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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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chef!Max Verstappen x vegan!Reader

Summary: in which an unstoppable force (the stubborn Michelin-starred chef of a glitzy steakhouse) meets an immovable object (the vegan just looking for something she can actually eat) … and the rest, as they say, is history

The steakhouse is packed, the ambient light just dim enough to cast a flattering glow over everyone at the long wooden table. Glasses clink together in a chorus of celebration, laughter, and conversation filling the air as your friends lean in close to chat. The table is filled with shared appetizers — charred octopus, beef tallow truffle fries, the occasional bacon-wrapped date — but you’re preoccupied with the thick menu in your hand.

“What’s good here?” You ask, keeping your voice casual. But inside, you’re already scanning for the little green leaf symbols that typically offer you some respite. There’s not a single one. It’s all meat, meat, meat.

“Everything,” someone pipes up. “But definitely the steak.”

You give them a polite smile, already sensing the dilemma growing in your chest. You could’ve sworn someone mentioned the place had plant-based options. But this is a Michelin-starred steakhouse — it seems like steak is the only thing anyone’s interested in tonight.

“Anything catching your eye?” You friend across the table asks, eyes bright with excitement.

“Not exactly.” You chew on your lip, setting the menu down. “I’m, uh, vegan.”

A silence falls over your corner of the table, the chatter continuing elsewhere as your friends stare at you. You feel your cheeks heat up, the familiar twinge of anxiety flaring up as you mentally prepare for the usual questions.

“Vegan? Seriously?” One of them finally says, brow furrowing. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”

“Yeah, it’s just ... it’s my thing, you know?” You laugh lightly, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’m sure they can whip something up in the kitchen, right?”

“I don’t know, this place is pretty strict,” another friend comments, glancing towards the kitchen doors as if expecting a sous-chef to pop out and reprimand you. “But you could ask.”

You take a breath, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll ask.”

The waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face as he sets down more drinks and asks if you’ve made any decisions. You tilt your head, giving him a hopeful look.

“I was wondering if the kitchen could prepare something vegan?” You say, your voice steady but polite. “I didn’t see anything on the menu, and-”

“I’ll ask the chef,” he cuts in smoothly, though there’s a slight twitch in his jaw as he scribbles something in his notepad. “One moment.”

As he disappears towards the back, your friends exchange wary glances. You try to brush it off with another easy smile, though your nerves are prickling beneath the surface.

“This could be interesting,” someone says, raising their eyebrows. “Michelin-starred chefs aren’t exactly known for accommodating special requests.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping this one’s different,” you say, half-joking, though you can’t shake the knot in your stomach.

The seconds tick by, each one dragging out longer than the last. You sip at your water, making small talk, but your mind is already in the kitchen, imagining what kind of chef you’re dealing with. When the kitchen doors finally swing open, you feel a flutter of anxiety — and maybe a little curiosity.

He’s not what you expect.

Max Verstappen storms out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel with an intensity that makes the air crackle around him. His blue eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s a heat in his expression that has nothing to do with the stoves behind him. He’s annoyed. No, more than annoyed — he’s furious.

And when he locks eyes with you, you feel like the world narrows down to just the two of you.

“Who asked for vegan?” His voice is clipped, Dutch accent thick, and it’s obvious he’s not here to make friends. Your friends glance between the two of you, sensing the impending storm, but you lift your chin, refusing to be intimidated.

“I did,” you say, matching his intensity with your own steady gaze. “Is that a problem?”

Max narrows his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “This is a steakhouse,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child. “A Michelin-starred steakhouse. I don’t make rabbit food.”

“Then maybe tonight you could make an exception,” you reply, keeping your tone even but firm. “I’m sure a chef of your caliber could whip something up.”

A scoff escapes him, and for a moment, you think he’s about to walk away. But instead, he steps closer, the heat of his presence almost tangible. “You think I’m going to ruin my kitchen with tofu or whatever it is you people eat?”

You blink at him, thrown off balance for a second by the sheer force of his disdain. But you gather yourself quickly, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re saying you can’t do it? That it’s too much for you?”

The challenge hangs in the air between you, thick with tension. Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes sparking with something dangerous. But then, to your surprise, he laughs — a short, harsh sound that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not making you anything,” he says, finality in his voice. “You should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

“Maybe I would have, if I’d known the chef had such limited skills,” you retort, not backing down.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. But then, something shifts. The anger in his expression falters, replaced by something else — something almost amused.

“You’re really pushing it,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel a strange thrill at that, your pulse quickening. “I’m just asking you to do your job. Isn’t a good chef supposed to cater to all his customers?”

“A good chef is supposed to maintain the integrity of his menu,” he shoots back. “Not cater to every whim that walks through the door.”

“Maybe a great chef can do both,” you say quietly, watching him closely.

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense and unreadable. You’re not sure what you expect him to do next — yell, walk away, maybe call security to kick you out — but what happens is the last thing you expect.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“Not particularly,” you reply, heart pounding. “I just know what I want.”

Max holds your gaze for a moment longer, then straightens up, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You’re not going to win this,” he says, but there’s a hint of something in his voice — a challenge, maybe.

“We’ll see about that,” you reply, giving him a small, almost defiant smile.

He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen, the doors swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud.

The table is silent for a moment, everyone exchanging wide-eyed looks as if they can’t believe what just happened. Your heart is still racing, your mind replaying the exchange over and over, analyzing every word, every glance.

“Did you just ...” one of your friends starts, trailing off in disbelief.

“I think I did,” you reply, a bit dazed yourself. But beneath the shock, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction. You’re not sure what it is — maybe the fact that you stood your ground, or maybe it’s something else, something about the way Max looked at you in those final moments.

Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.

“Okay, that was intense,” someone else says, still staring at the kitchen doors. “Are you sure you want to keep pushing him?”

You take a breath, letting the adrenaline course through you. “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Good luck with that,” another friend mutters, though there’s a hint of admiration in their voice.

You don’t need luck, though. Not with this. There’s something about Max — something infuriating and fascinating all at once — that makes you want to see how far you can push him, how much he can take before he cracks. You’re not even sure what you’re aiming for — his respect, his irritation, or something else entirely — but you know you’re not backing down.

The minutes pass, and the chatter around the table picks up again, though you can tell everyone’s still on edge, waiting to see if Max will come back. You sip your water, trying to calm the lingering buzz of energy in your veins. Part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake, if you’ve pushed too far, but another part — a bigger part — knows that this is exactly where you need to be.

When the kitchen doors finally swing open again, the table falls silent once more. Max strides out, his expression unreadable, and heads straight for you. He doesn’t have a plate in his hands, and for a moment, your heart sinks, thinking he’s come out just to reiterate his refusal.

But instead, he stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m not.”

He studies you for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing. Then, to your surprise, he sighs — a heavy, resigned sound.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, lifting an eyebrow.

He lets out a low, frustrated growl, but you can see the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The tension between you is still palpable, but it’s shifted — softened in a way that neither of you acknowledges.

“All right,” he finally says, his tone somewhere between exasperation and something almost like admiration. “I’ll make you something.”

Your friends exchange surprised glances, but you keep your gaze locked on Max, not letting yourself get too excited just yet. “You don’t have to,” you say, though the look in your eyes says otherwise.

“I’m doing this once,” he warns, pointing a finger at you like it’s some kind of punishment. “And if you don’t like it, you’re not getting a refund.”

You bite back a smile. “Deal.”

He narrows his eyes at you one last time before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. The doors swing shut behind him, and this time, the silence at the table is charged with something new — something like disbelief, mingled with anticipation.

“What just happened?” Someone finally asks, breaking the spell.

“I think Max Verstappen just agreed to make a vegan dish,” you say, a touch of incredulity in your own voice.

“That’s got to be a first,” another friend chimes in, shaking their head. “You’ve got some kind of magic power.”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all night. “I don’t know about that. I think he just likes a challenge.”

“Or maybe he just likes you,” one of them says, waggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes, though a part of you wonders. There was something in the way he looked at you — something beyond just irritation. But you push the thought aside. Whatever this is, it’s not something you can figure out in the middle of a crowded steakhouse.

The minutes tick by, and though the conversation at the table picks up again, you can feel the undercurrent of curiosity running through your friends. They’re all waiting to see what Max will come up with, and honestly, so are you. The anticipation builds, your mind racing with possibilities — what could a Michelin-starred chef possibly make that’s both vegan and up to his standards?

When Max finally reappears, he’s carrying a single plate in his hands. He walks with purpose, his expression serious, but there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As he approaches, the table falls silent again, everyone leaning in to see what he’s brought.

He stops in front of you, holding out the plate with a sort of grudging respect. “Here,” he says simply.

You look down at the dish and feel your breath catch. It’s stunning — an artful arrangement of roasted vegetables, grains, and a vibrant sauce that you can’t quite place. It’s clear that he didn’t just throw something together — he put thought into this. Care, even.

“This looks amazing,” you say, genuine awe in your voice.

Max shrugs, though you can see the faintest hint of pride in his expression. “I told you — just this once. Don’t get used to it.”

You give him a small smile, something warm blooming in your chest. “Thank you.”

He nods, but before he can turn away, you add, “I’m serious. It really means a lot that you did this.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, and you see a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his tough exterior. But then he smirks, the mask slipping back into place. “You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Is that what this is?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look that says more than words ever could. Then, with a final nod, he heads back to the kitchen, leaving you with the dish in front of you and the lingering feeling that something significant just happened.

You take a bite, and it’s even better than it looks. The flavors burst on your tongue, rich and complex, and you can’t help but smile. This is more than just food — it’s a statement, a challenge met and won.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Your friends order their steaks, and while they rave about their meals, you’re completely absorbed in your own, savoring every bite. You can’t help but steal glances towards the kitchen every now and then, wondering if Max is watching, if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re almost too full to eat another bite. But when the waiter places a plate in front of you, you freeze.

It’s a small, delicate dessert — something that looks like a cross between a tart and a cake, with a perfectly smooth layer of chocolate ganache on top. But that’s not what catches your attention. Written in dark chocolate sauce across the edge of the plate, in neat, precise handwriting, is a phone number.

You blink, staring at it, your heart skipping a beat. Your friends lean in, catching sight of it as well, and their reactions range from gasps to stifled laughter.

“No way,” someone whispers, eyes wide with disbelief.

You can hardly believe it yourself. But there it is — clear as day, an unmistakable invitation.

You glance towards the kitchen, and just as you do, the doors swing open again. Max steps out, catching your eye from across the room. For a moment, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you again, the noise and bustle of the restaurant fading into the background.

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod — an acknowledgment, a dare. Then, without waiting for a response, he turns and disappears back into the kitchen, leaving you with your friends and the plate in front of you.

“Are you going to call him?” One of them asks, their voice tinged with excitement.

You stare at the number, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I don’t know,” you admit, though a smile is already spreading across your face.

But deep down, you do know. Because this — this little gesture, this playful challenge — feels like the start of something. Something you’re not quite ready to let go of.

You pick up your fork, take a bite of the dessert, and let the sweetness melt on your tongue. It’s perfect — just like everything else he’s made tonight. And as you savor the taste, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something far more interesting than you ever expected.

***

The kitchen is filled with the scent of something sweet and savory, a blend of spices and roasted vegetables that wafts through the house and wraps around you like a warm blanket. You’re perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, one hand absentmindedly resting on your growing belly, the other holding a glass of freshly squeezed juice that Max insisted you drink, despite your protests that you were perfectly fine with water.

“You need the vitamins,” he had said, the Dutch accent that once made you bristle now soothing in its familiarity.

“Max, it’s fine,” you replied, but he had just given you that look — the one that says he’s not backing down — and you relented with a sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Now, you watch as he moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, his hands deftly chopping, stirring, and seasoning. It’s a sight you’ve grown accustomed to over the years, but it never fails to fill you with a mix of awe and gratitude. He’s changed so much since that night at the steakhouse, when he’d been all sharp edges and stubborn pride. Now, those edges have softened, replaced by a quiet determination to make you happy in every way he can.

“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking another sip of juice and trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in your stomach that has nothing to do with the baby.

“Almost done,” Max replies, glancing up at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Patience, liefje.”

“You know I’m not good at that,” you tease, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s cooking.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to stir the pot on the stove. “I know. That’s why I’m hurrying.”

You can’t help but smile at that, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a comforting embrace. It’s moments like this that make you realize just how lucky you are — how much you’ve both grown together, built a life together. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth it.

“What are you making, anyway?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He gives you a sly look, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he retorts, his voice full of playful confidence.

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a mock sigh, though the smile on your face gives you away.

He laughs softly, the sound deep and full of affection. “Good thing, too.”

You watch him for a moment longer, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and contentment. He’s wearing an apron over his casual clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the steam rising off the stove. There’s something almost domestic about the whole scene, but it’s more than that—it’s the intimacy of knowing someone so well, of sharing your life with them in all its messy, beautiful complexity.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You ask, your voice softening.

Max glances at you, his expression tender. “Not today.”

“Well, you are,” you say, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He pauses, the spoon in his hand hovering over the pot as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You won’t ever have to find out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a promise.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it never fails to hit you with the same force, the same certainty that you’ve found something rare and precious in each other.

Before you can respond, he turns back to the stove, breaking the moment with a casualness that belies the depth of what was just said. “Besides,” he adds, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone, “I’m pretty sure you’d starve without me.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky as you try to regain your composure. “You’re probably right. But I’d find a way.”

“Not as well as I do,” he counters, his voice filled with mock arrogance.

“True,” you admit, watching him with a smile. “You’ve ruined me for all other chefs.”

“Good,” he says, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “That was the plan.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s always been confident, sometimes to the point of being infuriating, but there’s a sincerity to it now that wasn’t there before—a genuine desire to take care of you, to be there for you in every way.

“Are you going to let me taste whatever masterpiece you’re working on, or do I have to wait until it’s perfect?” You ask, trying to peek over the counter again.

“Patience,” he repeats, though there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Max,” you whine, drawing out the syllable in a way that you know he can’t resist.

He sighs dramatically, as if you’ve just asked him to perform some Herculean task, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But just a taste.”

He picks up a small spoon and dips it into the pot, then turns and walks over to you, holding it out with a flourish. “Here.”

You take the spoon from him, your curiosity piqued. The aroma is intoxicating, and when you bring the spoon to your lips, the flavors explode on your tongue — rich, savory, with a hint of sweetness that lingers just long enough to make you want more.

“Oh my god,” you say around the mouthful, your eyes widening in surprise. “This is amazing.”

“I know,” he says, clearly pleased with himself as he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I had to do something special for my girls.”

You swallow, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a soft, gentle wave. “Girls, huh?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart swell. “Just a feeling.”

You smile, resting a hand on your belly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you cook for her.”

“She better,” he replies, though his voice is teasing. “Or I’m sending her back.”

You laugh, the sound filling the kitchen and easing the last remnants of tension in the air. “Too late for that.”

“Damn,” he mutters, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns back to the stove, stirring the pot with practiced ease. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”

You watch him for a moment, your heart full to bursting with affection. He’s taken to this whole thing — pregnancy, impending fatherhood — with a kind of devotion that you never expected, but that somehow doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s always been all in, whether it’s in the kitchen or in your relationship. It’s one of the things you love most about him — that relentless drive to be the best, to give his all, no matter what.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Max pauses, his hand stilling on the spoon. For a moment, he just stands there, his back to you, and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing, if maybe it’s too soon, too much. But then he turns, and the look on his face — full of vulnerability and determination — takes your breath away.

“I’m going to try,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I promise.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you reach out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it gently. He squeezes back, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that’s so simple, so familiar, and yet it says everything you need to hear.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. “I’ve got something else for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

He smirks, pulling his hand away and turning back to the counter. “Just wait.”

You watch as he opens the fridge and pulls out a small tray, carefully covered with a cloth. He sets it on the counter and, with a dramatic flourish, pulls the cloth away to reveal ... a plate of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicately shaped and glistening with a light dusting of powdered sugar.

“Vegan croissants,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Made from scratch.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at the pastries in disbelief. “You made these?”

“Of course,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I told you I’d figure it out.”

You’re speechless, the effort and care he’s put into this gesture rendering you momentarily stunned. You know how much work goes into making croissants, and the fact that he’s done it just to satisfy your cravings — it’s almost too much.

“Max,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, though there’s a hint of bashfulness in his expression. “I wanted to.”

You reach out, picking up one of the croissants and holding it in your hands like it’s something precious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try,” he says with a smirk, watching as you take a tentative bite of the croissant.

The layers are perfectly flaky, the pastry light and buttery despite being vegan. It melts in your mouth, and you close your eyes, savoring the taste. “This is ... incredible,” you murmur, barely able to believe how good it is.

Max’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

You take another bite, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “I don’t just like it, Max. I love it.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter with an air of satisfaction. “Good. But don’t go telling anyone, okay? You’re still the only person I’d cook vegan for.”

You laugh, a sound full of love and warmth. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He winks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better be. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

You shake your head, your heart full as you look at the man you married — the man who, despite all his bravado, has always made you feel like the most important person in his world. “You’re impossible,” you say fondly.

“And you love it,” he replies, his voice softening as he reaches out to gently cup your cheek.

“I really do,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Max leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

“I love you,” he says, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

And as you sit there together, the scent of freshly baked croissants filling the air, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life might not always be easy, but with Max by your side — cooking for you, joking with you, loving you — you know you’ll always have a reason to smile, no matter what comes your way.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

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deldaydreams · 4 months ago

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Twisted Wonderland/ Otome AU

Warning: Yandere stuff mentioned, Gn reader. English is not my first language.

Summary: : One day, you opened your eyes and found yourself in Twisted Wonderland. And the task the System gave you is to get one of the lead characters love meter to 100% by the end of the main story and reach their happy ending.

Parts : rules , 1 , 2 , 4

Azul Ashengrotto

Cunning, intelligent, Octavinelle dorm head Azul Ashengrotto. If you are going to choose the Azul route, I should mention that even if you meet Azul before the main story or during the main story, this will not affect your love meter much. In other words, you will start from scratch anyway. While the events in the main story are happening, your love meter will increase, although not much. Azul will like the troubled facial expressions you have while trying to help your friends. Especially the worried facial expression you put on when you make a deal with him is his favorite.

Of course, you will fall into minuses with Overblot, but don't worry, it will be quite easy for you to approach him after Overblot. He will not approach you with his usual businessman expression. Regular visits and conversations will gradually increase your love meter, and you will become Azul's special customer who is regularly expected. Things like extra desserts or drinks from the establishment are now natural for you.

Your time with Azul is usually spent at the Monstro Lounge. He regularly invites you to the Monstro Lounge to try new menus. Although he claims that he only uses you as a test subject to try out new menus, the twins know the truth and make fun of Azul about it. However, they still help Azul to advance your relationship as his Wingmen, in other words, they help him in their own way.

You chat while he brings you new menus to try. Although your conversations are usually about your daily life, Azul likes to listen to you. These conversations allow him to learn about you. He also likes you to listen to him carefully.

Azul wants to be perfect in your eyes. What happened in the Overblot incident makes him feel bad, but this perfect male impression is usually ruined by the twins and his mother. Aside from the twins talking about their old memories, he never left you alone with his mother after his mother showed you his childhood and baby photos.

In Dark mode this Octopus make sure that you wouldn’t notice anything . His repressed insecure personality eats him up. What if you find someone better than him? What if you leave him? What if you are happier without him? These thoughts eat him up inside. While he plays the perfect lover to you, he makes plans to eliminate the people he sees as rivals in the background, and you can be sure that the twins will help him in this regard. Azul does not interfere with you physically, at least not to a certain extent. He usually plays mind games with you. The contract offers she normally makes as a joke become more frequent, the only difference is that if you accept thinking it is just a joke, you will fall into his hands. And once your signature falls into Azul's hands, you will never be able to escape from him ever .

Jade leech

Jade Leech, the vice dorm leader of Octavielle who hides his true nature under the mask of a gentleman. First of all, you have attracted Jade's attention since the beginning of the story. Especially after Azul's Overblot, his interest in you will increase considerably. A person without magic, from another world... How interesting. After the third book, your encounters with Jade will increase.

First of all, I have to say that this eel is an open sadist. In other words, he enjoys doing activities that will annoy you a lot during the day. Random pranks that scare you will happen quite often. For example, last week, he scared you about the poisonous mushroom in the food he served you, then he joked and explained that he actually made you eat a safe mushroom that looked like it. In his defense, the facial expression you make when you are scared and in a difficult situation is very cute. He also tells you his memories and stories about his life under the sea frequently. Especially the ones that will scare you. I advise you not to trust this guy too much.

Your time with Jade is usually spent at the Monstro Lounge due to his work. He spoils you with free menus. He likes you to talk about your day while eating. Apart from that, he tries to include you in his club activities. If you participate in club activities, your love meter will increase, but you should be prepared for the non-stop mountain hiking and Jade's non-stop chatter all day long.

It is very difficult to notice Jade in dark mode. This guy is a master at hiding his feelings. However, it is possible to notice if you pay attention to his word choices. Jade does not wish you direct harm as much as possible. He wants you to come to him on your own will.

Unfortunate events suddenly happen to those around you. The seriousness of these events increases as time goes by. In addition, rumors emerge about you and even bullying can also happen . If you are still not completely devoted to him, he may push you to make a deal with Azul. If you still continue to be stubborn despite this, Jade will resort to brute force, even if he ��does not want” to. He will confess to you that he is responsible for everything that happens to you. And he will openly threaten you. In short, he will get what he wants in one way or another.

Floyd Leech

Floyd Leech, a student of Octavinelle, who is the opposite of his brother who is like an unknown deep ocean but also quite similar to him . Just like to his brother, you are very interesting to Floyd, even if the reasons are not the same.

Floyd's route is a complete Russian roulette. There will be sudden drops and increases until the love meter reaches 30%-40%. For this reason, you should always be alert about Floyd's mood states.

I would like to say that your relationship with Floyd will be a little tiring. This guy will drag you behind him wherever he goes. It doesn't matter if you have other things to do or not, you should be by his side. Lots of hugs (squeezes) and PDA. Just like Jade, this eel will also play not so funny pranks on you. In the simplest way, whenever he wants you to swim with him, he drowns you every time. Of course, unlike his brother, he doesn't always do this on purpose. At least he is honest.

After your love meter exceeds 30%-40%, that is, after it reaches a stable position, Floyd, just like Jade, will introduce you to his family at the first opportunity. So I recommend you to be prepared.

You will spend most of your free time with Floyd, whether you like it or not. He likes you to watch him and cheer him on at club activities. Apart from that, he wants you to do swimming and similar activities with him, but you learned your lesson. Apart from that, Floyd is a talkative person. He will tell you various stories about the undersea life.

As I said, Floyd's route is like a wavy sea, so you should be on the alert at all times. If Floyd feels uncomfortable about something or experiences a situation that will shake him, he can easily enter dark mode. The possessive nature of this leech twin is a complete nightmare when he enters dark mode. He immediately becomes suspicious at the slightest thing, corners you and questions you. Since he is more nervous and suspicious than normal, he can be a little aggressive towards those around you, and unlike Jade, he does not hide it. The advice is to find the reason why he is in this situation as soon as possible, because in dark mode, you will not only deal with Floyd but also Jade. With the help of Jade and Azul, you will be in Floyd's hands in a short time.

Tags: @ang3lin3r33

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere leech twins #yandere octavinelle #twisted wonderland otome au

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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?”

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections.

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy.

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally.

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!”

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,”

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already.

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule.

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already.

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged.

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him.

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her.

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,”

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?”

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his.

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-”

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure.

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?”

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released.

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words.

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused.

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head.

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,”

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got.

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara.

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,”

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her.

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,”

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt.

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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So what about a Monster! Konig and Monster! Reader where Konig is this octopus eldritch hybrid and reader is some type of pretty bioluminescent jellyfish hybrid. Bonus points if reader literally just wants to be left alone and uses the jellyfish stinging tentacles on Konig but it just does work because he’s immune or something. (btw I’m in love with your writing and I’d marry it if I could.)

Being a jellyfish hybrid is a very nice life, actually. You're pretty but harmless enough to never have others hunt you just for the sake of their own safety. You have a very nice set of tentacles instead of a simple tail like most mermaids do, so you don't have a problem escaping most trouble and just minding your business. You never pick up fights with anyone, but you do have stinging tendrils in case someone wants to be brave and stupid. You literally just want to collect your little trinkets and sleep in the small cave you found for yourself. Konig doesn't get the memo. Of course, he is big, ancient, probably the strongest ocean hybrid out here - there aren't a lot of merfolks who had seen him and were alive long enough to tell the tale. He has an ego and a temper and a set of wandering eyes that always stare at the way your half-translucent tentacles are swimming in the water, reflecting the dim light of the cave stars. He is not used to other people rejecting him and surviving this, so you kinda understand why he decided to cling onto you. You just...you don't get why. He is an eldritch creature, the strongest out there - there should be a line of dumber mermaids willing to carry his brood and be happy baby mommas. You just want to collect human treasures and shiny jewelry. You sting him the first time he approached you. Konig, a creature of the depths, was enthralled by the soft light your body was emaciating; you can't blame him for being a bit curious. You can, however, blame him for the fact that when you stung him the first time, he moaned. Loudly. And this is how his obsession started. He follows you around, using his immunity to your poison as a free pass into your cave. you try to shove him off with your hands, but the creature is far too aroused whenever you put your palms on him, so you stop even trying after the first few times. He is horrible and distracting; he deserves nothing but the absolute worst, and yet you can't help but imagine how nice it would be if he used his large, muscular hands for something useful. If he embraced you instead of tugging on your tentacles if he would kiss you instead of barking laughter and whimpering moans whenever you do sting him. He is not fully immune to your poison...it's just that the feeling makes him cum almost instantly, and you're the prettiest creature he ever saw at the bottom of the sea. Pretty, cute, helpless against him, but can take care of yourself and the brood once he is finally filling you up with his eggs. Smile, for you have become his first and only wife. You literally just wanted to be left alone.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #monster!konig #tw: monster fucking

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kiyo-cant-write · 8 months ago

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octavinelle with animal lover reader ✧･ﾟ

Summary: This Yuu has always loved animals since they were young, fish and mammals alike. They venture to see the ocean life in Octavinelle, meaning both the fish and the fish people :)

TW/CW: None

Notes: pre-relationship, gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns for the reader, the reader is implied to be Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect

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[Name] had always loved animals. Dogs, cats, even fish! They were all so cool. When they were little they had been interested in fields of work involving animals. As they grew up, the love never faded. Even in this Twisted Wonderland, it remained. But... with some new sides.

Now that focus was directed elsewhere. Here at NRC, there were merfolk and beastmen. It was all too cool. They had to ask, they had to investigate. They wanted to know more, to know everything!

They walked into the Mostro Lounge and approached...

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Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is a very busy man and he doesn't expect part of his day to be... this. [Name] catches him off-guard, something he doesn't like.

He is used to the weirdest of people asking him for things.

People always want things from him.

However, someone asking about his merform really makes him unsettled as he doesn't care for the form himself.

He sighs as soon as the questions begin but doesn't stop them.

Sadly, he is fond of this human and he lets them yap at him.

They apparently like octopi. He is oddly flattered by this sentiment.

In the end, Azul answers some of [Name]'s weird questions.

He offers them a few non-sinister smiles as well.

All for free, of course. He's a benevolent force after all.

Azul was startled when [Name] first burst into the Lounge and asked to speak to him. Well, asked was putting it nicely. They entered the room and beelined for Azul, much to his frustration. He had been working but doubted he would get anything more done now.

"Yes, [Name]-san?" he asked them after a moment, "What did you need from me?"

His voice was calm and collected as he smiled his businessman's smile at them, hoping to make this quick if it had anything to do with Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola, or even that cat, Grim.

"I wanted to ask you something, Azul."

[Name] seemed confident today.

"Ask me what, exactly?" Azul asked them.

"I want to know more about merfolk. I've always loved animals and there are so many animal-like species here... I just need to know more!" they explained.

Azul was at a loss for words. They wanted to ask him about his... About merfolk? That was odd. It had to be a joke, right? This was...

"Can you tell me about them? Or yourself?" [Name] asked.

They had a look on their face that made Azul want to give in, much to his annoyance. Why was he okay with this? He didn't understand it.

"Alright, ask away with the questions then," he told them.

They smiled again as they asked their question.

"I was wondering if you can regrow your tentacles!"

"What."

Azul was once again at a loss for words. The octomer offered them an incredulous look. What the fuck? Why would you need to know that?

"I was wondering if you c—"

"I heard you the first time," he shushed them, "Why?"

"No reason, just curious," they told him.

He sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

"Alright, so you are just wondering about this trait in octopus merfolk," he repeated, for them or himself it was unclear, "I suppose the simple answer is... yes, I can."

"You can???"

[Name] seemed surprised.

"That's so cool! That's part of why octopi are some of my favorite animals! They're so magical to be able to do things like that!"

[Name continued to prattle on about octopi. But... For some reason, it felt a bit personal and Azul felt his face heat up.

"Is there a-anything else you'd like to know?"

"Well—Azul are you okay? You look like you have a fever!"

"No, no, I'm quite alright," he assured them, and the discussion continued.

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Jade Leech

Jade is always "polite" to those who come into the lounge.

He knows this human so he humors their questions.

He kindly reminds them that they need to buy a drink to stay.

"If you don't buy a drink I am afraid I will have to send you away..."

He sheds a few fake tears as he says this.

He knows that [Name] will understand he is kidding.

(He is serious about the drinks though)

Jade happens to be working when [Name] shows up.

He continues to do his job while they chat, slowly having them do lounge tasks alongside him while they talk. Feed two birds.

He finds it cute that they like morays this much.

Jade wonders if you would talk to him about his terrariums.

Even though he wouldn't mind showing off his merform, he is too busy with work and tells [Name] that it would hinder his work.

"I am very sorry, [Name], that is not a service the lounge provides."

Jade smiled at the sight of [Name] helping to bring orders to tables and check on the patrons of the Mostro Lounge. It was certainly helpful to have an additional set of hands during the busy hours. They had come asking questions about merfolk, asking one of the few they knew at school... It had resulted in work time for them.

The Octavinelle Vice Housewarden would say he felt bad if it did not benefit him immensely to have their time and energy today.

"Next order, [Name]-san," he reminded, handing them a tray as they came up to the counter once more, "Three more to go, I believe."

"Jade, will you really tell me more about merfolk if I do this?"

"Yes, of course," Jade told them, "You see, a deal is a deal and we at the Mostro Lounge take these things very seriously."

He gave them a close-mouthed smile that [Name] trusted.

They gave a quick nod and took the next order to its table.

"Hehe," came the soft laugh from Jade as he watched them go.

They trusted him too much, he was sure of it. But it was almost endearing when he thought about it, the blind trust of someone so kindhearted. He had to admit it interested him why they had trusted so easily. He was not as outwardly threatening as Floyd but he was certainly no saint either. Some said Jade was scarier than Floyd.

"I'm ready for the next one!" [Name] said, having returned while Jade was thinking, "Eh? Jade? Are you okay?"

The "shady" smile of Jade's returned as he nodded to them.

"Ah, of course. I'm alright. Let us take these last ones, shall we?"

Together, the pair delivered the last three orders to their customers who were eagerly waiting. Jade took two while [Name] took one with both hands. They had made quick work of the growing number of orders that had piled. Jade noted that he needed to edit the scheduling for the Lounge. This was not enough workers. Was it?

"Will you answer a question now?" [Name] asked as they headed back toward the Lounge kitchen, "Or is there more work to be done?"

"It would depend entirely on what your question is, [Name]-san," Jade told them, being surprisingly honest at that moment.

"I want to know what merfolk are like! What do they look like or do under the sea?" [Name] asked him, sparkling as brightly as gold.

"I see, I see," Jade mused as he thought, "I am afraid that I cannot show you what a merperson looks like today. It would hinder the productivity of the Lounge and Azul would not like it."

[Name] pouted and Jade only chuckled at the response.

"I can perhaps explain a fact you might like, though," he told them, "Would that suffice? One fact from a moray to a human."

"Ooh, okay!" [Name] agreed with a smile.

Jade admittedly found it a bit cute, but he didn't say anything about it. That would be a sentiment he shelved for another day.

"Us moray eel merfolk are bioluminescent."

"You glow? Like a glowstick?" they asked.

"What is a glowstick?" Jade returned the question with a question.

"You shake them and then crack them and they glow."

[Name] demonstrated with violent miming.

"...We glow but I do not think the shaking nor cracking is required."

"Oh..." they replied, pausing before they smiled again, "Cool!"

[Name] still seemed just as enthusiastic about it even without the added violence. Jade had to admit, maybe he wouldn't mind teaching them more should they desire it.

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Floyd Leech

Floyd having a bad mood day or not is the deciding factor for how he reacts to someone who is this enthusiastic about his species.

Let's assume you find him on a good day for your own safety.

Floyd laughs at you for asking. He thinks it's funny you like eels.

He thinks it's even funnier than they are asking him about eels.

"Do you ask the beastmen about themselves too?"

Still, it's kind of cute, he has to admit.

He answers questions, some better than others.

He gives some interesting facts here and there.

He isn't stupid, he just doesn't care for lessons much.

When [Name asks him about his merform, he smirks.

This just got very interesting :3

What a generous offer, as Azul might say.

Floyd watched [Name] as they listed off their favorite animals, among them were eels. He gave them a toothy grin as he heard the words leave them, the kind of expression that would send most people running to the opposite end of the damn school.

"Ne, Shrimpy. Do you really like eels that much?" he asked them, leaning a bit closer to them to stare at them with heterochromatic eyes, "Are they your favorite animal of all? That'd be fun."

"I like all animals, though," [Name] told him with a laugh, not seeming to mind the space, "But I am pretty fond of eels."

"All eels?" Floyd asked, hinting at the answer that would satisfy him.

"Well, I mean all eels are cool," they said before looking at him and smiling a moment later, "But I like morays the best."

"Good! We are the best there is," Floyd agreed, a grin still sparkling on his face as he laughed along with the human guest, forgetting his work.

He could waste time a bit with them. Azul would only get so mad and he was boring anyway, so serves him right. There was no way Floyd was in the mood to cook right now. He was in the mood to chat with Shrimpy about their favorite animals.

"So what else did you want to know?" Floyd asked, leaning against one of the plush chairs in the lounge as he watched them.

[Name]'s eyes sparkled.

"I really want to see what a merperson looks like..." they said, "Are they really so fishy?"

"Hmm? Why don't you find out, then~" Floyd said, taking [Name]'s hand as he walked them over to one of the larger fish tanks that decorated the space and climbed into it.

[Name] was amazed by the massive form that Floyd took on when outside of his human disguise. He was turquoise, with stripped patterns on his body and arm and ear fins that matched his coloring.

"Think us merfolk are nice then?" Floyd teased, "Want to join me?"

[Name] nodded, though it was unclear to which part of the question.

"Come on then!" Floyd said, giggling, reaching to pull them into the tank with him, "Aa, so nice~"

[Name] felt the cold water on their wet clothes that were now sticking to their body. They leaned up against Floyd who was so tall in this form. Or would it be "long"? Is that a better word? They didn't know.

This calm lasted only for a moment...

"FLOYD. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Azul's voice could be heard from across the room.

"Oops~ caught by the bossman," Floyd said, laughing again even if he seemed a bit miffed about being interrupted.

Even if the Lounge was busy and Floyd was on shift, he would always see it this way: Azul was interrupting his time with Shrimpy.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

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cupofteatoyou · 2 months ago

Text

What if she chose me -pt2

You’re not sure what wakes you first—the faint golden light slipping through the curtains or the weight draped heavily across your legs.

You blink blearily at the ceiling, your head pounding just enough to regret every shot Mapi cheered you into. The hoodie you slept in has twisted halfway around your torso, your mouth is dry, and you're pretty sure your left sock is missing.

And then you feel it.

An arm, definitely not yours, tightening around your waist.

You glance down.

Mapi is wrapped around you like a very clingy, slightly snoring octopus. One leg thrown over yours, her face smooshed against your shoulder, one hand tucked under your hoodie like she's trying to absorb your body heat through osmosis.

You try to move.

She groans softly and immediately tightens her hold, nuzzling closer with a dramatic sigh. “No,” she mumbles into your collarbone. “You live here now. You’re mine.”

You blink. “Mapi…”

“Shh.”

“We have training in three hours.”

“Shhhh.”

You try again, gently tapping her back. “I need water.”

“You need love.”

“I need Advil.”

“You need cuddles.”

You’re almost laughing now, your body sore and your brain foggy but your heart a little lighter than it’s been in weeks. “Do you do this with everyone?”

“No,” she murmurs. “Only my special Norwegian daughter.”

“Mapi,” Ingrid calls from somewhere down the hall, her voice calm but edged with suspicion, like a mother who knows her child is up to something.

You barely manage to lift your head off the pillow. “Do I… say something?”

“No,” Mapi whispers against your neck. “If we’re very still, she won’t see us.”

“Ingrid’s not a T-Rex,” you hiss, trying not to laugh.

But it’s too late.

Footsteps approach. Then a pause.

Then—

“María Pilar León Cebrián”

Mapi freezes.

You glance toward the doorway just in time to see Ingrid appear, dressed in a sleek black training hoodie, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and somehow looking extremely unimpressed for someone whose girlfriend is currently wrapped around a semi-conscious defender like a human blanket.

“What did I say?” she asks.

Mapi lifts her head just slightly, eyes still closed. “That I should wake her gently.”

“Gently doesn’t mean ‘kidnap her and emotionally imprint like a baby duck,’” Ingrid deadpans.

Mapi doesn’t move. “She needed comfort.”

“She needed electrolytes.”

“She needed love.”

“She needs pants.”

You look down. Mapi’s hoodie is still hanging off your frame, and your sweatpants have somehow twisted halfway down one hip. You groan and cover your face with your hand. “This is the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever been in.”

Ingrid walks over, crouches down, and rests a hand on Mapi’s back. “Bebita, I love you, but if you don’t let her up, she’s going to miss breakfast, hydration, and the last ounce of her will to live.”

Mapi lifts her head with a groan, hair a wild halo around her face. “Fine,” she mutters, rolling off you with the grace of a very hungover barn cat. “But I want it on record that I’m being emotionally evicted.”

“You can re-cuddle her after she’s conscious and fed,” Ingrid says, standing up and offering you a hand.

You take it, stumbling to your feet, still wobbly but grateful.

“Coffee?” Ingrid offers, ever the anchor.

“God, yes,” you whisper.

From the couch, Mapi’s muffled voice groans, “I want one too—extra love, extra sugar, and someone please tell my calves to stop screaming.”

“You did a cartwheel in platform boots,” Ingrid reminds her.

“A queen must suffer for her art.”

You and Ingrid exchange a look.

Then laughter.

You follow Ingrid into the kitchen, the quiet shuffle of your socks on the tile somehow sounding louder in the early-morning hush. The place is sun-drenched now, soft golden light pooling through the windows, casting long lines across the counter cluttered with the aftermath of last night—empty bottles, half a lime, one rogue glittery boot.

Ingrid moves like she’s done this a hundred times. Which, honestly, she probably has. She goes straight to the counter and starts fiddling with the French press like it’s a second language.

You hover awkwardly for a second.

Then—

“Sit,” she says gently, without looking up. “You look like a baby deer that got hit by a karaoke machine.”

You half-chuckle, dragging yourself onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Feel like it too.”

She finishes pouring and slides a mug across the counter toward you with both hands—like it’s sacred.

“Anchor,” she says, simply.

You lift the mug with both hands and take a sip.

“God, yes,” you whisper, eyes closing as the warmth spreads through your chest.

She turns back to the stove without fanfare and grabs a pan with practiced ease. Cracks eggs with one hand. Tosses bread into the toaster. She moves through it all without speaking, but somehow, it’s not awkward—it’s kind. Like she knows what people need without having to ask.

You sit with the coffee pressed to your lips and just breathe for a minute.

“Toast or no toast?” she asks.

“Toast,” you say. “If it’s not cursed.”

“No promises,” she says, but her tone’s warm.

A few minutes later, she sets a plate in front of you. Eggs. Toast. A few slices of avocado arranged into something vaguely artistic.

You blink. “Did you just… food-style my breakfast?”

She shrugs, leaning on the counter across from you, sipping her own coffee. “If we’re gonna suffer, we might as well suffer like people with taste.”

Mapi groans again from the other room. “Did someone say toast?!”

“No one said toast,” Ingrid calls back. “Go back to pretending you’re dead.”

“I’m not pretending,” Mapi says loud enough to be heard . “I’m haunting.”

You smirk into your coffee, cutting into your toast with the edge of your fork. “At least haunt something useful. Like my quads. They’re still trying to evacuate my body.”

“Can’t help you,” she groans from her cushion-grave. “The afterlife doesn’t include cardio.”

Ingrid, who’s been moving through the kitchen like it’s a calm storm only she knows how to navigate, rolls her eyes—though a soft smile’s tugging at the corner of her mouth. She finishes her toast, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and throws a glance toward the oven clock.

“We’ve got just under two hours,” she says. “Plenty of time before we need to leave.”

“For what?” you ask, suspicious.

“Shower. Rest. Hydrate. Mentally prepare for war.”

Mapi lets out the world’s most dramatic sigh as she enters kitchen “I choose to rest in pieces.”

You grin around your mug. “You’re so annoying in the morning.”

“She’s annoying at every hour,” Ingrid says, reaching toward chair to grab a clean towel which u just noticed. She tosses it to you without missing a beat. “Here. Go shower before you start smelling like Mapi.”

“I smell like adventure and bad decisions,” Mapi croaks, still standing in kitchen entrance..

You take the towel gratefully and start heading toward the hallway, then pause—glancing down at the hoodie and sweatpants you're still wearing. The same ones from last night. The only ones you own here.

You head back in kitchen “Uh… problem.”

Ingrid raises a brow. “What kind of problem?”

“I didn’t bring anything to change into,” you say. “I wasn’t exactly planning to get… emotionally adopted mid-party.”

“You’re lucky I’m tall,” Mapi whines.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Ingrid. “Wait, how tall is she actually?”

Ingrid smirks“Officially? Five-five.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“She insists it’s five-six on a good day.”

“That day doesn’t exist.”

Ingrid snorts . “The woman wears platform boots to stretch into average height.”

“This is slander. I am perfectly average-sized.”

“You’re average-sized if the average is a feral gremlin with glitter in her hair,” you call over your shoulder.

“I am a petite force of nature,” Mapi yells. “Respect the brand!”

You look at Ingrid, deadpan. “You Should start keeping a stepstool in the locker room”

“She already has one,” Ingrid says, stone-faced. “She just tells everyone it’s a ‘meditation platform.’”

You wheeze. “I’m going to get hit with a hairbrush.”

“Worth it.”

Mapi, who is now back on coach,lets out a high-pitched “I heard that!”

Ingrid returns with a Barça training top and a pair of sleek black shorts. Both clearly too big for her—clearly meant for someone else—but they’re clean, folded, and smell faintly of her eucalyptus laundry detergent.

She hands them to you with a small smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll look better in it than I do.”

You hesitate, something warm blooming in your chest. “You sure?”

She nods once. “It’s yours until laundry day.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little softer than you meant to.

Mapi makes a fake gagging sound from the couch. “This is gross. Stop being wholesome. I haven’t had enough caffeine to feel my feelings yet.”

You flip her off as you pass the living room, towel and borrowed clothes in hand. “I’m showering. Try not to die until I get back.”

“No promises,” she calls after you.

You shut the bathroom door behind you, press your back to it, and exhale.

The quiet hits you like steam before the water even starts running. You twist the knob and wait as heat fogs the mirror, the air growing thick and warm. You strip off yesterday’s sweat and spilled tequila, stepping under the stream with a hiss of relief.

Hot water. A clean shirt. A moment to just… exist.

No pressure. No eyes watching.

Just you. Here.

Breathing.

Alive.

You scrub your face. Run your fingers through your hair. Let yourself lean into the tile, forehead pressed against the wall as water runs down your spine.

The ride to Ciutat Esportiva is short, but your nerves stretch it longer.

Mapi’s leaned dramatically against the window beside you, sunglasses still on like she’s allergic to the sun and accountability.

“Reminder,” she mutters without opening her eyes, “if I collapse during warmups, avenge me.”

Ingrid sighs. “If you collapse, I’m dragging your body to the physio room and pretending I don’t know you.”

The locker room is mostly quiet when the three of you step inside.

The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead, the air still fresh and cool, untouched by the whirlwind it’ll become in twenty minutes when the rest of the team arrives. For now, it feels like a brief pocket of peace—or at least, the kind where only Mapi is talking.

She walks in like she owns the place. Hood still up, steps dramatic, one boot slightly untied.

“If I die on the pitch today,” she says once again, tossing her duffel into the open cubby beside Ingrid’s, “bury me in glitter and dramatic lighting.”

“You’re not dying,” Ingrid replies, already opening her locker and starting to pull out her boots. “You’re stretching. Dramatically.”

“Same thing,” Mapi mutters. “My hamstrings are writing their will as we speak.”

You trail behind them, bag slung over your shoulder, still dressed in Ingrid’s Barça top and borrowed shorts. You find your assigned cubby again—tucked a few down from Ingrid’s, a bit separate from the noise that’s yet to arrive—and settle onto the bench slowly.

Your body aches in a familiar, almost reassuring way. Legs heavy from yesterday’s drills. Shoulders tight. A dull throb along your calves from the half-chaotic dancing at Vicky’s place and the full-speed pressing drills before that.

“You okay?” Ingrid’s voice cuts in, quieter now. She’s crouched down, lacing her boots with easy precision, eyes flicking to you once without pressure.

You nod, managing a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… first full day nerves.”

Ingrid nods once. “Good. That means you care.”

“She cares too much,” Mapi calls from across the bench, flopping dramatically onto her side like she’s posing for a magazine called Tactical Cramp.

“She was rehearsing defensive rotations in her sleep.”

Your mouth drops open. “You don’t even sleep in the same room.”

“I heard it through the wall.”

“That’s because you scream-snore,” Ingrid adds casually.

Mapi points at both of you without sitting up. “This is slander, and I will be pressing charges. Emotionally.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you start peeling off your hoodie. It’s warm in here now, the kind of close, heavy locker room warmth that settles in before movement begins.

Ingrid’s already finished changing. She tosses you one of her extra water bottles and moves toward the mirror to tie up her hair, her reflection calm and unreadable.

Mapi, still halfway horizontal, props her chin up in her hand and eyes you.

“You seriously ready for this?” she asks. Not teasing. Just… curious.

You pause, bottle half-open.

“Not really,” you admit. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

Mapi grins. “That’s the spirit.”

She finally sits up—slowly, painfully, like her joints are filing a complaint—and slaps a hand onto your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “If you mess up, I’ll yell louder than the coaches so no one notices.”

“She will,” Ingrid confirms from the mirror. “Unfortunately.”

Then—

A sharp gasp.

You turn just in time to see Mapi freeze mid-sock, one knee on the bench like she’s mid-proposal. She’s staring at you like you just descended from Mount Olympus holding a football in one hand and vengeance in the other.

“Okay,” she announces, dramatically loud. “WHAT is your body made of?”

You blink. “I—what?”

She steps closer like she’s inspecting a crime scene. “you were all hoodie and mystery all this time. Now? You’ve got arms.You’ve got back. You’ve got architecture.”

From her locker, Ingrid sighs. “Mapi…”

“No, no,” Mapi cuts her off, gesturing wildly. “Look at her! This isn’t a footballer’s body. This is a Marvel phase-four stunt double. This is ‘I bench press defenders for fun.’”

You’re about to laugh—and then the door to the locker room swings open with a sudden clang.

Vicky strides in, mid-sentence, something half-spoken on her lips—until she sees you.

And she stops. Dead.

The door thuds shut behind her as she takes in the scene: you standing there in the snug training kit, mid-change, and Mapi gesturing like she’s conducting an orchestra.

Vicky’s eyebrows lift slowly, her expression flickering through at least three stages: surprise, appreciation, and then something more playful.

“Well, damn,” she says. “Good morning, Noruega.”

Mapi throws her hands in the air. “RIGHT?! Finally, someone gets it!”

Vicky doesn’t even look away from you. “I mean, I knew you were hiding something under that hoodie, but this is—”

“Objectification,” you mutter, fighting a smile.

“Admiration,” Vicky corrects. “Also, who let you walk around looking like a Nike campaign? We’re trying to focus here.”

And just as you’re about to fire back—

The door opens again.

This time slower. More footsteps.

You glance up just in time to see Alexia walk in—shoulders stiff, jaw tight, expression unreadable—and just behind her, trailing a few paces back, is Jana.

Your heart drops half a beat before you catch it.

Jana’s eyes flick over the room once, sharp and assessing. Her gaze lands on you for a single beat too long, her lips pressed into a line. And then—just as quickly—she looks away.

Alexia, meanwhile, doesn’t say a word. But the way she looks at Jana, then at Vicky, then briefly at you? It’s not nothing.

It’s tension. Coiled, quiet, dangerous.

The whole locker room shifts by a degree. No one speaks.

Vicky breaks the silence first, tossing her boots down and flopping onto the bench like she didn’t just witness a scene straight out of a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers fanfic.

“Well,” she says. “Training’s gonna be fun today.”

Mapi nods solemnly. “I feel like I should stretch before the drama.”

You sit back down, heart still thumping, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and charged glances.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, all you can think is Game on.

The scrimmage is fast.

Sharp touches. Narrow spaces. Everyone’s pressing like it’s the Champions League final, not a Friday morning.

You’re running on instinct now. Ball, space, timing. Sweat slicks down your back, your thighs burn, and every time Jana gets near the ball, something in your brain flicks sharper.

Maybe it’s tension. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s still the echo of her slap.

You don’t even think.

It happens fast.

One mistimed slide. The kind you’ve done a hundred times before. You clip Jana’s ankle—barely—but she goes down with a sharp exhale, skidding across the turf. Your heart lurches.

“Shit—Jana, sorry!” you gasp, already rising.

You don’t even get the words out fully before—

“Are you serious right now?!”

Alexia’s voice cuts through the air like lightning cracking down the middle of a cloudless sky.

She’s storming toward you, fury in her stride, braid swinging behind her like a warning.

You straighten immediately, instinct screaming defensive posture. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She’s just getting back from injury,” Alexia spits, gesturing wildly. “And you’re out here throwing slide tackles like it’s the damn World Cup final?”

“She’s fine,” Jana mutters from the ground, sitting up.

But it’s too late.

Alexia’s locked in. On you.

And then—

Mapi.

She appears like a windstorm in glitter boots, stepping between you and Alexia so fast it’s almost comical.

“Excuse you?” Mapi says, holding out her arms like she’s physically shielding you from verbal radiation. “If you’re going to yell at my child, you go through me first.”

Alexia blinks. “Your what?”

“She’s mine,” Mapi snaps. “We’ve bonded. We’ve had trauma. There were Jell-O shots involved. She is under my emotional custody now.”

You stand behind Mapi, blinking in shock. “Wait, what—?”

“Stay out of this, bebita,” Mapi says over her shoulder. “Mommy’s working.”

Alexia scoffs. “She just wiped out one of our most important players!”

“And you’re screaming like she broke her leg on purpose,” Mapi fires back. “Maybe she just made a mistake. It’s called being new. Not war crimes.”

“She could’ve reinjured her!”

“She didn’t!” Mapi shouts, arms flailing.

“I’m protecting my players.”

“I’m supporting mine.”

“She’s not even yours to support!”

“She’s wearing my wifes hoodie and stole my heart in one night, Alexia. Try to keep up.” Her voice is fire, biting through the thick air. She means every word, and you can feel her standing there—fierce, protective, ready to burn the whole pitch down for you.

But Alexia—

Alexia’s not backing down.

She scoffs, bitter, sharp. “You think this is cute? You think this is just about breakfast and banter?”

Mapi takes a step forward, but Alexia beats her to the next line.

“She could’ve reinjured her. You don’t come into this squad, two days in, and throw yourself into players like that.”

Mapi’s arms fly wide. “It was a mistimed slide, not a tackle from hell! If Jana didn’t roll twice and make it dramatic, no one would’ve even blinked!”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. “You don’t get to decide what’s dangerous.”

“And you don’t get to decide who’s allowed to make mistakes!” Mapi shouts.

You stand frozen between them, breath heavy in your throat, still tasting turf and adrenaline and regret. The argument plays out like you’re not even there, voices crashing back and forth like waves.

But then—

Alexia looks at you.

Just for a second.

And that’s when it hits you.

This isn’t about today.

Not really.

The heat in her eyes isn’t about a slide or a bruise or tactical discipline. It’s about the night before. About Jana. About you.

You feel it, as sharp as a blade behind the ribs.

Alexia isn’t just angry that you clipped Jana’s ankle.

She’s angry that you stayed.

That you didn’t storm out after being slapped. That you didn’t cry or rage or demand an apology. That no one forced you out.

You see it now—etched into the rigid lines of her face.

You made it harder for her to hate you.

You didn’t say a word yesterday. You didn’t run.

You stayed.

And that, somehow, is the part she can’t accept.

Your hands are still, but your chest burns with the weight of understanding.

You glance at her again. Her mouth is set. Her shoulders rigid. She doesn’t look at you anymore.

But she doesn’t have to.

You know now.

And it hurts more than anything she could’ve said.

The tension is suffocating.

Mapi’s chest rises and falls with fury, her fists clenched. Alexia’s back is turned now, but her silence carries more heat than her shouting. Ingrid hasn’t moved from her spot a few paces away—still, unreadable, eyes fixed on you.

And you?

You’re standing in the wreckage of the moment, pulse pounding, throat dry.

That look Alexia gave you still hasn’t left your skin.

You didn’t say it out loud.

But you know.

And maybe that’s worse.

“Okay,” a firm voice cuts through the air, smooth and cool like water over flame.

Marta.

She walks in from the side of the pitch, face unreadable but eyes direct—serious. Not angry. Just done with the heat.

“Everyone take a second. Cool down,” she says, and there’s no room for argument in her tone. “We’re training. Not tearing each other apart.”

Mapi huffs, pacing a short circle like a tiger in a cage. “She started—”

“She escalated,” Marta says calmly, cutting her a look. “But if this keeps going, the only thing we’re doing is making it harder to move forward.”

Another voice follows her—lighter, but still grounded.

Caroline Graham Hansen.

“She’s right,” she says, her voice soft but steady, brushing her hair out of her face. “This can’t turn into sides. Not over one tackle.”

Her eyes find you.

Not judging. Not patronising. Just watching you. Seeing more than most would in a glance.

“It was messy,” Hansen adds. “But not malicious.”

You nod once, tight.

“She knows that,” she continues, voice quieter now. “Even if she’s not ready to say it.”

You don’t respond.

Because you can’t.

The weight of Alexia’s look still sits on your chest like a stone.

Mapi moves to your side again, quieter now, but still seething. Her hand brushes your arm—checking in, steadying, like a tether that refuses to break.

“She didn’t deserve that,” Mapi mutters.

Marta exhales. “Maybe not. But neither does the rest of the team.”

She glances between you and Alexia—still across the pitch, saying nothing.

“There’s already been enough damage,” Marta says, eyes narrowing. “Don’t let it grow legs.”

Mapi doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t argue, either.

Ingrid finally steps forward, her hand ghosting over the back of your shoulder. “C’mon,” she says softly. “Let’s move.”

Hansen nudges Mapi with her elbow, a quiet look exchanged between the two of them. Not playful. Not sharp. Just grounding.

And finally, slowly, the team starts shifting back into motion. The circle breaking. The storm dispersing.

But you’re still standing in the center of the mess it left behind.

Not because of what you said.

But because of what you know now.

And once you know something like that…

…it never really leaves.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #caroline graham hansen #ingrid engen #woso imagine #mapi leon #alexia putellas #jana fernandez x reader #jana fernandez

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thebatdadnomad · 8 days ago

Text

ℕ𝕖𝕨𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕃𝕚𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕣𝕪

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN! Reader Summary: You register a hunk more nervous than a teenage boy and somehow become the reason he returns. A/N: I can be quite the homebody, but I recently went my local library so I could finally read Pride & Prejudice (I think you know why ehehehe) and I think you should go too! Unfortunately, I can't promise Jay'll be there, but I promise this fic will help you imagine what it would be like if he was ;D

It was a slow spring day when a tall guy built like a fridge walked into the library you worked at.

You lounged behind the reception desk doing your usual duties of watching the door as the man in a leather jacket, dark jeans and a grey shirt looked around. He had his hands in his pockets, surveying the area not unlike a cop would during a stakeout. That comparison wasn't unfounded too, you had a cop in here last week. This was Gotham, after all. And though this man was significantly less alert and visibly armed, it was similarly intriguing to watch.

You briefly wondered if the Cheetos some kids left behind that your co-worker was currently cleaning up had caught his eye as he slowly approached the desk. Whether this guy was worried a terrible aunt was hiding behind a shelf or a drug dealer. What else could explain why someone your age was looking around a library so suspiciously? You hoped he wasn't in trouble, or hell, that he wasn’t the trouble.

Fortunately, the closer he got, the better you could read his body language. His skittish teal eyes, him brushing back trimmed curly hair with white highlights in the front, his bulking arm and thigh muscles tensing up, his flushed face...It soon became clear that he wasn't dubious, just nervous. Which wasn't entirely uncommon either. And, you belatedly realised, unnecessarily attractive. To the point that you had to swallow a sudden warmth that bloomed in the pit of your tummy for the sake of professionalism.

Once he was in acceptable talking range, you beamed. "Welcome to Newtown Library, how may I help you?"

The man startled at the sound of your voice and you had to bite your lip to reign in a laugh when his anxious gaze landed on you and widened almost unperceivably. It was only perceivable because you grew up in Newtown, Crime Alley's neighbour area, and made a habit of noticing things like that.

He swallowed and then asked in a low voice. "I...I wanna get a library card?"

"Sure," you smoothly replied and grabbed a sheet of paper you kept nearby. "First, I need ID and proof of address."

"Oh shi— shoot," his gaze snapped back to you; he coughed then dug around for his wallet. As if censoring himself for your sake. "That necessary?" He sounded surprised by the request but didn't protest when you nodded and he gave you a student ID card and a medical card. "Do...Do these work?"

"Yup!" You grinned and handed them back a moment later. Herbert Jason Johnson. What a name. "Now, you just need to sign this form physically or digitally via our website."

"Digital is fine," he muttered, scanning the QR code you had ready and filling it out online for a bit. You took that opportunity to study him. His light warm toned skin, his slightly red cheeks and defined chest. Woah... "I'm done."

You perked up. "Nice. If you just wait here, I'll go get the library card options for you to choose from..."

But before you could move, he did. Leather jacket crinkling as he stared you dead on for the first time since he came in. "It's a'ight...I'll be happy to take whichever you choose for me."

"Really?" He grunted; your smile broadened. "Alright. Then, yeah. I'll choose one for you."

So, you walked further back into the desk area and brought them out. An octopus, some bubbles, a sunset, a cool motorcycle— oh, he might like the last one. It seemed like he might even own one himself.

"Hm," you hummed, giving it to him. "Here, it's got wheels with spikes on it."

Then something unexpected happened. He laughed. It was a strange little thing that only lasted a couple of seconds. His mouth was snarky in a way like it wasn't used to curving up and hadn't done so in a while. But his eyes weren’t. His shiny teal eyes practically glowed with honest, unsullied amusement. This, more than anything, made the warmth in the pit of your tummy grow.

"I can see that. I like it, thanks," he huffed, turning it over in his hand.

You knew you'd be thinking of him all day now. "You're welcome. Feel free to browse the library and borrow anything you want with that card. It should work right away, otherwise, let me know and I can help."

You hoped he would take the offer, but it seemed like meeting him had absorbed all of your luck. He shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll probably head out...bye."

You watched him make an exit with a sense of longing, then called after him. "Herbert, right?"

But the guy just paused in his footsteps, sent you a small, nervous smile and corrected you. "Call me Jason."

"OK!" You replied still smiling and soon the cute, extremely hot guy called Jason was no more. You hoped he wasn't like those one-hit patrons and would visit again when it was your shift.

Well, would you look at that? You did have some luck left.

Just like you had hoped, Jason came back six more times which was more than you expected. Better yet, three of those times were on the days you worked.

According to your nosy colleagues – who were more than happy to gossip about this with you – he usually browsed the library shelves as if at an exhibition of his favourite artist, dressed in clothing best suited for a street racing film. Never picking anything up or taking anything out no matter how many times your co-workers and even the patrons asked him if he needed help.

Jason kept to himself too. Stared at various book spines with a wistful gaze and made a point to avoid your eyes any time he noticed you peering over. Or, at least, that was the impression you had until one day, you caught him glancing over at you and you couldn't help but approach him to try asking yourself if he needed that help.

Jason looked like a deer in headlights when he saw you were making your way over with a wide smile which made the warmth in your tummy reappear.

"Hey!"

"Hey," he slowly replied, shoving whatever he was looking at back on the shelves and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Are you okay?"

Jason coughed, trying to straighten himself out. "Yeah, yeah...fine."

"Hm," but it didn't seem like it. Should you not have come?

"So...what’s up?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just coming over here to ask you if you needed any help," you put a hand in front before he could deny you, hoping to convince him with a joking tone. "I know you usually just browse, but I mean, this is a library. So, we kind of assume that people are eventually gonna pick something up, not just look at them from the shelves, you know?"

But Jason seemed to take it seriously. "Oh, sorry. Am I doin’ somethin' I'm not supposed to?"

"No, no, you're fine," you quickly backtracked. "I'm just joking, you can browse all you want. But...usually, the people who always browse are either too indecisive to choose a book on their own and would perhaps benefit from some recommendations or—"

“What would ya recommend then?" He cut you off, but you could tell that instead of being impatient, he was asking out of eagerness. An eagerness that couldn't help but find endearing. Man, how could he be so cute and overwhelmingly hot at the same time?

"I…I'd have to know what kind of books you're interested in first."

"...What kinda books d’ya think I'd be into?"

You put a hand on your chin and hummed. "That's a hard question. That's like me asking you how old I look or something. But, OK. I'm always up for a challenge. Let's see..." you used this opportunity to check him out and oh my thighs—! "M-Maybe romance books or crime and mystery, no, action books?" You tried and waited for a moment on bated breath as Jason tilted his head in thought before nodding.

"Yeah...you're right."

You laughed and while he didn't laugh as well, his furrowed brows and small nervous smile were just as heart-warming.

"Are you serious? I got it right?"

"Yeah..."

"But half of those were jokes!"

"Maybe I'm a joke," Jason dryly replied.

"No!" You grinned. "I feel like you've read all the books here. Or, at least, you seem like you're familiar with them. So, maybe you should try something new? Something outside of those genres."

"Hm, well..." He looked down the row of books and sent a hesitant glance your way. "What do you like?"

That was the question, wasn't it? "Well, I guess really like hero and fantasy stories. So, I have lots of fantasy recommendations...is that alright?"

Jason shrugged. "Sure. What d’ya recommend?"

"Well, that, my friend, is gonna take me a while to answer," you joked again, acting all dramatic-like. "You sure you have the patience?"

And that finally got one of his odd chuckles out of him. "Go for it."

So, the pair of you browsed the relevant sections while you talked and talked about the different books you enjoyed. All of which he politely declined. Trying to find a fantasy book with action or romance or crime in it was a daunting task, one you didn’t have much hope for.

But then, just before you gave up hope and Jason lost his patience, you stumbled upon one of your favourites of all time. A book series full of all four subgenres that you thought would be perfect for him.

You pulled it out, beaming with a huge sigh of relief. "This is it. Take this."

"Er..." Jason flipped it around, contemplative, but you wouldn't let him turn this down too. So, you grabbed his hands and ignored how red both he and you suddenly got at the contact for the sake of him reading it.

"Trust me, don't even think. Just take this and read it. I promise you'll love it."

His eyes were slightly wider again as he stared at you, his hands, the book, and you again. Only replying when you let go. "OK...I...I trust you."

And you were happy he did because once he started that series, he couldn't put it down.

Ever since you recommended him one of your favourite books, whenever Jason visited the library, he came straight to you. To tell you what he thought before returning that novel and getting the next one.

You knew this was a temporary thing, most people didn't stay regulars for long, it was normal. So, you would appreciate this as long as you could.

The first book was brighter and energetic and it put him in a similar mood. It made him hyper – well, hyper for him – when he explained how much he enjoyed it and how ingeniously it was written.

"I just— loved the addition of a poem within a novel," Jason ranted, eyes shining with interest a few weeks after you initially checked it out for him. "It was amazing."

"I'm glad," you smiled as you locked eyes.

"...Me too," your tummy fluttered, his building familiarity and confidence around you only served to make you that much more attracted to him. Too bad he would likely stop coming at some point.

The next edition was a bit more mellow and so you had to go find him when he was putting it back two weeks later.

"Hey, you didn't come see me?"

“Oh...yeah, sorry."

Silence.

You watched him with wary eyes as he just stayed kneeling on the floor. You slowly lowered yourself too when he didn't move and only when he met your eyes with a blank gaze did you ask. Smiling as much as you could.

"How did you find it?"

Neither of you breathed until he answered.

"I...I kinda had a bad week and this book didn't help much."

"Oh," shit. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have—"

But he vigorously shook his head, bringing the pair of you back up to a stand when he noticed you down on the floor with him. "No. I still really liked it. It just kinda emphasised how fuc— friggin’ terrible my week was."

"Oh," you deflated a bit. That hadn't been your intention. "If you want to talk about it, I'm always here."

"…Really?"

"Yeah, of course. Contrary to what you look like, you're super sweet and I want to help you if I can."

He paused. "What do I look like?"

You had to pause, carefully considering how to put this. "Honestly...you look like someone who wouldn't come here to rant to me about some fantasy book series I recommended. Someone who spends more time drinking and partying than reading. Someone who wouldn't stop himself from swearing in front of me," you timidly touched your hair. "Like I said, you're super sweet and...I like hearing you talk."

Jason said nothing for a moment, poring over you as if trying to determine how truthful that statement was. But once he decided to believe you, you never would've expected that this shy, literary enthusiast hunk would actually tell you what was on his mind. Would even talk about a dangerous job, a complicated relationship with his family and a cooking habit.

Sure, he was very vague about it all but still. You couldn’t believe he was letting you peer into his life more than you had before. Or that you weren't the only one combusting inside when his hand accidentally brushed your waist before he left. But that day was full of surprises that almost made you forget that he would stop coming at some point. Most people did. He was no exception.

The saddest and lowest point in the series was the third book.

In contrast to the first few, Jason's reaction was starkly different from the tone of the book. In fact, he seemed relieved that it took a dive for the worst and read it through within a week this time.

"I really enjoyed the way the author used tragic flaws to tell amazing character arcs ‘n plots in a way that a lot of other stories don't. And it does it all in a cohesive fantasy setting..."

"I'm happy to hear that," you smiled.

He talked more about how the main character's struggles with identity and survival related to him, prompting you to share how they related to you too. Bonding over the book like you did last week, but differently this time. Because you were also sharing. It was mutual.

So mutual that, after you scanned the third book he brought in, Jason stole it from your hands telling you he was happy to put it back and go get the next one this time. You felt compelled to go with him to the right shelves. Intending to take it back from him at the last moment, shelve it and find him the next one in one swoop. It was your job, after all, and you wanted to spend as much time with him as you could even if he was trying to make work easier for you.

But, when the time came, Jason was reluctant to let go of the book. Too deep into his own mind and ranting to separate from it. So, with cheeks as hot as a stove, you replaced the novel with your hand and swapped them out. Handing him the book he needed a beat later.

And if you thought he blushed before...that had nothing on his face now.

Not that you were much better though.

"Are you excited to read the last one then?" You asked after a moment of quiet passed between you, your hands still loosely linked together.

"Y-Yeah," Jason quickly nodded, gaping at you with what could only be described as wonder. "I just don't know how this is gonna end exactly...but I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll like it. I'll tell you."

"Mhm! And just think, after I hear the full review, you won't have to come here and talk to me anymore, will you?"

You bet he would be happy about that. Just because you had gotten closer, didn't mean that he had become any more comfortable in the library. Your colleagues still said that outside of your conversations, he acted just as on edge as he had from the start, so you wouldn’t try to pressure him into coming back after finishing this one obligation of sorts.

Maybe libraries just weren’t for him and that was OK. Because while you'd miss him, you doubted there was anything to say to stop him from never returning. This is the digital age, people stopped visiting libraries for less. Way less.

It was best to be positive about the whole thing.

"Oh," Jason frowned, suddenly disentangling your hands and turning away so you couldn't see his face. "Yeah, you're right," he muttered before despondently leaving you by the shelf, borrowing the book on his own and literally dashing out of the library.

What the...?

No, no, there wasn't a point in pondering that. The last book...you could ask what that was when he returned with the last book. You could still leave this, whatever this was, on a good note once he was done with the last book.

You were relabelling some older editions of iconic titles when you felt a finger poking your back two days later.

"Oh!" You flinched as you finished the one you were on, then jumped once more when you recognised him as the culprit. "Jason! Hey! When did you come in?"

He seemed more anxious than usual as he bit his lip with furrowed brows. He was back far sooner than you expected, had he quit the finale midway? "Just now...since it's raining and everything, I thought I'd pop in and say hey."

It stopped raining an hour ago. "Ohhh kaaay...well, hey. What's up?" And why did he run off last time?

"Well, I just finished reading the last book of the series."

You blinked in surprise. That wasn't what you expected him to say. No, not at all. But it was a great series, you had binged it just as speedily when you first came across it. "Woah. That was quick, it usually takes you at least a week to read one."

Jason tried to shrug, but his shoulders were too rigid for it to come across flippantly. "Yeah, well, I guess I was just so into the story, I lost myself in it…it was real good."

After some light prodding, Jason started telling you his usual review, but it was detached for some reason. He was speaking more about the character he liked the most than how he resonated with the story and plots as he used to.

"I can already guess that most people probably preferred his brother, but I don't know. I just got him more. I wanted to root for ‘im. Especially after his lil redemption arc where he got all close and personal with the protagonist."

Jason kept going and you watched him with the books you had been in the process of reorganising in your hands, too distracted by the fact that this guy who you still didn't really know loved something you did to say anything else.

"I'm really glad that you enjoyed it!" You blurted out when he was done.

"Yeah, me too," he took a deep breath before turning to look at you directly. "That epilogue kinda...reminded me of us in a way, y’know?"

"Oh, yeah?" You began putting the books back, desperately ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach at his words. "How?"

"I mean, throughout the book, he kept explicitly and implicitly asking for help. Time and time again the MC he was in love with ended up being the one to help him until the end of the journey when they separated. And it's like what you do for me..."

"Mhm. I guess."

"But, of course…there's one difference. We've not...never…y’know?"

You choked and froze in place. Where was this going?

"But I've been thinking about what you said last time,” your eyes met his shiny teal ones. “Now that I'm done with the series and doing reviews or whatever...Unless you can recommend something else this good, I don't have any other reason to be here right now. Except," Jason studied you for a long moment as your eyebrows rose higher and higher and your face grew warmer. "You. My protagonist."

You didn't know what to say to that, except breathe. "We're in a public space."

That seemed to snap him out of it and he practically curled in on himself. Crossing his bulging arms, moving to face away from you as if browsing the shelves like before. "Y-Yeah, yeah, 'course! Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so f-fuck— friggin’ sleazy. It just came to mind—"

Suddenly, desperate to salvage this, you stopped what you were doing, took a step towards him and pressed a soft peck on his cheek before leaning away. Jason’s neck practically snapped back in your direction as he stared at you with an incredulous look on his face.

You...hadn't meant to do that, but now that you had. "It’s fine, I was just shocked…I wouldn't mind a little roleplay..." You whispered, not intending for it to sound so dirty but uncaring that it did. Was this why he left? Was he really thinking the same thing as you? Gah! You hoped so.

Jason was so cute and hot, you wanted to kiss him again. Properly this time. You wanted to be the reason he returned.

You wanted him.

Jason audibly swallowed and slowly uncrossed his arms. Asking, "You sure?" To clarify things. "Because I mean, like I said...you don' hafta."

You fully intended to reply with words, but something jolted through you again at the sight of his open arms. Prompting you to step forward to peck him on the lips this time. A shiver ran down your spine at the contact.

"No, I don't," you replied.

And that was what shut Jason up. That was what made him lean close to kiss you his way now.

It began as a series of pecks, simple pressings of lips together that made you go warm with delight. His lips were softer than you expected and he was way too gentle. But then things slowly developed into smooches that lasted longer and longer until you were melting in his arms.

Arms? Since when did he put his arms around you? They were secure as they kept you close and you pressed your chests together. As he touched your jaw and you gripped his shoulder. As your wet tongue slipped out and met his without a word, as if in sync. Hesitantly tasting each other in a way that put you out of breath because of the intimacy instead of the speed.

Jason was sweet, tasted sweet and looked sweet when you pulled back, quietly gasping with a string of saliva momentarily tying your tongues together. As if he had been holding himself back until this very moment and was only now letting you know what he thought of you.

It was as staggering as it was relatable.

His voice was unexpectedly fond as he mumbled. "I've wanted to do that for a while, but I didn’t have the balls. I...I wasn’t sure if you were interested."

That made you shake your head in amusement. How had he not noticed? "Jason, I was always interested in you. Why do you think I stop everything I'm doing to talk to you whenever you come in?"

He snorted despite how visibly embarrassed he seemed. "Because you're a good worker?"

"Please," you joked, revelling in the feeling of him tightening his big arms around you. "Even I can be selfish sometimes."

He smiled at you and you smiled back, basking in the unfamiliar but welcome lack of distance between you two. All until somebody somewhere coughed and you sprung apart. Right. You needed to get back to work.

Jason was the first to comment, rubbing the back of his neck as he sent you a weak smile. "Well...I'll let you get back to it."

"OK, but if you want to come back when we’re done that's OK too. We could go for burgers...?" You asked, grin widening at how awkward he was, even now.

"…Fuc— I mean…aw yeah."

You laughed out loud.

Fuck yeah, indeed. Because just like he was glad to know you’d always liked him, you were ecstatic to know that all that time you spent worrying about him never returning left you oblivious to the fact that you became the reason he did.

#tbdnm fic #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #gender neutral reader #x y/n #enchanthings

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