanna taste it?” he growls. “Wanna suck the tip while I fuck your tits?”

You nod, breathless, and tilt your head just enough to catch him on your tongue the next time he thrusts up. The sound he makes is filthy. His hips falter. His jaw clenches. The hand in your hair tightens.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m not gonna last like this,” he chokes out. “You feel too good. You’re so fucking hot like this. I could come all over these perfect tits and still not be done.”

You whine while he pulls back.

Not because he’s finished — but because he’s holding on. Barely. And because he hasn’t even been inside you yet. He’s panting above you, knees sunk into the mattress on either side of your waist, sweat beading down his chest as his cock pulses between your breasts. The tip is slick, flushed red, twitching with restraint. His eyes are locked on the mess he’s made of your body — your breasts shining, lips parted, your entire body still trembling beneath him.

But you’re not done. You should be. You’ve come twice, your legs are jelly, your skin is hypersensitive — but none of that matters. Because the longer you stare at him, the more you realize that this isn’t enough. Not yet. Not until you’ve had all of him. Not until you’ve tasted the way he’s falling apart.

Your voice is gone. Your mind’s gone too. All you can feel is heat — liquid and pulsing, low in your belly and behind your knees. You want to be good for him. You want to be filthy for him. You want to know what he tastes like. You want to feel his cock on your tongue.

So you shift beneath him. Lift your hands to his thighs, fingers sliding up slowly, dragging over the thick muscle until you reach his hips. He watches you with hooded eyes, breathless, lips wet and parted. You look up at him. And then — without a single word — you stick out your tongue. The way his expression breaks…

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

His hand comes down, cradling your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he stares like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You want to suck me off that bad?” he asks, voice rough. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

You nod. Keep your tongue out. Your eyes never leave his. He growls.

“Say it,” he whispers, thumb pressing into your chin. “Be a good girl. Tell me what you want.”

Your voice is hoarse. Desperate. “I want your cock in my mouth, Jungkook… I want to suck you until you lose it. I want to feel you on my tongue, in my throat. I want to taste all of you. Please…”

His jaw clenches. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the tip of his cock brushing your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters. “Open your mouth.”

You do and he guides himself in slowly, head pressing past your lips, the taste of salt and musk blooming over your tongue. You groan softly, and he shudders.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair, wrapping it around his fingers like reins. “Fuck, baby. Look so pretty like this.”

You hollow your cheeks, take him deeper. Inch by inch, tongue curled beneath the shaft, your lips stretched wide. His cock slides in heavy, hot, and you let it, eyes fluttering closed as he presses against the back of your throat.

He hisses through his teeth. “God—fuck, your mouth…”

You moan around him. The vibration makes him groan, hips rolling forward just slightly — enough to make you gag softly around him. Your eyes water. You don’t stop.

Your fingers curl around his thighs. You suck him hard, wet and steady, letting spit drip down your chin, letting it get messy, wanting it to get messy. You want him undone. You want him to lose control.

“Fuck, just like that,” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re so good. You’re fucking perfect.”

He begins to move. Not roughly. Just slow thrusts of his hips, sliding his cock deeper with every pass, using your mouth like he’s been dreaming about it for months. His hand holds your hair tight. His stomach flexes. You can feel him trembling. You flatten your tongue. Let him fuck into your mouth. He starts muttering now — barely coherent.

“Shit… you’re gonna make me come—your fucking mouth—baby, I’m gonna—”

But then he pulls out. You gasp, mouth open, spit trailing from your lips to the head of his cock. He’s shaking.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “Not yet. I need to be inside you.”

You’re still panting when he leans down to kiss you. It’s not gentle. He licks into your mouth, like he can’t bear the space between you anymore. Then he reaches for the drawer.

Pulls out a condom and looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

“Lie back,” he says. “Let me fuck you right.”

You’re already open for him when he returns. Laid bare, legs parted, lips swollen, chin still shining from spit. Your body aches in the best way — used, touched, ruined — but it’s nothing compared to what you feel when you watch him roll the condom on. His chest is heaving. His thighs are flexed. And his cock, flushed and twitching in his grip, looks almost angry with need.

He climbs between your legs slowly. Like he’s in control. But you can see it now — the tension behind his smirk. The tremble in his breath. He’s been on the edge since you got on your knees, and he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “All spread out for me. Wet as fuck. And you still want more?”

You nod, breathless and he grins. Then lowers himself, his cock brushing against your folds — not pushing in yet, just slapping it lightly across your entrance.

Once. Twice. A third time, with a wet sound that makes you twitch.

You gasp, hips jerking. “Jungkook…”

He groans. “You hear that? That’s how wet you are for me. All this for my cock, baby?”

You whimper. “Yes. All for you.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds, slow and filthy, coating himself in your slick. Then he holds himself there — right at your entrance — and still doesn’t move.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe.

He growls. “Nah. Say it right.”

You whimper again, voice breaking. “Please, Jungkook… I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside.”

He exhales like you’ve punched the air from his lungs. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes in.

It’s slow. Torturous. You feel every inch — the stretch, the pressure, the way your walls cling to him. You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, thighs trembling as he slides deeper.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice guttural. “You’re so tight. So warm�� shit—like you were made for me.”

Your mouth falls open. “You feel so good, Jungkook… so fucking big…”

He growls at that — hips pressing all the way in until he’s bottomed out.

“Yeah? You like this?”

“Yes,” you pant. “You fill me so good, I—I can’t think—”

“You don’t need to think,” he breathes. “Just feel.”

Then he starts to move. Slow thrusts at first — deep and deliberate. His hips rock into yours with precision, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. His body presses into yours with heat and weight and intent, chest nearly touching yours, forearms braced on either side of your head.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “Tight little pussy taking all of me like that.”

You moan — helpless, wrecked, desperate.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you breathe, voice trembling. “It’s all yours, Jungkook…”

“Say no one else fucks you like this.”

“No one. Just you—only you—”

He groans loud at that, pace faltering for a beat before he starts pounding harder. He fucks you like he’s trying to leave a mark. Every thrust hits deeper, sharper, hips slapping against your ass. His hand slides up to your chest, gripping one breast, squeezing until you gasp. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back.

“You wanna come for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please…”

“You gonna let me watch you fall apart again?”

“Yes—fuck, please, Jungkook—”

He shifts, changes the angle, and suddenly every thrust is grinding against your clit just right. You cry out, back arching, thighs trembling. You’re so close. So fucking close.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Come all over my cock, baby. I wanna feel you tighten around me—come like you fucking mean it.”

And you do.

Your orgasm hits like a supernova — legs locking around his waist, mouth falling open in a scream. Your body pulses around him, walls clenching so hard he nearly loses it with you. He fucks you through it, whispering filth in your ear the whole time, praising you, owning you. When you finally come down, panting and wrecked, he kisses you like he’s starving but he’s not done yet.

You’re still pulsing around him when he pulls out. You gasp, empty in an instant, your body twitching from aftershocks. He kneels back for a breath, staring down at you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory — your legs splayed, your skin flushed, your mouth swollen and wet with the ghost of his name.

And then he flips you fast. You land on your stomach with a surprised moan, face sinking into the pillow, arms collapsing beneath you. Before you can breathe, he’s behind you again, spreading your thighs with greedy hands, pressing his cock between your folds.

“Fuck,” he growls, dragging himself through your slick. “You look so good like this.”

He grabs your hips, lifts you slightly, and pushes back in with one rough thrust. You cry out. Your fingers clutch the sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just fucks into you—deep, fast, like he’s finally letting go. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, wet and sharp, paired with his ragged moans and your helpless gasps.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, spine arching. “Fuck—Jungkook—yes—”

“You like this?” he snarls. “You like getting fucked like this? Bent over like a toy?”

“Yes,” you pant, no shame left. “I love it—I love your cock—don’t stop—”

He laughs, breathless, feral. His hand slides up your back, tangles in your hair, and pulls. Your back arches instinctively. The burn in your scalp shoots straight to your cunt. You moan like it’s oxygen.

“Good girl,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He thrusts harder, faster. Every stroke knocks a sound out of your throat. Your body jolts forward with the force of it, and he only pulls you back harder. And then suddenly his palm lands on your ass, hard and hot. You jerk. Whine. Grind back against him.

“Oh, you like that?” he grits out. “You want me to spank you while I fuck you?”

“Yes—yes, please, Jungkook—”

Smack. Again. Your ass stings, skin heating under each slap, but it just makes everything worse — your walls clamp around him, another orgasm building before you can even prepare for it.

“You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” His voice is sharp now, breathless. “Fucking dripping. So messy. You love being used like this.”

“I love it,” you sob. “I love it—I love being fucked by you—please—please, Jungkook—”

He grabs both your wrists and pulls them behind your back, holding you open while he slams into you, deep and fast, until your vision goes white.

“Come again,” he orders. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

And when you do, it hits harder than before — your body convulsing, vision tunneling, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your pussy clenches tight around him.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

He groans loud, one final thrust punching deep into you and then he’s coming. Hard. You feel it — the way his whole body tightens behind you, the heat spilling into the condom as he presses as deep as he can go, panting against your spine, voice raw. He holds there for a long moment. Breathing. Trembling. Then slowly, gently, he loosens his grip on your wrists. Brushes a soft kiss over your shoulder. Collapses beside you.

The room is silent now. Just two bodies, sweat-drenched and sore, trembling from everything they weren’t supposed to feel. Your body’s gone heavy. Limbs lax. Muscles aching in the best way. You’re still on your stomach, hair matted to the back of your neck, thighs sticky, lungs slow to catch up. The sheets are wrinkled beneath you. The whole room smells like sweat and sex and the kind of satisfaction that seeps into the bones.

And then he touches you again. A hand slides along your hip — warm, calloused — trailing over the curve of your ass and down your thigh. Then it shifts. Moves up. His thumb grazes the underside of your breast, and his mouth follows a heartbeat later.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, voice soft, half-dazed.

He doesn’t answer. He just mouths at your nipple, lazy and slow, tongue swirling in wet circles while his hand cups the other breast and gives it a greedy squeeze. You gasp. Your back arches instinctively. He hums low in his throat like you're dessert.

“Thought you were done,” you whisper, eyes fluttering.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop. “I’m never done with you.”

You whimper. Laugh. Try to turn your face away — but he follows. Crawls up your body, kisses you deep and messy, his hand still palming your breast while his tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. His lips are sticky, hot. You taste yourself on them.

And you melt all over again. His fingers dig into your ass next. Squeezing. Spreading. Possessive.

“You know,” he rasps, breath fanning over your ear, “I could fuck you like this every day.”

You laugh again — breathless, flushed. “Yeah?”

“Every fucking day.” He groans. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, turning your head slightly, kissing his jaw. “You fuck so good…”

He moans. “You make it easy. Being inside you is like… holy fuck, it’s unreal.”

You roll onto your back, too lazy to fully fight him off. He’s still kissing your chest, dragging his mouth from one nipple to the other, circling slow. His tongue’s warm. Wet. Wicked. Every touch makes you twitch. And your voice—when it comes—is low and teasing.

“You gonna get off on my tits again, or let me put some clothes on?”

“Don’t you dare,” he mutters, pulling back only slightly, eyes dropping to the mess of your ruined panties on the floor. He picks them up with two fingers, holds them hostage. “I’m keeping these.”

You blink. “Jungkook.”

He grins. “For science.”

You snort, still breathless. “That was…” You exhale hard, letting your head fall back. “So fucking needed.”

He grins. “Anytime. I’m very committed to supporting women in STEM.”

You laugh — fully this time. He tosses you his hoodie, then shimmies into his boxers like he isn’t still half-hard just watching you move. You stretch slowly, aching all over, before sitting up and tugging on your dress without underwear. His eyes darken. And then, before you leave, you do it — that final little flick of power he never sees coming. You hook your finger in your mouth. Suck it slowly. Loudly. Let it pop free. Then glance back at him over your shoulder with a sweet, filthy smile.

His jaw drops. He groans. “Oh my fucking god.”

You smirk. “See you around, Jeon.”

And just before you slip out the door, he mutters under his breath, half-wrecked:

“…I’m so fucking in trouble.”

part 2

your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

#jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook ff #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #college au #campus fuckboy jungkook #dom!jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook please

1K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 4 months ago

Note

Hii 👋 i really love your works i would eat it if i can, especially freelance inventor, will you ever countinue writing it? (Sorry if it sound rude, English is not my first language)

"So what's the deal with them?" Steph dares to ask when Bruce and Mr. Fenton finish passing out the souvenirs the inventor brought back. She wasn't sure why she was included in the gift giving, as she never even met the man before, but she now had a bowl from Irland tucked in her purse.

She's heard about Mr. Fenton through Tim and a bit from Jason. Both boys practically worshiped the ground the man stepped on. She understood that, on some level, they owed him their lives.

Jason, after being rescued from the Joker and Tim after Mr.Fenton found him on the rooftops all those years ago. She won't lie. How they spoke about Mr.Fenton painted a completely different image in her mind.

She expected someone regal, with a cold, calculating glance, who could figure out what she was expecting with a mere glance. Someone that she wouldn't be surprised if he was found tucked away in a pure white lab, working with glowing chemicals. She knows that they never claim Mr.Fenton was terrifying, but she had personally witnessed Dick threaten to tell Bruce to the man.

If he could make Batman cower by his mere mention, Steph had been expecting someone closer to what an evil version of Alfred would be.

Instead, she got a man in faded jeans, beat-up boots, and gentleness that hurt her teeth with how sweetly he smiled. If Bruce was a Bat, then Mr.Fenton could be a flower.

Gentle. Pretty. Unassuming.

Steph had logically known Mr. Fenton was a civilian. But she thought that he would be a scary one, at the least. Maybe someone in the justice system, a personal fighter like a boxer or hell, someone good with firearms.

"Hmm?" Damian glances up from his painting. Steph noticed that he has been doing a lot lately. Leaving his room to paint around the manor. She hasn't known the boy for long.

Steph had only recently forgiven Bruce for the whole Robin stunt he pulled (making her think she was his partner only to be used as bait for Tim, burned), and she wasn't around when Bruce's bio kid was found. Based on the stories Tim, Jason, and Dick shared, though, she thought he was a little more bloodthirsty.

He is more prone to violence after his upbringing, but he seemed to be shimmering down the last few weeks. Damian had apparently been given a talking to by Mr.Fenton, who took him out of the manor into the city for some "undercover training."

Steph hadn't been in Gotham then. She was busy helping a few teen titans with a mission that had her traveling to the other side of the world. But apparently, whatever harsh training Mr.Fenton had forced Damian to undergo had brought back peace to Wayne Manor.

Or as close as it could be.

He still referred to himself as the actual blood son.

"Bruce and Mr. Fenton," she repeated, nodding to where the pair could be seen conversing in the hallway. However, it looked more like Mr.Fenton was the only one talking. Bruce was too busy staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "They seem really close, but in a weird way."

Damain's intense green eyes snap at her. She raises a brow, unwilling to let the brat see he made her flinch. "Do you have a problem with Father getting close to another man?"

It takes her a few seconds to understand why he sounds so guarded before she gasps. "It's not the gay thing! I don't care if their gay!"

"I should hope not. You come into our home and eat our food, Brown." The boy clicks his tongue distastefully. Steph has never seen someone look down their nose at someone two heads taller than them, but Damian proved it could happen. "I would not allow for homophobia to enter these halls. It is not within the rules of social justice."

"Social justice?" She repeats a little surprise that Damian was speaking to her without an insult so far. The only time the brat had bothered to talk to anyone besides Bruce had been to insult them. At least in the two months, she had seen him wander after her Teen Titians mission.

"Danny has pointed out that Father's civilian reputation is tied heavily with social justice. It would not due for his heir to cause trouble in his affairs." Damian places his paintbrush back on his canvas, sneaking glances at the window.

Curious, Steph creeps closer to take a peak and finds herself memorized by the water painting he is working on. It's Bruce and Mr.Fenton. In the painting, Bruce is staring lovingly at Mr.Fenton, who seems to be in the middle of laughing. Though neither have arms- Damian is working on those- it doesn't detract from their loving expressions.

"If it is not due to their gender, what do you find weird about Father and Danny?"

Steph considers the question before slowly getting closer, wanting to oversee the young boy splash some white into Mr.Fenton's eyes, making them appear glowing. "It's just.....weird how Bruce likes someone so normal. No training. No big fancy money. No ties to the capes. Just a man who's really good at science."

Damain shoots her a complicated glance over his shoulders before he slowly replies. "Yes. An average Joe, as you Americans would say. That is Danny."

"Right? Isn't it weird? And besides the fact Bruce is so obvious with his crush, Mr. Feton has no idea. But he can pull apart a toaster in ten minutes to curl Babs hair for her dance? Don't you think it's odd?"

Damian hums. "A true master does not need to show who they are until the blade is at their opponent's neck. But I will admit that Danny's appearance can be rather deceiving."

"Damian.....do you know something?"

The boy's face turned more complicated before returning his attention to his painting. He taps his paintbrush against his palate before he mutters. "I knew only Danny did not treat me like a rabid animal. He took me to the zoo. I haven't been outside the manor since his last visit and grew wary of these walls."

His words hit Steph like a brick. Her first instinct is to explain why it was essential to keep him here, but then she thinks more about it, and her teeth slam shut.

Crude, has she been acting like Bruce? Had she really allowed him to convince her that a child should be locked up like it was nothing? Then again, Damian isn't a prisoner here.

Even if he was, she helped break him out.

"Say, kid, you want to come with Tim and me to the mall this afternoon? I think they have an art store."

Damian twists around to stare in utter shock. For all his training, he really is just a kid because Steph can see the genuine yearning in his eyes as he tries to casually cover up his reaction with a regal shoulder shrug. "I suppose I will have time for more undercover training."

Strange, Steph thinks while texting Tim about Damian joining them. Mr. Fenton hasn't even spoken to me that long, and he already changed how I viewed Damian. Is this why Bruce is into a civilian?

#dcxdpdabbles #Freelance inventor #dc x dp crossover #Part 5.5 #Steph's pov #Damian knows about Danny #But thinks it's impolite to say #Steph can't explain all the tension between Bruce or Danny #Danny's effect on the family is ripples

665 notes · View notes

witherby · 19 days ago

Note

I wonder what mouse would think of an injured Kon being taken back to the bat cave after being beaten by kryptonite, like a pt 2 of meet the family lol, would they put everyone in a pocket dimension or would they take Kon into a pocket dimension?

-🔱

Yeah, we can explore the follow-up to this scenario for sure. 😏

Littlest Wayne: Meet the Family, pt. 2

Part 1 is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

Your brother is acting weird. When you try to go down to the Cave to greet the boys after patrol, Jason hooks his arm under your legs and tucks you into his side, like when you were a child pretending to be a football, and takes you back upstairs. You squirm and wriggle to no avail, throwing your arms up incredulously.

"Jay!? Hello!?" You cry.

"Hey," he says, nonchalant as ever. He waltzes into the living room and deposits you on the plush, cream couch, sinking down on the other end and draping his legs across your lap like a seatbelt. "Dick's detoxing from Fear Gas. Can't go down there or he might mistake you for a goon and swing."

You frown. "Scarecrow was out? There wasn't the usual alert."

"He wasn't a threat long enough to warrant one," Jason shrugs. "Stumbled upon one of his labs while we were chasin' a different lead and took him out. Managed to dose Dick but Tim, Dami and I are fine."

"Oh. Okay. Does he need anything?"

Jason gives you a fond smile. "Nothing our civvie-sib needs to worry about. Let your big, mighty heroes fix it."

"I don't think shooting people makes you a hero, Jay."

"Alright, then let your favorite vigilantes fix it."

"Hmm, dunno. I think Green Arrow is my favorite vigilante."

"Take that back right now."

You lift an eyebrow. "I will not."

Jason gasps and lightly kicks you with his boot. You flick him in the ankle. He reaches over and flicks your ear. You stick your finger in your mouth and then jam it in his ear. He yelps and climbs off the couch to get away from you.

"Dammit, Mousey, that's gross!"

"So is sticking your dirty boots in my lap fresh off a patrol! These pants are expensive and your feet smell like the Gotham sewer system." You stand up and pointedly brush dirt off your thighs.

"Okay, alright! Point taken. Truce?"

You sigh and bump your fist against his, smiling despite your irritation. "I'm going to shower and sleep, then. D'you need anything?"

Jason shakes his head. He ruffles your hair as you walk past him and you use your shadows to trip him as he walks towards the kitchen. He hits the ground with a cry and swears after you, and you grin as you run up the stairs.

Once safe in the confines of your bedroom, you turn on the shower in the ensuite and lock the door, then slip into the darkness and sink down to the cave to investigate the real reason he didn't want you down there. Because Jason lied when he told you about Scarecrow.

You don't think he knows about this particular tell, but he always shrugs his right shoulder when he's lying and the left when he's being honest. Any normal person wouldn't have picked up on that, but as you descend into the Batcave, you recognize that you didn't grow up in a normal family. Getting anybody to admit to anything in this house, even the inconsequential shit like a slight cough, is like pulling teeth, so you've had to learn to read their body language over the years to glean the info you want.

As the darkness guides you along, helping you identify objects (the computer, the batmobile, the display cases for old suits) and people, (Dick, Tim, and Damian, all of whom are noticeably free from the influence of Fear Toxin), you also glean the thing they didn't want you to find.

Rather, the person.

"Were you planning on getting this done sometime in the next week?" Damian complains. Dick hip-checks him since his hands are too busy tweezing shards of Kryptonite out of Conner's prone body, bent over him as they crowd around the medical bed.

"Listen, shut up, listen," Dick stammers, like he usually does when something is his fault. You make a note of that while your shadow blends in with the walls. "I'm almost done. Then we can go put him in Superman's little UV sun room, let him heal up there, and put him back in Metropolis. It's fine! He'll be out of here before B ever knew he was in Gotham."

"Um." Tim, who's sitting on the counter across the room, holds up his phone. "B accessed the footage. He told me he's on his way back."

Damian, your unflappable youngest brother with a glare sharp enough to cut diamond, suddenly looks nervous.

"This may have been poor planning on our end."

"No!" Dick cries, hands shaking as he pulls more Kryptonite out of Conner's skin. "The plan was to knock some sense into the kid that thought he could sneak into our baby sibling's bedroom in the middle of the night, okay? And we did that! Plan succeeded! We got a little overzealous! It's fine, everything is fine!"

Damian and Tim look at Dick, then at the escrima sticks lying on the medical tray with the extracted Kryptonite, then at each other. You watch their expressions shift and the two of them nod at the same time.

"Everything's fine," Tim echoes calmly, then hops down and dashes for the door.

"You've got this," Damian agrees, quickly following suit.

Dick wilts like a flower as he watches them leave. "Abandoners! Traitors!! Assholes!!!"

You're inclined to agree. Clearly all of them had something to do with this, they just didn't want to get yelled at by Bruce. Conner groans weakly on the table and recaptures your attention, shifting onto his side. Dick presses a hand to his shoulder to keep him still, looking truly repentant.

"Shh," he says, "two more shards, okay? Let me pull those out and then we'll get you fixed up, kid."

"Hurts..." Conner grunts, returning to consciousness with a hiss of air through his teeth. "Pain sucks..."

"You've never gotten hurt before?" Dick asks. He looks like the guilt is going to pull him to the ground, all hunched over the cot with his tweezers like Quasimodo. He plucks out the last shards and deposits them on the medical cart beside him, then pushes it far enough away from Conner that it shouldn't bother him anymore.

"No," Conner mutters. He cracks an eye open and glares at Dick over his shoulder. "So thanks for that, Nightwing... Or would you prefer Dick Grayson?"

Dick chews the inside of his cheek, expressionless despite the panic you know he's feeling. He's bearing most of his weight on the balls of his feet, body instinctively poised to run from problematic situations like the train wreck of a conversation before him.

"Um. Who's that?"

You almost snort from your hiding spot. Conner levels him with a flat look and pushes himself into an upright position with a grunt. His arms tremble from the strain and Dick quickly steadies him with an arm around his waist. His thumb brushes against one of the tears in Conner's suit, a visual reminder of the damage he caused even though the wounds have closed.

"Even without being told ahead of time, it's not hard to put together: The person I rescued from the conservatory fire," Conner says, staring right at Dick, "was a Wayne. It's their room I entered later that night to see if they were okay and introduce myself. So, unless there's another Wayne out there with four older brothers who came to Metropolis, beat me, and dragged me back to Gotham in the world's worst version of the Shovel Talk, you're Dick Grayson. By that logic, Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood are Damian, Tim, and Jason."

He brushes Dick's arm away and gets to his feet, leaning on the cot to support himself. The splatters of blood left behind highlight the tenseness of the conversation. He gestures to it with a sneer.

"And you wouldn't have swung so hard if it wasn't personal. My suit is ruined."

Dick swears under his breath, running his fingers through his hair.

"I — yes, okay, you got us. You gotta keep that a secret, though. Understand? A lot of shit would go sideways if the wrong people found out our identities."

Conner turns and shuffles towards the door of the medical bay. Dick blocks the exit and looks at him, panicking under the domino mask.

"I'm serious," he says. "You can't tell anyone. Does Lex know already? Did you reveal that information to someone else?"

"Great questions. Should've thought about that," Conner says, nudging Dick effortlessly out of the way now that the kryptonite is out of his system, "before you came to my city, insulted my character, attacked, and kidnapped me."

"Yes, we should've!"

Your shadow blends seamlessly into Dick's as he gets up and hurries after Conner. He doesn't appear to be strong enough to fly away yet, but the pale blue of his iris is quickly turning red. His strength is returning while his patience wanes, mentally checked out of this pseudo-interrogation.

"Look, Superkid —"

"Superman!"

Dick flashes his palms in surrender as those eyes snap to him. "Sure. Superman. Don't think that's gonna last in the long-term, though; we've already got one of those. People are gonna get confused."

"Not when he steps down and acknowledges me as his superior."

"I — okay, whoa, let's put a pin in that because we absolutely have to discuss that later — listen, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry we jumped you like that and didn't give you the chance to talk it out. But you gotta understand how dangerous that was for our sibling."

"You think I was going to hurt them?" Conner asks, gritting his teeth. His fists clench at his sides and Dick takes a large step back. His stance widens and he ducks his head a little, de-escalating the situation as quickly as possible while still poised to defend himself if necessary.

"We don't know what you were going to do. That's the point. No one knows who you are or what you want." Dick gestures between himself and Conner emphatically, shaking his head as your name is mentioned. "They're not a vigilante like us. They're just a civilian. And while they're far from helpless, they are my baby sibling. Some stranger nobody has information about took an interest in them specifically, found their home, and snuck into their bedroom through the window in the middle of the night. The only reason we even know that is because they told us about it the next morning."

Dick peels the domino mask off his face and gives Conner an exhausted frown, pleading with him to see reason.

"That was terrifying to hear about. In a house full of detectives, nobody knew you were there. You could have hurt them. You could have taken them. You could have done any number of terrible things to my family, and we would've been none the wiser. Do you realize how inherently threatening that is, kid? Regardless of your intentions, all we knew was what you did, hours after the fact."

Conner turns his head away and crosses his arms. The red fades from his eyes along with the majority of his ire.

"I get it," he says. "Sorry for scaring you, but you can rest assured I mean them no harm."

"Great. I believe you," Dick says. "But you can't do that again. Sneaking into the Manor unannounced like that is the fastest way to get B to beat your ass."

"Tch. Like father, like son."

Dick grimaces. "I— well. Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I heard you the first time." Conner's posture straightens up and his feet leave the floor, recovered enough to use most of his powers again. "I'm gonna go now —"

"Wait!" Dick snatches his ankle. Conner stops and glares.

"Ugh. What!"

"I'm also extremely serious about the identity thing. You need to keep that to yourself. How do I know you aren't gonna run back to Luthor and immediately spill our secrets?"

The boy tilts his head, considering. Dick's grip gets tighter despite the futility of it. All the Kryptonite he could've used to subdue him, to keep him from leaving the Cave while they hash this out, is lying in a medical cart several yards out of reach. In their current positions, he's no more a hindrance than a gentle breeze.

"You don't... Unless you offer me something."

Dick's expression hardens and he clenches his jaw, no doubt already running a dozen calculations through his brain. "What do you want? Money? Territory?"

"Visitation."

You watch your brother falter. Your confusion echoes his. "What?"

Conner gently kicks his leg. Dick releases him, and the boy floats back down to the ground. Despite being almost half a foot shorter than your brother, his presence is large. Just like Uncle Clark's. His expression is no-nonsense and his hands slide into the pockets of his leather jacket. He's looking at Dick like a man that knows he's got the game stacked in his favor. Dick's looking at Conner like he's gauging how much time he's got before a bomb goes off.

"I want your sibling."

And

wasn't that just

the worst fucking way to answer that question.

Your hold on Dick's shadow slips away in your shock. You sink fully back into the void before you can find out how your brother reacts to Conner's declaration. You aren't sure you want to know.

You re-emerge in your bathroom, gasping in the steam from the abandoned shower you were pretending to take and hastily turning the knobs off. The heat in the room is nothing compared to the burning in your cheeks.

"What," you sputter, aloud, alone, and incredulous, "the fuck does that mean!!"

#littlest wayne au #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #kon el #conner kent #superboy #superboy x reader #kon el x reader #gn reader #batfam x reader #🔱

250 notes · View notes

crying-fantasies · 7 months ago

Text

Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say “work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

#transformers #reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers idw #transformers x human reader #tf rodimus #rodimus x human reader #mtmte rodimus x reader #rodimus x reader #idw rodimus #mtmte rodimus #rodimus #tf kinktober 2024 #merformers #merformers x reader

481 notes · View notes

adafruit · 5 months ago

Text

🎄💾🗓️ Day 4: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - The DEC PDP-11! 🎄💾🗓️

Released by Digital Equipment Corporation in 1970, the PDP-11 was a 16-bit minicomputer known for its orthogonal instruction set, allowing flexible and efficient programming. It introduced a Unibus architecture, which streamlined data communication and helped revolutionize computer design, making hardware design more modular and scalable. The PDP-11 was important in developing operating systems, including the early versions of UNIX. The PDP-11 was the hardware foundation for developing the C programming language and early UNIX systems. It supported multiple operating systems like RT-11, RSX-11, and UNIX, which directly shaped modern OS design principles. With over 600,000 units sold, the PDP-11 is celebrated as one of its era's most versatile and influential "minicomputers".

Check out the wikipedia page for some great history, photos (pictured here), and more -

And here's a story from Adafruit team member, Bill!

The DEC PDP-11 was the one of the first computers I ever programmed. That program was 'written' with a soldering iron.

I was an art student at the time, but spending most of my time in the engineering labs. There was a PDP-11-34 in the automation lab connected to an X-ray spectroscopy machine. Starting up the machine required toggling in a bootstrap loader via the front panel. This was a tedious process. So we ordered a diode-array boot ROM which had enough space to program 32 sixteen bit instructions.

Each instruction in the boot sequence needed to be broken down into binary (very straightforward with the PDP-11 instruction set). For each binary '1', a diode needed to be soldered into the array. The space was left empty for each '0'. 32 sixteen bit instructions was more than sufficient to load a secondary bootstrap from the floppy disk to launch the RT-11 operating system. So now it was possible to boot the system with just the push of a button.

I worked with a number DEC PDP-11/LSI-11 systems over the years. I still keep an LSI-11-23 system around for sentimental reasons.

Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

290 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 22 days ago

Text

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

#Snow White

156 notes · View notes

mistiell · 5 months ago

Note

Hi hi hi!! I legit JUST started Arcane and I saw you wanted some Viktor requests, so I was wondering if you could write something that’s reader insert, and the reader is trying to get Viktor to take a break, so they a resorting to smothering him in kisses 🤭

Sorry this is so late and so short, I hope you enjoy anyway <3 wc: 816

---

It isn’t as quiet in the lab after hours as you’d expect, you’ve come to realize in the past few months. There isn’t nearly as much chatter or foot traffic as there is during office hours, for obvious reasons, but the monotonous hum of electricity, the whirring of electric cooling systems and occasional burble of liquid ones have become something like white noise to you by now, with how much time you spend in your cozy, makeshift corner of the lab.

By this hour, most of the academy is asleep or getting there. But not you, and certainly not your Viktor. The tousled mess of his hair is just barely visible over the spine of your book, and you listen to him sigh for the umpteenth time in the past hour before muttering to himself in a language you’ve yet to quite understand.

With a small sigh of your own, you close your book after marking your page, stretching your arms overhead with a quiet grunt before rising to your feet. He doesn’t turn to look at you as you cross the short distance to stand behind him, and startles rather violently when you place your hands on his shoulders before sliding them down his chest.

“You scared me.” He chuckles softly, palms covering the backs of your hands and rubbing sweet lines into the skin of your wrists with his thumbs. You can feel the tension in his shoulders ebb little by little as you kiss your way from his collar to the underside of his jaw, and he tilts his head ever so slightly to allow you more access to the pale column of his throat.

“Sorry.” It’s half-hearted and hummed into the side of his larynx as you press your lips to his pulse point, teeth barely grazing the delicate skin there when you smile at the way he shudders.

With a frustrated huff, he spins in his chair to face you, taking your hips in his hands and glaring playfully up at your smug grin. “Must you be such a distraction?”

“When you’re still sat here despite it being several hours past the end of your work day?” You start sarcastically, letting him guide you to stand between his legs, “I should think so.”

He sighs at you, and you know you likely won’t get very far convincing him if you don’t find a way to coax him out of the lab. Cradling his face in your palms, you dip down slowly, watching him abandon his annoyed act in favour of staring at your lips. You pause just as your bottom lip ghosts over his cupid’s bow, angling your face slightly to press the tip of your nose into the side of his. His breath fans over your mouth, easy breaths warming your skin. Ever impatient, you feel one of his hands slide up to the nape of your neck, giving the flesh there an affectionate squeeze as he pulls you closer, kissing you tenderly. You indulge him, until he nips at your bottom lip, a silent request to taste you. Pulling back just enough to speak, you feel his confusion in the way his thumb caresses the soft palette behind your ear, always concerned with your well being.

“Come to bed.” You whisper before he can ask why you pulled away. Confliction paints itself blatantly over his features, and you know with just a little more persuasion, you’ll have him.

“Ten more minutes.” You kiss him again, softly and suddenly, and his hand slides from your neck to your cheek.

“Five-.” He breaks away to reason, only to receive his ‘not good enough’ by way of another kiss. Finally, he chuckles through his nose, his laughter puffing rhythmically over the apple of your cheek. You pull back, and he huffs dramatically, “Ugh, fine, you win.”

Triumphant, you grin at your victory, leaning down to pepper his face with kisses.

“Okay, alright-!” He laughs, catching your face between his hands and kissing you properly before pulling back, smiling with a tired softness, “To bed with both of us, hm?”

“Finally.” You reply dramatically as you step out of his embrace to grab your bag as he stands.

“Oh, enough with your sass.” He replies, knocking your ankle lightly with the tip of his cane, “I could very easily change my mind.”

“Mhm.” You hum disbelievingly as you watch him continue to pack up his things. He shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye that quickly turns into an eye roll when you pucker your lips and make comical mwah sound at him.

“Hush.” He chuckles, slipping into his coat and slinging his bag over his shoulder before offering you his arm. You hook your elbow around his gladly, making your way out of the lab towards some much, much needed rest.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor

259 notes · View notes

coldtimemachinegiver · 2 months ago

Text

Sex Pollen (Leon Kennedy X Fem!Reader)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

OH MY GOD. I got a little bit carried away. Sorry. I've been playing RE4R a lot, and Leon is a character that lives in my heart rent free. Hope you enjoyed it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning.

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, a hint of Size Kink, a little bit of Fluff and Vaginal Sex.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy X Reader

It was supposed to be a quick mission, enter the lab, grab the experiment, and leave. Hunnigan had given him the necessary coordinates, and helped him get through the heavily guarded building. The experiment was located in the north wing, on the twenty-sixth floor. He snuck through the sterile corridors of the complex, avoiding attracting the attention of any guards, or activating the security system's cameras. Everything was going well, until he arrived at the lab.

He didn't expect to find a girl locked in a cell, lying on a hospital bed with wires attached to her, incessantly pumping some liquid through her veins. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently posing no threat. Dressed in sterile clothing, her chest rose and fell gently with her calm breathing. She was alive.

"Did you find the experiment?" Hunnigan asked over the radio.

"No, I've already searched the entire lab. Are you sure the vial is here?"

"Experiment 09 is not a vial." She simply answers, and he feels his entire body go cold, the hairs on his body standing on end as he turns around and realizes that the girl is no longer in the bed. Only the loose and bloody strands in the middle of the mattress, as if they had been removed in a hurry. "Answer me."

"Who are you?" He feels the cold muzzle of a pistol press against the back of his neck. Her voice is hoarse, as if she had spent hours without making a peep or taking a glass of water, he feels the uncertainty and the attempt to sound threatening in the girl's tone of voice, the shaking gun harshly poking his neck.

"I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Leon." His tone is hushed, gentle, voice deep as he tries to calm the girl, to show himself trustworthy. In a quick movement he turns around, grabbing the girl's arm, easily making her drop the gun she had grabbed in an attempt at self-defense. "Who are you?"

She runs to some corner of the room, trying to hide from the large man. Who knows how many days, weeks, months, years had passed since she had been captured by this crazy company, trapped in the clutches of employees who poked her skin with needles and injected liquids that she had no idea what they were doing. Preparing for the worst, she had managed to grab a gun for herself in the few minutes she had available, without any guard or employee seeing her.

She was visibly out of it, her knees close to her chest as she tried to hide under the bed, as if the furniture could protect her from the blond man.

"Hey-Hey." Leon crouches down next to the girl, at her level, stretching his open palm towards her. He lets out a sigh shakily to himself, baby blue eyes searching for her orbs. He could understand, it must be so frightening to be in this kind of situation. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She shook her head shakily, still unsure whether she should trust the man or not. He hadn't tried to grab her by force at any point, but she still didn't trust him completely. "There's no reason to be afraid, I won't bite you." He reassured the girl, voice sweet, hoping to get the girl out of her hiding place.

The sight of the girl's tear-stained cheeks broke the man's heart, she was shaking with fear like a sheet of paper. She had reason to be afraid, during her entire stay people entered her cell whenever they wanted, doing all sorts of experiments, brutally interrupting her when she tried to sleep. With a small huff she decided to take the blonde's stretched hand. He wasn't dressed in the white coats or the guard uniform she was used to seeing, what if he was there for some other reason? Maybe it was the only chance the girl had to escape that damned place.

He helps her to stand up carefully, holding the girl as if she were fragile as glass. Quickly scanning her body for bruises or wounds, noticing her features, she was barefoot on that cold and hard floor, her eyes sunken and bloodshot as if she hadn't slept in days, skin slightly pale due to not being exposed to the sun for who knows how long. But still she looked young, too young to be trapped in this hell.

"I don't have a name, they never gave me one." She mumbles shyly, looking at her own feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. "But... I've heard some scientists call me E9."

Leon's baby blue eyes shine and the pieces fit together in his brain at Hunnigan's words. Experiment 09 wasn't a vial, it was a person. The girl who was right in front of him.

He held out his hand for her to take. "Are you ready to get the hell out of here?" Leon asks, grinning. The girl quickly takes his hand, holding it tightly, afraid that the man might disappear at any moment. "Can you walk? Do you need help?" His heart clenches painfully, watching the girl walk with slight concern, his grip on her arm not faltering once.

"Yes... I can. It's just been a while since I've gotten out of bed." She winced with each step she took, using all her strength to walk, afraid of overloading Leon. The man watches her with an uncertain look, he doesn't want her to get hurt any more. "Please, let's go." She begs, not wanting to spend another second inside that cell.

He nods, paying attention to how the girl behaves during the journey, offering pauses when he notices that her breathing is stronger, her bare feet throbbing against the cold floor, they hadn't found any shoes that she could wear, sweat is accumulating on her eyelid and she looks like she's going to faint at any moment.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?" He asks, concern etched in his eyes mirroring the worry in his voice. The journey had been smooth so far, no guards in sight and they had managed to get through without attracting attention. The girl nods, her hands trembling and sweaty.

"Y-yeah, I'm sure. I can do it." She says, more to herself as if she was trying to convince herself that she could get out of that place on her own two feet.

Everything was fine until they reached the top floor. Leon was battered and bloodied, his tactical gear torn to pieces, holding a handgun, trying to catch his breath while his quick eyes scanned the floor, looking for approaching enemies.

His gaze shifts to the girl, leaning against the wall, bent over holding her stomach, the man's expression tightens in pain. "Hey, is everything okay?" He asks, but he doesn't need to know the answer. Just by the girl's state he knows she won't be able to take another step.

She shakes her head, too exhausted to answer. Her heart is pounding as if she had just run a marathon, and she tries to compose herself, adrenaline coursing through her veins. "We need to keep going. Now."

"Are you sure-" Leon is interrupted by a guard, who shouts to his colleagues, asking for backup, which arrives almost immediately. In a matter of seconds, several guards flood the hallway, isolating the two.

Leon shoots at them, killing a few guards, motioning for the girl to get behind him as he clears the path. But as he kills, another soon takes his place, and soon they are surrounded on all sides. Visibly stressed, Leon feels defeated, his ammunition is running out and there are too many guards, at least 100 who are getting closer by the moment.

Before he could process what was happening, in a matter of seconds the girl stood in front of the man, gathering all the remaining strength she had stored in her body, she stretched out her hands towards the horde, pushing them with a wave of force that made everyone in front of her fall to the ground, badly injured. Almost immediately she fell, her body drained, and Leon picked her up quickly, running to get into the helicopter behind them.

Every day after training, Leon would go to the girl's room to see how she was doing. She had been in a coma for weeks. The girl barely survived the first few days. Doctors and nurses rushed in and out of the room, desperate, trying to stabilize the girl's heart. He would leave some trinkets in the room for when she woke up. Boxes of chocolates, teddy bears, balloons, some board games, things that would keep her entertained while he was away.

It was during a mission that he received the news that the girl had finally woken up, after almost 2 months. He ran to see her when he returned, finding the girl sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing the Uno game he had left on his last visit. "How are you feeling?" He asks, breathing heavily from running to the room. The girl looks at him, her eyes still sleepy, blinking slowly. Leon approaches, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed. "Hungry." She yawns, trying to shake off the long sleep she had woken up from. "But I'm fine, thanks to you." Leon grins, and takes her hand, stroking it gently. "Did you bring all this?" She gestures to the gifts he had left, piling up on the dresser near the bed, giggling when the blond man nods, lowering his head in shame.

Yes, he had brought a lot. Without knowing the girl's tastes, he had brought chocolates of every flavor the market had to offer, stuffed animals of every possible breed, and games of various themes. Every day he looked forward to seeing the girl awake, to being able to share with her the stories of his missions (without the grotesque part), to take her for a walk in the city center or in the complex's square, or maybe even to play a game of cards.

"I'll get you something to eat, I'll be right back." He excuses himself, leaving the room to get some snacks from the building's cafeteria. Filling his arms with sandwiches, juices, and other things he thought would satisfy the girl's hunger, he returns to the room, placing the food on the bed. "Think you'll need more?" He jokes, a playful glint in his eyes. "When you get out of this bed, I'll take you out for a real dinner." The girl laughs, reaching for one of the sandwiches, tearing up the plastic wrapper, taking a bite. "Thanks. It's been a long time since I've had something real."

"No problem." He chuckles, sitting down next to the bed, grabbing a sandwich for himself. "Did they feed you in the lab?" He asks innocently, but his expression darkens when the girl falls silent, looking at her hands.

"...Sometimes yes...They said it was part of the tests." She mumbles, trying to shake the bad memories from her brain. Mustering a smile, she looks at Leon. "Eat more, there's plenty."

To understand the limits of the human body, he thought. The girl hadn't said it, but he knew. A surge of fury invades his body, a thirst to kill all those scientists runs through the blond's veins, he needs to hold himself back from murdering everyone in that damned complex. How could they be so cruel?

He forces a smile, not wanting to ruin the girl's mood. She was fine now, and that was all that mattered. He would do his best to see a smile on her face again.

The nurse enters the room and informs the two that the girl will have to undergo some tests and remain under observation for a few more days before being released.

"What...What will happen to me?" She asks, playing with the man's fingers, afraid of Leon's answer. She didn't want to be away from him, not that the employees of the complex weren't nice to her, but the blond had been the first human to show kindness and compassion to her after months locked in that cell.

"You're going to stay here, with us." Leon confesses, he knew that the girl would be under the care of the institution, being studied and cared for properly, with no intention of using her as a biological weapon. Holding her hand tightly, he gives a simple kiss on the back of her hand. "We'll take care of you, and someday, if you feel comfortable, you can become an agent like me, we can go on missions together, or you can help the scientists, the nurses, whatever you want."

She smiles, satisfied with the answer, she didn't want to be away from Leon. And so the days passed, the girl was kept under observation until her health condition was considered stable, and she was transferred to one of the rooms in the complex.

The first few days were difficult, the room was still devoid of any personality, clean, the walls painted icy white, like the walls of the cell. It was hard to close her eyes, alone in that dark room. "I'm safe now. Leon is just at the end of the hall." She said to herself, trying to convince herself to calm down and sleep.

Turning around in bed, the red LED letters on the clock showed that it was almost 3 am. She was physically tired, she wanted to sleep, but her brain wouldn't turn off and every time she closed her eyes, she saw that damned place again. It got to the point where she could hear the voices of the scientists who had performed so many cruel tests on her in the background, and the girl would wake up from the nightmare, sweating.

Giving up on trying to sleep alone, she grabs the pillow and blanket and goes to Leon's room, opening the door with the key he had given her earlier. The room was dark, except for a lamp that emitted a dim light on the dresser, slightly illuminating Leon's serene face, who was fast asleep.

"Maybe this is a bad idea, I don't want to wake him up." She thinks, undecided. The blond looked so calm, dismissed of any worries or fears, hugging his pillow. Afraid of disturbing him, she lies down on the carpet in the room, next to Leon's bed, resting her head on the pillow she had brought, lying on the floor.

She felt safer with her friend's presence, and managed to fall asleep quickly, falling into a deep sleep. She wakes up a few hours later, lying on the soft mattress, Leon's strong arms hugging her from behind, keeping her trapped. Her back pressed against the man's bare, muscular chest, heat radiating from his body, warming the girl, she feels her blood run cold when she realizes the blond is sleeping shirtless.

When Leon woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he saw a shadow next to his bed. Coming closer, he smiled to himself, seeing the girl sleeping peacefully, hugging the pillow. Leon's eyes rake over her sleeping figure, his expression turning to a mix of adoration and worry. "You shouldn't be sleeping on the cold hard floor, sweetheart." He thinks, heart aching.

He slowly crouches over the girl's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her up. Leon calmly picks her up, placing her on the soft bed. The girl promptly stretches out, taking advantage of the mattress. Leon can't help but admire her beauty, face completely relaxed from the peaceful sleep she's under. His hands reach out to brush the hair away from her face, smiling to himself. He quickly goes to the bathroom, anxiously returning to bed, moving carefully so as not to wake the girl.

Cuddling her relaxed body from behind, Leon buries his face in the girl's neck, sniffing her comforting scent, sleep taking over the blonde's body again.

They spent some time following this routine. When the sun went down, the girl would go to Leon's room, dressed in some pajamas that the man had bought for her downtown. Her pillow and blanket were already in the blond's room, and he would wait for her every day with some candy or snack for them to nibble on while Leon told her more about his life, or how his day had been.

But that night had been different. The girl was restless, fidgeting with her fingers, her leg bouncing incessantly, a thin layer of sweat running down her forehead. Leon turned up the fan, replacing the usual duvet that covered them for a thin sheet. He was feeling normal, the temperature was mild in the room, not too hot, not too cold. Could the girl be sick?

"Is everything okay? Do you want me to call the nurse?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, a worried expression on his face. Leon reached out, touching the girl's forehead. "Normal temperature. How strange." He thought, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch sending shivers down her spine. The girl quickly pulls away, as if she had been shocked by the blonde.

"I-I'm fine. I'll just splash some water on my face." She whimpers, quickly heading towards the bathroom and closing the door. Leon hears the running water coming out of the faucet, a curious look on her face, he huffs, determined to stay alert that night to keep an eye on the girl.

She returns to the room, still groggy, her movements lazy as she stretches out like a cat on the bed next to Leon. As usual, the man hugs her body from behind, pulling her closer to him, this proves to be a mistake when he buries his nose in the girl's hair, her scent...was different. The sweet scent like candy fills the blonde's nostrils. Strange, he didn't know she had changed the shampoo she used daily. Leon wakes up a few hours later, feeling something warm and wet pressing against his raging hard erection, and teeth nibbling on his biceps that were hugging the girl. "Hmm...what's going on?" He asks, groggy from sleep. That's when the smell and the wave of heat emitting from the girl's body hit him like a derailed train.

The sticky sweet smell like honey threads running through his fingers, mixed with a touch of pepper and sweat that now ran through the girl's body like a second skin. The girl whimpering and panting, desperately grinding against Leon's erection, sticky creamy cum filled her panties, facilitating his movements. She nibbled and licked the skin of his huge arms, as if she was trying to devour him, marking the man as if he belonged to her. "S-Sorry." She begs, fighting against her impulses. Leon loudly moans, pre-cum leaking from his underwear, as if something had taken over his body he presses the girl even tighter against his body, aiding her movements, thrusting his raging hard erection against her weeping wet pussy. He softly kisses her temple, panting and whining like a puppy as he places wet kisses down the length of her neck, licking and marking the girl's soft skin.

He manhandles the girl, shifting her position so that she is ass up, stomach and face pressed into the bed, exposing her drenched panties to him, the fabric now a mere soggy rag that he easily rips off, exposing her glistening creamy pussy, walls fluttering around nothing. He stuffs a sorry excuse of a panties into the girl's mouth, to muffle her moans and sighs that were getting louder and more desperate with each touch.

The girl mewls as Leon's hot breath touches her pussy, gasping when his soft lips make contact with her pussy lips, tongue delving between her folds. The girl arches her back, pressing her hips more firmly against the blonde's face. "Ye-Yes! Please, just like that." Her voice comes out muffled, as she desperately searches for something to hold on to, hugging Leon's pillow tightly as if it were her own.

Leon's breathing grows ragged as he continues to feast on her, tongue swirling and probing with increasing intensity as the girl's taste takes over his mouth, feeding on the sweet, sticky nectar that gushes out. He can feel the girl's body throbbing with heat, squirming as she tries to match his movements, humping her pillow like a bitch in heat. "Don't stop." She urges, sweet voice strained with pleasure.

"Mmm...more! I need more." She cries out, her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps. The girl's moans morphed into whimpering groans with occasional high pitched squeals of pleasure. The tension built within her like a volcano ready to erupt. She rolls desperately in the boy's face, chasing her release.

"You taste so good, babygirl." Leon whimpers, lapping at her weeping pussy like an animal drinking water. The girl's eyes roll back in her head as the blonde shows no signs of slowing down, holding her ankles, pinning her to the bed. Lavishing her sensitive flesh with his wet hot muscle as his thick fingers plunge deep inside her, stretching and filling the girl in ways she's never experienced before. She screams in pleasure, her body writhing on the bed as the man's relentless oral assaunt sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, pushing her closer to the brink of climax. "You're so tight, I can feel you squeezing my fingers." He chuckled to himself.

"Yes yes yes! Oh Leon, I'm cumming!" Her body tenses, back impossibly arched as wave after wave of intense orgasmic bliss crashes over her. Her inner walls clench around the man's fingers as she rides out the aftershocks. She whimpers, her body spent and tired, falling on the bed, but still she feels the desire to jump on Leon pulsing through her veins. "Huh?"

The girl's eyes cross as Leon shows no signs of slowing down, the continued stimulation has her quivering and moaning anew, her inner muscles fluttering weakly around his probing digits. Grinding on his handsome face, the girl lets out a high-pitched whine as Leon's tongue lapping up the remnants of her release. The sensation is almost too much to bear, sending fresh waves of pleasure rippling through her spent body. "Mmm...baby you taste so good, give me one more."

Insatiable, Leon slurps her creamy cum like a vanilla milkshake, thrusting his tongue inside her twitching walls, the girl's body responding eagerly to every lick and suckle, grinding her pussy against his face, hips bucking involuntarily against his probing tongue. "You're so good at this, Lee." She slurs, utterly spent.

He pulls away suddenly, and the girl whimpers at the lack of contact, pussy empty, missing Leon's thick fingers and tongue.

The man handled into her back, and the man's condition wasn't much better than her, swollen and reddened lips, face glistening with her cum, baby blue eyes now dark with primal desire, like an animal desperately looking for a mate. His cock was painfully hard, weeping as cum gushed out, the throbbing head of his cock raw red, begging for attention, he came untouched as he rubbed his member on the mattress, the taste of the girl on his tongue serving as fuel for his lust.

He places his heavy member on top of the girl's stomach, the mushroom head touching her belly button. She trembles, eager for Leon to destroy her insides, he would surely be able to rearrange her organs. "You're so tiny, babygirl. I don't think you can handle me." She whimpers, afraid that Leon will pull away, sitting quickly on the bed, holding the boy's veiny hand. She slips one of his fingers through her lips, sucking it readily as she wraps her tongue around it.

Leon groans, the sight of the girl begging to receive his throbbing member inside her, looking at him with doe eyes. "You're so adorable, babygirl. I can't deny you anything."

Slowly, almost teasingly, Leon's thick length pushes past her slick entrance and sinks deep into her pussy. The girl throws her head back, eyes rolling shut as she savors the incredible fullness, her innes walls clenching greedily around him. A sharp cry of pleasure tears from her sore throat as inch by inch, Leon thrust his member until the girl is fully impaled, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"Ohh yes! S-So big." She moans, her voice trembling with ecstasy. "Please fill me up Lee." Her hands roam restlessly over his shoulders and toned back, nails digging in slightly as she urges him to move, to start fucking her with wild abandon. Her hips lift to meet his thrusts, creating a delicious friction that has her seeing stars.

The girl cries out, eyes crossing. The fit is snug, almost painfully so, but the delicious friction makes her toes curl. Leon starts to move, finding a steady rhythm as he pounds the girl with increasing passion. Lewd wet sounds fill the air, punctuated by his desperate whines and the girl's high-pitched moans.

"I can see you in my tummy, Lee." She whimpers, fascinated, the erotic sight of Leon's thick cock moving inside her body every time he thrust, fitting perfectly into her cervix.

Leon's vision blurs, consumed by pure pleasure. "I-I've developed feelings for you, beyond our friendship." He confesses, cheeks turning red with embarrassment, he rests his forehead against the girl's, she takes the opportunity to press her lips against his, all resistant crumbles away like sandcastles washed by the tide. Their lips met passionately, tongues intertwining in a dance of desire. The room spiraled out of focus as the heat between them intensified. "I-I love you. I didn't want it to be like this, I wanted to take you to a nice restaurant, do it right."

Her walls clenching around Leon's pistoning dick, the girl's entire being vibrates when she heard his words. "I love you, Lee." She confesses, kissing the tip of his nose.

That was the last straw for the man, he adjusts his position, putting the girl in a mating press. The girl's screams of rapture echo off the walls as Leon pounds into her with primal ferocity, their naked sweaty bodies slamming together in a frenzied dance of lust and domination. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, locking her ankles to pull him impossibly deeper.

"Yes, YES! Make yours, Lee." Her words dissolve into incoherent babble as he hits that perfect spot inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward. She claws at him, desperate to anchor herself to reality amidst the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume her entirely.

The mushroom head of his shaft kissing her cervix with each brutal thrust, tears stream down her cheeks as Leon gently kisses her face, licking the salty tears. The girl wails as she feels a powerful pressure building in her lower abdomen. Her bladder strains against the onslaught of sensations radiations from her sensitive raw folds. She fears she may actually lose control of her bodily functions.

"L-Leon, I feel like I'm going to pee." The girl shamefully cries, thrashing in his hold, desperate to get off his cock. "Please, let me go, I need to go to the bathro-" She manages to croak out, interrupted by a jet that explodes from her body.

Instead of warm urine, a gush of clear fluid suddenly spurts forth, draining the bed sheets, Leon's abs and his lower abdomen. Her eyes fly open in shock as she trembles with the force of her unexpected squirting orgasm. The girl whimpers dazedly, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Leon grins, satisfied with the girl's state. He whimpers, humping her cunt, chasing his own release. The girl's pussy clenches rhythmically around his pistoning cock, milking him greedily as she teeters on the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm. Their bodies tense like a coiled spring, every nerve ending alight with electric tension.

"Fill me with your cum, Lee." She begs, kissing his lips softly. "Let everyone know that I belong to you." Leon's hot seed erupts deep within her, his thick cum fills her womb, marking her as irrevocably his. A soft, contented sigh escapes her lips as she basks in the afterglow, her body still trembling with residual pleasure. The hunger and heat that had been taking over her body, now satisfied.

Leon's arms wrap around her spent body, holding her close as he empties himself into her pussy. She affectionately nuzzles his cheek, breathing in his scent, savoring the intimacy of their joined bodies. Staring up at the man with glazed, adoring eyes, a blissful smile playing on her lips. "That was...amazing."

He smiles, gently withdraws his softened cock from her well-used pussy. Leon lets out a small whimper of loss, already missing the warmth of her cunt.

Leon lays down next to the girl, placing his head on her chest, pulling her closer to him. Their naked bodies intertwined on the bed, relishing the closeness and intimacy they shared in the quiet morning hours.

"I could stay like this forever." She admits softly, her eyelids growing heavy with contentment. "Thank you, Lee." She whispers in Leon's ear, voice warm with gratitude. "For making me yours."

Leon's finger traces patterns on the girl's naked body, touch filled with adoration and possessiveness. "From this day forward, I am yours forever. My body, my heart and my soul, they all belong to you."

The man tenderly kisses her forehead, heart swelling with love and devotion for the girl. As the light of dawn creeps through the windows, the girl snuggles closer to Leon's warm body, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

"How about a second round?" Leon playfully teases her, and the girl hides her face in his chest, embarrassed.

#smut #one shot #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

204 notes · View notes

kanalynn · 2 months ago

Text

Senku x teen scientist! reader headcanons

characters: Senku Ishigami

author's note:

• English is NOT my first language;

• May contain OOC;

• Do not copy or steal my works !!

• I didn't try very hard when I wrote this - and I wrote it in a short time, so it's probably very bad

timeline: pre-petrification

• Senku first meets [Name] during his trip to Africa - to his own surprise, he is not the only teenager interested in science who can afford something like that. At first, this girl hardly attracted his attention - he only noted her talkative nature - but very soon he got to know her better.

• [Name] was a young prodigy scientist like him, but she mainly specialized in biology, chemistry and medicine, so she went to Africa to study Ebola - and she was very enthusiastic when it came to science - it was obvious to the naked eye. Senku senses that she may be very similar to him - and their first conversation takes place.

• Senku was not wrong - of course, Senku was never wrong. The way [Name]'s eyes lit up when she told him about the virus she came here to study, the way she looked around with greedy interest, noticing everything that could be nearby, the way she told him incredible facts about the environment - all this showed that she truly lives science, just like Senku himself.

• He immediately gained respect for her - as she did for him - and that's how it all begins.

• From there, their friendship grows stronger. Senku truly appreciates [Name]'s scientific knowledge and amazing abilities, but at the same time, he quickly gets used to the cheerful, energetic, non-scientific side of her character.

• They often spend time together in the lab or on expeditions, doing all sorts of scientific things. At that time, Senku had to try on the role of not a scientist conducting an experiment, but his assistant for the first time - after all, he is not as good at medicine and pharmaceuticals as [Name].

• It was [Name] who taught him how to make antibiotics. Of course, they made them in a modern laboratory, not in the stone world, but the girl also explained quite clearly how to get all the materials in nature.

• They most often communicate with each other in English, but in their free time, Senku teaches [Name] Japanese, and she teaches him her native language (if English is not her native language, of course).

• Probably, the idea to try lion meat belonged to [Name]. By the way, she herself did not like it, but she ate it to the end (she and Senku made a bet, he did not think that she would really do it).

• One day, [Name] tells Senku that when she leaves Africa, she will continue to travel around the world and study it until she settles down somewhere to officially become a doctor. Senku, half-jokingly, invites her to his home country - but who knows, maybe she will really go to Japan?

• When the time comes to leave Africa, Senku is upset about the upcoming separation from [Name], but not so much - after all, they will still keep in touch and write to each other. The girl herself, unlike him, can't hold back her emotions and makes a farewell scene - Senku considered it unnecessary, but when she cried and crawled to hug him, he did not push her away.

• So, they parted.

• Some time later, when a new school year begins in Japan and Senku is in his first year of high school, he receives a new message from [Name] - she has finally come to Japan!

• The girl promised to meet Senku as soon as possible - but only when she has figured out the train system and got used to the new school - that's what they decided, but it turned out that the meeting was closer than they expected.

❛❛ Nice to meet you! My name is [Name] [Last Name], I'm an exchange student from [country], and I'll be studying with you- ❞

❛❛ [Name]?! ❞

❛❛ S-senku?! ❞

• Senku definitely didn't expect [Name] to suddenly become his classmate, and from her reaction, he could tell that she didn't expect it either. The chances of such a coincidence were incredibly small, but not impossible.

• Despite this, he was glad, really. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't have imagined that he would end up going to school with [Name] and seeing her every day. It had been a long time since their expedition to Africa, and he had already missed her, her cheerful nature, and the scientific discussions they had with her.

• There was another thing: Taiju and Yuzuriha hadn't met her yet - as soon as Senku remembered this, he almost immediately introduced her to his friends as a fellow scientist. Since they were all very open and kind people, they got along very quickly: he and Yuzuriha even became best friends.

• [Name] is just as smart and interested in science as Senku, so it's no surprise that she becomes one of the best students in the school. There is some rivalry between her and Senku, but it's apparently not that serious - they just want to see who's smarter in areas unrelated to science.

• Eventually, Senku invites [Name] to join his Science Club as vice-president, to which she, of course, agrees. The club members treat her with respect, looking up to her and Senku - after all, two teenage prodigies who have been on expeditions before can't help but be impressive.

• [Name] is very, very interested in the culture of Senku's home country, and so often asks him to show her around or take her to festivals. Senku doesn't understand her enthusiasm and often grumbles when the conversation turns to a certain place [Name] wants to go, but he always accompanies her anyway.

• They apparently even went to Senku's favorite ramen restaurant together once, which he often went to with his father. Senku has been known there for a long time, so you can imagine the uproar that ensued when he showed up there with a girl. Of course, everyone assumed they were on a date - but [Name] didn't bother to correct them.

• When the swallows turn into stone, [Name] is just as excited as Senku. At one point, she even contacts her biologist friends at NASA to report the find. After that, she and Senku begin a series of experiments to determine whether the swallows are alive or not - and that's when the petrification happens.

• The green light that enveloped the entire land was clearly not what anyone expected. Before she turned to stone, [Name] only managed to whisper something to Senku, eyes wide in shock. Now she is trapped in her own mind for many centuries, desperately trying not to pass out, thinking about her family, friends, and Senku.

#x reader #dr stone #dr stone x reader #dr stone senku #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #ishigami senku

189 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!! So first of all I can't express how much I love your Arcane head canons😭😭 they bring me lots and lots of comfort and omg I just love them🙇‍♀️💗

And second, can I request a fluff where reader's first language isn't English and when she gets frustrated or surprised/scared she just starts speaking her first language and doesn't realise that she's doing it? I'm polish and I also know Spanish quite well since I'm learning it in high school and I just need to read some head canons like that with at least one of these languages as this idea is stuck in my head😭🤞🏻

If you decide to do something like that I just want to say thank you and have a good day/night💗💗

ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ ʙᴀʀʀɪᴇʀꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5392 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ! ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! <3 ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴀʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ɢᴏᴏɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ! <3 <3

JAYCE - UKRANIAN

Jayce had always been fascinated by you.

At first, it had been your mind that caught his attention—the way you looked at problems from angles no one else even considered, how you questioned things most scholars took for granted, how you challenged the limitations of the very technology they were so desperate to perfect.

Where others hesitated, you pushed forward. Where they saw walls, you saw doors.

It was reckless sometimes—frustrating, even—but it was also what made you stand out. What made you different.

And then, of course, there was the way you spoke.

Your accent curled around words in a way that made them distinctively yours, giving your voice a rhythm that was unlike anyone else’s in the Academy. It was a quiet but constant reminder that you hadn’t grown up in Piltover, that this city—these people—were not yours. Not originally.

You had fought for your place here, had clawed your way up in a way that many of these scholars never had to. You worked harder, spoke smarter, proved yourself over and over again just to be taken seriously.

Jayce had never needed convincing.

From the moment he met you, he had admired you. Respected you.

But there was one thing about you that always caught him off guard, no matter how many times it happened.

When you were frustrated, flustered, or startled, you unconsciously slipped into your first language.

And right now, standing in the middle of the lab with a malfunctioning Hextech prototype hissing in protest before sparks erupted from the core, you were very, very frustrated.

"That connection isn't stable. If we increase the voltage, the entire system could—"

A loud crack echoed through the room, followed almost immediately by the sharp, acrid scent of burning wires.

The prototype flickered violently before spitting out another burst of sparks. You yelped, stumbling back as a particularly large arc of blue light shot dangerously close to your face.

"Та що ж це за нісенітниця?! Я казав тобі, що це станеться!!" (Oh, for the love of—what kind of nonsense is this?! I told you this would happen!)

Jayce blinked.

His gaze flickered between you and the now-sputtering device, but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were locked on the workbench, jaw clenched, frustration rolling off you in waves as you muttered to yourself.

Fast. Sharp.

The words came out in rapid bursts, thick with exasperation, completely unintelligible to him—but unmistakably you.

Jayce had learned, over time, that it was best to let you run out of steam when you were like this. Interrupting a full-speed Y/N-rant was about as effective as trying to stop a runaway cart with your bare hands.

So he waited, arms crossed, fighting back the smirk that threatened to tug at his lips.

It wasn’t until you started pacing—hands flying in the air as you kept muttering to yourself in short, clipped bursts—that he finally decided to step in.

“Uh… Y/N?”

No response.

"Це не працює! Я знав, що це не спрацює, але ні-є~, давай знову зав’яжемо!" (It doesn’t work! I knew it wouldn’t work, but noooo, let's try it again!)

Jayce bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He had no idea what you were saying, but judging by the way your hands were gesturing toward the ruined wires, he was fairly certain you were blaming him for this.

Still, it was kind of adorable.

Gently, he reached out and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, hey—breathe.”

You froze.

The words cut through your frustration like a sharp knife through fabric, and suddenly, it was like a switch had been flipped in your brain.

Your shoulders tensed, your hands still half-raised in exasperation, but the realization hit you a second too late.

Your mouth opened slightly. Then your eyes widened.

“Oh—oh no.”

You groaned, pressing both hands to your face. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Jayce grinned. “Yep.”

Your hands dragged down your face before you let out a defeated sigh, the heat creeping up your neck now that the adrenaline was fading. “I—I didn’t even notice. This is so embarrassing.”

"Why?" Jayce tilted his head slightly. "I think it’s cute."

Your gaze snapped up to him, eyes narrowing. “You think me yelling at you in another language is cute?”

"Absolutely," he smirked. "Especially since I have no idea what you're saying half the time. For all I know, you’re insulting my entire bloodline.”

A mortified groan slipped from your lips as you let your head fall forward against his chest with a soft thud.

Jayce chuckled, the vibration of his laughter rumbling in his chest as he instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close.

“You know,” he added after a moment, his tone turning almost too casual, “you do it when you’re scared, too.”

Your brows pulled together. “…I do?”

He nodded, his grin widening at the memory. “Like that time I almost dropped that blueprint into the acid vat. You gasped and started yelling something I didn’t understand before yanking me back so hard I nearly fell over.”

Your face was practically on fire now. “Jayce, stop.”

“I won’t,” he teased, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes. “Because I like it. It’s part of you. And honestly?” His voice softened, his expression losing its playful edge. “I love hearing your first language. It’s kind of… beautiful.”

You blinked.

Something in your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over you in a way that you hadn’t expected.

Jayce had always been like this.

Playful. A little cocky.

But never insincere.

You exhaled slowly, your body relaxing against him as you murmured, “…It doesn’t bother you?”

"Not in the slightest." His lips quirked up. "But maybe you could teach me a few words sometime? Just in case you ever decide to yell at me on purpose."

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I do, you have to promise not to butcher my pronunciation.”

Jayce smirked. “No promises.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away.

Instead, you let him keep his arm around you as you both turned back toward the workbench, the smell of burnt wiring still lingering in the air, the broken prototype still waiting to be fixed.

Nothing about the situation had really changed.

But somehow, standing here with Jayce, his arm draped over your shoulders like it had always belonged there, his smile warm and effortless and entirely him…

You didn’t mind so much.

Even in a city that wasn’t your own.

VIKTOR - RUSSIAN

The first time it happened, Viktor found it amusing. You had been working alongside him in the lab for weeks, your intelligence and curiosity drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He had quickly learned that English wasn’t your first language, though you spoke it well—until frustration got the best of you.

You were tinkering with a particularly finicky piece of Hextech, fingers trembling slightly as you attempted to adjust a minuscule component. Viktor sat nearby, watching with interest, offering occasional suggestions. Then, the screwdriver slipped, sending the delicate piece tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, for fuck’s—!" you began, but your words suddenly shifted into rapid, angry muttering in your mother tongue. "Блин! Вы, должно быть, шутите! Почему это никогда не срабатывает, когда мне это нужно!??" (Damn it! You must be kidding me! Why does this never work when I need it to?)

Viktor blinked, tilting his head as he tried to follow. He had no idea what you were saying, but your tone was unmistakable. Frustration, annoyance, a touch of despair.

He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. "You do realize you are no longer speaking in English, yes?" he asked, his accent thick with amusement.

Your eyes widened, and you froze mid-rant. Heat crawled up your neck as you realized what had happened. "I—I wasn’t?"

"No," Viktor confirmed, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Though I must say, it was quite impressive. Should I be concerned?"

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. "No, it just happens sometimes when I get frustrated. I don’t even notice I’m doing it."

Viktor nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling," he admitted. "Sometimes, when I am tired or—" he gestured vaguely, "—too focused, I slip into Czech."

Your eyes brightened at that. "Really?"

"Mm," he confirmed. "Jayce has given up trying to understand me when it happens."

A small laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Well, at least we both have that problem."

He smiled, pleased by your reaction. "Indeed. It is... endearing." The way he said it made your heart skip a beat, and you quickly turned back to your work, pretending you weren’t suddenly flustered.

The next time it happened, you were more than just frustrated—you were startled.

A loud, unexpected crack of thunder boomed through Piltover, rattling the windows of the lab. You yelped, instinctively ducking as though the storm had personally come for you. Your reaction was immediate: a string of expletives in your native language spilled from your lips before you even realized what you were doing.

"К черту! Что, черт возьми, это было!? Эта чертова штука чуть не довела меня до сердечного приступа!" (To hell! What the hell was that?! I'm going to have a heart attack!)

You clutched your chest, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Viktor, who had been focused on his own work, looked up sharply, his eyebrows raised. Then, much to your embarrassment, he laughed.

"That bad, hm?" he teased, tapping his cane against the floor as he made his way over to you. "You looked as though the sky itself was falling."

You huffed, still trying to calm your racing heart. "Where I grew up, storms weren’t so... loud."

Viktor’s expression softened. "I see," he murmured. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, this time in Czech. It was slow, deliberate, as if he wasn’t sure you would understand. "To je v pořádku. Nic se nestalo." (It’s alright. Nothing happened.)

You blinked at him in surprise, recognizing the soothing tone if not the exact words. "What did you say?"

He smiled gently. "I said, ‘It’s alright. Nothing happened.’"

Something warm settled in your chest at his reassurance. "Thank you, Viktor."

"Of course," he said simply, before giving you a mischievous look. "Though I must admit, I am curious—what exactly were you shouting earlier?"

Your face burned. "Absolutely not."

He chuckled. "Very well, I will have to decipher it myself next time."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your lips. Language barriers aside, Viktor always found a way to make you feel understood.

Later that evening, as the rain continued to drum against the windows of the lab, Viktor handed you a cup of tea. You raised an eyebrow in question, and he simply shrugged. "For the nerves," he said.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you accepted the warm mug. "You're too kind, Viktor."

"I try," he said, watching you with quiet amusement. "But tell me... do you curse that fluently in every situation, or should I be honoured?"

You groaned, throwing a playful glare his way. "You just won’t let it go, will you?"

"Not at all," he said with a grin, taking a sip of his own tea. "I find it rather charming. Besides, you might teach me something useful."

You shook your head, unable to hold back your laughter. "Alright, but only if you teach me some Czech in return."

Viktor's eyes gleamed with interest. "It’s a deal."

JAYVIK - CZECH

The Hextech lab was alive with movement, the rhythmic ticking of gears filling the air as steam curled from the cooling pipes. Blue light pulsed from the core of an unfinished device resting on the worktable, casting a glow over the cluttered schematics and scattered tools. The air smelled of oil, metal, and something faintly burnt—probably from the last time Jayce attempted to ‘fix’ something.

Viktor stood at the workbench, one hand gripping his cane while the other traced the schematic with sharp, calculated precision. His golden eyes flickered with thought, but there was a hint of amusement in them as he watched you pace back and forth across the lab like a caged animal.

Jayce, arms crossed, sighed in exasperation. "Are you going to keep muttering, or are we actually going to solve the problem?"

You barely heard him, your mind running a mile a minute. The project in front of you—a new Hextech prototype—was refusing to cooperate, and frustration gnawed at you. Without realizing it, words started slipping from your lips in rapid-fire Czech.

"To nedává smysl! Toto malé zařízení by mělo pasovat, ale když se ho pokusím zarovnat, všechno se rozpadne! A když pak přidám další komponentu – bože, proč to prostě nejde? Přísahám, že jestli se mi ta věc zasekne ještě jednou, hodím ji na zem –" (This makes no sense! This little gear should fit, but when I try to align it, everything falls apart! And then when I add another component—oh god, why won’t it just work? I swear, if this thing jams on me one more time, I’m throwing it at the ground—)

Jayce blinked. "What?" He turned to Viktor, pointing at you. "Translate. Please. Before she starts throwing things."

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, his smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "She is saying," he began smoothly, "that the alignment is not making sense, and she is about to throw the device at the floor if it does not cooperate."

Jayce snorted. "Sounds about right."

"Celá tahle věc je blbost! To hloupé spojení se stále posouvá! A vím, že jsem to umístil správně! Možná kdyby někdo-" Your eyes flicked to Jayce, narrowing and pointing to him "S jeho zatracenými svaly a tím, jak se neustále opírá o stůl jako nějaký model – mě nerozptylovalo, možná bych na to už přišel! Ale ne, samozřejmě, že ne, protože on tam jen tak stojí a prohýbá se jako idiot a já tady umírám!"

(This whole thing is bullshit! The stupid connection keeps shifting! And I know I placed it right! Maybe if someone" ... "With his damn muscles and the way he keeps leaning on the table like some kind of model—wasn't distracting me, maybe I would have figured it out by now! But no, of course not, because he's just standing there, flexing like an idiot, and I'm over here dying!)

Jayce blinked. "…What?"

Viktor was already smirking. He tapped his cane against the floor lightly, feigning deep thought before saying, "She says you are… standing in the way. Being distracting."

Jayce’s brows furrowed. "That's it?"

Viktor’s smirk widened. "More or less."

Jayce turned to you suspiciously. "I feel like there was more."

You crossed your arms, lips pressing together. "Nope. That was all of it. Just… very distracting. You should move."

Jayce narrowed his eyes. "She called me an idiot, didn't she?"

Viktor tilted his head innocently. "I do not recall that part."

You shot Viktor a glare, "Alright, genius. Since you understand me, help me fix this before I lose my mind."

Viktor hummed, shifting his weight onto his cane as he examined the blueprint. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?"

Your jaw dropped. "You’re enjoying this."

He smirked. "Perhaps a little."

Jayce rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable."

You sighed, slumping forward onto the workbench. "Jednoho dne přísahám, že tě srazím k zemi." (One day, I swear I’m going to wrestle you to the ground.)

Viktor chuckled, his smirk deepening. "To bych rád viděl, má drahá." (I would love to see that, my darling)

Jayce groaned loudly, throwing his hands in the air. "I hate when you two do that."

Viktor simply shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Then perhaps you should learn Czech, Jayce. It is a lovely language."

Jayce scowled. "I am not learning Czech just so I can understand when you two gang up on me."

You smirked. "Maybe you should."

VANDER - POLISH

The Last Drop was still vibrating with the echoes of chaos. Dust still hung in the air, a fine layer of soot and debris coating the wooden floor. The kids stood in a line, scuffed up, covered in dirt, scraped knees and knuckles on full display, their eyes shifting guiltily to the floor.

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides. Her breathing was measured, forced. She could feel the sharp pounding of her heart, half from the fear that had gripped her when she’d heard what happened, and half from the sheer rage bubbling under her skin now that the danger had passed.

Vi was standing tall, arms crossed, but the twitch in her jaw betrayed her unease. Powder kept glancing at her sister, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sleeves. Claggor looked ready to face his punishment like a soldier, while Mylo was shifting his weight from foot to foot, practically vibrating with the need to break the silence.

Vander stood a few feet away, leaning lazily against the bar with his arms crossed. He hadn’t said much since they returned, but the look in his eyes told Y/N everything—he was waiting for her to let loose.

And she did.

“O czym do cholery myślałaś, Vi?!” Y/N’s voice erupted, loud enough to make Powder jump. (What the hell were you thinking, Vi?!)

Vi flinched but stayed stubbornly silent, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Wszyscy jesteście niemożliwi!” Y/N continued, her voice rising as she paced in front of them, her hands flying into the air. (You’re all impossible!)

She stopped suddenly, whirling around so fast that Powder almost tripped over her own feet in surprise.

“Miałeś tu zostać i nie wpakować się w kłopoty, ale nie!” Y/N seethed, jabbing a finger toward them. (You were supposed to stay here, not get into trouble, but no!)

Her tone was sharp, slicing through the thick silence of the bar like a blade.

“Nie, bo musisz robić wszystko po swojemu!” She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. (No, because you have to do everything your way!)

Vi’s fingers clenched into fists, her face a mixture of guilt and defiance.

“Bo ty oczywiście wiesz lepiej, prawda?!” Y/N’s voice dripped with frustration, her accent thickening as her emotions spilled over. (Because of course, you know better, right?!)

Powder’s lower lip wobbled. Her big blue eyes darted toward Vi, then back to Y/N. Mylo and Claggor exchanged a nervous glance, both too afraid to even attempt a response.

But Y/N wasn’t finished. Not even close.

She placed her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath in through her nose, as if trying to compose herself—only to fail spectacularly when she pointed sharply at Powder.

“A ty! Mogłeś umrzeć!” Her voice cracked slightly, her fear bleeding into her anger. (And you! You could have died!)

Powder’s eyes widened.

“Czy zdajesz sobie w ogóle sprawę, jak blisko byłeś śmierci?!” Y/N’s voice shook, but whether it was from rage or fear, even she didn’t know anymore. (Do you even realize how close you were to dying?!)

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy, suffocating.

“A co jeśli coś Ci się stanie, co wtedy?!” Her voice cracked, her hands clenched at her sides. (What if something happened to you, what then?!)

Silence.

The kids looked at each other, utterly lost. Not a single one of them spoke Polish.

Vi opened her mouth, probably to try and defend their actions, but at Y/N’s glare, she snapped it shut.

Y/N let out a long, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her heart was still racing, her breath coming out ragged.

“Och, na miłość-” she muttered under her breath. (Oh, for the love of—)

Finally, Mylo leaned over to Vi, voice barely above a whisper. “Uh… is she cursing us or summoning a demon?”

Vi shot him a look. “Shut up, Mylo.”

Vander finally pushed off the bar with a chuckle and stepped behind Y/N, his large hands resting on her tense shoulders.

“Alright, love,” he murmured, his voice a steady rumble against her back. “I think they get it.”

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples.

“They better,” she muttered, finally switching back to English. She turned back to the kids, her eyes still burning. “If any of you ever do something this reckless again, I swear—”

“Understood!” Claggor blurted out quickly, his hands raised in surrender. “Never again.”

“Yeah! Super safe from now on,” Powder added, nodding rapidly.

“Absolutely,” Vi said. “Safest kids in Zaun.”

Mylo nodded fervently. “Yeah. I mean, whatever she said sounded terrifying, so definitely don’t wanna hear that again.”

Vander chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple, his beard tickling her skin. “There, see? You scared ‘em straight.”

Y/N sighed, finally allowing herself to look at the kids properly. Powder’s lip was still trembling, and a pang of guilt settled in her chest. She wasn’t angry at them—not really. She was scared.

She softened just a little. “Good,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Now go clean yourselves up.”

The moment the kids scattered, muttering to each other as they disappeared upstairs, Y/N let out a long sigh, sagging against Vander’s chest.

“I swear,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “These kids will be the death of me.”

Vander chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. His warmth seeped into her, grounding her, steadying the remaining tremble in her hands.

“Nah,” he said, voice low, comforting. “You’ll be the one keeping them alive.”

She huffed, tilting her head up to look at him. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or smack you right now.”

He smirked. “Both?”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into him anyway, her head resting against his chest.

After a moment, Vander’s lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his voice laced with amusement.

“Though, gotta say,” he murmured. “Hearing you scold ‘em in Polish? Kinda hot.”

Y/N groaned, lifting her head just to lightly smack his chest.

"Zamknij się, Vander" (Shut up, Vander.)

His laughter rumbled against her, deep and warm, and she sighed.

No matter how much these kids drove her insane, no matter how much stress they caused, she wouldn’t trade this chaotic, reckless, infuriating family for anything.

Because at the end of the day, they were hers.

SILCO - FRENCH

The dim glow of The Last Drop barely reached the far end of Silco’s office, where the two of you sat in relative silence. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, gunpowder, and smoke, curling in lazy tendrils from the cigar resting in the ashtray at his desk. It was a familiar smell—one that clung to his clothes, his skin, his very presence. Normally, it was grounding, a constant reminder that he was here, that he was in control.

Tonight, however, it did nothing to ease the tremor in your hands.

Silco, ever perceptive, noticed. He always did. His mismatched gaze flicked from your clenched fists to the stiff set of your shoulders, reading the tension in your body like a well-worn map. He didn’t sigh, didn’t frown, didn’t react with anything other than quiet assessment. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, even, cutting through the thick silence with ease.

“You’re shaking.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even concern—just an observation, clinical and precise.

You swallowed hard, nails digging into the fabric of your coat. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, still crackling beneath your skin, keeping your limbs taut and your breath shallow. Your mind kept replaying the night’s events, every sharp movement, every flash of steel, every gunshot that had barely missed its mark.

You could still hear the echo of it, still feel the shock of it rattling in your bones. Your breath hitched as the memory flared to life behind your eyes.

“Trop près…” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, the syllables soft, almost reverent. (Too close)

Silco arched a brow but didn’t interrupt. He never did. He had learned early on that when you were rattled, your English faltered, cracking under the weight of your emotions until your native tongue bled through. He never asked for translations, never pushed for explanations. He simply waited, patient as ever.

The quiet stretched between you, thick and heavy. The faint hum of the city outside barely reached through the reinforced walls, but inside, the only sound was the uneven rhythm of your breath.

You exhaled sharply and raked a hand through your hair, frustration curling your fingers tight in the strands. The French came in a rush, spilling from your lips like a confession.

“C'était un piège ! Silco! Ils savaient que nous venions, ils savaient—” (It was a trap! Silco! They knew we were coming, they knew—)

The words poured out, thick with frantic energy, your voice rising as you gestured sharply, the weight of the night pressing down, crushing you beneath its cold grip.

And then—a hand caught your wrist.

Silco’s fingers curled around your pulse point, firm but careful, his grip grounding. Not a demand, not restraint, but something quieter.

You inhaled sharply, the contact jolting you back to the present, anchoring you in the warmth of his touch. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you locked eyes with him.

“Breathe, mon cœur.” His voice was quiet, coaxing, the syllables rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. (My heart)

Your stomach twisted, a different kind of tension settling in your chest. His pronunciation was nearly flawless—softened slightly by the sharpness of his usual speech, but deliberate. Intentional.

Your lips parted, surprise flickering through the haze of panic.

How long had he been listening? How many times had he committed your words to memory, waiting for the right moment to use them?

A shiver ran down your spine, not from fear, but from something else entirely.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the weight of everything you had almost lost tonight settled deep, thick and suffocating. Your pulse still thrummed beneath his fingers, quick and uneven.

“They almost got you.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I thought—”

Silco’s thumb brushed over your wrist in slow, absent-minded strokes. “But they didn’t.”

He said it with such certainty, such quiet finality, as if the alternative had never even been a possibility.

Your breath came easier now, though your body still felt tight, still carried the lingering tension of the night.

Silco tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. The ghost of a smirk played at the corner of his lips, subtle but unmistakable.

“Though, I must admit…” He released your wrist, fingers trailing lightly along the inside of your forearm before retreating completely. “Hearing you slip into French when you’re angry is quite the experience.”

The tension in your chest cracked, just a little. A breathless, half-exasperated laugh escaped you as you ran a hand down your face.

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“I never said you did.”

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering behind his sharp gaze as he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His voice dipped lower, rich and deliberate, each word carrying an edge of something unreadable.

JINX - SPANISH

Jinx didn’t get nervous easily. Chaos was her playground, and she thrived in it. But when Y/N started rambling in Spanish—fast, panicked, and borderline incoherent—even she had to admit she got a little nervous.

It happened every time things got out of control. A heist gone wrong? Spanish. A near explosion (usually Jinx’s fault)? Spanish. Running into someone dangerous in the Lanes? More Spanish.

It wasn’t like Jinx didn’t know what was happening—Y/N was scared. And Jinx didn’t like it when her people were scared.

So, she did the only thing that made sense. She made it worse.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, firecracker! I don’t know what you’re saying, but I’m ninety percent sure you’re cursing at me.” Jinx grinned, flipping one of her guns over her shoulder as they ran.

Y/N whirled on her, eyes wild. “¡Porque nunca puedes seguir un plan! ¡Siempre hay que hacer algo estúpido y ahora tenemos a la mitad de Zaun queriendo matarnos!" (Because you can never follow a plan! You always have to do something stupid, and now we have half of Zaun wanting to kill us!)

Jinx blinked. “Uh-huh. Yep. Totally got that.”

Y/N groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “We need to hide.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” Jinx cackled, tugging her into an alleyway just as a group of enforcers ran past. “Y’know, I like it when you get all fiery. Adds some spice. Like, boom! Explosion of emotions.” She threw her hands out for effect.

Y/N just glared at her, chest rising and falling rapidly. She muttered under her breath in Spanish, and Jinx caught something about ‘dios’ and ‘sufrir’ and—yeah, okay, she was probably in trouble. ("God" and "suffer")

Jinx sighed and nudged her. “Hey, c’mon, I didn’t mean for things to go sideways. Well, not completely.”

Y/N’s glare didn’t waver.

“Okay, okay, so I might’ve—technically—possibly—definitely—ignored the plan, but look at us! Still alive! Isn’t that fun?”

“Jinx.”

“Okay, fine, not fun for you. But hey, we make a great team, right?”

Y/N groaned again, muttering something Jinx didn’t understand but felt deep in her soul. She slumped against the wall, pressing a hand over her face.

"Lo juro, un día la estrangularé." (I swear, one day I'll strangle her.)

Jinx sat beside her, pulling a grenade out of her pouch and rolling it between her fingers absentmindedly. “Y’know, I like it. The whole Spanish thing. I dunno what you’re saying, but it’s kinda cool.”

Y/N peeked at her through her fingers. “It’s usually me calling you an idiot.”

Jinx smirked. “Yeah, but, like, in a fun way, right?”

Y/N gave Jinx a deadpan look, lips pressed into a straight line. Her silence was loud enough to make Jinx fidget slightly, before she let out an exaggerated sigh and raised her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Alright, firecracker, I promise next time I’ll stick to the plan.”

Y/N crossed her arms, one brow arching high.

Jinx groaned. “Fine, I’ll at least try.”

Y/N sighed, finally letting the tension drain from her shoulders. “That’s the best I’ll get, isn’t it?”

Jinx nodded sagely. “Yup. But hey, look at the bright side—we survived! And now we have a great story to tell.”

Y/N groaned again, but this time, there was a hint of a smile on her lips. Jinx caught it, her grin widening. That was a win in her book.

Jinx nudged Y/N with her elbow. “Hey, if you’re feeling better, we should totally celebrate.”

Y/N shot her an incredulous look. “Celebrate what? That we didn’t get shot?”

Jinx beamed. “Exactly! C’mon, I got some fireworks stashed away. We could light ‘em up, make the night a little more exciting.”

Y/N let out an exhausted groan, rubbing a hand down her face. “Jinx, I swear—”

Jinx pouted, clasping her hands together dramatically. “Aww, c’mon. Live a little.”

Y/N shook her head but couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped her lips. “Fine. But if I die because of you, I’m haunting you.”

Jinx gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Que horrorosa!” (How horrifying!)

Y/N snorted. “You’re impossible.”

Jinx threw an arm around her. “And you love me for it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but allowed Jinx to drag her along, already resigning herself to another night of chaos. The streets of Zaun stretched before them, flickering neon lights casting their shadows long and distorted against the walls. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the city buzzed with life, a symphony of voices, machines, and occasional explosions—probably Jinx’s handiwork from earlier.

Y/N sighed, but there was no real frustration left in her voice. “This better not end with us running for our lives again.”

Jinx cackled, tightening her hold on Y/N’s shoulders. “No promises, firecracker. No promises.”

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

317 notes · View notes