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mo-aiki · 5 months

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I now love you, is it too late? (Yandere Fiancé x F. Reader)

Summary: Heartbreak and romance are two sides of the same coin. They both deal with love between another. Your heart is broken but you are trying to move on, but someone is preventing you from doing so.

Notes: I never thought that the previous story would blow up like it did. You can read the first part here.

Warning: alcohol consumption, drugging someone, forced love, obsession, stalking, mentions of violence, I don't condone it, I just write it.

The days after his conversation with you, he should had been elated. For the first time in his life, he wasn't bothered by you and your antics. He could finally get work done without you bother him at every corner to come visit him or play with him. For the first few days, he was able to finish everything for once in his life instead of having a pile to do the next day. But overtime, somehow he was dreadfully bored.

His office felt quiet. Almost too quiet. The only sounds he could make out were the papers shuffling, the clock ticking, and the the voices that came in and out of his office.

Also, overtime he had completed work for the month. He was used to working more the next day and having work stacked up to the point that he needed to catch up, that now he has no idea what to do once he finished work for a month or two.

Alaric thought he could read. He has always enjoyed reading in his free time. But once he got to reading, he felt bored once again. He never realized that the books he read were nothing but boring. The books were full of political theory, history of the most boring topics, and informative information.

His lunches were quiet, his dinners were quiet, and his stomach often rumbled when he forgot to eat.

Life felt repetitive, boring, and dull. He was stuck in a routine of eat, work, and sleep. Nothing ever happened.

When (y/n) was here, she would always drag him somewhere, she had wanted to go to. To go shopping, a picnic, a play, an opera, to watch duals, or to eat. He always felt tired after those things, but at least it brought him excitment.

(y/n) often made sure he would eat flavorful foods and her favorite foods, to the point that he knows everything she likes.

(y/n) often made a ruckus in his home. Always talking, calling servant’s, squealing at her romance novels, and chatting with everyone.

'At least the manor was never deadly quiet whenever she was around...' he thought of as he smirked.

Wait. Why is he thinking about her?

He should be happy that she is no longer bugging him as often as she did.

He saw you outside. He was shopping for new cufflinks. His were "getting out of style" his secretary had told him. Maybe it was just a ploy to get him out of the manor, but he still went out nevertheless. He was in a jewelry shop. Unconsciously, he went to the one you often visited. The man knew who he was anyways, so might as well cut to the chase.

"Ah?! Your Grace!"

The man seemed to be looking for (y/n). "Where is Lady (l/n)? Doesn't she often accompany you?"

He just stood quiet for a moment before his secretary popped in. "His Grace is here to get cufflinks."

The man's eyes brighten. "Ah. Lady (l/n) has already thought of that for you. Please wait here Your Grace."

He brought out a box that he had gotten from a certain part of the store. He opened it, and there were square shaped, dark blue jewels, bordered with small diamonds, the metal gold. It looked like it suited him. Very well. She knew his taste well. She knew what he liked.

"If Your Grace does not like it, you can commission another..." said the man selling him the product.

Alaric shook his head. "No, it's perfect."

He signaled at his secretary to give him a generous check in his name as he left the shop, only to find you, looking at the ocean view from across the shop.

Why did it look like you were looking for something?

More importantly, why did it look like you were looking for someone?

You wore a bright dress, your favorite lace gloves, your prettiest sunhat and carried your favorite parasol.

He was confident that he was the only man who has ever had a very close relationship with you, other than acquaintanceship.

Wait, why was he thinking this?

Why should he care if you saw another man. This is an engagement of convenience anyways. There is no point in scrutinizing every man that either comes or came in your life.

But if you were going to be talking to men after him, they better be better than him. He was not going to be beaten by some half-rate man, who has never held a sword in his life, who has never had to train often to live up to your a standard(s), who has never had to deal with the responsibilities of being a duke from the moment he was born, who has not needed attention from you, and who has never lived up to your ideas of love.

He wasn't going to lose to a man who never even knew you like he did.

But he saw you were being accompanied by a maid after his thoughts had raged through his head. He walked closer towards you. He saw you.

Your eyes had seemed like the eyes that often looked his way when he greeted someone. Not like their lively selfs that he was so used to from you. Your eyes always shone brightly when he was in your presence.

Your smile, one of formality, not your genuine one. You smiled the brightest whenever he was around. Anyone could tell with that smile that you loved him.

You looked like any other person he had interacted with. Formal and in-line with etiquette.

Even your speech was formal. It was no longer bright and cheerful. It was no longer, "Alaric! What are you doing here?", it was now, "Pleased to see you, Duke Caius."

"It's pleasant to see you too, Lady (y/n)." he responded back.

You nodded you head while a wave of silence came through. He didn't talk, you didn't talk, both of you were looking at the distance of this port.

'She is rather quiet. Too quiet..." he thought in his head. Often she was the one who started up a conversation.

"I'm very sorry Duke Caius, but I must leave. I am shopping with a friend, and I wouldn't want them to keep on waiting for me, so, please excuse me."

You started walking off slowly, but then he spoke. "Would you like for me to escort you?"

You turned your head. He thought you would be smiling and agreeing to his suggestion immediately, holding his arm in a loving manner and chatting with him the entire way, like you used to do whenever he had brought out that idea.

But you had shook your head. "No, but thank you for your suggestion, Duke Caius. My guard is nearby here anyways."

You walked off as he could only look at you and your maid walking. He didn't even realize that his secretary had came back, as he only chased after you in the same direction.

He saw from a distance, you holding the arm of some man. A dull man. He was mad at that moment, but his anger wasn't towards you, it was towards the man you were with.

You had became more distant with him. Avoiding him at every moment, like he was the plague. Every time he noticed her, she had seem to always step away from him, with every step she had taken, walking away from him instead of towards him like they used to do.

At parties, you would often avoid him, while his arm was being stuck onto by Lady Thompson.

Social events had you talking to the ladies, sparring no time for him.

Outings with no small talk.

Every little thing you had done to distance yourself from him, almost drove him insane. His head now full of questions for your sudden change in personality. In the span of a few weeks, you had all of the sudden became the most formal person on earth, to the point people started questioning the legitimacy of the relationship.

"It seems like they will break up soon..."

"Are we sure they are engaged? Lady (l/n)'s sudden change in personality must mean something..."

"How sad this relationship had to come to. It feels like they are in a married’s quarrel!"

"I heard that Marquis (l/n) is planning on annulling their engagement..."

"Really?!"

These nobles and their chatty lips. These rumors meant nothing. (y/n) would never let something like an annulment happen to them.

He was bewildered. Shocked. Almost appalled with this letter.

He thought that she had delivered a letter to write to him once again, but this time, this letter was from Marquis (l/n).

Dear Duke Caius,

I regret to have informed you, that I am making a selfish and personal decision to annul this engagement between you and my daughter. I have came to this decision after her reaction and my bewilderment at the Royal Ball from 4 months ago, after you had escorted Lady Alina Thompson instead of my daughter.

I could see the heartbreak in her eyes, and as a father, it is painful to constantly see your daughter in constant heartbreak from the very boy you had known since he was young.

When your late father and I had planned this engagement for the both of you, I knew I would have to give up my precious daughter to a man I could trust, not a little boy who has yet to grown up.

You have yet to proven to me that you could be a man I could trust you with my only child, my daughter.

I wish you well and hope you will continue to collaborate and see the (l/n) house positively and as allies.

Sincerely,

Marquis (l/n)

The letter came with the annulment papers with it. He quickly looked through the papers too see your signature on them and your thumb print.

He stood quiet for a minute, before chuckling. "(y/n)...oh (y/n)..."

He felt like ripping the papers to shreds in the very moment.

You were happy for once in your life. You had met someone special to you. Arthur Johnson.

A stableman who engaged in conversation with you when he was working for your family. He always had a kind demeanor. soft spoken, and was often willing to hear you. Despite your age gap with him (being 10 years), his status as a commoner, and his rugged appearance, you felt like for the first time in your life, you had actually met your prince charming.

He took on dates to the crowded places like small festivals and the farmer markets. Your first present from him being a cheap pendent necklace from him.

His personality was well liked by everyone as he seemed to have a good relationship with everyone.

His voice was deep and attractive, smothering your ears and causing you to blush around him whenever he talked.

He always called you 'princess' or 'my lady' whenever out and about with you, causing you to be flustered at such comments.

He had introduced you to his ailing mother. You never felt so bad for anyone. You had offered to help him, but instead he rejected such offers from you. "My lady, you really don't need to help us..."

"Nonsense Arthur! Your mother is sick and-"

He always shook his head. "I do not want to rely on my lady to always help us. Thank you for the idea though."

Elliot was boring.

Gregory was pretentious.

Adonis was suspicious.

Adrian was paranoid.

But Arthur, was a gentleman.

Until you never heard back from him one day.

He had holed up in his manor until something had happened. He had gotten news of you being spotted on dates with other men.

Afterwards he had a reason to leave the manor from this point onwards. You were with a man after man often times. Talking, chatting, flirting, and being brought around with. He had his secretary look at the backgrounds of those men.

Low-ranking noblemen, and sometimes even commoners.

The perfect people to direct his anger at. After all, what are those families and people associated with them, are going to do against the wrath of Duke Caius and the Caius Duchy.

All of the sudden, these men had been riddled with debt and their families in financial ruins.

A son of a baron, tricked by a scammer he had paid for. He had fell for it, meaning he was too naive and not needed for (y/n), who was just as equally naive.

A son of a viscount, conned and arrested for the possession and the selling of forged art. The real artwork, costing millions, and in his own manor. He "might" had hired an artist to help him with it, paying off their own debt and giving them money. He was too irresponsible that he didn't even check to see if the artwork was genuine. (y/n) would had lived a life of cleaning up after him.

Another son of a baron, swallowed by loan debt after taking out loans to do his playboy schemes. He often bought expensive stuff in order to impress the women he was trying to bed with. Where did he get the loans from? He sure doesn't know, does he? He had troubles with infidelity. He will he constantly cheating on (y/n) if Alaric didn't catch it early enough.

A son of an earl, swallowed in gambling debt by him. He had seen him in the casino houses, and he thought why not taunt him. Plus, he paid off the casino house to always make him win no matter what. He was a gambling addict, spending his days holed up and gambling his money away. (y/n) would be left to die on the streets with nothing if she had been with him.

A stableman, in loan debt as well, after he had offered to help him with his ailing mother. But now his mother dead, and the loans still needed to be paid off. Otherwise, he could just kill him and sell his organs to the black market to get all the money back from him. Guess what option he did. He was poor, and poor men don't deserve her love if they cannot give her what she wanted. Plus, he might just brag often about his now, new lifestyle if she were to be with him.

The stableman was the most annoying in his eyes. His last words before he had slain him were, "Protect her for me, please, for this old bachelor..."

All of these men strengthen his point overtime. That he was the perfect man for her.

He is skeptical and less naive.

He is responsible.

He has never had issues with infidelity that he has known of.

He has never been financially irresponsible with money, nor has he gambled.

He has always had the ability to give her everything she has ever wanted.

He came to the eventual conclusion.

No man could replace him.

You felt trapped.

A rumor had spread around about Duke Caius's wedding day coming up. You thought he was just going to get married to Alina, but instead you and your father were summoned by His Majesty.

He was congratulating you and your soon to be wedding day. "Congratulations Lady (l/n)! You must be a happy bride. And you too Marquis (l/n)!"

You and your father were confused, but still acted like everything was normal, until you brought it up. "Excuse me Your Majesty, but who has told you about this. I thought I had wanted it to be a smaller event..."

His Majesty let out a gleeful laugh. "Duke Caius came to me last week, talking about how now he had decided to plan his wedding. I thought it was a splendid idea! And thus I had given him permission to use the chapel. He seemed elated at the idea, and thus was willing to plan the wedding himself."

Your eyes widen as you nodded. Your head blanking out the entire time. 'Isn't that impossible, unless...'

You went running out of the palace, finding a carriage to use to get to the Ducal Manor. You needed an explanation of what was going on.

Once you got there, you immediately asked the butler where he was, only to see Alaric, looking happy to see you as he came down the stairs to the front of the manor.

"(y/n), my bride! You are just in time for your dress fitting."

He snapped his fingers to have the servants taking you somewhere as he followed, you resisting. "Wha-? No! Alaric, I have to ask about something!"

He smiled in front of you. The previous you would had elated and been happy at his smile. But now it felt uncanny. Like something was off.

"You have finally called my name..."

You gasped as the servants kept on dragging you to your dress fitting. His hand over his heart as he looked like a sad puppy all of the sudden. "Do you know what it feels like to be called one name for my whole entire life with such endearment, only for it to be taken away?"

"No! That's why I'm not here! LET GO OF ME!"

He snapped his fingers as the servants let go of you. He walked towards you, as he placed his hand on your cheek. All you could feel was how cold it was. Like it was ice. You looked directly at him. "I am here to ask, why are we getting married?!"

His puppy face came back, as both of his hands cupped you face. "(y/n), I thought this is what you had wanted..."

Your eyes widen as he looked directly at you. "A big fairy tale wedding, your dream dress, your knight in shining armor sweeping you off your feet, true love's first kiss...isn't this what you had wanted all your life?"

This is what you had always wanted, but not like this. Not while Alaric had this sudden shift in personality and when he felt completely different form the Alaric you had knew.

But also, when your feelings for him had wavered like tides in an ocean. "But I thought the annulment had gone through..." you had said to him.

He chuckled, soon going onto full blown laughter. "(y/n), I know you still want to get married to me. So let's have the wedding of your dreams." he said while placing a kiss on your forehead, something you would had blush at, if everything about this wasn't sketchy.

"But! But!"

"No buts. We are getting married in 9 days anyways. Now, let's go to your dress fitting!"

Everything was too sketchy these past 7 days. Alaric had a sudden change in personality. An extreme one in fact. He all of the sudden became loving.

Following you everywhere.

Bringing you onto his lap while he works.

Having picnics with you.

Having tea with you.

Being your dance partner for practicing.

Locking you in his manor and giving you a splendid guest room while at it.

Coming into your room and reading you to sleep.

Increasing security around you.

Feeding you himself, personally.

Disciplining the male servants if they had touched you.

And the most weird one, not leaving your room, even while you slept.

He had changed, but for what? Now all you felt was creeped out by his sudden shift in behavior. Every single little thing done by him almost felt suffocating. Like he so desperately needed you to either be beside him or to in this manor.

You wanted to see your friends again. You wanted to talk to people again. You wanted to see your father again. You wanted to go shopping again. You wanted to see Arthur again. You wanted to do the things you did. You wanted to leave this suffocating manor for once and do something other than being restrained by him.

So you snooped. When he left, you went around his office. Previously, you had always barged into his office, always running your mouth in a tasteless way. But this time, you had avoided his office, unless he dragged you to it to be with him.

You looked around with something on your mind. "He must have the annulment papers somewhere..."

There was a family portrait of him and his father in his office. A portrait must mean that there's something behind it. Touching the frame, you opened up a secret compartment that was full of bank statements. "Elliot Lancaster, Gregory McClain, Adonis Lovesett, Adrian Hill, Arthur Johnson..."

All the men you had been with. The bank statements had shown how their wallets had gone empty in the span of a week or two.

Elliot and his family had gone bankrupt and sent to an island in the north.

Gregory had been charged with forgery and sentenced to 3 years in prison.

Adonis had been bankrupt and charged with assault against a Marquis for mingling with his wife.

Adrian had been cut off from his family due to his gambling addiction, and has now gone further in debt.

And Arthur. The nice man Arthur. His body was never founded when his mother reported him as missing.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked at the other pages. He had planned it. From the financial debt to killing Arthur and selling his body parts on the black market. Each paper described the reports of the deeds he had done.

Especially for Arthur. His was the most gruesome one. Chopping him up into bits and selling his innards to the black market while dumping the rest to the ocean on Beckett's Beach, where you took your first date with him.

You couldn't help but squat out of fear immediately. Were you responsible for all of these mens' demise?

Would Elliot and his family still be living in the capital in peace if he never met you?

Would Gregory go back to being his artistic and art loving self if he didn't buy from that one painter you had told him to buy from?

Adonis was already kinda shitty.

Would Adrian change if you had stayed with him?

Would Arthur still be alive if you never noticed him?

You didn't know, and that's when you started crying. Your tears fell down rapidly like waterfalls. The papers, the bank statements, the pieces of news, the reports, all of them now wet with your tears on the paper. You couldn't help but feel for them, especially Arthur.

Arthur was now dead, and his mother soon meeting him.

And it felt like it was all your fault.

"We'll always be together, my lady, this old stableman promises."

Crying alone in Alaric's study, you thought about the moments you had with Arthur. They were all going to be a faded memory of the past. If only you weren't so naive and if only you knew.

"Why is my bride crying?"

Your head turned to see Alaric at the door of his study. You gulped as you got up, dusting your dress while at it. "I-it's nothing, Alaric..." you stuttered, trying to hold back your tears.

He came close towards you as he looked at all the papers on the ground and the portrait, open. He chuckled for a bit. "Did you read these?"

You shook your your head. "I just...found them, that’s all. I swear I didn't read them!"

He looked at the papers, then at you. You could tell he knew that you were lying. He always said you were an open book and how you wore your heart on your sleeve. "Don't bother lying (y/n)."

He pointed to the part on which you had stained with your tears. The paper transparent as he put the papers down on his desk, walking closer to you. Each step growing closer, each step he took feeling like he was mad. Each step felt like an eventual punishment for your actions. "Why were you snooping around in my office, (y/n)?"

You answered with the first thing on your mind. "B-because! I just...w-wanted to l-look around, Y-your Grace..."

"I told you..." He gently pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "Call my Alaric once agin, (y/n)."

His words laced with anger. He was speaking almost like he was threatening you. He looked at the pendent around your neck. Almost like he never noticed it before. Taking the pendent in his fingers, he looked at it obsessively. "Who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

You gulped instead of speaking. His hands felt cold when he touched your cheek, looking at you with his angry eyes. "I said, who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

"A-Arthur..." you mumbled.

"Who?"

"ARTHUR!" you said even louder before he started laughing hysterically.

"That peasant? Why bother keeping something cheap around your neck. I thought you hated these things?"

You used to, but now this necklace represented Arthur. "I-it's none of your b-business, Alaric!" you yelled out.

"It is my business. Considering you are to be my wife soon, something like this is unacceptable for a Duchess..."

He slowly got closer to your ear. "Especially if it came out that a peasant gave you such a thing...I wonder what would happen to your father...for allowing you to be romantically involved with a man of dirty origins..."

Your eyes widen. "Arthur isn't like that! You don't know him!"

You tried to walk out, only for Alaric to hug you from behind, holding you in a tight grip. You felt like you were losing air by the second once he held onto you. "He's never told you? His mother was apart of a brothel..."

You breath stopped as he whispered more into your ear. "He was the illegitimate son of a noble...people like that deserve to be killed for grasping an ounce of your attention..."

You tried to get out of his grip, but instead he had ripped off the necklace on your neck, letting it fall onto the floor and walking off to his desk, letting you go. You cried as you turned back to look at him. "You-you monster!"

He opened a velvet box with a diamond and sapphire necklace, placing it around your neck, smiling. "My beautiful (y/n)..."

He gripped you arms tight, dragging you to the mirror in the study while putting the necklace together, smiling.

"We will be together forever and this necklace, is to symbolize your new life as Duchess."

You only looked at yourself wearing the necklace as Alaric's hands kept you still.

"You can never leave me now..." he said, as he kissed your cheek.

You in your wedding dress as he went out into the hall.

Walking down the aisle with your father.

The flower petals dancing around you.

The songbirds singing their songs.

And your once dream husband at the alter.

"Do you take Duke Caius's hand, in sickness and in health, in wealth and or none, in forever lasting love?

"...I do..."

The final words of your previous life.

A/N: A part 3 for married life or not?

Taglist

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#yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #x f reader #yandere childhood friend #yandere duke #yandere duke x reader #yandere #tw yandere

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starcrossedreaders · 9 months

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A/N: Tumblr is LACKING in Toge headcanons and over all fics, so I'm here to help the cause. These headcanons do have NSFW under the cut and will be marked with '✥' so MDNI!!! Dividers are from benkeibear on Tumblr

✦ StreamerToge! is the type to make a whole ass living off of streaming with a schedule and everything. He has his whole gaming room that gives off a minimalist white vibe with posters and figurines everywhere.

✦ StreamerToge! Who keeps his streaming schedule up on a whiteboard somewhere in the house so you see it and know.

✦ StreamerToge! Who begs for snacks when he games.

Toge <3: Please, just some cheese 🤲🏽 You: Seriously cheese? Toge <3: Mommy?🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️ You: fine. "Yay, chat I'm getting cheese."

✦ StreamerToge! He finds ways to slip you into the conversation with chat, like he could be mid Val game and he's rambling.

"Yea no, I don't know how I pulled them when my only real defining trait is the grind on Val." "Like no seriously, they are just with me for the carry."

✦ StreamerToge! Who (if you played games too) would beg for you to join him with his games, even if you don't stream yourself he still enjoys the quality time together.

✦ StreamerToge! If you aren't the type to play games he would for sure put like a small couch, day bed, or chair somewhere just so you can spend time with him while he games. He calls it the Y/N corner because he would keep your favorite blankets, a plushie, and maybe a snack drawer somewhere near your spot.

Scrolling on your phone, you walked towards Toge's gaming room. He's been streaming for a few hours and you thought it was finally time to join him. Opening the room door, his laughs flooded out of the room before you stepped in and closed the door behind you again. Toge didn't notice you step in and sit down in your little corner till his chat started blowing up. divinedawgs: RIP to chat Jennifer4lifers: is that who I think it is⁉⁉⁉⁉ strongerinurmom: still amazes me that bro could pull 3panda: didn't you literally get rejected on your last stream? strongerinurmom: stfu sakibara: naw I'm with stronger how did bro pull at 10 while be a 4 Toge turned around to see you sitting down while scrolling on your phone, his smile could light up the whole room as he took his headset off to around in his chair. "Hey, my love." He pushed his chair towards you leaving his current match behind. Looking up from your phone you smile as Toge leans down to scatter kisses across your face. "I love you," he mumbled over your lips before he kissed you. "I love you too." divinedawgs: please turn your camera off when you do that shit strongerinurmom: bro is fr rubbing it in Jennifer4lifers: jealous fr fr

✦ StreamerToge! Even when you act annoyed to bring him snacks you still interrupt his streams to bring him dinner

✥ StreamerToge! If you get annoyed with his constant streaming and lack of attention you would definitely give him that under-the-desk support to hopefully get him to get off and give you attention.

You supported your boyfriend and his successful career with streaming. What you didn't support was how much of his time he's put into it recently. His excuse? "I need to give the fans good content before the holidays, it helps keep money coming in. I swear once I'm done I'm all yours." That stupid excuse is what led you to your current situation. Tears ran down your face as the tip of Toge's dick kissed the back of your throat. Looking up past your lashes was a sight that would bring you to your knees if you weren't already there. Toge squeezes his eyes shut as he throws his head back trying not to groan. His bottom lip was caged between his teeth and he opened his eyes to try to focus on the game in front of him. Gagging you pulled your head up, leaving a trail of pre-cum and saliva mixture from your lips to his raging red tip. He let out a big sigh, taking the time to try to compose himself, but what type of girlfriend would you be if you didn't him finish? A cruel one that's for sure. Despite the palm of his hand trying to push your head back you continued to hollow out your cheeks and bob your head up and down chasing for his release.

✥ StreamerToge! If you streamed with him, or just in general he definitely seems the type to try to convince you to stream with one of those Bluetooth vibrators.

You've never regretted agreeing to one of Toge's idea till now. The shorts you had on were soaked, along with your chair. Your thighs twitched once more as another orgasm ran through your body. Black and white dots danced around your vision and the game in front of you faded in and out of your vision. Before you could slump your body you could hear your friends through your headset. "Seriously Y/N are you sure you're okay?" opening your eyes they roamed around till they landed on your second monitor where you had the chat pulled up. Jennifer4lifers: OH NO ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE OKAY Y/N?!?!? sakibara: Girl is going through it rn strongerinurmom: calling for medical help as we SPEAK 3panda: get help divinedawgs: bruh riceballwh0re: poor baby :(((

✥ StreamerToge! He definitely tells his stream that he has to take a fat shit when he is actually running to your guy's shared room to fit in a quickie before his next match.

✥ StreamerToge! Hot and sloppy make-out sessions before each one of his streams, he claims that it gives him the luck he needs to win his games.

A/N: damn it's been a long ass time since I have written in a creative matter, so hopefully you guys enjoyed this. Requests are open but they might take a while to get to so please keep that in mind. I hope you enjoyed the new JJK content I hope to be writing more soon!

#toge inumaki x reader #toge x reader #inumaki toge #jjk x reader #jjk toge #inumaki x reader #inumaki smau #inumaki smut #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen

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eightstarr · 2 months

Text

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

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୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember.

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

—

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut

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evermount · 11 months

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Evermount is a dystopian IF that takes inspiration from movies like "Don't Worry, Darling" and "Maze Runner." (18+)

Every day's the same: you wake up, you brush your teeth, you step into the shower, you get out, you make breakfast, you clean, as a homemaker does, and then, at exactly 12.10—not a second earlier or later—there's a knock. You then step out of the house and into the streets: the Mingle.

It's compulsory.

It only happens in pairs—everyone has a designated friend. And you're no stranger; you have one too—you are one too.

You walk, you talk, and you spend the majority of the day together—two hours minimum outside, gazing at the endless rows of pale houses in the neighbourhood; for the rest of the time, before it's time to prep dinner, you're free to do as you please with your friend.

That's Evermount.

Blue-suited guards stand in every corner, but they're no threat—you're under threat. And this is how you keep safe. It's necessary; the council said so themselves. Under no circumstances shall Evermount be left, ever. So, no one has, and no one intends to.

Why would you? It's peaceful—you're at peace. You have your spouse, and you have your house; everyone's happy. This is all you've ever known.

The Spouse [f/m] | Enemies to lovers

Every day at 7:00, you wake up, arrange breakfast on the table, wrap up the leftover dinner, and position yourself on the front porch, holding their lunch bag against your chest. The kiss is so swift that you hardly process it, and then they're gone. You wave, with a smile on your face, as you watch their car merge into a stream of Chevrolet Bel Airs—supplied by the council—all heading to work. In the evening, you share dinner, in silence. They don't talk much—only when there's company. Sometimes, it feels like you don't even know them.

The Officer [f/m] | Friends to lovers

Their eyes scanned yours, filled with concern. A deep crease cut straight through the centre of their brow, marring their otherwise smooth face. Their lips moved hastily, and they clutched your hand, but you felt yourself slipping away, slowly. "I promise, we'll find you." Those words are so strange, you recall them, every day. But that's all. You don't remember the date, the time, or why. A figment of your imagination, maybe? You see them in your dreams. Yet you don't know who they are—if they even exist.

The Voice [f/m] | ???

You're. Not. Crazy. But someone who isn't you speaks inside your head. To you. They'd lock you up for that. Take you somewhere far away. But you feel the exact same—you're no danger. So, you don't tell. You just keep acting as you are.

The Friend [f/m] | Forbidden romance (relationship history can be an affair)

Your partner in crime, as some might say. They're your friend—you've been assigned since the beginning. But they were already living here, long before you and your spouse moved into the neighbourhood, before you two were assigned together. They talk a lot, more than your spouse. They like you, and you like them. That's what friends are supposed to do; that's what the Mingle is for—it's bad to feel alone, and the council doesn't want that.

The Council Member [f/m] | Forbidden romance

"Don't trust them," the voice warns. Your eyes narrow at them; the area under their eyes is hollow, worn, riddled with fine lines. They expel an exhausted breath and reposition the tie that's wrapped around their neck, way too tight. They look the part. They look like everyone else in Evermount, yet they're not: they're in the council, they're above you.

DEMO (TBD) 𖤓 INTROS

reblogs are appreciated!

#evermount #hosted games #cog #interactive fiction #dystopia #dystopian #wip

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moonstruckme · 10 months

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hi gorgeous!!

could i request poly!marauders with a reader who has been avoiding them a bit? she’ll text and call them, but not see them in person? maybe she tells them she’s really busy and they finally get her to come over or maybe catch her somewhere out n about and find her with a ~mysterious~ black eye? she finally ends up telling them abt it and she’s so embarrassed by how she’s got it and didn’t want them to fret over her? they poke fun of her a little, but it ends with hugs or cuddles on the couch?

(this is so definitely not self indulgent!! i absolutely do NOT have a black eye currently because i was wearing fluffy socks and tripped over my own foot and went flying into a doorknob!!! pfffftt, what kind of idiot would you have to be to pull that off…)

Hope the black eye you don't have is healing well babe!

cw: injury/bruise

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

“She said she was too busy to even come over for breakfast this morning,” Remus frets. “I don’t know if we should be bothering her.”

“She’s putting too much on herself,” James says certainly, can-do attitude in place and a bag of your favorite pastries in hand. “She won’t let herself relax, and it’s our job to help with that.” Remus only chews his lip, so he looks to Sirius for backup. “Right, Pads?”

“Sure.” Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know, I still think she’s avoiding us. Any plan that gets us to see her sounds good to me.”

“Well, don’t talk like we’re about to bust down her door,” Remus says, rolling his eyes as they come to a stop in front of your place.

“Course not.” Sirius grins, and slams his fist extra-loud against your door to make Remus squirm. James smothers a laugh when he hears a curse from inside, the sound of something falling to the floor, and then shuffling footsteps headed in their direction.

“Hi.” You sound surprised, half of your face visible in the crack of the door. That’s…oddly shy, for you, and the first threads of concern begin to wind their way around James’ ribcage. Has he or one of the others done something to upset you? Maybe Sirius is right, and you have been avoiding them. “What’re you guys doing here?”

“Hi, sweetheart.” James gives you his most guileless smile, holding up the bag of pastries. “You’ve been working so hard lately, we thought we’d bring you a treat.”

You all but melt against the doorframe, the eyebrow James can see scrunching in a cute pout. “Aw, thank you.”

“Can we come inside for a bit?” he asks, but Sirius is already pushing at the door, nudging you out of the way as he invites himself in.

You flinch away from the door as Sirius says, “Christ, angel, we haven’t seen you in so long I’d begun to think you were…” he trails off, and Remus and James both hurry in behind him to see why. The half of your face that had been obscured a second ago by the doorframe (intentionally obscured, James realizes now) is marred by a dark, purple-and-yellow bruise.

Remus inhales softly, all three of your boyfriends nearly frozen in place.

Sirius has gone tense all over, but his voice is gentle. “How’d that happen, baby?”

It doesn’t help matters that you get so clearly anxious at the question. “I—um, okay.” You look at them abashedly, shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “It’s not as bad as it looks, but you can’t get mad.”

Sirius sucks his teeth, eyes darkening. James knows his mind is running through all the various people you could be asking them to not get mad at for doing this to you; he’s thinking along similar lines. “Why would we be mad?” Sirius asks, noncommittal.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, going to sit on the couch. “I, uh. I ran into the kitchen and hit myself on the cabinet door.”

Remus hisses through his teeth. “Fuck, honey, the corner?” He sits down next to you, angling your face towards the light. “Is that where this little scrape is from?” His thumb brushes over the small cut with painful tenderness, and James watches with satisfaction as you go so soft you nearly forget to answer him. You give a nod, and Remus hums sympathetically.

“Jesus, babe.” James leans closer to peer at it. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Sirius pouts at you, sitting on the back of the couch. “Why would you think we’d be mad about that, darling?”

The look you give Remus is guilty enough that he withdraws his hand, raising his eyebrows at you.

“You know how you tell me not to run in my fuzzy socks?” you ask him.

Remus’ lips twitch, but he narrows his eyes at you sternly. “I do.”

You shrink away. “Well, I was sort of sliding around in those when it happened.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but he lets his lips twist into a begrudging half-smile. “Christ. Learned your lesson now?”

“Learned not to leave cabinet doors open when I do it,” you say, and James tugs you to his front protectively as Remus lets loose an appalled sound that’s somewhere between exhale and laugh.

“Our poor sweetheart,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the unharmed skin beside your bruise. “I can’t believe you avoided us for days just because you didn’t want Remus to be upset with you. You’re rivaling Sirius for dramatics with that one, lovie.”

“Oi.” Sirius jabs at your side meanly with his foot. “Don’t start taking my titles. There can only be one master of theatrics in this relationship.”

You draw your knees to your chest, entirely in James’ lap now, and he suspects you’re snuggling closer to him because you prefer his coddling to the other boys’ teasing. He’s more than happy to indulge you, brushing his lips ever so gently over the colorful skin by your eye and giving you a good squeeze with his arms around your middle.

Sirius makes a soft pitying sound. “That really looks awful. Did you at least put ice on it?”

You blink up at him, and James wants to chide you and smother you with love at the same time. Remus looks like he feels the same, the exasperation of his sigh diminished greatly by the fondness in his look as he gets up. “You’ve got a pack of peas in the freezer, don’t you, love?”

You confirm, and Sirius takes Remus’ place on the couch, squinting his eyes at you playfully. “You’re not allowed to avoid us when you’ve hurt yourself ever again. Clearly, you can’t handle it on your own.”

You seem like you could disagree, but James takes the opportunity to attack you with kisses again, and you don’t protest much after that.

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sapphicmsmarvel · 27 days

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Azriel: Shit got weird

I was scrolling away on my saves on tiktok and found a gem JenBenBooks had posted about Azriel letting a girl go because of that audio on there

(i would post it here but i wanna keep my tiktok private LOL bc tiktok does the stupid shit where it shows who shared it)

And thought hey, what a good fic idea. So here it is!

Its azriel crack hours! under the cut bc theres a single line of nsfw content!

Rhysand had sent Azriel out for a recruitment project with a local thief. This thief was stealing goods and distributing them. So because Rhysand wants to help his city, he wants your guidance.

When Azriel saw you, he thought you were beautiful. Granted, he could only see your eyes and hair. But he saw an all black suit that hugged your figure and a black mask that brought out the color of your eyes.

So when he approached you, he thought it would be easy-peasy.

However, you took the fucking Shadowsinger of the godsdamned Night Court coming at you full fucking speed as a bad sign.

So naturally you fought back and got away. Not only were you a siren with your eyes but your voice too. You had quite the mouth on you.

Azriel had come back to Rhysand and Feyre in shock.

“How did she get away?” Rhysand asked in pure bewilderment.

“I let her go.” Azriel stated.

Rhys paused, “you what?”

“I let her go. Because shit got weird.” He shuddered. Feyre put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter.

“Explain.” Rhys demanded but was also fighting a smile.

“Okay, I had her cornered, we were fighting, it was a normal altercation.” His hands begun flailing as he talked with them. “And then my hand ended up around her throat, she looks me dead in my pupils into my soul and says ‘harder’.” Azriel then shrugged in a way that said I don’t know what happened but it sure did happen.

“And I’m.” He swallowed. “I’m looking at her and I’m like ‘excuse me?”

Azriel just shook his head staring at the floor. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Feyre fully snorted. “Well, there goes that recruitment opportunity.” She nudged Azriel’s foot with her own. “Nice to see even a 500 year old trained warrior gets flustered.”

Rhysand laughed, “I don't know, maybe she’ll show up again.”

About a few weeks later, Azriel was out with the Inner Court and the Valkyrie. It was pride night at Ritas, Mor and Emerie were disgustingly in love and Azriel could not be happier for them.

He saw you across the dancefloor, looking gorgeous in a satin mini dress that was baby pink. It hugged your curves deliciously.

Something in him told him that he knew you from somewhere. But he couldn’t place where. He shrugged it off and walked up to you to ask you to dance. He was never this forward, but he didn’t know how he became so confident.

It was only later that he realized where he knew you from.

When his cock was buried deep into your cunt and you had uttered the word, “harder.”

But, he would tell you this fact much later. In fact the next morning. You threw a cup at him, admonishing him for not telling you sooner. Then you two went to Rhysand for the actual recruitment part because you did want to help your city even if the man you were crushing on hard was a fool.

He did not plan on you being a cannonball into his life.

He absolutely did not expect to actually like you and want to be around you.

He positively did not plan on falling desperately in love with you and you loving him in return.

But hey, what a meet-cute, am I right?

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acofs #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel x reader

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m30wk1ttycat · 5 months

Text

tough love

contains: teenagers being teenagers, cuss words, dirty thoughts, kissing, enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption mentions, smut ig?, getting caught sort of. pairing: newt x reader. summary: you're a med-jack. its almost impossible to ignore newt, always lingering somewhere in the corner of your eye. you hate him, or so it seemed. he hated that, so he decided to confront you about it, maybe force an answer out of you. word count: 1500, give or take.

you and newt had a bit of a rivalry going on. or at least, it seemed like it was rivalry of sorts.

"y/n."

"no," you murmur, trying to assemble some papers and whatever else it was that was on the table.

"please," he pleaded, leaning on the doorway.

"no."

this was just one of you guys' average conversations. you trying to do your job as a med-jack, newt trying to help you with whatever you were doing.

"are you sure?" he asked, still insisting on helping. you'd think he was in love with you or something - which wouldn't be too far off the truth, in all honesty.

"positive," you say, looking up at him from your place at the desk.

he was just so infuriating, persistent on helping with anything you did. everyone in the glade thought that it was just newt being sweet, but you were almost sure it had much more reason to it.

almost.

bandaging chuck's sprained ankle, he just had to walk in.

"need help?"

you roll your eyes in silence.

"thanks, but i'm good right now," you say, smiling. a smile so fake, even you couldn't recognize yourself. a smile you had to keep on your face for the sake of chuck. he was basically your little brother, why make it obvious you hated newt with all the strength you had?

"right," he muttered under his breath. finishing up chuck's ankle, you and chuck head out, completely ignoring his presence in the doorway.

"see you, then.."

"see ya, newt."

it didn't get any better when thomas arrived. the bonfire ended up being a mess to say the least. thomas got his ass beat by gally. and who tended to him? you. jeff had a headache that morning, hungover. clint overslept and skipped the entire bonfire last night. it was odd, because who would want to miss a bonfire night?

newt and thomas both got to the med hut/med-jack hut (i don't even know what to call it anymore). newt was there just to explain what happened, but it wasn't like you weren't aware. you were also there, after all. getting drunk and chatitng with the runners and the jeff, talking shit about the clumsy gladers who stumbled into the circle, who then got their faces bashed in by gally. it was bonfire night. you normally wouldn't even attempt to spark up a conversation with the guys who were most often in the med hut, unless they were injured and you had to take care of their injuries. no one was acting like themselves. but it was bonfire night, yay!!

"geez," you say as you sit him down, newt staring at you from across the room. "he didn't go easy on you, did he?"

and he, indeed, did not. he had several cuts on his forehead from falling, a busted lip and a bruised forehead.

"guess not," thomas shrugged, not wincing or anything. he kept calm, as calm as he could manage to be.

as you clean up the cuts and scrapes and whatnot, you could almost feel newt's eyes burn holes into your back. ignoring that feeling, you were done. thomas got up, smiling. you say your goobyes and thank yous, newt glaring daggers.

just as thomas left, smile still on your face, it quickly faded once you basically got body slammed by newt against a wall.

"why do you hate me?" he asked, frowning. "and don't say that you don't, we both know that's not true."

"newt," you breathe out.

"what is it that i'm doing wrong?" he was being harsh and he knew it. maybe pushing you and pinning you against a wall wasn't exactly his most isaac newton idea? "answer me."

you look away. the result of that? newt pressing you against the wall even harder, your wrists above your head, held together by his hand, his other leading your face upwards to meet his eyes.

"look at me. y/n."

"i am."

it wasn't like you had much of a choice anyways. he pressed his hips to yours, still waiting for an answer. he wanted you to say something. anything, really. just something to prove you weren't dead or slowly passing. though, his hopes were crushed when you stuttered your words.

he let out a breath, leaning his head down right above your shoulder.

"don't be so difficult, there's no need," he said, harshly so. he waited for you to react, only to be met with a small whine coming from your lips as you tried to free yourself. it was no use, he knew that, you should've, too.

your faces mere inches away.

"let me make this clear," he breathed, his lips inches from you, close enough to feel his hot breath on your skin. "i like you, y/n."

he liked you?

HE LIKED YOU??

he glared at you as affectionately as he could, trying hard not to seem like a bitch with the way he was holding you, smushed between him and the wall.

just like in every book, movie, fanfiction - the tension was there. the chemistry was there. the moment was there. the sparks, the butterflies, the way it felt like you were the only two in the world at that moment.

with a grunt, you tilt your head up to look at him, struggling to even talk with his hips propped up against your own, harshly so. "newt," you breathed, "i don't hate you."

"sure you don't," he said, furrowing a brow at you. he kept your wrists above your head, as much as you wished he'd let go. and the harshness of his hips against yours wasn't easing up. at all.

you roll your eyes, trying to look away to hide the blush on your cheeks, but his hand on your chin stopped you before you could even blink, his hand holding both of your wrists captive.

"if you don't hate me, why do you ignore me?"

you let out a whine, "ow-"

he tilted his head to the side, letting go of your wrists. he looked away, smirking. "sorry 'bout that."

he wasn't sorry and you knew that. he wasn't sorry. not one bit..

he also knew that.

and he also knew you couldn't just back away. literally - he had you pinned to a wall in the med hut, where probably anyone with a medical problem could walk in. anytime, too.

"you're making it hard for me to do my job.."

and it wasn't the only thing hard in the room, if you catch my drift. wink wink.

"so what?"

you're almost sure that he's just doing this rile you up, make you hate him even more, when deep down, it only made you want to fuck the life out of his pretty face even more than before. (meow)

"y/n, i love you. more than anything and anyone in this shucking place, really," he confessed.

"i love you too," you mumble under your breath, barely coherent enough for him to hear.

he shook his head, rolling his eyes, trying to seem as annoyed as he could. as much as he tried, the smile forming on his face failed him.

"shut up, i love you more." he pushed your hips back with his a bit. a deep brown gaze, pupils blown wide, he whispered something along the lines of "i'm getting sick of this". and before you could even process what he said, his lips met your in a passionate kiss. his lips tasted like fresh strawberries, a small hint of the moonshine from lat night during the bonfire. maybe he was still a tiny bit drunk, maybe not, but that didn't stop you two from making out in the med hut.

needy, sloppy kisses. hickeys on your neck here and there. newts hips rock, slowly, teasingly, against your own, the friction between you making for delightful shivers rushing through his body. his hands find purchase in your hips, pressing you harder against him as he sucked dark blotches onto your neck. you could feel the growing bulge against your inner thighs. desperately, he kissed you again, nipping at your bottom lip. still, he was gentle. or at least trying to be.

how could he kiss you so fiercely yet so gently? was it the british charm?

whatever it was, you couldn't get enough of it. your mind couldn't either. it was concerning, how long he could go like this, sucking and nibbling at your neck like a snack.

too busy kissing him, you didn't notice minho in the doorway, waiting for you or just anyone to notice him. he stood there for a minute, eyes wide as he watched the second-in-command, his best friend, make out with you, the only available (not really anymore) med-jack.

he cleared his throat awkwardly. "y/n," he called, "gonna pay attention to your patients or what?"

whoops, awkwaaaaaaard..

#newt tmr #the maze runner #the maze runner newt #tmr newt #tmr #newt x reader #newt x y/n #newt maze runner x reader #newt tmr x reader #newt x reader tmr #newt x you #maze runner #newt imagine #newt x you tmr #newt the maze runner #newt #newt x reader smut

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achenetype · 7 months

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Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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super-who-locked-me-in-here · 8 months

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I've been seeing some articles online about how now would be the perfect time to revive NBC Hannibal because Bryan apparently has ideas and Mads wants to finish the story and also we're coming up on the 10th anniversary of The Wrath of the Lamb in 2025, but how, because of the time between seasons, they'd most likely have to do a time skip in the show.

And I just have to say that I love that idea and I think that's how season 4 could thrive if it happened. Because the fandom has had nearly 9 years to think about and create their own post-fall headcanons, and there are bound to be people who maybe made art and fics and are in love with their post-fall idea and the show wouldn't turn out the way they wrote it in their fic or drew in their art and they'll be upset.

But what about 5-10 years after the fall? I don't know about y'all but I don't see a lot of fan works about that. And I think it'd be interesting to see what the NBC Hannibal team would do with a Will and Hannibal who are fully realized as murder partners, if not murder husbands.

If I could throw out an idea for what I think would be a funny way to show us Hannibal and Will in a timeskip season 4:

~~~~~

We're getting a moving view through their house in Cuba. It's dark outside and dark in the house, too. We can hear the sounds of Will and Hannibal somewhere else in the house, grunting and breathing heavily.

Will pants out, "Move faster."

"Patience Will. I'm not as young as I used to be."

A laugh escapes Will and he grunts again, "You didn't seem to have much trouble thirty minutes ago."

"That was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Perhaps if you're so spry then you don't need my assistance finishing this." Hannibal remarks.

There's a loud thud. "Hannibal!" Will accuses, although he sounds more annoyed than angry.

The camera finally pans to a hallway in the house where we see Will carrying a dead man by his underarms and his lower half is dropped unceremoniously at Hannibal's feet.

Will sighs and looks at Hannibal. "Will you help me with the cuts? Please."

The corners of Hannibal's lips turn up. He's never been able to deny Will when he uses that word. He bends down with another quiet grunt and picks up the corpse by its feet, and the two of them move into a room at the end of the hallway and shut the door.

~~~~~

#listen one of my favorite things in hannigram fics is when they talk about their 'extracurriculars'#and it's unclear whether they're talking about murder or sex #i think that's so funny #hannibal #hannibal season 4 #hannigram #post fall hannigram #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter #will graham

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golden-cherry · 1 year

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deal - cl16 (9/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Finding an outfit is harder that it seams. Especially when your roommate can't really help you, because he's at his other apartment.

Warnings: fluff, angst (whoops), mentions of cheating (not Charles), mentions of smut (oral, fingering, p in v), angry Charles, text messages

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

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A/N: here it is friends. did my absolute best and honestly, I'm sweating so hard. I chose the name for Charles ex bc it’s the name of the girl my best friend absolutely despises. and this is not a Charlotte hate acc. hope you like it still. feedback is appreciated!

The weather app on your phone is of relatively little help.

Charles had said that you were going out to dinner around eight o'clock in the evening, and according to the app, it should still be fifteen degrees then, even though it's December. While he had said that "it doesn't matter what you wear," but if you were going to be spending more time with him soon, and by extension his friends, you would want to make a good first impression.

Not that your first impression on Charles was particularly good.

Since you promised Charles that he could sleep in his bed tonight, you try to keep the mess of clothes to a minimum. Instead of pulling each piece of clothing out of the closet and then tossing it into the nearest corner because it doesn't match what you had in mind, you put things neatly folded back in their place.

After your roommate left the apartment, you started cleaning up your room so it wouldn't be too embarrassing if Charles stayed there tonight. After all, he doesn't need to see your underwear or the little stuffed animal turtle that sleeps in bed with you. Generally things that maybe old friends know about you, but definitely not the roommate you've been living with for two days.

The roommate who is no help to you when it comes to choosing clothes for tonight. Since he hasn't told you which restaurant it is, you don't know exactly what the dress code looks like, which is why you're now standing in front of the closet at a loss.

In Monaco, when it comes to restaurant choice, anything is possible. You could dine at Le Louis XV, the most expensive restaurant in Monte-Carlo, or Jack Monaco, which is significantly cheaper, but you have a direct view of the harbor with the oversized and expensive yachts.

Secretly, you hope it won't be too expensive tonight. Joris would pay you back the rent soon, but you're still unemployed and unfortunately can't live quite as carefree Charles, who apparently has enough money at his disposal to have not one, but two apartments in Monaco.

A fact that you would never blame him for.

When you can't find anything that would theoretically go with any restaurant visit, you drop onto the bed, annoyed. It can't be that hard to find something, right? You fish your cell phone out of the pocket of your sweater and start typing.

Briefly, you consider actually sending the message, but alas, you're so desperate that you feel you have no choice. You hit send and are about to throw the phone across the room as if you've just confessed to your school crush that you like him.

But Charles isn't your school crush. He's your roommate and first and foremost your friend, which is why you just drop the phone on the bed next to you.

You sit up and narrow your eyes as you go through the clothes in the open closet. Somewhere in there is a pair of dark gray, straight-cut jeans that match the white blouse you carefully hung back on the hanger a few minutes ago.

And sure enough. After a few minutes of rummaging around in the clothes, you find the jeans and as you hold them up next to the blouse, you're relatively pleased with the choice. There should also be shoes floating around somewhere that should go with them. But at least this is a good start.

Satisfied, you clean up the rest of the room. Since Charles has not invited you to dinner, but also to a club, you will certainly be home late, so you decide to make up Charles' bed. Your bedding disappears into the hall closet after you take Charles' things out. As you bring them into the bedroom and spread them out on the bed, you find yourself briefly considering pressing your face into the pillow. For sure, Charles smells attached to it.

But before you can do that, your cell phone vibrates. It's a message from Charles.

Your heart skips a beat. Do friends give each other compliments like that? You glance from your phone to Charles' pillow, then to your outfit for tonight. You bite the inside of your cheek and start typing.

You plug your phone into the charging cord as you head toward the bathroom to shower and get ready for the evening, so you don't see the two messages Charles sends you.

The Ferrari feels different somehow. After Charles sat in your old Renault yesterday, the expensive Ferrari feels strange under him. Not wrong, but different. Like something is missing.

He feels the stares on him as he steers the car through the streets of Monaco. The gray Ferrari attracts attention, with its red and white stripes and the number 16 on the side. But not just because the 488 Pista Spider is a beautiful car.

But because people know who owns the car.

The fact that you don't know that Charles is the Charles Leclerc is refreshing for him, but the guilty conscience gnaws at him. He should tell you that he drives in Formula 1, because after all, you would be dragged into the limelight by him, should people find out that you are friends and, above all, that you live together. Before that happens, he should at least give you the opportunity to get out of it.

But Charles is too selfish for that.

Even though you've only known each other for a short time, Charles enjoys your company too much to mess it up. You're so normal, so kind, without asking for anything in return like most want him to do. You're just you. And by God, he's never felt better than in his short time with you.

He expertly steers the Ferrari into a parking garage entrance, where he has to type a pin into the designated keypad next to him before the barrier. The barrier opens so that he can drive a few meters further, where a metal gate awaits him, where he also has to enter a pin - a different one. Only then does he reach the parking lot that rightfully belongs to him.

It has been some time since he has been here. After driving the last race of the season in Abu Dhabi about three weeks ago and becoming vice world champion, he had stayed on site for a short time to soak up some sun and recover from the stress before flying back to Maranello with his team for a final briefing and to discuss the upcoming season. But even that only lasted a few days. He could have been back in Monaco by now.

But he didn't want to.

He knew exactly what was waiting for him here. A conversation he wanted to delay as long as possible. He didn't stay away from Monaco for so long for no reason, and he wondered if he hadn't returned too soon. But he can't, first, avoid this conversation, and second, stay away from his home. He loves it here too much for that. Just like other things he'd rather not think about right now.

In the elevator, he puts his key in the designated hole and then presses the button with the number of the floor where his apartment is located. Just a few weeks ago, he thought that if he entered this building again, his heart would be beating wildly in his chest or his palms would be sweaty, but he is not even nervous.

He knows what's waiting for him behind the elevator door. And he's ready to wrap things up.

Charles enters the apartment as he has thousands of times before. And just like hundreds of times before, he hears the sound of footsteps on the floor moving quickly in his direction. But never before has he felt this indifference to those footsteps.

"Charles?" A woman comes out of the room where the living room is located and rushes toward him with her arms outstretched. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his torso to hold him close, but Charles puts his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her away. "Charles, I'm so sorry. What I did is inexcusable and I will-"

"'You won't do anything,'" he interrupts her, wishing he could jump in the shower to wash her touch off him. "I'm just here to get some things. And to ask you to stop calling." He walks past her down the hall and into the room where his clothes are.

"And I told you I would do everything I could to make this right between us," the woman says as she follows him. She places herself in the doorway with her arms crossed as he packs some of his clothes into a large gym bag. "I'm not ready to give up on us yet, Charles. I love you."

Charles can't stop the laughter that escapes him. After stuffing several pairs of socks into his side pocket, he turns to her and puts a hand on his hip. "You gave us up when you fucked that guy, Annika. And dare you to talk about love. You don't even know what that is."

As his phone vibrates in his pocket, he fishes it out. A message from Y/N. He doesn't even notice that a small smile creeps onto his face at that.

But she does. "Who's that? Do you have a new one already?"

Charles quickly types a reply and presses send before turning back to his clothes. "No," he says coldly. "And even if it were, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Of course it's my business!" Annika almost screeches as she takes a few steps toward him. "I'm your girlfriend, after all!"

"You," Charles zips up the bag and stands in front of her, "are the absolute last person I want anything to do with." He pushes past her into the hallway, where he drops the bag on the floor to go into the bedroom, where some odds and ends are waiting for him to take as well.

Annika follows him like a dog follows its master. "And why do you let me stay here then?"

"Because I'm nice."

"You're not that nice. We both know that."

Charles looks at the picture frames sitting on the windowsill. Among them is a picture of him and his father when Charles was little and went karting. It's a fond memory that he certainly doesn't want to leave here with her. "I've changed."

In disbelief, Annika laughs. "Never. In the two years we were together, I asked you so many times for things that should have been natural for a relationship, but what came from you? Nothing." Now it's her turn to put her hands on her hips. "You're so focused on your job that you don't notice what's going on around you! If you had paid more attention to me, then-"

"Then what? Then you wouldn't have slept with that idiot? Then we would have been happy forever? Peace and happiness?" Charles takes some pictures out of the frames and carefully lays them on top of each other so they don't scratch. He would leave the frames here, after all, they were gifts from Annika. And he definitely doesn't want to keep them. "Grow up, Annika. You knew what you were getting into from the start."

"But not that I have to share you with the whole world." Slowly, she walks toward him and as she stands in front of him, she places her perfectly manicured hands against his chest. "You're all I've ever wanted, Charles. But you were never there. And even when you were there, your mind was always at work or somewhere else, but never with me."

She's not exactly wrong about that. The season had cost him quite a few nerves and he definitely hadn't been a good boyfriend, and maybe none of this would have happened if he had paid more attention to her. But that's definitely not a justification for what she did. Charles knows his worth. And that's exactly why he clasps Annika's wrists with his thumbs and forefingers to take her hands off him.

"For not being a good boyfriend, I am truly sorry." He drops her hands. "But that's no reason to cheat. You and I are done." Charles leaves the bedroom and grabs his bag in the hallway before heading for the elevator door.

"You're leaving? Just like that? Throwing away two years like they never happened?"

Again, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Another message from Y/N, making his heart skip a beat. He grins to himself and types a response that, under different circumstances, he might have thought twice about. But the quicker he replies, the quicker he's out of this place and back to you.

"I'm not throwing it away, you already did." Charles puts his phone back in his pocket and presses the button to make the elevator come. "I'm letting you stay here because I know how bad I've been to you and that this year hasn't been so easy for you either. But if I need this place one day, for whatever reason, you're out of here. And I don't care where you end up. Find someplace to live. Move back in with your parents. But this," he points to the space between you, "is over. Forever."

Annika runs a hand through her hair, then crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Then I hope for your sake that you treat them better than you treat me."

The elevator door opens, but Charles doesn't move a bit. Instead, he looks at his ex-girlfriend, who stands before him with raised eyebrows. "Who do you mean?"

"Do you think I'm that stupid? Or blind?" She points her finger at his pants pocket. "The person you just answered immediately."

"And what's so special about that?" he asks, confused.

Annika takes a step toward him. "You always make everyone wait for you. You make your fans wait for good results, your friends wait for calls. You even make your mother wait for you, because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know you're home yet." Annika stops in front of him. "But whoever that is - that person has all your attention. She doesn't have to wait for you. Let me give you a hint along the way, Charlie."

"Don't call me that. And I don't need your help."

"And even if you did." Annika stretches her arm out, past him, so the elevator door doesn't close. "The fact that she doesn't have to wait for you is good. Don't make her wait for you, too. It's not fair to her. And not to you, either."

As he sits back in the Ferrari - the sports bag and pictures safely stowed in the trunk - he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Charles made it clear to Annika that their relationship was over, and it had been overdue for at least a month. But what she said at the end stuck.

He actually keeps everyone waiting, which is why he keeps blaming himself. He could have told his mother he was back in Monaco a long time ago, but somehow he didn't. He could have told you that he's not just Charles, but he didn't, and so he keeps you waiting for the truth that you know nothing about.

Would you even want to be friends with him anymore if you knew who he was? Or would you want to be friends with him all the more?

Never, he thinks to himself. That's not who you are. And he can say that even though you've only known each other for a short time.

And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're all he can think about. He thinks about how you sat together on the grass and talked about his father. He thinks about how you cried at Cars. He thinks about how you flirted with him even though, in your opinion, it wasn't flirting (it was to him, of course; he wanted to know how to win you over for a reason). He thinks about how you told him about your ex-boyfriend and how he would love to beat him up. He thinks of you standing next to each other in the kitchen washing the dishes.

He thinks of you standing in front of him dressed only in a towel. With bare shoulders and bare legs and that - if he would get the opportunity again - he would not hesitate to pull you into the bedroom and fuck you with his tongue, his fingers or his cock in such a way that he would ruin all other men for you.

Charles closes his eyes briefly to get the image of you on his mind, and then drives off. He would love to drive to the lookout and talk to his father about the situation, but somehow it doesn't feel right without you there.

But he can't talk to you about it either, because it involves you, and although it would certainly be best, he doesn't have the heart to tell you the truth. Not because he doesn't trust you, but because he's afraid of losing you.

He slaps his hand against his forehead. "Get a grip, damn it," he says to himself. The two of you haven't even touched, and he's thinking about how he'd take you on every surface in the small apartment. That's just not normal.

And most of all, it's not fair. You confided in him about your ex-boyfriend because Charles is your friend. And your roommate. And that's what he needs to be to you.

It wouldn't be fair for him to get into a relationship with you because one, you don't know who exactly he is, and two, he can never be what you need him to be. You need someone who is there for you, who takes time for you. Someone you can laugh and cry with. Not someone who is away most weeks of the year and can't even manage to call his own mother.

You would always be waiting for him. And even though he doesn't want to agree with Annika, he has to. The whole thing is not fair to you.

And so he deletes the last two messages he sent you, which you apparently haven't read yet, as he parks his Ferrari in an underground garage and walks the last few meters to your apartment.

He decides that he is your friend. Only your friend. Because he has to be, and because he can't be anything else. Because you need a real friend, and not a relationship.

Charles unlocks the apartment door and drops the gym bag to the floor beside him.

"Charles?" Unlike Annika's voice, his heart starts to beat faster at yours and his palms start to sweat, so he quickly wipes them on his jeans. You come out of the bathroom dressed in dark gray jeans and a white blouse that accentuates your curves. As you stand in front of him, you turn once so he can check you out from all sides. In all his life, he's never seen anyone look so divine. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what to wear. I hope that's all right."

His smile is gentle and he hopes you don't notice how hard he has to swallow, and he would have loved to wrap you in his arms and never let you go. But his ex-girlfriend is still clinging to him, and before you touch each other properly for the first time, he wants her washed off.

It's not fair.

"It's okay," he says with a smile and goes to the fridge for a glass of orange juice. You stop by the apartment door next to the gym bag, but don't ask where the stuff is from. And for that, he's very grateful. "I'm just going to jump in the shower and then we can go, okay?"

He doesn't wait for your answer as he pulls new clothes out of his suitcase, walks into the bathroom, undresses, and stands under the hot stream of water. Even now, he keeps you waiting, which further solidifies his decision to keep your relationship purely platonic. While he's shampooing his hair, he makes a deal with himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make this friendship work. Even if that means suppressing his feelings.

As he leaves the bathroom freshly showered and ready to go, you sit on the couch. He's looking at you, thinking about what Annika said, what he'd like to do with you, and all the things he could lose. And all of that just isn't fair.

"I'm sorry you had to wait for me," he says softly, reaching for your car key that's on the dining room table. It feels better in his hand than the one from the Ferrari. So familiar. Like the key will fulfill everything he's ever wanted.

"It's okay," you reply, getting up from the couch. You take a few steps toward him and smile at him, and his heart melts. "I'm fine with waiting."

the messages Charles deleted -

next part

#charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #Charles Leclerc #f1 #f1 fanfic #Charles Leclerc series

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mochinomnoms · 8 months

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I love all your stuff, it fuels my Octatrio brain rot!

After reading your post on the Azul explaining that marriage contract post, I couldn't help but think of how the tweels would react to seeing people tease yuu about their "engagement" (I'm sure octavinelle students complained to their friends I the other dorm about the very loud mating happening) and some who don't believe it and are stupid enough to flirt with/bully Yuu.

Like Ace would tease them and say "should we call you Mx. Leech from now on?~" while Deuce is "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?! BLINK TWICE IF THIS IS AGAINST YOUR WILL" and Grim wondering how they can use this to get more tuna

Meanwhile an idiot from Savannahclaw or Diasmonia approaches you and says something like "So your whoring yourself out to non-humans? When's my turn with the magicless bi-" then his body is found at the bottom of a lake somewhere the next day.

Thank you for being a place for us octasimps to gather and spill our thoughts!

(yessss octasimps take residence with meeeee~)

Oh, word gets around soooo quick, no matter how much the twins scare the dorm, Octavinelle students like to gossip. Besides, it's not like the tweels care, they want everyone to know that you're taken! Must be a merfolk thing, because you're trying to hide from the embarrassment of being known as the one who fucked not one, but both Leech twins.

You spend the entire first period ignoring Ace's jests and prodding, while Deuce continuously checked in. He wasn't convinced that you weren't swindled into a contract, please help calm him down, he looks like he's going to cry. Grim is actually disgusted, until he receives a platter of fancy tuna at lunch from an “anonymous” benefactor. Now he's down for anything as long as Jade and Floyd provide him with the most decedent seafood.

You eventually have to run an errand for Crowley during your study period, so you leave Grim with Jack to run it faster without the familiar's interruptions. That's when the scenario above happens:

You're cornered in a hallway by a small group of students, one from each dorm minus Octavinelle. They may gossip, but they certainly know better than the others. The group is jeering and whistling, a Scarabia and Diasomnia student reaching to pinch at your arms and thighs, while a Pomefiore cat beastman croons.

“Aw what's wrong? I thought you liked nonhumans? Huh, no? Well, then maybe you shouldn't have been such a whore for merman dick!”

A few more hands move to grab and push you, intending to take out their long festering anger with the twins on you instead. Intended is the key word here; two towering shadows cover you and the group when two pairs of hands reach for the group leader, the cat from Pomefiore. He screamed before being cut off by a crunch, collapsing on the ground as he groaned and clutched his ribs.

Floyd terrifying when angry, but it's not an unfamiliar sight. But Jade's always had a polite, soft expression. So seeing him with a blank face, but fury filled eyes was like looking into the eyes of the devil himself. Combined that with each other, the twins were like the antichrist given form in the shape of 6'2” sharped tooth mermen. Your mates made quick work of the group, growling insults and promising them that they're being much more merciful than they deserved.

After the whole ordeal, you find yourself being accompanied by Floyd draping his arm around your shoulders as you finish your task. Jade walked off, letting you know that he needed to make sure he reported back the students' behavior to their housewardens. Omitting their latest “scuffle” of course. They should consider themselves lucky that they only walked away with bruised ribs, black eyes, and only one hand and nose were broken! They really went easy!

Everyone knows not to mess with you after that. Everyone should know how protective nonhumans get over their humans, especially moray eels. The sharp teeth aren't for show, you know.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader

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denwritesandcries · 9 months

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Call me Yours – N.S

Pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

Summary: You’re in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio. How ironic.

Word count: 2,3k.

Content: NSFW minors dni, no crash!AU, cursing, arguing, jealousy, makeout session, thigh riding, slightly toxic behavior?? but it wouldn't be a yellowjacket relationship if it weren't just a little.

Note: Is it a secret relationship?? Friends with benefits??? I don't know man but they’re horny.

English is not my first language.

You're in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio.

There is a party going on outside, students filling the rooms of Lottie's house with loud generic music playing in the background, but the small room you two were locked in remained silent, too silent.

“See ya’ in 7 minutes, ladies!” Van's mocking voice cuts through the air, but a knife could have done the same; the blonde snorts and you roll your eyes, fixing your gaze somewhere in the darkness so you don't have to face her.

“Ugh, how old does she think we are?” Natalie hisses, you can feel her eyes on your face, even though you can't see much more than the outline of her body at the moment.

You say nothing, arms crossed over your chest and a frown covering your face, Nat tries again:

“I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party.”

“I get it,” you bite, just because you know her well enough to guess that she won’t stop complaining until she gets something out of you, “I get that you don’t want to be here, Natalie.”

She must finally realize how mad you are – mad at her – at the sound of her full name instead of the nickname that always seemed to be on the tip of your tongue, because you swear you can hear her teeth chattering when she shuts her mouth.

With a growl of frustration, you let your head hit the wall with a thud. Great, your night was already being shit, the last thing you needed was to end up playing 7 minutes in heaven with the person who was the cause of your bad mood. Simply amazing.

You see, Natalie had been acting weird for days now, randomly avoiding your company and acting like she didn't know you in the school hallways and being really rude to you during practice. Now, this might even be normal and acceptable behavior from the quiet blonde if you were anyone else, but you weren't. You are her girlfriend.

Are? Were? You don't know for sure anymore given the way she's been acting lately.

Maybe it wouldn't have made you so angry – confused? Yes. Sad? Definitely, but not angry like that – if it weren't for today, for the party.

You had planned to meet Nat at Lottie's party and corner her to finally make her explain what the hell is wrong, dammit, because one afternoon you're smoking with your girlfriend and friends quietly in the basement and the next she's throwing you daggers with her glance every time you open your mouth around her. Anyway, that's what you were going to do, until you found her in the Matthews' giant kitchen leaning against the counter with a cup of beer in her hand and Kevyn Tan practically throwing himself at her, keeping an arm full of spike bracelets wrapped around her shoulders and face with heavy makeup too close to hers to be considered friendly, drooling for Nat like he's always done since you've known about his existence.

Now that really pissed you off.

Who does that sad, emo, pitiful boy think he is to touch your girlfriend like that? And why is she letting him?

You think she could feel you fuming as you stared at them from the door, because the next second she lifted her head and looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights, as if she knew exactly that she was doing something she shouldn't have.

Screw it, you thought, if she'd rather act like you didn't matter anymore, then fine. You won't be standing just watching.

You turned around and only managed to disappear around the house for the next half hour before Taissa appeared with a tired frown and practically dragged you to where the group had gathered with an empty bottle, because Van and Jackie wanted to play something – 'If I'm in this, then you’re too!’ – and well, fuck.

You two have been completely quiet for almost a whole minute and that it's eating you alive; Nat has always handled silence well, you haven't.

Fidgeting with the hem of your own shirt angrily, you huff and give up on the tough act, the blonde straightens up when she hears your footsteps approaching her.

"What is happening?" Your voice comes out in a shamefully desperate tone, “Why are you acting like this with me? What did I do?"

You can see her now, being so close and now used to the dark; her fists are clenched, Natalie keeps her eyes fixed on your figure. For a moment, you think she's going to keep her cold facade and avoid your question with some sarcastic response, she most likely considered it, from the way her mouth opens and closes for a quick moment.

She turns her face to the side, trying to hide, but you can see the difference in tone in the paleness of her skin anyway. Oh, she's embarrassed.

“Nat?”

She mumbles something you don't understand, then your curiosity gives way to the anger and your hands find her face, turning it so Natalie is looking at you.

"What was this?" You ask again, softly this time.

“You called me your girlfriend.” She spits it out fast as if it were just a single sentence, rolling her eyes at your confused face, “You called me your girlfriend to everyone when we were smoking after practice last week.”

Oh, you remember that, when Jackie decided to lecture you all about the smell of smoke that lingered on her clothes after she and Shauna decided to tag along on one of your hangouts with Lottie, Van and Tai, turning up her nose and talking about how you all – and especially Nat – should stop with this habit. ‘Jackie, stop bothering my girlfriend!’, that’s what you said. Is that what made you spend a whole week grounded in the doghouse?

“...And isn’t that what we are?” You try, unsure. This conversation is not taking a very pleasant turn toward a reconciliation.

Nat bites hard her bottom lip, you can see her struggling with the next words:

“It’s just… no one was supposed to know.”

“Oh,” you mutter pathetically, sounding very much like a wounded puppy, “So that’s the problem.”

You're in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio. How ironic.

You can tell she regrets it the moment she says it, grabbing your hands in hers as you pull away.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I– I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you meant that then?” Your initial anger and frustration return with a vengeance, you move forward until Nat's back hits a shelf in the small room.

Natalie always does this. Avoid anything that labels your relationship as real; calling your dates ‘hangouts’, not touching you when there are people around, leaving your house before you wake up in the morning, avoiding kisses and caresses that don't initiate anything sexual, calling you ‘friend’ when you can see that the whole team knows this is not all you two are.

Still, – still – she always shows up at your house when she's upset; she doesn't like it when you miss your 'hangouts'; always stays close to you wherever you are together; gets mad when she sees you talking to other girls, even if they are nothing more than classmates; leaves marks all over your body, but doesn't let you do the same, spots and more spots all over your neck that are impossible to cover. People know that you're dating, they just don't know that you're dating Natalie.

And then she gets mad at you for finally putting a name to whatever this is and starts avoiding you completely, even though it's been months since it all started and you've known each other for years.

Nat gasps when your hands find her waist with a firm grip, bringing your lips closer to her ear:

“I’m gonna make you want me to be your girlfriend.”

You swear you feel the shiver that runs through her body. Nat smells like cigarettes and mint gum and it tastes the same when your mouth meets hers.

Her arms are around your neck before she's even processed what's happening, black painted nails playing with the hair on the back of your neck like it's second nature – and it is.

The way Natalie tilts her head to deepen the kiss and bites your lip hard when your hands come up to caress the skin under her shirt says your actions are much appreciated.

The husky, needy moan that escapes your throat when you realize she's braless, palming and massaging her soft skin brings a cocky smile to her face, she sighs, breaking the kiss and letting her head fall back against the shelf in satisfaction.

Nat doesn't moan, not like you do. She seems to want to hold back as much as possible, taking all kinds of reactions from you and your body, but not giving the pleasure of having the same from her. You want to change this.

You let your mouth roam from her strong jaw to her pale neck, leaving wet kisses, bites, and marks. Many marks. You bite the thin skin in different spots, soothing the bite with your tongue, hoping for the spots to form and stay there for days, for everyone to see.

You lazily slide a knee between her legs when you feel Natalie try to turn you around to take control. You usually let her do it, but not today. She squeals in surprise and pleasure, hips instantly grinding against you.

“Nah-ah, Nat,” you cut, bringing a hand down to slow the pace of her hips, “I guess you shouldn’t take anything today, or do you think I forgot about how much you paid attention to that little emo bastard earlier, huh?”

“You hate him that much, huh?” She tries to say in a mockery tone, wanting to turn the tables again, but it sounds pathetic as her voice breaks later in the last words.

“Yes,” you say easily, leaving a lingering kiss on her shoulder, finding her pulse point, “He was touching you. Touching my girlfriend.”

You bite down hard on the skin when Natalie turns her head to grant access and she moans, actually moans, fuck, you did it. A full sound, loud enough to make your pupils dilate until your irises almost disappear. This, this sound, you want to hear this forever.

It's been more than seven minutes, you think, or maybe our discussion was just really quick. You wonder if you would have time to take one of her breasts into your mouth, feeling the way she rolls her eyes and thrusts her hips against your thigh, now free from your hands, when you roll her nipples hard between your fingers.

She sighs as she receives another kiss from you, much softer now, more affectionate, feeling her hand tracing circles on your cheek.

A quick, loud knock on the door startles you both, making Nat jump and bang her head against one of the shelves behind her and knock something over, “Fuck!” She screams and you instinctively reach for her head to check for injuries.

You look at the source of the knock, it's definitely not Van calling, she would have opened the door at once just to laugh at your faces.

“Girls, time is over!” Jackie's voice sings on the other side.

“Ugh,” Natalie grunts, clearly frustrated at being interrupted so abruptly, she takes the opportunity to finally take a look at the closet as you head towards the door, “Is this some kind of pantry?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Rich people have so many random rooms scattered around their houses.”

There are loud whistles and jeers as you leave, half the football team gathered in the busy room and giving you knowing looks, you give Van the finger when she points out the traces of dark lipstick on your mouth.

“Were you guys actually going to fuck in there?” She teases, arching an eyebrow with a smirk.

You open your mouth to retort – probably with something stupid – but Natalie is quicker:

“Fuck off Van, stop bothering my girlfriend.”

Van gives up the provocation, raising her arms in surrender and Nat rolls her eyes as if she hadn't said anything important, but you're absolutely frozen, listening to your heart beating rapidly against your ears.

Natalie looks back when she notices you standing still and snorts in amusement at your reaction, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you with her.

“C’mon,” she says, “Let’s go, silly, I got something to do–”

“Move!” Jackie interrupts with an anxious tone, pushing you gently by the shoulder and bouncing on her heels, “It’s our turn.”

You catch a glimpse of Shauna standing shyly behind her like a shadow being dragged to the closet and Jeff sitting on the floor with the rest of his classmates with the most confused and defeated expression you've ever seen as Nat hurriedly guides you out.

When you're about to get into her car, Natalie surprises you, grabbing your waist with her cold hands and pressing you against the door, hungry eyes fixed on your form.

“I–” you stutter nervously, “I thought we were going home?”

Natalie nods.

“We are,” she agrees, “I just have to do you first.”

Well, maybe your night won't end as bad as you thought it would.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #nat yellowjackets #denwrites

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teddybeartoji · 1 month

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knight!shoko and witch!reader................................ bleeding and hurt, she stumbles upon a hut in the woods in the middle of the night after a big battle. she knocks on the door but nothing, she tries to knock again but she just doesn't have the strength – her armor is heavy and her limbs numb, she can't even stand up properly. slumping against the wooden door, her knees meet the cold ground below her feet.

she can feel the blood. trickling. seeping through her garments with every breath she takes. somewhere underneath her cuirass, somewhere underneath her helm. it's warm. it's hers.

she doesn't remember closing her eyes nor does she remember stepping inside the little house. but she's here now.

sat on a little chair before of a fireplace, she's almost completely bare with only her undergarments on. no steel, no iron. her eyes widen as panic runs through her veins, but even the slightest move makes her wince in pain. she hisses under her breath, her hand laid just below her ribs from where the sting seems to spring from. but when she looks down at the wound, it's only a bruise.

she eyes her body but finds no scratches and no cuts. splotches of blue and purple blossom all over her but she knows those couldn't be the only reminders of the fight. is she really to believe she lost consciousness just from a few contusions?

she wouldn't.

so from where did the blood come? and where did it go? where is her armor and where is her sword?

shoko scans the room with her dark eyes and spots her blade as it winks at her under the light of the flame. but it's out of reach. her whole body hurts, all the way from her toes to her fingers, and she doesn't understand. her mind can't wrap around her own being but the weapon is the only thing she's certain of, so she needs to get it. she needs to hold it. she needs to defend herself—

there's a hand on her shoulder.

a shadow stands in the corner of her eye, quiet, as if its now even real. maybe it isn't. maybe she's truly losing her mind.

maybe she's dead.

maybe this is her hell.

"are you feeling better now, my little knight?"

or maybe this is her heaven instead.

she cranes her neck to meet the voice. slow, she's slow – inching up and up and up until she's met with a smile. the light of the fireplace flickers on the person's face, the flames dancing on their lips and shoko feels the need to swallow the lump that's settled in her throat.

a little more up to find the eyes and she regrets her curiosity in an instant. shame oozes from her skin when her first thoughts are not of saying 'thank you' but of something filthier instead. the need to slap herself for the lack of manners almost makes her twitch in her spot but she can't seem to tear her gaze from yours. bewitched.

you're no good.

she can tell.

but when your fingers card through her hair and then move down to trace over her jawline with your sharp nails, she knows it doesn't matter. when you kneel down beside her while gazing up at her, she knows it doesn't matter. when you brush over the mole below her eye, she knows it doesn't matter.

"where am i?"

"aren't you going to thank me, little knight?"

shoko hums to herself. this feels like a trap. the smile on your face has yet to falter, your honeyed tone reeling her in alongside your warm touch. you let your hand trail down from her jaw to her neck while keeping your eyes on hers.

you can feel her pulse under your fingertips and it makes your grin widen even further.

"thank.. you."

you don't mind the uncertainty in her tone, you're not surprised by it. but her obedience does fill you with excitement. oh, how you love knights and their sickening desire to be good. this is where the fun lies.

"you are very welcome, love." moving downward, your palm now rests above her heart. "you must be so tired, hm?"

your hand moves lower.

"and hungry too, i'm sure..."

her ribs. her stomach.

shoko's eye twitches.

you bite down on your lip and shoko breaks. he breaks the connection as she zones on in how your teeth sink into the soft flesh. she feels as if she's a dog on a leash, her mouth frothing at the sight of fresh meat. she wants to snarl at you, to get a taste. it's weird because this isn't how she is – she's not some untamed beast, she couldn't be more far from it. she domesticated. she knows how to behave.

but perhaps she only thinks she is. perhaps you're just trying to set her free.

shoko's breath hitches when you lean forward and press your lips to the bruise that's sprouting from below her skin. it burns as it spreads all over. the kiss. her cheeks turn pink and her body trembles – she doesn't feel like she's in control of her own body anymore. her fingers ball up into fists by her side because she doesn't know what they'll do if she just lets them be. she doesn't know you and she's now starting to realize that she might not know herself either.

the pain disappears as pleasure takes over, and shoko feels awfully weak. but she makes no effort to push you away. you're kissing it better, aren't you? she's been taught to be grateful, so she'll let you help her. it's only right... right?

hands on her sides, you lift your gaze and shoko can't help but feel the froth in her mouth again. you look mean and sweet at the same time, you look like a saviour and a devil in one.

"say 'thank you', my little knight."

your grin is something out of this world. it reminds her of a fox that's peering from the dark shadows, eyeing the chickens its about to devour. so is shoko the chicken or is she the dog? is she about to get eaten or will she be the one that's eating? she's at your mercy and she can't even bring herself to try and deny the fact.

it's a whisper.

"thank you..."

it's wanting.

you've got her now, there's no going back. she's offering herself to you without even really realizing it and you love it.

she loves it.

#wordvomit is what i do best i fear #anyway whatever i love knight!shoko okay #mickey is daydreaming #shoko #shoko x reader #shoko drabble #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri drabble #jjk shoko #jjk x reader #jjk drabble #jujutsu kaisen

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 months

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Wiped Out

Fridolina Rolfö x Teen!Reader

Summary: The match between Australia and Sweden

In the last half an hour of the game, Hayley Raso's studs end up connecting with your back.

You're in the air, trying to reach for a header from a corner. The ball grazes your head as you crumple to the ground like a lead balloon. Your back burns - as does your nose because you landed face first - and you can hear swearing behind you.

"Shit, shit," It's Raso," Are you okay? Kid, oh, shit. Can you feel your toes?"

Vaguely, you wonder why Raso's asking you these questions but somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that she broke her back a while ago and didn't think she'd be able to walk again.

You can feel your toes so hopefully you're free from that.

But you're a bit preoccupied with the shooting pain up your back to really worry about it.

"Can feel my toes," You confirm through gritted teeth, slamming your hand onto the grass.

"That's good," Raso says," And-"

She's cut off by a blur of yellow and then she's on the ground. You're not sure which of your teammates slammed into her but you know that your cousin Frido is the one that's taken her place.

"Hey," She says softly, her hand ghosting over your head," You feeling okay?"

"Does it look like I am?" You reply and she laughs.

"Good to know she didn't knock the humour out of you," Frido says," Where did she get you?"

"My back. It's not too bad now but I'm pretty sure there's a mark."

Frido's laughter tapers off as soon as you mention your back and her face goes serious. Cautiously she pulls up your shirt and winces. "Bit more than a mark," She says," Lay still. We're going to get the medics out here."

"I'm fine," You say," Just need someone to patch me up."

"No," Frido replies, shaking her head," I don't want you on the pitch anymore. You're hurt."

"Frido-"

"No," She says," You're hurt."

"It's not too bad."

Your cousin shakes her head, one hand moving to rest on the back of your head. You've moved your face so you can see her properly. She's looking at you sternly.

"You're bleeding," She says.

You hadn't realised you were bleeding. Raso's studs must have caught you hard on the back. You wondered briefly how bad it was. You supposed it must have been pretty bad if it's got your calm, cool, collected cousin freaking out.

Or...Maybe she was being a bit dramatic.

Frido was like that sometimes, like that time when you were little and she kicked a football at you and it smacked you in the face so hard you lost a tooth. She wouldn't stop apologising when it happened and then she didn't let you out of her arms for her entire visit.

"How bad?" You ask as the medics arrive.

"Let's get you off," One of them answers.

"Subbed off? Or just off?"

"Subbed off," Frido says," Right? Right?!"

"We'll have a look and then decide," The medic says as he helps you up.

Frido takes her place next to you, holding your weight as you hobble off. She looks annoyed at having to go back on the pitch with you still injured but you notice the way the annoyance turns to anger when Raso walks past and in the next moment, you know that Raso isn't going to get out of this match unscathed just by the way Frido walks away from you.

"How bad?" You ask now that you don't have your cousin breathing down your neck.

"Just a bandage," The medics confirm," It's just a graze."

"Frido said I was bleeding."

He rolls his eyes. "Only a little bit. We were more worried that Raso broke your back."

"I think she was too," You quip, stretching out your back as it gets covered with a sticky gauze," I'm good to go back on?"

"Avoid getting kicked in the back again," The medic says," And you're good to go."

You jog a bit on the sidelines before the official lets you back on the pitch. You run on, rolling your shoulders a bit as you approach the throng of players getting ready for another corner in Sweden's half this time.

"What are you doing here?" Frido asks, crossing her arms over her chest," You're not meant to be here."

"I'm not getting subbed off," You reply stubbornly," The medics said it was a graze, not a cut."

"You were bleeding!"

"Barely!"

She sighs, running a hand down her face in frustration. "You stay the hell away from Raso. You stay the hell away from all the other defenders. If you go down again, I don't care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming off the pitch myself, you're being subbed off."

You roll your eyes. "You're so dramatic."

"I mean it," Frido says. Her voice lost its hard edge and you're glad that the ref is trying to sort something out between Magda and Kennedy so Frido has time to do this with you. "Okay, I don't want one of these girls wiping you out. Your dad would kill me if I returned you with a concussion and then you wouldn't get to come back with me to Barca."

You huff but relent. "Fine," You say," I'll be more careful."

"Good." Your cousin moves you to stand in front of her as the ref walks away from Magda and Kennedy to start the corner.

"But I want cake after the match."

You can feel Frido sigh behind you and you just know she's massaging her temples. "Fine."

#woso x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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