#Actually looked up what eating venom does to your body
Note
wait, wait!!
the creature is acting and talking in such annoying way that they get in reader's nervous, so the reader starts saying snarky things back and talking about how morgan is the best partner they could over have (and I don't know what else im just giving out ideas im terrible at writing dialogue lol)
(Continuation of another ask! When you finally get Morgan a night out and someone gives you a hard time about it) Love this idea. A little piece for this scenario below. R takes defensive positions :)
The idle conversations have started up around you again. Finally.
It’s always too eerily quiet when you and Morgan first arrive somewhere. At least until people realize that you’re not going to attack anyone. Now, you just need to relax, too.
The inside of the tavern is fairly standard of the common-folk world. Craftsmanship of the facilities are wooden and rustic, having several spots for comfortable seating. There’s a single bar managed by a large hare-woman, a scent of inebriated people and food in the air. The interior is bustling with common-folk utilizing the area for their late night rest, and a well-deserved drink after a long day’s work. From gruff-looking wolves to a sleek falcon, common-folk intend to get their fair share of winding down. And tonight, you and Morgan have joined them.
Well, 'joined', is perhaps generous. You’ve found a secluded corner to sit in, and most others make sure to stay a good distance away from you. You try to pay it no mind; Morgan is not exactly welcome in these spaces, after all. And, as their companion, neither are you. But, you’ve managed to convince the hare at the bar to provide an actual roof over your heads for the night, and food is on the way. That’s something. It might even smell like progress.
It took a lot of convincing on your part for Morgan to even consider spending a night in a place like this. Too many people, too little space to move around. Too exposed. But you’ve paid a hefty sum for a room, having an actual bed to look forward to, and a good meal that’s actually been stewing, and came from a pot. You're not about to give that up.
And so far, your efforts have paid off. Everything's been going surprisingly well, mostly. Even if Morgan's been switching between speaking with you, and keeping an eye on anything and everything moving inside the tavern. It’s an odd mixture. Their confidence might allow them to not be completely on guard, but their constant monitoring of vibrations in the air might make it difficult to stop.
To be fair, most patrons inside of the tavern seems hellbent on keeping an eye on Morgan, too. Perhaps it’s sensible they’d return the favor. Your arachnid companion has their usual unseemly aura in place, like just daring anyone to try and oppose their being here. It might fool a common-folk, but you can see what they're doing. It's a defense mechanism; you can't be hurt if you can't be approached. You really wish they didn’t think this was necessary.
But this is supposed to be a fun night out. You intend to make it so, in any case.
“Could you please calm down your feelers?” you ask Morgan, when they’ve been aloof for a little longer than usually. They’re staring dead ahead at a point behind you. You tap at their front leg with your foot to snap them out of it. “I think we’re fine.”
“Oh, I am completely calm,” Morgan purrs and smiles widely, still not looking at you. They don’t even blink. “That pale lizard over there, however, is clearly not.”
You glance over your shoulder at said lizard. Sure enough, the white scales of his head seems like they should be an angry red, judging by the way he’s glaring your direction.
“Well, obviously he’s not if you keep staring at him like that,” you argue, switching tactics and gently pulling at their hand instead. “Come on, can we just have a calm night? No fights, no threats, no blood, just – I want you to have a good time, for once.”
“Me?” Morgan grins, finally severing eye contact with their opponent to focus on you. Their hand promptly curls around yours. “Since when have you become so nice to me? Not that I’m complaining.”
Ugh. You knew you should never go there with Morgan, but perhaps that’s what’s needed. Give an inch, and all that. You’ll just have to hope they won’t take more than their usual mile.
"I've always been nice," you assert. "You just haven't earned experiencing it."
Morgan laughs, nodding at your hand in theirs. "So, what did I do to earn this?"
“Our dinner’s ready,” you deflect, noting two stewing, deep plates that’s just been delivered at the bar. Excellent timing. The barkeep’s eyeing you a bit excessively, perhaps reluctant to call you up. Simultaneously, she probably does not want Morgan to come collect the food.
Morgan’s eye darts to the bar. “I’ll go-”
“Sit,” you bark at them before they’ve even stretched a leg. The less risk of them bumping into someone, or, gods forbid, someone bumping into them, the better. “I’ll get it.”
You walk away before they can protest, ignoring the feeling of Morgan’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.
The barkeep looks relieved when you approach, and hands you your food. She holds onto the bowls momentarily as you grab them, preventing you from leaving quickly.
“Could you please tell your custodian to stop staring at my patrons?” the hare hisses lowly, urgently, ears flat against her head. “It’s making people uneasy. I gave you a room, but I don’t want-”
“YEP!” you interrupt, flashing her a strained smile. “I’ll get right on that.”
The barkeep narrows her eyes at your rudeness, continuing. “And when you sleep here, I don’t want any noise or unnecessary nightly wandering-”
“I know!” you interrupt her again, pulling at the food to get her to let go. You don’t have the time, nor patience, for the usual complaints. You need to get back before-
The barkeep's long ears suddenly stand up straight. She sucks in a startled breath, fixating on a spot behind you. Right. That.
You groan, and turn around, leaving your precious food in the barkeep's hands.
Morgan is unfortunately standing up. And, in front of them, is the very lizard they’ve spent the night staring at.
Said lizard is up in Morgan’s face, spewing words you can only imagine are not words of fondness. Either he's very brave, very good at fighting, or very drunk. Possibly all three.
By contrast, Morgan looks unpleasantly nonplussed, like they're casually wondering where best to grab on and start tearing.
“No,” you seethe. Absolutely not. Not tonight.
You march across the tavern in long strides toward the pair, prepared to put an end to this fight before it even starts.
“-don’t care where, but you’re not staying here!” the lizard’s voice reaches you through the idle noises of the crowd.
Morgan looks up at your approach, still not looking particularly affected, albeit slightly amused when they spot the look on your face.
You force yourself into the small space between the pair, your back against Morgan’s front. You suppress a shudder when you feel their hands softly coming to rest on your shoulders.
The lizard steps back once you do so, narrowing his eyes at you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by leaning into his space.
“I spend one night, trying to have a good time, that’s not inside a cave, high up in a tree, or sleeping on dirt, and then you-!” you scold the lizard-like person. “- just had to escalate things!”
The lizard takes the verbal hit silently and stares at you, baffled. Perhaps he’d not expected you would take up this fight. He frowns, regaining composure. “Listen here-”
“No, you listen!” you spit. Morgan's face enters your peripheral vision, a genuine surprised expression minutely replaced by a shit-eating grin full of teeth. You ignore them. “We want to stay in taverns sometimes! Why can’t you let us have that?”
“YOU are alright!” the lizard states with a hiss. He points a clawed finger at the large arachnid behind you. “That monster you’re hanging out with is not!”
“Monster?” Morgan scoffs and pouts, feigning hurt. “Why, you've barely seen anything. That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”
“Not when it comes to you,” the lizard snarls back at them. “You nasty red-eyes especially."
"I think my eyes are pretty," Morgan says.
"Can’t believe you didn’t get snatched," the lizard continues, not listening. "Should’ve nailed you when they had the darn chance. Better off dead than adult.”
A miniscule pause is what changes this entire interaction. It’s not often Morgan reacts to the usual slander people throw their way. And if it wasn’t because of your bond, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it would be any different this time.
But there’s just the slightest little twist of their energy shifting, like being splashed with cold water. The comment hit something. Morgan's face doesn’t falter a bit, expertly holding up the nonchalant, unaffected facade. But their claws are scraping across the wooden floor, their grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly. You can feel their energy reaching for you to calm down, almost on instinct. For once, Morgan seems slightly, genuinely, upset.
You step into the lizard’s space again without warning, shoving him backwards and out of your corner. Interrupting your fun night out is one thing. Suggesting your companion should’ve been killed as a hatchling is quite another. You’ve just about had it.
“That monster has treated me better than any of you ever did,” you fume, walking the offender back to his own spot. “You lot have done nothing but cause problems. What gives you the fucking right to be judging life and death?”
Morgan doesn’t intervene, but their presence behind you is heavy and reassuring. Their energy is fluttering around you, leaning into your anger. Letting you know you’re not fighting alone.
“You’re completely brainwashed,” the lizard laughs coolly, waving you off. “As always. It’s filthy, the shit they do to your minds. I don’t know what I expected. I almost feel bad for you.”
Brainwashed?
Perhaps it’s the heated moment. Perhaps it’s just because you want this incredibly hostile person to leave you alone. Perhaps it’s because you just want to have the final word, and prove a point.
But your hands almost acts on their own when you spin around, grab Morgan’s arms, and pull them down towards you. They follow your instruct without complaint.
Without warning, you cup their face, and plant a firm kiss smack on their lips. Morgan’s eyes widen in surprise. Then excitement. You hear them purr deeply as they relax into your grip, reveling in the softness you've suddenly bestowed upon them.
When you let them go their hands are on your waist. They don’t stop chittering as you turn away from them again to face the threat.
“I don’t care what you think I am,” you say to the lizard. “But whatever it is, you still have no reason to treat us like this. Leave us alone.”
The lizard looks flabbergasted at the display. Then it turns to horror. Then disgust. “Unbelievable. Are you really-”
“Go. Away.”
If it’s you or Morgan that says it, you suddenly aren’t sure. Your voice came out like a harsh, guttural whisper, not unlike the way Morgan’s does when they’re angry. Perhaps you both just spoke at once. But the lizard averts his eyes, finally, acknowledging this is not the space to start this fight. He skulks off, leaving you and Morgan in full view of the entire tavern.
You glance around, only now noting the wary eyes of the common-folk. Their stares carry a mixture of fear, repulsion and, worst of all, pity. And it strikes you what has just transpired. That display might have caused more harm than good with this particular crowd.
Crap. You’ll need to leave again, won’t you?
You regretfully look up at Morgan, who's simply looking to you. Pleasantly calm, and dutifully awaiting your next move.
“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, and wave the entire tavern off. “We’re going. Have a good evening. Sorry for the disturbance,” you spit the last part, grabbing Morgan’s wrist to drag them outside.
“A kiss?”
Morgan startles you out of your skin with the words, their voice suddenly appearing from the dark. Seems they’ve returned from collecting firewood.
Took them long enough.
The small make-shift camp under the stars offers only a bitter respite from what tonight could have been. Morgan had offered to go collect some fuel, as they can see better out here now that it’s dark. You hadn’t planned to stay the night in the woods again, after all.
“What about it?” you reply, not bothering to hide your sulking.
You’re seated close to the humble fire to keep the night chill at bay. Morgan enters the light shortly after, eyes reflecting it. They set down the branches, casually throwing in a few extra sticks to feed the flame, and seat themself next to you.
Morgan playfully pokes at your shoulder. “Sentry, if I’d known starting fights would get you-”
“Please, don’t even finish that sentence,” you complain. “I didn’t want to fight that guy. I just didn’t like what he said.”
Morgan hums. “You wanted him to not think I’ve control of your mind?”
“Something like that,” you grimace.
“Well,” they lean on you heavily, teasing. They speak into your face with a drawling whisper. “What’s there to suggest that I don’t?”
You snort, and shrug them off. “Bond thing, sure. I can’t go anywhere without you. But I’m pretty sure my head’s still mine.”
“Well, yes. And no. And not quite,” Morgan smiles. “It’s mine.”
“It wasn’t just that,” you continue quickly, before that train of thought develops. “The whole snatcher thing he said. It’s just -”
“Judging life and death?” Morgan echoes you, staring into the open flame. “Sentry, at this point it shouldn’t surprise you. That’s how it works. Their judgment will always favor my death.”
They speak casually, like telling you it’s going to rain. Nothing but a minor nuisance. It brings a bad taste to your mouth just how used to this they seem.
“I know,” you give after a beat, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I really, really don’t.”
Morgan eyes you with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll be sure to remember that. Well, also after your amazing outburst. Have I ever mentioned I adore your theatrics?”
You frown, ignoring the last statement. “What do you mean, also?”
Morgan leans on their arms, calmly moving leaf litter out of the way of the fire before it catches. “I figured you defending my honor - while efficient, and I am eternally grateful - wouldn’t get the point across fully,” they say offhandedly.
You quickly turn to stare at the side of their face. They want you to ask, and you almost don't want to know. “Morgan. What did you do?”
Morgan turns slowly, and smiles at you, clicking their fangs together. “Well, their ale supply might make the patrons feel bad for a while. Maybe a little cramping? Maybe a little .. un-moving? Is that a word?”
Blood drains from your face.
“If I'm being honest, I have no clue what consuming my venom does to a person,” they ponder. “Actually, we should stick around. I want to see-”
“You went back to-!” You throw your arms out in frustration. “This is why we can never go anywhere!”
“On the contrary,” Morgan laughs. They lean over and curl their fingers around your wrists affectionately. They gently press their forehead against yours. “This is why we can go anywhere.”
#colderwriting#about Morgan#monster x reader#monster lover#uv#drider#exophilia#drider x reader#x reader#x gn reader#Actually looked up what eating venom does to your body#Results are mixed#But going towards bad but might not kill you. But it will not make you feel good
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deal - cl16 (19/?)
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: There's so much going on in Charles' brain, but having to come clean with his feelings is the hardest.
Warnings: 18+ (mentions of fingering, masturbating), angst, swear words, Lando being a little shit
Word Count: 3.4k
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A/N: sorry. and happy season finale. let’s hope for a better 2024.
Charles has never been so happy about a pot of plants.
After you slammed the door in his face, he barely made it to the street before throwing up in the nearest plant pot. His fingers clawed around the hard ceramic edges as his body struggled against the nasty words he spat at you.
He doesn't even know why he was so mean to you.
Was it because you had a wonderful evening last night? Because you two got so close that you both almost kissed? Because you fell asleep next to each other and he slept incredibly well? Or because Lando texted him in the middle of the night and asked what your favorite food was so that he could do everything right on your date?
Maybe he does know why he was so mean to you.
"Charles? Concentrate, please," he is snapped out of his thoughts and Charles sits up a little straighter in his chair. He can feel something crack in his spine.
The meeting has been going on for hours. So long, in fact, that the private chefs in Maranello have already had to bring food to the room four times, with the last meal being dinner. Charles has eaten so much pasta and bruschetta that he feels sick just looking at the leftovers on the table in front of him. And the water with the slice of lemon in the glass in front of him no longer tastes very refreshing.
No matter what he eats or drinks, he can't get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth.
He wonders if your "I hate you" is as heavy on your stomach as the nasty words are on his. He would love to take back everything he spat in your face. Turn back time and undo everything. But he can't do that. Unfortunately.
He'd love to bang his head on the tabletop.
In fact, he can barely remember what he said. It's as if his brain short circuited, has had some kind of blackout, or as if a bomb has gone off and wiped everything out. Which doesn't excuse any of it. But from your hurt look, the tears in your eyes and your venomous response, it was so unacceptable that he'd like to slap himself for it.
It wasn't the first time Lando had asked Charles for dating help and they are actually such good friends that Charles has always been happy to help him. But the fact that the Brit asked for help so that he could take you out nicely - that doesn't sit right with him. Which is complete nonsense, because he has no reason to. He has no claim of ownership over you. And besides, he didn't want to kiss you in the bookstore.
Although that's not entirely true either.
He did want to kiss you. Desperately. And you'd been so close all day, you'd shown him your favorite place and everything had pointed to you wanting to make the move to something more - and then you gave him that look when he asked you for a dance. And he can understand why you didn't want to. After all, it's your place, your favorite place, and never would Charles do anything to tarnish that place in any way. Create a memory that you would later regret.
The Petit Mondes is your safe haven. And as much as Charles wants you - and he definitely does - he wouldn't cross that line.
Since you've known each other, Charles has had to fight every waking - and to be honest, every sleeping - moment not to jump you. He can't stop thinking about you standing in front of him half-naked in a towel. Or how you turned around just a few steps away from him before dinner with his friends to show him your outfit. How you slept next to him and dreamt - dreamt of him. A moment he will never forget.
Although he is actually a late riser, Charles woke up early that morning. Not because he had slept in, but because he was warm. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't because of the comforter or the heating, but because you were lying half on top of him. Your head was resting against his shirt-clad chest, one of your legs was draped over his hip, while your arm was wrapped around his middle.
At first, he didn't understand what was going on at all. He wanted to lift his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes, but he was met with resistance in the form of a lightly clad, sleeping beauty. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand was a little too high on your ribs to pass for being friendly, and by God - he hadn't felt this comfortable in ages.
Feeling your closeness had triggered something in him that confused him, but at the same time made him incredibly relaxed. He had pulled you closer to him, pressed you against him and enjoyed your warmth. For a moment, he had even considered whether he should just pull you all over him so that he could be as close to you as possible.
Before he could think about how wrong that would be and how many boundaries he would be crossing, you had turned in his arms so that your back was against his chest. Your body molded perfectly against his, your warmth engulfing him, but nothing could have prepared him for the fact that you were going to move your butt a little in his direction, right up against his crotch.
Charles had been awake in a flash and while you continued to sleep soundly, all the blood from his brain had rushed to his dick. Embarrassed, he'd squinted and focused on something else - Ferrari strategies, Joris last Christmas with the Leclercs, anything - and had scooted back a few inches to stick his hand down his pants so he could fix his raging boner.
But alas, you'd followed him like a magnet, squirming against him like you knew exactly what you were doing, so that his cock was wedged between your ass cheeks. Your body had been so warm, so soft against his hard one, that he had to stifle a moan.
Something you hadn't been able to do. If you hadn't been so close to him, he would have missed your soft gasp of his name. That's when he blew a fuse.
He would have loved to wake you up with kisses along your neck, let his fingers wander slowly over your skin until they finally disappeared into your panties. He would have let them glide through your folds and collect your wetness before gently rubbing your bundle of nerves. You would have turned to him and moaned into his mouth as he slid one of his fingers into your tight walls.
He'd never escaped his bedroom so quickly and quietly and jumped into the freezing cold shower.
The water felt like fine pinpricks as it splashed down on his burning hot skin, but no matter how cold he turned it on - his cock stood angry and proud. He put his head back in despair, his brain vehemently refusing to see his friend in this light, to desire you like this. But before he could do anything about it, his fingers had wrapped themselves around his aching cock. His imagination ran away with him, too many images popped up in his mind's eye as he squeezed it twice in the hope of relieving some tension. But the only thing it triggered was the feeling of a moment ago, when his cock was against your ass.
He was almost ashamed of how quickly he came.
He just hoped you didn't notice when he came back into the bedroom and woke you up with it. He had thought about lying back next to you, but had decided on the foot of the bed to create some distance.
The fact that you were dreaming about him threw him off course. And he'd really wanted to kiss you - by God, he'd wanted to do even kinkier things to you - but the timing never seemed right.
And then Lando's message came.
The vibration in his pocket brings him back to the present. Charles takes a quick look around to make sure he's not the center of the conversation, then glances at his phone.
Lando: You need to come home now.
He looks at the screen, confused. Why the hell is Lando texting him? Lando of all people? Did you tell him all the things Charles threw at you? How badly he treated you?
Charles: I'm in Maranello.
If you really did confide in Lando, his answer sounds pathetic. Why else would Lando text him? His friend certainly knows that Charles screwed up. And also that you want to move out of the apartment. But does the Brit really believe that Charles could change your mind when he's the reason you're moving out?
Lando's answer comes immediately.
Lando: I don't care. Get your ass over here.
The Monegasque turns on the keypad lock on his cell phone and places it on the table in front of him. It wouldn't make any difference if he went home now and tried to change your mind. What could happen is that his presence would only strengthen your decision to move out. Besides, he doesn't know how he's ever going to face you again.
Before he can think about it, his cell phone starts ringing. The eyes of his co-workers land on him and he apologizes with a quiet "mi dispiace" before leaving the meeting, phone in hand. Out in the corridor, he doesn't even need to look at the screen to know who is calling.
"If you don't go back to Monaco immediately, I'll come to Italy myself to get you," Lando snaps at him and Charles has to hold the receiver away from his ear to stop his eardrums from bursting.
"Hi, Lando."
"Don't give me 'Hi, Lando'. Get your fucking ass over here."
Charles rubs his forehead before running his whole hand over his face. "I can't just leave here."
"Don't talk shit like that. We both know you're not up for the meeting," the Brit replies bitchily. "Don't act like you don't have a choice."
The Monegasque rolls his eyes. "What do you want to hear from me now, Lando?"
The answer comes like a shot from a gun. "I want to know what you've been up to! Are you completely stupid?"
Charles would like to know the answer too.
"You go home right now, explain your shitty behaviour and apologize."
"And you're interfering because...?" His tone is cold.
"Because I was in your apartment all evening and had to watch how devastated Y/N was. I'd love to kill you for it."
"Go ahead and do it. She sure as hell wouldn't mind."
He swears he hears Lando take a deep breath on the other end of the line.
"I'm going to tell you this once. Just once, Charles. And I'm saying this for her sake, because I still have hope that you're the person I was praising to her."
Praising? If you've told Lando everything, then you've certainly told Charles everything about the Brit. That he just wants to get you into bed. So why would Lando want to help him?
"What you did was absolute bullshit, Charles. Totally below the belt and you've never acted as fucking shit as you just did."
Charles rolls his eyes. "Is there anything positive coming?"
"Shut up, you idiot. I don't know what you've done in the few days you've known each other to make her so crazy about you, but I don't have to. Any blind man can see there's something between you. Something good. So go home now and save what can be saved before she really decides to leave the country."
Charles, who had just been leaning against the wall, stands up straight. "The country? I thought she just wanted to move out."
"She's been thinking about it, asshole. United States, Australia. Something really far away from you."
"But she has her job here, at that one magazine. There's no way she'd leave like that."
"She got fired, motherfucker. Before you made your weird deal. Nothing's keeping her here anymore. So get your ass over here now before she really decides to take off."
How could Charles be so blind? He knows the magazine, his mom reads it occasionally and he actually knows that a new issue comes out every week. You've known each other for five days - five days that you've spent entirely with him. Something that would definitely not be possible with such a full-time job.
"And what do you want from me now? That I drop everything to go home even though she doesn't want to see me?"
"I've never seen anyone as stupid as you."
"Can you stop with the insults?" Charles snaps through the phone.
"You have nothing to say to me, you arsehole. She told me what you said about me. You owe it to us to go off and try to make things right."
Charles can't help but laugh. "Us? So you two are already an us?" He doesn't know why he's talking to one of his closest friends like this. Especially when the latter only wants to help put things right that Charles has messed up. The Monegasque has no reason to be angry. But the disgusting taste in his mouth, which he hasn't been able to get rid of for hours, is not anger. Unfortunately, he only realizes it now.
He's fucking jealous. And he can't do anything about it.
"We're friends, but apparently you don't know what the word stands for," Lando replies snippily. "Go home, explain to her why you behaved so badly and apologize to her." His voice softens, warmer than it has been throughout the phone call. "Charles, I know you're being careful because you're afraid of getting hurt again. And I can understand that, I really can." He takes a deep breath. "But it's Y/N we're talking about here. Sit down and talk to each other, be honest, and then it'll all work out."
Charles' gaze wanders to the huge Ferrari logo hanging on the wall next to him and his bad guilt returns. You don't even know who he is. To you, he's Charles, the roommate who shows you beautiful places, introduces you to his friends and with whom you share a bed. You are the only person who knows him as Charles and not as Charles Leclerc.
What would you think of him if the cat was out of the bag? When you see who he really is, including the spotlight? What happens if you like Charles, but not Charles Leclerc? He doesn't know if he could handle it. His job is his life, he's on the road all year round and what little time he has he has to divide between friends and family.
That's why his relationship with Annika failed. She was right about what she threw at him. That you always have to wait for him and that it's not fair. And she knew what she was getting into from the start. But you don't. You would be thrown in at the deep end if you decided to go for it. If you chose him.
"I don't think it's that easy," Charles says quietly, and he has to suppress the tremor in his voice. "She - she doesn't deserve this life. This risk. She - she," he takes a deep breath and has to wipe away the tear running down his cheek. "She's too good for me. She deserves someone great."
"How strange," Lando replies. "That's exactly what she says about you. So get in the car and apologize. I'm sure you'll be able to sort it out. And if you say shit like that about me again, I'll drive you into the wall in Bahrain next year."
Charles curls his mouth into a thin smile. "I'm truly sorry, Lando. And thank you for everything."
"I'm just absolutely the best." Charles can almost hear his grin before the Brit hangs up.
When the Monegasque re-enters the meeting room, all eyes are on him. With deliberate steps, he walks to his chair and grabs his jacket before looking at his team boss. "I'm going home."
His boss crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You can't just leave like that, Charles. We need to talk about next season and everything that's gone wrong this year."
"I can tell you exactly what happened," the brunette replies as he zips up his jacket. "The strategies this year were all for the trash, you screwed me over and you cost me the title." He grabs his wallet and car keys from the table in front of him. "Make sure things go better next year. After all, it doesn't get any shittier than this. See you next year. Have a good holiday."
He knows that his Ferrari can drive fast. And he also knows that he shouldn't drive that fast. But the roads home are empty and he wants to get to you as quickly as possible, in the hope that you haven't left the apartment yet. The accelerator pedal is almost stuck to the floor and he would certainly have to pay a heavy fine if the police caught him speeding. But apparently luck is on his side and it takes him just over three hours to turn onto the streets of Monaco.
The closer he gets to your apartment, the faster his heart beats and he can feel himself starting to sweat. What's the best way to start the apology?
I'm sorry I was so shitty to you, but it was because -
I behaved like crap, but it was only because -
I'm sorry I was such a bad friend, but you should have -
Wow. It actually all sounds like shit.
Maybe Lando is right. Maybe the most reasonable thing would be for Charles to just be honest, even if it means destroying everything between you. But you deserve the truth.
I'm sorry I said those bad things to you and I'm sorry I hurt you. Of course, apologizing can't undo any of it, but if you gave me the chance, I could explain myself to you. I was jealous because we had such a nice evening and then I find out you planned a date with one of my friends. I wanted to kiss you in the bookstore, I've wanted you ever since we met. You've been messing with my head from the beginning, taking over my heart and I can't think straight when you're with me. Maybe it's crazy because we've only known each other for five days, but I've never felt about someone the way I feel about you. I'm in lo-
His train of thought stops abruptly as he turns into the street. A green Nissan is parked on the sidewalk in front of your apartment, the driver's door is open and the hazard lights illuminate the walls of the house.
Charles worriedly parks at the next opportunity before jumping out of the car and dashing to the front door, which is wide open. He can already hear angry voices from outside, a male voice that almost shouts the whole house awake.
And your voice, angry and rough and shaky, as if you were at the end of your tether.
Charles sprints up the few steps to your apartment and stops like a flash on the top step when he sees you. You're wearing your pyjamas, your hair is disheveled, as if you've run your hand through it several times, and when you see him, you snap your eyes open as if you've seen a ghost.
But it's not the sight of you that makes Charles' blood boil.
It's Raphael's, who follows your gaze and takes a step back when he realizes who he's facing. "Your roommate is Charles Leclerc?"
next part
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc prompt#charles leclerc blurb#charles leclerc imagine#lando norris#carlos sainz jr#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc cute#charles leclerc fanfiction#charles leclerc x yn#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc fluff#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic
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Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 2]
Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version (Part 2)
ie. The scarf is an issue, because of course it's an issue. And Vil's sudden addiction to his phone is not going well for any of you.
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]
“What did you do?” Epel hissed from behind an entire department store’s worth of facial products.
“What?! I didn’t do anything!” you argued. Trying to sound stern when you were also putting a concerted effort into not moving your mouth was apparently very hard. A lip mask, Vil had called it. ‘Pretentious goop’ was a far better description. But the Pomefiore House Warden had been particularly dour lately, so you’d been letting him slather you will all kinds of atrocities in the name of keeping the peace. You’d smelled like a walking Bath & Body Works for the past week at least. And worst of all, if you ever made that comparison out loud he’d probably hemorrhage. Or something. Because each of these products was ‘special ordered’ or ‘hand crafted’ and blablabla.
“Well pardon me for not takin’ your word for it,” the purple-haired boy snapped, spiteful. “He only gets like this when someone’s hurt his stupid ego. Or worse—his feelings.”
“And why does that ‘someone’ have to be me?” you complained.
Epel shot you a look and you sighed into the misty air. The aroma diffuser gave another lackluster puff, as if in agreement.
.
.
Ever since your shopping trip, Vil had been acting… not quite right.
Oh, he was still icy and composed. He still tutted at your untucked uniform shirts and irritably plucked stray bits of fuzz from your jacket. But it was almost like he was too much of himself. You’d liked to think that your laid back ‘you’re lovely no matter what and I live in a literal condemned building so who am I to judge anyone’ approach had softened the House Warden at one point—even if only a smidgen. A singular hair out of place was artful, not lazy. The barely-there wrinkle in his vest was not the end of civilized times, but functional fashion. But now? It was back to the strictest of regiments, the most unforgiving of rules.
Jack had told you that Vil was even waking before him now—that by the time the wolf-beastman arrived for their early morning jogs, the blonde had clearly already been up and training for hours.
And you were worried.
Sometimes Vil would look at his phone and get this twisted up, venomous, expression on his face that sent little pangs of concern eating through your gut. Sometimes Rook was there to reach forward and gently ease the device out of Vil’s death grip. Sometimes he was not, and you were far too afraid of losing your fingers to even try.
It was a vicious cycle. The phone would make Vil angry and subsequently be abandoned in the opposite corner of the room. So then Vil would bury himself in new makeups, and outfits, and skin care. He would fret over new projects, or old projects—ranting about the incompetence of whoever he would ‘never work with again, believe me.’ Sometimes he dragged you along to his Film Club (you’d watched so many classic movies with him at this point that you were actually starting to become culturally literate). And then—slowly but inevitably—his brilliant, purple, gaze would drift to the expensive rectangle sitting all alone off to the side, wherever he’d carefully and strategically placed it to be just out of reach. Gradually his fingers would start to twitch, and then his jaw. He’d drum his nails against his knee, or irritably tap the pointed heel of his shoe against the floor. And then the phone would be back in his hands and he’d be looking at something that sent him spiraling all the way back to the beginning again.
“I don’t know what to do,” you confided in Rook one afternoon. You hadn’t seen him yet, but a bush off to your left had jiggled suspiciously at one point, so you assumed that he was probably somewhere in the vicinity.
After a moment, the hunter came and perched himself at your side.
“Do you know what’s bothering him?” you asked. Rook seemed to know everything about everyone, and Vil was his muse, his Roi de Poison. He had to have noticed something by now.
The blonde nodded, the feather in his hat bobbing as he did.
“...You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” you huffed, not even attempting to bite back your irritation.
Rook patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It is not my tale to tell, Mon Coeur. There are some things that I am told in confidence, and I cannot break that trust. Though I am sure he would greatly appreciate your concern.”
“Or you could just tell me,” you tried. “And then I wouldn’t have to be concerned at all.”
He tilted his hat at you, and then danced back easily when you tried to snatch it off his head.
.
.
“So, what’s the dealio,” Ace drawled, and he’d better thank his lucky stars that you didn’t startle quite as easily as you used to, because there was entire, opened, jar of Werecat urine in your hands that was just dying to wind up upended all down his white lab coat.
“What deal?” you snipped, carefully recapping the stinky ingredient and setting it off to the side. Tempting as the idea of dousing the redhead in supernatural piss was, Crewel would skin you for wasting components.
“You spend a lot of time at Pomefiore,” Deuce added, much politer in his approach than Ace had been. “And lately their House Warden has been a bit…”
“Why has Captain Pissy-And-Perfect been so pissy?” Ace interrupted, leaning far too close over your cauldron to be any kind of safe. “Normally the only thing that twists him up that bad is Neige.”
Your mind whirled back to the incident at the mall. And as controlled as you liked to think you were about these sorts of things, your face must have done something because Ace pounced on you like Ruggie after a donut.
“What do you know?” he demanded, nearly spilling a whole bottle of Newt Eyes across the floor as he crowded into your personal space. “Tell me, tell me, tell me—"
“All I did was give Neige a scarf!” you snapped. “It’s not like it’s a big deal!”
“What scarf?” Deuce blinked back, confused.
“It was just some scarf that Vil put on me!”
The two of them made long, pointed, eye contact, and you immediately felt horribly out of the loop.
“Whelp. That tracks,” Ace sighed, just as Crewel popped up behind him to whip him across the back of his head with his pointer.
.
.
Your group of mangy idiots had gathered in the cafeteria for lunch—as was the ancient tradition of all starving students. The four of you had clustered around your usual table. Ace was busy squirting ketchup packets all over what would inevitably become Deuce’s seat when he finally got of the line. Jack was busy swishing said ketchup away with an irritated scowl. Epel sat across from you, as miserable and lemon scented as ever.
A lunch tray smacked the tabletop with an echoing bang and Deuce appeared behind it, frantically waved his cellphone in your faces.
“You guys have to watch this,” he said, deathly serious, before propping his phone up against your glass of water. It flopped forward with a resounding crack three times before he managed to get it to stay upright.
The five of you crouched around the teeny screen as the poppy chords of some Talk Show intro or other filtered through the tinny speakers.
“You know,” the interviewer beamed, all manicured sugar and over-bleached smiles. “With some of the things you’ve been posting lately, some people are saying that you’ve just got to be in love!”
The audience ooohed and aaaahed.
Neige Leblanche was sitting on the little leather sofa beside her, and he smiled in a way lit his entire face in a brilliant shade of pink. He was still wearing that goddamn purple scarf and immediately you could feel your temples pulsing with a migraine. This was going to be bad.
“Well,” he mumbled, bashful. “I can’t say you’re entirely wrong about that.”
Cue hordes of nearly rabid screaming. Ace winced and reached forward to tick down the volume.
“Why are we watching this?” Jack scowled, but he didn’t move his sharp glare from the illuminated screen.
“The Prefect gave Neige a scarf, and—”
“Shh,” Deuce hushed. “This is the bad part.”
“It’s a little bit silly,” Neige continued, glancing up at the host from beneath his dark lashes. “I don’t actually know their name. But we met a few weeks ago now and they were just—well they were amazing. They actually helped pull me out of a pretty sticky situation, and they were so composed through all of it! And then they didn’t even care about me being famous at all!” he rambled, getting brighter and brighter the longer he monologued. “They just helped me because I was a person, and, well, I think that’s very sweet.”
There was another wave of darling ‘awwws’ that could only have been scripted. Or, at least you hoped so. This level of saccharine infatuation should have been enough to turn anyone’s stomach. It had certainly twisted yours into all sorts of unpleasant knots. The secondhand embarrassment alone was on the verge of taking you out entirely.
“A little birdy’s been telling us that the scarf you’ve been modelling in all your latest Magicam posts was actually a gift from this secret lover of yours,” the interviewer whispered conspiratorially, and you wanted nothing more than to snatch that stupid purple cashmere back through the screen solely so that you could strangle her with it.
“Well, yes, actually,” Neige chirped, fingers reaching up to toy with the soft fabric.
“No it wasn’t!” you howled, indignant. “I just put it on him to distract him because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—”
“WHAT?!” Epel screeched. Screeched. At the top of his lungs. It felt like you could feel the glares of every single set of eyes in the cafeteria drilling into your spine. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a feather bob as it disappeared through the door, and you didn’t even want to think of the implications of that.
“No fucking way,” Ace gaped, looking for all the world like you’d just handed him a million Thaumarks, or an entire notebook’s worth of nuclear codes. Deuce and Jack both just looked like they were trying not to choke to death.
“Oh my God,” you wailed. “I did it again.”
.
.
When you next ran into the King of Poisons, you were so distracted by the impossible task of wrangling Ace into silence that you couldn’t have noticed the subtle changes in him even if you’d wanted to. The increased length in his stride, the gentler tuck of his hair, the less severe line of his shoulders—if you weren’t so caught up in trying to commit homicide, you would have been ecstatic.
Rook was chattering along at his side, his lips quirked into a merry grin. The tack-tack-tack of Vil’s crimson heels against the stone floors was familiar, confident, and loud enough to swim through your head despite Ace’s manic cackling.
“Potato.” Vil’s red lips quirked upwards into the smallest smile before twitching back down into a sneer. “And other potato. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Thankfully, at the end of the day, Ace was still nothing if not a no-good coward. He turned on the Pomefiore House Warden, ready to spill your deepest, darkest, secrets, and immediately withered under the third year’s spiteful glower.
“H-House Warden!” he squeaked. “I was just—Ahem. The Prefect was just—just saying that—”
“Go on,” Vil prompted, tongue dripping with all kinds of venom. “It must be riveting if it’s managed to stun you so thoroughly. Or maybe that’s just the extent of your comprehensive abilities as it is.”
Ace gulped. Audibly.
“Perhaps I should report your dallying to Riddle,” Vil continued, and that was when Ace really started to look panicked. “Remind me—your House Warden is known for his lenient stance on punishing rule breakers, is he not?”
The redhead darted off with one final squeak, practically wheeling around a corner in his haste to escape.
“Well?” Vil barked, and it took you a second to realize that he was addressing you now, and not that he was just going to continually roast Ace into an early grave. “Are you coming?”
“Where?” you asked, confused.
Vil rolled his eyes and reached out to grab your hand. “To Film Club. You promised to help pick out the new backdrop color schemes. Or is the forgetfulness of that horrible, spudling, friend of yours wearing off on you now too?”
You had promised Vil so many things in the last few weeks that you honestly probably wouldn’t even have remembered if you’d offered to sell him your soul, so looking through page after page of tone combinations that all looked absolutely identical to you but whatever was probably the best you could hope for.
More importantly, he seemed… better. Less stiff, certainly. You wondered idly what could have happened in the span of a few hours to mend his mood so thoroughly. If it had been Neige related all along, then probably some slight against the dude, right? Maybe something had popped up online? Industry drama, or whatever. Or maybe—
‘Because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—'
You froze, like a deer about to mowed down by a semi. Vil’s grip on your hand was the only thing that kept you from immediately faceplanting into the ground.
But, no. No one aside from your immediate entourage could have heard you say that! It wasn’t possible! It—It wasn’t—
Amidst your sudden wave of mortification, you caught Rook’s mischievous green, gaze, with your own. The feather on his hat bobbed playfully, mockingly, and he winked.
.
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#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Vil x Reader#vil shoenheit#Vil Schoenheit x Reader#Pomefiore x Reader#neige leblanche#neige x reader#My Writing#Heroes vs Villains#Heroes vs. Villains#Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 2
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𝐀𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞
Synopsis - y/n despised her best friends brother, always there, never far. She hated him rotten but was that truly how they both felt, in terms of love, Ao’nung would never fall into that category. That’s what she believed.
Warnings - enemies to lovers? (I actually don’t know if I even did it right)
Aged!up Ao’nung I always had the vision of his tāmoko on his shoulder and forearm for this
Word count: 3.3K
Quick note: I wrote this within a span of four hours so it’s completely just a dump of words mushed into a story, it’s very rushed and has not been proofread I hope you enjoy.
I forgot to add everyone in the taglist fml.
The way of the metkayina people was a way of life for you, your adolescence was spent beside your dearest friend, Tsireya. Fulfilling each other’s day with happiness and bountiful fruits of love, not a day went by where you weren’t beside her, weren’t lingering.
This connection between you two also meant you were awfully close with her family, as well as her brother; Aonung.
He wasn’t the nicest boy in the village, but he did not lack respect when it was due. Being the son of the olo’eyktan brought him a sense of pride and grace unmatched by the other youthful men surrounding you. He was a captivating soul, on top of being the most awful person to ever lay foot on this island.
Despite sharing a sense of familial love between Tsireya’s and your own family, you could not say eye to eye with Aonung, his need for disturbance and rebellion was often matched by your quick tongued and ruthless attitude. If life was to throw you fruits, claiming you must feed them to him in order for Aonung to survive. You’d eat them and watch his body decay. He’d say the same.
Although your younger self would plant even more seeds in order for him to survive, you quickly freed yourself from the torment of adoring Aonung. As children you weren’t always angered by the sight of him, he was sweet, kind even. His desire for trouble was still prominent but he’d never aimed his torturous words your way.
But that was just it, you two drifted apart. As each day passed, both you and aonung faded further and further from each other. His protection dropped and his tongue; venomous. You hadn’t known the reason why, his sweet words turned into poisonous remarks. His once hopeful eyes gleamed with hatred and you could only assume he’d let his pride take over.
He was an asshole and you despised him for it.
You laid amongst the sand dunes in a daze, watching the cerulean sky as if it was the most entertaining thing to coexist in your life. Tsireya and the others were attending their lessons for the day, leaving you behind to prioritise grounding yourself.
“What are you doing?” That familiar voice questioned, you rolled your eyes from beneath the curtains of your eyelids. The sound of his voice irked you, claiming the most treacherous and violent parts that made you.
“What does it look like” bored, your tone showed nothing but disinterest, Aonung flicked his head back feeling the tension in his chest grow due to your lack of acknowledgement.
You huffed when he did not reply, opening the frames of your eyes and there he stood. Peering down at you intensely, his head tilted with what you could assume as curiosity, or laughter. The latter made more sense.
“What do you want, Aonung” you asked, this time your voice showing complete annoyance, his persistence to be by you and near you in order to truly show you how much he despised you did not go unnoticed. He was a nuisance and he knew his presence rattled you to your core.
“My answer will bring too much enjoyment to you?” He responded, his signature smirk crawling its way upon his lips.
“as if anything you say piques my interest. You keep your presence there and I keep mine here” you watched as his eyes flicked between the sand and your body, slowly relishing his orbs on your physique before he glanced back into your eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that, someone might think we’re friends” you couldn’t bear the thought of being around Aonung. His mere presence was overbearing, it tore your mind and soul to shreds looking at his smug smile, to think the boy before you once had a soul as pure as the gifts of Eywa.
But that wasn’t the only reason, deep down beneath the hurt and frustration lied the truth. If your heart was an instrument, Ao’nung was the musician. The creator of your canvas; an artist in your eyes crafted by flaws yet imperfectly moulded into something so much more alluring.
But you hated him, the way he cocked his head with a devilish grin, you hated how his teal blue eyes hung low, the same eyes that never failed to pierce straight through your soul. You hated the way he spoke, the way his gaze always seemed to be on you, you hated how rude and irritating he was, you hated every fibre of his being.
“You say that but your eyes speak otherwise” Ao’nung taunted you, that was his favourite past time. No matter what, no matter how many arguments, how many altercations. He still managed to coax his wicked intentions with the sweetness of his tongue.
He now stood in front of you, if you were to poke your finger out it would land against his chest. You felt riled up now. His breathing fanned against your cheeks, if anyone saw the proximity between the both of you, you’d never hear the end of it. He was close, too close for your liking.
“I hate you so much” you grunted, picking up the shells you collected earlier, his strong gaze never leaving your body and that stupid smirk only widened with the laugh he released, throaty and mocking.
“the feeling is mutual,” Ao’nung lied, knowing that honesty wasn’t always his best trait. The boy followed you, licking his lips as he trailed behind you. It was odd, just a year ago he had wanted nothing but to be clear of your presence, hissing and scowling every time you were in the same vicinity. Now, he’ll stop at nothing to make his presence known.
You continued, walking anywhere that didn’t provide sanctuary for him.
Your fast pace and constant peeking over your shoulder had made you lose focus on the path ahead of you, your head was the first thing that had been wounded with an ache, then your body was pressed up against a solid chest and as you caught your breath, you looked up.
“Thank Eywa it’s you, Neteyam. I thought I joined the ancestors for a second” The eldest of the sully children let out a throaty laugh, helping you adjust your balance again. For someone with keen eyes he sure didn’t notice the glare being shot his way.
“Skxawng,” He grumbled, shaking his head. He placed a loving hand on your head and you reciprocated that tender platonic love with a smile. At this point Ao’nung tuned out the conversation, he abhorred Neteyams presence more than anything.
Rotxo was not too far behind Neteyam, finishing their lessons early. So he shot you one last final glance and then headed off, his head shaking in annoyance. He’d already been told off once for fighting with the sully brothers, he couldn’t risk it again.
“What was that?” Neteyam questioned, watching Aonung walk away without uttering a word. You could only shrug in response, you couldn’t understand it either.
“I, I have no answer for you.” You sighed in defeat, Neteyam was under the illusion that the Olo’eyktan’s son saw you as food at the bottom of the chain. From what he knew, both you and himself shared a common enemy. This enemy declared themselves as so against your will, so he stood stunned. Not a single snarky remark, nor glare, just silence.
Silence amongst chaos was never good.
“Is he bothering you,” Neteyam questioned, eyes wide in anticipation but you could only shrug. Withdrawing from answering, you wrapped an arm around neteyams limb. He was like a brother to you now, by eywa’s grace him and lo’ak protected you like their own.
“Forget it, let’s go diving” and so you did, trudging past the prying eyes following your every move. You stood on the reef ready to jump only then realising that neteyam hadn’t pranced at the sight of the water. You pulled back your body, jumping onto his back and diving you both beneath the tide.
“Are you alright” Rotxo sweet voice asked, Ao’nung sat on one of the canoes beside the young metkayina, his best friend. Jaw clenched in anger, Rotxo slightly shivered feeling an impending doom if he pushed further, “Ao’nung” he bumped his shoulder earning a foul hiss.
“What” he snapped, moving his territorial gaze from the pinnacle of his eye to his brother in arms “What is wrong? you're quiet. You’re never quiet” he admitted, slightly frowning.
“Just thinking about multiple ways someone could get lost at sea, for the safety of our lessons” he lied once more, it was almost like one truth and one lie but Rotxo was convinced otherwise. He wasn’t dumb and knew his best friend like the back of his hand, hearing the words escape his mouth could only make the young boy cock his brow.
He hated you, so so much. The way your hair fell against your back, he hated your smile and pearly whites. He hated your nurturing nature, he hated how you gifted your love to everyone but him. He hated when you walked with a sway in your hips, he hated how your lips moved with malice when he was the one receiving. He hated that you cared so much for everyone, so deeply for the environment and your surroundings, he hated how you got lost in a trance if something was too beautiful, he hated how stubborn you were. He hated everything.
But there’s a thin line between hate and love.
The eclipse set in and you made your way back onto the sand, both you and neteyam crossed paths as you laughed happily pushing each other with a hint of playfulness.
“Rest well skxawng” you greeted him goodbye, flipping him off as you walked back to your families marui pod, Tsireya. Your sister, your closest and dearest friend smiled upon your entrance. Tonight your families shared a pod, every fourth eclipse both yours and the olo’eyktans family shared a feast. This was due to your own mother being close companions with the tsahik.
You didn’t miss the strong and heavy gaze coming from Ao’nung. You searched around the tent, seeking for a space that wasn’t beside him, but your mother only bowed her head and pointed towards the empty space right next to him. In hopes of not disrupting their important conversation, you steadily sat in the gap between him and tsireya, you felt a sense of comfort having Tsireya on the other side of you.
“Daughter, you’ve joined us, where have you been?” Your father tsayrem smiled “with Neteyam, Father. I was showing him the spirit tree” Tsireya passed you a bowl full of food, you look her way thanking her with your eyes, scrunching them in delight.
Ao’nung scoffed under his breath, and you twitched in annoyance “I’m glad you're making new friends, daughter” your mother finished, carrying on the conversation between her and Ronal.
“Since when have you two been so close?” The question arose from the deepest parts of Ao’nung’s curiosity, fueled by his resentment. His nostrils flared as he stared up at you, his head still bowed but his eyes never once left your own.
You averted your gaze, picking at your food “it is nothing you should be worried about '' you spat in hushed whispers, Ao’nung gripped the meat in his hands tightly, knuckles turning white.
“Well, I am. And you have no say in the matter,” he pushed his plate back, for a split second you could see the facade crack in his eyes and showed a hint of something you couldn’t quite make out, your heart began to race and your hands grew clammy.
“Are you two mated? Is that it.” He continued pushing in a hushed tone but the guttural growl vibrated in his chest, avoiding your gaze, his focus trained on the fire in the middle of the room. Darkness arose within the gleams of his oceanic orbs. A shadow casted over his features.
Your stomach arose in twists but you ignored it, he had no right questioning you about your life choices. Not now, not ever.
“Brother, stop harassing her. She’s done nothing to you. You are being rude” Tsireya defended you, although she didn’t quite hear the banter between you two she still had a gut feeling that if she did not speak up, things would go terribly wrong.
“I can’t stomach this” he confessed, His strong hands rested on his sides before he lifted himself from the ground, his biceps grew and withdrew catching your attention with a gulp.
You were sick of this, dropping your plate and following him out of the marui pod “Mother, may I excuse myself to go check on Ao’nung?”you asked earning a nod from your mother, Ronal and tonowari shared a surprised look mirroring that of tsireyas.
“Are you sure, sister?” Tsireya pried, caring for you. You nodded in response and headed out without further question.
Your heartbeat against your chest, nervousness spread through your system and your insides twisted and curled. You wanted to hurl out the food you had just inhaled.
But you couldn’t back out now, you needed answers. His behaviour was erratic, he hated you for years and suddenly he toys with your feelings as if they're nothing. If he wanted to play games, you were not joining. The past you would have endured it but you were no longer that person.
His braid swayed with his heavy strides, you grabbed at his arm pulling him back, he hissed pulling his hand away as if it burned him and you felt a crack in your heart.
No, no fuck that. This wasn’t you, you never cared what he thought, he never cared how you thought so why did you even bother.
“What is with the attitude” you confronted him, he towered over your frame. Strong shoulders and puffed chest “nothing is wrong, do not stand there as if you care” he spat, you had never seen so much rage in a person's eyes before.
“What are you talking about Ao’nung. We both have never cared about each other all because of you, what’s changed? Hmm? What? I need answers because as of recently that’s clearly shifted if your becoming fragile to my words as if yours do not sting ten times worse” you snarled, lifted your hands into the air, he stepped forward bending down slightly to match your height.
“Lower your tone and remember who you're speaking to” his voice was sinister, eyes cradling nothing but flames and you rolled your own “I’m speaking to a child who cannot control their emotions, you’ve been on my case since the sullys have arrived. And now this, if you spoke any louder you could have embarrassed both of us in there”
Ao’nung couldn’t help but feel the pull, his eyes itched to peek down at your curves. Staring into your eyes with pure rage but behind those flames was a child who loved the woman he was speaking to, a small and hopeless teenager seeking the anomaly that was you.
He was never going to be good enough to stand by your side, pushing you away was the only answer but now as he watches another man take his place he refuses to acknowledge it. He no longer wanted to push himself away, he wanted you and he’d make sure everyone around him knew sooner rather than later.
He wasn’t the best at showing it.
“You are one insult away from making me do something I regret” Ao’nung confessed, you were perplexed but more angered than ever. How dare he, the audacity to make this about himself.
“I could kill you right no-“ before you could finish your sentence Ao’nung captured your raised hand. Gripping it softly before harshly but swiftly pressing your back against the mangrove tree behind you, chest to chest but even closer than before. Ao’nung prayed to eywa this would shut you up. He captured your lips with his own, his eyebrows scrunched with contemplation and you fell victim to the boy you claimed to have nothing but hatred for.
Your hands were raised above your head and you reciprocated the kiss, pushing into him more and more, at first it was soft but he grew eager. He felt the swell in his chest burst, claiming every ounce of self respect he once had. Passion marked its territory.
His hand laid flat against your back, bringing you even closer to him, skin to skin and one you became.
You pulled away first but his lips followed your own like a tug, you were magnetic.
“I cannot believe you, stupid. You're so stupid” you punched against his chest, but he did not waver. Not once.
“I see you, I’ve seen you ever since we were children y/n. From the first time we rode Ilu together, to now. You’ve been who I’ve wanted for years but I did not think I was deserving, then I seen you with Neteyam and my heart could not bare it” Ao’nung leaned his forehead against your own, your back still arching against his chest, your breath hitched and you couldn’t bring yourself to remember how to even do something so simple.
“I could have stopped this, I could have told you sooner but I did not want to let the thought of us being something more grow. I was so wrong”
“Ao’nung, you stupid. Idiotic boy. How dare you do this to me and tell me you’ve liked me back all this time, you are so selfish” now it was his turn to widen his eyes in surprise, he looked at you in bewilderment.
“Back? You like me too?” He questioned, leaning back in confusion. You breathed loudly in disappointment, the silence was deafening within a few clicks of tension, you slowly began nodding your head. His smirk returned, the pull against his lips only did so much as torment you for your confession. He tilted his head to the side, eyes low and smouldering.
“Of course I do moron, like isn't enough to describe how I feel about you” Ao’nung groaned in response, teasing you with delight. A different sort of light had casted on him and you felt your body turn hot, not being able to tell if your stomach curled in regret or glee.
“I thought if I confessed, the insults would lighten”
“It’s hard to remember we aren’t fighting anymore, it takes a bit to adjust to” you scratched the back of your neck lightly, all of this confessing was new to you.
Ao’nung placed a tender kiss against your forehead, leaning down to your ear with a smile. Whispering with a husky voice, low so only you could hear and as his breath brushed against your ear, sending a tingling sensation through your body.
“I have something in mind that’ll help”
………….
Guys I’m a minor too just to clear the air, I didn’t actually read any of this properly and I’ll add the continue reading bar in the morning because it’s currently 2.24am in the morning and I can’t be bothered grabbing my laptop. Lemme know if this makes sense.
Sweet dreams x
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pussyeater!Satoru
A/N: okay, after finding these pics online and rewatching this scene, I'm absolutely convinced the jjk animators/artists wanted me to write this. 😆😆
pussyeater!Satoru can't stop thinkin about you. Nah, not since you gave him a taste of the sweet cream between your thighs. For fuck sakes, it had already been a month since the faculty New Year's Eve party but here he sits at work, daring anyone to interrupt him replaying the precious memory in his mind. Drinks were bountiful that evening, him even sneaking you guys an edible to split. Satoru thinks you probably don't even remember it the way he does: locked away in a tiny utility closet laying 69 style, knees on either side of his head. Tiny dress pulled up to your neck while you repeatedly pushing down on the tongue invading your insides. Your pretty red manicured fingers hold tight at his legs, mouthin at his cock incessantly. "Satoruuu! Oh baby, you're so good to me! Don't stop, need to cum so bad. Need you to make me cum soooo bad. Need you Toru!" He listens to how you moan his name just like in his dreams, the pitch of them so appealing to his steely dick. Fuck, he came twice, practically untouched, before you finally squirt in his mouth. "Ew.. Dude, take 5." Todo tells him, snapping Satoru outta his favorite daydream and back into the present. He's looking at Satoru's lap with absolute disgust, bout ready to sound off with another snarky comment but doesn't get a chance."Fuck off!" The response laced with so much venom and energy that Todo's actually knocked on his ass as Satoru brushes past him angrily.
pussyeater!Satoru doesn't understand why everytime he talks, you never make eye contact with him anymore. Really thought he'd have more access to you and your pretty lil pussy by now. He openly observes your frame as you stretch after a mission, wondering why things have changed. So different from how you affectionately gazed at him while he drank from your cunt, tugging at his hair and begging for more. Thinks you might actually have the fountain of youth between your legs; that he might seriously relapse if he doesn't get another dose. Fuck it, now or never. "Hey y/n, wanna grab somethin you eat?" He doesn't mean to lick his lips, honest! "With you?" Why the fuck are you so shocked? Makes his cute ass actually pout a bit. "Uh, yeah." "Alone?" Okay, nows he's a bit miffed. "Problem with that?" "Ummm.." You're looking at the exit, wondering how fast Satoru Gojo can run. He notices, not liking it one bit. Shit, he'd most definitely catch you. You're so embarrassed from the 'New Years incident', can't understand why the man wont let you cease to exist in peace. "Don't worry, y/n. Just food this time." He holds his arm out to you, smiling wide. His perfect white teeth make an appearance as he tries to ease your worries. Kinda works, your shoulders dropping their tense disposition as your pretty y/e/c eyes finally meet his. "K-kay Toru. Where to?" Oh he knows just the place, mouth already watering at the thought of what he was about to do to you..
pussyeater!Satoru is a fuckin liar; lied straight through his teeth. And now he's lyin underneath you, easily holding your trembling body in place ontop his upper chest. You're face down in his pillows, ass up naked as fuck, trying to peel his lips from your clit. He didn't bother taking off a single piece of clothing himself. Additionally, he'd already made you cum explosively but refused to stop. Satoru started off his attack with you on your back, his long fingers grippin your thighs firmly to pin you in place. Another mistake of your eyes darting to his bedroom door had him switching to your current position, frantically trying to inhale your saturated pussy. "T-toru, stoooop! Can't take anymore, need a break.." You whine at him for what must be the gazillionth time, but he answers the same way he did previously. "Uh mm." Not more than a nonchalant hum. The volume of your keens go up a notch as he shakes his head left to right, heinously slurping at you. You're so sensitive from your earlier orgasm and don't know why he's treating you this way. "Whyyyy Satoru- ohfuck! Too good.. Please, whatever you want.. Do anything, please!" Now that got his attention. His dick is so fuckin hard and he's not sure how much longer he can keep from cumming when you talk to him like this. He pops off your clit and stares up at you, lower face soiled with your juices. "Anything? Do anything for me, princess? You promise?" He slowly licks your essence from his lips, eyes closing briefly in bliss at your taste. "Y-yes." Why does he think you can do a damn thing when you can't even breathe? "Quit keepin my fuckin pussy from me and I'll think about it." Swollen lips reattach to your poor abused clit, making you squeal as your thighs squeeze the sides of his head; the most perfect pillowy earmuffs in Satoru's opinion. Fuckin guy doesn't quit till you gush. Every-fucking-where. You're literally raining down on him and it's everything he's ever wanted from life. Wish he could record how you drench his sheets, shirt and pillows. His cock won't stop twitching, the sensitive tip beating against his jeans. His nasty ass watches on, ego swelling as he holds his tongue out to savor you. Literally busts his nut to the feeling and taste of you drippin into his mouth.
"Mmm.. Taste so fuckin good. Thank you, baby."
#black reader#black fanfiction#black writer#all readers#all welcome#all women are beautiful#smut#dirty talk#pussy eater#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x black reader#gojo x black y/n#jjk smut#jjk#saturo gojo
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taylor swift and travis kelce who ?
it’s been about two days since the party, and god, sae wishes he never went. because now, the internet is blowing up about how he would apparently be dating you, and he is sitting in front of his exasperated manager and publicist who are desperately trying to make him understand the situation.
"why the hell would i date her ?" he spits out, venom laced in his tone. wasn’t he supposed to be a bachelor or something ?
"again, sae, it wouldn’t be real. just for a few months or so, you know ?" his manager pleads, like he has done so many times before (in vain.) the auburn haired male is about to retort a negation again, but is rudely interrupted when his publicist speaks up.
"do you not understand ? your following count has gone up by like, three million ? do you even know how many people came to your game last night just in hopes to see a glimpse of (name) in the bleachers ? do you realise how much good this would do to your reputation ? she is three times more famous than you, for god’s sake ! people are actually getting involved into soccer !" he screams out, tussling his hair beneath his hands, almost ripping his roots out.
"they call me (name)’s boyfriend." he says, voice laced with such disdain it almost gives his manager a heart attack.
"okay, maybe they do, but does that really matter when your salary has doubled ?"
and that, is how he finds himself in front of you, eating lunch, situated on a table a little too close to the window for his liking. he isn’t new to paparazzi, no, but he definitely doesn’t want to expose himself to the world like he is doing right now.
the restaurant is nothing fancy. it’s four stars, but the food is mediocre. the ceiling is white and high, littered with golden edges and big artificial chandeliers. the walls are white as well, and the structure makes him think of the fancy paris appartements, old, but beautiful. you’re sitting in front of him, another dress similar to the one from the party, albeit a bit more casual placed atop your body. outside, the sky is a vibrant blue, showcasing the contrasting yellow of the bright sun. everything screams fake and dishonest. the weather is too nice to be true for the end of november, and your uneasy expression gives away both your discomfort.
"um, so, tell me about yourself." you squeak out, fork playing with the rest of your food on your plate, avoiding his glare like you’re a little kid who just did something they weren’t supposed to.
"dunno. i play soccer. i’m twenty one, and-"
"no, not that. the real you."
he stays silent, and watches as your eyes bore into his. his brows furrow, what do you mean ? did he learn his whole practice speech by heart just for you to be uninterested in it ?
you sigh, and speak up again, "for example, i find comfort in consistent sounds. like the tapping of my heel against the floor that i know has been bothering ever since we sat down."
yes, he definitely noticed, and he cared, but he wasn’t about to make some rude remark about it, not when so many people were watching him. his brows furrow again. "i like green."
you hum, and the ghost of a smile is present on your lips. that’s good, right ?
"your eyes are green." you say, matter of factly, and he deadpans because yes, he knows that too so why are you pointing it out ?
"i know." he replies with a small gruff, as he stares at you again. you laugh, hand covering your mouth like he remembers you doing two nights ago. he doesn’t really know what’s funny, but he lets you finish, because even if you’re making fun of him, he thinks you’re pretty when he can spot your big toothy smile and puffed out cheeks. he looks away, pretending to stare at the glittering buildings in the distance.
"i originally didn’t want to be a middle fielder." he adds, and you smile again. he’s opening up.
"i originally never even thought of being a singer." you somewhat reply to him, the smile never leaving your lips even though he can tell this one is more forced than the previous one he witnessed.
but he doesn’t comment on it, he just hums. he never really was much of a talker anyways.
"who’s amaya ?" he finds himself asking instead, and his fiddles with his fingers when he hears a camera shutter nearby. you notice this, and place a hand atop of his in a way of unspoken comfort. the act causes more clicks to be heard, but you both pretend you are blind to it.
then you answer, your voice low, barely above a whisper like you are about to divulge to him some incredible secret. "my manager. she’s more of a best friend though, she takes care of me when life doesn’t."
his eyes slightly widen at your response, confused and intrigued at the same time. you aren’t blind, you see it, the lost look he gives you but you just flash your teeth at him and straighten your posture. "i’m just saying, you need a pretty good lawyer if you ever want to work in the music industry. shall we get out of here ?"
he nods, and lets you guide him to the backdoor like you have leaded the conversation. fifty hours ago, your name was one sae had briefly heard on the radio, but now, you were supposedly his and a lot more to handle than he imagined.
taglist (open)
@rroxii @hellothere9597 @melon-garden @kurowvie
#blue lock x you#bllk x reader#bllk#bllk x you#blue lock#blue lock x reader#fake dating#blue lock sae itoshi#blue lock sae#sae itoshi#bllk itoshi sae#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae#sae x reader
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HIIIIIII !! just thought of something else for sevika and vampire reader AHFBAFAFLS
since vampires and humans are quite obviously different, how would sevika react if the reader were to study her and how would the relationship be because of the different characteristics that vampires (nocturnal) and humans have?
black reader if possible pleasee <33 i love how you wrote it last time!
oh cute cute cute cute!
same disclaimer as last time, just incase this gets a new reader: i'm white! so i'll try to make it an obviously black reader, but if i get anything wrong lmk and i'll be happy to change it!
men and minors dni
the first time she wakes up to you watching her, she freaks out.
"what the fuck are you doing?" she asks. you shrug.
"watching you sleep."
"...why?" she asks, slowly sitting back down from where she snapped out of bed at the sight of you hovering two inches above her body, lovingly looking down at her.
you shrug again. "i like watching you. you're pretty." you say. she blushes a bit, and you grin, and she shakes her head.
"go to sleep." she grumbles, pulling you down to the bed, wrapping her arms around you. you laugh.
"i don't really sleep." you say. "just kinda close my eyes and wait for a while."
sevika pouts. "doesn't that get boring?" she asks. you shrug again.
"not when i can watch you." you say. she groans and you kiss her nose. "go back to sleep. i'll keep watch." you say with a wink. sevika scoffs.
sometimes, sevika will try to bring you home 'dinner.'
it's just road kill she grabs by the tail, smacking it on the counter with a grin as she presents it to you.
you don't have the heart to tell her that the blood you drink has to come from a relatively fresh kill. you just smile, kiss her, throw out the poor animal, and disinfect the counter for her.
i think sevika would generally keep the same hours as you, actually. she's probably pretty busy at nights, since that's when the last drop is open, so that's when she's working. it's kinda nice, because on the rare day that the sun aligns so it actually streams down into the depths of the undercity, you have to stay in the apartment, and sevika's always there to entertain you.
she'd be shocked to find out that garlic doesn't bother you.
"you're fucking kidding me!" she groans. you chuckle.
"why are you so upset?"
"i've been avoiding eating garlic for months for you!" she says. you burst into laughter. "do you know how fucking bland my food's been?" she asks. you just giggle and pull her in for a kiss.
"you're cute."
one night, as you're finishing up your skincare routine, lotioning your legs, sevika hums from where she lays in bed. you look over your shoulder at her.
"what?"
"i thought vampires were supposed to be all... pale and gray." she says. "how're you still so bronze and glowy?" she asks.
you burst into laughter and tackle her to the bed.
"that's just a stupid myth." you say. "we all keep the same skin tone we had when we changed."
"oh." she says, slightly embarrassed, blushing again. you pepper her face with kisses, laughing at the way she cringes.
sevika's kinda obsessed with your fangs. you'll catch her staring, a sparkle in her eye, and each time you do, her shoulders shoot up to her ears and she blushes as she looks away.
one day, you come home with just a bit of blood on your chin. sevika wipes it off for you, gasping when you lick it off her thumb. you blink up at her, and she gulps.
"is it... does it..." she tries. you're patient as you wait for her to gather her words. "i read once that s-sometimes... vampire feeding can feel good for the victim?" she asks. you grin.
"sometimes." you say, nodding. "if i want it to. i can inject a bit of... i dunno venom? into their bloodstream. makes 'em all hazy-- it's meant to be so they don't struggle, but a lot of people really like it." you say, giddy at the way sevika's eyes grow wider and wider with each of your words. she gulps.
"is that... i mean... do you ever think about...--"
"about drinking your blood?" you ask. sevika blinks. "all the time. you smell fucking divine, and i already know you taste good." you say, trailing a finger down to flick at her pants' button. "i'm sure your blood would be delicious." sevika's heart is beating so fast you worry she'll pass out. you just laugh and press a kiss to her cheek. "but i don't want to do that to you yet." you say.
"wha--why?" sevika pouts. you laugh.
"'cause i like you. don't want you with me just because you're addicted to the feeling, want you with me because you wanna be with me." you say, shrugging. sevika melts a bit.
"but you... you already know i'm in love with you." she mumbles. you blink.
"you are?" you ask. sevika blinks up at you, a shocked look on her face.
"you didn't know?"
"n-no!" you say. "you never told me that!"
"i thought you could read minds!" she says. you laugh.
"where the hell'd you get that?"
"my books!" she cries, a blush creeping up her cheeks. you grin.
"you need some better books, babe." you say, swooping forward to kiss her cheek. she sighs in embarrassment.
"i love you too." you whisper against her cheek. "though you probably already figured that out from the stalking and love letters and stuff." you say, chuckling. sevika smiles.
"i hoped so, yeah." she says. you laugh. "so does this mean you'll bite me?" she asks. you laugh again.
"not today." you say. "i wanna make sure it's perfect. gotta make sure i won't take it too far, either. we should probably start with, like, slicing your palm, before i drink from your arteries. i get a bit... primal, when i'm feeding." you say. sevika just shivers at the description.
"fuck." she mumbles. you grin and kiss her again, biting her lower lip between your teeth. she shudders as you tease your fangs against the flesh.
"but someday." you promise her. she gulps and nods.
"someday." she agrees.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki
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you know you never stood a chance - chapter five
you know you never stood a chance series
five: steal from yourselves
series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter
qz!Joel Miller x f!reader
Words: 2.2k
Summary: You and Joel fight while taking Ellie to Lincoln.
Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), cum play, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, no use of y/n, degradation, canon-typical violence and danger, mention of Tess, description of injury
also on ao3
He’s worse than a field of landmines.
You never know where you stand with him. One moment, he’s eating you out on the floor of a convenience store, his jacket under your hips to keep away the broken glass.
The next, he’s bitching about your eternal uselessness.
You get it. Sort of. The only purpose you ever served him was a set of warm, wet holes. Never mind the fact that he used to fuss over you. So now, out here, what good are you?
It’s that kind of thinking that makes you keep your mouth shut when you twist your ankle.
He’s there in a heartbeat when you fall, pulling you back up with one arm. You brush the leaves off your clothes and mumble your thanks.
“Dunno how you made it this long,” he grumbles. It’s a harken back to when you were sat at his kitchen table, broken wrist cradled in his gentle hands. It’s sickening, actually, to hear the venom in his voice this time around.
So you press on, ignoring the way your body is screaming in protest. Alarms blare, but you ignore them, keeping pace with Joel so he can’t find another thing to hate you for.
But Joel is Joel, and so when you stop for the night, he spies the swelling.
“Stubborn brat,” he says. “Coulda said something.”
“Oh yeah? What good would that have done?”
“How am I supposed to take care of ya if you don’t tell me when you’re hurt?”
You don’t look at him. You know it won’t last. He’s angrier more than he’s not these days, at least with you.
“What if we had to run? What if I counted on you to do something, and you got us all killed?”
Yep, there it is. You pull yourself up, sneering at him when your ankle protests. “I’ll save you the fucking trouble.” You grab your bag, and even though you know it’s stupid, you walk away.
You don’t make it far. The swelling has made it so much harder to walk, so you get around the curve of the street, about five houses down from the one Joel cleared, and slump on the porch. It has solid half walls, thankfully, so you’re concealed, and you don’t hear any noise or see any lights inside.
“That was fuckin’ rude,” Ellie says.
Joel’s head snaps to her from where he was still watching the road, the inky darkness of the moonless night having swallowed you up.
“Shut up,” he grunts.
“You’re just gonna let her go off and get fungified?”
“Ain’t my business what she does.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of fucked up.” But she settles down in her sleeping bag, too tired from the long trek to keep arguing.
You had just gotten home from work, still in your regular clothes, when Joel and Tess burst in. He was angry; she was loud.
They’d been bickering about some kind of pills, some kind of trade. You didn’t pay attention; they’d been very clear it was none of your business. Instead, you made a second cup of coffee with extra milk for Tess.
They were still arguing when you went to your room and shut the door. Your hands couldn't seem to unbutton your shirt, fumbling with each, until you gave up after the third and flopped on the bed. Fuck it. You were tired. And as much as you liked Tess, you were pretty sure this meant you weren’t getting fucked, and you felt a little petulant about it.
The door slammed. Your bedroom door flew open moments later. There was something in his eyes that scared you just a little bit. It also made you wet, so there was that.
“Why’re you still dressed?” he asked, already moving to rectify the situation.
“Dunno, didn’t seem like you were in a rush,” you said.
He had you peeled out of your shirt and pants and laid out flat on the bed in record time. He loomed over you, one hand grasping at your waist and the other wrapping around your neck as he bent to capture a nipple between his teeth.
You took a deep, shaking breath, a little dizzy from the barrage of sensations. He bit and licked your breasts, your neck, your chin. You moaned and squirmed under him until he squeezed your throat a little tighter, nipping at your ear.
He pulled away abruptly. “Need your mouth,” he said, tugging at you with the hand on your throat.
You scrambled up onto all fours and held your mouth wide while he stroked his cock a few times in front of your face. When his hand was out of the way, you replaced it with your lips, wasting no time in burying him deep in your throat.
You gagged, but held on, gut telling you he’d be more appreciative of your enthusiasm than anything else that day. You choked yourself on him, tears streaming down your face, but you were right. He rewarded you with a gentle hand cradling your head.
“Fuck, that’s it, good girl. Look at you, takin’ my whole cock.”
You moaned around him, warmth from his praise seeping down your limbs. It made it easier, somehow, for the head of his cock to batter your throat. He fucked up into you, grunting while you struggled to keep breathing.
When he pulled out, he didn’t bother to give you orders. He just shoved you back on the bed and parted your legs with his thighs. Grinning, he rubbed the head over your clit to watch the way you writhed for him.
“You want it, sweetheart?”
“Please,” you groaned, trying to spread your legs wider, be more accommodating. “Please, Joel.” You looked up at him with tears weighing down your lashes, lips turned in a pout.
He was too impatient to string you along, so he just smirked and pushed into your waiting cunt. You cried out from the stretch. Sometimes, it still burned and stung, like the first time, when he didn’t work you open first. Not that you could have waited that night..
There was something in the air you couldn’t quite identify. He fucked you open with vigor, but he was quieter than usual. He mumbled the occasional “good girl” when your moans betrayed a little pain, and his thrusts were smoother, deeper, like he was trying to hide something in your body for no one else to find.
He’d kill them if they tried.
He took you apart over and over, his thumb on your clit demanding your obedience. You gave him everything you had to give, sobbing when it became too much. He kissed the tears from your face.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, though it was not as cruel as he usually got. It was almost tender. He made up for it by returning a hand to your throat to coax another orgasm from your wrung-out body, biting at your breasts until you clamped down on him. He pulled out and covered your tits in his thick, milky cum.
He stayed over you, caging you in with his body. You were exhausted, eyes fluttering shut as you gasped for air. He took two fingers and smeared the cum all over your breasts, tweaking your nipples with slick-coated pads. When he was satisfied with his artwork, he stuck the fingers in your mouth.
You cleaned them off, humming softly at the buzz between your ears. He got up and tucked his cock away, looking down at you.
You forced your eyes open to see him. His forehead was creased, and his lips tugged down at the corners.
“Leave that there,” he said when he finally looked away, leaving the room without another word.
You lay panting on your bed, shivering a little as the cum dries on your breasts. He always cleaned you up after. Always.
You dozed off a little, startling awake when he entered a while later. You weren't sure how long it had been, but the sun had almost set. In the orange glow across your bedspread, he dumped an armful of… well, something. You couldn’t quite tell.
“Put these in your bag,” he said, rifling around in your closet and tossing the backpack at you. Clothes followed it, one of his long-sleeve shirts and a pair of sweats that unfolded in the air, smacking you in the face.
Your brain hadn’t caught up with him, still in the pleasant hallows of your dream, but your body knew what to do. When all else failed, it obeyed Joel Miller. You were dressed and standing before you were fully acclimated.
“Why?” you finally said, shoving handfuls of what turns out to be protein bars and batteries, bandages and clothing, and a flashlight into your backpack.
“Ya can’t stay here anymore,” he said, and you froze, a wounded sound slipping out.
“No,” he shook his head, “I mean when I’m gone.”
“Lead with that, asshole,” you grumbled. “But wait, then what—”
“You’re gonna have to come with me,” he said. He handed you a rolled-up sleeping bag, which you attached to the bottom of your backpack with the never-before-used straps.
“But why?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” He didn’t want to tell you what one of Robert’s men had said, how he had known that you were naive and alone in Joel’s apartment twice a month.
The man was dead, but if he knew, then you probably weren’t safe there anymore.
“How am I going to be safer out there? That’s where you go, right, outside the walls?” You’d never asked before. Better not to know.
He grunted, which, based on the tone and volume, was Joel for “yes.”
“I haven’t been outside in fifteen years.” You didn’t need to tell him how little you knew, even then.
“You’ll be safer because you’ll be with me.”
You were scared. You couldn’t hide it; you knew he could see it carved into your face. It didn’t make sense; he wasn't some superhuman; he was not repellant to Infected or the horrors beyond. But you were soothed by the thought nonetheless.
You had the bag slung over your shoulder and were toeing on your boots when he stopped filling his bag from the kitchen and came back out to look at you.
“Look,” he sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to. I won’t drag ya by your hair or anything. I just can’t protect you if you stay.”
“I’ll go wherever you tell me, Joel.” You didn’t mean to say it; your stupid, anxious mouth ran twice as fast as your idiot brain. But you found that you meant it.
“Don’t come cryin’ to me if you regret that.”
Well, you regret it now, but you’d die before crying to him about it, you think. You’re still buried in your sleeping bag on the porch, sun just barely cresting the horizon. You’re slumped down, saved from the damp, plastic carpet by the mostly intact cocoon. The porch is uneven, tilting to the right with decades of shifting foundation coming to haunt its shoddy construction.
It’s quiet. Birds chirp from somewhere as the dim light filters between the dilapidated carbon copy houses. You haven’t slept at all—too afraid.
A voice rumbles in the distance. Undeniably human, possibly male. For one second, your heart jumps, thinking maybe it’s Joel, and you won’t have to try to drag your ass back to him and grovel or find your way home.
And then you remember the reality of the situation. Chances are good that they moved on, and chances are even stronger that you’re not alone in this little subdivision. You don’t have time to wait and see what direction they’re coming from, let alone what they look like. You scuttle to the other side of the porch and jump from the top of the rail over the chainlink fence. You land hard on your side, trying to avoid actually breaking your ankle. It knocks the wind out of you, and there’s sure to be a bruise tomorrow, but you’re able to stand up and creep around into the yard.
There’s a back porch, raised high, with broken trellises along the bottom. At the far end is a garage, the sliding door hanging at an angle, and the regular door missing. Around the corner is an overgrown, dead garden, a doghouse, and the rusty frame of a trampoline.
They’re all shit options for shelter. But you’re not sure you could clear the fence from the ground without rattling it. You can hear boots scraping on the road, low murmurs spilling in their wake. Whoever it is clearly doesn’t want to attract clickers, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t looking for trouble.
You don’t have time to clear any of the hiding places. The garage and the porch are the highest risk for lurking Infected, but you don’t think you can fit quickly into the doghouse. You hear the sound of feet on the creaky front porch and dive for the garage, tucking yourself in around the corner from the regular door.
There are no Infected. There is a corpse, but it’s long gone to rot, skeletal and sickening, in a beach chair in the corner. The skull is shattered and jagged, and a revolver is on the ground. You sneak over and grab it. There are two bullets loaded and no more in sight. Hands wrapped around the grip, you press yourself back against the wall where you shouldn’t be able to be spotted from the house.
And you wait.
next chapter
*title from "Jars" by Chevelle
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#joel miller fic#tlou fic#tlou smut#joel miller smut#you know you never stood a chance series
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𝚬𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐍𝐆.
tags: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, fingering, squirting, corruption, virginity, infidelity, overstimulation, mention of m! receiving oral but does NOT happen...ayato calls himself your father and calls you his daughter because he’s a freak!! mot actually related. age gap mentioned, arranged marriage.
synopsis: i’m starving, darling. let me put my lips to something. let me wrap my teeth around the world - when your mother marries a man one year your senior you begin something that will last an eternity.
When you return, you find out your mother was to marry the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato and that your families were to be joined - you only took the news with a stiff smile and a nod to your head. With the passing of your father, the relationship between you and your mother dissipated into something sour and mist-like. She wasn’t always like this, maybe your father was the only thing in the world that could make her happy but when he left this world it seems so did the person she was once, all that was left is the vapid and vain shell of a woman you’ve never met before.
This world gives and this world takes, it took your father away and gave you the beginnings of the next phase of your life.
One where you have to call a man one year your senior father, who married a woman only enough to be his mother. The wedding ceremony was fast and happened in a blur, something so unlike the rest of the world created by Inazuman customs and it’s only when you move into the Kamisato estate is when you finally have a moment with your stepfather and mother. It appears Lord Kamisato has set his foot down to have quality time as a family. His little sister, Lady Ayaka is a beacon of shining purity just like what the rumors say and her company is pleasant to put it lightly. Thoma is kind, and understanding of what this feels like, familiar with the experience of acclimating to this specific household.
Dinner is a meal most familiar to you, warm towels for your hands - tea with pickled vegetables is served first before the heavier courses of rice and meats, for now, your miso soup grows cold as you just stare at the murky contents that reflect your mind. Only your mother is eating her meal as if this was the conclusion of a normal day, and you find that Ayato also leaves his food untouched. Tentatively, your eyes rise from the cutlery on the table to meet his - and you find it hard to look away. The young Lord Kamistato has always been heard to be handsome, it is the whisper that leaves every heiress and matchmaker’s lips but you find that such remarks fade to nothing when in the presence of such beauty in the flesh. His eyes are the same soft violet of the lightning Her Excellency controls and the mole on his lip is like an inverted moon, the mark calling your eyes among the white skin of his glass skin.
Your eyes widen, flinching on your cushion when his eyes flickered to your mother's look to what’s before him and then they look up at yours.
You are seen.
How terrifying is that?
A small smile graces his face, blooming like a sakura petal and it feels like you’ve seen spring for the first time in your life. He says your name, it sounds poetic when he speaks the characters that make up the sacred name you were given at your birth. He makes conversation with you, and you find yourself smiling while actually eating - he asks about your studies, what cultural affairs you’ve mastered, and which season you like best. You fail to see how your mother watches this exchange, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare at how you quietly laugh at his quips and wit. Dinner comes and goes, all the way the coldness your mother regards you does not thaw or melt - it’s as if her heart has frozen since the day her husband was buried and nothing could change the everlasting winter that lived within her body.
It is like this when the dinner ends and she leaves first, leaving her plates there for Thoma to clean up and she stalks to her shared room with the Lord of the House and Ayato frowns, for once looking like his age and no longer like the master everyone expects him to be since the loss of his own parents. The atmosphere that was once pleasant, and almost happy faded the moment your mother stepped away from the dining room, and now the air is tense with all things unsaid.
“I’m sorry about her, my mother…she - she has not been the same since my father’s death. Please don’t hold this against her.” You say, voice quiet and polite in the way you’ve been taught to speak since you could walk. Ayato turns to look at you, and you shiver in your seat again as you are trapped by those lovely eyes once again. Is this what a butterfly on a corkboard feels like? You find his gaze terrifying as it is lovely.
“It’s quite alright, I hope you don’t mind me speaking plainly but this was an advantageous match for me. I have no intentions of loving your mother, like the way your father did. I do not think there will ever be another man for your mother that could fill the hole of a husband as he could.” He explains, wiping his mouth with a napkin in the smooth and pristine way men of his class only could and you find yourself nodding.
“You would be correct in that assumption. She was changed much by the loss of my father and I understand this was arranged, all that I can ask is that you take care of her to the best of your abilities. I pray that is not too much to ask.” You say, inclining your head to show your respect to him, both as the husband to your mother and as the master of your new home. You can’t see how this makes him ball his fists under the table, knuckles growing white at your soft and delicate speech. Your mother was known for her ways, grief made her lose all her wits, and many men find her not to be a respectable match despite the wealth she carries both from her own blood and that of her previous husband. It is because of how she carries herself it has made many men, many fine suitors turn their eyes away from you despite how well of a match you would make for another man. Mayhaps that is why he took this match, you now being…his daughter in the legal sense could make you find a good match, and take you away from your mother and her wretchedness.
He blames his sympathy for women on his little sister, finds much of her traits that people love in you, and wants to sponsor your own growth so you may grow into a finer woman than you already are.
“Of course, and please do understand that I will take care of you in any capacity. I understand that me being your father may be uncomfortable for you but I do believe that every young woman should have a male figure that she could rely on entirely. I will do my best to fill such a role for you in the most respectful capacity. I do not wish to replace your father, I just want you to know I am here for you in any way you would like me to be.” He explains, rising from his position as head of the table and reaching out a hand to help you rise from your own seat.
He lets you fit your arm into the crook of his elbow and begins to lead you away from the dining room and to the bed chambers part of the manor and he nods when he sees Thoma once again taking the cutlery away. Ayato finds it difficult to walk faster, your company is so sweet it reminds him of the red bean mochi his mother made for him on his 12th birthday before she grew too frail to see him for his 13th. Your perfume fills his senses on the last turn to your new room, it sweetly makes its way past his cheek when you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and he finds his eyes tracing the line of your neck as you turn to bid him goodnight with a smile.
You step into your room, and the shoji board slides shut marking the end to a moment he truly wished was a moment more eternal. He makes to turn and makes his way to his own bed chambers he shares with your mother, and the towering castle of Tenshukaku is all he sees. In a moment of pure weakness as he will call this moment when morning comes and he prays - prays to his god that is most closest onto heaven and prays that you could be his rather than the woman in his bed.
The night does not go well for you, despite being dressed in your favorite sleeping yukata - the fabric of soft and loose against your body and does nothing to aid you in sleeping tonight. You think of your mother, of your father, and of Ayato. You fall into a trance of almost sleep and almost awake, every time you nod off you would wake to the image of your mother shouting at you and how Ayato smiled at you. Sitting up from your futon you sigh, bringing your hands to your face and shaking your head as the all too familiar stinging in your eyes makes embarrassment fill you from the inside out.
The only thing that soothes you in times like these was a stroll through the gardens of your home, counting the petals of the tsubaki when they are in bloom but this isn’t your home and you don’t know if there will be tsubaki petals to count when you arrive to the beautiful gardens you saw when you had first arrived. The moon is full, high in the sky, and through the shoji boards that make up your window you can see the branches of the tree in the gardens move in the gentle wind almost as if it waves you, beseeching you to see the garden in all its glory and who are you to deny what is asked of you? The manor looks different in the dark than in the light of day, no candles are here to guide you but the moon and you find yourself on the porch looking out at the blue flowers that glow in the night with a soft small.
The natural beauty of the world always soothes you in a way nothing else can and it can be seen in the smile you wear as bright and as high as the moon in the sky that watches over you. You are so entranced you don’t hear the footsteps on the tatami mats behind you nor the steps on the wood paneling until you hear the voice that has haunted you tonight since dinner started.
“You shouldn’t be here so late at night,” Ayato says, voice low and firm, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over. Your hair is down, no longer done in the style you had it in the day and you have forgone the beautifully designed kimono instead you wear a plain white yukata made for sleeping. He finds how cruelly unfair it is that you are ethereal in this state of undress - there is a lump in his throat, your eyes shine in the light of the moon and he finds that he wants you more than he has wanted anything else before. You look back at him over your shoulder, your smile falling at how the man that has haunted you stands before you in all his otherworldly beauty and your throat aches with all that is inside you begging to be freed.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I always come out to the garden when that happens.” You apologize, hands folded in your lap as you direct your eyes to fall where it is your hands are situated. Ayato’s eyes trace your figure that is bathed most intimately by the light of the moon with the same heat of the lightning that forks through the Inazuman sky and sighs deep from within. This is a joke, a cruel twist of fate that must be punishment for either his actions or that of his ancestors - that he wants you as the ocean waves want for the shores but can’t have you but must keep you close by the title of family.
“You must not do this again, the Kamisato family has many rivals. Doing this without a guard would prove to be lethal for you.” He lectures, sounding every bit of the elder brother he is, and though he speaks of dangerous, dark things you can’t help but feel at ease with him so near. Ayato is a pillar - in the realm of a beautiful dream that is this nation, a pillar in his house’s affairs, and now he is a pillar to your family. It should trouble you how easily you trust this man that was a stranger a week ago but now you find yourself wanting for him the way fire begs for wood to burn.
“You are right, forgive my lack of foresight my lord. It won’t happen again.” You apologize, head bowing in your admittance and Ayato is not a man strong enough to not watch how your neck moves, sakura petal eyes tracing down your decolletage that is revealed by the open folds of your yukata. He takes his eyes away from the action heavily as if he has stones in his heart at the idea of not having you before him. Nudging with his head he tells you to go back inside, you only catch the mole on his lip in the light of the moon as you rise from your seat on the porch. You make your way across, until you are beside him and you freeze when you catch the scent of sakura and cypress - soft and floral but still cuts through the soft scents of the garden in which you stand.
You once heard of a story in the far regions of the Mondstat, of a snake that tempts a woman to sin the garden of the Anemo Archon and you wonder if that was not just a story but a warning. Lord Kamisato - Ayato, he requested that you call him that is so, is before you and he is as beautiful as a pearl, shining in the palm of your hand; bringing you to him like a moth to a flame.
Mayhaps the snake in the story is you - the weaker parts of you, that relish in your desire and spit on your chastity. Here, in the garden face to face with a piece of you that you aren’t familiar with and a man that brings her into the real world, you find yourself unable to leave as you drown in between the sakura petals and the cypress leaves. Ayato spoke of the danger from rival clans but really doesn’t he know he is more dangerous than any poison or assassin? With a single look, a single word, and a single passing of his perfume he leaves you in shambles, and everything about your life is swallowed by the flames and you can think about wanting him.
From his princely build to the way his hair falls and his eyes shine, he is what you most want at this moment - maybe all you will ever want for the rest of eternity. At festivals Lady Ayaka most often speaks the words most familiar to all Inazumans - We pray to our god, may all our dreams endure forever. In the past, you’d find such sentiments noble but now you can’t help but find them cruel, this must not endure - the heartbreak on your mother, the shame you both would be at the hands of should sapling bud and bloom into a flower you could never take back.
No, this must not go on from the moment you leave the garden. So why is it that you can not make the last step? You can’t leave this place, standing at his side and gazing up at him with all the wonder of first love.
“You need to go back,” Ayato says, his voice heavy when he says your name, “please go back to your chambers.” He urges, eyes locked on the shape of your lips and he curses himself for thinking about tracing the cupid bows of your lips with his tongue.
“I can’t.” Your voice wavers, shy and scared of what you are about to admit - speaking of the things that only exist in your heart makes them real and you can’t help thinking of all the repercussions this would bring if you say what is in your heart.
“Why can’t you?” Ayato asks, hand clenched in a fist and he knows the answer despite it wishing it would be anything else but the truth he knows. The Lord Kamisato is not good at dealing with the truth, all his matters are worked with the materials that lie in the shadows - deceit, manipulation, and veiled threats. All that is around you is but an illusion, only trust what is before you to be true and he desperately wishes you could be anywhere else but before him, as it is what makes the sentiment in your heart to be true.
“The same reason you came here, for me.” You say and it is like the lightning and thunder of his god have struck him down from his place in heaven to the earth. Ayato swallows, heavy and thick and he turns his gaze to look you in the eye. Oh, how lovely you are in the moonlight and Ayato does not curse himself when he thinks about how lovely you would look bathed in the candlelight laying under him in the bedding of his futon.
“Can you fault me? How do I look away now that I have seen you?” He speaks so softly you have a hard time remembering that he runs the darker underbelly of the Yashiro Commission's affairs along with the other commanders - they are the sword that Her Excellency wields in her nation and to keep the peace you can only shudder to think about what dark deals transpire in the shadows of your country.
“I feel the same, something changed tonight. I know it is for you too.” You say and it’s the best you can manage - words such as I love you, I want you, You should be mine instead of my mothers are too dangerous as if they are coated in a poison that would stop your heart should they escape your lips.
“Yes. There has been a change.” Ayato chokes out, his own admission heavy but finds whatever noble words he wanted to say do not come out. Instead, they die, turning to dust on his tongue leaving him parched for a thirst that can only be satisfied by you - your essence in him, surrounding him in a way that only the most intimate of lovers know of. All nobility leaves his lean body with each step he takes toward you, sheds off like snakeskin as he lets his hands cup your face and he finds that sin tastes of you. You gasp at the gentle touch of his kiss, the first one in life by a man and you find yourself accepting it, and the vain, vapid part of you that you have tried so hard to rein in explodes within yourself as you let your hands tremble and clutch at his own robe.
Something small and soft, an ember grows into a wildfire as his tongue swipes at your lips for entrance and your gasping mouth concedes naively as you moan into his own mouth when takes your tongue to suck on. Ayato is a teasing kisser - sucking and nipping and tracing the curves of your teeth to leave you gasping hotly at the foreign experiences that make you break out into goosebumps under the night sky in the garden.
When he breaks away because the gods have cursed him by needing to breathe and not being able to sustain himself off of you completely, he follows each movement away with a peek at your flushed mouth. Pressing his forehead to yours he looks into your eyes, hazed and dimmed with the rush he gave you; he twitches at the thought of that being your first kiss and that tonight, if you let him he will be your first everything. You are sweeter in your affections, pressing fleeting kisses to his lips and brushing your nose to his chin as he pants back his breath, his hands still cupping your cheeks. His thumb rubs at the soft skin and he laughs under his breath quietly at the observation he makes at the moment.
“Your skin - it’s soft, like mochi.” Ayato comments, voice soft and deep, coated in desire as he presses kiss after kiss on your soft cheeks that you giggle at their plushness. You quickly shush yourself and take a quick look around.
“The guards won’t be here if that’s what you are concerning yourself with.” He says, turning his face to whisper into your ear - pressing a gentle peck against the gentle shell and humming amusedly when you gasped at the ticklish sensation. His hands have long since abandoned their hold on your face and you only squirm in their descendent as one settles at the swell of your breast. You gasp, your own soft hands coming to clutch at his wrist when Ayato lets out a pleased hum at the weight of your breast in the palm of his hand, thumb swiping at where the visible pebble of your nipple in the thin fabric.
“Have you ever been with anyone else before me tonight?” Ayato asks his voice smooth as a river and it might be from how he’s touching you, groping you with expert hands that leave you muddled and but you can only give him a soft little “what?” to his question. Ayato’s other hand soon settles itself on the curve of your hip that can’t be seen from the form of your yukata so when it is found - it leaves you trembling when his fingers trail over the curvature, even going as far to make them dig into the plush of your backside.
“I’m asking - sweet little thing if a man other than me has ever been where I am? Has a man kissed you as I have, touched you here,” he is interrupted by the harsh squeeze on your breast that makes you whine,” or there.” Ayato finishes off with a hard squeeze and light tap against your flank that makes you gasp and wilt in his hold.
“No- no one has ever- been where you are before.” You hastily say, voice high and thin as you stutter when his hands grow more and more demanding. Whining when Ayato looks into your eyes and nods when his hand goes under the folds of your yukata, your pure skin shining in the moonlight. You are soft like tsubaki petals and sweet like mochi, Ayato thinks - virginal is the word to describe you from the heat in your cheeks and the doe eyes you give him. He can see your chest in full, enticing and calling for his attention which is received in quick tugs of your tight nipples that make you gasp. Squirming against his touch, you are open to the hot open mouth kisses he places against your neck.
“No marks - please,” You gasp out, your voice withering at his ministrations and you are given a soft nod from him. His hand that was busy pawing your ass has made its way to your front, where the tie of your yukata waited to be undone by his expert hands.
“We can’t have anyone know you were with your new stepfather like this can we?” He teases, hand undoing the knot, finding its way through the silken fabric and pressing against the undergarments you wear. Stuttering at how his fingers press unto the now damp gusset of your panties, you whine into his ear.
“Don’t - don’t call yourself that right now. It’s-,” you are interrupted by the soft moan you let out when his fingers roll against the flushed pearl of your clit in your panties that only grow to be soaked at his slow ministrations. Ayato is experienced and cruel in how he plucks at your strings as if he was the finest koto player in all of the world and you, his instrument.
“It’s what my dear? It appears you’ve lost your thought.” He teases, voice dark like sin and you shudder when it is poured by a kiss at your neck and his fingers making their way past the barrier of your soaked underwear to touch your bare cunt for the first time. They swipe at your folds, collecting the clear nectar you leak so sweetly for him as he waits for you to speak again.
“It’s perverse.” You speak but it comes out like a whine, voice pitched by the haze of lust and you are helpless to how he keeps his fingers at your folds, mapping out the petals of your own flower that blooms so prettily for him. When one goes inside for the first time you squeak at the intrusion, your own hands coming to clutch at his arm as his finger is curled and pumped inside of you.
“Ah, yes it is but you see dearest,” Ayato tilts his head at you with something darker than mischief dancing in his violet eyes, “that is all more reason to call myself such a title - I fear I have quite the penchant for all things perverse.” Anything you want to say next dies on your lips as the second finger makes its way inside of you, joining the first one in how it curls against the spongy spot on your walls that he found with his expert touch. You gasp and shake as you slick his fingers more and more, to the point you wonder if what it is you two are doing can be heard from on the other side of the manor.
You hate yourself for how you feel your cunt clench around him, slick now dripping onto the wood floor beneath you like drops of rain. His thumb aligns itself with your clit and it’s as if one had bottled the lightning that most commonly dances in the sky into your body and only now do you notice how it sings in your veins. Such is the manner of pleasure, one could assume.
Ayato has brought your face to his, violet eyes that will forever haunt gaze at the “o” of your mouth and the scrunch of your brow and he knows what is about to happen to you. The sea of pleasure crashes at your ankles and he will be the one to take you to its depths.
“Go ahead, pretty thing, fall apart for me - for your father.” You feel the saltwater of pleasure crashing onto you, it sinks into your bones - deep into the marrow that slips into each drop of blood that pumps into your heart. One of his hands, you don’t know which one comes to your mouth and steals every moan and cry you let out. It is too much pleasure, too much shock and you don’t have it in yourself to be quiet when everything feels too good for you right now. Ayato does not still his fingers, keeps them focused on the bundle of your nerves intent on making you spill across his fingers in ways that you’ve never done - not for anyone, including yourself.
When you whine against his hand, his palm as warm as the sun he only chuckles softly - the sound sends something hot into your blood and in your sore stomach as the band that had snapped rewinds again and it feels so good it aches.
“Pretty thing, I want something from you and I will have it - give your father what he wants. Be good for me.” It is as if the thunder god had struck you herself as light flashes across your eyes when the shut - squeezed tight as tears from your eyes and tears from your cunt slide out. Ayato - your stepfather’s hand is coated in your slick that shines like the petals in Chinju Forest in the light of the moon. You feel weak as if Ayato was a vampire, a demon that had sucked the life out of you and left you as nothing but a shell. The night does not end - when the Lord of the house himself sees you as you are before him, unclothed and washed in sin how could he ever look elsewhere? How else is he supposed to send you on your way with a satisfied cunt while his cock pulses in his own robes?
It is a mercy that he won’t have to, it seems.
Not when he sees you languidly tying your robe loosely, enough so it closes at your legs but open enough he can see your heaving breasts and tight nipples. When he wets his lips he thinks about them in his mouth and how cute you sound when you squeal from having them played with. His mind goes to a complete blank when he sees you drop to your knees, pressing your knees to the wood that was now tainted with drops of your cum - nudging your face to where the tails of the tie around his waist fall.
The hot bulge of his cock can be felt, and Ayato moans softly when you press the shape of your lips to the imprint. His hand that once quieted you, quieted him in turn and he murmured softly into the heated night air as he let another hand run through your loose hair.
“Now where did you learn this - this is what pleasure women do, did you know that?” He asks a teasing question meant to fluster you at the mention of such a salacious occupation.
“It’s also something that wives do.” You say back, voice muffled by the fabric of his robe and he half chuckles half moans at the tease of your breath against his neglected cock that seems determined to break free of the confines of the fabric.
“Oh? Is that what you want from me - is being my daughter not enough? I never would have mistaken you for a greedy woman.” You whine pitifully - face warm when he mentions what it is that binds you together.
“Stop calling me that when we are like this - it’s a cruel joke.” You say, allowing yourself to be manipulated by him until you realize that you are no longer on your knees but rising to your feet, and pushing yourself in the direction of your chambers.
“Why are you sending me away? You still haven’t-”
“I know, and I won’t, at least not tonight.” Ayato cuts you off, voice firm as he watches you stumble with shaky legs like a newborn fawn. You’ve clutched the opening of your yukata closer to yourself, it reeks of sex and sweat, and things better left unsaid. You tremble as you stand and Ayato finds himself back at your side as he puts a hand on your waist to keep you steady.
“Why?” You ask and he finds it most amusing how your voice has now grown timid, it’s sweet almost and he has always delighted in sweet things.
“Because you aren’t a whore, or my wife - I won’t fuck your cunt or your face like one. You are a lady and I will fuck you one like another time and in another place.” He announces, voice unwavering as he keeps on the right path of sending you to your chambers. It’s later than it once was and the chill will soon take you now that you are not partaking in any strenuous activities - you are open to being taken by it.
“You want to do this again?” You ask, voice as soft as an owl’s wing and Ayato can’t help but coo at you - such an innocent little thing he has in his grasp. How will he be able to focus on other matters with you in his home? He has no idea but he has always found a thrill in the sadistic game of wanting what’s right before you.
“Dearest now that I have had you, I fear there is no one else I could want. So let’s do our best to enjoy it while it lasts.” He teases and he pushes you forward, into the halls that lead to your bed and you find yourself looking back at the man that in a single night has you in his web. Ayato smiles at you, and you fear something wicked this way comes.
“Get some rest, daughter dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.” with a shiver running down the notches of your too-delicate spine, you run back to your chambers and find that sleep takes you in her arms much more openly than before.
And when you wake up and sit across the periwinkle-haired man you find that the night before was not a dream but rather the reality upon which eternity is built on.
#lamb.writes#tw:stepcest#ayato smut#ayato kamisato smut#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#tw: infidelity
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holy shit you guys, look, there's more.
bg3 culinary headcanons: Absolute Edition
- Minthara: would accidentally fit in as the Addams Family home chef (and be angry about it). Gomez would praise her assassination attempts which flusters her (internally) because she's cooking with the normal amount of poisonous mushroom and not an attempted murder amount (and also she would hate loud, in-your-face-chaotic Gomez SO MUCH. if she wanted him dead, he would be dead, do not insult her assassinating abilities). makes the coolest Halloween party food until you realize it's not fun, spooky-mimicry decoration, those are real black widows on those cupcakes (what? they're venom and merlot flavored) (she used cricket flour, too). you don't know where she gets the "red" for her red velvet cakes, but you *do* know that ignorance is bliss and this is a pretty bitchin' birthday cake, so don't think too hard and just eat it
- Dark Urge (pre-game/embrace): slaughterhouse nightmare aesthetic - chef's apron is leather and something more appropriate for blacksmithing, there are way too many cleavers around (why in the blue fuck is there a meat hook over a drain in the floor?). some people watch tv when they cook. some listen to music, podcasts, or nothing. Durge listens to the Toy Box killer kidnapping tape (not to be mixed up with the (not safe for LIFE) Tool Box killers torture tape. that one is for relaxing baths). watches Dahmer documentaries for culinary inspiration. Hannibal Lecter would find most Durge dishes tasteless and over the top.
- Ketheric: listen, he didn't want me to tell you this [so you did NOT hear it from me], but he actually doesn't eat. he has a symbiotic relationship with the bacteria and fungus that keep his body animated and undying (they're why his blood is black). he consumes rotten things to keep his corpse puppet fungus happy and the corpse puppet fungus allows him to keep his consciousness/sentience and keep serving Myrkul. Myrkul's cool with it, as long as his bidding continues to get done
- Orin: Martha Stewart would have a nervous breakdown upon entering Orin's kitchen. the average person would consider Orin's cooking to be a hate crime. if someone doesn't vomit uncontrollably upon first sight, she considers it an insult (she grew up with a gross misunderstanding of what a Roman vomitorium is). her spaghetti and meatballs is wrapping a handful of uncooked noodles in unseasoned ground meat (she neither knows nor cares whether it's fish or chicken or cow. meat is meat), then baking it in a casserole dish sprinkled with still-condensed tomato soup from a can. Midwestern casserole cooking brought to you by Hell. doesn't use salt because she finds it too spicy. she has an entire pantry section for savory jello
- Gortash: culinary techbro. kitchen is spilling over with unitasker gadgets ("and THIS contraption evenly distributes heat for the perfect boiled egg! what do you mean 'what else does it do'. it boils eggs perfectly i already told you, why the fuck weren't you listening"), and the most stupid, overengineered 'smart' devices ("no no no, you don't understand, this is so helpful. the fork connects to the plate to measure the temperature of the food, and then the plate changes color to warn me if it's too hot, and then i don't burn my tongue, because i really hate that"). despite all of the pricey kitchen shit that he keeps buying, he's skilled at making exactly one dish: microwaved Totino's pizza rolls
(i'm sorry if Gortash is out of character; my brain replaced his voice with John Oliver's and won't put the original back)
if you want more bg3 culinary headcanons, there's also: the Companion Edition
#soldat buck wrote something#bg3 minthara#minthara#minthara baenre#bg3 ketheric#ketheric thorm#bg3 dark urge#bg3 durge#durge#dark urge#bg3 orin#orin the red#enver gortash#bg3 gortash#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#culinary headcanons#bg3 culinary headcanons#i should've made this a separate post in the first place#oops lol#bg3 hcs#bg3 headcanons#the dead three
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Excuse the rambling but we have our own mer au and possible crossover potential just crossed our mind and we need to ramble (its not gonna be made canon to our au, but still)
Our mer boys are a leviathan species, which typically is very solitary, but some families are unusually social. Moon was born to one of those families, but they disappeared when he was very young, leaving him alone and desperately needing social interaction, so he goes off and does the only thing that can get the leviathan mer gossip chain going (hoping to get attention); killing something your size or larger, the more fierce the better....baby Moon was about the size of an orca so......
In canon that fight doesn't go well for him, if Sun hadn't saved him he wouldn't have made it, but how hilarious would it have been if the orca he'd chosen was Eclipse (who would be considered a different mer species, not leviathan class. Fully grown leviathan Moon's hand would be about the size of Eclipse's whole body). Eclipse just living his life and suddenly a mer comes up and tries to fight him, but from the body language the strange mer is like, the human equivalent of a 6yo, even though its basically the same size as him
Moon would still very thoroughly lose the fight (Eclipse is probably smart enough to leave when another giant baby mer covered in spines comes to the rescue, but he's still an adult and he can handle a mildly venomous baby), but man would that be a thing that would baffle Eclipse for a while, what the hell was that giant baby and why did it come out of nowhere to fight him for no reason? He fought back because it was in his territory, but the baby didn't even seem to be from the north??? (Would he be unnerved if he met a fully grown leviathan later? If he was it would probably only last the length of time it took for him to realise the adult leviathan had no interest in fighting or eating him, after that he just wouldn't care)
(You've reblogged art of our boys before actually! This one! They're not fully fully grown here, but they're close!)
Anyways! Sorry for all that! Had to get that idea out there or else it'd keep taking up brain space bye!
Ahhh, that's so cool to think about a little crossover! And I remember your pretty mer art!!! Love seeing the boys as giant fishies ♥
As for Orca!Eclipse handling a large baby mer, he'd be so, so confused, and a bit harsh towards an aggressive other creature, even if said creature is technically a little kid—think an adult dog snapping at a puppy to remind the younger one to respect the older one. Not being harmful but still correcting the bad behavior.
When another enters the area? He's even more confused and just, wondering where these babies' families are. It is terribly wrong to have ones so young alone, but with that, he wouldn't want to stick around in case the much bigger adults came looking for their offspring. He'd put some distance but watch them from afar to make sure they turned out alright!
(He'd be very unnerved by a mer-creature so much greater than him. Eclipse is used to hunting and eating prey larger than himself, but not facing a predator so much larger than him)
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*stares at the ‘but I think you freaks want them to eat you’ tag and simply pretends I do not see it*
you've all worn me down. tw for cannibalism that isn't a metaphor for sex, body horror, gore, dead dove do not eat
Nobody look at me, I was in the hannibal fandom a long ass time...
Threat hums tipping your head to one side then the other, their smile is wicked and unkind, but their eyes sparkle with something almost pleased as they consider your request.
"If you don't-" You start and they cut you off, their hand dropping to your neck and squeezing a silent warning.
"No I do. I just don't have many people that actually want to be eaten," They explain, "I'm deciding what to start with." You feel excitement starting to shake in your bones, shivery with some strange delirium as they look you over. "Do you want it to hurt?" They ask finally.
"Please." You respond, instead of getting on your knees and begging. They hum again. There's something sharper about their teeth when they smile, something that makes you let out a breath as shaky as your limbs feel. They let go of your neck and twirl their finger.
"Turn around pup," They tell you, and you hurry to comply. Though the way they slip their fingers into their mouth, their tongue stroking over the long elegant digits, makes you want to stop and watch. You swallow down your nerves and feel their slick fingers pushing your shirt up, running down your spine. There's a sharp pain that settles into a dull throbbing pressure, alien, so very alien.
You tip your head to the side as Threat presses close, runs their tongue along your neck. It's the sharp sting of their teeth that distracts you from the twist of their fingers, the razor edge of their nails as they slice the blood vessels around your kidney. It hurts and some terrible instinct forces you to try twisting away. There's a sickly squelch, blood dripping down the front of your shirt, and warming the back. Threat growls against your skin, warning you away from moving too much.
Their hand pulls back, drags through whatever incision they made in your skin, and you shiver at the feeling. It doesn't hurt, but maybe that's not the right word for it. It does hurt, there's a vacuous spot in your body that seems only held together with the strange venomous magic they pump into you, but the warm pulse of the ache drips wetly between your legs. It's only when they pull their hand free that the pain seems to swell, consuming you like fire as they hold one of your kidneys in front of you. The organ throbs weakly as they extract their teeth from your neck, lick the blood that flows like a faucet, and press a placating bloody kiss against your jaw.
"You don't need this," They tease, laughter clear on their tongue as it drags against your earlobe, "do you baby?"
#tw cannibalism#this is based on one of my puppygirl friends#who has been going insane on twitter recently#honestly I respect it#this is for all the folks that want scary women to put their cigarette out on them#I see you#oc x reader#oc: threat#reader x oc#x reader#x oc#tw gore#tw body horror#*neopets voice* I literally don't respect any of us#is this good for you
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Because of certain advantages that they give, a lot of 21st century companies actually encourage their workers to become various types of monsters. Witches can cast helpful spells. Werewolves are bigger and stronger than humans in their wolf form. People infected with fae "madness" often have physical abilities other people don't. Demons don't eat or sleep and don't physically injure easily. And the list goes on. Monsters are still very marginalized, and the people who own these companies would never think to become one, but they're seen as the ultimate workers by many, the perfect dehumanization. Most people still don't want to become monsters for many reasons, but that's not the same as what companies want from people.
Your roommate is a musician, she's semi successful, specially as a singer. Legally her employer can't request she become a vampire but they're heavily pushing for it, she's ultimately free to do what she wants, but they make sure to let her know becoming one is what she needs for her singing career to take off. She's twenty three right now, every year she ages she's considered "less appealing" to audiences, but if something were to happen to make her stop aging entirely every music producer in the city would suddenly consider her a more valuable asset.
Eventually she orders some vampire venom, the stuff that makes people turn when they survive a vampire bite, online off of the grey market. She's weirdly excited for it. She has one last night of eating solid food, enjoying her favorite meals before she can't anymore. Every time she has second thoughts she asks you or one of her other friends to stop her, because it's not like she's exactly going to have a job if she doesn't do this. She takes some time at the meusum to learn a bit about vampire culture. Watches the sun set incase she's not able to see the sun when she changes. She asks you if you want to have sex with her, because so many vampires are asexual she knows this could be her last time for that too. You ask her what she think she'll miss most about humanity, she says she doesn't know, vampires are so diverse she won't know what she'll lose or gain. Then she falls asleep for the last time as a human, and lets the venom flow through her blood.
When she wakes up you hear a horrible noise. See, vampires are very diverse, immortality and bloodsucking is all they really have in common. And while a lot of them are very human like and sometimes even considered more attractive than humans, others are fully monstrous looking, and very alien to humanity. Sadly, she ended up becoming a subtype in the latter category. She's barely recognizable, her hair was bleached white, and her eyes pink pupiless orbs like a rat's, and her skin so pale you can see veins and organs underneath. She lost so much weight in the transformation you can barely, going from having an hourglass body type, to being so skinny you can see her ribs. And most disturbingly of all, her mouth has twisted into a perfectly round and always open hole, with rings of sharp fangs, just like a lamprey's, her upper and lower jaws are permanently fused, she'll never sing or so much as speak again.
Within a week her life is kind of ruined. She's from one of those subcategories of vampire that's so monstrous most vampire activists distance themselves from them. She can't sing, and nobody wants to see someone like that play guitar. Her family disowns her for religious reasons, telling her their daughter is dead. She's extremely light sensitive, not only can she not see the sun, she has issues with any bright light, there's a reason why most vampires of her subtype live in the subways.
She hates her body being like this, when she looks at her face in the mirror she starts crying, she cries a lot actually. She moves differently now, she crawls on all fours and climbs flat walls like a bug almost as much as she stands up or sits down, and when she does sit it's in very inhuman poses. She seems to hate the way she feeds, leaving way larger wounds than most vampires, and her main source of blood being rats for the time being, she cries whenever she feeds. Her reproductive organs have changed into a single hole, which fishlike eggs come out of, and hatch into little minions that she seems really afraid of, though they seem to want to please her. She didn't even lose her sexuality so the lack of normal genitals hurts her even more. Beyond everything else she's upset that she has no mouth, her voice was always her most noteworthy feature, the way she expressed herself. She can't even talk, now, having to use AAC to communicate. She used to sing as a way of venting or calming herself, and now she can't. All of her friends try to be supportive, but a lot of them are really uncomfortable around her being like this, one of them even told you he doesn't see her as the same person anymore. It's hard to even get sympathy, when most of the world sees her as a vain woman who got what she deserved seeking eternal youth, without most people knowing she didn't have a choice.
You try to be nice to her. It's the best you can do. You let her wear your comfy clothing, and stay up at night to keep her company. You try to give her a lot of physical affection, which she seem to want a lot more now, it really helps just to pet her and cuddle her. And you call her pretty, and call her sweet and lovely, and that seems to help her. You'll also spend time just talking to her, she seems to like just listening to you now. You also watch TV with her, just because you don't want her to be alone, she keeps rewatching things from her childhood, like clone wars and Steven universe, just as a weird way to remember when she wasn't like this.
She still makes music. It's different now, music that she can make purely with software on your desktop. But it's beautiful in a way that nothing she made before was. There's something so strange and impactful about it, and when she's confident enough she posts it, and she gets a following. It's a lot of other monsters who seem to enjoy it, people who've been rejected by society in a way that can't be put into words without cheapening it. The type of story told best through a wordless song.
#196#my thougts#worldbuilding#writing#my worldbuilding#my writing#fantasy#leftism#urban fantasy#leftist#anticapitalism#anti capitalist#cyberpunk#vampirism#vampires#vampyr#vampire#vampcore#magical realism#original fiction#flash fiction#short story#short fiction#sympathetic monster#hurt/comfort#hurt/aftermath#aac#actually neurodivergent#neurodivergent#body horror
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and all my ghosts are with me
Pairing: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson
Rating: Mature
Chapters: 1/1
Words: 4,511
Preview below the cut
“Chrissy, sweetheart,” her mother says gently. “You need to try and eat something.”
Chrissy’s chest shakes with a low, dark chuckle. Words she never thought she’d hear Laura Cunningham say. She stares at the ceiling but doesn’t see it.
When Chrissy finally speaks, her voice sounds like someone else’s.
“I’m not hungry.”
The corner of the bed dips as Laura takes a cautious seat. She runs her lithe fingers through Chrissy’s stringy bangs, moving them out of her face.
“Maybe you’d like to take a hot bath? I could…help you wash your hair. Like when you were little. How does that sound?”
Chrissy feels hot tears prickle at her eyes, a bitter spiral in her stomach. She turns away from her mother, curling her body around a pillow.
Her teeth feel like they don’t belong in her skull. She can feel the hollowness of her bones.
“Chrissy,” her mother tries again, a hint of actual emotion in her voice. “Please let me help you. I know that you loved that boy, but—”
“Love.”
“What’s that?”
Chrissy wrests herself up from the mattress, raising her head to look Laura in the eye.
“Love,” she repeats, the word like venom on her tongue. “I love him.”
Read on Ao3
#writers on tumblr#cyraclove writes#hellcheer#fanfiction#stranger things#eddie munson#fanfic#ao3#eddissy#chrissy cunningham#chrissy and eddie#eddie x chrissy
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f. hargreeves oneshot
rating: mature - for cussing and sexual innuendos
prompt: “please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” “why don’t you come over here and make me?” credits to @malabu ‘s enemies to lovers prompts
a/n: five is 19 physically but 30 mentally, as well as reader. reader is also gn (:
never again will you go on a trip with klaus and five. klaus had claimed it was a nice trip to pennsylvania, but you knew that dick had other plans in mind. you were already on edge because five tagged along, but finding out the trip was for klaus’ journey to find his mother and the two village idiots who were his emotional support dogs on this trip really pissed you off.
“are you shitting ME KLAUS?” you bark from the backseat.
“okay LOOK i knew you wouldn’t come if i told you why!”
“i’m supposed to be RETIRED YOU ASSHOLE.” five chimes in, his yell actually hurting your ears. “CAN YOU SHUT THE HELL UP I CAN’T HEAR CAUSE OF YOUR YELLING!” you scream in fives ear.
“WHAT I CAN’T HEAR YOU?!” he taunts back, a completely stupid grin forming on his face.
god you wanted to punch it. his gut renching, horrifyingly good looking face. you and five..were definitely a pair. the hargreeves siblings knew your relationship quite well. they expected the two of you to get along considering you both were stuck in your younger selves. and god were they so wrong. nonstop banter and mini fights is all that ever flew out of your mouths. you two had never had a genuine conversation. in all seriousness, you couldn’t help but look at five in a different light. the amount of trauma he carried on his shoulders made you feel..different. when you two weren’t bickering, he seemed quite nice at times. especially around his siblings, and you wanted that slight kindness given to you.
five notices a sign in the distance, for the largest ball of twine. his body is sent foward, grabbing the wheel from klaus’ grasp. the car swerved sharply to turn down the path.
“five you’re actually an asshat”
“and you’re just a pussy.” he retorts, “aw, can you not handle a slightly harsh turn?”
“like you can get any pussy.” you reply, your voice seeping in venom. you chuckle at your remark, but your laugh grows louder seeing klaus’ reaction in the mirror. the man was flabbergasted, and five was fuming, like corny smoke coming out of his ears fuming.
“fuck you.” he says, rolling his eyes.
“you would.” you reply.
“i’d rather cut off my-.”
“CHILDREN CHILDREN PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP!” klaus interrupts, pointing at the large ball of twine. the three of you exit the car, and examine the ball.
“y’know, i’d thought it be bigger.”
“me too.”
“same.”
the three of your laugh quietly. klaus makes a 180° turn back to the car. you follow along, but are stopped in your tracks by a hand on your shoulder. it’s..five? you turn to face the man. his hands are in his pockets and his weight is shifting from side to side. is he nervous?
“what?” you ask.
“so about what you said back there.” he replies, that shit eating grin forms on his face once more.
“what about it?”
“we’re you joking?” he questions, his gaze not being able to meet yours.
“five, of course i was joking, why would i be serious? isn’t this what we do? get into fights and banter back and forth?”
“yeah, i was just curious.”
he pauses for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. “i hate you.” he spits out.
“please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” you joke, a slight laugh escaping your lips.
“why don’t you come over here and make me?” he replies, locking his green eyes onto yours.
is he actually being serious? does he truly feel this way? is this some kind of joke? you try to search in his eyes for mischief, some sort of evil, anything. yet his eyes gleam with genuine intention. your feet move on their own, your brain not even in control at this point.
his hands cup your face as your lips crash onto his. his hold was gentle, but firm, as if he was scared you would blow away in the wind if he loosened his grip. he tasted like scotch, with a hint of pure, black coffee. his hands found your waist, pulling your body against his. the sudden action caused your hands to slightly pull his hair, but not enough to hurt. passion, love, and maybe a slight bit of lust filled the air around you two.
if it weren’t for a need to breathe, you both wouldn’t have pulled away. yet, something always has to intervene.
“didn’t know you could do that old man.” you chuckle. five’s finger grazes over your kiss swollen lips.
“if i remember right, you’re older than i am.” he responds, a love drunken grin on his face.
“CMON SHITBIRDS WE HAVE PLACES TO BE! PRONTO PRONTO.” klaus yells from the car. his clapping hands signal he’s getting a wee bit pissed. you grab fives arm, pulling him in the direction of the car. as he stumbles forward, you plant a single kiss on his lips, a small smile forming on your face. he continues the kiss, allowing it to linger for a few more seconds.
“god i hate couples.” klaus says.
a/n: i didn’t proofread this BUT I HOPE U ENJOY 🤭🤭
#tua season three#the umbrella academy#tua#tua season 3#five#five hargreeves#five hargreaves x reader#five hargreeves is a little shit#the umbrella academy season 3#x reader#prompts#gender neutral fanfic#umbrella academy
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TH Characters and Crochet
TH Masterlist
This concept was prompted by my new hobby and led to some very interesting (and, in my opinion, good) plot points. Henceforth, I might turn some of these wee ideas into full-fledged one-shots. For now, though, enjoy!
Tag List: @potter-solomons @buttercupsandboys @zablife @mollybegger-blog @liliac-dreamer @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @babaohhhriley @solomons-finest-rum @hoodeddreams13 @moral-terpitude @onlydeadcells @hecatemoon87 @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations
Tommy Conlon
The art of crochet is an absolute mystery to him. Nevertheless, though he won’t admit it plainly since he’s been raised and trained to keep his emotions in check, he absolutely loves and adores the husky you made him.
It had been another fretful night, one that leaves you alone in the bed and him either wandering about the beach nearby or leads to a night of training at the boxing school. Either way, Tommy shut you out yet again, refusing to show you even a glimpse of the chaos he carries with him.
Later that day, the short night was followed by an equally as plagued nap. It's that he woke up before it was too late, but otherwise he'd have fallen off of the sofa and face planted into the soft carpet (which you had bought after the one time that actually did happen). Now, it’s his snuggle buddy and you’ve noticed it’s helped with the nightmares caused by his PTSD. So nowadays the silence when you come home after work is laced by soft snoring, an oddly comforting sound that stems from the most heartwarming sight.
Tommy, tightly holding on to his husky as he snuggles it. His ear phones are connected to his laptop, an ASMR video with rain sounds displayed on the screen.
Perfectly content.
At rest.
Alfie Solomons
You were already magical in his eyes, but the fact you can create stuff out of yarn makes you even more so. He still thinks your hooks look uncannily like embalming tools, but he adores the scarf you made him. He wears it whenever he can, loving the texture as well as your scent.
Alfie proudly promotes your stuff wherever he goes and helps you set up at markets. He’d like for you to do only markets in Margate and Camden so he can keep a close eye on you. However, should it be anywhere else, rest assured he’ll hang around the area and make sure you eat and drink properly. He’ll literally pop by a Prêt-A-Manger to buy lunch and deliver it to you or, as is more often the case, pull you away from your stall so you two can sit down in a coffee shop or restaurant together.
He loves it whenever you text him to provide him with photos of a new project you completed. Lastly, Alfie also always asks what you’re working on.
Forrest Bondurant
He’s actually the one who taught you how to crochet (and secretly adored how shyly you asked him to teach you). He’s a stern teacher, but a good one. Forrest is a man of many hidden talents (like baking, he makes a mean apple pie). Then again, so is his brother Howard, who is great at knitting. Jack, on the other hand, has skipped out on the creative gene though he’s been trying to teach himself how to sew.
Forrest and you do markets together. However, he mostly does the general set-up while you busy yourself with the customers. Because even though he’s very business savvy, the quiet force behind Little Moonshiners (specialized in the cutest handmade stuffies) is in fact a social disaster.
He does like talking to you, though.
(And has made you a custom wolf stuffie, which has become your all-time favourite)
Eddie Brock
Eddie and Venom alike love the stuffies you make, but V thinks his host sometimes takes his support of your hobby a bit too far. Recently, he’s asked you to teach him and ever since you’ve been trying to figure it out together. Eddie seems to finally have the basic stitches down while Venom is bordering on giving up. Not even reading the body language of his host makes him understand crochet. So he’s now your ultimate yarn spinner.
Eddie, on the other hand, has become a little competitive. Though he tries to be inconspicuous, you occasionally catch him glancing your way in an attempt to estimate whether your way of crocheting a certain project is more efficient and neater than his. To this extent, he proposes to try a new pattern together (and compare the results).
He does admit, without a second’s doubt, you’re the queen of plushies.
Eddie loves the journaling aspect of it too. He keeps a neat and very minimalist journal. Well, he tries to be minimalist and objective (as his work has taught him to be), but often finds himself writing about you, pondering your opinion on his works.
And Venom loves to tease him about said entries by mentioning them to you.
Farrier
He’s loath to admit it, but he can’t help but think of his Nan whenever he sees you crochet. The confession almost slipped out when you gave him a cream coloured crocheted turtleneck sweater for Christmas, the reason you puzzled him with taking measurements three months earlier. And it’s this turtleneck he wears quite often and takes with him whenever he’s sent abroad.
Because your scent lingers in it, mixed with his.
Because it’s a piece of home.
It’s you when you aren’t there.
And it’s the only thing that’ll prevent him from crying when he's so far from home it feels like his heart is torn apart at the seams.
Reggie Kray
Reggie loves to watch you work. He doesn’t need to understand it, finding perfect contentment in seeing you absolutely absorbed in your projects. He’s simply happy to plop you in his lap and rest his head on your shoulder, though that does little to help you focus on the pattern or the tutorial you’re watching.
He gives the best hand massages too! Whether you asked for one or not, Reggie will give you one regardless after you’ve put the hook down for the time being. Sometimes he even stops you after a certain period of time, knowing how your tight grip can cause your hand to cramp after carefully observing you for a while.
Although he does not say it whenever the topic comes up, he will blatantly admit when riled up enough that part of the reason he wants out of the gangster life is to permanently give you the peace and quiet that surrounds you whenever you crochet.
And stills his inner storm.
Also, have a wee treasure I accidentally found😉
#Alfie Solomons#Alfie Solomons imagine#Peaky Blinders#Peaky Blinders imagine#Venom#Eddie Brock#Tommy Conlon#Forrest Bondurant#Farrier#Reggie Kray
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