#look ive never made this kind of edit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iznsfw · 3 months

Text

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

1K notes · View notes

cat-jammies · 10 months

Text

IM SO PROUD OF THIS BUT IDK IF IVE BEEN LOOKING AT IT TOO LONG AND THATS WHY I LIKE IT SM, SO CAN SOMEONE CONFIRM IF IT ACTUALLY LOOKS GOOD OR WHAT I CAN FIX BEFORE I START RENDERING PLS ^^,

I have genuinely never done lineart this like smooth before tho so yay! ^^

Edit: it’s done!!!! ^^ ty for all the kind words mwah

Also a few people said they wanted to colour it, and ur totally welcome to! ^^ just credit me for the lineart if that is okay <33

edit: UR ALL SO KIND AND IM HONA CRY OMG HOW DO FUNNY LITTLE INTERNET PPL MAKE ME SO HAPPY AHHHHHHHHH (seriously though I’ve felt down abt my art lately but everyone is being so kind and it’s made me like super motivated and happy! So tysm mwah <33)

708 notes · View notes

ellaa-writes · 1 month

Text

The Beast Within

author note: part 8, masterlist here. This is more of a filler chapter, ending coming soon. A lot kind of things happening for a filler lol. barely edited, also think im losing the plot of this series. Next 2 chapters are going to be longer just to tie everything together. Might redo/rewrite this at a later time.

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: Mentions of lots blood, violence and dead bodies. A/b/o dynamics. Vauge and probably incorrect medical terms. No smut and barely any fluff. Lots of Angst.

The door to the elevator opened, revealing a mess. König's head tilting to the side as the smell of crimson infiltrated his senses.

The Beast perked up, nipping at his skin. Stepping out the elevator he was greeted with an unholy site. Broken pieces of furniture and dry wall laid strewn about, bodies and parts mixed in with the chaos, the once pristine carpets now stained with blood. Stepping over the rubble he made his way into what use to be the front door of his home, busted off the hinges and thrown to the side.

He knew you weren't here, he could smell it in the air. The home was cold and empty, remnants of what use to be, shattered and scattered around. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked around taking it all in.

His head snapped down the darken hallway, the heavy oak door barely attached to the frame, cracked and broken, almost like someone clawed their way in. His desk was littered with files, papers and photos. The gun he kept in the top drawer missing, it looks like it was pried off the hinges.

Digging his cellphone out, there was only one person on his mind has he dialed them up. Sitting down in the worn leather chair, laying his laptop across the mess on the desk. He brought up the security footage, watching every second before the line finally picked up. A deep rumble answered from the other end.

"I'm going to need your help, level red." König didn't know where you were but he had an idea. The man on the other line told him not to trust the women. In all hell's fury he wish he would have listened. "On 'm way." it sounded like he just woken up. "It's time sensitive, high priority. I forwarded the details. I want a list of who all will be on your team. Will meet up at 21 hundred." König ended the call abruptly.

Simon sat up from his bed, just having laid down before his Boss called. It wasn't long before he was dressed and watching the security footage over. Roze... He never trusted her, could smell the rot in her lies but the big guy trusted her and he trusted him. Holding his phone to his ear the line eventually picked up.

"Gots' a job fa' you" all he could hear was heavy breathing. "да" and the line disconnected.

You awoke to bright lights and white walls. Your head was pounding and it felt like you were going to throw up. The surface you were laying on was hard and cold, the sanitary paper crinkled under you as you shifted, sticking to your dewy skin. You could barely raise your arms to block out the intruding fluorescent light. Heavy like a stack of bricks, you could feel the medical tape holding down the IV tubes, itchy against your skin.

You didn't know where you were or how you got here. It looked like a surgeons room, the floors were white tile and the cabinets off the side, also white. You could hear voices coming from behind the double doors.

Sitting up you realized you were nude, not even the necklace you always wore, completely naked and cold. Your body sore and stiff, trying to shift off of the exam table, your legs straining to hold you up right. The IV's tugged against you has you managed to stand on two legs, wobbly. You yanked the tubes free, blood dripping down your arms.

Grabbing at the now torn sanitary paper that covered the table, you haphazardly wrapped it around yourself. Using pieces of it to dab at the blood. A shiver racked your body, you didn't know what was happening. Trying to recall the last moments, your mind was foggy but you remember standing in that office but after that everything was fuzzy. You couldn't help but think he had something to do with this. Whatever this was?

The voices abruptly stopped, the double doors to your room swinging open revealing a familiar face. But not a face you expected to see, not here.

Dr. Roze

That's when it all came rushing back to you. The walk you both had, her words about you being pregnant. The images you found in the filing cabinets, all the blood or death spread across those pages. The sound of the front door being broken of its hinges, the shouting and yelling. Glass shattering and gun fire being exchanged. You hid under the desk, König gun in your hand, the one you took from the drawer. Then you heard her voice, telling you it was safe and she was here to rescue you. And that's where it all went black.

You stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted. Clutching the thin paper to your exposed body. "Oh, you’re up?" Dr Roze said in surprise. Taking small steps towards your shaking frame. "Everything is ok, your safe here." she tried to explain and to calm you down. Eyeing your bleeding wounds and discarded IV. "Nothing to worry about dear. Why don't you sir down and we can talk." pointing at the steel chair to your left. You eyed in before slowly sitting down.

"You must have a lot of questions and I'll do my best to answer them all." she explained. She sat in a similar chair but on the opposite side of the room, giving you enough space.

"We've been working on a cure, well not really a cure but a solution to a very serious problem." Dr. Roze paused before taking a deep breath. "When I met you, I knew you could be the key. The key to helping us unlock a gene code we have been stuck on for year’s now." she waved her hands around.

"Why me?" your voice was so quiet and coarse, startling you as you spoke.

"Well when König, your former Alpha mentioned that he had himself an Omega but he was unsure...-" she cut herself off before continuing. "He was unsure about your origins, you smelt like an Omega but didn't act like one. He requested that I observe you, to figure out him your Omega origin was natural or manmade." Dr. Roze had her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes boring into yours, she had a tight smile on her face, forced and unnatural.

You shook your head, confused. Former? Origins? None of it was making sense.

"I know this is a lot of information that may seem helpless to you. But I want you to know that without your DNA the surviving Omega population would have come to an complete extinction. You are a true hero, really." the doctor tried to comfort you.

"Where's König?" you shifted uncomfortable in the cold steel chair. Dr. Roze's smile faltered a little but she held it tight.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore." your mind was racing with questions. "Why?" did he just hand you over? Was that all part of the plan. Was that why he was ignoring you? Does this have anything to do with the photographs you found?

"I know it's going to be a hard transition but we have plenty of surrogate Alphas here. You can even choose one if you would like." Choose a new Alpha? What the hell is going on.

"I-I don't want a new Alpha." you whispered.

"Well, we can discuss that later. Nothing has to be done now. How are you feeling?" she brushed off your question.

"I don't know." and it was true. You didn't know how to feel about anything.

"That's fine, I know you’re confused and scared. Why don't I show you to your room and you can have a shower and some fresh clothes? How does that sound?" Dr. Roze stood from the chair, her hand stretched out in front of her. Beckoning you to her, and you went, slowly.

Dr. Roze took your hand and led you out of the room, the hallways were much the same. White and sanitary. She took turn after turn before stopping in front of a locked door. Raising her key card to unlock the door and dragging you through.

She brought you to a room, your new home, she called it. Watching as you walked around the confined space. It had a bed in the corner, a bookshelf, a small table with one chair, a sink and counter, a small open closet and another door leading to your private bathroom.

You sat on the bed, still only in the thin paper sheet. "If you need anything you can push this button right here" she motioned to a red button by the door. "I'll have some proper clothes dropped off for you. Why don't you get cleaned and rest." and with that she left. The door sliding into place with a click.

You felt trapped and doomed. The events replaying over in your head. You didn't believe a word she said, still not trusting her.

Trying to believed that your Alpha wouldn't abandon you. He couldn't, he can't.

The words bouncing around you head. You've heard stories about Omegas being experimented on. Locked up like cattle, their only purpose to behave and breed.

You missed your home, the one you created with König. The smell of the sheets, König's heavy scent filling your nose. The warm feeling in your tummy every time you looked at him.

It's been at least 3 weeks since you saw him last, maybe even longer at this point. You have no idea what day of the week is or how long you've been out.

You took the doctors suggestion and say yourself under the hot water, steaming bellowing around you. Your silent tears mixing in with the water as they danced down your face.

The meeting was brisk, the task easy. He was treating it as a hostage situation. Retrieve the prize and leave unharmed. But the only difference is that it was you. König knee bounced restlessly, up and down. He never had the discipline to stay still, ever since he was a child. The ticking of someone's watch matching his heart beat. He tried to rid his mind of the horrible things, the images of you diced up like meat. Nothing left of you, the only thing he could identify being your sweet smell.

The ride to the warehouse was brief, but it stretched on for what felt like hours. A perfect line of black alarmed vehicles, surrounding the building that housed this "cure". König barked out orders before charging forward, using his whole body weight to slam into the metal door. The weak screws and hinged snapping under his weight. The Beast clawing at his throat to be released, König's eyes turned black and his blood began to boil.

It didn't take them long to find your scent, a trail of destruction behind him like petals behind a bride. He tuned out the call outs coming from his headset, the only thing one his mind was finding his precious Omega.

The Ghost and the Russian stood off to his side, eyeing the giant, their own Alphas trying to hide itself in the darkest corners of the mind. Anywhere to get away from the intense energy of The Beast.

The lights were flashing red, a lockdown initiated. Most doors sealed themselves closed but nothing could stop The Beast. Ripping the reinforced door right off its hinges without breaking a sweat. Your smell stronger now, he was close he could almost taste you.

After a few minutes under the hot pelt of the showers water, your tears long dried up but your eyes still red and sore. You pulled yourself out of the glass enclosure, finding a pair of grey scrubs one size too big resting on your bed. The bed itself was made of steel, loosely wrapped in a sheet that felt like sandpaper against your skin. The thin black like cardboard as you tried wrapping it around yourself.

You don't know how you managed to fall asleep, or how long you were asleep. But the sound of an alarm awoke you. The lights were out, the only thing illuminating your cell was the red light from the button beside the door. Unsure of what was going on and unable to sleep any longer, you pressed your ear against the cold metal of the door. Trying to listen for anything, but all you could hear is the whines and whimpers of the other Omegas locked up here with you.

It wasn't long after when you started to hear the shouting and gunfire. Whatever was happening beyond your door sounded serious and it put you on edge. Not knowing what to expect you tried moving the furniture towards the door but found everything was bolted down. So you grabbing the sheet and blanket off of the steel bed and found yourself cowering in the bathroom. Waiting out the war zone happening outside.

You would think this was your end, but the smell of burning oak engulfed you. Your Omega whining, begging you to go after it, so you did. You didn't know how you ended up outside of the safety of your room. Stumbling over bodies, slipping on their blood. The only thing on your mind was finding the source to whoever that insatiable smell belonged to.

Corner after corner you passed through what use to be a door, it's counter parts laid flattened on the ground. The smell was so close, your nose sniffing the air trying to get just a little taste.

"Стоп! (Stop!)" the voice came from behind you, making you freeze in your tracks. Turning slowly to face a man, an Alpha, in all black wearing what looks like a dog mask. His gun pointed at you, he spoke something to quiet into the mic strapped to his shoulder. His black sunken eyes watching you. His smell was strangely fresh, like ripe lemon begging to be plucked. His stance was wide like the rest of him. It didn't take long for whoever he called for to enter behind him.

It was the skull face man, Simon, you think is his name. Soon as he saw your terrified face he forcefully lowered the other man's gun until he holstered it completely. Both men stepped to the side at the sound of thundering footsteps. The Beast was in charge has he nearly crashed through what was left of the passage. The surrounding walls cracking and buckling under his force. His eyes were red, like blood sap. His aura a bright orange like he tree set ablaze. The smell of burning amber knocking you off balance, causing you to fall on your ass. He was on you, quick and hard. Shoving his nose into your neck, his hot tongue lapping at the skin.

You were trembling, gripping onto his biceps has he manhandled you. This was your König but at the same time it was not. You've never seen him like this, geared up and strapped with weapons.

He was leaving blood smears all over you, his chest heaving like a bull after a fight. His nostrils flaring.

"We ought get goin'" the skull face said from somewhere behind your Alpha. König's grip on you tightened has he curled himself around you, lifting you up and wrapping your legging around his middle as he pushed forward with the two men close behind.

"Have you located her?" he all up growled out, his voice animalistic. It made the hairs on your body stand at full attention. A low ripple of fear washed over you, you don't know what was going on, what was wrong with him.

"да, she been located." the dog faced man moved ahead, gun raised. "Good" you hated it, hated the sound of his voice, the way it vibrated his whole body and ripped from his throat.

"Ooooomegaaa" it didn't come from his mouth, no it came from within your mind. You looked up into his blown out red eyes, he was looking right into your soul. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. Closing your eyes tight, allowing this man carry you to safety.

Tag list: @plumdreadful @traumaramacenter @kaylp-godly @napalmfairy7 @hisa-plush @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @winters-doll @joyfulfxckery @purebeskar @collete25 @fandomsinthegalaxies @xo-konigs-little-princess-xo @jamieelol @luc1ddreamersatnight @cringeycookies

(sorry if I forgot to tag you, i haven't looked at my tag list in a while and probably needs to be updated)

#cod mw2 #könig #konig #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #cod könig #könig call of duty #könig x you #Alpha König

135 notes · View notes

cheeriecherrymain · 8 months

Text

papa!Viktor blurb, anyone?

A/N: slowly, slowly, recovering from the creative drought ive been in

it's nowhere near a waterfall again, more like a frustrating dribble, BUT. It's something. But anyways, here is a Papa Viktor Thought Blurb (listen, my sister is almost three months old now, and I am so besotted with her, she's my favourite tiny person, and i am full of Caretaker Feelings)

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI (not explicit, but very very suggestive), afab!Reader, pregnancy, labour and birth (again, not explicit, but still with some depth), papa!Viktor, no beta no editing we simply die

Imagine Viktor, and him believing he'll be alone for his entire life - working so hard to make some kind of legacy for himself, putting everything he has into his creations and his machines. Every calculation, every experiment a labour of love.

This is how the world will remember his name.

At least, he hopes.

But then he meets you.

You're charming, he has to admit. You make friends wherever you go, and you have a weird habit of bringing people out of their shells. There's just...something about you that makes others want to bare their souls to you. Something that draws people in.

Like you have a tangible sort of gravity, and wherever you go, someone ends up in your orbit.

He won't mean much to you, he thinks, after conversing with you a couple times. You're creative, like he is, and you're enjoyable to talk to. But nothing more. Sooner or later, you'll continue on somewhere else, making waves and drawing attention. And in your wake, he will be left to sink. It's what expects.

Except...

You don't leave.

Your chats start out small. Short and sweet, a How are you today? wondered whenever you pass each other in the halls a couple times a month, curious about the goings-on of his life.

He never has anything interesting to tell you about. No adventures or tales to tell, nothing beyond the walls of a cramped and cluttered office.

You must be bored, he thinks.

But then you start seeking him out. Instead of just catching up for a couple minutes whenever you happen to walk past each other, you hunt him down in his office - and god, he wasn't lying when he'd told you it was cramped.

You're amazed he even has the space to think in there, with how tight it is. Yet you still shimmy yourself into the tiny room, careful not to disturb any piles of papers, and find a careful seat on a spot of open floor beside his desk. There's no room for a second chair, and you've always made it clear that you dislike standing when you're having a long conversation.

It's nice to sit down and rest somewhere together, you'd told him one time.

You grow closer after that. From seeing him a couple times a month, to a couple times a week, to literally every day. You don't seem to care that he never has anything 'exciting' to share with you, even going so far as to chastise him for calling himself uninteresting.

Your experiments are cool, you'd insisted, while leafing through one of his old journals. It's incredible to get to see how your mind works, and how creative and inventive you are. You have so many ideas, Viktor, and I really believe that they could help people.

Something changes in him, after that. He'd always been quieter around you, listening to your stories, and dutifully answering your questions: never quite letting you in.

Now he looks forward to seeing you.

His heart skips a beat every time he hears you knocking on his office door, a chipper little pattern reserved only for him. You know that he doesn't always like dealing with students after hours, so you'd come up with a way to let him know that it was you who was greeting him.

Things progress...surprisingly natural.

He's not subtle by any means, even if he thinks he is. The moment he realizes that he has feelings for you, all bets are off. His cheeks dust pink whenever you're around, his palms get sweaty and he fidgets, and the staring.

Looking at you with ill-contained admiration and affection.

You can't not kiss him.

You spend the next couple years having the time of your lives. Moving from classes and overbearing internships, to actively working on experiments. Collaborating with each other, drawing up ideas and debating functionality and form. The two of you get so heated when you're creating things together.

Neither of you are surprised when it devolves. Wide gestures and hasty chalkboard sketches, impassioned explanations and wild eyes - you bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over him, in all his dishevelled beauty. Hair a mess, tie crooked and loose, shirt partially unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Many nights are spent like that, cooped up in his little laboratory, surrounded by sketches and blueprints and scribbles and stray notes. His fingertips digging into the soft of your skin as he kisses the breath out of you. The rhythmic clunking of his crooked desk most telling, as he draws forth your little squeaks and sighs of delight.

Absolutely ruining you, filling you, stretching you open. Feeling the way you tremble in his hands, held tight to his slender body as he reaches so deep into you that you'll feel him for days.

Sinking his teeth into the side of your neck when he finds his own release - to stay quiet, he tells you. But you both know it's his way of marking you.

Claiming you.

You're his. You're his person, his love, his partner. Your eyes only ever shine the way they do when you look at him.

Your body, splayed out and spread before him, quivering and gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - his.

Your taste, sweet on his tongue - your mouth, your skin, your arousal that drips out of you whenever he so much as looks at you.

His.

And he knows, without a single atom of doubt, that he's also yours. So entirely entangled with each other, neither of you knowing how you'd managed to exist separately before now.

How had you possibly found beauty in every day, when you'd never heard his voice? Never caught a whiff of his sweet shampoo as he ambled past you? Never felt the warmth of his touch, or the puff of his sighs on your cheek? Never known the tickle of his hair on your bare skin as you slowly woke every morning to find him curled around you, his face smashed into your back and soft snores emanating from him?

No matter, you think. You have him now, and that's what's important.

...until everything changes.

You miss a period.

You tell him about it.

You're both on edge, but he tries to remain optimistic. Cycles can be upset sometimes, he tells you, as if you don't already know. (You're certain he's really just trying to reassure himself.)

But deep down, you know.

You can feel it in the all-encompassing tiredness you wake with every morning. In the random bouts of nausea, and the sudden food aversions. The back aches, and all the sudden new smells you can detect.

You know something is amiss.

And he knows, too, when he finds you one time in the middle of the night. Standing in your shared little kitchen, in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the open refrigerator.

Pulling pickles straight out of the jar, dipping them in mayonnaise, and sinking your teeth into them. Like they were to most delectable thing you'd ever ingested.

You're both terrified, of course.

You're not really surprised that you've managed to fall pregnant - not with the way you two lust after each other practically every night, and sometimes in the morning. Maybe even once or twice in between meetings, when you're both squished together in his compact office.

Neither of you ever thought you'd become parents.

And certainly not right now.

But...you want this, you realize. You want this with him. You want a family with him, you want the evidence of your love - you want a future with him, and you want to see what beautiful little person you'll make together.

Would they have his eyes? Yours? He hopes they have your smile, he tells you, eventually.

It takes you by surprise, his words, what with how quiet he'd been since you'd both figured everything out. You'd been worrying that he wasn't really on board with keeping the baby - with being a father. And you hadn't blamed him, really.

You'd been beyond stressed at the idea of raising a child alone. The thought of him leaving you, leaving behind something so intrinsically tied to him, had been slowly breaking your heart. You hadn't wanted him to stay simply out of obligation - you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the eventual resentment that such an action would breed.

But to know for certain now that he'd only been anxious?

That he wanted this with you, and was excited?

You're so happy that you immediately burst into tears, squeaking and sniffling and snotting uncontrollably while Viktor bites back a laugh and herds you into his embrace. Stroking your back and murmuring the sweetest things to you while you try to catch your breath, leaving gentle kisses all over your face.

Telling you all about what kind of person he hoped your little one would be.

Your smile, most certainly, he said, resolute. You have the most beautiful smile. You light up the room wherever you go. Maybe your sense of humour, too. And certainly your compassion.

Your tears slowly began to lessen, as you let yourself be lulled by the comfort of his arms around you.

Your hair, though, you insist, smushing your face into his shirt. You look so pretty in the mornings, all fluffed up and in disarray. It's the cutest shit I've ever seen.

That garners a laugh from him.

I want them to have your eyes, as well, you admit, albeit somewhat shyly. I've never seen a colour like yours, so intense and complex. Way back when we first met, and you looked at me for the very first time? I almost lost the ability to breathe. It was...it was like I knew, right then. That you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.

He squeezes you a little bit tighter, stooping down to tenderly slot your lips together. Slow, lazy, intimate. Sharing breath and warmth and love and-

He takes you again.

Right there, in the dim quiet of his office, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway might hear you. Spoiling you absolutely rotten, speaking praises against your skin as he brings you over the edge again and again and again.

Pupils blown wide as he sinks his fingers into you, crooking them perfectly as to reach the spots he knows will drive you mad. The papers strewn around the room don't matter - they don't even cross his mind, as you wriggle and squirm and quiver and cry out for him.

How could they, when all he can focus on is the way you look when your body tenses up, another wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins, culminating in your lovely little noises, and the addicting feeling of your pleasure dripping down his fingers and over his palm, soaking him thoroughly.

He would be happy to have you like this, as frequently as you would let him.

He knows how sensitive you must be by now, not only from his ministrations, but also from the way your body is changing. He's done his fair amount of reading since discovering your pregnancy - he's aware of all the ways you might be feeling.

The hunger, the exhaustion, the aches and pains.

The all-encompassing, single-minded lust you might go through.

He's ready to please you, however you might want - his fingers, his mouth. And whenever you might want. You could wake him up in the middle of the night, for all he cares. You could nudge him from the sleep that he so desperately needs, and he'd ask not a single question besides What do you need, darling? How would you like me?

What he doesn't expect is his own desire.

You're beautiful. You always have been beautiful. Even as things change, he was absolutely certain that you would never stop being beautiful.

It's you, so of course he's going to want you.

But seeing you now, whining and looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky, specifically for you? Your tummy already growing round with the life that you've made together, visible proof of your love? Desperate whimpers falling past your lips, begging him for more, for him to fill you up again and again and again?

He can't resist you.

Even when he starts to ache, and his arms start shaking, and his throat is raw and dry from breathing hard and calling out for you.

He can't resist you.

You're insatiable.

So is he.

He's a little more careful as the months progress. Manhandling you less, digging his fingers into the soft fat of your hips a little gentler. He's cognizant of how you're most comfortable, watching in awe as you tremble on top of him, grinding down on him and taking his entire length into you like you were made specifically for him.

Nearly every day, you beg for him.

He loves you.

And when the time eventually comes for you to waddle carefully into the labour centre, meeting your midwife along the way, Viktor tries to keep his worrying quiet. Tries to stay by your side as a supportive pillar, regardless of how well or not he might actually be able to hold you up.

Holding your hand, kissing your knuckles. Trading his fingers for a stress ball when you squeeze a little too hard (and then another stress ball, stronger this time, when the first one explodes in your fist after a couple minutes. It shocks both of you, but to his surprise, you start laughing).

He tenderly dabs the sweat off your forehead as the hours go by, keeping your hairs from pasting themselves to your face and neck. Staying nearby as a source of comfort, but not so close that you feel smothered by him - allowing you the space you need to wiggle around as you see fit.

Telling you stories to distract you, listening to your complaints and observations as his words become unable to mask the pain of your contractions. Doing his absolute best to bite back a fond grin as you breathlessly curse him for doing this to you.

I didn't mean it, you tell him, as soon as the words leave your mouth, your eyes wide and tearful with sorrow.

I know, he promises, leaning forward to press his lips to your dewy skin.

You sigh happily.

It's not for another couple hours that your baby finally decides to enter the world.

You're beyond exhausted, and Viktor is starting to get fidgety with his worry. Is it supposed to be taking this long? he wonders internally, keeping his questions to himself so as not to stress you out even more.

The midwives, to their credit, are incredibly skilled. Staying by your side throughout the whole process, carefully monitoring everything they need to in order to make sure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy. He knows that they would say something, if anything was truly wrong.

And when the little one finally arrives, she does so kicking and screaming, making an absolute ruckus in the quiet room. The door is shut tight, keeping the sounds of the busy establishment at bay, and the curtain is drawn for your privacy so no one can see in when the staff come and go.

But when your girl begins shouting her absolute displeasure into the air, Viktor swears he can hear some quiet clapping and cheering from the hallway. He doesn't know if it's for your success, or for something and someone else entirely - but for a moment, he likes to believe that there are some strangers out there who are happy for him.

They don't know his story, and they don't know yours - but they've heard a great cry from somewhere hidden and full of struggle. An all-encompassing wail that confirms the presence of life, shouting to the world I am here, I am alive, and I have absolutely no idea what's going on!

He doesn't know when the tears start trailing down his cheeks.

Perhaps it's when he first lays eyes on your girl, pink and cranky and a little bit squished. Putting up a fuss on your base chest, scrunching her little face up as you speak softly and tenderly to her.

Perhaps it's when one of the midwives hands him a very soft towel, instructing him on how to carefully pat away the blood and fluid still clinging to your child. His eyes growing wide when he oh so gently cleans her off to reveal more of her tiny features.

She's still new, and needs time to decompress (so to speak), but he stares at her with such rapture. Taking in every inch of her, burning her face into his mind so that he might never forget her. Ever.

She's still new, and yet he can already tell that she has your nose. And your lips. Your smile, he realizes, with a palpable joy spreading through his chest.

His tears eventually dry, if only so he's able to better see you and the newest member of your family. Laying kiss after kiss to whatever part of your skin he can reach. Stroking the tips of his fingers over your girl's hair - her tiny arms and shoulders, her chubby cheeks, the bridge of her nose and over her brows.

But some two hours later, when you're finally allowed to rest in your comfortable hospital bed: when your baby is now dry and fed and swaddled up happily in Viktor's arms?

The tears begin again.

Privately, in the dim of the room, while you snooze a couple feet away from him, he weeps. Silently, and without so much as a sniffle. He cannot stop the wetness that rolls down his face, even if he wanted to.

Your girl is finally relaxed, after her grand, dramatic entrance. On the edge of sleep, warm and with a full tummy, making funny little expression while she dozes.

Much to Viktor's delight, she has a head of fuzzy brown hair - dishevelled and sticking in every direction, not matter how the midwives had tried to tame it. It'll settle down in a few days, they'd promised. But he didn't care.

The wild mop on top of her head rivalled the chaos of his own. The same shade of chestnut, though perhaps less coarse in texture. Maybe it will grow to the same thickness eventually, he thinks, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagines how much he's going to have to help her with it as she grows.

Brushing the inevitable tangles out with a soft brush. Pulling the strands back into braids so she can run around and play easier - or maybe little buns on the top of her head, he realizes, the image conjuring up in his mind.

All at once, pictures pop through his head, so vivid and bright that he can almost see them appearing in front of him.

Watching your daughter grow. Sleepless nights of taking care of her, catering to her every whim. Making sure she's fed, and comfortable - entertaining her with silly little toys that make silly little noises, bright colours painted across them. Reading her books with bright, enticing visuals for her to stare at, despite the fact that she doesn't know what words are.

Making trinkets for her as she gets a little older. Things that help her learn, but that also keep her excited and enticed, encouraging her exploration of the world around her. Teaching her to walk, by helping her strengthen her little legs. Sitting on a footstool, a wide smile on his face, as you hold her by her arms and support her as she figures out how to use her legs while upright. Leading her right over into his waiting arms.

Until she's able to balance on her own, after a number of weeks of practising together. Pushing herself up into a wobbly stance, doing her absolute best to try and balance. Maybe she stumbles a couple of times, but she's persistent -stubborn, like he is- and continuously rises back up until she's able to make it over to him on her own. Giggling and wiggling when he scoops her up and praises her and showers he in affection.

Teaching her about anything and everything, the bigger she gets. Answering every question she has, no matter how confusing or senseless - encouraging with his own suggestions, and prompting her to discover some answers for herself. Putting together little experiments for her, so they can learn together and so he can watch her eyes widen with the joy of new information.

Fixing her toys for her whenever they break, as she brings them to him with misty eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Papa, it fell apart, she says sadly. To which he pulls her onto his lap, regardless of what work he was doing, and helps her repair the damage. Letting her watch and observe when she's still too small to hold a screwdriver, and carefully explaining things to her when her motor skills start to develop more.

And then helping her figure out in what way her toy broke, when she's a little bigger. Asking specific questions, so she can work to connect all the dots herself. Helping her gather the materials that she needs in order to fix things herself, and praising her to the high heavens when she presents the finished product to him.

The little thing is slightly lopsided, but he fully believes that it adds to its charm - tells her as such, when she sighs about it not being the same as before.

It's a little uneven, just like me, he says, with a laugh.

And, much to his complete shock, she wraps her little arms around him, and gives him her strongest possible squeeze.

It adds to your charm, she parrots back to him with complete honesty. I like you, Papa.

And once again, for the umpteenth time throughout his daughter's life, his eyes well with tears and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She could go anywhere she wanted, once she grew up. Learn anything, do anything, be anything. Perhaps she'd enjoy the sciences, like he does - machinery, and building, and designing, and inventing. Maybe she'd get into art, and spend her days painting or sketching, or writing, or making music - inspiring other people with the things she makes.

It doesn't matter, though. Because no matter what she ends up enjoying, or where she goes in her life, Viktor will support her with his entirety. Even when she grows all the way up, and inevitably leaves home to begin her own life, whatever that may be.

He knows he's going to cry then, too. So many years together, and yet it will still never be enough.

But for now, he sighs, staring adoringly down at the tiny infant in his arms. For now, they have time. He vows silently to never waste a single moment with her, and never pass up the opportunity to spend time with her. No matter how busy or frustrated or tired he gets, he won't let her grow up feeling unwanted or unloved or unimportant.

He'll give her a better life than he grew up with, and that is both a promise and a threat.

After all, he would do anything, for her.

His greatest creation.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #viktor blurb #viktor reader insert #arcane reader insert #i am slowly rising from the dead whoops

358 notes · View notes

blue-sadie · 9 months

Note

So i've seen this edit about quaritch and spider with that song "oh i love it and hate it at the same time, you and i drinking posion from the same vine" and just image it; reader who has an avatar and neteyam as her mate and she told everybody that her mom was na'vi and her dad was an avatar. When lo'ak and neteyam went to save spider they see reader in her human form and she thinks neteyam is dissapointed in her. Her avatar dies and she has to live with neteyam in her human form. The reader thinks he hates her or smtg. I thank you very much if you could write my ideea or just react <3

Sorry this might not be exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it 😁

Our Love Is Pure

Neteyam x Human Reader

Summary: sometimes our thoughts get the best of us causing us either failure or fortune

Warning: music = lyrics, reader death (kind of)

3rd person pov

Neteyam watched the horizon hoping and praying to see Norman's helicopter but every time he does his heart just breaks all over again.

Telling myself I won't go there Oh, but I know that I won't care

You saved him, you pushed him out the way and took the bullet, the bullet that would've killed him but it killed you instead.

He held your avatar as it died he pleaded and begged for eywa to give you another chance you deserved it while he didn't he should have protected you he should have taken it not you.

With each day passing no news or sight of you, his heart arches more and more he struggles to look after himself but what he didn't know it was the same for you.

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt This lust is a burden that we both share Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt There's darkness in the distance

It took norm days just to get you to speak but with each word becomes more shakey, what is supposed to happen between the two of you.

You never really hung out with him in your human form mostly because of safety reasons would he still want to be with you.

Those thoughts were clouding your head most of the day you would spend in your room staring at the way norman says your eyes get duller by the day, your skin has become paler and your body thinner because of the lack of food and water.

From the way that I've been livin' But I know I can't resist it Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Norman didn't know what to do he didn't know if contacting neteyam would help or just make it worse but what pushed him over the edge is when you came stumbling into the kitchen bearly holding yourself up.

You collapsed and he caught you before you hit the floor you blacked out, that was his breaking point they put you onto one of the med beds attaching an iv to your arm and made sure you were stable.

And once they knew you were safe he contacted jake to let him know about the situation and jake could almost say the same was happening there.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

When jake finally told neteyam what happened with you neteyam finally expressed emotion other then sadness and finally did something other then stare out into the open sea.

He tried to get on his ikran but his father and mother tried to stop him and reason with him to stay.

He finally burst and let his emotions out shocking his parents screaming at them that he needs and too see you and how he would be dead without you

Tellin' myself it's the last time Can you spare any mercy that you might find If I'm down on my knees again? Deep down, way down, Lord, I try Try to follow your light, but it's night time Please, don't leave me in the end

He yelled about all the times you were there for him and now he's gonna be there for you, his parents let him go because either he was going back.

The ride was long and terrible his lack of food and sleep was making his ikran nervous and almost crash afew times.

He finally felt relieved when he saw his home land in the distance and he spoke to himself praying that you would hear him, I'm coming baby hold on.

There's darkness in the distance I'm beggin' for forgiveness (ooh) But I know I might resist it, oh Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time You and I drink the poison from the same vine

He dodged the floating rocks and ignored as some ikran riders tried to talk to him as they flew past he didn't care all he cared about was you.

When he landed he could tell something was off when norman came running at him and telling him you need him.

He didn't even let norman finish and dashed into the lab his eyes widening as he saw the many scientists crowed around you.

His heart clench and his body began to sway with dizziness he already lost you once and he wasn't gonna lose you again.

He crouched at the head of you bed looking down at your face you and your avatar were almost identical.

He slowly and softly caressed your small face with his fingers as he spoke to you as tears streamed down his face, baby please don't do this to me I can't lose you again.

He sat there even after the other scientists left he sat there staring at you his hand clenching yours He was to scared to let go.

To scared to lose you, it only took 2 hours before you woke you your face twisted in confusion as you felt someone holding your hand.

It took you a couple minutes to open your eyes but when they did they filled with tears, neteyam tried to hug you but all you did was push him away.

He felt rejected and hurt in till he heard you speak "why are you here" you sniffled he felt confused.

"W-what do you mean baby" he murmured trying to think of reasons you would rejected him.

"Neteyam my avatar is dead" your voice was strained and raspy "what does that have to do with anything" he asked sitting beside your bed.

You didn't know if was joking or just trying to fool you "n-nete i-" "do you think I'd just leave you because your avatar is dead".

It was like he could read my mind, I looked away from him ashamed "yn I fell for you, your beautiful personality not your body" he murmured caressing my face and bringing it to look at his.

"I fell for your clumsiness, your idiotic ideas that always get us into trouble I fell for you" his words drew a quiet giggle from you making him smile.

"I feel for your mind and heart"

Tag.List

@greekgods15

@sweetirilly

#avatar #avatar pandora #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #avatar x reader fluff #avatar fluff #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam x avatar reader #neteyam x reader fluff #neteyam x avatar reader fluff

185 notes · View notes

pixelnrd · 4 months

Note

hello! ive binged your blog this past week and have been so invested and impressed with how professionally everything has been done. I particularly liked the snippets of your 'process' you've hinted at in other asks. I havent been around since the beginning so i wanted to ask what inspired you to undertake such a large project! or, rather, did you expect it to be as big as it became? each generation has 70+ daily posts, their portrait headshots, family portraits... i love it! were you trying to build an audience when you started out? was it a covid project that you had time to build a huge queue for? i think ill be starting my own narrative simblr here soon and i'd love to hear your thoughts or advice about your journey with it, if any.

Hello and thank you for such a lovely message, it's so nice to receive feedback on the quality of my Decades Challenge because I do put so much effort in behind the scenes thanks to my agonising perfectionism!

As a project it has grown beyond what I thought it would be, to a point that I had to reign it back in in early-2022 because I couldn't keep up. I'll put more detail under the cut ✨

The Langstons started as a covid project in 2020. I was an unemployed student with a lot of time on my hands. I'd done legacies before and was pretty good at getting close to the end so that was the 'project', to do the Decades Challenge. And while looking for inspiration like cc and builds etc I found simblr and discovered people were posting their Decades Challenges here with narrative attached. By this stage I'd already played a fair bit into my Langston family (they had 4 kids by that point) so I decided to start posting my sims as well, which pushed me to put a bit more effort in with shots, story, editing etc because I had imposter syndrome. I didn't intend for there to be much narrative or story, and I think that's pretty obvious when reviewing the 1890s Langstons, but it started to grow as I was posting because I wanted to give my sim characters justifications for their life paths I was sending them on... and it all kind of took off from there, as a Decades Challenge story.

Covid over 2020 and 2021 in my country forced us into hard lockdowns, and over those 2 years I had heaps of spare time for home-based hobbies - so I just kept pushing myself to keep going with my Decades Challenge for something to do. I got really into creating storylines and costuming and wanting to do the project 'justice' because of how much effort was going in and how many generations I needed to cover to finish it. Then I stared doing lookbooks, creating portraits and character pages, and then making cc (which was a fun side project).

I wanted to build an audience at the start because I wanted to gauge whether anyone was as interested in my sims as I was in others', and when I stared getting feedback and responses to my posts it was very validating and flattering, so that spurred me to keep up. I never dreamed it would get the audience it has now! It's nice being told that something you are making is good. IRL at the time, I was pretty miserable - I graduated my Masters without a job, I was trying to conceive and failing, I was lonely due to covid and lost some of the best years of my 20s - but simblr made me happy and was a distraction from those hard things and so I really poured effort into the thing that brought me happiness.

2022 and 2023 forced me to pull back from my Decades Challenge project due to pregnancy and becomming a parent. It felt very natural to drop it at the time, but since finding my groove with parenting and my new life I still want to finish this project because it's been nearly 4(!) years of effort and I'd hate to leave it so close to the end. So that's why I'm still here - in a reduced capacity to what I was in 2020 and 2021 at my peak - trying to get it done. I don't post lookbooks or do cc anymore, because I just don't have the time anymore. But everyone is so encouraging, I have made some nice friends here and I'm constantly in awe of and inspired by the sims, content and stories others are creating. There is so much more potential for historical gameplay in the years since I started my Decades Challenge - farming! horses! infants! - and I hope that my project has inspired others to have a go! That's the best legacy I could hope to leave...

#asks #answers

55 notes · View notes

candyredappledragon · 4 months

Text

h-hi! the name is kieran. nice to meet you! ive been here for a bit and uhm.... sadly figuring out how to use this site! ( kind of afraid of interacting with others especially but im trying my best to not be easily scared ! ) i am not familiar with technology and or online things/words so please be patient with me. i know there are other kierans here too and honestly theyre pretty cool! ....d-dont tell them i said that. im not really a battler so if you are trying to look for one then im sorry to say that you will be disappointed but you can ask the others though. really sorry

..uh thank you for checking my blog— furret youre on my facEXSFDGCVHH

🍎 Please no genuine anon hate, nsfw, or anything really bad. ( You can be mean to Kieran! ) Pelipper mail is okay ( but malice is off for now ). Sapient Pokemon or the likes of interacting are fine too, Kieran is too much of a goofball to notice it. Please don't give him Pokemon the thought is appreciated but if you do they'll turn into stickers lol.

Please don't be weird. I'm serious. As well PLEASE be patient with me and not be pushy. I'm trying my best!

This Kieran is in AU as to what happens if Florian doesn't lie to him about Ogerpon and whatnot! Kieran still doesn't get Ogerpon and is fine with it ( kind of, as in this made him feel inferior to having friends and will always be chosen over by other people. ) His way of thinking is that maybe he should try to be nice and kind to others so that will help him get friends as he sees Florian do this the same to others. ( The only thing Kieran thinks he's not good at is having a funny personality. He is very awkward in person. ) Blueberry Academy was hard on him as he was almost practically as ignored and students tend to forget he is the champion because of his cowardly personality. Florian took over later as champion. Okay there.

(By the way this is a summary please don't hurt me. 💔)

Plus I will try to draw for asks but they won't be the best but surely will motivate me to draw! If there are no asks then I'll just draw daily things with Kieran so it's a win-win for me!

💥 This Kieran doesn't like to get involved with stuff so feel free to drag him into antics! He isn't the one to approach people either so if you are wondering why I don't start convos with other blogs with asks that's why. ( I'm shy too. ) He's a bit of a coward online and in person but he won't shy away trying to be friends with others.

🍎 Posts are tagged to make things easier! Feel free to block one of them to make your experience smooth!

Art related: art tag , art reply , daily Kieran art

Text related: text reply/reply text , text ask , text post , ooc post , reply reblog

Other: long post

Anything you want to be tagged? Please let me know! :)

"Can we use your art?" Feel free to use the art or whatever! Don't need to credit and I prefer not to be credited. You can edit it too! Idgaf just no bigotry. :,] "What do we call you and do you have pronouns?" Uhm, you can call me Eight or any other version of the number 8 itself. [ Ex: Ocho, Hachi, Acht, etc ]. No pronouns! Refer me to by name or just call me mod or some other third thing lol. "What art program do you use?" Clip Studio Paint! "Are you okay with collabs?" Of course! Please feel free to message me anytime. :] "What time do you post art/responses?" Uhm....... anytime to be honest? My sleep schedule is ABYSMAL. I am very much online unless I'm busy doing comp. "Are replies time sensitive when interacting with this blog?" Nope! Take your time with your replies. I am pretty chill and everyone is pretty busy with real life. Fair warning I'm a ditz. :( "Why did you make this blog?" To draw Kieran a thousand times over until I'm dead lol. ( Even if it isn't posted on this blog!) And world build my stupid au. :u I'm just currently on a small burnout on drawing. I'm sorry. :c

"Is this a sideblog?" Yeah, you are never going to find out my main!! It's very cringe ( it has different media art ). I will interact with my other sideblog with thoughts and reactions at times. [ if you are curious @/hahahasquib ]

"Do you like Kieran?" No. ( Yes. A normal amount. )

#rotomblr #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pkmn rp

54 notes · View notes

afictionaladventure16 · 1 year

Note

I'm a sucker for angst 😭 I saw ur Quinceañera post and I wa wondering if you could do another part of "Taking it all in" where Pedro and Daughter!reader are planning for it or Daughter!reader is having the most fun she'd had in a while and then estranged mother comes in and things get angsty (with fluff in the end of it)

Taking It All In (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pt. IV

Word Count: 3,404

A/N: Some of this I got the idea from One Day At a Time, but I was writing this already when I saw your request! Thank you for requesting it!! Hope you enjoy!!

Previously

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Song: De Nina A Mujer by Janet Dacal

Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and mildly edited fic...

A Quinceanera, it was the last thing you wanted to think about, but it was one of the main things you were looking forward to this year. For years you had imagined your quinceanera, what kind of dress you would have, and the theme too. For years, you were excited for this day, the day you get to begin planning. Yet, it all came crumbling down. Instead of the excitement of the event, it felt more like a distraction from the real situation.

Over the past three months, your mother had been on a rampage, determined to take your dad to court over custody. After your little run-in, your dad mentioned how he had run into her as well. He never kept anything from you and with the threat she had made that day, he wasn’t going to start. He let you in on everything that was going on and you appreciated him being honest with you, even if sometimes you didn’t want to hear it.

You didn’t understand your mother's motive, why she suddenly had an interest in your life after all these years. You thought that if it were to ever happen if your mom ever came back into your life, you would be happy. Now, knowing what you know now, you couldn’t help but feel angry.

Somehow, your mother managed to get supervised visits on the weekends. They were couple-hour visits on Saturdays and Sundays, your dad wasn’t allowed to be in the area during that time, so you opted to have your aunt join. It was either her or the lawyers and you wanted someone you knew to be around.

At first, the visits were spent in silence, your mother asking questions and you responding in as few words as possible. Then she began to make luxurious promises. A nice vacation with the family as a whole on a cruise, Disneyworld vacation as a family, or even Cancun as a family. It was always ‘as a family’ and you didn’t know if she was including or excluding your dad in the phrase.

“I liked singing as a kid, did you like singing?” Your mother asked. You glanced at your phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. Only an hour left and you can go home.

You shrugged, “I was in the school choir in middle school,” you responded.

She cleared her throat, “So, you’re fourteen, that means we should be planning your quince soon,” she said with a big smile.

“Already am,” you stated. “Dad began planning a little before I turned fourteen, sometimes I think he’s a bit more excited than I am.”

Your mother’s face fell for a second, but she was quick to put a smile on her face, “Well, quince planning is no place for a dad. Maybe it should be our thing,” she began. “You know, to try and reconnect?”

Your tia could sense your uneasiness, “well, it’d be difficult to do, since it’s only a month away,” she commented.

“Only a month away? It can’t be that soon already,” your mother said as she pondered about it. She looked at her phone, “wow, I guess it is,” she commented. “So, um, that means you probably already sent your invitations out.”

You gave her a nod, “Sent them out last week.”

She nods, “That’s great.”

You sighed, you knew what she was trying to get at. Was it the right thing to invite her? Would that mean you would have to invite her family too? You hadn’t even met your siblings yet, let alone her husband. “Um, did you want to go?”

She smiled, “What mother wouldn’t want to go?”

You shrugged, “I mean, I’d have to talk to Dad about it.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “I just would hate to miss another big event in your life.”

You gave her another nod, “Honesty, I just don’t know how comfortable I’d be with… you know, your kids being there since I’ve never even met them.”

She scoffed, “But they’re your brother and sister.”

“Yeah, but, I’ve never met them and I don’t think I’m ready to meet them.”

She let out a dry chuckle, “They’ve been dying to meet you, Y/N, they’re your brother and sister after all.”

You sighed, “I know they’re my brother and sister,” you snapped. “I’m just not ready, okay?” You looked over at Javiera, who just gave you a nod.

She glanced at her watch, “We should get going,” she began. “Y/N, you have a big essay that you need to work on, remember?” You nodded, understanding what she meant. There was no essay, but your mother didn’t need to know that.

Your mother cleared her throat, “I’ll see you next week?” She said with a smile.

“Yeah,” you said as you got up from the picnic bench and walked over to the car.

Your mother looked over at Javiera with pleading eyes. Javiera, even though she didn’t like Gabriela, felt a little sorry for her, “Give her time,” she suggested.

Gabriela sighed, “How much more time does she need?”

“More than you can give her,” Javiera muttered.

“I know you don’t like me.”

“No shit,” Javiera stopped herself, “I can’t deal with this right now, I’ll see you next week.” Javiera got into the car, she was half expecting you to say something to her but wasn’t surprised when you remained quiet.

You continued to remain quiet for the duration of the drive, your mind wandering into an abyss that Javiera didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe you needed time to think about everything that had just happened and you were thankful for that time. For some odd reason, car rides were just the best time to just think. But, like all car rides, they come to an end.

Walking into the apartment, your dad engulfed you in a hug, it was routine at this point. He would bombard you with hugs as soon as you got home from a visit as if you had been deprived of it for the past few hours.

“How’d it go?” your dad asked as soon as Javiera walked into the apartment.

You gave him a shrug as you tossed your things onto the couch, “Gabriela wants to be invited to the Quince,” your aunt answered for you.

“What?” Pedro looked over at his sister in disbelief, “What did you tell her?” he looked over at you.

“I told her I’d talk to you,” you finally responded, taking a seat on the couch.

“Well, what do you think?” Pedro asked as he sat beside you, “Do you want to invite her?”

You shrugged, “I feel obligated to.”

He shook his head, “you’re not obligated to invite anyone you’re not comfortable inviting.”

You sighed, “I know, I just… I don’t know. If I invite her then I feel like she’d be upset because I wouldn’t want her… family to come along.”

Pedro took in a deep breath, “It’s up to you, Mija. You call the shots when it comes to your Quince.”

“What do you think?”

Pedro looked over at his sister, who stood nearby, she gave him a shrug. He then looked back over at you, “I think if she really wants to be a part of your life, she’d be fine with any decision you make. Whether that’s not inviting her or inviting her but not her… family. Whatever you decide to do, I support you.”

“Even if it’s a dumb decision?”

He kissed your forehead, “Even if it’s a dumb decision.”

You didn’t make your decision right away, as a matter of fact, you didn’t make a decision until two weeks before the event. Deciding was hard, but you decided that if she was really wanting to make the effort then she’d respect your decisions.

“You can come,” you said as you got up from the same picnic bench you had been meeting at over the past few months.

Her eyes lit up like a kid at a candy store, “Really?” She took a step forward, and you took a step back.

“But only you,” you continued.

“W-what?”

“I’m just not comfortable with the idea of them being there… It’s an important day for me-”

“And you should want to share it with them,” she pleaded.

You were beginning to think it was a mistake, “I should if I had known them for a longer period of time… but I don’t. I only know their names and whatever stories you told me about them. I need you to respect my decision.”

She sighed, “Alright.”

You dug through your bag, pulling out an invitation. “Here’s the invitation,” you said handing her the invitation.

She took the invitation, giving you a small smile. “See you next week?” You nodded, before walking back to the car.

The day of your Quinceñera was everything you could imagine. Your dress was Y/F/C, it wasn’t as big as most girls’ Quinceñera dresses, mostly because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to do anything if it were. You wore a tiara that your dad had specifically picked out.

You made your grand entrance right after your Quince court did, you had a good friend from school to be your chambelan. Your Tia had teased you about it, but he was only a friend. Shortly after the entrance, some of your family members, including your padrinos (Godparents) which were Oscar and his wife, took the opportunity to say a few words.

Your dad announced that he would say something after the father-daughter dance, mentioning how he didn’t want to get emotional too early in the night. Even though he had been emotional throughout the day.

After your tia said a few words, it was time for dinner. You frantically looked around for your mom, you felt horrible that she wasn’t included for a good amount of the reception.

You spotted her at a table off to the side, “You look so beautiful!” she greeted you with a hug.

“Thank you!” you smiled. “I was thinking, I feel bad you’re being left out of-”

“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” she smiled, “I get it, I wasn’t part of the planning committee, so doing things last minute would make things difficult.”

“Well, not all things are that difficult, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to do like a mother-daughter dance? Dad said he’s willing to give up the spotlight for a few minutes,” you looked over at your dad who was, in his terms, killing it on the dance floor. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his moves.

She sighed, “That’s sweet,” she wanted to feel happy about it, she really did. “Alright.”

“Great!” you grinned from ear to ear. “Also, I was thinking, maybe next week we can talk about maybe… um…” you let out a dry chuckle, “Maybe taking the kids to the park or something?”

Gabriela looked at you in disbelief, “really?”

“Let’s talk about it next week?” She gave you a nod before you walked off. Why couldn’t she feel happy about this? It was what she wanted, what she begged for, but now it was in her hands and she was having trouble feeling happy with all the guilt she felt.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself.

Pedro, on the other hand, was slowly coming to terms with the situation. He saw how happy you were today and he allowed himself to be happy too. He walked away from the dance floor, looking over at Gabriela, she paced around by the exit. He wondered what she was doing, she had to be on the dance floor in a few minutes.

He looked around for you, easily spotting you at one of the tables talking to a family member. He let out a sigh, walking over to Gabriela, “Gabriela?” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“Fuck,” she muttered again, as she made her way out of the banquet hall.

“Gabriela!” Pedro exclaimed, following her out. “Que te pasa?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, “You remember the night I told you I was pregnant?” Pedro nodded, “you asked me the same thing.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.

He shook his head, “No,” he hissed. “Don’t do this to her.”

“I’m sorry, Pedro, I really am.”

“Don’t do this, Gabriela!” He said louder, “Do you have any idea how happy she is right now and you’re just gonna tear that down!”

“I know, I know!”

“No, you don’t, because you won’t be the one picking up the pieces!” Gabriela let out a sob, “If you leave, don’t expect a welcoming party.”

“Pedro, please.”

“Don’t ‘Pedro, please’ me! You’re tearing my daughter apart, Gabriela. No puedo mirar la asi, (I can’t see her like that) you don’t know how bad she got because of you. You don’t know what I had to do just to see her smile again! I told you I didn’t want to see you do more damage to my little girl and I was naive to think you could have changed.”

“I deserve a chance to get to know her-”

“You had your chance Fifteen years ago and you gave it up.” Gabriela wiped away her tears, “Why did you even come back, huh?”

Gabriela crossed her arms in front of her chest, “My husband, he’s um, he’s running for Governor-”

“Stop.”

“But I swear, that wasn’t the only reas-”

“But it’s the main reason!” Pedro looked at Gabriela with disgust, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I really wanted to get to know her and to-”

Pedro shook his head, “It’s a little hard to believe that right now, Gabriela.” Pedro could hear the announcement of the Mother-Daughter dance, “If you want to prove me wrong, you’d walk inside right now and dance with our daughter.”

“Pedro,” she pleaded.

“Demostrar que estoy equivocado, Gabriela.” (Prove me wrong).

She shook her head, “No puedo, Pedro. Necesito tiempo.” (I need time).

“Gabriela, has tenido tiempo.” (You’ve had time) Pedro watched as Gabriela turned around, pulling out keys from her purse, “Gabriela,” he called out, but she didn’t stop. “Gabriela, Don’t do this!” She got in her car and drove off.

The announcement had been made five minutes ago, and everyone had gotten off the dance floor so you could have the spotlight. The DJ announced the dance again, and you smiled as you looked around. Your heart dropped when you couldn’t spot her. Was it too good to be true? to think she would ever want to stay a part of your life. The intro of the song slowly began to fade in, and tears began to well up in your eyes. All you wanted was for your mother to finally step up and be a part of your life, but just when you thought you could forgive her she leaves you.

You spotted your dad walking back into the banquet hall, his heart ached as he saw you standing alone on the dance floor. You looked at him with hopeful eyes, but he shook his head walking over to where you stood in the middle of the dance floor. He noticed tears begin to well up in your eyes, “Hey, hey, hey, I got you,” he whispered as he took your hand and began slowly leading you into the dance.

He led the dance, slowly swaying from side to side, “Papi, she-”

“I know, Mija, I know,” he whispered, you leaned your head on his chest as he settled his gently on top of yours. “Don’t worry, Cariño, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said softly. “Let’s just forget about it for the night,” he said in a hopeful manner.

It was hard to just forget about it, it was your mother. The woman who was so desperate to have you in her life threatened to take full custody of you, and now she was nowhere in sight. You let out a shaky sigh, “You know, you used to dance to this song when you were little,” your dad began to say. The song was close to an end, “telling me about how you wanted to dance with me to this song at your quince,” he let out a dry chuckle. “Now here we are,” he pulled away, taking your hand to give you a twirl, “De Nina a Mujer,” he commented.

For a moment, you forgot what had just happened, all of the anger and sadness vanished. You remembered the memories you had with your father and even though something was always missing, it was always filled with his efforts in trying to be both parents for you. The song slowly faded to an end and everyone began to clap, your dad pulled you in for an embrace, “Ya no eres un nina,” (You're no longer a little girl) his voice shook, “pero siempre seras mi bebe.” (but you'll always be my baby)He placed a kiss on your forehead.

The night continued on as planned, your court did an amazing surprise dance and your dad cried a handful of times throughout the other planned events. Finally, your dad took a hold of the mic, and the music slowly faded out as people made their way off the dance floor.

“I just want to come on here and say a few words,” he began to say. “I’ve been avoiding it because my baby girl is no longer a baby,” his voice shook. “I am extremely proud of everything she has accomplished in her life so far and I am proud to say that I am her father. She makes me proud every single day,” He looked over at you. “Mija, you’re gonna do wonderful things in life, you are my biggest blessing in life and I a grateful for you every single day.” Tears welling up in your eyes, “Soon enough you’ll think you won’t need your old dad anymore, but just know I will be here no matter what. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do in life. Feliz Cumpleaños, Cariño.”

You let the tears fall from your cheeks, you walked up to your dad and wrapped your arms around him. People began clapping and the music slowly began to fade in again.

“Bailamos!” your dad yelled into the mic. The Dj played Cupid Shuffle, which made your dad grin from ear to ear, “Come on, Mija! This is our time to show our moves!” you rolled your eyes, “Come on!” he groaned.

You laughed as you followed your dad's steps throughout the song, other people had joined in too. Soon enough it was a full dance floor, you danced with your friends and danced a few songs with your dad.

"What kind of dance moves are those?" You questioned your dad, as he did a little jump with his butt in the air.

"Am I not twerking?" You and those surrounding you laughed at his attempt, "Am I not doing it right?"

You shook your head, "No! God please, just stop!" And just for a night, you felt at peace. Everything that had happened was in the past or it was tomorrow's problem. Today, you are fifteen and enjoying your day with the people you loved.

Your Quince didn’t end until past midnight and you knew it was a successful Quince when it went past midnight. You said your goodbyes to your guests and friends.

You didn’t see your mother over the weekend, nor did you pick up her phone calls. Your dad told you what had happened and what had been said. Part of you felt stupid for even thinking that starting a relationship with your mom was a good idea.

When Monday arrived, you wanted to just forget about everything, and act like the past few months never existed. Your dad had enough to win the custody battle, the lawyers were confident in the win.

“Don’t forget tomorrow we’re doing a study group at the library after school,” One of your friends mentioned as you all walked out of the building.

“I know,” you muttered. “See you guys tomorrow!” you said as you began walking down the sidewalk.

“Y/N?” You heard a familiar voice call out.

You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating fast as you turned around, “What are you doing here?” you asked your mother.

“Can we talk?”

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @tracysnook @Ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato @scrappybear89 @dlwrish @what-ever-man213

327 notes · View notes

the-yippeee-farm · 2 months

Text

this hasn’t been proof read or anything at all i just wanted to go on a vent about wilbur because hes made me so fucking angry and disgusted

i dont want to talk about it, (i proceeded to go on a rant sorry) but to say at the least im so disgusted and disappointed by this and feel so utterly angry upset and betrayed

honestly i REALLY used to look up to wilbur and it hurts me to say it now. he inspired so much from me, i started learning guitar to be like him and learn lovejoy songs, i spent HOURS APON HOURS watching his vods and videos and streaming his music, i made fanart of him, i watched edits and read fanfics (by my mutuals) of him, his fandom supplied me so much JOY and COMFORT, i gained so many true and real friends through his community, he helped me so so much, he made me happy, he gave me comfort, he was my safe space, and the fact after all this he hurt someone, he ABUSED someone hurts ME too.

and to SHELBY, SHUBBLE!! of ALL people (nobody deserves abuse but im just saying that) shelby is SO lovely and SO sweet and kind to everyone, i grew up watching ldshadowlady, smallishbeans, shubble, grian, geminitay, mumbo jumbo and other minecraft youtubers of that sort, i grew up watching shubble

and the fact wilbur, the person who encouraged me and helped me get through so much, HURT, PHYSICALLY HURT, this girl i held close to my heart as a GOOD part of my childhood makes me genuinely want to sob.

a person who (prior to my knowledge of the abuse) gave me comfort and friends and laughter and intrests, hurt someone who built who i am today, hurt someone who was a major part of my childhood, hurt someone who didn’t fucking deserve to get hurt

and not to mention his mother fucking ‘apology’ that was NOT an apology, “ohhhh ive changed ive had therapyyyy wooahhh” and “im genuinely sorry that i hurt you shelby i should never have been such a disgusting piece of scum, i dont expect you or anyone to accept this apology but i truely am sorry (+ more real apologies)” are VERY different

and the fact he’s saying HE had therapy, like good for you whore. good for you. guess what?!?! shubble went to therapy too xx you know why?? because of the pain YOU caused her because of the physical and mental pain you left her with. even if you have changed, which you clearly havent as i can tell from your apology, DOES NOT mean she isnt and wasnt hurt

and all the people defending him, “oh innocent until proven guilty right??” “is there any hard evidence? how do we know its true” “he apologised, everyone makes mistakes” no. NO. that is NOT how it works, this is domestic abuse, and in aimsey’s words this isnt some fucking twitter drama that will blow over in a few days, this is real life, this is real people

content creators are NOT just entertainment for you to enjoy as if your watching some dumb anime, content creators are REAL people who make REAL mistakes (as does everyone, although some peoples mistakes are worse than others *cough cough wilbur cough cough*) and their CRIMES should be accounted for as such, cc’s will put on a mask, cc’s will give you a fake persona, because its ENTERTAINMENT!! the things you see are just entertainment, and just because thats all you get to see doesnt mean thats who they are behind the screen, or off camera

speaking of how cc’s are real people im just gonna quickly mention how they are not just characters you can ‘ship’ for some twisted idea of fun, and i know nobodys gonna read this but its fucking pissing me off, unless these creators have been confirmed dating and they confirmed they are ok with you ‘shipping’ them, DONT DO IT!! even if the cc’s say its okay, eg. dnf (i hate both of those creators but its an example), just because they are comfortable doesnt mean its normal or okay.

also just thinking back to wilburs content with the mindset of ‘fuck he actually abused someone’, he was manipulative and fucked up since the start, its like he wants to be the main character, its like he doesn’t want to consider someone elses feelings unless its on camera and will bring him more fame, i hate that. i hate that so so much.

wilbur has hurt to many people as it turns out, we were just too blinded and naive to see it, to notice it, and that makes me sick

wilbur was such a big inspiration to me as ive mentioned multiple times already, he was such a big inspiration so many of my (online) friends too, he stopped so many people from doing harm to themself, all the while harming someone i used to hold close to my heart (shelby <3)

also the part with how there was a safe word, that HE made, yet wilbur thought it was okay to blatantly just FUCKING IGNORE?? he hurt her MULTIPLE TIMES A DAY!! ignored the safeword and bit down harder MULTIPLE TIMES A DAY!!

he showed her bruises, proudly to their friends, he bit her, proudly in front of their friends, he joked about how it ALMSOT seemed like he abused her!! proudly. in front. of both of their friends.

not to mention the financial abuse was appalling, making her pay for almost all the food, pay for all the cleaning products, pay for all the flight tickets (and refuse to fly to visit her), pay for pretty much everything. she was loosing money, she talked to him about that, she was loosing so much money, he ignored that

and speaking of cleaning products, apparently he told a friend behind shubbles back that he NEVER cleaned when shelby wasnt there, he just waited for shelby to fly over to the uk for visits to clean his home, EVEN WHEN THERE WAS MOLD GROWING he didnt clean it, he waited long enough that SHUBBLE had to fix it SHUBBLE had to clean it

and the fact shelby didnt even tell us HALF what was going on is INSANE!! from what i know already (a limited amount) this is already appalling, im considering leaving the fandom all together and i think i just might (other than aimsey and guqqie) because i cant deal this this, i regret ever supporting him, ever watch his content

wilbur has given everyone so much bullshit for ages we were just to brainwashed by ourselves and our little hyper fixations to realise what a dickhead he is

#wilbur soot #wilbursoot #mcyt #wilbur mcyt #wilbur #shubble #shelby #shelby grace #shubble shelby #shelby shubble

30 notes · View notes

missmeinyourbones · 2 years

Note

just read your drabble about gojo not having eaten this whole time, and i’m so glad i wasn’t the only one thinking of that 😭😭

i wonder what kind of thoughts he’s having :’(

the urge to spoon feed him only the best food in the world is so strong :’

as sad as it makes me think, i also like to think about the reunion 😋 hehe what do you think a reunion with unsealed gojo would be like?

aaaahhhh thank u for asking this!!! ive been thinking about it lol T-T that drabble makes me so sad, so i've been wanting to elaborate on it regarding the reunion (super rough and not proofread or edited but enjoy the crumbs <3)

a/n: part two of this, spoilers of shibuya arc, not proofread or edited

…

you weren’t there when it happened.

when he was released, you were home. truthfully, you didn’t leave home often anymore. there was no want for it, no need—besides checking in on megumi and the rest of jujutsu high, you stayed inside.

the apartment remained untouched for weeks. satoru’s dirty laundry that still smelt of him stayed sitting in the hamper. the bedsheets, unwashed since he last slept spread across them. the meal you’d made, the one he never got to try, remains packed away in tupperware in the back of the fridge.

it all happened so fast.

after being released he was immediately taken to the school. he was quickly checked out by shoko for any damage or harm. he was debriefed on everything that happened, of all the carnage and wreckage. it didn't feel real to him. he couldn't think straight, couldn't sit still, couldn't do anything. until he was back home, with you. there was no phone call, no warning or update. suddenly, he was just there.

teleporting into your living room within a split second, he stands shaking above the couch where you sleep. he admires you—skin sickly pale, under eyes dark from lack of sleep and constant tears, body frail from not eating, not taking care of yourself.

and still, as satoru whimpers and sobs admiring your sleeping state, he thinks you look as beautiful as you did the day he first met you.

his sniffles and ragged breaths are what wake you, and you think you're dreaming. hallucinating. because he’s here, in front of you, when it shouldn't be possible. when he should be in that box, rotting away like a forgotten memory.

"satoru," you call out, but it’s more of a question, one of is it really you? or am i imagining this?

and his voice weakly falling from your lips is all it takes for him to be smothering you, gripping you as tightly as he can. he cradles your head and feels your arms, hands, neck, any piece of you he can grab. he feels for your breathing, forgetting his own as he gasps and shudders through tears.

"i'm here, oh my god you're here, i'm here. i'm sorry, i love you. i'm so fucking sorry," he babbles and cries, kissing you, touching you, desperate and pathetic as he needs to know that this is real. not a cruel trick from the seal or an everlasting purgatory.

"we're here, we're okay. i love you, we're okay," you shakily reassure him. you feel his hair tickle your fingers like it used to. you feel his teeth graze your ear like they used to. it’s him, undeniably and in the flesh.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry—”

"why are you apologizing?"

"i'm so sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry," the apologizes rush from his lips like a river flowing downstream. he can’t stop himself, he’s out of breath, sobbing and shaking as he continues.

"hey, satoru, look at me," you hold his face in your palms, but his eyes are insatiable. scanning over your frame manically as he continues to pant and hyperventilate.

you try again, "there is nothing to be sorry for, satoru, none of what happened was your fault."

"i'm sorry i—" he pauses, finally looking into your eyes, "i didn't get to eat dinner with you, didn't get to taste it—"

"i'll remake it.” you assert, desperate to calm his fears in any way you can, “i'll make it again, okay?" he tries to follow along, taking a slow and shaky inhale as he watches the way your lips enunciate the words, "are you hungry?"

satoru looks at you, drinking all of you in, as if his eyes can’t move over your frame quick enough. as if he’s searching every freckle, scar, blemish, scab, to see if there’s anything new. to see if he’s missed anything. if you’re the same you.

with tears silently spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks, into the crevices of his neck and your fingers, he nods.

"m'fucking starving."

his response has you laughing through your own tears, and then suddenly, he’s laughing—because you’re laughing. and the two of you stand in your home, holding onto one another for dear life as you cry out of far too many emotions—grief, comfort, want, need.

"okay," you nod, drinking in the blue of his eyes, "we can eat," you promise. "can you help me make it?" you ask, and it’s a simple question, one that’s supposed to ground him, distract him from his uneven breathing and the heavy mourning that is soon to set in with reality.

"okay." he’s quick to nod his head at your words, "here,” he clarifies, as if he’s reminding, convincing himself that yes, he’s here, with you. he kisses you once more, it’s shaky and wet and yet there is so much love in it that you think you might suffocate,

“yeah, okay," he breathes life into your lungs. he’s here, with you.

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo blurb #satoru blurb #satoru drabble #gojo drabble

865 notes · View notes

phoeebsbuffay · 9 months

Text

Imagine “Star Wars” special edition: songs part IV.

• Rewrite the Stars

Imagine you and Anakin rewrite your destines…

Warnings: loosely based in “Rewrite the Stars” from “The Greatest Showman”.

Warnings 2: drama, fluff.

(based on the request of @strawberrystrangers)

***

How it started…

You and Anakin first met when both of you were children and aspiring to be Jedis. Toddlers as you were, you were merely Padawans who were figuring out what was your place in this new, different world.

“How can an angel like you be a slave too?”, he asked you when you two fled from the hawking eyes of Master Windu. He was holding your hand back then and you liked how he always behave as if he was the savior of your grace.

Not only that but the moment he found out you two shared a common back ground (both of you had a difficult childhood, although you leant far more into kindness and forgiveness despite your hurting scars than he did; both of you never knew your fathers; both of you had such a level of Force that impressed the Jeds who took you under your wig… and what perhaps was most impressive was that both of you were brought to Coruscant by Master Qui-Gon Jinn), all changed for him.

Yet you couldn’t really tell he was already mesmerized by your y/c skin, y/c hair, the color of y/c that painted your irises. Or how good your heart was, how pure you were. You just thought he was being kind to you, even though he was not as kind to other children.

Regardless, what was an innocent spark of a genuine friendship would slowly turn into attachment and, why not, something deeper as the years went by.

***

Years later.

Right before your trials, you and Anakin were flying secretly around Coruscant. It was late evening and your Masters were away to resolve some incident concerning Mandalore.

“This is where the fun begins”, he told you mischievously.

“Ani! You promised you wouldn’t…pilot…this… FAAAAAAST!”, you screamed the moment he turned the ship around and ensured to fly as fast as he could, much to your dismay.

But when he slowed down, you were both bursting into silly giggling.

“I hate you”, you told him, breathless, after snapping his arm a few times.

“Hate is not the Jedi way”, he mused sarcastically.

Why so suddenly when he smiled at you like that you swooned?

Uh-oh.

You turned your face away so he wouldn’t have a glimpse of how easily made your face go bright pink. But Anakin saw it. And what he saw definitely melted his heart’a barriers.

But this was not the most appropriate moment to navigate in the waters of the heart. Not when he was taking you to fly throughout the stars, even though it was too much a risk to leave Coruscant.

Eventually, though, you two were back to the Jedi Temple and you took him right to ceiling, where you could go through a secretive ladder to climb outdoors and watch the stars.

It was your usual secret spot.

“It’s cold”, you remarked, shivering as you took your seat.

“Come here and I’ll get you warm”, said Anakin, making you giggle. “What? I’m serious.”

As you sat next to him, almost at an once you are involved in his arms. You liked how comfortable he was, how cozy it was to sit on the floor and stare into the brightest stars, enjoying the silence that surrounded you both…all the whilst you were enjoying each other’s company.

“You know, after we are properly done with these bloody trials, I would like to take you somewhere…”, so Anakin mused out of the blue.

You were so caught off your guard that even though you were sat down, you managed to lose your balance, nearly making you fall onto his lap. Anakin couldn’t help himself but laugh his ass off.

“Why on earth are you laughing at me for?”

“You are lovely, that is all.”

There was a mere moment where again another silence hanged comfortably between the two of you. Anakin was glancing towards you, praying the Maker you’d finally understand what he’s been trying to tell you.

And when you did… Your heart skipped a beat.

Could it be?

“Ani…Don’t look at me like that”, you whispered, the sound of your voice leaving cut from your lips.

You watched as he enlaced your hands, interlocking your fingers.

“No one has to know.”

“What if…”

You didn’t realize you were dangerously close to him. His scent, however, was like a spell. You tried to be reasonable, fear of the consequences marching against your heart in an evident intern battle.

“What if we fly? Uh? Don’t be afraid, angel. I’m here to silence your insecurities, to guard you well, to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

And just like that your lips were sealed.

***

• Nowadays.

At times, more frequently than perhaps you’d like to admit, you wonder how on earth Obi-Wan and your Master H/N never found out about you and Anakin.

Years have ran since the day you were delightedly surprised by Anakin’s corresponding to your sentiments and yet, your relationship remains a secret to the Jedis—even Ahsoka has no idea what’s been going on between you two.

But this play pretend is tiresome, is getting the best of you sometimes. Every concern when Anakin leaves you to fight away some enemy in a far away planet must be swallowed inside. You deal with it yourself and that is it. Anakin, likewise; but his recklessness often makes him after you.

Today, though, it’s one of those days where Master H/N told you to rest. You’ve been plagued with anxiety, however, as no news of Anakin—who had been chasing after Count Dooku with Obi-Wan—have reached your knowledge.

You decide to sleep, exhausted after your last mission concerning Ventress, resulting in her defeat once and for all, although you were left with new battle scars. But your mind takes you instead to a worst scenario than you’d ever come to picture.

As your eyes close, you dream with fire and volcano. The heat is unbearable to breathe, and one could wonder how one would live in such an environment.

This hell of place stages a major battle. The sound of sabers is familiar to you and it almost draws you unwillingly to the opponents who face each other ferociously. The redhead man is easy to spot: it’s Obi-Wan Kenobi and the next one is…

No. It cannot be.

You gasp for air and for a moment that pair of yellow eyes meet yours and there is absolutely no recognition of who you are.

This is precisely the instant you wake, bathed in salt tears. The dream is no ordinary, this you know. But is it possible to change it?

Anakin, where are you?

You decide to go outdoors, in need of fresh air. You pull your clothes, hoping to find him soon—and some part of you knows he’s about to land, your skin senses it.

You find yourself running, reason clouded by the dream that has distressed you. Often a careful lass, you are careless. Though your steps are silent, they give in your signature. But so far everyone else is too asleep to notice the urgency of your spirit.

And here he is—but not alone. By his side is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Seeing the two of them shoulder-on-shoulder appeases the angst that chokes your throat. And Anakin does not take long to notice you, carrying in his eyes something you cannot identify: what’s there to be seen, relief or eagerness?

You don’t know. But what’s to make all worse is that you unconsciously leave to the shadows so Obi-Wan doesn’t take a glimpse of you. Instead, you move to your secretive spot, still troubled by the dream..but also by your last mission, by a lot of unresolved sentiments.

Anakin knows. He’s sensed your disturbance from afar, strong is the link the two of you share. And now he’s excused of his master’s presence under the pretense of sleeping early, the Jedi knows where to find you.

“Y/Nickname…”

“Ani”, you mumble his name, not running to his arms like you used to do.

With furrowed brows, Anakin joins you, forcing you to look at him.

“What’s the matter? Darkness doesn’t fit you.”

“I haven’t slept well. How was the mission?”, you are resting your face on your knees as you look at him.

His hair is longer, his face now has a scar—acquired precisely when he slipped from the tub, a memory you struggle not to laugh to this day—, his muscles are better shaped, every inch a grown man with nothing to remind you of the reckless and grumpy child you’ve once known.

His eyes, however, hold a spark to something to you unknown, and it’s a dangerous invitation to dive in…

“Don’t do that, love”, says Anakin, holding your face gently with his hands so that way he can be dragged into the depths of your soul. “Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong with you? You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself.”

You hate how smooth he is when he wants to, so easily he knocks your defenses down.

“You wouldn’t understand”, you mumble softly. “There is just too much I can’t even decipher.”

“Try me, my darling. You should know by now you can trust in me”, he rests his forehead against yours, his fingers softly wiping away your tears. “What is it you fear?”

“To lose you”, words are blunted out of you before you know. “To be left alone in this world.”

You close your eyes, hands hesitantly resting over his shoulders all the whilst you feel his puzzled gaze casted at you.

“You know I always wanted you. You live in my heart, you are my destiny. I was meant to be with you as you were meant to be with me.” His lips brush against yours, speaking vows like the bent man he is to you by the pained love he aches for you.

“How can you say you’re mine when everything keeps us apart? We are tied to this Order, and what is else there is a greater danger out there that could keep you from me.” These words are sobbed out as if you are trying to remove a dagger from under your skin.

Anakin looks at you, eyes pained for seeing you distressed. He tries not to read into your thoughts, rather trying to make you speak out what’s troubling you instead.

“Dear dove, sweet princess of mine, I pledge once again that your heart be trusted into my hands. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make you not feel this misery that has been plaguing your lovely spirits.”

As you raise your eyes, you eventually give in. You tell him the darkest dream ever so realist that has taken away the little pieces of peace you’ve been trying to purchase ever since you defeated Ventress.

You don’t realize you’ve been putting out with your own traumas until another sob leaves you and you are engulfed by Anakin’s strong arms.

He realizes that the whole secrecy of your relationship has been damaging you both, besides the usual stress. As Anakin starts to weight the cons and pros of staying in Order, the mere possibility that you have to live hurt as you have been outweighs every other question that his mind considered.

“I think I have a solution for us”, he mumbles, insecure at first as if the Jedi is chewing this idea.

You glance up at him, confused.

“Ani? What are you talking about?”

“What if we rewrite stars? What if we toss away all of this hopelessness that seems to engulf us into an endless circle of misery?”

He slowly smiles, watching your reaction as you begin to comprehend what he means.

“Are you suggesting…”

“…that I want to fly with you? That I want to fall with you? That I want to make possible what it seemed impossible before? Aye, lass. I am.”

So many news at once but the gloom in your heart finally sets loose the grip on it.

“Well?”, Anakin knows what your answer is going to be, but he is anxious to hear from you.

You throw your hands around his neck and kiss his lips, sensing the shadows dissipating at long last.

“Nothing will keep us apart anymore.”

“We are going to be free. This I promise you”, he vows you softly.

To the Dark Forces lurking nearby, every plan dies unspoken…

***

Destiny rewritten.

You watch Anakin playing at the yard with the twins as you pat your belly, head resting against the door’s frame. Peace is restored, there is balance and your nightmare has been just that, a nightmare.

“Fate can be changed”, you hear Obi-Wan address you. He’s been a regular visitor, specially after figuring out the reason why so sudden you and Anakin left the order.

In truth, neither Yoda nor Palpatine could predict that your decision would interfere in the clonic wars, being the principal element why the Chancellor was eventually defeated.

“It is the point of the free will after all”, you tell him gladly. “In the end, I had this dream to be thankful for.”

“Some dreams within the right people can be a good mix”, the Jedi Master agrees, eyes still glued on Anakin and his children. “Seeing this happy is worth all. What saddens me is that we could have failed in preventing his fall.”

You turn gently at Obi-Wan and pat his shoulder friendly, smiling.

“Do not blame yourself, Master. We all had roles to play and this is completely fine. What matters is that Palpatine is defeated once and for all.”

“This is an undeniable truth, my dear”, he agrees.

As you leave him with cookies and teas, you turn to your husband, who comes to greet you with Luke over his shoulders, Leia and Soka on his arms. You are still surprised by how strong he is.

“How is my family doing today?”, you inquire happily as you kiss Anakin amidst the children’s “eeeew”, which makes you giggle.

“Very good, why thank you, Mrs Skywalker”, he smiles widely at you whilst telling you the mischiefs he’d been up to with the children.

Seeing that they have visitors, Anakin now drags them back home, so they can meet “Grandpa Ben”. A perfect ending for a far better scenario you could’ve ever dreamed of.

#star wars #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #hayden christensen #alternative universe #anakin skywalker x female reader #Anakin Skywalker x y/n #Anakin x you #imagine Star Wars #rewrite the stars #the greatest showman

89 notes · View notes