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gracieheartspedro · 4 months

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About You

how to help gaza

pairing: colin bridgerton x f!reader, brief benedict bridgerton x reader action

description: finally ready to get off the marriage mart, your family arranges a marriage to a bridgerton. but not the one you have always desired.

word count: 2.4k words

author’s note: hiiii folks. this is part one so more coming soon. I wrote it in an hour after I watched pt1 of season 3. I only edited it a couple times. plus there’s a lack of colin content on this website. so i’m here, filling the void ❤️

You had waited for this night your whole life. The night you would be proposed to.

Your mother had ensured you wore your finest gown, a soft purple dress with beautiful sparkles and embellishments. She even gifted you a necklace your grandmother had worn the night of her engagement.

It was a huge moment for everyone involved. But you could not help but feel a pit in your stomach. You wanted to call them nerves, but it was more so you knew you were making a mistake.

When you arrive at Lady Danbury’s estate, you and your parents step out of a horse-drawn carriage and into a beautifully decorated ball. The candles lined the entrance, and red and white roses encapsulated the entire space.

You did the typical introductions and curtsies. You thanked Lady Danbury for throwing such a captivating event for your special moment. She smiled and told you that it had to be mesmerizing for such anticipation. You felt light-headed thinking of all the eyes that would be on you tonight.

You found your way to the ballroom, where ladies and gentlemen alike were already dancing. You find your way around the room, instantly finding a group of ladies you had made acquaintance with before. The four of you chat and they all share that they cannot wait to watch the Bridgerton boy propose to you in front of the masses.

It makes you sick to your stomach.

You excuse yourself to find some lemonade on one of the many tables. You would prefer some champagne, but alcohol does not make it right for you. It does not allow any clarity. So, you stand alone, trying to collect your thoughts and not freak out too much before anything happens.

“There’s my gem.”

His voice is deeper when it’s right in one of your ringlet curls. It also doesn’t help that he’s saying it for your ears only, making the comment even more sensual.

Colin Bridgerton was terrible at being just your friend. He was always too close to you, always searching you out in a crowd, and constantly waiting around for you at social events.

He had been doing it for years before he disappeared on a world tour. You knew your time on the marriage mart was over when your mother and father, a Duke and Duchess, pulled aside Violet Bridgerton and begged her to pawn one of her sons off onto you. And while she would have easily convinced Colin, he was in Italy learning about The Pantheon and had stated he had no intentions marrying.

So, Benedict would have to do.

You turn to face the taller gentleman, ensuring your posture was fixed to that of a Lady.

“Mister Bridgerton, what do I owe the pleasure?” You falter to formalities, rather than your normal banter with him. You knew people would be watching you like a hawk, as tonight was the night Benedict was going to try to secure a proposal.

“I have not seen you in a year and suddenly you speaking to me as if I am a stranger,” His voice is confident, but his eyes read the same insecure boy you remember.

You let out a sly chuckle, “Well, we practically are at this point, are we not? You are the Ton’s most eligible bachelor as soon as you returned from your tour and I feel like the man gracing me with his presence is not the man I once knew.”

He seems taken aback by your comments, his face dropping a bit.

“I’ve been hearing whispers amongst the Ton that you’re getting a proposal,” He halts, taking a sip of the lemonade slid between his fingers, “From my brother?”

You hear the jealousy laced in his voice, but you try your best not to call him out on it. You turn around, still shoulder-to-shoulder with the man. “One can only hope, Mister Bridgerton. It would only be my pleasure to join the family.”

“As Benedict’s missus?”

You want to scream at him, but your trained politeness is engrained deep within every fiber of your being.

“Well, I have you know, that it was arranged by your Mama and my parents. It is simply a way to join our families. You know my Mama and yours have always taken to one another. I did not know you would have such an issue with it.”

Before he can say more, you spot Benedict across the ballroom chatting with Eloise and Francesca. He meets your eyes and gives you a curt nod and smirk. You nod back, knowing that he would approach you once the conversation concludes. You had this whole act down to a science.

Because that’s what it was for you. An act. A way to make your parents get off your back. It was no love match, it was only practical. Benedict was a gentleman, into the arts, comfortable with moving away from the city. He was everything you needed, just not what you wanted.

“I leave for a bit of time and suddenly my own brother is courting my best friend,” Colin groans, shifting in his spot. You return your gaze back to him, trying to understand why tonight had to be the night that he fought for you. The term best friend had a bite to it, as well. While you were a lady, you had already shared a kiss with a few boys, including Colin. While you two were underage and not able to make such distinct decisions on marriage, you knew that the feelings you had for him were shared.

What was so frustrating was that he could never actually confess such feelings. You could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way, but the words never slipped his lips. He only shot flirtations at you and then there was no action as a follow-up. It made your mind race and spin. You started to believe that it was not flirtations at all and it was all just teasing.

“I think you are missing out on the key point in your conjecture, Colin,” You lick your lips, moving only a bit closer to him so no one can hear your words, “You left me. I stayed here and pondered what another season would be like without you. And of course, at the very end of such an event, you decide to be cruel.”

“How am I being cruel, Miss? I am simply stating that you are choosing someone I care about for expedience and not for love.”

“You are being cruel by approaching me and acting like you are even half aware of the circumstances you are speaking of.”

He chuckles, trying not to entertain your comments. “I am well aware that you have always wanted a love match. You know that is not what you are getting with Benedict, Gem.”

Your throat tightens because you know he is right. You have dreamed of a love match since you were a precocious child, enduring all the teasing him and Eloise about it.

And you knew deep down that the love match you wanted was with him.

The damn nickname he gave you years ago continues to get a rise. You can feel your face get flushed, the heat rising all the way down your neck and chest.

“Who said I needed a love match, Mister Bridgerton?!”

You never meant to be loud, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize everyone staring your way. You had seriously messed up.

Colin did not even look away from your completely shell-shocked expression. He was not focused on the glares and whispers, he only cared that the woman he was in love with was about to marry his brother. He could not let that happen.

The feeling of embarrassment made every part of your body jittery. You decided that the exit seemed like the best option, so you made your way past everyone and ran to the back garden of the Danbury estate. The flowers that lined the railings made the tears in your vision sparkle like fireworks.

You try your best to suppress the useless waterworks, but the emotions get the best of you. You felt humiliated that you had to explain your motives to a man who hardly knew you anymore. What does he know?

You find a corner to hide in, making sure your face is hidden away from the exit. When you hear footsteps approach, you pray it’s not a Bridgerton. Sadly, you’re disappointed.

“What did Colin say to you?”

You remove your cream glove, ensuring no tear touches such an expensive fabric. You needed to collect yourself a bit before turning to face Benedict. So you dab your eyes with your fingertips and spin to face him. He looks concerned, his hand reaching for yours.

“I am so sorry, Lord Bridgerton. He got the better of me and he still knows how best to irritate me,” your eyes well up again with tears, “I do apologize for not being more put together.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Do not apologize. I expected him to be a bit tormented by the whole situation.”

You furrow your brows, quizzically. “What ever do you mean?”

“Well, he told my Mama last season that he did not want to marry because you were courting Lord Jacques. That is why he left early for his travels.”

The revelation makes your heart skip a beat, “Why would him marrying have anything to do with me?”

You try to play dumb so maybe you could get more out of the man, but instead of answering you, he just shakes his head. His focus drops, and as soon as you lose fixation on his actions, you notice Colin loitering around the exit. You drop Benedict’s hand and sidestep to get the man in your line of vision.

“You have never been good at hide and seek, Mister Bridgerton,” You say with spite, “Step into the light.”

His slow meander only makes you more angry.

“Now, why is my brother alone with my best friend in the garden? Seems like a scandal waiting to happen.”

Benedict snickers, “Seems like we were never alone, brother. You appear to be around every waiting corner.”

You cross your arms, annoyed with both men and sick of the mortification. You could not help but appreciate Benedict’s snarky nature, it has always thrown Colin off his game. You clear your throat, bringing their eyes to you.

“I wish to understand why you lied to me about leaving early last season.”

Colin’s disposition changes as soon as you say it. Last season, Colin left abruptly and wrote you saying it was because of a learning opportunity in Vienna. You took his word for it, but based on what Benedict had just told you, that was a lie.

“Pardon m-”

“Colin, why did you lie about leaving the season early?”

“Gem, I really do not know where you got this information.”

“Oh, give me a break, Colin. You told me and Anthony that you did not wish to marry unless a girl like her came around. When you realized she was interested in another, you left.”

Colin races forward, grabbing onto the man to your left. He tugs his vest coat and brings him inches from his own face. The action rattles you, but you remain composed.

“I told you that in confidence!”

“And you are making her upset with your mind games! If you had just said what your heart’s truth was, you would be the one celebrated tonight. Instead, you stand by and fume over a woman you can no longer have.”

Colin clenches his teeth, “Who said I can no longer?”

Your stomach flips, unsure of how Colin could be so possessive of you. Benedict seems shocked as well because he nudges the man off of him and glances over at you. You realize that this is Colin’s way of confessing his intentions, but you cannot believe that he has to say it on the night of your engagement.

“You are brazen to concur such a thing.”

Colin finally looks at you, taking note of your shaky voice. “So, you are going to marry him?”

The unsettle in your heart has never gone away ever since you were told about the arrangement. You knew that your heart was telling you to run the other way, but you did not want to let down your family. You had taken kindly to Benedict, promenading almost every other day to get to know one another.

“I have not been asked yet, so I am not quit-”

Colin steps forward taking your hand, “What if I asked you first? Would you accept me? My hand, I mean?”

Benedict steps forward, touching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Gem, will you marry me?”

A tear slips past your lashes, your heart just about exploding within your chest. Colin’s eyes are desperate, pleading with you. You are not sure what to say, every possible word escaping you.

You realize you are panting, the breath leaving your lips labored in panic. You flick your sights over to Benedict, who is stunned but not trying to get Colin to retract his query. You revert your gaze back to Colin’s deep blue eyes.

“Why now?”

He takes a deep breath, “Because I am absolutely useless with my emotions and I have only humiliated myself when I express them. I did not think you would ever consider my hand and had I known that you thought kindly of me I would have told you the first moment you debuted. But I cowered in silence, hoping the emotions I have felt since I was a child would subside. But I have searched every corner of this world and I did not find one lady that made me feel the same emotions I feel when I even just look your way. I hate that it took me so long to realize that you are the only woman I will ever really… love.”

The confession is exactly what you need to change your mind. Because you felt the exact same way. All this time you have been running from the emotions you felt every moment Colin stared in your direction. You thought them immature and vain. But every time you watched him dance with another, the fire within you would burn. You were sick of loving him from far away.

“The Ton believes me to be promised to Benedict. The embarrassment he will suffer if I accept your proposal could be deafening-”

“Do not worry about me, Miss,” Benedict says, pacing with his hands on his hips, “I could never fully live with myself coming between two lovers. I only waiting for him to realize what we have all been subjected to the last 3 years.”

Colin smirks at him, “And what’s that?”

“The torture of loving someone and not giving in to temptation.”

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x female reader #colin bridgerton smut #netflix #gracieheartspedro #colin bridgerton one shot #penelope featherington #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton

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mctoran · 17 days

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If you are a fan of The Backrooms, then you may be familiar with the lore of The Pantheon and Convergence. If not, then you may at least be familiar with entities such as The Game Master, The Keymaster, Blanche/The Storyteller, Nostalgi Gaius, Argos/Argus, The Red Knight/Crimson Wanderer, Icarus Procidens, etc. If you want a better idea, you can check the posts under the “backrooms pantheon” and/or “backrooms convergence” tags.

Even if you know about none of those things, but simply enjoy The Backrooms lore, then you may be interested in these two new wikis:

They are The Backrooms: Pantheon and The Backrooms: Convergence. They are functionally independent of each other, telling their own unique stories about two whole different universes with their own rich and deep lore – but they do nonetheless tie into each other as part of a greater narrative. They are primarily character-driven and story-driven, including many well-known concepts in the existing Backrooms mythos, but still strive to maintain and recapture the liminality that The Backrooms is rooted in. As the original creator/owner of this lore, I founded these wikis so that my full, true vision for them could be properly expressed with full creative freedom.

However, we cannot do this alone. We are in need of authors, artists, coders, or even just readers/fans in order to expand the community and realize its full potential. Unlike other backrooms wikis, there is no elitism or gatekeeping, and the barrier to entry/writing is lower – but not at the expense of quality, dignity or reputation. Posting a page is much faster and easier, but drafts are still closely reviewed and regulated to ensure quality in the writing and consistency in the lore. There is no enforced age limit, but a certain degree of maturity and competency is expected from everyone. The ultimate goal is to cultivate a thriving community of those who are all passionate about the stories and characters of this universe, and in turn can reflect that passion in whatever they may produce for it.

If you are at all interested, then please check out the linked sites above, or even join the tumblr community and discord server (linked below). All are welcome, readers/fans and prospective contributors alike. We hope you are willing to give it a chance!

#the backrooms #backrooms #backrooms fanart #backrooms pantheon #backrooms convergence #the red knight #argos #entity 99 #the keymaster #entity 140 #nostalgi gaius #icarus procidens #liminal #liminal spaces #creepypasta #scp #scp foundation

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sun-snatcher · 1 month

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Wish. If u give me a Part 2 of your Gambit fic with ❛ we'll just have to make do. ❜ where they both make it out of the Void together I will kiss u on the mouth rn I PROMISE u. Or a hug. Whichever works. PLS I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM🙏🏼😫

♧ ⎯ ‘LIMBO LOSERS’ CLUB

summ. The TVA extends an olive branch. Wade’s Universe becomes home. Above all, you’re just thankful you’re not alone in this Multiversal mess. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established in #WELUCKYFEW) w.count. 1.6k a/n. Shirtless Channing + romantic hand tension. That's it. That's the tweet. ( Continuation of this imagine! )

YOU SURVIVE ALIOTH.

That’s the first surprise.

The second?

The Time Variance Authority want to help, now.

( Granted, it’d mostly been Wade who did the gruntwork of sending Elektra and Blade back to their Universes, but he had hit a wall when it came to you and Gambit considering you two were— according to him: “A coked up version of being homeless. Universe-less.” )

So here you are, a stray of the Multiverse, standing on the platform of a mid-century aestheticised monitor room somewhere outside the constraints of time, trying not to double over from the vertiginous aftermath of being thrown through Wade’s weird orange warbling door of space.

TemPad, he’d called the device. Or… something. You’re half-sure you have a concussion, to be honest.

Alioth had done a number on you.

Remy’s concerned.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Wade says, mask rolled up to his nose. (There’s a spoon and plate of key lime pie in his hands. You’re not even sure where he got it from.) “Where did Gambit come from? How come he just spawned into the MCU’s metaphysical Backrooms?”

“Candidly, he is a unique case.”

Remy pulls his gaze from you to Hunter B-15.

“You, Mr. LeBeau, are the prime example of a Variant that’s borne from a timeline decaying just as quickly as it was formed. A rare type that fades instantly without unnatural interference, because an Anchor failed to develop.”

One of the CRT screens zip to a retro rubber-hose animated diagram: rapidly branching roots, ominous red flashing, and then an immediate blink into nothing. Talk about dramatic effect.

“Your Universe falls in the rare category of those that never managed to come into fruition; but sometimes— incredibly rarely— remnants just like you manage to slip through, and instead of ceasing to exist… Well, you automatically end up getting spit into the Void.”

A pause.

Then, from behind, Wade bursts into a cackle.

“Ha! Wow, she basically called you a discontinued fucking nobody,” he wheezes. “You’re quite literally the equivalent of a failed movie pitch that’s been forgotten on the floor of Feige’s writers’ room.”

Screens flicker.

Your breath hitches.

Versions of different Gambit’s play out in the monitor-wall, all alike and yet different in their individual realities. Some have black eyes. Some have top-hats (“Ah, that’s 2009 Origins,” Wade muses. “Do all Variants of you just have a beautiful face? I mean, it’s kinda unfair—”).

Some look like identical copies.

[EARTH-TRN2922].

It’s… your timeline.

Your friends in the Mutant war. Your Remy whose cards are scattered on the floor, blood in his hands, with you crumbling as you reach ou—

The Nine of Hearts in your pocket is impossibly heavy. You turn away to steel yourself.

( “Yeah, okay, enough lore recap. Jesus, you guys are more of a dick than I am; Read the room and turn that shit off,” Wade chides a passing agent. He gets it. He’d lost Vanessa once, too, and he’s not quite sure even he can relive that pain. )

“Mais non, y’not makin’ no sense t’me,” Remy says, confused, “I’ve got memories; means I’ve got history jus’ like my Variants. How y’gon’ explain that?”

“Gaps of memories you have— knowledge of places, people, events— that comes from fixed synchronicities shared in your Temporal Aura across all your Multiversal Variants.”

She’s met with slow, owlish blinks. Wade waves his hand in lazy dismissal.

“Forgive them. They didn’t watch Loki Season One or Two. Not that it matters, anyway. People barely understood what was going on.”

A sigh. “There’s no way to put this gently, Mr LeBeau,” B-15 concludes, tone dipping into something sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to say is that: you don’t have a Universe to go back to, because it never existed.”

She purses her lips as she catches his torn gaze. “I’m sorry.”

And that— That pisses you off.

“I’m… sorry?” you parrot, stepping forward. “That’s all you can say after everything that’s happened to us? His existence began with the Void, and my Universe was pruned by your agents. Innocent lives gone because your people decided they wanted to play God once upon a damn time—!”

“Pump the hate breaks, you stray,” Wade calls. "Why'd you think I brought the both of you here?"

You reluctantly withdraw.

“I can’t bring you home,” B-15 supplies, matter-of-fact. “But I can find a compatible timeline for you. For both of you. A safe do-over, if you will.”

Wade’s smile is coy.

The ‘Merc with a mouth’ has a home surprisingly… cozy.

Albeit a little tumbledown and messy with its wallpaper-torn brick walls and creaking hardwood floors— but, it’s charming. Lived in. He has a life here in this rickety two-bedroom apartment; framed photographs of friends and snatches of livelihood sit across dressers and are pasted against his magnet-crowded refrigerator.

Reminds you abit of your home, too.

“Listen,” chirps Wade’s voice, somewhere down the short hall to his room. “My advice? Save yourself the identity crisis and brain aneurysm. All this multiversal horse-crap was created just so that Marvel can write themselves out of any corner. Just sit there and be sexy for the readers, okay, Magic Mike?”

You’re halfway towards them when the doorbell rings.

“Ooh! That must be the pizza I ordered. Or Blind Al. Or Logan.” Wade pops out to sidle past you with a wink and a whispered: “Who knows, really? This is just the part of the story where I conveniently disappear so you and Cajun Tatum here can share a moment.”

You don’t quite understand— but you’ve learned to not bother attempting when it comes to him.

Your knock is soft against the doorframe.

“Hey.”

Beside a lone corner of the bed, Remy turns to look over his shoulder.

He’s fresh out the shower— faded towel tied around his waist, brown hair still damp and dripping water down his bare chest. His old clothes have been draped over a desk chair.

You try not to stare, but—

But.

He’s handsome. Devilishly so, with the bruises sweeping across the flex of all his stupidly lean, corded muscles.

You always had a thing for roguish-looking men.

“Hi,” he says, knowingly. ( It’s a dulcet croon, if anything. Cheeky bastard. ) “Y’okay? Got y’self cleaned up.”

Remy watches you gather yourself with a quick clear of your throat, pull at the sleeves of the scratchy hoodie you’re now wearing that’s practically swallowing you whole.

You look rested. At ease.

…Pretty.

“Yeah. Showered. We don’t smell like ass anymore, that’s for sure,” you say, making a face.

And then you’re nodding over to the black-and-blue contusions blooming over his skin. “You know, I’m sure there’s something frozen in the icebox for that.”

“Icebox?”

You smile. “Yeah, that’s what you guys call it in Louisiana, right?”

“That we do, chèr,” he laughs. But it’s ducked down, quiet. Thin. “ ‘Least, I think so.”

You follow his downcast eyes to a small stack of folders— TVA files he easily thieved (unsurprisingly) from under their noses the moment he stepped foot into the room.

He’d skimmed the manila dossiers: Absolute Points. Anchor Beings. Variant Anomalies. Some names he’d recognised and some he didn’t, most stamped or blacklisted.

Pietro Maximoff. Edward Brock. Loki Laufeyson.

Remy LeBeau.

Some part of you crumples. It’s one thing to not be able to return to a Universe, and another to not have even had one.

“S’funny,” he chuckles dryly, picking his casefile up with a distant look, “My memories… I thought I’d done gon’ left a whole life behind me the entire time I been stuck in the Void— Friends. Family. An’ turns out the Void’s all I had.”

“Feels like…” he shrugs. Tries to piece his unmoored thoughts into something more cohesive. He’s never felt so horrifically adrift his entire life— whatever ‘entire life’ could mean for him now, anyway— not even when he'd been marooned in the barren wastelands of the Void.

“Feels like I ain’t real. Hell, I don’t know what is real, anymore, chèr. I don’t— I just don’t know. I don't know anythin'."

You shake your head in disagreement nigh instantly.

“No, no.” Pushing off the doorway, you cross the threshold with gentle admonishment lanced over your features. “You’re here. You are real.”

The room is small. The distance you share is… close. Just enough that you catch the scent of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo; Just enough that you can slide the documents out of his hands.

His fingers brush against yours.

He wonders if you’d felt the kinetic trill of energy run through him at the contact.

“Can I be honest, Remy?”

You look up at him.

“Mais oui, chèr. Y’can always be honest wit’ Gambit.”

You wave your hand at the TVA files. “I’m scared as shit being in a new Universe,” you blurt, truthfully. “This second chance means… a new life. New path. New everything. I don’t know what that’s like either and frankly, I am not prepared for this at all.”

You pause for a breath. “But for what it’s worth? I’m glad that you’re here. That’s… That’s about the only thing that I know.”

Then, as if dwarfed by the sheer vulnerability in your words, you take an awkward step back as you shrug. “And if you don’t feel the same, well. You and I, we’ll just have to make do, regardless.”

The sudden retreat is painfully endearing. Has him letting out a bright laugh that warms something nestled deep in your ribs.

“I’m glad I got you too, chèr,” he grins.

“Yeah?” You flash a smile, having found your way back to the door.

Remy’s eyes fall to your face— tarrying. He follows the flutter of your lashes, the slope of your cheek, the curl of your lips.

“…Yeah.”

Your idling, fond gaze sears him like a low-grade fever.

The thrum buzzes in hands, again.

Your Gambit really was blind, he thinks, just as you slip away and disappear around the corner.

His palm flexes open, and shut.

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dolliels · 1 month

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YOUR SHOUJO BOYFRIEND!

synopsis: you and the third years in a shoujo manga setting. how will the story proceed?

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! i posted this fic on my old account which i deleted. so uh yeah. also you are technically y/n but a different y/n in every story ok bye

trey clover [captain of the baseball team!]

drum roll please… presenting trey clover!!! the beloved captain of your high school’s baseball team!!! have you seen him? he’s so kind, and thoughtful… he’s really handsome and tall… lord… have you seen him in his baseball uniform?? his broad shoulders under the gentle light… all the girls are giggling about it!

you’ve also often found yourself following the smell of delicious baked goods… only to find the infamous trey clover handing pastries out to his entire team!! he can cook too?! you drool at the thought of tasting his already amazing-smelling food.

unfortunately, you and him are on different social levels. have you seen him? he’s constantly surrounded by people! the thought of even trying his food is out the window… nevertheless talking to him. you’re more quieter, with a solid, but small group of friends.

that doesn’t mean you or your friends aren’t a fan of him! every time there’s a baseball practice going on afterschool, the bleachers are filled with students alike, wanting to watch their favourite caption (+ the other members, ace and deuce are pretty popular too!) it’s often full of people so you haven’t gotten the chance to fully watch a practice game yet… not until a freezing winter afternoon.

there you were, at the front of the bleachers, with the best view you’ve gotten of any game so far! although cold and shivering, it’s fun to sit with you friends and watch them practice! although your eyes often stray to trey, it’s not like you’re not watching the other members of the team! you’ve talked to deuce before, he’s pretty nice! you wave at him sheepishly while rubbing your shoulders, trying to keep yourself warm.

trey clover is really nice as the rumours say. he’s been watching you the entire time, seeing you shivering, with rosy cheeks and a flushed expression, giggling and laughing with your friends. you’re like a lost puppy! something tugged at his heart in worry, you’re obviously cold.

during break, the other girls watched in envy as trey himself comes up to you and offers you his own scarf! wow! you and your friends silently cheer at the offer. trey couldn’t help but smile. how could the oh-so lovely trey clover not? he loves taking care of his classmates! whether they’re friends or not.

he waves it off, saying you can return it to him tomorrow. you smile at him, and clutch onto the scarf in gratefulness. trey is really a great guy! perhaps you have a chance at becoming friends with him…?

the next day, you bravely march towards trey, only to immediately turn back after seeing him surrounded by a bunch of people. uh oh. maybe you’d return the scarf to him another time. there’s too many people and you were afraid that you’ll get overwhelmed from the staring eyes.

the same thing happened the day after. then the day after that. this goes on for a month or so, until you and him get partnered for a project.

trey was confused the entire time. he’s seen you approach him and then promptly walk away. he though it was cute, but he didn’t understand why you couldn’t just give it to him.

you explained how you got nervous, seeing him surrounded by so many people, and finally gave him the scarf back on a quiet afternoon at the library, mid-science project. he chuckled and heartily accepted this. hence you made a new friend!

trey never seemed to be aware that he’s often surrounded by many people at almost all times. now that you (lowkey) knocked him into reality, he often found himself suddenly alone. trey liked his friends, as well as his alone time. but maybe he was too alone at the moment because he slowly seemed to be attaching himself to you. you were so much more comfortable, definitely less overwhelming compared to being surrounded by so much people. he’s starting to enjoy your company now.

you, however, seemed to be confused as to why he’s suddenly following you. it’s trey clover we’re talking about! the school’s prince charming…!!!

when you asked him, he simply said it was a nice change of pace. what does that even mean??? does he perhaps…? no!! there’s no way!!! you shake your head, panic-stricken. stop being delusional!!!

one crisp morning, trey found you with bandages all over your fingers. are you okay??? what happened??? did you get in a fight??? did you study too hard???

you shake your head, flustered. “it’s not a big deal” you say, smiling. “just some accidents in the kitchen. it’s well taken care of.”

trey sighs. maybe he should start helping you in the kitchen… I mean, he considers himself a pretty decent cook… and he hasn’t baked a sweet treat for you yet!

a while later, as trey started getting gifts from all kinds of people did he start connecting the dots. that’s right… today’s valentine’s day! you probably injured yourself trying to making something for the guy you wanted to confess to. he chuckled. you should’ve just asked him and he would’ve helped you no problem! maybe you just felt shy to ask because he was also a guy…

he tried looking for you, wanting to ask about who this special someone is, only to find you to be nowhere. huh. that’s odd. you were at school this morning… right?!

confused, dazed and guilty about rejecting all those girls today, he opened to his shoe locker to find a cute bag with a bow on it fall to the ground.

he only receives outright confession, never quiet, secret ones like this. this is almost like…

his eyes widen and his ears flush red as he reads your confession letter. oh. he thinks. oh dear.

taking a bite out of your heart shaped cookie, he feels a cavity already forming. it’s too sweet! but no matter, he’ll throughly brush his teeth when he gets home… the only thing on his mind walking home is finishing your (kinda failure?) baked goods and wondering how he should tell you he feels the same way… maybe baking you something too?

cater diamond [social media pretty boy]

selfie, after selfie, after selfie… you mindlessly scroll on cater diamond’s magicam. he’s so photogenic it’s insane. the light always seems to hit the right angle, his eyes are gleaming and childlike… he’s smiling… so handsome.

your finger has hovered over the ‘message’ button on his profile many times, but you sigh to yourself. he probably gets hundreds of dms a day. you’re probably just another number to his follower count. also, hitting someone up online? that’s super unromantic.

you’ve seen cater at school a bunch of times. he’s always taking pictures or flirting with some girl who’s ten times more prettier than you. you have no chance at all! the local celebrity has no time for the likes of you!!!

he’s fun, he’s loud, he’s eccentric… he’s so interesting! you would love to get to know this side of him. little did you know…

you were shuffling through books in the school library during lunch. you forgot to do an assignment and had to hurry before your next class… only to find cater diamond, slumped in a corner, asleep!

it just so happens that the book you wanted was right beside him. as you try to slowly pull the book out, he wakes up. oh no.

he stares at you, wide eyed, before dazing out and leaning his head back. you slowly sat beside him and flipped through the pages, eating your lunch and finishing up your assignment. it was well needed peace and quiet for cater.

that night, you opened your phone to find a pleasant surprise.

cater diamond started following you.

you’ve find to notice a pattern. during lunch, cater could always be at the library, slumped and dazed. no one comes here during lunchtime, except for students who could care less about the mini-celebrity cater diamond. you always assumed he went out to buy food with his friends during lunchtime. guess not.

every now and then, you say beside him silently, eating your lunch and scrolling on your phone. sometimes, he’d strike up a conversation about the latest student gossip, or an assignment he didn’t quite fully understand. but most of the time, it was just comfortable silence.

those ‘every now and then’ turned to everyday. you’d rarely hang outside of lunchtime, due to both of you being caught up in your own social lives, but it was nice nonetheless.

“isn’t it weird?” cater asks one day.

you lift your head up from your phone. “weird what?”

��you’ve see. my social media posts. isn’t it weird that I’m so antisocial here? we rarely even talk.”

you shrug. “I don’t mind. I think you’re great either way.”

cater turned his head towards you. “really? you think I’m great?”

“I’d love to know the fun, wild cater, but I also love the quiet, peaceful cater too.”

“you love it?”

“I love it.”

“well… I love you.”

leona kingscholar [politician’s son]

you couldn’t understand how you could hate someone so much without knowing them all that well, but you did.

leona kingscholar, the snobby rich kid.

you’ve seen his name when grades are posted. and it’s at the very bottom. he sleeps in class (plus, he sits right next to you! how annoying, he snores.) and is rude to almost everybody.

to your horror, he has fans.

you’ve seen parades of girls chase after him during valentines, love letters pile up in his desk, people asking you to send him love confessions on behalf of them. of course, you’re too kind to say no, and deliver the message anyway, only to be rudely scoffed at when you tell them that leona brushed it off.

you, however, manage to keep an outstanding vibe to yourself. you manage to keep good grades, be nice to everyone, have interesting hobbies and talents… you’re a pretty all-round person (as you say)

because of your good impression and responsibility you’ve shown and given to your teachers did they ask you to do some extra credit stuff. to your pleasure, you agreed. except you dropped your books when you found out that the extra credit thing is tutoring leona kingscholar.

“I’m so glad that you’re able to do this. I’m very worried about dear leona, especially considering his home life. I hope you can take good care of him.”

you smile meekly. of course teacher! what couldn’t you do? the easy going, impressionable student!

your ears did pique interested when your teacher mentioned his home life… but what’s that to you anyway? you lost interest quickly.

the clock was ticking and the workbooks between you and leona was pristine and untouched. the desk that separated you two was the only thing that seemed to prevent you from mauling him on the spot.

his hair looked well-kept and clean. his clothes neat and tidy, his bone structure… you shook your head. well, obviously he is handsome. how else does he have all those girls tailing him despite his hideous personality? you friends were excited to see how this ‘date’ (you rolled your eyes) would go. I mean, it is leona kingscholar after all.

although you call him the snobby rich kid, was is the president’s son. or well, used to be. his father stepped down from presidency and leona’s brother, falena, recently won the election from charisma alone.

when you watched him on tv, you scoffed. the kingscholar handsome genes seemed to be going strong, that’s probably what helped falena earn his spot because he is in no way a good politician. falena’s promises hasn’t been met yet, his main concerns benefited the rich (classic classism— no pun intended) and he laughed heartily at almost anything. It made him look pathetic.

as you eyed leona dozing off, you laughed to yourself. at least he’s not president, you thought.

you flicked his forehead. you watched leona flinch and frown. he had this boyish charm to him that made you wanna laugh at everything he does. you chuckled when he glared at you.

“what?” he hissed. meow.

“what do you want to start off with?” you spun the pencil in between your fingers.

leona rubbed his forehead and shuffled through his books and pulled out a math book. “yeah. this one.”

“how much do you want?” leona asked.

“what?”

“money. for you to do the work for me.”

“I don’t want money. I want honest work.”

“everyone wants money.”

“put your wallet away.”

leona stated at you, dumbstruck, and put his wallet away as you instructed.

“ugh snobby rich kids and their money.” you whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“herbivore.”

what kind of insult is that?!

days went by like this. arguing, no work done, leaving frustrated. you still refused to accept money. that would put weight on your conscience. you simply couldn’t.

one day, you started stuffing your face with your lunch that you didn’t have time to eat during school.

leona eyed your food. “lunch? after school? it’s almost 4pm.”

“augh. I know. I don’t feel like eating that much but that means I have to have this again for lunch tomorrow.”

leona took your lunch box and started picking food out and throwing it into his mouth.

“hey!”

“what? you said you don’t feel like eating.”

you calmed back down and watched him eat. “are you sure you’re okay with eating that? I don’t wanna displease mr. money’s food palatte.”

leona shrugged. “I don’t eat much at home.”

oh?

“why?” you asked

“dad’s busy with our dear president. their politic discussion is so annoying. I don’t feel like eating with them.”

you scoffed. “politics? are you sure? whatever I’m hearing from falena sounds like a bunch of bullcrap and rich-guy charisma.”

you hadn’t had the chance to realize what you had said when leona let out a laugh. “I know, right? sick of shit presidents. my dad won’t even listen to me.”

“‘oh your brother’s older, he knows better’” leona said in a mocking tone. “I dunno why he’s always on the birthing order crap.” leona handed you back your empty lunchbox. “you’re not a bad cook.”

you stared at him. you’ve never seen him talk this much in one go. leona seemed to have noticed it himself and coughed.

the next few days went by, a bit more awkward than usual. it was mostly you and him in silence. the arguing seemed to have died down.

since you couldn’t get him to do any work, you decided to catch up on your own.

to your pleasant surprise, leona was helping you! whenever he saw you were stuck on a math question, or a science formula, or any of the sort, he’d watch and explain it to you. you swore he has the lowest grades in the school. how does he know more than you?

leona shrugged. “I can do things if I put my mind to it.”

you slammed your hand on your desk. smiling in thought. as of late, you and leona started getting along better. his smarts made you grow some sort of respect for him.

“if you at least pass all your exams this term, I’ll do anything you ask.”

leona raised an eyebrow. “what?”

“well, you can do all of this right? all you need is a motivator.” you smiled. “we’ve been bantering back and forth this entire time. don’t you want me to stop calling you spoiled? please agree to to this. I really, really want this credit.”

leona pretended to be in thought before nodding. “yeah whatever.”

inner hooray!

weeks went by. leona seemed to have actually started doing his work, handing in assignments, raising his grade…

until he carefully placed multiple tests in front of you with a bright red 100 on the top of each and every one.

“I told you I could do it if I put my mind to it.”

you patted yourself. “I finally trained the animal.”

he ruffled your hair.

the next day, you were getting ready for another afterschool session with leona when your teacher came up to you.

“leona’s grades has been doing so well. I’m glad you were able to put him on track. I added the extra credit on your record. you deserve a break, you can stop tutoring him now.”

oh… right. all of this had to come to a stop eventually.

you went home earlier that day, and suddenly found yourself with so much more free time.

the next few days went by, with no leona in sight. the distaste you usually had for him seemed to wither away… you kind of considered each other as friends. would it be too mushy to say you missed him?

one warm afternoon, at the end of school, you were heading to grab your shoes and leave when a familiar voice called out your name.

leona.

“oh… hi!” you smiled at him. you really, truly didn’t hate him anymore. all of that seemed to be so far ago.

leona spoke in a gruff. “hey… so….”

you knew leona was handsome, no doubt about it. but was he always this oddly attractive? his eyebrows were dark and moody, his eyes (they’re green! you never noticed) glimmered under the sunshine spilling from the windows. he looked to the side, shuffling awkwardly, his hands in his pockets. leona is a confident man. you never saw him so tensed up before.

“you said… if I pass this term you’ll do you anything you want from me, right?”

oh, right. you kinda wished he forgot about that. guess not. better prepare yourself to be his servant, or something. (for some reason, you didn’t seem to mind)

“yeah… I did say that. so. what do you want?”

“I want you to go out with me.”

rook hunt [the competitive dramatics]

is this possible to dislike someone who doesn’t even know you exist?

rook hunt, the king of drama, would be seen whistling tunes from the latest musical he watched, looking over play scripts and performing random acts in the middle of the school hallway. get out! he’s so annoying.

what’s worse is that although he seems to be carefree and going with the flow, he always seems to be topping you at everything. got a 99 on a quiz? would you look at that, rook got a 100. learning a new language? rook speaks french! auditioning for lead role? rook already got the spot!

even hearing his name makes you fume in the ears. rook hunt is overall well-liked, he probably isn’t even aware of your secret competition with him.

finally… finally!!! you look up at the cast of your school’s new upcoming play. you got the lead! and… rook got the second lead…

he’s playing romeo… in romeo and juliet… and you’re… juliet… oh!

you roll your fists. it’s fine. it’s fine. it’s fine. you’ll manage. you worked hard for this. you’ll manage.

first day of practice, rook prances in speaking french. romeo and juliet takes place in italy you idiot!

“bonjour, roi de la jalousie!”

you roll your eyes, showing your displeasure. “hello, rook.”

the first few playthroughs went as perfect as it could be. most of romeo and juliet is just romeo losing his mind over a 14 year old girl, so it wasn’t like you and him had to be intimate. yet.

“okay. in act 2, romeo and juliet kiss at the party. preferably, I’d prefer to re-enact a real kiss. but if you guys are uncomfortable, we could—”

“oh, non! I could not! to make a play so touching and real, it is important that we kiss! but if our dear roi de la jalouise is uncomfortable…”

not wanting to back down against rook you shake your head. “no, no! that’s fine! we can kiss!”

you left that day mortified. you didn’t even have your first kiss yet. what is wrong with you?!

the day came to rehearse the kiss. you chugged your bottle of water and marched on stage.

you said your lines carefully, avoiding eye contact with him. the rival you made up in your delusions, a little rook with devil horns and a tail, was somehow (in reality) much taller, prettier and kind of intimidating to look at now. you felt awfully shy.

as his face leaned against yours, he only looked at you gleefully once you finally made eye contact. both of your lips were close, but he didn’t kiss you. huh?

once it was break time, you sat down at the edge of the stage dumbfounded. everyone else left backstage for pizza, so it was just you in an echoey theatre.

that was until rook came in and sat beside you, holding two paper plates of pizza. he handed one to you.

“you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.” rook said, smiling. he was unusually calm.

“n-no! I want to!” you replied too hastily. you truly didn’t seem to hate him at this moment. you only felt flustered.

“I know you are competitive. especially with me. even though your fierceness is truly beautiful, I do not advise you to do something you are not comfortable with.”

oh. you look at him. “you noticed? haha….” suddenly, all that competitive spirit you had felt childish.

“well of course! It’s what drew me to you. it’s especially why I auditioned for romeo, even though i was more interested in mercutio.”

you felt yourself turning red. he auditioned for romeo for you? just for you?

“well… i already told the director I’m okay with the kiss… it’s a little too embarrassing to take it back now.”

“well… perhaps if we practiced together, you’d feel more comfortable, mon amour?”

you laugh. “you keep calling me french names. what does this one mean?

rook gently kissed the space between your eyebrows. “my love.”

(ps: roi de la jalouise means king of jealousy!)

vil schoenheit [international star]

vil schoenheit is a celebrity. a big, all-time, internet sensation kind of celebrity.

a model, an actor, an influencer… he’s everything!

he’s gorgeous, lovely, not like those other celebrities who are horrible in real like and kind only on the internet.

you feel blessed to know that someone as famous as him is going to the same school as you.

vil is popular, undeniably so. everywhere you go, you see him greeting people of all kinds, receiving gifts and panicking after making a girl faint from his magnificence alone.

oddly though, he’s often by himself. like he has no friends. you tilt your head in confusion. someone like him must have hundreds of friends, right? maybe he considers the entire student body as his friends! does that mean you’re his friend too?

you pinched your cheeks. there’s no way someone like him would notice you! no matter how generous he is, you understood it’s difficult to get alone with everyone.

on one fateful morning, you ran into your classroom to grab your forgotten gym clothes when you pause right before opening the door, hearing frustrated mumbling.

“these stupid fans and their stupid demands”

you peered in through the door window and saw vil schoenheit retouching his makeup, frowning.

there was an awful churn in your stomach. for some reason, you felt like you shouldn’t enter the classroom. but between making it to phys ed in time and have a good first impression on a big-time celebrity, you chose to enter the classroom. it’s not a big deal anyway, it’s not like you and him even talk all that much.

you opened the door to see vil turn his head, almost like an owl as you quickly crab walked to your desk and grabbed your clothes before running off.

like expected, you didn’t see vil at all after that event. although he didn’t seem as lovely as you expected, it didn’t really turn your view of him upside down either. you’re weren’t a big fan of him anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal at all.

until one day, he cornered you.

“did you tell anyone?”

“tell what?”

“what you saw.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “it was one slip up. it’s not a big deal.”

vil glared at you. obviously, you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. if he, vil, a high-end celebrity, screwed even the slightest, it would massively deter his career.

“okay, fine. but I don’t want you to tell anyone about this going forward. if you want an autograph or something, I’ll do it but—”

you shook your hands. “It’s fine. you don’t have to.”

vil raised his eyebrow. you don’t want anything from him? you’re not blackmailing him? everyone always wants something out of him. but he shouldn’t push things further.

he sighed. “alright. but give me your contact information. I’d rather keep track of you instead of worrying.”

your eyes glistened at the bright new vil schoenheit in your contacts.

it was just like that. you had an untouched number on your phone. having someone so famous like him giving his number seemed enough. since there was no other reason for you guys to talk, you guys barely interacted after that (although you’ve felt like a pair of eyes was watching you more often than not)

you didn't expect to run into vil again, so it was a surprise to see vil working in an empty classroom afterschool.

"stupid sports festival..." vil mumbled to himself before his eyes locked with yours.

his eyes were an enchanting colour. something tugged at your heart when you saw a close glimpse of his eyes. lavender. sharp, pristine eyes, long lashes... vil had a sort of maturity to him.

feeling yourself turning red, you blinked a few times before greeting him.

apparently, the ever-so-kindhearted vil has volunteered to work on the upcoming sports festival's banner. no one else wanted to spend their free time doing it, and vil freely told you that he felt pressured about his image because he wasn't saying anything. reluctantly he offered and now here he was.

your tilted your head. vil was just simply expressing what he truly felt about something to you. what happened to the hesitant, suspicious vil that you met all those months ago? does he trust you or something? but you guys barely even talk properly!

unfortunately for vil, you had offered to work on the banner weeks ago. however, only a few of the sports festival committee knew. the rest did not, including vil. (you weren't even aware vil was apart of it)

"well an extra hand couldn't be bad!" you say happily, clasping your hands. "would you consider your a creative person?"

a few weeks went by, planning, discussing ideas and purchasing materials. (you mostly go alone because you had to learn the hard way that vil gets recognized quite easily, even with a tight disguise)

soon, you and vil slowly started going home together. vil lives close by, saying it's better than riding some fancy car and attracting even more attention. your school's neighbourhood was quite rich so when you first passed his house, your jaw dropped. wow! it's so big!

eventually, the banner making, the sports festival planning and discussing came to an end. your impression of vil made you assume that both you and him would be going on your own paths.

"where are you going?" vil said, as you were already walking out the door.

"...home?"

"I thought we went together?"

maybe you were wrong!

everyone used to whisper about vil schoenheit. the kindhearted, friendly student at school. the mega-huge celebrity, the popular boy who always kept a distance with others.

now, everyone whispers about vil schoenheit, the kindhearted, friendly student at school. the mega-huge celebrity, the popular boy and his best friend, you. attached at the hip. are they dating?

you're surprised at vil's ability to keep you hidden from paparazzi. he was worried that rumours would rise, especially since he started inviting you over to his place. everytime pictures of him would surface the internet, you were never mentioned... luckily.

you sat down in front of him, eyes closed. vil has been getting loads of skincare PR as of late, and he's been trying the products on you, worried it would break him out. he had a shoot coming up soon.

"I haven't read my script yet and I have to leave the city in a week. could you believe the amount of procrastination I've been doing?" vil scoffs at himself.

"you didn't tell me you're leaving."

"don't worry. it's for only two weeks. I'd be back in a blink of an eye."

you huffed. "I'm gonna miss you, vil."

vil's ears flushed. but your eyes were shut closed.

"I'm gonna miss you too, I guess."

vil was wrong. after he left, time seemed to have gone slower. you were so used to spending so much of your time with him, you felt like you forgot how to hang out with other people.

you bought sweet treats with your friends, went to photobooths and stressed out about assignments and tests, but vil was at the back of your mind at all time.

"I'm coming to the airport tomorrow." vil said over the phone.

"I'll come and see you!"

"don't. too many people are gonna be there."

vil smiled at the other end of the call. he knew you'd do it anyway.

...and he was right! there you were, waiting in a crowd of a bunch of people. you were worried that he wouldn't see you.

it was fine. you knew how worked up he got about his personal and work life mixing. maybe it wasn't a good idea to see your best friend in a field of paparazzi.

well, it was too late. cameras started flashing and people started screaming a familiar name.

you tried to squeeze to the front of the crowd as best as you could, but to a point you had to stop and depend on your toes and only hope he could see you.

as a blonde boy with a mask on entered the scene, you saw him turn his head around, looking for something, until his eyes met yours.

you've always thought those eyes had a mature, elegant feel. but for some reason, this time, his eyes felt full and boyish, emotional.

you popped out from the back to see that vil has already found you, giving you a tight hug.

"vil! vil! there's paparazzi here!'

your face was squished against his chest, but you could still see and feel the pictures flashing.

"aren't you worried about, you know, those rumours surfacing?"

vil shook his head, smiling. "no, not really. not when I want them to be true."

idia shroud [gamers can actually look good?!]

you: HIII can u plz carry me in val im dying uwu

gloomurai: alright what the flip.

you: be my pocket sage kitten

gloomurai: ok fine wait for me

you stare at the chatroom between you and your online friend, gloomurai. you've been talking to the guy for a while now, and he seems to be overpowered in every game, carrying you in all your favourites nonstop. does this guy even have a life? you laugh, as you stretch your back.

it was winter break, and your house's heater was broken. while it was getting fixed, you've been spending your days in your favourite gaming cafe, in the warm heat of the pc and the warm computer screen.

you: bro im in this gaming cafe and this guy beside me wont stop mumbling i think im going insane

gloomurai: lmao im in a gaming cafe too

you: what??? rlly?? omg which one r u at

gloomurai: ignihyde cafe lols

you: WTF ME TOO???

gloomurai: HUH

you: WHICH SECTION R U IN

gloomurai: im in section 3A

you: OH MY GOD

gloomurai: what??

you: IM IN 4A

you slowly turn you head to the guy who was mumbling beside you the entire time, him doing the same. you peeked your eyes to his computer screen to have your chatroom open.

is that... your classmate... idia shroud????

you've heard about the guy. he's shy, gloomy (no pun intended) and quite repulsive to approach. of course, you've heard a number of girls talking about how hot and tall he is, how much they loveeeee loser boys.

but his attractiveness was not what caught your attention. your online friend for over a year was your CLASSMATE??? a guy you barely even talked to??? hello?? is anybody hearing this???

you suddenly felt silly for calling him your pocket sage.

that night, your phone was open to his chatroom. idia immediately stood up and left the moment you guys met eyes, so you didn't get a chance to talk to him properly.

he clearly had the green online status on his profile, but he wasn't messaging you at all like he usually was. I mean, he's someone you apparently know in real life, so there's no harm in striking up a conversation, right?

you: soooooo

you: who knew that we knew each other irl? lol

you: i mean we dont rlly talk in school so um this is kinda awkward lmfao

you: we can stop being friends online if u want

you: but i won't have anyone to carry me in league :(

you sat the tiny seen beside your message. for the next five minutes, you say idia typing and then not typing. like he was going back and forth. you just waited patiently.

gloomurai: no i still wanna be friends w u

you: u sure? i mean u kinda js dipped lolsies

gloomurai: yeah i know n im sorry i kinda panicked omfg

gloomurai: i never thought you'd be into videos and stuff thats kinda cool

you: huh?? you didn't think that?? have you not seen my anime keychains and video game characters on my phone wallpaper??

gloomurai: no i did but i thought u didnt know what they were....

you laughed, and spent the rest of the night texting him.

your heater was fixed at that point, and had no reason to go back to the gaming cafe (your mom reprimanded you for spending your entire break playing video games) so you didn't see idia until the start of the new semester.

he was still always that shy kid you knew at school, so you approached him first.

"hey idia!"

he looked up from the video game on his phone, eyes widening at the sight of you.

"u-uhm... hi."

"so! how was your winter break?"

you sat beside him, making yourself comfortable. idia tensed up but he seemed okay with it.

"I mostly played video games... like usual."

"haha, I've always thought how weird it was that you were overpowered in so many games! I mean, I've been playing just league for a solid while now and you're just so much stronger than me! in other games too! how do you put so much time into videos games?"

you've seen idia's name often at the top of exam grades when they were posted, you thought all he did was study. now your impression of him changed.

as time went on, idia seemed to have calmed down around you. he wasn't as shy anymore and started talking to you normally like how he'd be online.

when you and him were just internet friends, he refused to voice call. now, he would call and play games with you after school.

he started tailing you everywhere at school, so you even introduced him to your friends and told the funny story of how you and him first met on a game. idia seemed to get along with them as well (you've managed to garner a small group of game nerds, idia fit in smoothly)

idia was indeed tall, despite his posture (imagine how tall he would be if his back was straight) and had bright blue hair, like fire. he often reminded you of a dating game love interest, the loser, gamer boyfriends in video games. when you told him, his cheeks flushed so red that you swore even the colour of his hair changed too.

he was also handsome too, you concluded. you already knew this, but having a closer look at your face really did make you confirm it. the family genetics seemed to be going strong because when you came over to his place one time, you met his younger brother ortho, and was just as cute and pretty and handsome! (you kinda wanted to adopt him what the freak!)

for his birthday, you gifted him a pair of cute kitty hair pins. you knew he liked cats, and you also thought his hair covered his pretty face too much. you thought maybe it was too cutesy for someone like him, but surprisingly, he wore it no problem! whenever you two sunk into the couch to play games, idia would pin his bangs back to focus. hair strands fell to the front of his forehead and you often wanted to push them back and kiss it... WHAT! what are you thinking!!! he doesn't like you that way, wake up and stop being delusional!!!

your feelings for him seemed to be so one sided. he's talk comfortably and casually with you, like a best friend. someone he totally wouldn't have a crush on. you've been trying to get over it (they're only brief feelings, you swear!) but everytime your skin even slightly grazes over his you started to sweat.

maybe you should just confess.

one hot summer night, you're seated beside idia on the floor, shooting down a bunch of zombies. this has been both of your guy's 17th try.

finally... yay!!! you guys managed to complete the round and you cheer in celebration.

"oh my god!! finally!!! idia you are so awesome!"

"I know." he smirks. "what would you do without me?"

you have no idea. you think.

maybe it was the heatwaves. maybe it was the whirring fan only hitting one spot on your back, not cooling you at all. maybe it was because of chewed up popsicle stick sitting in your mouth. but you felt brave.

"I like you." you say.

Idia's smile falls. he turns to look at you.

"I mean- uhm- I- uhm-" oh god. you wanted to hide in a hole right now.

the game's loading screen was playing funky music. you were sweating, from the heat or the confession? who knows.

"what would I do without you? nothing, idia. nothing. I think about you all the time. even slightly grazing shoulders make me panic. I really, truly do like you."

before he can even reply, you continue.

"and.. you treat me like a brother! your best friend! yes, we are friends, but can you treat a person like me with some interest?? I've liked you for months, idia. how did you not get a single hint?!"

you breathe in. and breathe out.

"so. I want you to make a decision. right here, right now. do you like me back? or have I been pining over nothing?"

you stare at him. his eyes are wide, confused, like a cat. you found it so, so cute. you wanted to kiss those eyes, his cheeks so red and flushed from the summer heat, you wanted to kiss his forhead, his jaw, his lips.

your faces were close. you often forget how close in proximity idia likes to be around you.

idia seemed to struggle to make eye contact with you. he looked to the side, then the other side, and then looked down.

"I'm not the only stupid one here, you know."

huh? you blink.

"I also...thought...this was...one sided..." idia's voice egst smaller and smaller. you have to frown to hear him.

"did you not realize why I stay so close behind you? because...uhm..." idia hesitates. "because... I like... you... too. but you were so free... and awesome and cool like that or whatever... and I thought there would be no way you'd look in my.... direction like that."

your heart thumps. the game's music seemed to blur out. the fan was whirring quietly, the grasshoppers buzz outside the open window.

you heard idia's breathing, you saw his eyes spilling the colour of amber. you licked your lips.

the light of the game screen was blocked from your sight as you closed your eyes and felt idia's warmth near your face.

lilia vanrouge [delusional chef]

cooking was something that was special in your heart. it was safe to say that you were utterly disappointed that no one was interested in your cooking club.

the only members were you and your senior, lilia vanrouge.

soon, however, you came to realize why no one wanted to join your club. lilia's cooking was a hideous!

apparently, he was infamous for bringing in the nastiest stench of a lunch to school. for some reason, you were the only person who didn't know! after finding out that lilia joined the cooking club, no one else wanted to join.

you sighed. you needed at least 4 members to be officially registered as a school club.

with lilia's help, both you and him went around promoting and encouraging your club, as well as spending your days cooking.

most of the time, it was just you trying to prevent lilia from doing something ridiculous. there should have been no reason for you to try to convince lilia to not put three pounds of sugar in stew.

salty food tastes sweet, sweet food tastes salty, food in general started to taste gross...

you were exhausted. but for some reason, having the time of your life!

lilia vanrouge was a year older than you, so there was no reason for you to really talk to him. but every time you saw him in the hallways, you always thought he looked so cool with his dark hair striped with vibrant pink and his cute and mischievous vibe! you were glad to be able to finally get to know him, even though he is graduating this year.

you were close to giving up. you were almost at the month mark and no one wanted to join. lilia patted your pack gently as you sniffed.

"it's okay... the school year is ending soon anyway. you can always try next year! obviously I won't be here to help you, but you could still give it a shot."

you smiled at him. of course it was gonna work next year, by that time, lilia would've long gone off and people would actually be interested. it be your senior year next year last well, so you knew you'll have to give it another shot.

so when the end of the month approach, you heartily accepted your denied club application. it was fine! you'll try next year!

it wasn't like home ec. didn't exist. there, you'd cook and have fun.

you kind of missed lilia and hanging out with him, so you started approaching him with new dishes you've made.

"oh! how lovely! it seems that your skills have approved ever since I helped you with cooking! my, my, I must be a chef master of sorts..."

you were nailed in the heart because of the ego hit, but you laughed nonetheless. you thought lilia was silly, fun and interesting. hanging out with him was never boring, and if there was an excuse to hang out with him again, you totally took it.

once you started bringing your dishes, lilia started bringing his own to you. it's like he wanted you dead. they tasted awful. but one bite after another, you smiled meekly as you forced yourself to eat. "it's delicious!" you'd say enthusiastically, as if you didn't just risk burning your stomach out.

lilia would smile, pleased. "wonderful, wonderful!" he'd always say, clasping his hands together.

you would always make extra food when you cooked. lilia was always in your mind when in the kitchen.

so when the last day of school slowly approached, you baked a bunch of cookies to give out to some of your senior friends, lilia included (don't tell anyone-- but lilia's bag had the most and best batch of cookies)

you sheepishly gave it to lilia on the last day. your dear lilia-senpai was graduating, someone who brought a little excitement to your life.

"thank you so much for taking care of me this year. I hope you have a good life outside of highschool!"

when lilia saw your gift, he started to laugh. "what a coincidence! I made some for you too."

he took out a bag of chocolates, storebought.

"I know you don't like my food all that much, so I decided I'd buy food instead. thanks for dealing with my cooking all year, haha."

you took a bite out of your chocolate. it melted in your mouth and the sweetness exploded. you hoped your cookies would taste just as good.

suddenly, lilia stretched out his hand and gently placed his thumb on the corner of your lips.

"you got something there" he said, as he wiped a chocolate mark. without breaking eye contact, he licked it off his own thumb.

"have a great summer."

malleus draconia [shielded rich kid]

unrequited love is so embarrassing. especially if that other person doesn't even know you.

you've been head over heels for malleus draconis for 3 months. all you think about is him. all you want to see is him. but he doesn't even know you.

it was one fateful day, when he picked up your dropped pencil case for you, when you saw his soft smile and emerald eyes. his porcelain skin and his long, elegant nails. you decided from that day on, you were madly in love with him.

so, you've done what any normal person would do and deep dived everything you could find about him

malleus draconia, 3rd year, son of a successful entrepreneur, under draconia co. he likes reading, gargoyles and ice cream, he's good at instruments like the cello and violin... he's been seen exploring ruins... you're not a creep! you swear!

you have this vision in your head where malleus is a prince charming who saves you from the evil villain who wants to sell you for money.

one day, when you were going to school on a crisp morning, someone sat beside you, waiting for the bus.

the guy was unusually tall, so you turned to see malleus draconia standing before you.

"oh hello! I remember you, are you heading to school as well?"

panicked, flustered and nervous, you frantically nodded.

"I've decided I wanted to take the bus today, but I'm sure how I want to approach it. could you help me? ^_^"

"uhm.. o-okay!"

nearly shaking, you sat beside malleus on the way to school.

why was he even taking the bus anyway? wasn't he like, filthy rich?

you friends congratulated you on finally talking to the guy you like when you arrived. you laughed and said that's probably the only time you'll ever talk to him.

however, the next day, malleus was beside you once again.

"good morning!"

you only mustered to say a hello.

"I really enjoyed the bus ride yesterday. Do you also take the bus. to go home?"

you nodded.

"well, I was wondering if you and I could go home on the bus after school? I have some to understand you have to go to a different station to go back? I tried to find it yesterday, but it was just too difficult."

you nodded, again. you could not seem to talk, nervous.

that day, your friends pushed up towards him and left you alone, saying you finally have a shot of getting to know him.

this became a pattern.

every morning you'd take the bus with him to school. once it ended, you and malleus took the bus home together. you weren't sure exactly where he lived, but it was enough to know that he probably lived close by. probably the wealthy neighbourhood you've passed by multiple times.

in your mind, malleus. is perfect, elegant and charming.

in reality, malleus is a sheltered, clumsy and curious boy who really liked taking the bus to and from school.

you started to relax near him too. obviously, you're still nervous and shy, but knowing that malleus isn't a higher being like you made up in your mind, and just a rich kid who has hobbies and interests like any other, you felt a little calmer each day.

"have you done anything other than take the bus?" you asked.

"no, except going on business class on flights."

you laughed. "I was thinking..." you breathed in. "sotheresthisbakerythatopenedandIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogo" you spit out in one breathe.

malleus, like the impressive guy he is, caught everything you said. "well of course! I've been to many in europe, but I've never tasted any pastries here. I usually get them shipped. I'm quite curious!"

entering the bakery, malleus' eyes glimmered like a child.

he said that his family usually chose what he ate, so he really never got a choice. you saw him struggle to pick what he wanted and you offered some suggestions and even paid for it (malleus accidentally gave two hundred dollars for a two dollar bread, he has no concept of money)

seeing malleus act like this, your feelings for him shattered. no, not entirely. just the feelings you had for the cool, distinguished malleus you had in your head. the side of malleus he only showed to the public. instead, you fell in love with the boyish, cute and confused malleus you were seeing now. the side of malleus that he deemed you were worthy enough to see.

this year, it hadn't rained much. so you knew that if it rains, it's gonna pour, hard.

so, after school, you and malleus stood, umbrella-less in a rainstorm. buses were cancelled due to trees fallings.

"well, I could call my driver. if you tell me your address, I can definitely drop you..." malleus stopping talking as he saw you run into the rain. you didn't hear him.

"come on! I know a shortcut! if we run fast enough, we can make it back."

malleus has never met someone so free like you before.

running towards you, you grabbed his hand and pulled him forward through an unknown side of the road.

although the rainstorm was cold and wet, it felt cozy and warm now that his hand was holding onto you. malleus truly thought you were a breath of fresh air.

you started to laugh at yourself. how ridiculous. malleus, a higher class, local rich kid, was following you, someone from a lower class than him, someone not worthy of him. halfway there you realize he could've just call his driver to pick him up. you felt so silly.

"I'm sorry to drag you into the mess" you yelled amongst the splashes of the rain hitting the ground.

when malleus saw you smile and laughing as you apologized for something so silly, he suddenly could imagine an entire future with you and him together.

547 notes · View notes

halfmoonaria · 2 months

Text

when she lied

pairing: g!p sam carpenter & female reader

summary: your relationship with sam takes a turn when it’s supposed to be perfect.

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: based on the scene from the last kiss. my posts are flopping so bad its ridicilous, so if this does i wont be surprised.

Dating a professor was never in your plans growing up, let alone one tangled in rumors of being a serial killer.

But despite the unsettling rumors about Sam, you found yourself getting pulled in; as if she was a magnetic force.

You first met Sam at a local bookshop's author event, a quaint spot filled with the scent of old books and freshly brewed coffee.

The moment she walked in, you immediately thought she was the most breathtaking woman you'd ever seen. Her presence commanded the room, and you couldn't take your eyes off her.

It was no different for Sam. She thought you were straight-up gorgeous from the moment she saw you.

However, with her troubled past and a promise to only trust Tara and the twins, it was hard to break through her defenses. But your persistence and genuine care slowly chipped away at her walls.

You showed her kindness and understanding, proving that love and trust were still possible.

Over time, she began to let you in, sharing parts of herself that she had kept hidden for so long. Your patience and love helped her believe in a future where she could trust someone new.

Sam allowed you to take her out on dates, cautiously at first. You spent evenings at cozy restaurants, weekends exploring the city, and quiet nights at home, gradually building a bond that felt unbreakable. Each date brought you closer, and before long, you couldn't imagine life without each other.

It wasn't until Sam had built a solid trust in you that she felt comfortable introducing you to Tara. She was an important person in Sam's life, and she wanted to be sure you were someone who could truly be part of their family.

Tara was skeptical, her protective nature making it difficult for her to warm up to you.

However, as she observed your genuine care for Sam and saw how well you fit into their lives, her perspective softened. Tara eventually grew to appreciate you and welcomed you into the family with open arms.

Eventually, you both had decided on taking the next step and move in together. It was a big decision, but it felt right. You found a charming apartment that was perfect for starting your life together.

During this time, Sam transitioned from being a high school teacher to a college professor. She was passionate about her work and excelled in her new role, gaining respect from colleagues and students alike.

Her career move not only marked a professional milestone but also brought a sense of stability and accomplishment to your shared life.

In your own professional life, you worked as a child psychologist, helping kids navigate their emotions and overcome challenges.

And even though both of your busy occupations demanded a lot of your time, you both cherished the moments you could steal away together, whether it was meeting up after work or spending hours of love making past midnight; not caring if you had work the next day.

And you always made an effort to prioritize each other. Often, Sam would come to meet you after work, witnessing your interactions with the children.

She admired the ease with which you connected with them, the patience you showed, and the gentle way you guided them through their struggles. Seeing you in your element, she felt herself being moved by your compassion and dedication.

It was in these moments that she became even more eager to start a family with you, convinced that together, with your nurturing nature, you could offer a child a truly loving and supportive environment.

She never said or mentioned it to you, afraid you'd find it too soon and leave her because of her sounding too pushy or desperate.

However, when you showed Sam a positive pregnancy test, beaming with joy and excitement. She failed to keep the thoughts inside her.

She couldn't wait to have kids with you. It was all she ever wanted, it was going to make everything even more perfect.

It was all perfect.

You had everything. Everything you could've asked for.

A wonderful girlfriend, a job you enjoyed and cherished, and now; a growing life inside of you.

You were going to be a mother, alongside the love of your life.

In your mind you had it all. And Sam had not yet to disagree.

Until you started to question everything you have.

Cracks began to appear as reality set in. With your pregnancy, you knew that your stomach would soon begin to grow, and you would have to make significant changes.

As your pregnancy progressed, you faced the undeniable truth that you would need to quit working soon. The physical demands of carrying a child meant that your ability to balance work and personal life was diminishing.

More troubling was the fact that the time you once spent with Sam seemed to evaporate.

She had begun to claim she was "working late" or "staying at the office," but these excuses were becoming increasingly frequent.

You started to notice that instead of spending evenings together, Sam was often absent, and it became clear she was spending her time elsewhere.

You had never had second thoughts or hesitation about you and Sam, but as the dinners alone and nights that was spent waiting for her to come home increased, you were starting to.

The life you had envisioned seemed to be disintegrating, replaced by an unsettling uncertainty about your future together.

It was a damp and dreary Thursday, the kind that soaked through your shoes and lingered in your bones.

The clock was nearing midnight, and Sam had yet to come home.

You sat alone in the couch of the living room, remnants of a cold dinner in the kitchen waiting for her just as much as you were.

The clock ticked louder with each passing minute, amplifying your growing concern as Sam continued to miss your text messages and calls. Your anxiety was palpable.

Finally, the front door finally creaked open, and Sam walked in, her face looking weary and her clothes slightly disheveled. You rose from the couch, feeling the weight of your pregnancy more acutely with each movement. Though your belly was still modest, the curve was noticeable.

You walked over to her, standing firmly in front of her, trying to meet her gaze. "Where have you been?" you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady and calm.

Sam seemed momentarily taken aback before she quickly tried to mask her discomfort. "I was at work," she said, though her eyes avoided yours.

You shook your head, hurt seeping into your tone. "You weren't at work until eleven o'clock at night." Taking a deep breath, you added, "Please, don't lie to me."

Sam's shoulders slumped, and her gaze fell to the floor. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken truths, and you could sense the growing distance between you. The warmth and closeness you once shared seemed to be slipping away, replaced by a cold uncertainty that left you questioning everything you had believed to be true.

You watched her closely, noticing the disheveled state of her clothes—her shirt slightly untucked, her hair a mess. Something about her appearance didn't sit right with you. The scent of an unfamiliar perfume lingered faintly in the air, a detail that only heightened your unease.

"Who were you with?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of fear and suspicion. The late hours, the unanswered messages, and now this—everything pointed to something being terribly wrong.

"I was at work," Sam insisted, avoiding your gaze. "There was no one else. I was the only one who had work and essays left to correct."

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, your voice trembling. "Who were you with, Sam?" Tears threatened to spill over as you thought about all the nights she'd been late recently, all the missed dinners, and the growing distance between you.

You needed to hear her say it, to confirm the gnawing doubt that had been eating at you.

Her eyes flickered with panic, her facade starting to crack. The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick and suffocating.

She looked down, unable to meet your eyes.

"This girl I met it was nothing," she blurted out, her words rushed and desperate.

Your heart sank, the weight of her betrayal crashing over you. And without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped her across the face.

The slap wasn't hard, it didn't physically hurt her. She just felt the contact, her reaction one of pure shock. Her eyes widened more stunned by the act than the impact.

You were shaking so badly that the force behind the slap was minimal, driven more by your emotional turmoil than any physical strength.

Sam's expression shifted from shock to a mixture of guilt and sorrow, her shoulders slumping. She knew she deserved it.

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath, but your voice still quivered with anger. "Did you fuck her?"

You didn't care about the specifics—who the girl was or how Sam had met her. "Tell me, did you cheat on me?"

Sam's face was a mask of regret, her eyes pleading for understanding that you couldn't give. She took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but there was nothing that could make this right.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, heavy and oppressive.

Her shoulders slumped further, her body language betraying the truth before she even spoke. She took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but there was nothing that could make this right.

She nodded slowly, whispering, "Yes."

The single word struck you like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of your lungs. It was as if the ground had been pulled out from under you, and you were falling into a bottomless pit of despair. The room blurred as your eyes filled with tears.

A searing pain tore through your chest, unlike anything you had ever felt before. It wasn't just the pain of betrayal; it was the shattering of dreams, the destruction of trust, and the end of the future you had envisioned together. Your heart, which had once beat with love and joy, now felt like it was being ripped apart.

You turned around, walking away, your hands in your hair as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions. "Oh god, you make me sick," you almost screamed, the pain and anger tearing through your voice. The tears flowed freely now, blurring your vision as you tried to make sense of the reality that had been thrust upon you.

Sam's eyes followed your every movement, filled with regret but devoid of tears.

She had felt a gnawing disgust with herself both before and after sleeping with her. The guilt had been a constant companion, whispering in the back of her mind and tarnishing her thoughts.

But seeing the raw pain and heartbreak in your eyes now, the depth of your betrayal laid bare, was a torment far beyond anything she had imagined.

The reality of what she had done, the gravity of her actions, hit her with an overwhelming force. Her own self-loathing was nothing compared to the devastation she had caused you, and the weight of that realization made her feel truly sick to her core.

Yet she seemed unable to cry, as if knowing her tears would do nothing to soothe the hurt she had caused.

The tears continued to fall, each one a silent cry of your broken heart. You had given Sam everything, your love, your trust, your future; and she had thrown it all away. The realization was almost too much to bear, the pain so intense that it felt like you were being torn apart from the inside.

As you moved through the house, Sam followed, a sense of desperation in her steps. She knew she had to say something, anything, to try and fix the situation.

"Wait, please," Sam pleaded, her voice breaking. She reached out but didn't touch you, afraid her touch would only make things worse.

You walked into the living room, your mind racing, needing space to think, to breathe. Sam's presence was suffocating.

You began to pace, your movements erratic, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Sam stood a few feet away, wringing her hands. "It was one time," she began, her voice trembling. "And it meant absolutely nothing."

You stopped pacing but didn't turn to face her, your eyes filled with hurt and disbelief. The reality of her words only made the pain sharper, cutting deeper.

"It was a stupid thing, baby" she continued, her tone pleading for understanding. "Just a stupid thing." She repeated shortly after.

"I'm so sorry." Sam tried.

Her attempt at an apology only left a more bitter taste in your mouth.

How can she apologize when she had been keeping this hidden from you for weeks, months even?

Just then, Sam's phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. You glanced at the phone in her hand, a sudden, cold suspicion gripping you.

Without thinking, you reached out and snatched the phone from her. Sam's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't stop you. She knew she couldn't.

You looked at the screen, and there it was; a name you didn't recognize, but the message was clear: "Had a great time tonight. Can't wait to see you again." You read the message aloud, your voice dripping with disgust.

Sam's face crumpled, the regret etched deeply in her features. She stood there, the weight of her actions crashing down on her, unable to do anything but watch as the person she loved crumbled before her eyes.

Your heart sank, the final piece of evidence falling into place. You turned the phone towards her, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "Who is she?"

Sam's face paled, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and fear. "Her name is Lily," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Lily." You repeated.

"How old is she?" you demanded, your voice barely holding back the fury and disgust. The interest of who was worth ruining your whole future together growing.

Sam hesitated, avoiding your gaze. "Is she your colleague? Boss? Student? You've always liked them younger."

"Stop," Sam pleaded, her voice barely audible.

"How old is she, Sam?" you pushed, your desperation breaking through.

"Nineteen," Sam blurted out. "She's nineteen, alright?" The moment the words left her mouth, she seemed to regret it, her shoulders slumping further under the weight of her confession.

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you, threatening to make you sick. "She's nineteen, Sam? You slept with a fucking nineteen-year-old?" you screamed, the reality of her betrayal hitting you with full force.

She didn't answer, her silence only deepening the wound. She stood there, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and self-loathing, knowing that nothing she could say would make this right.

Sam had always been the most confident and strongest woman you had ever known. She had faced down her own demons and the judgment of the world, standing tall when people whispered about her being the daughter of a serial killer.

She had protected Tara fiercely, fought off threats both physical and emotional, and had always seemed unbreakable.

You remembered the times she had confronted dangers head-on, her bravery almost intimidating. The way she took charge during crises, her unwavering resolve, and the sheer force of her willpower. Sam had always been a rock, someone who never showed fear or doubt.

But now, as she stood before you, she looked scared. Her eyes, usually so steely and determined, were now wide and pleading. She seemed small, fragile, a stark contrast to the woman who had faced down killers and public scorn without flinching.

As you looked at her, you saw something you had never seen before—pity. Pity for herself, and maybe for you too. Her gaze was filled with it, and it made your heart ache even more. Sam had never felt pity for anyone before, not in the way you had seen.

She had always been the strong one, the protector. But now, she looked at you with eyes that seemed to say she was sorry for everything, for every ounce of pain she had caused.

Although her puppy eyes and guilty stare didn't help. In fact, it made you even more furious. And the rage was starting to boil over.

Your head felt like it was pounding, and you felt sick of the thought that Sam had let somebody else touch her. And you wanted to know why.

"What's so wrong with me then?" you technically shouted, your voice breaking. "Am I too old for you now?"

Sam flinched at your tone of voice, her eyes filling with tears, threatening to fall when she shook her head as soon as the question left your lips.

"No, it's not like that" she whispered.

"Does she have a better body?" You continued, voice breaking.

"No, Y/n please, it's not about that." Sam pleaded, but you were relentless.

"Did I not fuck you good enough?" you demanded, the hurt and anger making your voice tremble. "Is that it?"

Sam's face crumbled, and she shook her head desperately. "It wasn't about you. It was never about you"

"Then what is it, Samantha? What's so fucking special about her? Is she prettier than me?"

"No!" she replied as soon as the words left your lips, the answer immediate and forceful. Sam's eyes locked onto yours, filled with a raw honesty.

Your looks had always captivated Sam, from the way your eyes sparkled with emotion to the way your hair framed your face perfectly. She loved the way your smile could brighten a room, the way your presence brought her comfort.

You were everything she had ever dreamed of having in a partner when she was little, and she hoped you knew that.

She used to tell you all the time, to remind you how much you meant to her. But she had stopped when Lily started showing interest.

She wished more than anything that you could see yourself through her eyes, to understand the depth of her admiration and love for you. But now, as she stood there, seeing the heartbreak in your eyes, she realized she had ruined everything. Her betrayal had shattered the trust and love you had built together, and she feared she had lost any chance of you ever believing in her again.

"Liar!" you screamed, the fury in your voice reverberating through the room.

You knew something had pulled her to Sam, some inexplicable attraction that drew them together, but it only made the betrayal sting more. The knowledge that she had chosen someone else, even for a fleeting moment, was unbearable.

You pushed Sam, your hands hitting her shoulders with desperate force. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and regret. Her back hit the lamp on the drawer, the shade tilting precariously before falling to the side.

"What am I supposed to do now?" you demanded, pushing her again. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" Each shove punctuated your words, your voice breaking with anguish. "You've ruined everything!"

Sam flinched with each push, her hands raised slightly as if to steady herself, but she didn't try to stop you. She knew she deserved every bit of your anger, every word of your pain. Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed, her heart aching at the sight of your devastation.

"Will you listen to me, Y/n? It meant absolutely nothing!" Sam pleaded, her voice breaking as she tried to reach out to you.

You stopped pushing her, your hands trembling with a mix of rage and sorrow. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words and the betrayal pressing down on you.

"Nothing?" you echoed, your voice filled with disbelief. "You slept with her. You were out with another woman all night. I'm pregnant, is that fucking nothing to you?"

"Yes! I mean, no," Sam stammered, her voice cracking under the pressure.

"How many times did you fuck her?" you demanded, your voice icy and resolute. "And don't you dare lie to me."

Sam's face went pale, her eyes pleading as if begging you to retract the question. She hesitated, her gaze flickering between you and the floor, clearly struggling with the weight of her confession. Each second felt like an eternity as she fought to keep her composure.

You remained silent, staring at her with a mixture of anger and heartbreak, your eyes unyielding. The room seemed to grow colder with the intensity of the moment, the air thick with tension.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, Sam looked up at you, her voice barely a whisper. "Three times," she said, her tone cracking with guilt.

You turned away, unable to bear the weight of her confession. Your heart felt like it was being crushed under a mountain of stress, shock, and disgust. "I think I'm going to throw up," you said, your voice barely a whisper as you walked toward the kitchen.

You needed to get away from Sam, to escape the suffocating reality of her betrayal. The sight of her was too much, her presence a painful reminder of the lies and broken trust.

But of course, she followed you, her footsteps echoing in the silence that hung heavy between you.

"But it didn't mean anything, baby," she rambled, her voice trembling with desperation.

"She made me realize I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know that now." Her words tumbled out, as if saying them repeatedly would somehow make everything right.

You stopped just short of the kitchen entrance, turning to face her with a look of fierce anger and hurt.

"I'm five months pregnant, and you're already out trying to fuck other women!" you screamed, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions.

The words hung in the air.

Sam stood there in silence, the weight of her actions pressing down on her like a ton of bricks. She knew there was no justification, no excuse that could make this right.

The realization of what she had done washed over her, leaving her feeling hollow and regretful. She had always prided herself on being strong and confident, but now, faced with the consequences of her betrayal, she felt weak and powerless.

The sight of you, the person she loved and admired most, looking at her with such hurt and anger, made her stomach churn. She wanted to speak, to beg for your forgiveness, but the words caught in her throat, tangled in her guilt.

You stared at her, waiting for something—anything—that could make this less painful. But her silence only deepened the wound. "Fuck you, Sam. It's over."

You turned away from her, walking into the kitchen with a sense of finality. Sam followed, her voice trembling as she called your name. "Y/n..." she started, her tone almost pleading as if she couldn't believe this was happening. You walked further, needing to put distance between you and her.

"Get out right now," you commanded, turning around to face her, your voice filled with a quiet threat. "I'll tell you when you can come and get your shit. Maybe Lily can help you pack." You spat the girl's name like a curse, the mere sound of it making your skin crawl.

Your head was pounding, the pain intense and unrelenting, threatening to explode. The pressure of trying to hold back sobs was almost unbearable, and the anger in your voice was the only thing keeping you from breaking down completely. You stood there, trembling, every muscle in your body taut with the effort of keeping it together.

Sam took a hesitant step forward, her voice trembling but attempting to remain calm. "Y/n, we're having a baby together," she reasoned, her tone a poor mask for the panic bubbling beneath the surface.

She knew deep down that her words wouldn't reach you, that her calm facade was crumbling. Her mind was spiraling, grasping at any hope to salvage what was left.

You turned around sharply, your eyes blazing with anger. "No," you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I'm the one having this baby. I'm the pregnant one. Not you."

Sam opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, your voice rising with each word.

"Get the fuck out, Sam, or I swear I'll call the police," you threatened, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. Sam's eyes widened with shock, and she took a step back, realizing the gravity of your words.

You didn't know what you would say to the police, or if you'd even call them to begin with, but you saw how she looked at you as if you were ready to do whatever it took to get her out of there, so she believed you would actually do it.

"Y/n, please..." she started, but the look in your eyes silenced her.

"Leave," you commanded, your voice steadier now, but no less fierce. "I can't stand the sight of you right now."

But when Sam didn't move, you realized you no longer had the strength to scream at her.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You needed her to understand, to listen to you just one last time. "Will you just get out, please?" you said, your tone softer now, almost pleading.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, making your limbs feel heavy and your vision blur at the edges.

You felt like you might faint from the sheer emotional toll of the confrontation. Sam hesitated for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness, but finding none.

With a resigned nod, she turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, the silence of the room pressing in on you, suffocating.

Your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, and disbelief. The betrayal felt like a raw, open wound, each memory of Sam's deceit a fresh stab to your heart.

The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in as if to suffocate the last remnants of your strength. You reached out for something to hold onto, trying to anchor yourself in a reality that felt increasingly surreal.

The silence now felt deafening, a stark contrast to the heated exchange that had just occurred. It was a silence that spoke of a fractured future, of dreams and trust irrevocably shattered.

When you two first met, Sam was the one who struggled to trust strangers or new people.

Now, you were the one left with the painful understanding that even those you've loved for years could betray you.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #melissa barrera x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #ask #jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter x reader

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sirenscriptures · 8 months

Text

⋆⭒˚.⋆ angel dust — s. ryomen ⋆｡˚

synopsis: he couldn’t believe the day you’d fallen down into his home. it was such a dark place, filled with such voids that most would consider horrifying. but you…you seemed to brighten up those areas just with your presence alone … 3k

before you read: fem-bodied reader, fallen angel ! reader, kind of counts as monsterfucking??, corruption, breeding, size difference, true form sukuna, soft to rough-ish sex, mainly soft sukuna, some asphyxiation, oral sex, cock worship.

author comments: if you’ve seen this before, don’t fret. this is a reupload from last year that came from my previous blog <3 also, i would greatly appreciate any feedback on this idea. it was very well received on ao3 and i’d love to know what you think of this idea!!

there was a biting cold air spilling throughout the dark, enormous malevolent shrine that evening. it was odd, since the deep marrows and walls of the domain usually seethed with a heat that seemed closest to what hell would feel like.

quiet as usual, his looming figure sat high within the mouth of the gaping shadows that swallowed the entire space. mountains of bones sat him as his throne; rotting and decaying ones piled at the root, whilst the more robust collection of ivory spines and jaws crowned the top.

even if his gaze read otherwise, he knew something strange was circulating. the domain no longer felt as though it could hold him, yet he didn’t know why. where it usually felt so hollow and barren, it now felt heavy, as if there were something weighing directly on its surface.

sukuna could feel the tension slithering up his arms. his usually harrowing eyes were now darting around, frantically checking each and every wall, crevice and shadow like a madman.

however, standing up was worse. immediately as his feet met the surface, a painful spasm rippled through his head, his hand smacking against his forehead in response. following the sudden pain, a high pitched ring bulleted through his ears.

he let out a yowl in reaction, his entire core tensing in near unbearable pain.his body heat felt like it was burning him alive, and the entirety of his muscles felt as though they would cave in on him at any given moment. it was as if his whole body were crumbling away, alike to the bones at the very bottom of his throne.

what in the hell is wrong with me…?

with no time for another thought or exclamation, a sudden, nearly blinding light glistered over his entire vision. it was like a lightning strike when it cracked down upon a tree. but upon the impact, the light expanded outward, casting a permanent coat of shining white over what used to be orifices of shadows.

the light only lasted a few moments before slipping away, the shadows eating at the remaining whiteness casted in the malevolent shrine. but for sukuna, it felt like ages before the piercing brightness faded away.

hiding away his face in the fabric of his robe sleeves, the pain in his body from before had completely vanished. he felt now that he was in one piece, and that everything was mostly back to normal again.

that was, until he looked in front of himself.

in front of him was what looked to be a pile of white sheets strewn about messily into a wrinkled pile.

with him still trying to adjust his eyes from before, it was still a bit of a blur. the flash from before had strongly impacted his vision for a good few moments before he could truly see properly again.

but when his vision did clear, he was certain he’d been hallucinating. his eyes widened as he realized.

in front of him lay an angel…one with battered, gently stained wings. they looked to be twisted, as if they’d been purposely bent and misshapen by cruel hands.

the little clothes that they wore were torn, stained with some sort of black, ash-like debris, as if they’d been caught in some sort of smoke or fire.

now fully adjusted to the sight, he saw the faint, aura-shaped glow that was cast around their body. the dim light shifted in and out of different hues; appearing like the breathing leaves of a tree at one moment, and like ocean waves the next, transcending on and on into different textures and colors in only a matter of minutes.

even for him, the very king of curses, this was a truly mesmerizing sight. in all his time, he couldn’t ever recall encountering a fallen one.

but that didn’t stop him from wondering just how in the world a creature like you had slipped into his domain.

sukuna’s barrier was stronger than any other domains in existence. only he had the power to call upon it when he wished to trap his victims inside of it. no one could get in or out without his calling to it, and that was always how it worked.

truly, it made no sense how you’d landed here. it shouldn’t have been anywhere near possible, but he’d have to face the facts that it was now.

breathing out deeply, whatever soft expression he previously had, he quickly wiped off. whilst admittedly fascinated, sukuna wanted no more unexpected visitors lurking here. it wasn’t worth any risk, even if he could deal with any type of intruder.

walking towards your body, he stared down at you for a moment, pondering. the idea of seeing a real angel so up close, enough to where he could touch it and see all of its features, felt somewhat dangerous to him.

standing so close created ripples of tension in the air, and he could feel it. it was nearly overbearing, to a point where he almost stepped back. but he stood his ground, not wanting to lose this moment.

gently, one of his hands grasped around your shoulder, rolling you onto your back. seeing your face now, it was hard for his eyes not to narrow.

sukuna had never seen something so beautiful. being asleep and trapped in bottomless darkness for years upon years with nothing but gruesome history and deeds, made him realize just how much he failed to see from the world around him.

he knew very well that there was a world outside of his domain where time was constantly working. where lives ended and began within every passing hour. where every single person, organism, ecosystem and cell worked to keep the cycle of living and evolving forever flowing onward, until there would be nothing left but dust floating about an empty space.

did he care for it much? of course not

out there, he was feared. the very syllables of his name invoked terror into any normal human that lived today. and that didn’t bother him in the slightest. it was a title that contributed to who he truly was: the king of curses.

but this moment that lay in front of him felt much different than just the outside world. just by looking at you, it was clear you falling down here carried much more volume than if a regular human were to fall into his domain.

it was when he began to pull you into his arms that your eyes flicked open. being cradled within four arms was a feeling he only half expected you to react to, but it was still surprising for both of you.

at first, sukuna expected you to flinch away from him. maybe even throw yourself away from his grasp. after all, it only seemed appropriate to him that an angel would fear the initial sight of a curse of his stature.

it was the stare you gave him that threw him off the most. your eyes were brilliant; the color in resemblance to the hazy aura that surrounded your body after the fall. but looking deeper, it seemed like you were...admiring him?

the softness in your gaze couldn’t be described in any other way. it was painted with innocence and light, something that was so foreign to sukuna.

despite the unfamiliar soft feeling blooming within his chest, his expression remained strong, revealing little emotion to you at first. with his eyes fully fixated on you, he smirked.

“i take it you’ve lost your way?” he asked in his low, sonorous voice. red eyes blinked down at you, the contact unbreaking.

when he was met with silence, it wasn’t a shock. angels weren’t so common with the earth language as many others thought they were.

instead, you blinked back at him, that same look in your eye as he remained holding you in his arms. even though he understood that you weren’t vocal, he could begin to feel that same tension lingering in the air once more.

“you really did a number on me when you fell down here.” he chuckled, assuming the pain from before was caused by the impact.

something within your gaze flickered as your hand reached up towards his face. his first instinct was to flinch away or tense up, yet…he didn’t.

your caress on his face was gentle, so loving, it was enough to make him feel like warmth was rushing through the tips of your fingers. sukuna hadn’t felt such a sensation in an eternity. in all of his long life, he couldn’t remember ever feeling a touch as gentle and as ethereal as this one.

it truly amazed him. he’d been so used to fighting, that he forgot what a real, physical loving touch had felt like against his skin. especially in his true form, he’d never felt so many sensations coursing through him at once.

the tension only stretched once he noticed you hadn’t broken eye contact. usually, others would shy their gaze away in fear. but, with the way you looked at him, it was almost as if you were trying to persuade him to look at you.

the way you smiled at him, and the way your body was so relaxed in his grasp…something was drawing him in so deep, that he completely ignored the fact that your faces were now drawn so close together, his breath warm on your skin.

you could feel sukuna start to tense up against your body. he wasn’t saying it directly, but he hated appearing as though his walls were tumbling down. the mere idea of being vulnerable was nauseating to him. but sure enough, it was gradually spreading through him like a slow-killing virus.

for a brief moment, something switched within him. it was a sudden feeling of his normal self coming back to him.

suddenly, he placed you back on the ground. he initially wanted to turn his body away from you, but you stopped him. your hand clasped gently around one of his wrists, a slight pleading look in your eyes. you stood close to his body, battered wings flecking about torn and tangled feathers.

sukuna turned to look at you, slightly amused. if anyone else had done that to him in his domain, he could have their arm sliced off in a matter of one glance.

“what now?” he asked gently.

he almost made a smart remark following his inquiry, until your hands gently started to roam over his body.

slowly, your gentle touch sent that same euphoric sensation through him, causing his breath to hitch. the tenseness in his muscles seemed to be washed away by the feeling as your touch traveled to his waist.

he could feel your breath growing heavier by each minute that passed. your head leaned into the deep crook of his neck, hands admiringly slipping over the bulges of muscles and scars on his skin.

looking back at you, he huffed, that devilish smirk spreading slightly over his lips once more. his large hands crept over your waist, scraping the loose clothing off of your body, leaving you more vulnerable than him.

before you could react, he’d pulled you into his grasp once more, his lips connecting with yours. his tongue aggressively slithers its way into your mouth, causing you to whine.

when pulling away, a string of saliva trailed between both of your mouths, eventually dripping down your breast.

seeing your bare figure so beautifully displayed in front of him, sukuna can’t help but feel like he needs more. that feeling from before was now a craving that he felt wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d had every part of you.

leaning back to sit, he placed you conveniently onto his lap, undoing his robes. you could feel the warm excitement pulsing through you, and you were certain he could feel the same.

those dark eyes fixated on you so strongly, you felt as though he could see through you. he pulled you close to him again, his hand trailing down in between your legs.

you latched onto him in surprise when the mouth on his palm began to lap and lick at you from below. you let out a trembling whimper, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

sukuna chuckled darkly. “now i’ve found what you like, haven't i?”

it wasn’t long before you were wet enough for his fingers to slip in between your snug walls. you could feel your legs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the mouth continued to suck and slither its tongue inside you, whilst his two fingers pumped into your wetness.

he was fascinated by the feeling. even just a mere two fingers had some struggles fitting inside you. but the way you swallowed him in so well down there made him throb.

fuck…who would’ve thought i’d get to ruin a sweet angel like this? he thought to himself. just the feeling of the dripping warmth around his fingers could drive him mad.

promptly, sukuna removed the rest of his robes, his full body exposed to you now. looking at you, he watched your eyes widen at the sight of just how big he was.

he smiled amusingly, taking your face into one of his hands gently.

“there’s nothing to be afraid of, dear.” he murmured, pulling you into a deep, long kiss.

your little whimpers sent waves of arousal through him. you were so fascinating in all ways…he just couldn’t get enough of you.

before he could do anything else, you positioned yourself beneath him, kneeling right where his thighs were.

he looked at you, confused. he could see that you appeared nervous. compared to sukuna, you felt so small. he was a giant, and you both knew that. but there was an instinct for you to serve him, even if it was just for a little while.

suddenly, you’d begun to take in one of his members into your mouth slowly, your tongue snaking around the tip.

sukuna let out a rumbling groan, muscles back to tensing and pulsing with excitement. even the feeling of your mouth was amazing…so soft and welcoming to his cock.

his head tilted back, the feeling of you sucking at him sending his mind into a blur. it was unfathomable how good you could make him feel, all with simple gestures.

after a few moments, you’d stopped. sukuna looked down at you, panting slightly.

it was the sight of you kissing his cock that made him realize what you were doing. trails of kisses led all the way to his pre-cum coated tip. your hands gently massaged and caressed his skin, humming with pleasure as you did so.

pulling you up to his lap again, he pulled you extra close, breath now hot against your neck. sukuna couldn’t keep his mouth from yours. his large hands groped at your breasts, the mouths engulfing your skin.

he loved the sound of your moans flowing into his mouth as he prepared his cock at your entrance. you sounded so meek, and at the same time desperate. as if you’d wanted more of him, which is exactly what he wanted from you.

sliding in wasn’t easy for him. not even half had slipped into you, and you were already holding onto dear life, clawing at his shoulders and wincing, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

he cupped your face in his hands, holding you gently. “shhhh, it’s alright.” he assured.

he placed one of his hands on your chest, the thump of your heartbeat racing wildly. staring into your eyes, he never broke his soft stare, his member still partially stuffed inside you.

“breathe for me.” he murmured, hand remaining on your chest as he breathed deeply with you.

slowly, it eased its way past your walls, the warmth now engulfing him. sukuna leaned his head back, groaning.

“fuuuck…” he hissed, feeling the fluttering of your walls around him.

he looked up at you, seeing how tense you’d become. his hands gently rubbed up and down your back, soothing you to where you would relax once more.

accidentally, his hands traveled to your wings. at the initial touch, you let out a cry, but not out of pain, out of pleasure.

once again, fascination overcame him. while he started to pump himself in and out of you, his fingers gently massaged the silky feathers of your back, watching as your head and eyes rolled back.

his pace grew faster eventually, balls slapping against your flesh, your moans sobbing out of you louder. meanwhile, sukuna’s hands roamed all over you, caressing every part of you that he could.

as he fucked you, the tongue on his stomach swirled in delicate circles over your protruding clit. he could feel every part of you begin to tremble. it felt like you were about to break at the seams.

he growled out huskily as his hand wrapped around your throat. slaps rang out as he fucked you, echoing throughout his domain.

he looked at you with hooded eyes, admiring the glassy-eyed look of exhaustion and arousal that you had.

“cum for me,” he stammered out. “let me hear those pretty moans of yours…”

you could feel the pleasure washing over you, head throwing back as you let out a final cry.

with a few thrusts, he could feel his seed sputtering deep inside you. his last thrusts made sure everything stayed inside of you, filling you up as much as he could. the feeling of your warmth and fluids mixing together nearly sent the both of you into a trance.

but for sukuna, he was more entranced by you and you alone. he had yet to understand how an angel like you had fallen down here, but he figured he didn’t have to understand everything right away.

all he truly cared about now was possibly keeping you down here with him. it didn’t fully make sense at first why he felt such a drawn protection over you, but now he saw just how special you were.

holding you in his arms, he couldn’t help but smile watching you doze off, head resting against his chest as you listened to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

written by sirenscriptures. do not repost on any other website. do not translate, copy, or use.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna ryoumen smut #⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 — sea’s scriptures #true form sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #true form sukuna x reader #☾ — nightly yearning

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yangcherie · 6 months

Text

play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

#astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 smut #astarion smut #bg3 #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin smut #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #hoo #okay #this was shit

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yandere-wishes · 1 year

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Spider Bite Love

Synopsis: Miguel loves you, this you know. But neither the story nor the hero ever stops long enough to wonder if you love him too.

Warnings: Choking, Biting, Reader is from Miles' universe, Miguel is kinda a perfectionist. Yandere themes.

Author's note: Forgive the Spanish it's mostly found on Google. I took like four months of Spanish back in 7th grade and have retained exactly 0.1% of that knowledge.

💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙

The future is porcelain, all marble white and reflective crystal. Flying cars and a horizon that echoes soft tamed pastels. Nueva York can almost be described as beautiful. Almost.

If not for the technicalities and lies and the loss of total freedom.

If not for a fate that's been prewritten. Repeated across centuries and dimensions. So uncontrollable that it practically cultivates inferiority within your heart. An age-old tradition found in every child's tale about dashing heroes and harrowing villains.

If not for the looming uncomfortable, presence known as Miguel O'Hara who refuses to leave you alone.

Your lover.

Your hero.

Your Spider-man

Although he's not your Spider-Man. Not really. And you're not the love of his life. Not really. You're both just Look-alikes, cheap replicas from a corner dimension.

It's difficult to comprehend, pondering it encompasses you with an unruly headache. Galling and overpowering, not unlike your so-called "Lover".

To put it simply or rather to oversimplify. You are not meant to be here. You are from Earth-1610, at least you think you are. It's hard to tell since apparently from what you've gathered there was another (y/n). One who looked just like you, acted just like you, and was essentially you in every microscopic aspect. At least that's what Miguel says, and you've come to learn that he's not awfully good at telling the full truth.

She died or was killed. As is customary with every hero's first crush. Thus leaving Miguel without a lover or a prisoner. Depending on which iteration of the story you fancy.

Then Miles came along disrupting the canon and causing a dimension's wide spider hunt, with Miguel leading the charge. Somewhere along the lines, between chasing down Miles and barking orders at the other Superheroes his secret society was made of. He passes by your window. Caught a rogue glimpse and froze. He'd found you again, after all these years of believing that you were dead. Technically you were dead, his (y/n) was dead. But there was one here, another one, just as radiant and beautiful as his original lover had been. Miguel knew he had to have you. To take you back to his dimension. To complete his Canon.

Your dimension was doomed anyway.

So he wasn't really doing any harm.

You shuffle uncomfortably on the couch, attempting to readjust your position as to better gaze out the window at the porcelain city.

It's almost homogeneous to Miguel himself.

A perfect city with no room for cracks or mistakes.

A perfect hero who flawlessly preserves the multiverse.

They're both perfect you think as you steal your gaze from the skyline. Although sometimes perfect and pristine aren't always reflective of a person's inner workings. Miguel isn't exactly corrupted but he's far from innocent either. You - and the motley amount of fang marks spread across your body- are living proof of that.

His apartment is clean, spotless, all ceramic tiles and snowy furniture.

No room for faults or fallacy. His whole life is meant to be errorless. Just like the delicate spider-verse, he's all so keen on protecting.

The door chimes, a light buzz and a thud. It's hard to remember that this is technically the future. That trivial things such as keys and locks have long since been eradicated.

Miguel steps in, a bouquet of red and yellow roses grasped within his hand. He walks in as the door buzzes closed behind him. There's a docile look in his eyes as he spots you sitting on the couch. A repeated memory you realize and you wonder if his (y/n) use to wait for him to get back from Spider HQ, all patient and passive like a pretty doll awaiting her master.

"Para vos, mi querida" he mumbles, somehow apathetic and bashful all at the same time.

You reach for the flowers a practiced smile bearly tugging at your lips, your fingers curling around the bouquet, then you freeze eyes going wide.

There's blood on his claws again, pristine rudy red that drips to an invisible tempo. You wonder who he's killed this time. A canon divergent Spider-Man or Spider-Women. A villain running amuck across the city.

Or some regular civilian he was supposed to protect. A regular civilian who had some interaction with you on one of the rare times Miguel actually agreed to take you out. You wonder but you don't date ask.

His suit is unscratched -as it always is- His face is bruise-less, so it makes you think that your final hypothesis may just be the accurate one. Miguel's eyes narrow when notices your frozen hand.

"What's wrong," he asks a gruff edge in his voice, a warning.

One your mind begs you to obey.

"Who did you kill?" You ask eyes concentrated on the sharp blue razors that make him look more monster than superhero. Your fingers abandon the bouquet's base and return to your side. You try to force your eyes into a glare despite the unruly beating of your fearful heart.

One look from Miguel snuffs all that resistance out. One dark glare from eyes that can't choose if they wish to be red or blue. Human or hero. Human or monster. And you're back to cowering into the couch cushions.

"It doesn't matter" he all but barks, a supernatural chill encompasses the room. As he throws the bouquet down onto the ceramic floor. His lips pull back in a snarl, showcasing milky white fangs that gleam in the low lights.

"It does matter Miguel!" Your voice is raising, itching to scream to yell. To make him understand a fraction of your hatred

"You're supposed to be a hero, a savior, but all you ever do is act like a villain. You stole me from my home, you killed my universe's Spider-man, you destroyed my dimension! You're nothing more than a villain wearing a hero's mask."

There's a punchline to this, you're almost sure of it. Some storybook explanation as to why you decided to lash out at the most terrifying creature you've ever met. Maybe in the heat of the frigid moment, you forgot that he's no mere spider. He's a tarantula, bloodthirsty and savage, ready to attack when someone goes poking at him with a stick.

Miguel's fingers tighten around your throat, sharp claws digging into soft skin and delicate muscles. Pushing you further into the couch. Miguel's ears ring with the symphony of your gagging as he tightens his grasp. He thinks you're choking, suffocating, asphyxiating.

Good. With any luck, you'll be dead soon.

"Mocosa ingrata"

He's not sure if your death will be significant in any way. You're honestly too trivial to have any impact on things. If you hold a place in the canon of his timeline or yours, he's yet to find it.

Miguel hates oddities, things that disrupt the canon, selfish missteps that destroy entire dimensions. You're not quite an oddity per se, although everything in your timeline is broken. Dangling from a loose threat at the edge of a cliff. All because Miles Morales decided to be selfish and greedy and "change" what's been canon for longer than any "Spider-man" has been alive. Miles is a mistake. that whole universe is a mistake. It's bound to collapse on itself at any moment. So for the life of him, Miguel can't understand why you're so ungrateful. So desperate to reprimand him and belittle him when all he's doing is trying to save everyone.

He's failed once,

He's failed twice,

He refuses to fail for a third time.

It doesn't matter that you're some helpless civilian who was stuck in the wrong universe at the wrong time. All that matters is that you're (y/n), his (y/n). Every other Spiderman has their Gwen or their MJ. A dutiful lover, to return to when the night ends, when the fighting ends. When the ignorant sun finally decides to reawaken and cast the city in a temporary ray of peacefulness. Someone to love and cherish, to take their minds off of the dread and misery that runs amuck across their lives.

Peter Parker has his Mary Jane.

Miles Morales had his Gwen Stacy.

So why can't Miguel O'Hara have his (Y/n) (L/n)?

When Miguel looks back down at you, he notices your dark eyes. How the life is slowly fading from your body. He relents, pulling you forward and slamming you into the couch one last time before retracting his hand. He sits down next to your coughing body.

"I hate you" you manage to blurt out between desperate heaves. Trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible. You don't bother looking at him, you know he's mad. He's always mad when you refuse to act like his (y/n). When you poke holes at the perfect illusion he's created.

There's a brief pause. A second of tranquility. Before Miguel grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap. His mouth parts. Fangs releasing and hovering above your jugular. His fangs pierce your vain, releasing his poison into your bloodstream. It's not lethal, at least not yet. Miguel prefers to think of it as a sedative for when you start to act up.

It soothes you, calms you into remembering your place. Your head lulls to the side, falling on his shoulder as your groggy eyes look up at him with a stare that he can almost trick himself into believing is loving, or some variant of the same emotion.

You're his, he knows that. You have to be. It's all he can tell himself as to stay sane. You'll understand someday. Realize you love him too.

After all every hero needs a lover.

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audreyscribes · 9 months

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Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

🍇DIONYSUS; God of Wine making, fertility, theater, festivity, and insanity. 🎭

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

You get claimed in an untypical manner. You heard of demigods waiting for a sign of their godly parent claiming them, with a glowing symbol above their head. Instead, when you get introduced to the camp members, Mr. D appears carrying a can of diet coke and casually states “No need to put them in the Hermes’ cabin. They're one of mine's”

Cue the record scratch. This immediately brings a lot of confusion and gossip. Many eyes look between you and Mr. D who doesn't seem bothered at all. You saw Chiron sigh and place his hand to his face, giving your godly father a disappointed headshake. Then you hear Castor and Pollux yell that they have a new sibling that they didn't even know about?!

You get a lot of looks of sympathy and jealousy. You don't figure out why until a little bit later on. Chiron fills you in with a reassuring voice but also speaks with an exasperated tone to Dionysus

Although you guys can't make wine or touch anything alcohol related, you did inherit Dioynsus' wine making skills. This includes also being good at making infused drinks or mixing drinks that range from mixing soda flavours together to making your tea blend. Even if the flavours shouldn't work together or whatever the drink type you're making, you just can. You are your own personal barista.

Putting this first and out of the way, you're both in a blessed and awkward situation where you are able to see and interact with your godly parent. Mr. D tries to treat you like every other demigod in Camp Halfblood, and that makes it awkward when you don't know if you should call him “Dad” or “Mr. D”, but at the same time, you know you have it better then others.

It doesn't mean Mr. D doesn't keep an eye out. When you dedicate your offerings to the gods and look at him when you do it, you can just see Dionysus’ face soften and his eyes have a hint of affection.

Don't ask how you or your other half-siblings came to be if Mr. D was sentenced to Camp Halfblood. You won't get an answer from but at least you know you're not alone and the twins are glad to have a baby sibling. Get ready for the youngest sibling treatment.

Dionysus is the God of Theatre so you have a theatrical flare. Even if you're introverted, you're not exempt; this can be applied in how you do certain things or be rather convincing at times. If you're extroverted, well, you're automatically the Theatre kid.

This turns out to be rather useful in events like Capture the Flag in a state of mania. When the heat of the battle starts to get to you, you feel your godly parent's power begin to rise in you and you can use that theaters flair to rouse your teammate's spirits up. You can also get a bit maniac and effect your teammates and enemies alike and become rather terrifying.

You have a bit of a green thumb so you can find some solace with the Demeter kids. However, unlike the Demeter kids who can just make plants grow and flourish, your green thumb only really applies to plants you have an interest in like Dionysus with his grapes…or now strawberries. Regardless, you can keep a houseplant alive at least.

Aside from a few very selected people within Camp, you're one of the few people who has seen Mr.D's true form. Not his godly form or the Mr. D you've seen, but the form he usually shows in front of mortals. Then it becomes very obvious how your other parent became so enamoured. You thank him silently for taking up his current form because you’re not going to be ready to hear about Mr. D being a DILF.

“Welcome to Cabin 12!” greeted Castor and Pollux as they opened the door to the cabin. You looked inside and saw how lived in the cabin was. It was clear the twins didn't expect to have another sibling and judging by the absolute shock that your shared father was supposed to be stuck in Camp, they really didn't expect him to have another mortal child.

You also noticed on one of their nightstands there were stacks of Coke and Pepsi, each belonging to one of the beds. There were copious amounts of it, and you wonder if being a child of Dionysus was a prerequisite of having a drink as your go-to drink. Like wine fo Dionysus…though you heard he had to switch to Diet Coke due to his punishment.

“Yeah, sorry for the whole…mess,” said Castor as he looked sheepish. “Pollux and I weren't expecting anyone else to be here, especially since it's been so long since we've first arrived. And you know, our dad, being, well-”

Pollux cleared his throat, “What Castor means, despite everything, we're thrilled to have a baby sibling. We've always been together so we're not that alone, but every now and again, we kind of get envious of the other cabins and having other siblings.”

You smiled when the door is knocked and a new bunk bed is being brought in, Castor and Pollux grinned at you. “Come on, let's get your stuff and space ready, and let's go see our dad.”

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hereforthehitsbaby · 23 days

Note

Beca beca please please I’m begging you write smt w cooper x shy!plus size reader. Please please please😭😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

In The Now | Cooper Adams/Abbott x Plus Size F!Reader

Gif credit to @d-vient

Synopsis: Nightly walks by the fire station is a ritual, a way to clear your mind from the bullshit in your life. The firefighters do so much for your community, why not give them a little appreciation back? Though, only one remains, and he happens to be your favorite.

Warnings: Porn with Plot, Smut, Soft!Cooper, Shy!Reader, Mentions of weight (soft belly/tummy, grabbable thighs, soft flesh, ect.), Public Sex???, Oral F!Receiving, Floor Sex, Cooper Talks You Through It (Shh its canon,)

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: M

Author’s Note: I hope I did your request justice.

Tagging: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica

If you would like to be tagged for my fics, please fill this out

Introvert; a typically reserved or quiet person who tends to be introspective and enjoys spending time alone. Shy; being reserved or having or showing nervousness or timidity in the company of other people. What do both have in common? You. Being shy and introverted is not a bad thing, no, in fact it is a great thing. It protects you from the horrors of the world, keeps you in line with other things in life so – you can get the full experience without the bullshit that comes with it. It is a better way to go through each day; You’re not naïve but careful. You don’t leave traces where you have been, but you garner experiences. You don’t remember conversations but, you remember names and faces. It is better that way; it is easier to be in the background of everyone else’s journey than to be at the forefront. Not being seen is good, it’s safe. You know where you are and cannot be touched. It’s better than whatever is going on locally.

Sure, Philadelphia isn’t the prime location for a job change but – it was better than one season states. At least in Philly you got to see the leaves change, sun to rain to snow, every element was prevalent each day. It was a step up from what you were used to, nothing could follow you here. Your past, your regrets – they stayed away, like they deserved to. You deserved and needed a fresh start – this was the best way to do it, this ensured that you could be seen with fresh eyes, over critical ones. You didn’t want to be in the spotlight, or in places where it wasn’t important. You wanted a name for yourself, but one that didn’t bring attention. Wallflower, that was what you wanted. Standing, listening, analyzing; You take inventory of a room and guess the life pattern for everyone, then be on your merry way. Quiet, demure, mindful.

Moving here was a dream come true – a great work opportunity that you couldn’t pass on. You would’ve been a fool to do so. Plus, a way to escape the realism of your hometown? Call it a win-win situation. It was what every reclusive person wanted; Fully remote, put up in a swanky condo across from the fire department – so you know you’d never lose power in snowstorms. It was good; Safe. It meant you were out of the public sights of the world, you could in passing say hi and move on – never commit to the names. They never mattered anyways. It was a great experience, a great road trip drive, and better yet – a dream come true to explore.

Ladder 49 in Philly is an exuberant bunch – always laughing and welcoming the neighbors in. Every Spring day they are drawing hopscotch with the kids. Every Summer they are playing basketball. Every Autumn they are carving pumpkins and delivering turkeys. Every Winter they are holding toy drives and shoveling people out. When they say they are community driven – they are not kidding. Years upon years of photos always sit in the forefront of the station, showing new and oldcomers alike how much they love giving back, how devoted they are to the community. It was the luck of the draw for you to be across from it, it was a match made in heaven. The first day you moved in was just a show of their kindness, their dedication. Especially when the fire chief came strolling over with a simple sentence: “Let me take those for you.” He didn’t even stutter or miss a step as he took the box out of your arms, and carried it inside. A leader of example, considering his men were quick to grab the rest. That was your first interaction with Cooper Adams, and sure as hell hoped it wasn’t going to be the last.

With the Summer cresting into Fall in Philly, shorts weather now became jeans and a sweatshirt weather. It felt better, not having to deal with chafing thighs and the constant sticky skin. The humidity was brutal this time of the year, but as it dried against you skin it felt nice. The second you could feel it on your back, your stomach, and your sides? It was AC for you. But with the Fall rolling through it just made things better. The air was crisper, the mood was starting to get that spooky feel – with Halloween on the way in. It was everything you wanted, everything you asked for. Everything that made the world feel alright again.

Your favorite things to do during this time were take late night strolls through the town, getting use to the city and seeing how places were starting to decorate. Headlamps lined the streets in Victorian era black steel, the orange glow of the lightbulbs inside caused a cozy feeling to overtake your body. It brought you solace and comfort, knowing everything would be orange and red soon – and the rain would move in sweetly. Pulling your coat tighter around your body, you wrapped your arms over your chest – enjoying the plush feel. Your boots scuffed at the newly paved sidewalk, bringing music to your ears. Laughter could be heard from around the corner, the park playground – as the smell of marijuana hung sweetly in the air. Inhaling the scent deeply, you let your eyes fall shut at the notion – swaying on your own two feet. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re already ready for Winter!” A cheery voice chimed from beside you, causing your eyes to slowly drift open. Turning your head to your right, you saw him sitting against the firehouse wall, spraying down his helmet with cleaner as he smiled at you. Him, the one you have been pining over for months since you arrived in Philly – the one to always strike up a conversation with you. Cooper Adams, fire chief, and resident DILF.

Ever since that first day of taking your boxes in, he never passes on the opportunity to strike up a conversation with you. It was sweet, it was also the highlight of your days. His long chestnut locks always falling into his face, sweeping them away with both hands – the way his ember eyes glittered against any type of lighting sent shivers down your spine. You grew to admire the golden flecks his irises always loved to send out, sparkling like Tiger’s Eye against the sun. He was beauty and grace wrapped into one, the All-American man. Everything you could see yourself wanting, Cooper was. To you it felt silly to have such a high-school crush on a man, clearly in his forties but, the body wants what it wants. The little lines around his eyes when he laughed made your heart grow softer, the way he always admired what you were wearing made your head fill with smoke. He is ethereal, and you never seized the opportunity to embrace that light he shone so brightly.

“Sshh! Don’t say that too loud or else we will get an early one,” you joked, feeling your heart race as your feet started to walk towards the firehouse entrance, leaning against the brick wall beside Cooper. Staring up at you, Cooper laughed so dreamily – music to your ears. He shook with his laughter, which you admired a lot. It wasn’t just a thoughtful reaction but, a mindless one. Everything was always so comical to Cooper, your talk backs and dad jokes. He admired them, and you loved the full body chuckle. Shaking his head, he slowly started to calm his laughter down as he leaned back into the steel chair, sighing out as he grabbed a rag from his side. Propping his helmet on his lap, Cooper started to wipe down the visor of soot from their last call uptown this morning, a two-alarm fire that thankfully no one was home for. Your eyes lost focus on Cooper’s face as he gripped his helmet hard – wiping in circular motions. His blue fire department shirt was rolled around the sleeves, highlighting the beautiful bulging of his biceps. It was soft yet hard; Easily bitable. You felt your mouth water at the thought, smirking inwardly at the idea of doing so.

“You’re fun, you know that?” Internally you cocked your eyebrow, not believing that in the slightest. Sure, you could have fun but, to the outside world? No way. That wasn’t reality. You were a wallflower, shy and quiet versus talkative and extroverted. No, this was only for Cooper – a side of yourself you never would’ve thought would come out as much as it did. Feeling your cheek heat from the compliment, you shied away in yourself for a moment, locking your eyes onto the ground by Cooper booted feet, loving to see the scuffs against the leather – proving how hard he was at work. In fact, you were so into the fantasy of him calling you fun and thinking about his boots, that you wondered what the leather would feel like rubbing against your cu-

“Ah, shit!” Cooper yelled out as he jumped out of his seat, causing you to jump back into reality. Stumbling backwards a bit from the scare, Cooper leaned forth to grab your arm – stopping you from falling. You didn’t quite understand what was happening at first when he grabbed you, but as your body evened out to the stumble, you noticed that the dark blue of Cooper’s shirt was now navy, soaked in liquid – the cleaner he was using. The pungent smell permeated your nostrils, making them flare slightly. Cooper ground his booted feet against the concrete floor, watching you intently as you caught your breath. But you could never bring your eyes to Cooper’s face, no, instead your eyes were fixated on Cooper’s chest. His sopping shirt clinging so well to his form. He was hard in some places, but soft in all the good spots. The soft pudge of his belly to the hardened contours of his sides made your mind go wild. That flush crept down your neck to your chest – suddenly causing your coat to feel too tight around you; Too warm. His nipples pebbled beneath the wetness as a cool breeze rolled through, causing him to shudder.

“Sorry about that, I hope I didn’t splash you,” Cooper spoke with remorse, grimacing at the idea of getting this stuff on you. Shaking your head as you cleared your throat – you closed your eyes momentarily. “Uhm, no…not that I could tell. I was too busy uh,” you began as you chuckled, waving your arms dramatically to signalize your almost fall. Cracking one eye open, you caught Cooper looking at you with a longing look – his head tilted to the side as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. The admiration in his eye lit you on fire, from the inside out. Those beautiful autumn night irises trailed up and down your body, focusing on your baren legs, then trailing up the expanse of your torso – flashing his teeth slightly with his lip bite. You could feel your fingers starting to shake at your side, the electricity between the two of you immaculate – ready to burst at the seams.

As Cooper’s eyes slid over your face, he came to the realization that you saw him check you out, causing his eyes to go wide for a moment before relaxing. A flush of pink tinged his cheeks cutely, causing that little color to make his eyes pop more. Letting go of his lip, he trailed his tongue over the puckered surface. He was holding something back; An internal fight with himself. God, you wanted him to just say it – to put an end to the pining. The tension, the quietness, it was too much. “I was planning on it being you that got me out of my shirt, not the cleaning products.” Cooper was nonchalant with how he spoke out, leaning against the lockers to the left of the firetruck. He used the tip of his elbow to click the garage switch – those giant doors starting to close now, putting the city away for the night so it was only you two. You were happy he did that, considering how loud the garage doors were going down, it masked the small moan you let out at his words.

You were in shock to say the least, not expecting sweet, delicate Cooper to say such a thing. I mean it was obvious you both have been playing the will they, won’t they card for months but – you thought it may have just been all in your head. “Excuse me?” You said quietly, keeping your eyes fixated on the concrete floor. You wouldn’t be able to control yourself if you looked up – your shy demeanor would fall since it was now just the two of you. There was a deeper side of yourself that was questioning all of this – if it was real, if it was in your head. It’s a fantasy to you, Cooper interested in you – a recently divorced man, bringing him back to his glory days. It wasn’t self-doubt or insecurity stopping you; You know you are beautiful, sexy, and hot – but you were afraid this was all a dream. A dream brought on by a fever or a daydream while you’re at work. But as you peered back up to meet Cooper’s attentive gaze, you knew this was real. “Honey, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Cooper spoke so plainly, like nothing else in the world mattered within that moment. Only you did, only this moment did. “I could see it, still see it actually.” He used the rag in his hand to motion to your face in a circle, licking around the inside of his lip as he tried to find the next words. Slowly the gap between the two of you started to close, the air growing thicker and thicker as his body took up the empty space. The gentle pace at which he was going spoke measures, it was delicious – he was inevitable. “Your eyes speak the words you mouth will not.” Cooper brought his clean hand up to caress your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your soft skin. You couldn’t help but to lean in, letting the warmth of his palm envelop you. “That’s…very waxing poet of you.” Your words came out like it was never a question at all or have any hesitancy behind your words. They were true, cute, and most of all – funny.

The genuine belly laugh you got from Cooper caught you off guard - getting you off into a giggle fit. Hearing him let his true self out within that laugh made everything feel okay – the heavy sexual tension was blooming with free-spirited energy and such wholesome qualities; It made you feel so good. Bowing to you, he blew you air kisses as he slicked his hair back, nudging you with his shoulder. “Thank you,” he chortled, running a hand over his five o’clock shadow. The facial hair looked so good on him; Small specks of grey littered the edges, whilst his temple held all the rest. Grey looked so good on him; the color made him youthful in a way. “You know, I did major in poetry at school.” That was a shock to you; You never saw Cooper as the writer type but – more of an engineering background. The new tidbit of information made you question everything.

“Did you now?” You asked politely, crossing your arms over your chest. Biting his lip in your direction, Cooper leaned his arm directly above your head, looking down at you. Your eyes trailed up the inseam of his arm, seeing the light-colored veins under his skin, mixed with the intoxicating smell of his cologne. Your knees trembled the slightest bit as he stood over you, examining your face with precision. His gaze was intense, shifting from hazel to black almost immediately – his pupils taking up all the color. As he went to nod his head, he changed at the last second to a shake. “No, I went to a trade school but hey – I still dabble in a bit of Shakespeare.” He shrugged, doing the shrug smile with it. Rolling your eyes, you set your vision to the calendar hanging up on the other side of the fire station, trying to calm your heart rate from the proximity of Cooper.

He could tell your heart was racing, that your spine was growing tingling with emotion. To help quell the racing you were feeling, Cooper brought his hand back to your face, caressing your cheek as his lips were only a few inches from yours. “No, but seriously, though. I see the way you look at me.” He was so matter of fact with it, he wasn’t skating around anything anymore. He knew that he needed to speak the truth, to get across to you, because this would be the only chance he had while the guys were all playing pool downtown. “I don’t mean to be forward but, it feels good.” You made Cooper feel good, a feeling everyone deserves to have. You felt the pinprick of tears in the corner of your eyes as you smiled up at him, nudging your chin out for him to touch your lips. Cooper stayed where he was, not moving an inch, causing you to grow wanton. “Feeling wanted again.”

Deep seeded emotion found its way into his eyes, the glimmer of light reflecting off showcased the unshed tears he was holding back. With the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, you knew he was close to crying. But Cooper was not going to show that – no, instead he hissed as he pulled back, clearing his throat. A whimper slipped through his parted lips, which in turn caused you to clench your bare thighs together, swallowing down hard at the sound. You tried to be inconspicuous, so Cooper didn’t see; You were thankful his eyes were turned down. “Okay, yeah this is starting to burn,” he snickered out, grabbing at the end of his t-shirt with expert precision. Cooper whipped his shirt off quickly, small bits of chemical hitting the floor as it was removed. Your eyes went wide at the sight in front of you – showing off all the hard and soft parts of Cooper’s torso you saw earlier. This time his skin was pinkened by the exposure to the cleaner, but it didn’t take away from him at all. The happy trail leading right to his belt buckle; His chest hair spread across him in the sexiest way.

Cooper grabbed a clean rag from his locker and doused it with a water bottle, groaning as the burning got more intense. The way the liquid was about to glide over his abs, made your eyes vibrate. You felt your demeanor slipping at an alarming rate, knowing you were about to cross a line you wouldn’t come back from. “Do you want me to hose you down?” Your joke was a tight delivery, considering you couldn’t stop watching Cooper run the wet towel down his stomach, soaking up any bits of the chemicals. You felt your eyes waver heavily as your arousal grew, which caused you to stare at Cooper. His own eyes were obsidian, black around all edges – a man pained with arousal. Smirking in such a sinister way, he nodded at you – flicking the wet cloth in your direction. “Depends, you going to show me what you have hiding under that coat?”

That was it for you – you knew you were never coming back. Cooper Adams metaphorically saw what you had underneath, that lacy red number you bought a while ago. You had nowhere to wear it, and no one to wear it for. But you didn’t care – it made you feel sexy, enticing, plus it was a little incentive for Cooper in hindsight. His red iPhone gave away his favorite color, and tonight he happened to be all alone. It wasn’t planned in the slightest but, you were hoping. When you saw Cooper sitting alone tonight, you hoped no one else was there. After an hour and no one, you knew it was your time to make the call. Twisting side to side in your spot, you moved forward into Cooper’s space, giving your best innocent eyes you could muster as Cooper placed his hand on your hip, smoothing the other down your arm. “You’re not as sneaky as you might think, love.” The whispered tone in which he spoke to you made your body shudder under his touch; His lips pressed sweetly to the shell of your ear, letting his plush skin rest easily against you. He could feel the tremor in your body as his lips laid a peaceful kiss to your ear, moaning slightly into you. “I wasn’t-“ you managed to start but, alas gave up halfway through.

“Oh you were, don’t be shy, darling.” His tone shifted from calm to desperate very quick – a little tease at the end to sweeten the deal. The hand that rested against your hip scooted around to your lower back, running a finger up and down your spine. The other hand resting against your arm snaked to the back of your neck, rubbing at the nape. Quickly you were pulled flush against Cooper, feeling his bulging jeans press firmly against your stomach, causing your breath to waver. His lips only inches from yours; If you tilted your head up, you would be able to just feel him and every dream he could give you. “You were hoping that tonight, of all nights, would be the time you finally got a taste of me.” He read you like a book, because this is exactly what it was. What it all looked like, it was exactly what you needed.

Cooper let both of his hands trail over your clothed body, bringing them around to your front. Each finger admired the curves on you, the soft and supple skin hiding beneath. All he could think about doing was sinking his teeth in and leaving his mark on you. The beige trench coat you wore was adorned in front by the belt – to which you had tied into a bow. Thick, calloused fingers made their way to the simple knot, gently tugging on the longer end, teasing you. Cooper’s eyes remained on your front; mouth ajar whilst the soft fabric started to sway with the tension. You had half a mind to pull yourself back, forcing him to undo it quicker but – where was the fun in that? Cooper wouldn’t have it either, no, he would make your life a living hell if you did that. This was all about the chase, never the end – but you knew it was going to be worth it.

As you were about to speak, the last of the knot fell out in front of you, leaving just the first loop around. Cooper’s agile fingers worked diligently to undo it, letting the belt fall to your side, brushing past your exposed thighs. Taking in the sight of you fully clothed, Cooper took a deep breath as he let his left-hand swing back your coat, now being able to see the glory underneath. The teddy lingerie you were wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination, in fact it gave Cooper the eyeful he had been dying for since day one. You caught his eye, being so adorable and shy, he knew he had to have you. Letting out a low wolf whistle, he took in the gorgeous sight in front of him. Breasts were uncovered due to the structure of the lingerie but held up just nicely due to the underwiring. A keyhole slit sat against the front of your stomach, highlighting its softened nature. Cooper though was drawn to the open slit between your legs where it would be covered, growing harder by the second knowing your cunt has been free this whole night.

“Well, you’d be right,” Cooper stated huskily, rubbing his thumb against the side of your breast. You gasped at the soft touch, shivering under his finger as the cold air of the firehouse nipped at your exposed skin. Everything in you broke, that small thin thread that had been holding you together – completely unraveled. Cooper didn’t waste another second as he leaned forth to capture your neck between his lips, greedily biting at your supple flesh. The moan that ripped from your throat caused Cooper to grow feral; Your back pushed against the lockers next to the firetruck, the cold in perfect contrast with your heated skin. Your hands tangled in Cooper’s soft hair, tugging at the root for him to move his lips upward. You could feel the heat of his bites against your neck, knowing you’d be wearing his mark for days.

Once your lips finally hit Cooper’s, everything you had been holding back on came to fruition. It was unlike anything you had experienced within a kiss. It wasn’t all lips, teeth, and spit like you were used to, it was primal yet possessive. It reminded of the first rainfall of Summer; The air slightly too thick as it crests, skies turning grey at the drop of a hat. But through all that muck and heat you feel it – the cold, crisp drops of rain against your bated skin, absorbing into you – becoming one. The smell around you amplifying the sensation; Goosebumps rising against your flesh as you cool from the inside out. Safe, you’re safe. You’re okay. You’re at peace. It wasn’t like a traditional kiss, it felt more. Cooper must’ve felt it too because his hands pushed you further against his lips, caressing your neck as the fingers of his left hand squeezed your breast lovingly.

He was a man on a mission, a man intoxicated by your touch, how you felt, and everything that encompassed you. He wanted to get drunk off you, and swim in that loving pool of your soul, and never surface again. For the last few months, he felt so unloved, unwanted, embarrassed because of how Rachel treated him. It made him feel insecure, like he wasn’t worthy of that kind of love. But that flew right out the window the second he got you in his hands, knowing that you weren’t going to leave – that you were going to be forever to him. It made you feel lightheaded the amount of passion Cooper was exuding towards you – like you were his lifeline in this cruel world. You brought your leg up around Cooper’s hip to get him further, wanting to feel the full, covered length of him Not wanting to tease you any longer, Cooper grabbed at your baren thigh and hiked it up higher, making sure to spread your pussy enough to feel the cold breeze.

“But I need to taste you first.” He finally spoke again, making you forget his earlier sentence. The thought of Cooper’s mouth on your cunt was enough to make you cry – you needed it bad; you needed him biblically. Nodding against his lips at his words, you placed one of your hands on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around him. Cooper grabbed at the plushness of your thigh, placing it gently onto the bench to your side as he maintained eye contact. Not once in his slow descent down did he ever look away – always keeping his eyes on you, watching how you shivered with delight. His thick fingers ran down your skin like he was starving – hungry for you and only you, bringing a part of his life back he thought was long gone.

As Cooper came face to face with your wet cunt, the reservations he had about going too fast slipped away – he was like a man starved, your folds were the only thing he needed to survive. Cooper’s mouth was only mere inches away from your cunt, his hot breath fanning over your soaked lips. Wasting not a single moment more, Cooper dove into your sweet cunt like a man starved, hungrily lapping at your puffy folds. You screamed out in pure bliss at the feeling, his tongue working your clit in harsh circles, using his two longest fingers to circle your entrance, never did he attempt to push them inside of you. It was only a mere distraction for the fact that he was sucking your clit as if it was a hard candy.

The harsh clash of his lips and the slight grazing of his teeth sent you into an overdrive. So many feelings were flooding through your body, as if ice water had been tossed all over you. It was a pure feeling nonetheless, something so brilliant and rough - you didn't want to give it up. You brought your hands up to rake through Cooper’s locks, yanking harshly at the root as your nails dug into his scalp. The growl he let out into your cunt was feral, yet animalistic. In this moment you both were not humans, but two animals in the jungle, fucking like the world was going to end. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

There was nothing soft or human-like about this, it was pure primal. Cooper’s tongue lapped and flicked over your clit like water, his eyes watching yours as your face turned up in pleasure, wails of pure bliss exiting your mouth. Cooper took you by surprise when he shoved three of his long, thick digits into the cavern of your wet cunt - plowing them in and out of you with wreck less abandon. You were not moaning anymore, you were fully screaming in ecstasy over the brutal fucking you were getting. “I’m here baby, no need for tears,” Tears fell down from your eyes with ease pass of his fingers over that spongy spot - spurring your orgasm on like it was nothing. “You’re safe. Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Come on princess, you can give it to me.”

It's then that your body jolted off of the lockers with a wail of pleasure, neck tightening as you tried too hard to remain in control. “That’s my good fucking girl, you’re squeezing the shit out of me.” Cooper’s brutal pace of his fingers and tongue did not let up, not until you were screaming the safe word. Just then he got a great idea; His fingers kept moving at a rapid speed but his mouth was replaced with his other hand - using them entire pad of his palm to rub your clit quicker. He had a better use for his mouth, placing it on the apex of your thigh, and clamping his teeth harshly around the skin. Not hard enough to break it but, enough to make a welt and bruise form. It was sexy, you've never seen a man like this. “You make me insane, you know that? I am fucking mad for you.” Cooper’s grunts - the sensation of pain mixed with pleasure as your orgasm never faded, instead only growing stronger. The flex of your lower belly came in tune with the vice-like grip of your cunt, your hands twisted smacked hard against the lockers behind you, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It was then, the floodgates broke.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” You screamed out, a new sensation to your orgasm came forth, sending you into a spiral of the unknown. It felt like a bubble burst deep within you, enough to make you scream. "That’s it babydoll, just let go." Cooper huskily let out, letting his hands work in tandem with each other. The rapid movements on your clit and g-spot made you sob into the open air, your orgasm causing your entire body to be jelly-like. “That’s a good girl, you’re so perfect. You’re everything to me.” Your brain was nonexistent, all you could hear was the sloppy wet sound of your cunt being wrung out, and Cooper’s primal growls. Looking down at Cooper, you watched as the thickness of his fingers disappearing inside of your cunt, your orgasm soaking not just his hands, but his chest and stomach - eyes black as the sky above. There were so many things you wanted to say, but could not get them out - you were too far gone to speak. Cooper saw that you were twitching aimlessly, and took it as a sign to spot. Abruptly pulling his hands from your core, Cooper shoved his fingers into his mouth, sloppily sucking them clean as you watched with fervor.

You were a mess, one you knew you weren’t going to be coming back from anytime soon. It was too much – everything that you had been wanting played out, and yet still so much more needed to be said. “Coop! Why are you still here, my dude!” The young voice brought you out of your high, causing your eyes to focus back in on Cooper’s face – the front of his chest soaked with your essence. The gentle laugh emanating from the back of the firehouse made you shy away, feeling you turn in on yourself. Cooper didn’t get what was happening at first, not until the heavy bootsteps started to come towards you, making him scramble up on cracking knees. “Shit!” He let out in a whisper, the silent scream obvious as he wasted no time to grab your jacket – holding it closed on you as the footsteps haltered. “Oh hey ma-“ The young firefighter started, looking up from his phone at the same time. What he was met with, was the image of Cooper’s front pressed against you, your face heating with arousal and nerves as you buried it into Cooper’s neck, smelling a hard days work on his skin. Cooper flashed his coworker a taut smile, waving with his freehand, hoping he wouldn’t say anything. “Oh my god did you get laid?!” He yelled out, smacking the back of his phone against his hand as you erupted into a fit of laughter. You shook in Cooper’s arms as he laughed out loud as well, realizing there was no point of hiding it now. Looking up at Cooper, you watched as he slowly nodded towards his coworker, a few unruly strands of hair falling into his face.

Without missing a beat, the firefighter came over and smacked Cooper on his bare shoulders, going to his locker directly next to you and grabbing out his backpack. “Cooper, you’re my fucking hero dude!” He yelled as he ran out through the side entrance, waving off his fire chief, leaving you both alone again. The giggle fit going through the both of you made for a fun way to decompress after having the best orgasm of your life. No man had ever made you cum so hard – so precisely as well. It was like Cooper took you apart, and rebuilt you over and over; Each wave being harder than the last. Cooper took a deep breath in as he pressed his heated forehead to yours, the flush on his cheeks working its way back. “Let’s finish this at my house. Riley and Logan are staying with their mom this weekend.” You weren’t going to pass on this opportunity – especially now that you learned the names of his kids. It was a weird feeling, for both of you. Cooper never disclosed information about his kids to anyone – only those who he deemed important. He knew you were, and were going to be in his life for a while. He could already tell by the way you carried yourself - they were going to love you as much as he could.

Nodding your head against Cooper, you pecked him gently on the lips – lingering for a moment and just focusing on the feeling. “I’m down, let me pack a bag.” The snicker Cooper omitted at your sentence made you perk up, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. Running his warm fingers over your cheeks, he grasped your chin firmly, yet soft – peering down into your eyes. “Oh sweetheart, that’s cute,” he began, biting at his bottom lip. The swirls of colors in your eyes caused his to ignite, flecks of reds and golds flitting around in his irises. His lips grazed your lips as he smirked, licking at you while he continued. “You’re not going to need anything when I am done with you.” Cooper whispered sensually, causing your cunt to pulsate. A weekend without clothes, Cooper between your thighs – was the best way to ring in the fall.

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brookghaib-blog · 3 months

Text

Love in the Defense Force

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Ashiru! reader

summary: where Mina Ashiru's sister is head over heels with the Vice-Captain

Y/N stood at the edge of the training field, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the ground. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of recruits preparing for their first session under her command. As the platoon leader of the Third Division, Y/N took immense pride in her role. Her bubbly personality and strength as an officer had earned her the respect and admiration of her peers and subordinates alike.

She adjusted her uniform, her mind briefly wandering to her sister, Ashiru Mina, the renowned captain of the Defense Force's First Division. Mina was a legend, and Y/N couldn't be prouder to be her sister. She often found herself boasting about Mina's accomplishments to anyone who would listen. But today, the focus was on her own platoon and the new recruits she was about to train.

The recruits lined up, their eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. Y/N's reputation had preceded her, and they were eager to see if the stories of her beauty and strength were true. She stepped forward, her presence commanding yet warm.

"Good morning, everyone!" Y/N greeted, her voice carrying across the field. "Welcome to your first day of training with the Third Division. I'm Ashiru Y/N, your platoon leader. I expect dedication, hard work, and respect. In return, I'll give you the best training you can get."

The recruits nodded, some whispering among themselves about her striking appearance and the aura of strength she exuded. Y/N noticed their admiration but maintained her professional demeanor.

"Let's start with some warm-ups," she instructed. "Follow my lead."

As they began their exercises, it became evident why Y/N was held in such high regard. Her movements were precise and powerful, her commands clear and motivating. The recruits tried their best to keep up, impressed by her physical prowess and the ease with which she led them.

After the warm-ups, Y/N gathered the recruits in a circle. "Alright, we'll move on to combat drills. Remember, technique and control are key. Strength alone won't get you far."

The recruits nodded again, eager to learn from her. They paired off, practicing the moves Y/N demonstrated. She moved among them, offering guidance and corrections, her encouragement lifting their spirits.

As the morning progressed, Y/N's keen eye caught every mistake and improvement. She paused occasionally to show a recruit how to refine their technique, her patience and expertise shining through. The recruits admired not only her beauty but also her dedication and skill.

During a brief break, Y/N's attention was drawn to the arrival of two familiar figures—Ashiru Mina and Hoshina Soshiro. Her sister, with her usual composed demeanor, nodded in approval as she observed the training. Hoshina, the Vice-Captain of the Third Division, stood beside Mina, his presence radiating authority.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She respected Mina and Hoshina deeply, always striving to meet their expectations. But when it came to Hoshina, her feelings went beyond mere respect.

"Captain Ashiru, Vice-Captain Hoshina," Y/N greeted, snapping to attention. "It's an honor to have you here."

Mina nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're doing well, Y/N. Keep it up."

Hoshina stepped forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Impressive work, Y/N. Your recruits are lucky to have such a dedicated leader."

Y/N's blush deepened, and she stammered slightly. "T-thank you, Vice-Captain. I… I just want to do my best."

Hoshina chuckled, his gaze lingering on her. "And you certainly do. Keep up the good work."

The recruits, observing from a distance, exchanged curious glances.

Y/N quickly composed herself, turning back to her recruits. "Alright, break's over! Let's get back to training."

The recruits resumed their drills, but their attention occasionally flickered to Y/N and Hoshina. Mina, perceptive as always, noticed the recruits' interest and the way Hoshina's attention seemed to fluster her sister.

As the training session continued, Y/N found herself working even harder, driven by the desire to impress both her sister and Hoshina. Her commands were sharp, her demonstrations flawless. The recruits struggled to keep up, their admiration for her growing with each passing minute.

Finally, the session came to an end. The recruits were exhausted but exhilarated, their respect for Y/N solidified by her performance. Y/N gathered them one last time, offering words of encouragement and advice.

"Remember, training is only part of the battle," she said. "Your attitude and perseverance will determine your success. I'm proud of the effort you've shown today. Keep it up, and you'll do great things."

The recruits nodded, their spirits high despite their fatigue. They dispersed, leaving Y/N alone with Mina and Hoshina.

"You did well, Y/N," Mina said, her voice filled with sisterly pride. "I'm proud of you."

Y/N beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. "Thank you, Mina. That means a lot coming from you."

Hoshina stepped forward, his smile warm. "You have a natural talent for leadership, Y/N. Your recruits are lucky to have you."

Y/N's blush returned, and she struggled to maintain her composure. "Th-thank you, Vice-Captain. I just try to follow the example set by you and Mina."

Hoshina's gaze softened, and he reached out, gently touching the top of her head. "You're doing more than just following, Y/N. You're setting an example of your own."

Y/N's heart raced, and she could barely meet his eyes. "I… I'll keep working hard. Thank you, Vice-Captain."

The vehicle hummed steadily as it sped towards the site of the kaiju attack. Inside, the atmosphere was tense yet charged with anticipation. Ashiru Y/N stood at the front, her presence a beacon of energy and optimism for the new recruits. This was their first mission, and she intended to ensure they faced it with courage and determination.

"Alright, everyone!" Y/N called out, her voice bright and encouraging over the roar of the engine. "We've trained hard for this moment. Remember everything we've practiced. Stick together, watch each other's backs, and we’ll come out of this stronger. You’ve got this!"

The recruits responded with nods and murmurs of agreement, their faces a mixture of anxiety and resolve. They admired Y/N not only for her strength and skill but for her unwavering positivity, which had become a source of inspiration for them.

Hoshina Soshiro, seated near the back, watched Y/N with a fond smile. He appreciated her leadership style, her ability to uplift and motivate her team. As she finished her pep talk, he leaned forward slightly, catching her eye.

"You're so cute when you get into the leading role," he said, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and she felt the warmth spreading to the tips of her ears. She stammered, trying to form a coherent response, but all that came out was a flustered, "Th-thank you, Vice-Captain."

The recruits exchanged amused glances, some chuckling softly at their leader's obvious crush on Hoshina. Y/N's embarrassment only deepened, but she quickly pulled herself together, determined to maintain her composure.

"Alright, everyone, focus!" she said, a touch more firmly. "We're almost there. Stay sharp and remember your training."

The vehicle soon screeched to a halt, and the doors burst open. The team quickly disembarked, the sounds of chaos and destruction filling the air. The cityscape before them was marred by the presence of kaiju, the monstrous creatures wreaking havoc. Smaller kaiju swarmed the streets, their shrieks echoing ominously, while a massive one loomed in the distance, engaging in a fierce battle with Mina Ashiru.

Y/N took a deep breath, drawing strength from the sight of her sister. Mina was a force of nature, her every move precise and powerful. Watching her in action filled Y/N with pride and a renewed sense of purpose.

"Form up!" Y/N commanded, her voice cutting through the din. "Focus on the smaller kaiju. Keep them contained and away from the civilians. Mina will handle the big one."

The recruits sprang into action, following Y/N's lead. They moved as a unit, their training evident in their coordinated attacks. Y/N herself was a blur of motion, her weapon slicing through the smaller kaiju with practiced ease. Each swing was calculated, each movement fluid and efficient.

Hoshina, nearby, couldn't help but admire her skill. He fought alongside her, occasionally offering guidance and support. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he found himself appreciating the way Y/N's determination shone through, her bubbly personality giving way to a fierce and focused warrior.

"Keep it up, team!" Y/N shouted, dispatching another kaiju. "We’re doing great!"

The recruits, inspired by her example, fought harder. Their initial nervousness faded, replaced by a growing confidence. They had trained under Y/N's watchful eye, and now they were proving themselves in battle.

Hoshina watched as Y/N took down another kaiju with a powerful strike. He couldn't resist offering another compliment, his tone both serious and admiring. "You're amazing out here, Y/N. Truly."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, but she managed to keep her focus. "Thank you, Vice-Captain. Just following your example."

The battle raged on, but the tide was turning in their favor. Y/N's leadership and the recruits' determination were making a difference. They pushed the smaller kaiju back, slowly but surely gaining the upper hand.

In the distance, Mina continued her battle with the massive kaiju. Her attacks were relentless, her movements a blur of deadly precision. She was a sight to behold, and Y/N felt a surge of pride every time she glanced her way.

"Almost there!" Y/N encouraged her team. "Just a little more, and we’ve got this!"

The battle against the kaiju raged on. Despite the initial success in containing the smaller kaiju, the situation remained tense. Y/N continued to lead her team with determination, dispatching kaiju with precision and maintaining her recruits' morale.

Suddenly, a crackle came through the radio on Y/N's belt. She paused momentarily to listen, the words sending a chill down her spine.

"Vice-Captain Hoshina is engaging Kaiju Number 8. Repeat, Vice-Captain Hoshina is engaging Kaiju Number 8."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, worry flooding her senses. Kaiju Number 8 was notorious, one of the most formidable foes the Defense Force had encountered. The thought of Hoshina facing it alone filled her with dread.

But she couldn't afford to lose focus. Her team needed her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed her worries aside, channeling her anxiety into determination.

"Stay sharp, everyone," she called out to her team. "We've got a job to do. Focus on the task at hand."

The recruits nodded, their resolve mirroring her own. They continued to fight, gradually clearing the area of the remaining kaiju. Y/N fought with renewed intensity, her movements swift and decisive, her mind a whirlwind of concern for Hoshina.

As the last of the smaller kaiju fell, Y/N allowed herself a moment to breathe. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her thoughts immediately turning to Hoshina. The area was secure, and her team was safe. Now, she needed to find him.

"Team, maintain your positions and secure the perimeter," Y/N instructed.

Without waiting for a response, she took off to find hoshina. Her heart pounded in her chest as she navigated the rubble and debris, her mind racing with scenarios of what she might find.

Finally, she spotted him. Hoshina was sitting cross-legged on a piece of broken concrete, his gaze distant as he appeared to be lost in thought.

Y/N felt a wave of relief crash over her, her eyes filling with tears. She rushed to him, her worry manifesting in a comically exaggerated display of emotion. "Soshiro Are you okay? I heard you were fighting Kaiju Number 8 and I got so worried!"

She reached him, practically skidding to a halt, her tears flowing freely. Her dramatic reaction made her look almost cartoonish in her distress, her hands flailing slightly as she tried to compose herself.

Hoshina looked up at her, his serious expression breaking into a warm, amused smile. He chuckled softly, his eyes filled with affection. "Hey, Y/N. I'm alright. I didn't really do anything, he ran away."

Y/N sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "You had me so scared! Don't you ever do that again!"

Hoshina laughed, reaching out to gently pat her shoulder. "I can't promise that, princess. It's part of the job."

She nodded, her worry slowly giving way to relief and a hint of embarrassment at her over-the-top reaction. "I'm just glad you're okay. I… I was really scared."

Hoshina's smile softened, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I know. And I'm grateful for your worry. But remember, we've got that dinner planned soon. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Y/N's face lit up, her tears finally stopping as she let out a small laugh. "Right! Our dinner. I almost forgot."

Hoshina stood up, stretching slightly. "Come on, let's get back to the others. We've still got a job to finish."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of strength. She fell into step beside him, her heart lighter now that she knew he was safe.

The dining hall was alive with laughter and conversation. Haruichi Izumo had outdone himself organizing the celebratory dinner, bringing together the officers and new recruits of the Defense Force. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and joy, especially as they officially welcomed Kafka Hibino as an officer.

Y/N, seated next to Soshiro, was in high spirits. The drinks had been flowing freely, and she found herself getting a bit tipsy. Her usually bubbly personality was amplified, her laughter louder and her smiles wider.

"Cheers to Hibino Kafka!" Y/N exclaimed, raising her glass high. "To new beginnings and new heroes!"

The group echoed her toast, clinking their glasses together. Kafka blushed, looking both honored and slightly embarrassed by the attention. Everyone was enjoying the evening, their bonds growing stronger with each shared story and hearty laugh.

As the night wore on, Y/N’s flirtatious side began to emerge. She leaned closer to Hoshina, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "You know, Soshiro," she whispered loudly, her voice carrying over the din, "I love you. Like, really love you."

The new officers, seated nearby, exchanged surprised glances. They had seen Y/N’s exaggerated reactions around Hoshina before, but this was something else entirely.

Hoshina chuckled, his arm slipping around Y/N's shoulders. "I know, Y/N. I love you too."

Y/N grinned, wrapping both arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "You’re the best, you know that? The absolute best."

Okonogi, who had been watching the scene unfold with increasing amusement, decided to step in. She approached Hoshina, a playful smirk on her face. "Alright, Y/N, let’s not cause too much of a scene. We don’t want to make a bad impression on the new recruits."

Y/N clung to Hoshina, her grip tightening. "Nooo, I wanna stay with Soshiro!"

The new recruits stared, wide-eyed, at the unfolding drama. Hoshina gently patted Y/N's back, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Come on, Y/N. Let's get you home so you can rest."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, so we're going home, huh? Are we going to have a long night, Soshiro?" Her tone was suggestive, causing several of the recruits to choke on their drinks.

Hoshina laughed, standing up and helping Y/N to her feet. "Excuse my girlfriend," he said, looking around the room with a grin. "She can never be near me after a couple of glasses."

The room fell silent for a moment as the new recruits processed his words.

"GIRLFRIEND?!"

#soshino x reader #fanfic #hoshina x reader #kaiju art #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #fics #kn8 #kn8 fanart #kn8 fanfic #kn8 x reader

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romanticoms · 2 months

Text

everything i said i knew, i didn't (come through)

lando norris x fem!reader → tags: wc 2.2k, pure smut, fan(?) x athlete, no use of y/n (thankfully) not proofread, 5am.

author's note: this set us back by like 60 years.. i won't elaborate on why it's so bad. (my excuse is that i only write resident evil fanfics :3)

it's about a week or so into the new season, which has everyone evidently excited, some more so than others, much like you, you could only ever dream of watching the races in real time, it's a given that you're on vacation a little too near to what could be considered a hotspot for drivers alike.

drivers were practically saran wrapped in black coats, heading from the hotel lobby straight up to their respective rooms,

you were just a simple thing, minding your own business, it'd be rude to even try to look for any one of the drivers, that's class a asshole behaviour, as much as you were willing to look for any of them, it's not like it's in your cards to find a driver on their one special night's rest, let alone build up the courage and ask any one of them for their signatures.

to your surprise, word on the street says something about mclaren's drivers promoting a new sponsor of theirs, it won't hurt to snag a picture or two, especially now that there are fans posting about it,

you arrive at the ballroom, not too big not too small, reasonable enough not to squint to look at either one of the two, but you were fairly distanced away from the two, a crowd lies in between you and the two, hell, if someone had to point you out from the crows it'd probably take hours, not for lando though, his eyes had been on you since the moment you'd been there, probably longer? only he knows, but it takes you a questionable amount of time to even realize who exactly he was staring at, you shrug off the possible feeling of the fact that he was actually staring at you, don't get your hopes up, that's what you agreed on since the start anyways.

a little after the event concludes, it's a slip past midnight but you still manage to shower the feeling of heavy crowds pushing you back and forth away, slipping into a racy nightdress, you're reminding yourself to make the best of a holiday, even if it means you have to sacrifice some comfort to look cute (even when nobody's looking), you finish off by tying a near slobbish knot that doesn't have you trying again, still buzzing with the idea that lando's been looking at you, as much as you're willing to deny it for the right reasons, it's true, looking back at the recordings on your phone and it's more apparent that he was taking quick glances at you and the crowd ahead of him, then you, back to the crowd, it's an endless cycle and it has you giggling to yourself, a fucking coincidence

a knock or two hits your door, it's faint but you're aware that it's bed time, room service at this time of the night? they changing your room due to booking fuck ups? you think of the possibilities on the short walk to the door, you peek through the peephole to find lando norris, at your door, smiling somewhat like an idiot.

meeting an f1 driver was certainly not on your "list of things that happened today" bingo card, let alone on the fact that he's here just to see you, it's too surreal it has you nearly weak at the knees.

the door, holy shit. opening the door, butter fingers, it's a generational curse, lando seems much more relaxed after seeing you, poor boy was probably scared he got the wrong room,

you turn to speak but he hushes you, a fucking finger to your lips and it already has you feeling butterflies, given your knees were weaker than gruel, he's had you in a trance, captivated to the point where you take a few steps back from the door until he allows himself in, he shuts the door softly, double— triple checking if they're locked, he turns to you, it's the glint in his eyes that show he owes you an explanation,

"sorry about that," he starts,

"what brings you here?" you ask out of pure concern, it shocks you (and others, probably) that lando would go out of his way for someone like you, it's cute, to a point.

"just needed an escapade," he sits himself on the edge of the bed, it's crazy that you have him here but there's no way in hell he's here for whatever your brain believes.

"well, if you really want to know," he clears his throat before speaking again, "i'm here to see you,"

"me? of all people, me?" you cough up, at this rate you won't stop beating yourself up over nothing, it's valid given the status difference between the two of you.

you're visibly surprised, and it amuses lando, well enough for him to take the first step.

"yes, you," he murmurs, standing as he speaks, his frame slightly overlooks yours, he's like a a shadow that's brighter than you, in any and every way, odd.

"i saw you at the event earlier, you'd be surprised to know how easy it is to play pretend with the concierge." he chuckles, you just stare at him with your arms crossed, like you're babysitting a kid.

"it's still shitty of me, i know, i know," he has both arms slightly up, you're turned to him, now you're sitting on the same bed as him and it smells like bergamot and a pang of tension.

a pang doesn't cut it, you stare deeply into his eyes as he does with yours, it's not long until you're letting out, it's messy, really.

catching onto how many times he's been chuckling in between kisses, it just gets hotter and hotter, he really is the sun much like they claim.

his arm is around your waist drawing you in closer to him, his free hand tangled in your hair, gently caressing your cheekbones.

he deepens the kiss, savoring the warm heat of your body against his. his hands move slowly down your back as he pulls you towards him, it's nearly dramatic, the way you two hit heavy on the bedframe while simultaneously continuing, like animals, it's evident from the pale moonlight watching over the two of you, he's ferocious, grasping onto either sides of your waist and down, bruising them evenly, he whines and bites his lip the moment you pull back, just briefly before he has you on your back, you feel the mattress dip as he gets closer to you, crooning in your neck, he whispers, "jesus, feels so fucking good,"

barely a minute, no, two minutes? three? you lost count, your mind is drifting elsewhere, questioning how lando could keep track of the time, (it's his job to do so, obviously) but his kisses just keep pulling you back to the situation at hand, he'll deal with the rest later, he's desperate to peel the layers of clothes stringing you two apart.

"come on, can't wait—" he mutters to himself, desperately undoing the final strap of your silk before tossing it somewhere to the side, he's careful to not rip a single thread,

if it weren't for anyone or anything suspecting your unexpected visitor this late at night, he'd make it his goal to get you to scream his name, he'll settle for what he can get now, the rest will come eventually.

"there, there, sweetheart," he's coaxing you relentlessly, you're at ease, "where do you want me?" he looks up at you, you say nothing, slowly snatching his wrist to feel his calloused palm feel your stomach, he's knee deep in this, you're just made that way, made for him, "fuck, that's hot," lando hisses by your ear as he positions himself to box your frame.

"want me to be gentle, sweetheart? or rough, it's your call," he murmurs sweetly before softly nibbling at the lobe of your ear, peppering kisses from ear to neck, "rough," you choke out, "didn't hear you, sweetheart," he's teasing you and it feels worse than having pins and needles, "rough, please," you're crying out and he's heartlessly teasing you, barely met the guy and you know he's gonna make up for it, "atta girl," it's like you were sculpted for him, mind, voice and body.

he brings the incessant teasing to a mere halt when he motions you to get on top of him, feeling your cold but sweat glazed back pitted against his abs, feeling his cock swell against you, in heat of the moment, you mindlessly respond to him without even realising it, swirling your tongue on his middle and ring fingers, coating through and through before bringing it down to your aching pussy, his digits pressed up on your clit, he's really, really slow with his movements but you're not fighting it, you're not fighting for a quick stimulation, given the situation, the pace and timing are suited to your mind's liking, not like when you'd desperately stuff your fingers in your pussy to take your mind off the edge, you were sloppy n' straightforward with it, but lando, lando's a whole other topic that needs to be studied,

"this good for you, sweetheart? i can go a whole new mile for you if you need me to, just give me the word, i'll be more than happy to provide," he's whispering in your ear and it's making your stomach turn, unable to think and come up with anything, you come, cum all over his hands, all over nearly nothing, guilt washes you, barely pleased him and you're already selfishly doing this, lando's not even questioning a thing, he smirks against your shoulder and you feel it, he's silent but he doesn't even think twice before he continues, "good girl, such a good girl," he's consistently praising you, still at the same pace, maybe a little faster, you wouldn't know because of how it'd felt in the moment, lightheaded but in a good way, indefinitely, cloud nine? better than that, then you're hit with a second orgasm, this time your legs trash and you nearly give in before he stops briefly, you're gasping for air but you're desperate to finish, "no, please, don't stop," you pant in frustration, "hey, i'm not going anywhere," he's nonchalant about it, treating your desperation with utmost attention, he's careful with you, switching positions, he's up and facing you on the bed, slowly going over your waistline, then, he lines the throbbing red heat of his cock with your mound, slowly teasing you, pushing it up and down for a few seconds before slowly bottoming out, you push back in a pang of shock, not even a split second later it feels better than anything you figured he'd promise, locking your fingers with his, slow but rhythmic slaps fill the hollow sound of your once empty room, he dives forth, finds the crook of your neck, slowly sinking his teeth in, this one definitely does it for you, the third orgasm definitely jumps on the scale, feeling it ramp up to a solid twelve, you feel lando pick up the pace, "'m gonna cum, baby, n' it's gonna be all over you, n' you're gonna take it," evident from the grunts you hear in the back of your mind before you're picked back up into reality, he pulls out and you feel empty, yearning just a little more, nothing beats the view of seeing his essence take up certain areas of your belly, he watches as your breathing slowly regulates.

figuring you need a minute or two to cool off, he disappears into the bathroom without saying a word, you hear the water run and hit the cold floor, then you start to see steam fog up the mirror from the door, conveniently angled to the bed, lando pops back out to pick you up, bridal style at that, he's admiring every feature painted on your face, even the waterproof mascara he's managed to ruin, kicking the door shut with the back of his foot, he sets you in the bath tub where you're immediately soothed by it's warm embrace.

#yappin #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader

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milliesfishes · 2 months

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୨ৎ⋆˚౨ৎ𝓡𝓲𝓫𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓼౨ৎ˚⋆୨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: depression, control, mention of a past suicide attempt, angst pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader author’s note: this work contains topics that may be upsetting pertaining mental health, controlling relationships, depression, and suicide. I did my best to portray them correctly. I hope you all enjoy the series, it's very angsty :) 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓑𝓸𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓯𝔂 𝓟𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

THE ELUSIVE FIRST LADY We've all seen the pictures. Coriolanus Snow was wed to the most beautiful bride Panem has ever seen in a lustrous ceremony two years ago. After the honeymoon, the young politician engaged in a slew of campaigning, and nearly exactly twelve months later, he was elected president. The First Lady has neither been seen or heard from since. In the past, it has been customary for the wives of the President to host galas and attend charity events. Mrs. Snow has done none of the above. President Snow was very open with his wife before the election, and she was alongside him at every speech and dinner. Presently, he attends what few events he does alone, his wife nowhere in sight. Due to the now-First Lady's popularity before her husband's candidacy, it is a curious occurrence indeed. So we, and all of Panem, have to ask the question- where is she?

Suffocation is very slow.

Even butterflies in bell jars flutter around for a bit before they take their last breaths. They are there to admire for what their captors know is a limited time. That was the difference between theirs and yours.

For your own peace of mind, you reasoned that Coriolanus Snow had not known what he was doing.

Breathing in the salty air of the seaside, you felt the scent and sound of everything wash over you and slip your mind into a state of relaxation. It had been months since you'd felt this free.

Hands on the smooth, grainy railing of the porch, you stood on your tiptoes, the edge pressing against your belly. The sea breeze tickled your hair around your neck, the skirts of your white dress brushing your ankles.

It had been four weeks of bliss; of waking up with cotton sheets tangled around your legs, of feeling the sun freckle your skin that was no longer pale as death. A whimsical month of sand in every crease, of collecting seashells the length of your little fingernail and spreading them over the kitchen counter to admire.

You were supposed to escape this way. To get better. But the little details of this place painted a picture of home; the very spot you were not supposed to think of. Truly, the great, roaring mass of water was more alike to what you had left behind than the thing itself.

The ocean was the same blue of his eyes, contained secrets of the same magnitude. The tide ebbed and flowed the same way he did. There was one marked difference, though. When you thought of him, resentment and sorrow bubbled in your chest to create a confusing swirl of unexplainable feeling. You did not feel this toward the sea.

Fisting the skirt of your dress, you ran a hand up the column of the house. The porch was strewn with sand, the pastel walls of the Victorian exterior worn with time but adding to the charm. This place had become your sanctuary. And you had your doubts about whether you would be allowed to return.

Padding inside, the knotted rug cleared the majority of the sand from your feet, but you knew some would manage to stick and track onto the hardwood floor. Your two round suitcases were packed, the few belongings from your month away tucked away and reminding you how little space things actually take up. Mass does not account for the memories.

Looking around at this little space that had become your home, you felt a familiar pang of dread tap your chest. You had been avoiding it- the idea that you must leave. The idea of returning to what had gotten you sent here in the first place.

A dam of memories began to crack, but you resisted, holding the splits in the structure with your fingers. I am better now. The whole point of you coming here was to recover. That single dreadful flicker of a recollection sparked, but you held it down.

Tires crunching on gravel. An involuntary shudder racked your body. It was time. Funnily enough, this felt more like a punishment than coming here had. You bent and picked up your suitcases, slipping your feet into the black flats that would deem your ensemble appropriate enough for return.

Your companions for the month had already departed, quiet goodbyes and well wishes in their wake. They knew what was waiting for you, and doubly they knew how you dreaded it.

Shutting the door behind you felt like forcing two magnets away from each other. You slowly pulled your hand away from the doorknob, thumb pressing into the embossed symbol in the center. When you looked down at your hand, you could see the imprint of it in the skin. A rose.

Using that hand to bunch your skirts again, you descended the creaky stairs and down the willowy, crunchy path of seashells and rocks to where the black-suited driver was holding the door of the car for you. He eyed you when you bent to pick a handful of beach aster before continuing your walk of doom.

Shutting the door behind you, he offered a polite tip of the hat, which you acknowledged with a smile. It wasn't his fault you were headed back into the lion's den.

The entire drive, you stared out the window, eyes chasing the sights as they whizzed by, back into the past already; those golden hours you missed already. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the reality of it hit you.

Good-bye sandy sunsets and shining waters.

It was your final farewell as you were forced to greet empty halls and lonely luxury.

Back into the bell jar.

If you had wings, they would be wilted. The second you saw the mansion, looming over the car like a monster, you recoiled, shrinking back into your seat and wishing you could sink into the spot. Maybe if you willed it hard enough you would disappear and leave nothing but a white dress with a pocket full of seashells behind.

You shivered, folding your hands around your arms as goosebumps sprouted. Longing for the crackling fire in the hearth of your beach house, you tried to sit up straight. It wouldn't do well to have a shaky appearance.

Being in the car made you more anxious than the idea of returning. Clenching your fingers around your arms, you breathed in and out, tried to count to one hundred. The car ride to the beach house had elicited a similar reaction, your nerves getting the better of you.

The golden gates parted for the car, and that was when you saw him waiting, hands folded behind his back, standing on the pale marble steps leading up to the house. His hair was so light it was nearly the same color, the red of his coat a stark contrast. In your absence you had forgotten the season, and suddenly you regretted your choice in dress. The thin straps would do little to protect you from the cold.

As you stepped out of the car, using the hand of the driver as leverage, Coriolanus moved forward toward you. His icy blue eyes roved over your appearance; sun-warmed skin, simple dress, some beach aster stuck behind your ear and more peeking out of your pocket. The tiny shells in the same opening slightly jingled as you met him halfway.

"Darling," he greeted, his voice low. The only other people out here were the Peacekeepers used for the mansion's security and the driver of the car, who was taking your two circular suitcases from the back.

You lifted your chin, taking his offered hand and letting him help you up the steps. Repressing a shiver because the house was only a minute away, you eyed the barren trees lining the walls. There were only a few dried, stiffened leaves clinging to the spindly branches. Even the roses were trimmed now, at the stems.

Disappointment twinged at your insides. One of the only things you'd been looking forward to was escaping through the garden. Coriolanus noticed your face fall at the sight, and he squeezed your hand. "Some of them were cut and moved inside. We can have more brought in if you would like."

Nodding slightly, you gave him a soft smile, doing your best to hide from him the dread eating you from the inside out. Stepping through the lacquered white doors, the chill of the mansion made you shiver in a way unrelated to the temperature. Coriolanus secured his arm around you, rubbing your elbow. "You must be freezing in that dress. Come, let's get you something more...appropriate."

The disdain in his tone was hard to miss. But you knew he wasn't talking about your outfit. He wanted to transform you back into the woman he knew. In appearance only.

It felt like an attack. Coriolanus wanted to scrub from you any remnants of your escape, of the time you hadn't been under his shadow. Truthfully, you couldn't be too upset for it. He didn't know of the haven in your beloved ocean. All he knew was that you'd been away from him.

"Of course," you whispered, lifting your eyes to meet his. Your husband caressed your cheek briefly, an unrecognizable look flickering in his irises.

It quickly diminished though, and you were then escorted up the stairs, walking hand in hand down the hallway with him. His shiny shoes clicked on the tile, your flats barely making a sound.

Stopping at your door, Coriolanus turned to you, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. "Will you come down for dinner?" he questioned quietly, voice barely echoing in the expanse of the hallway.

Nodding slightly, you managed a little upturn of your lips, feeling like you were performing. "Of course."

A sort of relieved expression fell over him, and he lifted your joined hands, kissing your fingers. "Wonderful. I'll let you freshen up."

Once you were behind the door of your bedroom, you leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. It was over. The first part was over. Maybe this will have been the hardest.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment before getting to your feet, watching the sunset cast shadows on the floor and expose the dust of the air. At least the same moon would appear when the night fell.

Wandering into the bathroom, you studied your reflection for a moment. You didn't look at all like the woman who'd left these walls four weeks ago. But you didn't look like who you'd been before being her either. Now you were some foreign, unfamiliar thing whose nature you had not yet uncovered.

It was like stumbling upon the Gardens of Babylon; something inside you that there had been whispers of, but nobody had known existed. And now you weren't sure if you were entirely yourself. Everything you were before was shelled inside like a nesting doll, but you hadn't the courage to uncover it.

Tearing your eyes away from the mirror, you slipped off your shoes, feeling the cool marble beneath your feet. Checkered tiles. You had picked them out so long ago.

Turning your head to the side, you saw it standing there, like a lone specter. The smooth, rounded bathtub, like a cupped hand. Reaching out, you lightly ran a finger down the side of it. It wasn't the same one. Of course it wouldn't be.

You wondered what he'd done with it. Had it destroyed, maybe? He'd blame anything but you for what happened.

Even an inanimate object that had been doing nothing but what it was created to.

Dressed in a light pink sweater tucked into a matching skirt, a belt cinching your waist, you sat primly diagonal from him, picking at the food on your plate. Long gone were the beach asters, any grains of sand that may have clung to you. A shower had erased it.

Now you were back, settled into the space you'd inhabited before. Even though your heart wasn't the same shape anymore, you fit it perfectly.

He was looking up every few seconds, as if you'd disintegrate if he didn't always have one eye on you. You didn't question it.

Determinedly casual, Coriolanus commented, "The doctors reported well of your conditions." He speared a potato with his fork, bringing it to his mouth.

Hands folded in your lap, you let your chin move up and down as a response. It had been a topic in question for you; how he was going to broach the situation. If it was up to you, it would never be spoken of again.

Your husband set his utensil down with a gentle clatter, resting his elbow on the table, palm facing the chandelier above. Recognizing what he wanted, you lifted one of your hands, setting it limply atop his. His fingers closed around yours, squeezing.

Somehow you mustered the courage to meet his eyes, that deep blue that so reminded you of your missed getaway. Coriolanus rested his other hand on yours, thumb rubbing your knuckles. He made sure you were looking right at him when he said, "I apologize, darling. For everything I did to-" he cut himself off with a swallow. "I'm sorry."

Casting your eyes to the side for a moment, you noticed for the first time the vase of roses sitting modestly close to your setting. These weren't ordered, no, they were from the garden. Perhaps cut today even, spared until the last minute before you arrived unlike their stemless companions.

Turning back to him, you took in a light breath, lifting your free hand to touch the sliver of a belt over your stomach. Tracing the little buckle for a moment, your eyes found his as a question you'd been wanting to ask for a long time slipped past your lips. "Why did you do it?"

Coriolanus' face hardened slightly, but then his thumb traveling your hand found your wedding ring and his shoulders relaxed. "It was to keep you safe."

"I wasn't allowed to leave," you retorted quietly, some newfound bravery inside you urging the words from your mind. "Months trapped in this house, allowed to see no one-"

"To keep you safe," he reiterated. If it were not for the sincerity in his eyes you would have thought him cruel for feeding you the same statement he had before your trip to the seaside. "Darling...all of this was to keep you protected."

"And look where that's gotten us." Your soft response was punctuated by you pulling your hand back, clasping it with the other on your thigh. Freshly painted a pale rose color, your nails poked at your skin when you balled your hands up, an attempt to keep control. Quietly, you added, "The media got ahold of an account of my spending. Apparently, an inside source gave it to them."

Your husband sat upright, a frown creasing his brow. "I thought you weren't supposed to look at those things while-"

"I didn't." You looked down. "Not on purpose. One of the caretakers left a magazine out and I... saw my name. I couldn't help it."

"Did it say what you were spending on?" Coriolanus leaned back again, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning.

"No," you shook your head, fingers coming up to touch the space between your eyebrows. A headache was coming, you could feel it. "But they had an exact amount."

"Anyone working with our finances wouldn't know what happened," Coriolanus reasoned, fingers thrumming the arm of his chair. His hair looked a little mussed, you observed. Like he'd been running his hand through it. You could see the gel wearing off, his natural curls beginning to take form again. How you'd loved petting his hair before. And how he'd loved letting you. "I'll have the staff cleared out and replace them."

Clenching your jaw so you wouldn't cry, you nodded. One tear escaped, trickling down your cheek as a wave of shame crashed over you. Unable to help yourself, you put your hands over your face, whispering, "It was awful, Coryo. The number was so high. And now everyone thinks I'm spending the country's money on parties and dresses."

"Darling. Darling." There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and then you heard him step to you, two hands pulling you to stand and fall into him. Despite your qualms, you let your arms wrap around him, face pressing into the spot over his heart, where the steady thump nudged your cheek. He buried his nose in your hair, a gentle kiss finding a home there. "We know the truth, sweetheart. That's the most important thing."

"But you're the president," you sniffled, all previous fear forgotten as you remembered how good it felt to be in his arms. Living in his shadow also meant being protected by it. "I'm making you look awful. It won't be good for the reelection."

"I don't give a damn about the reelection if you're not well," Coriolanus murmured into your hair. "This isn't your fault, it's the staff's for letting this information get out. I won't stop spending my money on doctors as long as you're unwell." He rubbed your back. "I don't care if the tabloids think it's something else."

A dry sob erupted from your lips at his words, and he tightened his arms around you. You hated yourself for finding comfort in him after what he'd done.

"Let's get you upstairs," he said quietly, and you nodded into him. He made a move to take a step but hesitated. In a careful gesture, Coriolanus leaned down, securing his arm under your knees and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes. The headache that had begun to make an appearance was now pounding, and you fisted your husband's shirt as it did.

Aware of your discomfort, Coriolanus swept you upstairs, and before you knew it you were being laid on your soft bed, atop the covers as he went to the closet to find something for you to sleep in. Sitting up, you began to undo your belt, sliding it through the buckle and winding it up neatly. You removed your skirt, unzipping the side, and then your sweater by the time he returned, one of your old favorite nightdresses in hand.

He bunched it in his hands, holding the neck open. "Lift your arms."

You did, and he slid the fabric over your head, straightening it out over your body. Wrestling your arms through the openings, you murmured. "The bathtub's new."

He paused, seeming surprised that you had brought it up. The sight of you was sure to be a sorry one, with messy hair and teary eyes, sitting in a little white nightdress, the skirt of which was messily pinched and spread over your thighs. Kneeling at your feet, he looked at your legs, one hand coming to smooth the fabric over them. When it reached your knees, the hem brushing the bone, he muttered, "In no world was I going to keep the old one."

Plunging your head underwater, you felt the thoughts numb. Every second you stayed under; the noise stopped. One moment you had hope of the end, and then the next a pair of hands were breaking the surface and yanking you from your peace.

Staring up at him, you felt the fog begin to settle over you again. Blinking tiredly, you said, "You could have."

Coriolanus inhaled, resting his head on your knees. Then his arms moved, encircling your waist and now his head was buried in your stomach. You lifted your hand, hesitantly touching his hair. It was mostly soft, a little stiff in some places from the dried out, hours-old gel.

For a moment, you didn't think he would let go. But his arms loosened, and he looked up at you. The vulnerability etched in his roaring oceans of eyes nearly drew from you a gasp. He shook his head, and you could almost see the reflection of what he was thinking in the blue.

You, wet hair sticking to your chest, water dripping from your bare body and pooling beneath on the floor.

Coriolanus grasped your waist, watching your chest rise and fall with your breathing. He rubbed your side gently, something melancholy drizzling over the scene. "Did you do it...because I made you stay?"

The question made your motions through his hair stop, and he lifted his head. His eyes pierced your heart, but you were tired of withholding the truth. Your response was soft. "Week after week of being confined to this place. And you still won't even tell me why." The look on your face was answer enough for him.

Rising, Coriolanus leaned in, hand finding the crown of your head and holding you as he pressed a kiss to your hairline. He held his lips there for a long time. Broad and strong, he stood firm and steady in the tumultuous waves of your life, drawing you in like an unbendable force.

Thunder seemed to shake your being, the waters up to your neck. And yet there he was, unaffected by any storm, his arms open and willing. And suddenly you missed him, needed him like you had never needed anything before. Hands shaking, breathily, you asked, "Will you stay?"

Even after everything, after the history that defined you by being written, you were helpless without him. It was that love you'd never rescinded, that had bloomed when he slid his ring on your finger and had hardly even wilted when he imposed such a harrowing restriction upon you.

You wished you hated him.

He began to loosen his tie. It was discarded along with his shoes, shirt, jacket, and pants. Each item shed unsheathed the man beneath the president. And then you saw your Coryo again, the one you'd loved before he consumed the power bestowed on him.

Maybe you weren't the only one with multiple versions inside yourself. He was just better at uncovering them.

Had it been the president who'd given you strict orders to never step past the grounds? Who'd brushed away your pleas to leave even for a few hours, saying he'd send for more catalogs and books to keep you occupied? Who'd pried the shiny, embossed invitations from your hands when you begged to attend events with him?

You had thought it was the president who you'd walked in on in his study after you'd been pulled from the dripping throes of death, in a meeting with the doctor who'd thoroughly examined you. The president who stared at the wood of his desk, brow furrowed, backs of fingers covering his mouth as the doctor told him he would recommend for you to be sent away to recover fully. "Many of my patients have said the seaside, in particular, has improved their condition," he said in hushed tones. The president nodded.

When you whispered, "The seaside?" it was the president who noticed you, who got to his feet and was at your side in an instant.

But it was a different man whose eyes roved over your disheveled appearance; messy hair, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that fell to your middle thighs and engulfed your hands. He slid an arm around you, bringing you to his chest and smoothing your hair. "Sweetheart, you need to be resting. Let me take you back to your room." Still in a daze from the prescribed sleeping pills, you nodded hazily and let him lead you upstairs with an arm around your shoulders.

It was that man who was getting into bed with you right now, pulling you into his arms and tucking you to his side, whispering that it was okay, that all you had to do now was sleep.

Instead of drifting off, your mind wandered near and far, body feeling heavy with all the answers you lacked. The burden of it all was nearly breaking you. And before you could regulate, the one thing on your mind was escaping your head through your mouth.

"Did you do it because you love somebody else?"

He stiffened, and then his arms tightened around you. You could feel him shake his head immediately, even though you couldn't see it. "No. Never." Coriolanus adjusted the position of his hands, splaying one over your tummy. He kissed your hair, mumbling into it. "I love you. You're my wife." His words were firm, and you felt some comfort return.

"Was it because you were ashamed of me?" You turned around, facing him. The only light was from the candle at your bedside, flickering dependently. He exhaled softly at your questioning, thumbing the side of your face. You asked in a small voice, "Did you want to hide me away?"

His head moved back and forth, declining your theory. "Darling, I have never been ashamed of you. Not once."

"But why else would you force me to stay where nobody can see me?" you asked quietly, on the verge of tears again. Over your weeks away, the medical care staff had discouraged you from wondering about such things, telling you they would only send your head into a spiral. But now, in the last honest moments of waking, you were incapable of holding back.

Coriolanus' face was tender, and he cupped a big hand over your head. You could hear the words before he said them and you dreaded their arrival. Shaking your head, your lower lip trembled as he breathed life into the phrase once again.

"To keep you safe."

Despondently, you watched him, giving no response as he gave you a final peck to your temple and tucked your head under his chin. The irony of the statement was not lost on you. He had protected you from everything except yourself.

Nobody tells you what to do once you survive. Once you are past the point of danger, there is nothing but wide, open space in front of you that only serves to collapse what you have thought you healed.

Even after your self-inflicted brush with death, the person whom you loved most still refused to give you the one answer that would bring you peace.

After blowing out the candle, it did not take Coriolanus long to slip into sleep. You laid awake for hours afterward, thoughts piling up like discarded flowers after a wedding.

You had held him as your lover; fulfilling your marriage vows before they were uttered. He was forever, adoring in every sense of the word. But now you couldn't help but feel as if he was holding you for a different reason.

He was concealing you. And if it be the will of Coriolanus Snow, undiscovered you would remain.

Though he had given himself to you, it radiated off him. The shame of being yours.

𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓐𝓬𝓽

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f14fun · 3 months

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pages and podiums (!author x op81) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an author hosts a signing and a read-out-loud of the final installment of her book series in new york city. oscar, lost in the big city, stumbles by the bookstore and is immediately intrigued by her (and her books).

prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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There was nothing I liked to do more than write stories.

Well, reading them came in a close second, but being able to tell a heartfelt tale coming from the inner depths of my heart, and sharing that emotion with an audience really, is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

That's how I found myself newly graduated from New York University, sitting in a relatively popular bookstore, sat in the corner of the shop with my books surrounding me. The bookstore was a quaint little gem nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, its walls lined with shelves brimming with literary treasures.

The warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. My table, adorned with a modest sign displaying my name and the title of my latest book, was strategically placed near the large bay windows, allowing the soft afternoon sunlight to spill in and create a cozy nook.

As I arranged my books, carefully stacking them in neat piles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. This bookstore had been a frequent haunt during my university years, a place where I sought refuge and inspiration amidst the chaos of assignments and deadlines. Now, returning as an author, it felt like a full-circle moment—a dream realized in the most poetic of settings.

I was hosting a book-signing and read-out-loud for the last installment of my book series.

It was quite early in the afternoon, but never too early in the Big Apple. As it neared one o'clock, I was lost in the tranquility of it all. The shop had quieted to a dull lull.

It was lunch hour, and people were busy munching away on salads, sipping their lattes and iced-coffees, and eating finger-held pastries.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain plates created a rhythmic background hum, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or murmur of conversation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to energize the entire space. Some patrons sat alone, engrossed in their books or typing away on laptops, while others gathered in small groups, their animated discussions adding to the lively ambiance.

The bookstore café, with its rustic wooden tables and vintage chairs, was a popular spot for locals and tourists alike, a perfect retreat from the frenetic pace of the city outside. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the faces of the patrons and illuminating the colorful spines of the books on display. It was a picture of serene contentment, a snapshot of everyday life unfolding in the heart of the city.

It was a sleepy time too, everyone tired from the consumption of their lunches. It was a relaxing time, and I was glad to have the time to myself, which contrasted the terribly-busy morning I had. Signing books and talking to fans nonstop from eight to twelve.

But I was eternally grateful for them.

Without them, I would quite literally be homeless on the scary streets of New York City. Their compassion and appreciation for my work kept me writing.

I was interrupted from my moment of solitude when I heard the bookstore door suddenly swing open. It was quite an ordeal as well, as the rusty, copper door hinges squeaked loudly when opened, disrupting the ambiance of the shop. Heads turned briefly toward the entrance, curiosity piqued by the unexpected noise. A gust of cool air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from the gathering clouds outside.

From where I was sitting, adjacent to the door, I spotted the new customer. Or at least, he was an unsuspecting customer.

Standing awkwardly with his two feet pointing in opposite directions and his nervous hands fiddling with each other, I could tell that he looked inexplicably lost. With a bewildered look on his face, he looked like the opposite of a native New Yorker.

He stood in the doorway for what felt like a minute, inquisitively grappling with his new surroundings. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, taking in the rows of books with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

He wore a slightly rumpled graphic t-shirt and shorts, his brown, mousy, tousled hair suggesting a hurried departure from wherever he had come. The contrast between his uneasy demeanor and the bookstore's cozy, relaxed atmosphere was almost palpable.

As he lingered by the entrance, other patrons glanced up briefly before returning to their books and conversations. The young man seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to the mild interest he was generating.

His fingers tapped nervously against his leg, and I noticed he kept glancing at a slip of paper he held, as if seeking reassurance from whatever was written there.

The longer he stood there, the more out of place he seemed, like a character from a different story who had wandered into the wrong book.

Finally, he took a tentative step forward, then another, moving slowly into the bookstore’s warm embrace. His eyes continued to scan the room, perhaps searching for a familiar face or a sign that would guide him to his destination.

There was something almost endearing about his uncertainty, a raw vulnerability that made him stand out in this city of confident strides and determined gazes.

From my vantage point, I watched him with a blend of amusement and empathy. I remembered the feeling of being out of place, the hesitance before taking a plunge into the unknown.

It was a moment of silent kinship, two strangers connected by the shared experience of navigating the unpredictable terrain of life in the city.

He was sort of cute, in an awkward way. His tousled hair gave him a boyish charm, as if he had just rolled out of bed and rushed to get here. He had some sort of a crooked smile, one side of his lip lifting higher than the other. He was tall, with a lanky frame that made his awkwardness even more pronounced. His long legs seemed to have a mind of their own, fidgeting and shifting as he stood in the doorway, adding to his endearing clumsiness.

The way he towered over the small tables and chairs made him look slightly out of place, like a gentle giant in a world built for smaller people. Despite his height, there was nothing intimidating about him. Instead, his gangly limbs and hesitant movements gave him an almost childlike innocence.

His eyes, bright and inquisitive, roamed the room with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. There was a spark of intelligence in them, hinting at a thoughtful mind behind the awkward exterior.

He was different, a moment of slowness. Different from the fast, bustling energy and the fast-paced life the city offered. As I continued to observe him, our eyes met. It was a fleeting moment, but there was something in his gaze that beckoned him to cross the room to meet me.

With a deep breath, he finally took a step forward, his tall frame weaving through the tables and chairs with cautious determination. As he drew closer, his awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet confidence.

“Hi,” he said, his voice carrying a rich, unmistakable Australian accent. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit lost.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the accent and the admission. “Lost? In a bookstore or New York City?” I asked with a playful smile. “Because either way, that’s quite the adventure for an Australian.”

Oscar chuckled, his crooked smile widening. “Both, actually. My phone’s dead, and I’ve been wandering around for a while." Oscar’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed." I’m just visiting for work, and I think I’ve wandered a bit too far.”

“Well, welcome to the Big Apple, Oscar. I’m Y/N,” I said, extending my hand.

He took it with a firm shake, his eyes brightening as he glanced around the bookstore. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. So, any tips for a lost Aussie in the city?”

I enjoyed the nice handshake, noticing how his hand seemed to slot perfectly with mine, the warmth of his palm against mine sending a faint shiver up my arm. I blushed slightly, a feeling of unexpected warmth spreading through me as I glanced down at the table where a loose slip of paper lay forgotten.

Gathering my bearings, I leaned in with mock seriousness. “Well, first tip—don’t trust the pigeons. They might look innocent, but they’re secretly plotting world domination.”

Oscar laughed, a genuine sound that filled the space between us. “Noted. And here I thought they were just after my lunch.”

“You’ve got to watch out for those New York pigeons,” I continued with a grin. “They’re a sneaky bunch.”

Oscar leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do they have a vendetta against Australians too?”

I chuckled, remembering a particularly humorous incident. “Well, let’s just say they’re equal opportunity offenders. Once, on my way to NYU, one of them decided my freshly washed hair was the perfect target.”

Oscar burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bookstore and drawing curious glances from nearby patrons. “That’s terrible! But I have to admit, I can’t help but laugh imagining that.”

“It was a memorable day, to say the least,” I replied, joining in his laughter. “I learned a valuable lesson about looking up in the city.”

“Well, consider me warned,” Oscar said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for those feathered troublemakers.”

I grinned mischievously. “If you see them starting to organize, run. Or carry a loaf of bread as a peace offering.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. But if I end up covered in bird droppings, I’ll know who to blame.”

“You’re setting me up for failure,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “They’ll definitely target me now.”

I couldn’t help but give him a sly grin. “Consider it a rite of passage in New York City. Once you’ve dodged a pigeon or two, you’re officially a local.”

Oscar chuckled at my remark, his eyes lingering on mine with a warmth that made my cheeks flush. “So, Y/N,” Oscar began, his tone suddenly more serious, “since my phone’s dead and all, do you mind if I stick around and keep you company? You seem like you know your way around here.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you asking for a tour guide or just trying to charm your way into free coffee?”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “Can’t it be both?”

I chuckled, enjoying his easygoing nature. “Alright, Aussie. You’ve got yourself a deal. But fair warning—I give terrible directions.”

“Good thing I’m not in a hurry,” he replied with a wink, his attempt at flirting more endearing than smooth.

I smiled warmly at his playful remark, enjoying the easy flow of our conversation. "You're welcome to stay," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.

Oscar nodded gratefully and smoothly slid over a chair, positioning himself directly in front of me. As he settled in, I couldn't help but notice how his earlier awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a relaxed confidence that was inviting yet unassuming.

Sitting face to face with Oscar, making direct eye contact, I suddenly felt a shift in our interaction. It wasn't just a casual meeting anymore; it felt like a moment frozen in time, a bookstore date where we were the main characters in a story unfolding between the shelves of books.

His brown eyes met mine, and in that instant, I felt a sense of peace and comfort wash over me, as if I had found a familiar place where I belonged. We continued to hold each other’s gaze, sharing unspoken sentiments that seemed to weave between us like a silent conversation.

Unexpectedly, Oscar's smile turned cheeky, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as if he was having an internal dialogue with himself. He was the first to break eye contact, his cheeks tinted with a soft blush that crept up from his neck.

Despite his attempt to maintain composure, his bashfulness was endearing, adding a charming vulnerability to his confident demeanor. I couldn't help but find it incredibly endearing.

I watched as he glanced down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips as he collected himself. His gaze returned to mine, now tinged with a mixture of amusement and newfound self-awareness. It was a moment of mutual recognition, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that had begun to blossom between us.

I smiled softly, realizing that despite the bustling surroundings, I felt completely at ease with Oscar beside me. It was as if we had stumbled upon a quiet sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city, where our shared laughter and exchanged stories were the only things that mattered in that moment.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile still playful. "You know, Y/N," he began, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation, "there's something about this bookstore that feels like it's hiding a secret or two. What do you think?"

I chuckled softly, intrigued by his observation. "Maybe it's where all the lost plot twists end up," I replied, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in my eye. "Or perhaps it's a portal to a parallel universe of unfinished stories."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "A bookstore as a gateway to alternate dimensions? Now that's a plot twist I can get behind."

"Who knows," I mused, leaning back slightly in my chair. "Maybe we're characters in someone else's story right now, and they're wondering how our plotline will unfold."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "You know, as much as I enjoy pondering these ideas, sometimes it leads me down a path of existential dread. The vastness of the universe and our place in it—it can be daunting."

I nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of his words. "It's a lot to wrap your head around, especially when you start thinking about multiverses and infinite possibilities."

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's why I appreciate stories—they provide a narrative structure that helps make sense of it all, even if it's just for a moment."

"That's true," I agreed, feeling a deeper connection as our conversation touched on deeper themes. "Stories give us a way to explore those big questions in a way that feels manageable, contained within their own worlds."

Oscar smiled gratefully. "Exactly. They offer us glimpses into different perspectives and allow us to navigate through complex ideas in a way that's both enlightening and comforting."

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by his introspective nature. "Do you ever wonder who you'd be in a parallel universe? What job you'd have?"

He chuckled softly. "Sometimes. It's a fun thought experiment, imagining different versions of myself in alternate realities."

Curious, I asked, "So, what do you do in this universe?"

He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guess."

I considered for a moment, trying to match his playful demeanor. "Acupuncturist?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head with a smirk. "Is that the best that you can come up with?" He said, teasing me.

"Quantum physicist?" I guessed, trying to make each guess more outlandish than the previous one.

"Not quite," he chuckled. "Do I really seem like the type to be in that job?" he asked.

"To be honest..." I trailed off, "Not really, no," I said quietly. Laughing at my honest response, he gestured with his hands, prompting me to guess again.

"Funeral director?" I ventured, this was literally a shot in the dark. If such a happy man was in such a depressing career I would immediately be so disappointed and sad.

"Getting warmer, but no," he teased. "Again, do you really peg me to be the type of person who would be a funeral director?" He asked again.

"No! I'm just guessing the most outlandish and random jobs," I held up my hands in mock frustration, pretending to surrender.

"Yeah I can tell, some of these jobs are quite random," he smirked. "But to be fair, my actual job is way more random than what you think it is, I genuinely bet you could not guess it," He provoked me again.

"Please do not tell me you work at a car dealership," I sighed in exasperation. Those people were the worst types of people to deal with as they keep pressuring innocent customers. God, I hoped Oscar wasn't that.

Oscar's face suddenly lit up. Shit, if that was his actual job...

"Close but no," Oscar's smile widened.

"What do you mean close but no?!" I got louder, the competitive spirit in me arising, "That's so vague"

"Okay, to give you a hint, it has something to do with cars," he said calmly. Ahh, that was much better, I see what he meant.

"Are you a tire technician?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied, popping the p.

"An auto-instructor?"

"Wrong, again."

"A diesel technician?"

"Loud, incorrect buzzer."

"That one guy that tests the car for quality issues... the quality control engineer!"

"Not it!"

"You're joking... right. I've guessed all that I know, and I really do not know much about cars in general, just tell me what it is, I give up," I said, finally exasperated as I went through all possible options of what Oscar did for a living.

Oscar leaned forward again, his smile widening. "I drive for McLaren Formula One."

My eyes widened in surprise, momentarily stunned by his revelation. "Seriously? Formula One? I would never have guessed that!"

He laughed at me, momentarily erupting into a guffaw at my blatant shock. "That is literally the most random job relating to cars, and it's motorsport, not just cars. I would have never guessed that, really!" I continued, still surprised.

"That's not fair, you shouldn't have made me guess. I didn't know you were famous," I said, teasing him lightly.

He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "I guess I don't fit the typical stereotype, do I?"

I shook my head, still processing the unexpected twist in our conversation. "Definitely not. That's amazing, though. How did you get into that?"

Oscar leaned back, folding his arms with a playful air. "Well, it all started with a love for speed and a bit of luck. I've been racing since I was a kid, and somehow, it led me here."

"Impressive," I replied with a smile. "You must have some incredible stories from the track."

He nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Plenty. It's a world of its own, filled with highs and lows, victories and near misses."

"I can imagine," I said, genuinely intrigued. "It sounds like a thrilling life."

"It has its moments," he agreed, his tone turning thoughtful. "But enough about me. I want to hear more about you. What's your story, Y/N?"

And so, as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the bookstore windows, we continued to share stories and laughter, each revelation deepening our connection. Eventually, as the conversation naturally drifted to an end, Oscar leaned forward with a gentle smile.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice warm and sincere, "I've had a great time getting to know you today. Would you like to grab dinner with me later? Earlier I saw this dinner place on Google Maps that had splendid reviews."

Surprised yet pleasantly flustered by his invitation, I couldn't help but smile. "I'd love to," I replied, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of continuing our conversation beyond the cozy confines of the bookstore.

And with that simple agreement, like a chapter in a novel, our first chapter closed, leaving us both eager to see where our story would lead next.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note:

ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

(part TWO coming soon, comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3)

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asvterias · 3 months

Text

𝖬𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽 𝖲𝗂𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗌 ~ 𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖫𝖺 𝖱𝗎𝖾

clarisse masterlist

warnings: some profanity, some angst, toxic love which shouldn’t be justified

pairings: clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of ambiguous cabin neutral)

genres: kinda insecure!reader, reader is kinda a gaslighter BUT it’s a happy ending, toxic!reader x toxic!clarisse, kinda asshole!clarisse, sad!reader, ‘always come crawling back despite everything i’ve done to hurt you’ trope, some tears are shed, possessive!clarisse, vulnerable!clarisse, clarisse has extreme attachment/commitment issues, clarisse is kinda a shitty gf, nothing else allusions to hickeys, descriptive make-out scene, hickey making, reader has narcolepsy (extreme tendency of rapidly falling asleep in relaxing conditions)

summary: developing a secret toxic relationship with clarisse gives you an unfamiliar excitement until you're caught. insecurities consume you after your relationship is exposed, causing you to avoid her, and eventually, your girlfriend confronts you.

word count: 5.5k+

tag list: @lvrue @kyuupidwrites @xanasaurusrex @urdeadpoet @aurorailvsm @quinnsadilla @st4rzl7 @p0rkbun @star-girl69 @aphroditesmoon @voidashh @lcvved @tinytea-biscut @dearlydarlings @rocknr0ll @nvirskies @k4zuhas-visi0n @urbisexualfriend @marlswhore @anominous-writer @lovelyy-moonlight @thegiganticgirlkisser @thewritingbarbie @apocalypticlibrary @solecitoszn @blackchubbyqueen @mira-belcul18 @sleighingstella @ampitrit3 @mthefae @drlover11037 @ratjoe @mag03 @kroumi @hoku-k @zhivaxo @lacytalks @kazerka @liv444me @korizzybee @mariposa555 @inejsknifes @cherriesnbutter @justintinderlake4 @natasha-took-fall-damage @lixtinystay @2k7-sparkles @b0ok-lover @novastarrs @urfavefag

author’s note: sorry anon, i hoped you didn’t mind me changing this plot that much! i really enjoyed writing this, hope you guys enjoy this too!! i can’t believe it took several months to finally publish this, writer’s block really gets the best of us ig! also this reminds me of that one tiktok!

requested by an anonymous

song playing — love on the brain by rihanna

And you got me like, oh

What you want from me? (What you want from me?)

A secret. A well-developed, thought-out, prepared secret. That’s what your relationship with Clarisse was to everyone else at camp. To the other camper’s knowledge, you two were friends, very good friends, to the point of melting Clarisse’s vulnerability down to the very core. Despite the fact if both of your cabins weren’t the strongest allies, or if your cabins were great together, you two would be seen everywhere.

This was just how it was between the secret couple.

Longing stares and touches on the arm, or maybe even wearing each other’s trinkets were hidden reminders of your public affection. However, when you two were alone, Clarisse was absolutely smitten with you, yearning for your touch like it was the end of the goddamn world.

You had been secretly dating Clarisse for one year at camp. By this rate, you were surprised that your relationship had been so well hidden for so long, from everyone, your friends and siblings alike.

Finally, you two had a night to yourselves, Chiron decided that the camp counselors worked way too hard and gave them a week off. No pesky siblings to bother you or tasks to keep them occupied, just alone time, spent in Clarisse’s cabin.

The young campers had attended the weekly bonfire, conversing with their friends and eating sweet treats. Obviously, there was a fire extinguisher nearby, guarded by a young mature camper if a Hepestatus kid decided to become too curious and put everyone else at fire risk.

You had sneaked into her cabin, which was empty at the time, and her siblings scurried off by the monthly bonfire. Sitting down on her bed, checking your surroundings for your girlfriend but sadly came to no avail, and as the bed was empty, neatly made, courtesy of you.

You shrugged and laid down on her bed, assuming that she had gone to the bathroom and would return shortly, completely snuggled and comforted by her sheets. Sleep overcame you quickly once you hit your girlfriend’s bed. After all, the counselor’s bed was the best and softest bed in the cabin, too consumed in your own world by her soft sheets, you didn’t realize that she had returned.

And I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high

Baby you got me like, oh, mm

At first, Clarisse was quiet, observing how you seemed to be unaware of her presence. Her presence at the door hosted a dark figure as she folded her arms and smirked lovingly at you.

Clarisse cleared her throat, hoping to get your attention but you remained still. Your girlfriend frowned slightly at your unbothered state shuffling on her feet and ventures towards your so-called sleeping figure.

Once she came close enough to get a decent view, you were sleeping on your side, lips parted slightly as your nose twitched every few seconds, your breathing regulated.

Slowly, she pressed her knee on the bed, dipping the bed slightly as she peered over to stare at your face. She snuck a braid behind your ear, lightly kissing the tip of your ear.

“Wake up…babe.” Her lips pressed against your temple, moving downward to your cheek, and then jaw, finally stopping at your neck.

Impacted by the gentle kisses placed, you stirred awake, fluttering your eyes open, catching the amazing view of your beautiful girlfriend.

She blinked at you lovingly with a wide smile on her face. “There’s no way you fell asleep that fast.” She softly chuckles, licking her lips, “I was gone for 10 minutes..”

“10 minutes too long…” You pouted, defending yourself.

“That Narcolepsy is a bitch.” She grumbled, rolling her eyes.

You flicked her forehead with your finger, taking great offense at her words.

The Ares girl whined, “What?! I’m not exactly wrong either! There were times you fell asleep during our conversations.”

“Get to the point, La Rue.” You squint your eyes at her, totally unimpressed,

“No point at all, pretty girl. Just wanted to say that.” She innocently smirked at you and stupidly flustered her eyelashes at you.

“It wasn’t even necessary to say,”

“To me, it definitely was.”

“Of course, it was to you,” You rolled your eyes.

“Although, with you sleeping all the time, I might need to be around you every day all the time,”

“And what exactly are you doing now, babe?”

You love when I fall apart (fall apart)

So you can put me together

And throw me against the wall

She gasped, “Being a good girlfriend towards you.” Her eyes shifted downward, unaware if she got ahead of herself, and cleared her throat, “I mean if that’s what you think.”

You slid your finger underneath her chin, tilting her face upward, “It’s not what I think, it’s what I know. You’re an amazing loving supporting girlfriend,”

“Thanks for the compliment, babe,” The curly-haired girl blushed, ducking her head down.

“Yet you’re a sucker for words…” You argued back, resting a hand on her face, squishing her cheeks, slightly cooing at her faux annoyance.

She allows you to do that for a couple more minutes, enjoying herself before she swats your hand away.

“And now I wanna do something that doesn’t involve many words.”

You blush at her suggestion, fully aware of her implication but you want to extend the conversation. With each passing day, it seems like all Clarisse wants to do is make out with you, not that you were complaining, of course, but you just felt like she was pulling away.

You just wanted your girlfriend to value your relationship, everything about it, not just the physical aspect.

“Before we do that…let’s talk about your day.”

Eyebrows raised in your direction, “Talk about my day?”

“Yes,” You awkwardly nodded, “Let’s talk about your day!”

“But why though?”

“Because I’m your girlfriend and I wanna know how your day went so far. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Okay,” She shakes her head, complying with your reasoning, “My day was usual, dealing with annoying perky campers. so it was a shitty day.” Clarisse blinks at you, a small smile appearing, “Well, not until I saw you.”

“Is that all you have to say?” You tilted your head.

“What? I did what you asked.” She questioned, “Do you want me to in-depth explanation,”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do want an in-depth explanation,”

“Oh, pretty girl, as much I lo— adore you, I won’t do that. It was the same old, same old! I had a shitty boring day, then, bam, I saw you and my day was instantly better.”

Baby, you got me like ahhhhh, woo, ahhhhh

Don’t you stop loving me (loving me)

Don’t quit loving me (loving me)

Just start loving me (loving me)

During your entire year of sneaking around the relationship, Clarisse had never said ‘I love you’. Although you said it to her, embarrassingly enough, the aftermath repeated in the back of your mind like a bad headache, refusing to pass by. You stared at her anxiously, watching her lips form into a thin line, staring at you mindlessly as she got up and left. To be honest, you weren’t too hurt about her reaction, preparing yourself for this in advance.

This was your fault, you let yourself love too fast. You let yourself fall in love with the wrong people.

Surely, you didn’t see her again for the next few days and when she did interact with you again, it was to dismiss the whole encounter.

“You shouldn’t have said that you made things more complicated than they were.”

You looked at her in astonishment, “Shouldn’t have said what?”

The La Rue girl sends you a pointed look, “You know what I meant. I’m not gonna say it.”

Truth be told, that statement did hurt you partially as displayed by your expressions, your eyebrows creased in shock and your heart clenched in sadness.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t mean it like that,”

“Then, what does it mean, Clary?!” You were beginning to lose your patience with such words.

“We’ve just been rushing into this relationship too fast.”

Ohhh, and baby I’m fist fighting with fire

Just to get close to you

Can we burn something, babe?

“Rushing into this relationship?! Do you hear yourself, La Rue?!” You shouted at her, fury rising throughout your entire body. “We’ve been dating for a whole year!”

“Yes, I know that,” She exasperated, wanting to be done with this conversation.

You scoffed, folding your arms, skeptically staring at her, “Do you really know that?!”

“It is a major factor in our relationship, why wouldn’t I know that?”

“Maybe, it would have given you some time to confess our relationship with our friends and family now,”

“But I like it better when we keep our relationship secret, don’t be so fucking difficult,”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about keeping our relationships secret anymore or me being too difficult for you to handle because we’re done.”

“Yeah, pretty girl, I’m not convinced.” She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to break up.

“I am serious Clary. You’ve been treating me like shit and I’m tired of it. I want someone who can reciprocate my love, and not just use me for make-out sessions,”

“Yet, you’re always so putty in my hands whenever we do. There’s no complaining from you if we’re being logical.”

“Gods, Clarisse, are you listening to me?” You groaned in frustration.

“Kinda not…if we’re being honest. Have I told you how gorgeous you look in this outfit?”

“This is what I mean,” You cried, gesturing towards her nonchalant attitude, “You don’t seem to have an ounce of empathy.”

“Don’t act so surprised, Y/N,” She scoffed, “You knew what you were getting yourself into when you first started dating me. Nothing will change, it’s either you accept it or end it.”

“Fine,” You sniffled, staring coldly at her.

Her tone was calm. “Good, now can we go to your cabin?”

“No,”

“No?”

“I’m not going with you, I’m breaking up with you Clarisse, and I mean it this time. All those times before when I went back to you are over. Handle your shit now, we’re fucking done!” You shouted, turning your back and walking away.

“Wait, what?” Your ex-girlfriend comes to a realization as you start to walk away, not turning back once, “Y/N, come back, we can talk this out!” She screams at you, but you just walk away even further. Some tiny ounce of you hoped Clarisse would chase after you and reassure you, yet she didn’t. The Ares girl stood there, watching you storm off in anger, hoping you’d blow off some steam and just talk to you later.

“Damn, does she look hot when she’s angry or walking away from me.” She whistles to herself, certainly unbothered by your supposed breakup.

And I run for miles just to get a taste

Must be love on the brain

That’s got me feeling this way (feeling this way)

Clarisse isn’t startled by your outburst or sudden urge for a breakup, knowing she’d be the only woman who can give in to your needs, and truly adhere to them. She can only give you the pleasure that you denied yourself, to have you writhing beneath her, desperately begging for her touch. That same insatiable touch that sends fire into your soul from the match and her lips are the fire, enlightening it.

If you were actually serious, 2 breaks up ago, you wouldn’t be in this position now, stupidly lying on your tongue just to provoke a reaction from her. Frustrated when you received the same neutral face you screamed at her, wanting to remove that smug look.

You hated it. You hated that you’d always come back to her. Clarisse was fully aware that she’d always be the one you come crawling back to. With the combination of her commitment issues and her twisted depiction of a healthy relationship, you didn’t know which one was worse.

Oh well, every love story isn’t a fucking fairytale, each one has its own bumps along the way, but yours, had deep potholes at every turn.

Of course, you know exactly what you got yourself into. Clarisse La Rue only cared about her fucking self and nobody else mattered.

Even though she didn’t verbally say it, you knew deep within your heart that she meant it in her love languages, possibly because of your delusion.

It beats me black and blue, but it fucks me so good

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain, yeah

Your argument was two weeks ago, and once again, you proved yourself wrong, eventually ending up back in Clarisse’s arms. Everything seemed to be going fine, ultimately that’s how it always starts. Much to your dismay, it can only go downhill from there.

Clarisse was behind you, hugging you from the waist behind, her hands roaming your body, planting her face into the crevice of your neck.

“Hmmm, I missed you today, mamas.” Clarisse breathes in your scent, gazing at your new neat braids which just got done. Every shared eye contact made you blush, analyzing every movement Clarisse made across your skin. The La Rue girl’s grip still tightened around your waist as she left a lingering kiss on your neck, teasing you.

“Stop doing that…” You whine, your senses intensified by her touch alone, almost too overwhelmed, “You know what happened last time.”

As you remind her, she smirks in memory and ponders, trails down her black polished messy-manicured fingernails to the loophole of your pajama pants.

“Oh, I know what happened last time.”

“Of course, you did.” You retorted.

“Aye,” She pinches your thigh, making you look at her through the mirror. Her eyes were slanted and warning as she stared at you, “Watch that tone, princess, don’t let it be a repeat of that. I won’t hesitate to humble you.”

“You left a big ass hickey on my neck!” You exclaimed to her, pointing to the fading mark on your neck. It’s a wonder how visible it was on your brown complexion. “How is that humbling of me?”

“Because that Apollo boy wouldn’t stop flirting with you.” She chided, “And besides it was fun to create…” A smirk toyed at her lips.

“And was marking me up the only way to solve it?” You ask her incredulously, spinning around to face her.

“Yes,” She nods her head, squeezing your thighs, “As a matter of fact, it got my point across very well. He didn’t bother you anymore, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.” You insisted, “Right after you threatened to kill him if he ever looked in my direction.”

“Exactly, I rest my case.” Sending you a firm head nod, content with her reply.

And it’s keep cursing my name (cursing my name)

No matter what I do, I’m no good without you

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain

You smile down at her, recognizing her behavior towards this, cooing slightly. “Oh, that’s cute, babe.”

“What’s cute? Nothing on me is cute, everything on me is tough.”

Your hands caress her face, and witness how she swoons by your touch, “Not when you’re with me.” By just the simple touch alone, Clarisse was at your mercy, willing to do whatever you demanded.

“Fuck- I…” Clarisse stammers out, her cheeks flushing at your proximity.

“Told you,” You grin victoriously, dropping your hands from her face.

As soon as your hands drop from her face, her expression immediately changes to a shocked, betrayed one.

“Fine,” She sighs heavily with a roll of her eyes, leaning her head back, “Maybe I do happen to be cute,”

You quirk an eyebrow at her, “Maybe you’re right,”

“I’m always right, babe.”

“Y’know you’re a real smartass at times.”

“And you so happen to be in love with this smartass.”

Baby, keep loving me

Just love me, yeah

Just love me

All you need to do is love me, yeah

Got me like ah-ah-ah-ow

“Guilty as charged..” She murmurs, her eyes now hooded with lust, “Now can we do something more productive?”

“Like what?” You spur her on, freezing up when her hand lingers on your inner thigh.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, pretty girl.” She teases you, biting down on her lower lip. Staring intently at her, you gulped silently but it slowly vanished into a loving smile as she brought you in for a kiss.

Your mouths were trapped in a hypnotic dance as you steadily straddled her lap, not breaking the kiss once and her hands wrapped around your waist. Slowly, her lips traveled to your neck, making her gnaw at the exposed flesh, recreating lovebites, ignoring the sore previous ones.

During the same moment, one of Clarisse’s siblings, Tyler was going into the cabin, seemingly forgetting his Uno cards he left. As he was about to open the door, two figures blinded by the curtains stopped him.

A curtain was slightly open, adjusted for one of Clarisse’s younger brothers to accidentally stumbled upon. Tyler gasped in shock at the sight before him, it was clear, so the two girls in there were unmistakable.

It was you and Clarisse. You and Clarisse were making out in her cabin. Therefore, you and Clarisse must be dating, so that was the latest gossip around camp.

I’m tired of being played like a violin

What do I gotta do to get in your motherfuckin’ heart?

Rumors spread out like wildfire at this camp, so it was only a matter of time before it was redirected back at you.

Ever since the rumors spread, you avoided Clarisse like the black plague. Whenever she coexisted in the same room, you skipped right on out of there, seemingly missing the way her eyes followed you and her face dejecting at the sight, yet she didn’t go after you. She always chose to remain by herself. That was a fatal flaw of hers, her pride was too strong to handle the love she had for you.

It was her idea, after all, wanting your whole relationship to be behind closed doors.

Why did she want to have a private relationship rather than a public one?

It’s not like anyone had a bad comment to say, fully aware of Clarisse’s wrath and methods of defending herself. Besides, she didn’t make the effort to search and speak to you in private.

Did you embarrass her? Maybe it was her pride that restricted her from truly being happy with you?

No, stop worrying about that! Stop assuming that you’re the problem, trying to figure out the solution, rather than admitting Clarisse is the actual problem. Unlike any of your other material problems, you can’t fix her, only she has the power to do that and for the better.

Baby like ahhhhhh, woo, ahhhhhh

Don’t you stop loving me (loving me)

Don’t quit loving me (loving me)

Just start loving me (loving me)

At last, Clarisse managed to ambush you, exactly right where she’d know you always be, doing your favorite hobby. Isolated in your cabin, keeping to yourself, listening to music whilst reading your favorite book.

In your cabin too, how unoriginal for sure.

She knocked on your door, her heart racing with anticipation as she heard your footsteps coming closer to the door. Opening the door, you kept a small smile on your face, instantly dropping when you realized who the knocker was.

“What the fuck are you doing here Clarisse?” You scowled, settling your headphones around your neck, now unbothered to pause your blasting music. In your other hand, you kept your finger crammed into the book page where you were so rudely interrupted by her.

Still, you decided to hear her out for the most part, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“I want to talk to you,”

“Well, I don’t.”

Nobody said it was going to be easy for her. Only the strongest will survive.

Ohhh, and babe I’m fist fighting with fire

Just to get close to you

Can we burn something, babe?

“Fuck Y/N!” She tiredly shouts, barging inside the cabin, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You scoffed at her exclamation, slamming the door shut behind her. “I don’t know, Clary, why did you keep our relationship a secret from everyone else?”

Her face softens, noticing that struck a cord in you, “You know why, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe,” You sharply state, no sense of humor in your tone. It was all monotonously spoken, “Just don’t right now, call me Y/N.”

“Okay...” She nodded, listening to your kind and slightly hostile request. You sauntered around your cabin, turning off your headphones and placing your bookmark inside the book, resting the two items on your bedside table.

You released a soft exhale, closing your eyes, and allowing your true feelings to reveal themselves.

“I want to rant about how I truly feel about this relationship and you’re gonna listen,”

“I thought you wanted our relationship to stay a secret.”

“I only did that because you wanted it! Are you truly that fucking blind, risse?! Because you live for the excitement, right, the whole thrill of being caught. Stop bullshitting me, Clarisse. I get it, it was fun before but now….” You trail off, eyes glued to the floor, “It just makes me feel that you’re completely embarrassed of me.”

“I’m not,” She steps closer, her words stammering, watching you distance yourself away. “I could never be embarrassed of you,” The Ares girl releases a shaky breath at your sudden movement, worrying if she’s on the absolute verge of losing you. For real this time.

“You have done a good job thus far by not reassuring me then!”

“Is that…what you think this was? Is that what you truly think of me? What do you truly think of our relationship? That I’m so incapable of love that I’d stop talking with you on the whole and ignore your existence?!”

“It’s exactly what you’re doing now!” you cried, “I hate this, risse. We hook up, we fight, leading up to a breakup and then we get back together again. This repetitive cycle might not hurt your stone-cold heart but it does to mine.”

“This relationship…or situationship affects me too, I might not show it like you do, but it does!”

And I run for miles just to get a taste

Must be love on the brain

That’s got me feeling this way (feeling this way)

“Then why didn’t you check up on me after our relationship got exposed?”

At that she stayed silent, further proving your point focusing her gaze on the ground. You hummed, tears prickling your eyes as you plastered on a fake smile.

“I don’t know why I thought we could work, I should have seen this coming.” You sniffle, roughly wiping away the incoming tears. “You don’t care about my feelings, do you? It’s all about Clarisse and her glory, and nothing else fucking matters!”

“You know that’s not true!”

“Then what is true then?” You shrug, glaring at her, “It’s either about your stupid glory or reputation, there is and will never be any space for me. Because every time we get back together, you always promise me a better and different version of yourself. I’m standing here like a fool, believing you, believing those stupid fucking lies.” You sobbed, holding your stomach in devastation, sinking in the weight of your own words. “I’m sick and tired, completely exhausted of it. Clarisse you have physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted me, and I hate it…but with every ounce of my being, I still love you. I still fucking love you because I’m one of the only people who can get you to open up, to help you handle how much shit you take from your dad. My mind knew that if I left you, my heart would be unable to deal with it, and soon I’ll be running back to you, like a stupid lovesick fool,”

“Y/N–“

It beats me black and blue, but it fucks me so good

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain, yeah

“Let me fucking finish!” You threatened, agitated by her inability to follow your simple request. Clarisse had never seen you this angry, this verbally expressive, that it scared her to the core, it was obvious in her facial expressions as you continued to rant. You lowered your loud tone, muttering an apology to yourself, and remained on your calm side.

“You knew exactly how to lure me back in…with those shitty-ass lame excuses. I don’t know how much more of this toxicity I can take. With how all these last few days have been, I don’t fucking care anymore, not how you feel, not how our relationship is.”

“Well, you’re not so perfect either!”

“Oh my god, are you truly that blinded by your ignorance that you can’t admit that you’re wrong.” You blinked through your blurry vision, “I forgot who I’m talking to,” You clicked your tongue, “A daughter of Ares, who would rather die than admit her own wrongdoings.”

“Don’t talk about my father!” She shouts, enraged.

“Your father?!” You laugh incredulously, “Of all the things you’re worried about, your father is the main priority right now?! After all he did to you and you still defend him! Congratulations, Clarisse, you have officially lost me, hope you have a good life without me!” you concluded, walking off in an enraged state.

“We’re not done!” Was all she could retaliate, every sensible word left her mind at that moment. You could tell she was losing this argument, and she was fuming, barely grasping the fact of her toxicity.

“Yes we’re done, Clarisse.” You argue back, turning on your heel and glaring at her. Storming back to her, you got up in her personal space, eyes piercing into hers, “I’m so fucking tired of this, I’m tired of our relationship. I’m tired of being the only one of us fighting for this relationship! It would have been nice to see if you put in the effort, to reassure me that I’m not the only one here struggling. I’m exhausted from fighting all the time!”

“Why are you implying these things?”

“Well, are these ‘things’ true or not?”

“Do you think they are true?!”

“I think- I know you have commitment issues, and I think you need to fix them.” Her face softens at that revelation, now aware of how observant you’ve been.

“Let me prove to you that I’m serious about our relationship.” Her tone is lighter, more understanding, and less hostile.

“How would you do that?”

“Just let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Clarisse,” You squint your eyes, squeezing her hand, “You can’t love me the way I deserve to be loved.”

She began to stammer out excuses, blabbering like an idiot, “Why? What’s wrong with me? We worked it out numerous times, why can’t we do it again.”

You interrupted her, “We have to work on ourselves before we can truly love each other. If we don’t work on ourselves, our relationship will just self-destruct and I don’t want that happening again.”

“I don’t want that happening either.” She murmurs, agreeing with the statement. Her words were magnetic, urging you back into her grasp, to keep you in her embrace forever and ever.

“No more bullshitting, I swear.” She pecks your lips, wiping away the tears from your face. “From now, we’ll work on each other and ourselves. We need to do this if we want our relationship to prevail,”

“And I’m sorry too…”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For avoiding you and putting the blame on you.”

Once again, her eyes were screaming the words: I love you, but her mouth was clamored shut. Your girlfriend noticed you needed her to actually announce the three infamous words, probably soothing your anxiety.

And it’s keep cursing my name (cursing my name)

No matter what I do, I’m no good without you

And I can’t get enough

“I….” she uneasily stares at you, clutching onto your hands tightly, as if she’s scared that you let go and leave her.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready, it’s fine, I get it,” You reassured her, rubbing her hand gently with a soft smile, “I’m used to it by now.”

“No,” She shakes her head, disagreeing with your statement, “It’s not fine and you know it. I’ve been a shitty girlfriend from the start and you just allow it because you love me. I don’t want you to endure that heavy burden because of my own pain that I projected onto you. Let me do this for you. Let me say this for you. Let me declare and devote my love to you. For once, let me reassure you that we’re going to be fine. After all, you deserve it, deserve to be loved in every possible way. If you’re still willing to have me as someone in your life, I will humbly accept it,”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Your voice held a joking tone, but the voice crack betrayed your true feelings.

“Oh, I would never break a promise!”

“Wow, last year Clarisse wouldn’t even confess these words...” You had to break the silence, the atmosphere still felt tense.

She chuckles, “Yeah, well, last year, Clarisse took who she had for granted and was a total asshole towards the girl who didn’t even deserve it.”

“You got that right,”

“I love you, Y/N,” She breathes out, watching the relief run across your face and her anxiety disperses as she continues, “I don’t know why it took me so long to say that. All year, I realized it before but never had the strength to actually declare it myself. I love you so much.”

“Thanks.”

She hits your shoulder, obviously not expecting that reply, “Y/N, be serious!”

Your giggles die down as you hold her hands, squeezing them as your own sense of intimate comfort. “I love you too, Clary.”

“I love you too, Y/N, with my whole heart.”

Your smile dropped as you roughly grabbed Clarisse’s face, applying pressure on her cheeks, “But if you ever do this to me again, I won’t hesitate to leave your ass, and for real this time. Got it.” Your demeanor was venomous, making Clarisse doubt if you were the same sweet girlfriend she had mere minutes ago.

“Got it.” She blabbered out, hoping you’d release your tight grip on her face soon.

“Great!” You grinned, letting go of her face. Just like that, your easygoing smile appeared again as the curly-haired girl massaged her cheeks.

Maybe this time, Clarisse will change for the better, and unfortunately, if she doesn’t, then it’s definitely her loss.

Must be love on the brain

*y/n & clarisse after trauma dumping on each other*: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💋

————

*y/n breathes*

clarisse, already stupidly in love with y/n but refuses to acknowledge it because love is too hard to handle 🙄: you’re a bitch, a very hot bitch and i wanna make-out with you.

y/n: ???

clarisse: don’t ask no questions, pretty girl!

y/n: wtf is going on??!!

clarisse: don’t know and don’t care but it involves us making out, so that’s worthwhile! 😁

————

*y/n dealing with the toxicity of her and clarisse’s relationship, finally thinking she’s gonna break up with her*

clarisse, already aware of y/n’s plan: wanna go makeout??

y/n: ofc, why tf not??!!

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