#anyway. here's the between au for anyone who was wondering
Text
Brothers
9650 Words; Between AU, pre-canon
TW for death
AO3 ver
Gristle Junior was seven months and eleven days old on the day of his first Trollstice.
Or rather, he was seven months and eleven days old on what would have been his first Trollstice, were it not for the lack of trolls. And the day had started so well, too, anticipation electric in his veins as he bounced around his father’s room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!
But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chef’s underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotion—from the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the action—supported that notion. Surely, if Trolls were being found, then surely there would be much less frustration.
But the day passed without a single Troll eaten. Gristle’s father, for who he had been named, had taken him aside to calmly explain that with no Trolls, Gristle would never be happy. Not ever. Nothing else could possibly work.
To a Bergen less than a year old, such words were absolute. And why should Gristle doubt his father? The King had lived for decades, an extent of time which felt like an eternity to Gristle Junior. Surely, if there was anyone who could know everything, it would be the King.
Gristle was seven months and eleven days old on the last chance he would ever have to know true happiness. The date clung to his mind, the damnation of eternal misery heavy in his chest. To a Bergen so young and inexperienced with the world, there could be nothing worse.
Chef was disgraced. Not a single Troll recovered, in all of that mess? Her exile was quick and loud—Gristle watched from the castle door with his father as Chef was bodily thrown through the gates, shouting curses he strained to hear. With a sigh, Gristle moved to turn away from the door, prepared to ready himself for bed.
“Your Majesty!” Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the King’s eyes were on them. “We found…” The Bergen on the left had his hands cupped together oddly, perfectly concealing whatever would be inside. With a nudge from his partner, he bowed again, holding out whatever it was to the King. “We found this at the tree’s edge.”
Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his father’s legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldn’t wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergen’s fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.
It was a Troll.
Gristle’s eyes widened. His father inhaled sharply, peering down at the tiny shape curled in the palm.
The Troll stared up at them with wide eyes, curled in on itself and shaking. It was so small. How did creatures that small even exist?
The King hummed, leaning in further. Gristle Junior was quick to imitate, peering at the tiny Troll even more intently. This brought to light a detail that had been previously overlooked—a detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.
“It’s gray.” Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? “Is it sick?” He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.
“Inedible.” Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. “Your effort is appreciated.” He said, “But there’s no use for a Troll that’s gone bad.” The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. “Do as you wish with it.” He dismissed. “My son and I…”
Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. “It’s so small.” He whispered, staring down at it. Small and gray and baring blunted teeth in an approximation of a snarl… He looked up at the pair, eyes wide. “Can I have it?”
The Bergen holding the Troll hesitated, before tilting his hands towards Gristle. The Troll squeaked as Gristle scooped it up, voice tiny. Gristle squealed, clutching the Troll and running back inside, the rest of the world forgotten.
The Troll turned bewildered eyes up to Gristle. It trembled, shouting as Gristle turned a corner, but Gristle paid no heed to anything but the sheer novelty of his idea. His very own Troll! There was hardly much of a plan in the toddler’s head, but a simple idea was all Gristle really needed at his age.
Gristle bounced into his bedroom, Troll in hand. He moved to set the Troll down on the desk—
“Son!” Gristle Senior’s voice was seldom so loud—but when it was, it commanded attention from everyone in the area. And indeed, Gristle Junior turned his attention to his father, the Troll still squirming in his hand. “What are you doing?” Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.
“Keeping it.” Gristle Junior said.
Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Junior’s hands. “A pet is a lot of responsibility, son.” He pointed out.
“You say the same about being Prince.” Gristle Junior responded.
Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. “That… is true.” He conceded. “But it’s a Troll.” He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. “It will just get eaten.”
“But you said gray Trolls are inebidable!” Gristle Junior lifted the Troll—his Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. “That they’ve got no use, which means that eating them can’t do anything!”
“Inedible.” Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his son’s eye level. “Son, be realistic. The kingdom just lost all of its Trolls. Trollstice has been a tradition for more than a century. The shock of no more Trollstices will make the people desperate.”
The Troll stared up from Gristle Junior’s hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Junior’s hand.
Gristle Junior huffed. “But they gotta listen to you, Daddy. You’re the King.” The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. “If you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!”
The King sighed, tired and heavy. “You’ll need something to keep it in.” He advised. As his son cheered, he turned to the door, and made his way across the room. Once Gristle Senior reached the doorframe, he turned back to his son one more time.
“If I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.” He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, “Goodnight, son!”
Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. “Hear that?” He asked. “You stay in here, or else.” With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. “My name’s Gristle. Yours?”
The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. “I’m not telling.” It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.
“Then I’ll just give you one!” Gristle chirped. “How about… Trolly!”
“No.”
Gristle frowned. “You’re getting a name, no matter what.” He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. “You’re so grumpy.” Gristle noticed. “Just like… a Bergen…” He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.
The Troll snarled. “Not a Bergen!” It insisted, tail smacking the desk.
Gristle stared. “You…” His eyes lit up. “You and I are gonna be best friends.” Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.
The Troll’s response was simple. Gristle yelped, yanking his hand back. The Troll fell over, rubbing at its mouth with tiny paws, and Gristle stared at the tiny teeth marks on his finger.
The Troll glared mutinously, as if daring Gristle to come within biting range again.
Gristle nodded. “Yep! Best friends!”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Troll’s name. He had been poring through a pet care magazine, oo-ing and ah-ing over the different kinds of pets that Bergens kept. From alligator-dogs like Barnabus to even frog-crows!
He had hit the section for small pets, though none of the kinds commonly kept by Bergens were as small as a Troll. He looked over at the custom cage his father had had commissioned for his Troll, from the pod taken from the abandoned Troll Tree to the sandy substrate in the basin. As usual, his Troll was down on the substrate, pressed into the corner while it worked its way through safflower seeds.
“Look!” Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. “How does a swing sound? I bet you’d have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.” He didn’t expect a response—the Troll rarely ever spoke back, content with glaring and darting away when Gristle reached into the cage.
Which meant it surprised him all the more when the tiny creature spoke. “Branch.”
Gristle opened his mouth to continue speaking—stopped. “What?”
“Branch.” The Troll repeated. “My name is Branch.” Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.
Gristle gasped. “Oh!” He’d never thought—he—Branch—
“That’s a weird name.” Gristle finally decided, leaning in. “Are all Trolls named like that?” He couldn’t quite read well enough to digest all the books he’d found about Trolls (or that had Trolls on the covers), so his only real source of information was what former Troll-handlers Chad and Todd (or was it Todd and Chad?) could tell him, when he saw them. Which wasn’t often.
Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of “how-would-I-know” conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.
Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. “So,” He said, “You never said if you wanted a swing.”
“Don’t bother.” Branch huffed. “I won’t use it.”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was five years old when his father led him into his study for the first time. The younger marveled at the book-filled shelves and neatly organized desk, at the candle holders set into the wall and the banners hanging down—this room was his future.
“My son,” Gristle Senior began. “What you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.” His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. “For no Monarch rules Bergentown alone—it is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.”
“Whoaaa…” Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. “I’m a Prince!” He realized, whirling around to face his father. “So I have to help you run!”
Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. “And that is exactly what you will start learning today.” He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. “Now,” He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. “Here are the best volumes to start with…”
The lesson continued on throughout the rest of the morning. After lunch with his father, Gristle Junior returned to his room with the stack of books he had been given, ready and willing to learn. He pushed open the door, and made his way over to the desk right next to his bed.
“There’s so many books I need to read!” Gristle lamented. “How am I ever going to learn it all?” He’d have to, though, to be a proper Prince of Bergentown. And he would! Bergens were tough, and royal Bergens were said to be the toughest of all! So Gristle would be the best Prince! No book could defeat someone as tough as him!
He was starting with history. But there was so much! He held out the book to Branch’s cage, showing off just how thick it was—and it was all pre-Trollstice, too!
Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in trees—every book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branch’s cage—taken directly from the Troll Tree, no less—remained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!
“I mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?” Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branch—the Troll was a good listener, in the five year old’s eyes.
The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. “Are you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?” He asked, before going back to the hole.
“Right.” Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.
“The first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to… three… fow-sand years ago.” He began. “When Fow-ler the First wrote the… the first ever Law.” He continued reading, stumbling over words while Branch continued digging. Gristle let the history wash over him, entranced in the task set before him. Hours passed, and Gristle found himself being called down to dinner before he even registered that so much time had passed.
Three days later, Gristle found himself staring at a worksheet in frustration. He was supposed to fill it out without looking at his books, and he was struggling.
“UGH!” Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. “How can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!” He smacked his head against the desk, groaning in frustration. The urge to go to his shelf and pull out the relevant book itched down his spine—but he had to hold strong! A good Prince knew how to look things up, but a great Prince could recall whatever detail was needed when it was needed.
Oh, how was Gristle ever supposed to be a great Prince?
“The first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.” Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. “That’s what your book said.”
Gristle looked at Branch’s cage, where the Troll was busy jotting stuff down on a scrap of paper. Gristle then looked over to the book on his shelf. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and went over to the shelf, opening the book to the first page.
“That’s…” He turned back to Branch. “You’ve got a good memory.” He said, returning the book to the shelf.
Branch muttered something that Gristle didn’t quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. He’d have to read aloud to Branch more often, if Branch could remember stuff so well.
With a hum, Gristle continued on with the worksheet. It probably wasn’t in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasn’t concerned at all with that notion.
He continued to talk to Branch as he worked, something light in his chest with the knowledge that Branch really was listening.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was six years old, and he and Branch were having a real good row. The kind of row that, had they been proper siblings, would have only been able to be settled by some proper Bergen roughhousing, with weapons and property destruction. A real riot-causing dispute.
It was hardly their first disagreement—Gristle had the faint bite scars all over his fingers to prove it. But it was certainly frustrating, born from weeks of buildup over a simple fact.
“It’s not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!” Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks he’d found. It actually went a bit into Troll health and growth, detailing all the ways and times that Trolls could become inedible. As Branch was, and had always been gray—or at least, as long as Gristle had known him—the book in question proved very useful.
“Well I don’t!” And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. “And I never will!” Branch’s stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristle’s Princely Rage.
“But you have to!” Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. “Trolls that don’t sing—this book isn’t very nice about them!” He was fumbling, he knew, but he didn’t know how else to say it. The book said that gray Trolls were to be removed from the Troll Tree and disposed of immediately. It didn’t say why, and Gristle was still a child—he didn’t question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just… it wasn’t right!
“You’re supposed to be happy.” Gristle pushed. “You’re supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.”
“Never gonna happen.” Branch insisted. “I’ll stay unhappy, just you watch!” He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.
“That’s not good!” Gristle responded. “You have to get your color back eventually!” The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasn’t right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray Trolls…
Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but Branch—Branch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.
The book said it wasn’t healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and he’d be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldn’t even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?
“And then what?” Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. “You’ll eat me?”
“Of course not!” Gristle could never! Branch was… Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!
“You’re lying!” Branch yelled back. “The moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!” His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. “Because that’s all Trolls are to you!”
Gristle flinched back. He… he refused to admit it, but Branch had a point. Trolls were the only way that Bergens could ever be happy, and they had spent generations with a holiday dedicated to that very thing. But…
“You’re different.” Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. “You’re not… you never sing and you’re always unhappy.” He huffed. “It’s like you’re barely a Troll at all!”
This time it was Branch’s turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. “Maybe you’re right.” He said quietly, turning away from the bars.
“Branch, I—” Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.
“Fine, then.” Gristle grumbled. “We’ll just be unhappy together.” Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happy—Gristle would never get to eat a Troll with all of them gone, but Branch… Branch was a Troll. If anyone would ever get to be happy, it would be the creature who was quite literally made of the stuff.
“Fine!” Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. “Unhappy together!”
It felt like a promise, like a finality.
It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole “taking care of others” thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branch’s cage, expanded over the years to include deeper substrate and a small climbing tree. The… well, it felt weird to call him a Troll, when he was nothing like Gristle’s books, but what else could he be called?
A Bergen. At least, that was what he’d be if Gristle’s idea went through.
“I’ve been learning about law.” Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. “And I found out something interesting.” He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. “Adoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenry…” Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, “They are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.” He let the memo flutter down to the floor and looked down at Branch, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.
Branch clenched and unclenched his paws against the half-eaten orange slice in his lap, tail flicking behind him. “...what.”
“Listen.” Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. “If I adopt you, then you wouldn’t be in any more danger of being eaten!”
Branch squinted. “Aren’t you a little young to be a parent?” He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. “And I’m older than you.” He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.
“Ew! No! Not as a son!” Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. “As a brother.” He clarified. “Because… you’re more of a friend than a pet,” Gristle explained, “And it’s not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.” He carefully gaged Branch’s expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. “All you’d need to do is sign on this line…”
“It can’t be that easy.” Branch groused, tail flicking faster. “Bergens don’t do ‘easy’.”
“Well,” Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, “We would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.” He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. “But that’s easy! I mean, he let me keep you!”
“As a pet.” Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. “That’s totally different.”
“And that’s why I want to do this!” Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach in—he had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. “Because what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?”
Branch’s expression fell, his shoulders hunching. His paws clenched and unclenched in the rhythmic way they often did, his tail flicking. Carefully, slowly, Branch clambered out of the cage, climbing down the flipped out door to settle on the smooth wood of the shelf. Gristle held out his hand, palm up, and Branch hopped onto it, letting himself be lifted over to the desk.
Gristle laid out the form. He’d double-checked every word to make sure it was exactly what he needed, and all that was left was to sign it and have it approved. Gristle had already signed it, his name penned in only slightly messy ink. Penmanship win!
Branch pulled a tiny quill from his hair, hopping up to gently dab it in the inkwell on the desk. As Gristle watched, Branch kneeled down in front of his line, and carefully signed his name.
“Think that’ll be enough?” Gristle asked.
Branch hummed. “Maybe…” He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared he’d fall in. Branch kicked the side and lifted himself back and out, clambering over to the form and slapping right next to his name with his paws.
Two inky paw prints, right next to his name. “That should do it.” Branch decided, satisfied.
Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristle’s arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.
“Let’s get this done!” Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasn’t the first time Branch had left Gristle’s room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristle’s shoulder. But it was the first time since the belled harness had been made that Branch had left the room without the jingle of bells signaling his every movement. Gristle realized it was weird, actually, to feel the weight on his shoulder and not hear the sound of bells he’d come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyone’s eyes—it wouldn’t do to make Branch wear it now.
And really, Branch was like a Bergen, in a lot of ways. He never sang or danced, he was disagreeable—even the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergen’s dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den he’d dug or even old worksheets Gristle tried to downsize for him, he took to working on it just like a Bergen: with a grumble and the focused spirit that allowed Bergens to create sturdy walls and buildings. And he had interesting insights, too—Bergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldn’t get very tall, but it was Branch who gave Gristle the idea to suggest subterranean expansion when the King presented the age-old issue of expansion logistics. Which was just funny, because Trolls lived in trees—yet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.
Branch settled down on Gristle Junior’s shoulder, tucked just below Gristle’s ear. Gristle found a sudden bounce in his step, a mix of anticipation and excitement in his veins. Yeah, this whole adoption thing was a great idea! Maybe even the best Gristle had ever had!
Finding the King was easy—it was just before lunch, so King Gristle Senior would be just finishing up with the final petitioners in the biweekly levee. Normally, Gristle Junior would be sitting in his own princely throne beside his father, to listen and watch and get a general idea of how a levee worked—but he had… kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issue—Gristle Junior wasn’t meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.
Still…
“Ah, there you are.” King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. “Care to explain why you missed today’s levee?”
Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. “My apologies, Father.” He kept his tone careful, regal, like he’d been taught. “I found something that needed attending to.” He explained, head still down.
Gristle Senior snorted. “Well, out with it, then.” He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. “What grand idea did you come up with this time?”
Gristle Junior’s mouth pulled back in an odd way, and he fought the strange expression off of his face. With a simple flourish, he drew out the form, holding it out towards his father. “This.”
Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutr—his eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The King’s expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, “What in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!”
“It’s an adoption form.” Gristle Junior explained, pressing his hands together. He felt Branch shift slightly on his shoulder, and he held out a palm. Branch took the offer, sliding down Gristle’s arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.
“I can… see that.” Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. “But…” His expression became just as lost as the night that Gristle Junior had first met Branch. With a deep sigh, Gristle Senior looked down at his son and the Troll.
“Letting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,” The King began, “But adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?”
Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. “It makes sense.” He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. “Branch is the most unTroll Troll ever, he’s just like a Bergen and I think it’d be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!”
Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. “That’s not a good enough reason.” He started. “Son, do you have any idea what would happen if that… thing were to become your brother?”
“It’d be a serious crime to eat him.” Gristle Junior responded easily.
Gristle Senior brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling too low for Gristle Junior to make out the words. “...of all the—” With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firm—but not wholly uncaring—expression. “You’re a Prince, my son. You can’t just go adopting every creature you see fit.”
“It’s just Branch.” Gristle Junior pushed back, “He’s already close enough to a Bergen, what’s adding the legal distinction going to do?” He shook his head. “This will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.”
“Son, be realistic.” The King groused. “If that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. There’s no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly games—they’re simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!”
Gristle Junior’s mouth opened—to say what, he wasn’t sure, but air was being forced up from his lungs and defiance was roaring in his heart, ready to burst out what would surely be a useful and clever retort—
“I can do it.”
As one, Gristle Junior and Senior turned to look at Branch. Branch took the combined attention with hunched shoulders, his tail clasped in his paws. “You want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll learn.” He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.
“I don’t want you doing anything of the sort.” Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.
“He can! Branch is smart, Dad, he’s where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and he’d make a good Prince!” All of his reasons were true and proven—which meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.
“Preposterous!” Gristle Senior began—
“If you think it’s so preposterous,” Branch’s voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. “Then why not bet on it?”
Those three words echoed in the sudden silence of the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and tangling up in the eaves. If there was one thing Gristle Junior knew his father could not resist, it was a wager.
Indeed, Gristle Senior’s face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. “A bet, you say?” Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. “Hmm, I think I see what you mean. A trial period, of sorts, is that it? To find out if you could even come close to being a Prince?”
Branch nodded.
“Yeah!” Gristle Junior agreed. “If Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!”
Gristle Senior snorted. “Sure, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. “But when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, I’m burning that form and you’re going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.” He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.
“You have three weeks.” Gristle Senior declared. “Better get started.”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old when he became a brother.
The wager had been… not as hard as Gristle expected. Branch had thrown himself into the challenge with a fervor that was only seen with master artisans undergoing hefty commissions. It had taken a lot of work, in those three weeks, but at the end of it all—
The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by two—Bernice and Groth, who had been hired to aid in the fiddly and sometimes frustrating art of turning tiny, Troll-sized writings into something that could be read by the average Bergen. Branch needed new clothes, and a proper bed, and a shelf for all of the Troll-sized copies he’d made and was making of the various books on Law and history and regulations, and had to attend meals and levees and lessons with Gristle, and—
It was so much. Gristle had known, when he had drafted that first attempt at an adoption form in the castle library, that things would change—but he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristle’s shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where he’d be safe from being stepped on—
There was so much.
But…
Gristle had never had a brother. He had had a friend, in Branch, but it had taken so long for them to really get there. And now, despite how it had felt like the world was ending on that fateful failed Trollstice, all those years ago—
Gristle couldn’t imagine that day going any other way. He didn’t want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friend—no, his brother.
“Hey, Branch?” Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branch’s things currently resided on, at the cage hurriedly covered with a sheet in an approximation of a proper room with real privacy. Late at night, in his unlit room, it barely looked like a cage at all. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”
Branch’s voice filtered down from the shelf. “Not really.” He admitted. “Why should I?” There was something oddly bitter in his voice. “It’s the day I was left behind. Again.”
Gristle Junior wasn’t sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. “I won’t leave you behind.” He promised, “‘Cause brothers stick together.” It felt like such a simple truth, to the seven year old Bergen.
There was silence from the shelf. It stretched on, almost uncomfortably so, feeding into the static of the darkness filling the room.
Gristle huffed. “You really are just like a Bergen.” He commented, “Always miserable.” He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didn’t fully register. “And that’s why you know we’ll always stick together.” He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.
“Unhappy together, then.” There was something soft in Branch’s voice—he must have been tired after such a long day.
Gristle sighed. Unhappy together. It sounded like a promise, like a finality.
It sounded like he was finally getting the hang of this whole “taking care of people” thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was ten years old when he was properly crowned Prince.
The day had been rife with tradition, from a breakfast banquet stocked with imported delicacies to the event itself out in the plaza. The old Troll Tree, withered from its abandonment, stood tall in the center of the space, dominating the whole scene no matter how Gristle Junior tried to look at it.
He fiddled with the clasp on his cape—his Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities weren’t exactly celebratory—the whole ceremony amounted to more of a town meeting, but with the best catering the royal kitchens could provide. Bergens of all kinds wandered about the plaza, taking advantage of the free food while Gristle Junior��Prince Gristle Junior watched on from his father’s side.
Branch—no, it was Prince Branch, now—stood to Gristle’s side, on a small platform made entirely for the occasion. His own blue cape and silver crown had to be custom-made, instead of passed down, but neither of the brothers were bothered by that fact.
“I still don’t understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.” Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branch’s crown. “It even has tiny metal leaves!”
Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. “It feels so weird.” He decided. “But… not bad.”
“Of course not! You’re a Prince now!” Gristle assured him. “Stand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.” Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.
“Yeah…” Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his cape—but Gristle didn’t miss the way they clenched and unclenched repeatedly.
Branch was older than Gristle, true. But the fact remained that he had started learning later, so it had been decided to crown them both when Gristle came of age, and not a moment sooner. So here they were, brothers crowned together, all of Bergentown around them.
There would be so many more responsibilities, now—Princes helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. They’d still have to learn as they went, but—
Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergens—his people—they were all miserable. But they were hardworking and honest, and Gristle would do his best to be the Prince they deserved.
Gristle turned to look back at his brother, who was fiddling with his own cape clasp. Glixry had repurposed one of the bells from Branch’s old harness for the clasp, and even now it still faintly rung as Branch slowly paced around his little platform.
There was an odd expression on Branch’s face, satisfaction and an oddly melancholy contemplation firming his brow. Gristle huffed, snapping his little-big brother from whatever thoughts he was lost in. Gristle offered his hand, and Branch rolled his eyes before hopping onto Gristle’s palm.
As Gristle lifted his brother high above his head, something proud surged in his chest, light and electric in his veins. His face twitched in that odd way it sometimes did, but Gristle ignored the feeling in favor of looking out over his people once more.
He was going to be the best Prince Bergentown had ever seen! He and his brother both!
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was eleven years old when Branch finally pupated.
His book on Troll growth said that Trolls pupated when they were twelve or thirteen. It also went on about how Trolls were utterly inedible in this state, wrapped in their cocoons as their bodies changed and matured.
That Branch’s pupation had come late according to the books was worrying. That it had come at all was a stark reminder of the fact that, for all of his Bergen-like traits, Branch was in some small way still a Troll.
Gristle peered at the dark gray hair cocoon for the umpteenth time. None of his books said anything about whether Trolls could still hear in there, or even what really happened to them outside of “maturation”—all the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldn’t be eaten.
“Even if you can’t hear me,” Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book he’d found—some kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. He’d heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so he’d picked it up to go through. “But if you can’t then I’ll just read this book to you all over again when you’re out.”
The cocoon gave no discernible response. Gristle decided that that was fine, and began to read. He made it through a chapter and a half before being summoned for dinner with his father, and he gave the cocoon one final glance as he left the room.
“I see your… brother isn’t joining us again tonight.” Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.
“I told you, Dad, he’s pupating.” Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.
“Yes,” Gristle Senior nodded. “Trolls do do that, I’ve heard.” He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. “Hopefully this whole thing doesn’t set him too far back.” He commented airily, dabbing at his face with a napkin.
Gristle Junior scowled over his plate as a servant exchanged it for the bowl of soup acting as the third course. “Branch always keeps up.” He asserted. “And we won that bet fair and square, so you can’t go back on your end no matter what.” He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.
“And I have no intentions of backing out.” Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. “I’m just curious.” And with that, the conversation was over.
Gristle stared down at his soup. Branch would keep up. He would. He always did.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle was eleven years old, and he was getting concerned.
Nineteen days. The books said that Trolls only pupated for a week, tops. But it had been nineteen days since Branch had disappeared into the spun cocoon, eyes glassy and unfocused. Nineteen days of a silent cocoon.
Gristle had long since finished that first romance novel, and the book on fence safety regulations, and was almost halfway into a book on the history of anchovy farming. And the cocoon still remained!
The worry was starting to affect his Princely duties, too. Maybe it was because he was used to working alongside Branch, and the absence was getting to him, but there was no denying it: Gristle was concerned. But what if trying to crack the cocoon open early ruined everything? What if he was supposed to crack it open, and he’d missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and Branch…
Gristle didn’t want to think about it. He really, really didn’t.
The sun had long gone down when Gristle finally put his books away and retired to his bed. He glanced at the cocoon one last time before extinguishing the lights, worry like a rock in his gut.
The night passed. The sun rose again, creeping into Gristle’s bedroom through the window until it smacked against his eyes. With a groan, the eleven year old sat up, shading his eyes with a hand. He glared at the offending celestial body. “Every day.” He muttered. “Every day, you do this.” He was about to continue—
“Are you yelling at the sun again? Really?”
Gristle yelped, jolting hard enough to fall off of his bed entirely. He flailed wildly, scrambling to clamber back to his feet, frenetic energy in every inch of his suddenly-impossibly-awkward limbs.
“Branch!” Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brother’s room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. “You’re okay! You were in there for really long!”
Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. “Well, I’m here, so you can quit your whining.” There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.
“Your tail’s still gone.” Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. “Branch…”
Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristle’s words. “Eh.” He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. “‘S not like it matters.” He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. “Bergens aren’t supposed to have tails anyway.”
Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were tailless—but if they had tails, they certainly wouldn’t—
Gristle shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. “Sooo,” He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. “How do you feel?”
Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. “I don’t know, stronger?” He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. “I think my balance is better, actually.” He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. “My face feels kinda… hm.” Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. “Whatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?”
“Oh!” Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. “Right!” As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brother’s room.
Gristle sighed, all of his worries abated. Why would he ever worry? His family was just fine, and would be for a long, long time.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was thirteen years old when he finally had to admit it.
He’d always hoped he’d get his father’s height, that he’d be able to stand as tall as the average Bergen in his adult years. But it had become clear that he would always be half average height, always doomed to needing steps to get onto the taller chairs.
It wasn’t the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasn’t that big of an issue.
But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his father—metaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!
“What are you moping about now?” And there was Gristle’s little-big brother, padding along one of the many paths set into the castle walls. The masons and carpenters had done good work with those paths—when Branch wasn’t running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.
“I’m never gonna be tall.” Gristle grumbled, allowing himself a moment to lean against the wall in despair. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and hurriedly pulled away, flailing his hands as he tried to recover. “I mean—not that being short is a bad thing—”
“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Branch groused, holding out a paw. “Because from where I’m standing, you are not short.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.
“I am, though.” Gristle lamented. “Most Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!”
Branch rolled his eyes. “At least you’re not Troll-sized.” He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristle’s head, just next to the crown. “Gotta count your blessings there.”
“I dunno,” Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, “Maybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.” He didn’t fully mean it—being the size of a Troll in a castle made for Bergens constantly forced Branch to find workarounds to even the simplest of things. But if anyone could manage it, it’d be Branch.
And Gristle had to admit: the idea of being able to ride on an alligator-dog, even one as old as Barnabus, was really cool. But Gristle was too big for that, and too big for his old trikes—all while being too small in so many other ways. It was like he was caught between, stuck at a size that would annoy him forever.
Branch dodged away from Gristle’s hand easily, chuffing when Gristle accidentally sent his own crown flying down the hall. Gristle growled, running after it, shaking his head in an attempt to throw Branch off. But his brother held on easily, always infuriatingly good at roughhousing despite his size.
It just wasn’t fair.
But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristle’s shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.
It wasn’t the end of the world. Not by a long shot.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the unthinkable happened.
His father, King Gristle Senior, who had always been an unshakeable force, strong and proud in a kingdom full of strong and proud Bergens—
Gristle Junior couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It just—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!
But there was nothing that could be done. His father had fallen ill three months ago, and, despite every effort from every doctor in Bergentown, despite all of the King’s strength—
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father passed from illness, gone overnight like a snuffed candle flame. Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the title of King passed onto him, far too soon—he should have remained a Prince until he was a proper adult, until he was married with children who would become the Princes and Princesses that would help him run the kingdom—
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his world shattered for the second time. The funeral was held out in the plaza, barely a week after his father’s passing. The same plaza as Gristle’s first and final Trollstice, as his and Branch’s official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristle’s life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.
It still… it just couldn’t be possible. His father couldn’t just be… gone.
Gristle returned to the castle in a daze. Some distant part of him knew that he would have no choice but to take up his father’s crown, and soon, but—
The rest of him was sinking slowly, the grief thick in his throat and veins and head. The fog was all-consuming, pulling Gristle into depths of unhappiness he’d never thought possible.
Gristle had believed his first and last Trollstice, the day where he lost any chance to ever be happy, would be the worst day of his life. Oh, how wrong he was.
Gristle didn’t know how long he laid like that, staring up at the ceiling of his room without seeing anything at all. It was as though the world around him had well and truly shattered, and now the pieces had all fallen away out of his reach. Gristle floated on the nothing for what felt like an eternity and now time at all, the mire in his head growing thicker with every passing second.
“Hey.”
Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.
“Hey.”
What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. He’d probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.
“Hey!”
Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didn’t have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldn’t he have a good cry about it in peace—
Something small landed inches away from Gristle’s head. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was—only his little-big brother could land so lightly.
“Hey, idiot.” Branch pushed at Gristle’s chin, lifting the Bergen’s head off the bed by a few inches. “Chin up.” He demanded, baring his teeth.
Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. “Leave me alone.” He growled.
“Mm, nope.” Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristle’s ear. “You’ve been in here long enough,” he sniffed, “And you need a shower. C’mon.” He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.
“No.” Gristle grumbled. “Just let me rot.” Every inch of his body ached with the grief clinging to his bones, and the very thought of getting up and doing anything made him want to vomit. The whole world made him want to vomit.
“Can’t let you,” Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. “C’mon, at least eat something?” He tugged at Gristle’s ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.
“I said,” Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, “leave me alone!”
Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. “You’ve been alone.” He said. “I can’t leave you. Brothers stick together.” There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.
“And how are you supposed to help?” Gristle asked, sitting up fully. “What could you possibly do to make this better?”
“Not let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.” Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. “You need to take better care of yourself.” He urged. “Letting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.”
“And what would you know?” Gristle accused. “You and Dad barely even liked each other!”
“You think I don’t know what grief feels like?” Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. “My Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!”
Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. “You…” Branch never talked about that, about those four years he’d spent in the Troll Tree. Gristle’s throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.
“It hurts.” He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.
Branch’s anger melted away. “I know.” He said, sitting down. “It hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world away—”
“But you have to pick yourself back up.” Gristle finished. “Because people are counting on you.”
“Because nobody else will.” Branch added softly.
Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. “I miss him so much, Branch.”
Branch nodded. “I know.”
“I’m not ready to be King!” Gristle’s face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.
Branch nodded again. “I know.”
Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
“It’s not okay,” Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, “And that’s okay.”
“It hurts.” Gristle whispered.
Branch nodded. No more words came, and Gristle continued to cry. All of his misery poured out, raw and real and painful, and Branch remained right in front of him the entire time. When Gristle finally ran out of tears to cry, he flopped back down onto the bed, and two paws pressed against his cheek.
The silence stretched.
Slowly, Gristle breathed. In, and out. His chest was still strung taut and raw, his face was cold and sticky, and his throat stung from the effort of crying so much. He had never felt so low. He knew the grief was far from over.
As Gristle breathed, Branch clambered up onto his chest. He kneeled down, and held out a paw.
“Unhappy together.” Branch offered. “Shit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.”
Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. “Unhappy together.” He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristle’s hand as he could manage.
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasn’t sure he’d ever really stop grieving.
But, at the very least, he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t much, but that simple fact helped.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was twenty years old when Chef returned.
The day started as any other, really. Wake up, get cleaned and dressed, find his brother already awake and poring over details from the latest construction updates in the new quarter. Have breakfast, Branch darting about to steal off of his plate as he stole from Branch’s, like proper brothers would do. Go through the castle halls greeting everyone, Branch walking along the various small walkways lining the walls and arching up across hallways like tiny bridges. Prepare for the biweekly levee in the throne room.
It was as the final petitioner was leaving that it happened. A Bergen that Gristle only vaguely recognized emerged from behind a potted plant, swishing her cloak ominously as she all but marched towards the throne.
And then Gristle recognized her. The chef’s hat, the lavender tint, the wicked gleam in her eyes. He glanced to the throne beside his, and anxiety germinated in his chest at the sight of Branch still as a statue, eyes wide and locked onto Chef.
“Were you behind that plant the whole time?” Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that sounded—but Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristle’s uncertainty ratcheted up another notch.
Chef grinned as she reached for the zipper on her fannypack. Slowly, she opened it, and a sweet harmony emerged from within.
Gristle gasped, the rest of the world forgotten. If Branch had any reaction, Gristle didn’t notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.
For in Chef’s fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.
This… this could change everything.
No—this would change everything. For all of Bergentown! Finally, Gristle Junior could live up to his title, could be the King that brought happiness back to his people!
If he had bothered to look back at the thrones, he would have seen Chef glaring daggers into his back.
More importantly, he would have seen the look of utter uncertainty on Branch’s face.
#dreamworks trolls#gristle junior#branch trolls#king gristle jr#zaz writes#between au#death#themes of dehumanization (depersonization?)#WHY. WHY IS THIS SO L O N G#9K WORDS?????#N I N E T H O U S A N D W O R D S ??????????#anyway. here's the between au for anyone who was wondering#i wish this was smaller and easier to digest#but i jsut. kept adding scenes#EVEN AS I REMOVED THE TAIL SCENE AND SKIMPED OVER THE ADOPTION AND DIDN'T WRITE ANY SCENES BETWEEN GRISTLE SR'S DEATH AND CHEF SHOWING UP#anyway. branch is four years older than gristle (jr) in my mind#and also trolls are like bugs to me. hence the pupation#i have fish in a birdcage playing on loop rn and i think my brain is melting#it's a good song for this au tho ngl
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BETWEEN THE PAGES | wanda maximoff x fem!reader
genre: college au! fluff, smut
summary: professor maximoff asks you out on a date.
content warnings: MINORS DNI! fluff, smut, college au!, unspecified age gap, professor!wanda, student!reader, bit of alcohol consumption, smut; service top!wanda, power bottom!reader kinda, making out, marking, fingering and oral (r! receiving), overstimulation, little bit of a praise kink
word count: 9.5k
note: i’ve been meaning to write another professor!wanda and black cat!reader fic so wrote this as kind of a prequel to AFTER CLASS but it’s long overdue lol. i hope u like it!
You always came to class early. That was the first thing she noticed about you. But, there was something about the way you entered her lecture hall for the first time, sitting just a few rows away from her desk, close enough for her to see you without anyone getting in the way. It was something about you that was so endearing. She just couldn’t figure out what exactly it was about you that made her stomach flutter and her heart beat faster than it typically does. Usually dressed in a skirt that gracefully swayed with each step and a cozy sweater that hugged your figure, you never failed to greet her with a shy smile each day you entered the room, and each time she swooned. Too cute. It was like that for the first few months: watching the door patiently to see when you would walk in, stealing glances your way when you were seated in front of her as she taught, or occasionally looking over the book she was reading while you were taking a test, reading a book, or working on notes. She couldn’t help it. It also didn’t help that you were not only beautiful but smart, too. Every test, assignment, and project she had given out, you nailed them with ease, almost like you'd already mastered the subject prior to her teachings. Perfect was what you were. She thought about it every day.
As each day passed, Wanda always looked forward to the days when you would enter her class. And she wasn’t trying to be a creep about it in any way, but she couldn’t help but look… and wonder. She wondered about what you were like outside of her class, if you were just as reserved and quiet as you were in here or if you were bubbly and talked a lot, and what your voice sounded like. You were quiet. And it wasn’t a quality that she didn’t like at all; in fact, it only made her more intrigued, like you were a mystery that she wanted to solve. In the quiet moments, when the world slowed down, her thoughts would invariably drift to you—your earnest gaze, your subtle smiles, the way your eyes seemed to light up the room.
But despite the elation of her thoughts of you, she makes sure to remind herself why you were here in the first place: you were her student. And for your professor to have such thoughts about one of her students, it was wrong. She knew this from the beginning. But try as she might to suppress her emotions, Wanda found herself captivated by your presence anyway.
And she really tried, to be fair. She tried to ignore her thoughts of you in her head, but she could only do so much. In the end, she couldn’t resist asking you to meet her after class during her office hours. She’d try multiple times to find the most credible excuse to get you to stay, and usually, she’d opt for subjects regarding your work and even ask you if you were interested in being a teacher’s assistant. Who in their right mind would decline that offer? You’d get paid on top of being alone in the same room with your favorite professor—the, despite her intimidating looks, easygoing professor that you had been fond of since day one. In fact, everyone liked her. Most of the students thought she was hot anyway, which you had to agree on as well.
The work she had you do was simple, for the most part. Grading papers and organizing paperwork and files for her were the most common tasks she gave you. Eventually she had you read a few essays and reports, asking you to judge how well they were written. Wanda thought of it as a learning experience—to read, collect your thoughts, elaborate, and then discuss with you on that same subject. It was a little nerve-racking, to say the least, but really, you enjoyed every second you spent with this professor. Especially since she was so nice to you.
And you’d be lying if you said you had never noticed her lingering eyes on you on several occasions. Sometimes she stands behind your seat and leans over to see your assignments, and you can smell her sweet perfume and feel her breath against the top of your head. Then, you’d be lying a second time if you said it didn’t make your stomach flutter each time she got close to you.
Of course, with the quiet moments you shared together each week, you began to notice some things you'd never noticed before: how she's unable to get to work without a hot cup of tea using that old, faded, and chipped mug that the university gave her a couple years ago, how she spends an extra few minutes in her office at the end of each day because she always misplaces her ID card, or how she constantly has her nose stuck in a book—a poetry book you’d often see, when she wasn’t reading those one of those meaty, mind-bending volumes.
And as time went by, you also began to notice more and more the way she would look at you. It wasn’t as if you were completely oblivious to her stares. You could see clearly when her eyes would linger a little longer than necessary, occasionally catching the flicker of a smile that your professor seemed to suppress. It was as if you had developed a sixth sense for each time her demeanor shifted or her eyes would trace over you, just as she was doing now.
"Is everything alright, Professor?" You say, your voice coming out smoothly, cutting through the quietness that filled the room.
"Yes, I’m fine." Wanda cleared her throat and turned away from you, her eyes darting back to the book she was supposedly reading. "It’s, um... I’m just lost in my thoughts."
"Lost in your thoughts or lost in trying not to stare too obviously?"
Your professor’s eyebrows twitched upwards, your question pinking her cheeks as she turned the page of her book mindlessly while attempting to hide her smile. "I assure you, (Y/n). This book is… intense."
"Intense?" You rolled your eyes, not entirely convinced by her excuse, as your eyes traced the cover of her book. "Hmmm, The Book of Nature… William Wordsworth?"
Wanda skimmed through the pages of her book and cleared her throat for the second time, "It's a deep exploration of... um, philosophical concepts. Quite thought-provoking, really."
"Philosophical concepts?" You repeated with a sly smile playing lightly at your lips. "Are you sure that’s what it’s about? If I remember correctly, Wordsworth is a poet, right? And you look pretty relaxed for someone who’s reading about some intense philosophical poetry."
"Well, I think philosophical debates can be strangely soothing sometimes," she told you with a chuckle, slowly making her way out of the nervous state she was in just a moment ago.
"Really? I mean, I love poetry, but that’s quite the intellectual balance you’ve got there."
"Yeah," she breathed, her confidence seemingly flowing from her body right in front of your eyes as she used a finger to adjust the collar of her button-up. "And speaking of balance, how do you manage to keep your work in check while being so captivatingly distracting?"
The blush that paints your cheeks presents itself much more quickly than you could’ve imagined. It was adorable. Managing to turn away from her this time, you avoid her eyes as yours land back down on the papers that were set in front of you, completely forgotten while being under your professor’s gaze. You could practically feel the smile on her face as she watched your every movement. Wanda pulled her office chair closer to yours, where you had brought an extra chair up to her desk as you worked. She set her book down softly, mindlessly leaning in closer and closer to your face as her eyes kept darting between your eyes and those delicious-looking lips of yours. Her tongue dragged itself along the bottom of her lip subconsciously as she stared at you, not even hiding her intentions this time.
"You make it awfully hard to concentrate, (Y/n)," she continued as her eyes traced over the contours of your face, down to the skin of your neck as it strained slightly underneath the collar of your sweater. "I find it rather difficult to stay focused when you’re sitting in front of me."
"Um, Professor… I think we should…" With a flustered smile and stern eyes, you motioned over to the clock right by the door, notifying her that her time with you was nearly up.
Wanda only smiled before speaking again, nodding her head as she leaned back slowly to glance over to check the time, "Of course. Do carry on with your student duties, Miss (L/n)."
To be honest, it’s the first time she has heard you talk so much. Your voice was delicate and smooth, a voice that she wanted to keep hearing over and over again. Talking to you was something she wanted more of. She was quite smug, thinking about how all the rest of the students who admired you for your intelligence and work ethic didn’t get to talk with you as much as she did or spend time with you as much as she did.
A triumphant warmth spread through Wanda's chest as she turned back to read her book. Successfully making you flustered had ignited a sense of giddiness she hadn't felt in a while. But, a calm smile played on her lips, a facade she effortlessly maintained to match your demeanor, masking the happiness that bubbled within her. It’s evident throughout the days, where fragments of her infatuation for you are sprinkled into every moment you spend together. In those moments, she loved everything about you—from the way you worked and focused on your tasks, to the way your voice sounded despite not talking all that much, to the way you furrowed your eyebrows when your eyes stumbled upon something that confused you, or when your lips would curve into that pretty smile she loved to see so much.
Eventually, Wanda came to terms with her feelings rather quickly, but made no move to pursue them just yet. For you to be her lover was something that was not allowed, especially in her profession. She’d also still have to tackle the subject of whether or not you harbored even the slightest similarity about whether you had the same interest as she did for you. During moments where she would sit alone in her office or at home, she’d often let her mind drift off to the thought of you and how she would treat you if she were able to call you hers. Gifts like flowers, books, or jewelry would gladly be given as attempts to make you happy. She’d give you flowers every day if it allowed her to see that smile of yours for even just one second.
The two of you spend the rest of the semester filled with mindless flirting and grading essays, projects, and assignments, all while Wanda reads most of the time, and by reading, you mean she skims over a couple pages and spends the next few minutes admiring the beauty that is you before her. And sometimes, she lets her mind wander just as her eyes do, down to the skin of your thighs underneath those black tights, wondering how it would feel to have her hands all over your legs. She wonders how you would sound, moaning her name as you give her the sweet taste of heaven. If you hadn't been so engrossed in the activity your mind was occupied with, you'd see how her eyes latch to your frame and the way her mouth waters at the sight. It takes everything in her to keep her composure and not pull you into her private office and have her way with you.
She wants to do this correctly, of course. She wants you to want it, too. Though, it may seem like you return her advances and all the rest of her flirty remarks, she wants to make sure it’s something you are sure of.
So, she asks. And she starts by giving you a gift.
"Shakespeare?" You questioned curiously, running a finger along the spine of the book as a shy smile slowly etched its way onto your face. "I didn’t really take you for a romantic, Professor."
She had given you a gift before you were able to step away so soon from her and her class room. The book—The Sonnets by William Shakespeare—rested neatly in the palm of your hand as Wanda watched you inspect it with eager curiosity. You had mentioned your love of poetry once, and with her own collection sitting in the comfort of her own home, she decided to give you one of the books that she loved so much. It was romantic and a tad bit cliché, she’d have to admit, but to make you happy just as you did for her was the only thing she wanted from this.
Wanda brought a hand up to scratch the back of her neck, her eyes darting down to the book in your hand, "Well, I-I appreciate the beauty in romance, yes."
"Thank you for this. I’ll make sure to read it over break," you say, holding the book tightly between your chest and your arm before turning to make your way out of the door. "See you next semester."
Wanda had pondered it, thinking how long the two weeks of winter break would feel with you away from her. The weekends already felt like too long of a wait before Monday came around—the first day of each week when you stepped foot in her class. She looked forward to every day because of you and loved thinking about you on the weekends, then she’d repeat it all over again. But, two weeks. Two whole weeks without seeing that pretty face of yours or hearing that quiet, pretty voice of yours—it sounded dreadful.
"(Y/n)?" She called out to you before you could step out of her empty lecture hall. "Can you stay for a bit? I have something to ask."
She asked you out to dinner in the next few minutes after going on a quite adorable ramble about her being so enamored by you that she couldn’t help but ignore her own boundaries as your professor and ask you out on a date. She was confident but, at the same time, so anxious to hear what you had to say about it. The stare you gave her after her little speech was enough to make her want to dig a hole so deep into the earth and crawl into it so that she’d never be able to see the light of embarrassment. Wanda watched as you clutched the book she gave you tightly in your arms. By this point, she was so sure you’d turn her down given how long you were taking to answer.
Of course, when you answered, she couldn’t process it correctly for the first few seconds, but as soon as she did, her eyes lit up just as brightly as the sun on a clear day. The smile she was biting back was contagious, making you roll your eyes and smile back as she fought the urge to wrap her arms around you. And for a moment, you even thought as if you could imagine a tail wagging back and forth behind her in excitement. You both agreed on next Friday night at eight in the evening, when she would pick you up, take you out to a nice restaurant, and treat you like a queen. You deserved a lovely evening out, and Wanda couldn’t wait to share it with you.
As she went about her daily tasks leading up to that Friday, an uncontainable excitement welled up within her, and she couldn't help but steal moments to envision the evening ahead, leaning back in her office chair to imagine the upcoming night with a dreamy smile on her face, the prospect of sharing dinner and conversation with you filling her mind. Her heart raced with anticipation, wondering what you’d wear on that night, wondering how even prettier you would seem so close next to her, wondering how your hand would fit in hers, and wondering if you’d let her steal a kiss or two, or maybe, if she was lucky, even more. And god, she prayed for all of the luck to be on her side for even just one night.
When Friday came, Wanda rushed home from her office at the university to get ready before she would drive to pick you up at the address you had emailed her—she forgot to ask where you lived, but before she could ask, you had emailed her your address a couple hours earlier. She smiled at the thought, being so excited for the date that she forgot to ask one of the most important questions. Wanda settled on wearing an all-black suit, one of her favorites, and made sure to smooth out every wrinkle with a precise touch, each movement revealing the anticipation bubbling beneath her calm exterior. She knew that your choice of attire was a mystery, and her all-black ensemble was a versatile canvas, ready to complement whatever you had in mind.
But, fuck, when she saw you—God, she was just in pure awe at the sight of you.
Wanda arrived a little bit early, the anticipation of your dinner date bubbling within her. She parked her car outside of your apartment building and leaned against it, one foot casually crossing over the other. She glanced at her watch, checking the time, but her heart raced with a different kind of countdown. As the moments passed, Wanda’s excitement only grew. But when you finally emerged from the building, the sight that greeted Wanda left her speechless. The dress you wore wrapped around your frame perfectly, the silky fabric resting on your soft curves, along with a daring slit that ran up your thigh, revealing a glimpse of your leg with each step you took, and it drove her absolutely crazy. Wanda's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at you; the sight of your shy smile made her heart race even faster.
Fuck, she wanted to say. And for a moment, she struggled to find her words, but not less than a second later, she managed to regain her composure, a smitten grin forming on her lips, "You look beautiful, (Y/n)."
"Thank you, Professor," you replied, smiling innocently up into her eyes in a way that drove her insane. "You’re looking pretty amazing as well."
Wanda couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at your compliment, but she was still spellbound by the stunning vision before her. She offered her arm to you and walked with you towards the car, opening the car door for you. But, she couldn't shake the image of that tantalizing slit in your dress; the glimpse of your leg driving her senses into overdrive.
Throughout the night, Wanda found it nearly impossible to tear her gaze away from that slit in your dress. The subtle but alluring glimpse of your skin had cast a spell on her, igniting a fire of desire and fascination that she struggled to contain. Each moment she spent with you, Wanda's mind wandered, and she’d stumble on her words as she spoke, all because of her thoughts returning again and again to the sight that had driven her senses wild earlier. She couldn't help but steal glances at that tantalizing slit in your dress whenever you shifted or crossed your legs, her heart racing each time her eyes traced the path upward. And every now and then, you would catch Wanda's lingering gaze, a knowing smile playing on your lips. You seemed to relish the effect your attire had on your professor, your confidence growing as the evening progressed.
The date was going splendidly, with you and Wanda engaging in lively conversations, sharing stories, and relishing each other's company. You laughed together, savored delicious meals, and exchanged meaningful glances that hinted at your growing connection. Both of you were having a great time, enjoying the chemistry and camaraderie that seemed to come so naturally. However, your dress, still with its tantalizing slit, had become a magnetic force that Wanda found impossible to resist. It was as if her mind had been spellbound, repeatedly drawn back to that alluring detail with every glance in your direction. While you spoke passionately about your love for literature and your dreams, Wanda tried her best to maintain eye contact and stay engaged in the conversation. But time and again, her gaze would wander, trailing along the path of that tempting slit.
She stared all night, wondering what it would feel like to run her fingertips against your soft skin, wondering how you’d look when you slip out of your dress slowly, wondering how you’d sound—and the precious imagery alone caused all higher brain function to abandon her.
As the night continued, Wanda couldn't help but feel overwhelming happiness. Your presence was intoxicating, and your smile was a beacon that lit up the evening. It was a feeling she had longed for—the joy of being in the company of someone who not only understood her intellectually but also stirred something deeper within her. You were perfect. So perfect. She wouldn’t have had it any other way. Wanda was proud to have even come this far with you and wondered if you’d allow her the chance to take you out for a second time. She would be glad, too. God, she prayed you’d want to.
Dinner ended sooner than both of you would have liked. Wanda found herself lost in the sight of you the whole night, wishing she could linger in the moment a little while longer. And the idea of taking you home felt like an interruption to a masterpiece still in progress. She held your hand as she walked with you slowly down the path back to her car, which was parked a few ways away for this very reason.
But there was one thing Wanda couldn’t get off of her mind as she led you inside her car and started the drive back to your apartment—your lips. She wanted so badly, more than anything, to kiss you. Those lips that had been speaking to her for the entire night—she wanted to taste them and feel them against hers. With every passing streetlight, the desire to lean over and capture your lips at every red light only grew stronger. Her heart raced, and her fingers gripped the steering wheel every time she thought about it. The desire to taste the sweetness of your lips was undeniable. Yet, she hesitated. The night had been so perfect, and she didn't want to rush things.
"Thank you for tonight, Professor," you softly as soon as the car came to a slow stop in front of your building. "I had a wonderful time."
"Well, it’s not every day I get to have dinner with someone as beautiful as you," Wanda said, turning her head to face you as her hand gripped the steering wheel.
"You really know how to lay it on thick, don't you, Professor?" You rolled your eyes, trying to fight back the laugh that almost spilled from your mouth.
Wanda grinned from ear to ear and glanced at the street in front of her for only a moment, "I mean, only when it’s the truth—"
Mid-sentence, just as Wanda spoke, you leaned in and planted a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek, maybe a tad bit close to the corner of her lips. It was a sudden, tender gesture that caught Wanda completely off guard, making her grip tighten around the gear shift of the car. Then, you gently place your soft hand on top of hers, causing her vision to go hazy with clouds of lust, devotion, and affection. You don’t miss the way her ears turned red as you pulled away from her face.
Eventually, Wanda found her voice, though it was tinged with surprise as she stammered out, "Well, that was... unexpected."
In her mind, truthfully, she wanted to ask you to do it again and again and again. Maybe she’d ask for you to kiss her lips next time, but she’d never let you go off to do anything else.
"I think you’re too much of a flatterer," you chuckled softly, your fingers gently tracing the outline of Wanda's hand on the center console. "Do you say that to all of your students, Professor?"
Still slightly stunned from the tiny kiss, Wanda turned to face you. Her usual composure had been momentarily shattered by the feeling of your lips against her skin, and she met your eyes with a genuine, heartfelt sincerity, "No… just you."
The words slipped out of her mouth, unfiltered and genuine, carrying with them the depth of her feelings. In that moment, Wanda realized that her attraction to you was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It wasn't just casual flirting with someone who she thought was pretty, as she did in the beginning; it was something deeper, something that had taken her by surprise the longer she had gotten to know you. Wanda's heart continued to race as she watched your playful expression soften, replaced by a warm and genuine smile.
"Do you want to come in, Professor?"
Wanda, still feeling the electrifying effects of the way your lips felt, faltered once more. The idea of spending more time with you was undeniably tempting, but she knew that if she continued this evening further, it would require every ounce of her self-control. Her hands ached to touch you, to run them along your waist and hips, and she longed to press her lips against yours over and over again. The dress you wore was not much help either; her eyes were always glancing down to that slit that showed off the soft skin of your leg. In her mind, a hundred affirmations echoed, each one urging her to say yes. So, she did.
You led her towards your apartment, hand in hand, walking down the softly lit halls of the building in a happy, expectant silence. Although she tried to hide it, Wanda could feel her own excitement building to an almost unbearable level. Her heart raced, and her breaths came a touch quicker as you led her to your place, the feeling of your hand in hers setting her skin on fire. When you reached the door, you fumbled for your keys with one hand, your other still firmly clasped with Wanda's. Your movements were deliberate, yet there was an undeniable excitement radiating from you, a subtle telltale sign that you, too, were looking forward to what lay ahead.
A sense of comfort washed over Wanda as she stepped inside, the atmosphere of your warm apartment enveloping her as she followed you in. She watched your hips as you walked in front of her, her cheeks and ears reddening at the sight once more. Your space was also thoughtfully decorated, exuding a lived-in charm that made it feel like home.
"I’m sorry about the mess. It’s usually tidier, I promise," you tell her, placing your bag gently on the counter in the kitchen before turning back to look at her. "I honestly wasn’t planning on inviting you in yet, but… I don’t know; I guess I couldn’t help myself."
Wanda, however, didn't seem the least bit bothered. Her warm smile remained unwavering, and she looked around with genuine appreciation. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands now stuffed into the pockets of her pants, coolly leaning against the wall, "No, I don’t mind it. And it’s not messy at all. It’s a lovely home."
Her eyes roamed over your cozy living room with its soft, inviting couch, adorned with a few well-placed cushions. The warm glow of dimmed lamps bathed the room in a soft, comforting light. Bookshelves lined one wall, their shelves cradling an eclectic collection of literature, each book seeming to hold a story of its own. The scent of a vanilla-scented candle lingered in the air. It was a cozy, lived-in scent that made Wanda feel instantly at ease—a reflection of you and everything you loved. And on your coffee table, amidst your own collection of books, she saw the one she had given you. It lay there, open and well-loved, with pages slightly ruffled and a bookmark placed near the end. In no way would Wanda have minded the mess at all, not when she was surrounded by the tokens of you and your life.
"I’m almost done with it," Wanda heard you say as she looked around your apartment. "The sonnets are really beautiful. I think I’m enjoying it better than his plays."
The professor raised an eyebrow at your claim, "Bold statement, (Y/n)… But I’m glad you’re enjoying it."
You smiled at her as you moved to get two glasses and a bottle of wine that you’ve been saving for special occasions, and this was definitely one of them. But when you turned to look back at Wanda, her gaze, once warm and affectionate, had intensified with desire and lust as she watched you pour the wine into the glasses. Her eyes held an unmistakable hunger, as if you were the most captivating thing in the world, and it didn't go unnoticed. Wanda's stare was so intense and filled with longing that it seemed to sear through you like a fiery caress. It made your heart race, and your breaths quickened as you tried to maintain your composure. With that look in your eye, you knew this night was about to get even more special.
"What are you thinking so hard about over there, Professor?" You asked with a smirk that made Wanda weak in her knees.
Wanda shook her head and bit her lip, her cheeks reddening at the topic of her own thoughts. She made her way towards you as you slowly lifted the wine glass to your lips. And although you were occasionally flustered by her intense gaze, you had a reputation for your own brand of composed charm. Wanda approached the counter where the wine glasses were placed, her fingers lightly caressing the stem of a glass as she lifted it herself. Her movements were fluid and sensual, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame. But this time, when she turned to face you, she found herself locked in a gaze that mirrored her own desire. Your eyes held a magnetic allure, an intensity that matched Wanda's in every way—your look was a silent challenge, a dare to see who would break first.
You brought the wineglass to your lips, and the woman in front of you watched with a heightened sense of awareness, her gaze locked onto the way your lips delicately touched the rim of the glass. Your soft and inviting lips seemed to beckon Wanda like an irresistible temptation. They glistened with the remnants of the wine, and a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to taste those lips and feel their softness against her own. She wondered how your lips would feel, how they would respond to her touch, and how you’d moan into her mouth. And she couldn’t get her mind off of it.
"Professor," you spoke, setting your glass down on the counter before stepping close in front of her. "I think… you’re thinking too much."
Wanda’s anticipation was palpable, and she held her breath as you closed the distance between the two of you, her heart pounding in her chest. As you stood so close, your breaths nearly mingling, you sensed that she was still overthinking the moment. And finally, in a bold move, your hands reached out, gently tugging on her suit jacket, pulling her even closer. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down her spine as your lips met hers in a deep kiss. Wanda's breath caught in her throat as your lips met hers, and she melted into the kiss with a soft groan, moaning at the sweetness of your lips that she had been waiting all night to feel.
You led her to your bedroom with your lips never leaving hers and your arm around her neck while your other hand pulled her jacket roughly off her shoulders. A laugh bubbles against your mouth as you trip over the rug on the way to your room, but Wanda catches you with a chuckle, her hands at your waist holding you against her. Your lips fit so perfectly against hers, and the taste of you on her tongue unlocked all of the desires she had been trying to keep at bay. All she could think about was you. Mere seconds have gone by when your back finally meets the soft comfort of your bed, all while Wanda explores your mouth with her tongue. She indulges herself in the taste of you and tugs desperately at your dress, just as you tried to undo her belt, albeit poorly. The gasp you let out when Wanda moved her head down to your neck, sucking, licking, and nipping at your sensitive skin, distracted you from your current task, leaving her belt loosely unbuckled.
"Mmh, Professor…" Your bedroom was painted with your needy moans and Wanda’s soft grunts as she pressed herself against you, your body pressed in between her and the mattress.
"Wanda," she murmured into your neck, leaving marks on your skin as her mouth explored. "You can call me Wanda… Please."
You smiled and ran your hand through her hair, urging her to look at you and bring her face close to yours just for you to say her name in the sultriest way that made the woman in front of you physically stutter, "Wanda."
Wanda swallows the lump in her throat, dazed as she watches your lips as you spoke out her name. She parted her lips, unaware of the hazy look in her eyes as she stared at you. Dragging her tongue over her bottom lip, she subconsciously leaned in to press another kiss to your sweet mouth, but you cupped her face with a soft yet commanding touch before she could close the distance. Wanda's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as your gentle fingers caressed her skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine as your touch lingered, trailing slowly from her face, down her neck, and over her collarbone. Your hands moved with deliberate tenderness, unbuttoning the rest of her shirt one button at a time.
And she could only watch; her eyes locked onto your hands as if they were the most mesmerizing thing in the world. Your movements were slow, each button releasing its hold on the fabric with a soft, tantalizing pop. Wanda, lost in the sensations of your touch, was in a daze once again. Her eyes remained fixed on your hands, watching as they worked their way down, unbuttoning her shirt one by one. Your fingers brushed against her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and desire in their wake. With the last button undone, you gently slid Wanda's shirt off her shoulders, and it slipped down her arms, a whisper of fabric gliding to the floor. You couldn’t help but smile at her, hovering over you with a black bra on, her pants unbuckled, and her hair tousled from all of the making out. God, was she beautiful.
And Wanda thought the same thing about you, if not more. You still had your dress on, and the way you spread your legs a bit so she could settle comfortably on top of you did nothing but make her feral. Wanda’s mouth practically watered at the sight of your exposed skin. With a gentle and curious hand, her fingers danced along the skin of your leg, slipping under that same tantalizing slit that had been teasing her the whole night. She kissed your chest as she did so, but with the way you were squirming underneath her, Wanda couldn’t get the thought of your hot, naked, trampling body out of her head. And she could feel it—fuck, that lacy underwear you were wearing—as if you had planned this all along. It was driving her absolutely insane.
"You can take my clothes off for me," you whispered lowly into her ear, and for a moment, Wanda froze at your words.
Soon enough, her hands started pulling roughly at every piece of fabric she could get her hands on. She needed to see you. She was going to lose it if she didn’t see you. And despite how rough her hands were, Wanda carefully slipped the dress off of your body, undoing its zipper in a way you almost didn’t notice. But all caution was thrown out the window when Wanda finally laid eyes on your half-naked body. It was black lace underwear that you were sporting, and all she could think about was how stunning you looked. She sat there for a while, frozen and heated, her eyes raking over every inch of your body. To think that you were wearing this underneath that goddamn dress this whole time, god, it makes her absolutely exasperated with desire.
"I’m getting a bit cold here, Professor," you smirk, your fingers trailing up her pants, finally meeting her undone belt once again. "Warm me up a little?"
"Yes ma’am," Wanda breathed out and nodded, her hand ghosting over your skin once more as you opened your arms and urged her to come closer—the sight causing her to melt and a question she didn’t even think twice about spilling from her mouth. "Can I fuck you? Please?"
Almost immediately, Wanda leaned down and pressed her face against your body, littering soft and hot kisses along your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, your collarbones, and to your neck. She would lick, suck, and kiss all over again, marking your skin with the prettiest bruises. You almost forget to answer her question when she starts kissing you, but she pleaded once more. To let her do whatever she wanted, just say the word, and she’ll make sure to make you feel so fucking good.
"Please," she begged you, whining only slightly as she kissed your neck. "Please, (Y/n). Please—I'll do anything, I—"
"Touch me there," you said, slipping your hand into hers to lead it down to your warm, clothed center. "Right there, Wanda."
You let her fingers press against the fabric, feeling how undeniably soaked you were. Without a second thought, Wanda immediately circles your clothed pussy with the pads of her fingers, just getting lost in the feeling of your wet heat. Her jaw slowly drops as she watches her own fingers play with your cunt. She pressed even harder the moment she finds your clit underneath the thin fabric and when you moaned, arching your back slightly in the process, she lost all self-control. You don’t even get a second to catch your breath as Wanda immediately starts clawing at your underwear, pulling your bra off of your chest in the quickest way possible. And, when she moved her hands back to your panties to uncover the very treasure she was yearning for, you suddenly heard an unmistakable sound—the sound of fabric tearing.
Your eyes widened in disbelief as Wanda stared at the torn piece of underwear in her hands, "Did you just—"
"I’m sorry." Then she kissed you to give you something else to think about other than the fact that she just ripped your precious, laced underwear.
"You ripped—"
She kissed you again, murmuring against your lips, "I’m sorry, baby."
"That was expensive, you know. I just got it last week," you said, rolling your eyes, wrapping your arms around her neck as she continued to kiss your skin all over again. And it was working—when you felt her lips kissing you and sucking on you, you could barely think about anything else.
The corner of Wanda’s lips turned upward at the thought of you buying lingerie just for her, "I said, I’m sorry. I’ll get you another one, I promise… But, right now, I really want to fuck you. I want to fuck you until you can't move. Let me make you feel better, baby? Please."
Wanda's plea hung in the air, her voice a desperate whisper filled with desire. When she turned to look back at you, she did so with an intensity that made your heart race even faster. Already blushing from the heat of the moment, you felt your cheeks grow even hotter and hotter. Your gaze locked onto Wanda's lidded eyes, and you could see clear as day the raw need inside of them.
Your lips parted, and a deep, crimson blush spread across your cheeks. With a soft voice, almost breathless, you finally gave in, "You’re lucky I like you, Professor."
You were going to say more, but you couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your lips when Wanda dips two fingers into your pussy without any warning. She could feel you tense up around her waist, and your hands moved to grip her biceps as she started pumping into you at a slow pace, easing her way up to a faster one. Wanda’s jaw dropped once again, moaning as she felt just how tight, warm, and wet you were around her fingers. She could feel every sliver of you, your spongy walls wrapping around her digits, and you gasping right into her ear. God, it was so perfect. You are so perfect. She could fuck you like this forever.
"Does that feel good?" she asked, looking up at you with lidded eyes while her fingers continued to make their way in and out, in and out.
"Yes, right there," you nod quickly, moaning in her ear as your grip on her arms got tighter, trying to hold on for dear life as Wanda gradually got faster and faster. "You feel so good inside of me, Wanda. So good—ah!"
The woman reveled in your praise, unable to hold back her own moans as she watched her fingers, glistening with your slick, sink deeper and deeper.
"You’re sucking my fingers in, baby." And you truly were. Her fingers are buried deep in your pussy, and almost immediately, she finds that weak, spongy spot inside of you and begins to torture that button. With your moans getting pounder and louder, she penetrates deep against it, groaning into your neck as she listens to the music of your moans and whimpers.
After a moment of getting lost in the heavenly sounds that were spilling from your mouth, Wanda pulls your leg over to your chest, pumping her fingers in and out at a much faster pace than before. With her digits accelerating in speed, your body jolts and your moans go up an octave as Wanda continued to fuck her fingers into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling her press against that sweet spot inside your pussy over and over again, building up to the climax she had been working diligently to witness. And finally, the band holding you together finally breaks, your body succumbing to one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. Wetness pools all over her hand, and your pussy clenches tightly around her fingers. Wanda melts at the sight of your trembling body and shaky legs as your hands grip onto her biceps even harder, trying to hold on as she helped you ride out your climax.
When you calmed down, legs trembling against her, Wanda carefully pulled her fingers out of you with a squelch. She stared down in awe at your wetness, glistening all over her fingers and dripping down her hand. With her lips parted and eyes glued, you could not help but smile as you were catching your breath, still a bit hazy from the orgasm she had just given you. When you felt like the professor was taking a bit longer than expected, you reached down and gently brought her hand close to your face, her eyes following as you did so. And when you opened your mouth, you dragged your tongue slowly over the length of her fingers, and all Wanda had the strength to do was watch.
"Fuck," Wanda breathed out as you licked her hand clean of your essence.
You pulled Wanda in by the neck to kiss her, and she groaned into your mouth when she tasted your juices on your tongue—the taste of how good she made you feel. After pulling away to catch your breath once more, Wanda made her way back down again, leaving kisses along your skin as she traveled to the heavenly space between your gorgeous legs. And with mere inches away, she could smell you, smell the taste of you, and it lingered on her tongue, only making her yearn for more. The scent of you floods her senses, and she leans in with lidded eyes, lost in the thought of having you come right into her mouth. God, she wanted it—she needed it.
She was so close—her mouth was so close. You were right there, all ready in her mind for the grand meal she was about to indulge herself in. And with a soft but firm hand holding her head back by her hair, you stopped her.
"Not yet," you told her, shaking your head slightly as your fingers threaded through her hair.
"What?" Wanda gives you another dazed look, confused and almost frustrated with the fact that you interrupted her on her way to a heavenly meal.
"Not yet," you repeated once again, louder and clearer, with a more demanding tone. "I want you to watch me."
With her eyebrows raising in surprise, Wanda wondered what it was you had in store for her, "Watch you?"
With a teasing smile, you took your hand off of Wanda’s head, slowly dragging your fingers against the inside of your thigh, then in between, the soft pads of your fingers meeting your clit. There was nothing else Wanda could keep her eyes on except the way you pressed softly onto your clit, with another moan slipping out. Your clit was wet and slippery, coated with your juices. You could feel her heavy breath against your pussy, just centimeters away from her face, and all Wanda could do was stare. The sound of your quiet whimpers filled her ears, and it took everything inside Wanda not to dive in, face first, into your heavenly heat.
You must’ve known. You must’ve known what you were doing; keeping her desperate and begging while also checking if she’d be good and obey. And although it was hard to keep away, Wanda followed your orders and watched. With her eyes stuck to that precious button you were torturing all by yourself, she couldn’t help but pant slightly, like an obedient dog waiting for its signal to start eating.
Soon, you were getting close all over again, and Wanda was disappointed that it was not her doing. Although your moans and whimpers were more than enough to fuel her desires, waiting to touch you almost became unbearable, but she remained still, her eyes still glued to your pretty pussy as you touched yourself.
"Let me—Let me touch you," Wanda pleaded, unable to take her eyes off of the way you were rubbing your fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Please, let me help."
"N-Not yet," you said again, your body writhing more and more as each second passed.
With a groan, Wanda dropped her head down against the plush, inside part of your thighs, holding you down as you chased your own high. She kept watching with her mouth open as she resisted each and every urge in her body that told her to ignore your order and just jump right in, but she held herself back. She didn’t even know how, but she knew that once you allowed her, you’d reward her with the best meal and orgasm you could ever give her.
And just as you were about to hit your peak, you let one word slip, "Now."
Wanda finally opened her mouth and let her tongue fall. Her jaw drops as she lets her tongue travel from the bottom to the top, dragging it through your folds and swirling it messily around your clit. The taste of you was as blissful as angels singing in her mouth, as if her tastebuds had been blessed by the gods themselves. Your cries and moans rested well on Wanda’s ears, doing nothing to stop her from eating you out so fervently. A pleasured groan fell from Wanda’s muffled mouth as you tugged harshly at her hair, Her breath was hot, and your pussy had you squirming beneath her. It was heaven for Wanda. God, she’d give everything if it meant being able to live the rest of her days down here, with her head between your legs and your pussy in her mouth. She’d be set for life.
Your poor clit was already so sensitive, and Wanda was lapping at you like a thirsty dog. Your precious brain couldn’t even focus anymore, and all you could think about was Wanda’s tongue. And because of how close you were just before she started, your orgasm started to build higher and higher in a matter of seconds. Her mouth showed no remorse, and the lewd noises only made you flush deeper. With her thighs squeezing her head between your thighs, Wanda devoured you, holding you still with ease despite your constant squirming. Then, she wrapped her mouth around your clit, and sucked, and sucked, and sucked, and sucked, until she had you screaming her name into the air as you came inside of her mouth.
And yet, she doesn’t stop.
"W-Wanda, I—"
"Not yet," she said, voice muffled as she continued to fuck you through your orgasm, her tongue swirling and licking every crevice in and out of your sex.
Your words die in your mouth, and you let out a squeal as she buries her tongue right into your pussy all over again, licking and swirling it inside of you as you whined about how it was too much for you to handle. But, she kept going anyway. And fuck, you felt incredible wrapped around her tongue; it drove Wanda insane. Your body was hot, trembling at the mercy of her touch, screaming out as Wanda continued to overstimulate you. She was now far from being gentle. How could she? When you had been teasing her all through the night with that slit in your dress and those eyes that were begging her to do something? Occasionally, she’d open her eyes to see you arching your back, screaming into the pillow, and it made Wanda moan against your pussy, the vibrations doing more to stimulate you.
With her eyes glued to your body as your legs tensed around her head and your stomach clenched as you moaned, Wanda whined and pushed herself further into you. Her hands were now spreading your folds open as she dragged her tongue up and down your fold before wrapping around your clit once more. Even when you finally gushed inside her mouth, she kept going, even with your entire body enveloped in shivers, as she savored each and every drop of your essence.
"I think–It’s too much—" you tried to say.
But, she just hit you with the same words all over again, "Not yet."
And she’d make you come a third time, then a fourth, then a fifth—until you couldn’t take it anymore. By the end of all of it, Wanda goes back up to your face, her heart racing faster as she sees your tear-stained cheeks and a lazy smile on your face as you try to look at her. She wipes them clean with her thumb and kisses them with her lips, using her other hand to calm your trembling body by running it along your quivering legs.
You reach out for her with a whimper, trying to grab hold of her, begging for her care as she soothes your body. Wanda smiles and re-kisses each bruise she left on you, all the way up until she makes it to your mouth. She kisses you softly and gently, and you can taste yourself right on her tongue. Nuzzling your face into her neck, Wanda pulls your body to lay on top of her, securing a tight and comforting hold on you as you began your drift to sleep.
It’s everything Wanda could have ever wanted—to be with you. It was perfect. You were perfect.
"You did so good, Wanda," you said sleepily into her skin, muffled as you spoke. "So good for me."
"I think I should be the one saying that, (Y/n)," she replied with a proud smile as she ran her hand through your hair. Eventually, her hand rested on your cheek, soothing her thumb over your skin as you began to let your eyes flutter closed at her soothing touch. "You are… so beautiful, darling… So perfect."
You almost fall asleep after a few seconds. Her touches, the feeling of her breathing, and the way her skin felt was everything you ever wanted and more. Wanda laid there with the same thought in her head, her heart filled with an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. As she gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, she couldn't imagine a more perfect moment.
“I have something for you,” you say, voice rasp and groggy as you moved reach something from the drawer of your side table. “It’s nothing special… it’s just… you keep losing your card, so..”
You couldn't help but feel a touch of nervousness. You had spent hours searching for the perfect gift, wanting to express you affection for Wanda in a meaningful way. Yet, when you were finally about to give it to her, you couldn't help but feel a bit shy about its simplicity.
But then, Wanda's eyes lit up with curiosity as she accepted the small box and carefully opened it. Inside, she found a cute red lanyard with a playful pattern, and her heart swelled with affection. She held it delicately in her hands, her fingers gently tracing the tiny pattern that adorned the fabric. It was a simple yet thoughtful gift, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for you for choosing it.
Your shyness melted away, replaced by a radiant smile, as you watched Wanda’s joy. You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that your gift had brought a smile to the professor’s face.
Wanda turned towards you, her eyes soft with emotion and her heart full. She reached out and gently cupped your cheek with her hand, her thumb tenderly brushing against your skin. With a sweet and sincere smile, Wanda leaned in slowly, her lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips met like two puzzle pieces finally fitting together, and for that moment, the world seemed to fade away.
“It’s perfect,” Wanda says, unable to suppress the way her lips curved upward. “Thank you.”
Then, each day as you arrived for class, your heart couldn't help but skip a beat when you saw Wanda. What caught your attention immediately was the sight of the red lanyard that Wanda wore around her neck. It didn't matter if Wanda's outfit matched the lanyard or not; it was always there, a constant presence, and a sweet reminder of the thoughtful gift you had given her. On some days, it stood out vividly against Wanda's attire, a burst of color that added charm to her ensemble. On others, it contrasted playfully, a delightful pop of red against more subdued colors. But in any case, it was always there.
Over the next few weeks, You and Wanda found yourselves in a whirlwind of newfound affection and stolen moments. In the classroom, your glances became a language of your own. Wanda would catch your eye from across the room, and a playful yet affectionate smile would curve both yours and her lips. It was as if you shared an inside joke, one that no one else in the class could comprehend. As the days went by, their desire for each other grew. They were days off of stolen kisses, lingering glances, and shared smiles that only you could fully understand.
One day, in the middle of a lecture, Wanda couldn't resist the urge any longer. She discreetly slipped out of her seat and gently tugged at your hand, pulling you slightly behind and into a closet at the back of the room, out of sight from her classmates' curious eyes. With a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her eye, Wanda leaned in and pressed her lips against yours. It was soft and tender, a tantalizing taste of their affection that left both of you breathless. The classroom continued with the lecture, seemingly oblivious to the hidden exchange.
Yet, for Wanda, those stolen kisses were like sweet secrets shared only between the two of you.
— navigation!
#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff fanfiction#marvel x reader#wanda x reader#elizabeth olsen#marvel#avengers x reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#wanda maximoff x female reader
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I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.
I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.
I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."
But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...
Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK
Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this
#cotl#cult of the lamb#famous prophets au#alternate universe#shamura#heket#kallamar#narinder#the one who waits#leshy#comic#violence tw#blood tw
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idk if ur reqs are open but im obsessed with ur account. i was wondering if u could do a smau of any driver (other than danny ric) x pbr!reader. like shes the only woman to ever compete at NFR in bull riding. shes also 19 and doesnt ride with a helmet (just a cowboy hat) shes also like yhe biggest rodeo barbie you could imagine.
Firstly, I’m sorry it took me so long to get to work on your request, end of the year stuff and other wips got in the way 🫠 Anyways, I decided on Max for this because I almost immediately thought of him and his little Texas outfit 🥰 Also, I have to admit that my (non-American) knowledge of professional bull riding consisted primarily of The Longest Ride so excuse any inaccuracies, but I tried my best to read up on it! That being said, I hope it’s to your liking :)
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MV1 | Season of Champions
pairing: max verstappen x pbr!reader
genre: social media au
summary: you and max are each other's biggest supporters as max tries to secure his 3rd world championship title, whilst you're fighting for your 1st in a previously all male dominated sport
masterlist
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Liked by wagsf1, user3 and 135,092 others
mv.y/nupdates: Tomorrow our girl can secure one of the few select spots in the NFR finals!!! Unfortunately Max can’t be there due to his own race in Qatar, but we’ll be sure to cheer them both on ❤️
View all 712 comments
user1: they’re gonna kill it on both sides of the atlantic
user2: POWER COUPLE
user3: omg i hope y/n wins 🙏 she deserves this so much
user4: my alarm is set for 4 am to support y/n 🫡
user5: are you taking a nap between their races??
user4: lol obviously
user5: same 😂 it’s a tough life stanning max & y/n
7 October
Liked by y/n, mv.y/nupdates and 112,363 others
pbr: y/n y/l/n becomes the first woman in history to qualify for the NFR finals in Las Vegas in December! Congrats on this incredible achievement, y/n. See you in Sin City⚡️
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user6: OMG SHE DID IT ❤️❤️❤️
user7: i’m so proud of her, i’ve literally been here since day 1
user8: remember when she used to do rodeo and everyone told her she could never go into pbr… look at her NOW 🔥
user9: she gave her hat to the little girl in the front row 😭❤️
user10: yep i cried
user11: y/n is not only the best, she is the SWEETEST
8 October
Liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 805,298 others
y/n: There aren’t words to describe how it feels to finally have my childhood dream come true. I’m not gonna lie, it was a tough road, especially as a female in this industry. Working my way up through rodeo to where I am today: a NFR finalist!! It’s a real pinch me moment… Little me would be ecstatic (just like present me 🙈) To all the other little girls that share the same passion & dream, it’s possible! Never stop believing in yourself ❤️ Now, let’s get that trophy!!!
View all 3,238 comments
maxverstappen1: My girl 😍 You’ve 100% got this 💪
y/n: Thank you baby 🥰 But first, Texas!
landonorris: GET INNN
Liked by y/n
lewishamilton: Legend in the making 🤍
Liked by y/n
user12: you’re gonna inspire so many girls to follow their dreams 🧡
user13: ✨role model✨
user14: soooo… idk if anyone’s seen the other finalists but she’s going to absolutely annihilate the competition just saying
user15: fr, they ain’t ready
8 October
Liked by user16, user17 and 658,512 others
f1: Howdy, y’all, it’s race week 🤠 Austin, here we come! 🇺🇸
View all 520 comments
y/n: Looking sharp sheriffs!
carlossainz55: Muchas gracias
charles_leclerc: Have to look our best this weekend, don’t we?
y/n: I wonder who for 🤔
charles_leclerc: 😉
user16: UHM FLIRTY MUCH??
user17: easy there sharl, she’s taken 💀
user18: cota the soap opera, i’m here for it
16 October
Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 778,543 others
y/n: Switching my bull gear for that other bull gear 💙 COTA LET’S GOOO
View all 2,160 comments
maxverstappen1: Blue looks good on you
Liked by y/n
danielricciardo: Yeeeeehaaawwww
redbullracing: Team Bull. Always.
y/n: Hell yeah!!
user19: you can pull off literally anything 😍
user20: y/n is at cota this weekend!!!!!
user21: omfg finally some y/n & max content
user22: we’ve been STARVED
user21: exactly 🥲
user23: GIRL WAIT YOU SWITCHED TO THE CAP??
y/n: Don’t worry!! It was only for the pic 😊
user23: oh thank god
18 October
y/n's story
Seen by landonorris, alex_albon and 2,436,712 others
19 October
Liked by y/n, victoriaverstappen and 728,451 others
maxverstappen1: Austin ready 🇺🇸💪
View all 1,934 comments
y/n: There were so many cool hats to choose from but he insisted on wearing mine…😈
landonorris: Initiating the cowboy hat rule just in time before the race… Clever girl
alex_albon: Oooohh everybody watch out
schecoperez: 😂😂😂
y/n: You know it ;)
maxverstappen1: Wait what?
landonorris: Nothing, mate 🤠 You’ll find out soon enough
user24: BYEEEE AHAHAHA
user25: y/n and the whole grid ganging up on max 😭
user26: he’s so oblivious i love it
19 October
Liked by sophiekumpen, redbullracing and 654,281 others
f1: VERSTAPPEN WINS AT COTA! 🏆
View all 2,017 comments
user27: 🔥🔥🔥
user28: the goat does it again
user29: little sad that max didn’t wear the cowboy hat on the podium tho
user30: lmao y/n is probably as well
22 October
Liked by maxverstappen1, alex_albon and 768,311 others
y/n: WHAT. A. WEEKEND. 15th win of the season & 50th altogether!!!🥇Proud of you Maxie 😘😘
View all 2,108 comments
maxverstappen1: Love you 😘
user31: MAXIE??? i’m sobbing
user32: i need to know all her nicknames for him NOW
user33: and i need her to be at every one of his races
user34: same she fitted right in with the crew in the pitbox, joking around and everything :’)
user33: truly one of the few wags who are actually into the sport…
22 October
Liked by y/n, danielricciardo and 734,161 others
maxverstappen1: It’s incredible to win my 50th Grand Prix here today. I feel very proud to achieve this! Amazing job by everyone in the team 👏 And special thank you to y/n, the hat indeed brought us luck!
View all 1,998 comments
y/n: Always trust the hat, you should wear it more often
maxverstappen1: Unfortunately we cannot all break the helmet rules
y/n: 🙄
user35: lmao y/n is like you either die trying or you don’t try at all
user36: she has an aesthetic to look after 💅🏼
y/n: 🤣 You got it!
user36: OMG OMG
user37: BROOO
user38: well at least we’ve got that confirmed now
22 October
y/n's story
Seen by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial and 2,766,192 others
23 October
y/n's story
Seen by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 2,541,384 others
23 October
Liked by user39, user40 and 31,476 others
mv1jet: Verstappen’s jet just touched ground! 🛬 Nevada, United States of America 🇺🇸
View all 508 comments
user39: oh god everyone get ready
user40: this can only mean 1 thing
user41: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN, 3-TIME F1 WORLD CHAMPION, COMING TO SUPPORT HIS GIRL AT THE BIGGEST PBR EVENT OF THE YEAR HELLO YES I AM SAT
28 November
Liked by mv.y/nupdates, pbr and 275,021 others
wranglernfr: Today marks the start of the 65th NFR Finals! Newcomer and fan favorite y/n y/l/n has a good shot at winning the championship this week. However, will she decide to adhere to the mandatory helmet regulations or will she risk disqualification and still wear her self-proclaimed good luck hat? We’ll find out soon, folks. Stay tuned!
View all 1,454 comments
user42: i bet she keeps to her aesthetic
user43: oh def, she basically said it herself already
user44: but but but would they really disqualify her when she wins…??
user45: technically it is against the rules to ride without a helmet during the nfr’s so… yeah they might
user44: 😥😥
user46: please y/n don’t jeopardize it all 😩
2 December
maxverstappen1's story
Seen by landonorris, schecoperez and 3,014,839 others
11 December
Liked by maxverstappen1, mv.y/nupdates and 301,294 others
wranglernfr: NFR 2023 Champion y/n y/l/n⚡️Despite sticking to her famous but controversial cowboy hat, y/n becomes the 65th winner in Las Vegas at just nineteen, beating the runnerup and last year’s champion Billy Youngster!
View all 1,778 comments
user47: SHE DID IT!!!! 💪🔥
user48: i’m bursting with pride i’m so happy for her 🥰🥰🥰
mv.y/nupdates: two world champions this is almost too good to be true 😭❤️
user49: their christmas is gonna be one helluva party
user50: well deserved, that billy kid had it coming
user51: he only won last year because of dumb luck!
user52: FACTS
user53: this year we have a winner who’s worthy of the title ❤️
user54: can’t get over how y/n was so far up ahead they literally couldn’t disqualify her for the hat thing lol
user55: imagine if they had, people would have rioted
user54: omg they would have, with max at the front hoisting his pitchfork in the air, leading the pack
user55: 😂😂
11 December
Liked by maxverstappen1, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,219,748 others
y/n: Cowboy hat + racing gloves = champions of the world 🏆
View all 4,193 comments
maxverstappen1: ❤️
sophiekumpen: So proud of both of you 🥰
victoriaverstappen: Coolest auntie (en oom natuurlijk🙊)!!!
Liked by y/n
landonorris: Congrats on making champion, champ!!! And wow… Max has got his own hat 👀
y/n: Yup! He deserved it after his triple US win 😍
charles_leclerc: Does this mean that your hat claim has lifted…?
maxverstappen1: Unless you want another inchident, back off
y/n: Uhm... He knows what it means now…
charles_leclerc: 😳
alex_albon: RIP Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc 🪦
Liked by maxverstappen1 and y/n
12 December
Liked by y/n, landonorris and 1,182,853 others
maxverstappen1: Wear the hat…
Comments have been disabled
12 December
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a/n: translation of “en oom natuurlijk” > “and uncle ofcourse”
Happy holidays! x
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#request#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x pbr reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x you#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 x y/n#max verstappen smau#max verstappen fake instagram#max verstappen fake social media#formula 1 smau#formula 1 fanfic#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen blurb#season of champions
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In the live-action "One Piece" adaptation, there's a brief confrontation in which Cabaji says that Zoro chased him and his brother through the jungles of Goa Kingdom or something. Which made me think IMMEDIATELY about an AU in which Zoro and Luffy meet early, when Luffy is around 15 or so and Zoro is around 17, sometime shortly after Ace has set out on his own adventure and Luffy is on his own.
So, like, imagine Zoro being this 17yo bounty hunter who thinks he's hot shit, people are starting to call him "THE Demon of East Blue". He gets one Cabaji brother but the other escapes, leaving Zoro injured and alone in the jungle (similar to the side wound that Zoro gets at Orange Town in the manga). It's getting dark, he has a corpse to drag back to a Marine base somewhere back in Goa Kingdom, and there are beasts here. He thinks he can see a tiger, stalking him in the bush.
And then some 15yo in a straw hat and shorts bounces out of the trees going, "WHOOOOOAAAAA, you're SO cool! I was watching your fight! You're amazing! You should join my pirate crew!" Like... what? (If there was a tiger, the tiger has fucking RUN FOR IT. It doesn't want to be EATEN.)
So, Luffy drags Zoro back to Dadan's place for medical aid ("YOU BROUGHT A BOUNTY HUNTER INTO MY HOUSE?!" Dadan yells, while her guys patch up this kid anyway) and politely introduces Zoro to Makino ("I'm not going to be your first mate, don't introduce me that way," Zoro says for the tenth time already). And Zoro ends up being convinced to stick around Dawn Island and Foosha Village to train for a month (and also to heal, but that's less persuasive), with Luffy following him around like a starry-eyed puppy the entire time, unless he's dragging Zoro off to fight beasts and each other in the jungle. Kicking the shit out of each other is a sign of FRIENDSHIP.
Seeing Luffy's burgeoning fighting skills is enough to make Zoro go, "Maybe this kid is alright," and hearing Luffy talk about dreams is the beginning of Zoro's doom. But he's not going to sign up until Luffy is more impressive! If Luffy wants him for his crew, he has to come find Zoro when he sets out on his own adventure. And Luffy agrees this is reasonable even if he's going to miss his new best friend sooooo badly.
Now, I'm a Zolu fan (ace-spectrum Luffy), so I like to imagine Zoro and Luffy having a really dorky teenage romance between future monsters here. If only because when Luffy and Nami bust into Captain Morgan's Marine Base, Luffy can go (after 2 years of having Makino keep track of Zoro in the newspapers), "Oh, my boyfriend is here!!! 😃 I wonder how much stronger he's gotten? I need to impress him so that he'll join my pirate crew!!!" And Nami and Koby can be like, "What the FUCK are you talking about?! The PIRATE HUNTER?! The demon who kills pirates?!" Luffy: "Yeah! ❤️"
Even better if Luffy has already gone to a couple different islands (with or without Koby), loudly going, "I'm going to be King of the Pirates! And also, HAS ANYONE SEEN MY BOYFRIEND?! He has green hair and three swords and he gets lost really easily!" Or maybe Luffy was just shouting this on Alvida's ship and around the town under Morgan's control? It doesn't really matter. It just has to be loud enough that Garp finally catches wind of this situation.
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do u take requests? if u do, could i have an outbreak au where reader rides joel in his truck? thank u! i LOVED #1 girl btw
open road
wanted to practice my writing skills again so here! :)
warnings: 18+ !!!! smut, pwp, implied age gap, feminine reader, daddy kink sry, pet names galore
“One of the guys called you scary.”
The sky is dull, something bland and colorless in-between blue and grey—something that’s become a norm. A clear, cloudless sky comes once every few months if a trickle of luck happens to dwell upon the area, but even for a pair that travels as much as you and Joel do, the memories of that kind of weather have become few and far between. Joel is grown, though, and he’s wise, and he knows there isn’t any good that comes out of complaining over something as trivial as this.
Anyway, he’s got a whole little ball of sunshine beside him, feet propped up on the dashboard clumsily.
“Hm. What’d you say?” He grunts back, trying to hide how the comment has begun to make him think. He’s not new to the entire scary bit, but every time the comment arises he finds himself wanting to know your thoughts, if you agree, if you know he doesn’t mind the reputation as long as you find him the opposite.
“I said no, you’re just old.”
You’re in your socks because you hate the weight of the boots you wear, and you’re wearing one of his old shirts, from years and years ago, thin with wear and the collar cut off so it hangs across your collarbones. It’s your favorite, this ratted brown color with a band on it that performed when you weren’t even born yet, you think. Joel likes this one, too, he won’t tell you just how much; he just hopes you don’t pick up on the fact that he fucks you all the more harder whenever you wear this around him.
“I’m not old, sugar.”
“You are old. Older than me and the guy who said you were scary.” A lithe hand comes twisting at the grey hairs on his temple. He tuts and you pull back, giggling out an apology. “When’re we getting there?”
“Slow down. The open road is a blessin’, don’t you think, sweetheart?” To Joel, everything is a blessing in the height of such an uncertain time—a blessin’, in his vernacular, his drawled-out twang. It’s his turn, now, to reach across the console and wrap a hand around your thigh. It tickles, and you tense through the material of your jeans. Sometimes you wonder if you can wear your dresses on tasks like these, ones not so high in urgency, but with a destination nevertheless. You want a clicker gnawin’ off your leg, be my guest, he said once, and that was that.
“I guess,” you muster half-heartedly, fingers skating along the expanse of Joel’s hand. Two of your fingers align with one of his own. Outside the scenery is mostly grey, barely green, lifeless, but interesting anyway, the ruins and the rot, blatant reminders of what you’re all living in the thick of.
You swallow and wrap a hand around his wrist. “Do we need to be there now?”
He huffs out this laugh between exasperation, and quickly he presses two fingers to the crotch of your bottoms. “So soon?” He’d just eaten you out before you left less than two hours ago, the hem of your shirt stuffed into your mouth so nobody would hear. You buck up into his hand, which has now left, and whine lowly in your throat.
“That wasn’t fair,” you bemoan, chasing his hand. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.
“I’m jus’ try’na enjoy the road, dove. Back then, this’d be drownin’ in traffic. People beatin’ the five-thirty rush. Now it’s jus’ you and me.” He hums some song, this soully little thing, one he likes to sing on the road when it’s just you in the car. If anyone else tags along, he’s silent.
“Jo-el,” you whine. “No fair. You got me all wet.”
He sucks air in through his teeth, pats you lightly on the smooth surface of your cheek without even having to spare you a glance. “Be patient with me, sweetheart. We need to get there in time.” There’s an edge to his voice, hardened a bit; he’s not reminding this time, he’s warning. You pout and peek out the half-cracked window. Open road and the dim horizon, no sign of the building you’re supposed to stop at.
“Fine.” Your voice comes out like a sneer.
He clicks his tongue. “I said patient.”
“I am being—” you huff, crossing your arms and lowering your feet noisily. “It’s not fair that you touched me and then won’t even let me—let yourself—whatever.” You shuffle, bumbling irritatedly by yourself for a minute.
If you ask Joel, some of his best moments come from getting you to behave.
Because you are virtually impossible to wrangle into some semblance of obedience. It used to be next to impossible to even get you to shut up, but over time it got easier—thumb on the pad of your tongue, knee shoved in-between your legs, hand wrung into your hair. Just like that, and you’re his pliant little baby again. If you ask Joel now, he’d sigh contentedly, say how proud he’s become that you’re no longer the bratty minx you once were.
But that would be a lie, he figures, once he hears the exaggeratedly breathy moans from his right.
He doesn’t need to look to know what you’ve wrapped yourself up into, your hand shoved into your unzipped jeans, rubbing slow circles along your pussy. It probably doesn’t even feel as good as it sounds, even if you make noises with everything he does to you. Feels so good, Daddy, you whisper into the air, and he trails a hand down to squeeze himself through his jeans.
“How good, baby?” He grunts, eyes flitting over to you. You, in that goddamn t-shirt and everything, looking delicious enough to eat. He’d told you once never to wear shit like skirts and dresses, but God the amount of times he hoped you’d wear them anyway, so he could bounce you up and down on his dick and have you barely undressed. He swears he has dreams of his favorite pink number, the one that barely even touches the middle of your thighs, tied at the back with a pretty ribbon. He loves tugging on that ribbon, watching the material loosen around you so he can grope you up and make you both feel nasty, listen to your jagged moans of daddy, don’t rip the dress while he’s toying with your clit.
“Not enough,” you say breathily. “S’your fault.”
“Mine?” He echoes with a grunt. “You’re the one whorin’ herself out t’me for a lick of my attention, baby girl.”
“Please, I’m—just a minute,” you heave out, voice wet and desperate. He wonders what’s gotten you this antsy, this restless, this needy for a taste of him. The thought gets him harder than ever, and before he even thinks to palm himself, your tiny hand is already there, and he’s shuddering from it. You know him so well, know exactly what to hold, exactly what to touch to get him to give in.
“Jeans,” he orders, eyes zeroing in on a blank patch of grass to swerve into.
Your jeans are loose already, and you barely have to shimmy before they hit the floor of the truck, tiptoeing your sock-clad feet out while he parks and wrenches his seat to a semi-lying position, dragging you over to him to sit on his lap, your thighs quivering on either side of his jeans.
You adjust yourself so the thick of his cock is pressed directly to your panties, and grind forward. He stops you, his hand coming down to slap against your half-bare ass. “I just wan’ed to get to the damn meeting on time, get the shit we needed, and go the fuck back to the zone.” Another spank. “Do you have to be such a goddamn brat, sweetheart?”
“I just—I needed you,” you half-lie, the lace of your pretty underwear delicious friction with what little movement you’re allowed. “Even wore the pair you like, Daddy.”
“Yeaaah, you did.” He sucks air in through his teeth, watching your cunt swallow the thin material of his favorite pair of yours. Pink and lacy, looted from a mall two cities away. “You know Daddy can never resist her, can you?” He thumbs roughly at your pussy, coercing the panties through your folds. “You know he’s dyin’ to fuck ‘er real bad, too.”
“Need it, I need it,” you babble, your movement causing the shirt to droop off. He gropes at your barely-covered chest, a low growl thrumming out of him.
“What’s got my bunny all revved up, huh? Your energy beats the truck’s damn engine.” He lifts you up so he can let you drop onto his cock, bullying his tip into you until tears sprout at your eyes from the size of him. He’s always going to be huge, and it’s always going to be a whole thing, having to bottom out inside.
It helps that you’re wet, sopping and dripping onto his cock, his balls, his spread thighs, your own inner thighs—your slick is everywhere and it’s obscene. Every movement either of you make causes a squelching sound to resound across the stale space of the truck. “Fuuuck,” he grunts, watching your cunt swallow him whole. “I love this pussy, you know that, honey? Could lick her up for days, mark it as mine. Bully her when you’ve been bad.”
“I haven’t been bad,” you protest highly, eyebrows knitted and pink lips bitten. “You really are scary.”
“But you like it, don’t you?” He places two decisive hands on your hips and thrusts upward, so hard your head almost hits the roof of the truck. “Like it when Daddy’s a l’il bit scary, sugar? Like it when he spanks you, plays around with you a tiny bit? Hmm?”
Ah, ah, ah, uh, mmmf are all the sounds your mouth can produce, drunk on his huge cock, fat and splitting you in half. Ye yea yeah yeah please yes Daddy love it, you moan, each whimper punctuated by the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. You do love it when he’s bossy, a bit scary. He knows so. He knows how wet you get when he’s got your chin in his hand, cheeks smushed together. How much you drip onto the sheets when you’re bent over, spread open, and he’s deciding which hole to fuck.
“Makin’ a beautiful mess on my dick, baby, come on, give it t’me. Give Daddy your cum, I’ll give you mine back, won’ I, princess?” His gruff voice is demanding and rambling and all at once, you’re beginning to convulse around him.
“Close,” you whimper, “gonna cum, Daddy—”
“Yeah, come on, that’s a good bunny,” he grunts as you begin to gush slick around him. “Daddy’s gonna give you the milk you’ve been wantin’.”
#joel miller#joel miller imagine#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal smut#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller tlou#the last of us#tlou x reader#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel x reader#pedro pascal x reader#tlou smut
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your social media aus are amazing!! i was wondering if you could do a private relationship between charles x singer!reader (fc: olivia rodrigo) but fans find out?
sour
pairing: charles leclerc x fem!singer!reader - requested
type: social media au (fc: olivia rodrigo)
author’s note: aw ty! im glad you like my smaus. anyways, your wish is my command 😚
i aged her up a year for this cuz it'd be a bit weird if they started dating right after she turned 17...
also her birthday is no longer february
first time i used stories (the format def tripped me up) and i don't know how to edit it so i just tossed some pics on and called it a day - let me know if you know anywhere where i can make insta stories :)
tumblr fcked up several times so uhm 😔had to rewrite this a couple times...
hope this did your request justice! ❤️
warnings: none!
masterlist
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yourusername recharging ⚡
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tatemcrae motherrrr
yourusername ❤️
conangray literally screaming
yourusername love youu
ynshq we love yn button —------>
motherism.ts recipe?
yourusername the cookies turned out a bit hard haha but we used the sallys baking addiction one
motherism.ts omg you responded! thank you, i will absolutely make them someday :)
ariswifey we?
karenelliot Charles, what are you doing here?
elizxbeth LMAO HE LOVES HER MUSIC TOO
karenelliot He has good taste.
amielliot.1 mom please stop...
amielliot.1 it's so creepy when you use grammar this isn't a work email
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yourusername some behind the scenes from the making of SOUR. time of our lives! swipe ➡️for a jumpscare 😂
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tatemcrae stunning omggg
camila_cabello luv uuu
andreaxx the second pic has me in tears 😆
a_esliehiggins fr lmao
id.otsandwich i love her she's so funny
ynhate she is overrate asf their are 0 good songs on her ass album kanye west is way beter
jana.b04 *overrated *there
jana.b04 fix your grammar first sweetie 😘
ryanandblake4life oh girlie...
kaufman.sharlene uh is anyone seeing the guy behind her in the second pic? cuz that doesnt look like dan at all
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charles_leclerc Feels good to be back on the podium! Now to recharge the batteries for a few weeks and enjoy some sun 😘
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joris_trouche LET'S GO ❤️
whyisitalwaysme im so happy omg
malcom.parker charles leclerc is so overrated. girls only like him because he's cute.
chrles.lechair bruh yes he's cute, but that's only a bonus
chrles.lechair i like him because he's a nice guy, a great driver, he has a great mentality (just look at baku 2017 or bahrain 2017), he's one of the most talented drivers on the grid (rookie season 2018???). he just needs a good car and good team.
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lucasduncan for reallll it needed to be said
de1dre.brxan amen
chrles.lechair OMG YN LIKED I DIDNT KNOW SHE WAS A CHARLES FAN
hherman look at that adorable smile
p1erre.gf1 im so glad ferrari didn't fuck it up for him he does not deserve it
f1l8ley THE KISSY FACE IS BACK AGAIN LETS GOOO
lestappenfliccs who was that girl you were spotted with?
moll.s who???
lestappenfliccs look at enews's tweet
moll.s hes cheating on max????
lestappenfliccs and carlos too 😭
liked by billieeillish, francisca.cgomes, and 2,831,481 others
yourusername 21 has never felt sweeter 🌙
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billieeilish gorg
yourusername love uuuu
conangray happy birthday to the most annoying person on the planet!
yourusername love you too 😘
francisca.cgomes lindaaaa aproveite 21 beautiful enjoy 21
yourusername te amooo love you
hiltonkam.l kika?
maxineb.ford where you at rn?
yourusername london! doing some traveling in europe right now 😘
maxineb.ford nicee whered you go?
yourusername spent some time in belgium
maxineb.ford fun! did you go with madison or iris?
yourusername sadly not, they're very busy but i spent some time with a friend of mine 🥰
jjmils shes so pretty
ynfan.1 adam fumbled so hard
janisbarton bruh she was too good for that asshole
ashlycamerons and then he cheated
janisbarton men ☕
ynfan.1 she was so out of his league frr
bettyrice24 the eyes never lie 🥺
lalaur05 girl you tryna make sumthin outta nuthin
bettyrice24 smh im just sayin i think our girl has a new boy toy on the scene 😘
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yourusername 🌴love feels extra fun in the sun ❤️
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madisonhu 😘
conangray wish i was there 😭
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magsmm oh my god the CAPTION?! is yn tryna tell us something?
bettyrice24 guys… i seriously think mother has been snatched up
lalaur05 bruh she posts like 2 pics and you’re like “oh shes got a boyfriend” stop speculating
lalaur05 like just chill
bettyrice24 no but seriously like these pics shes def not taking it so shes with somebody obviously
lalaur05 oh wait you’re right
bettyrice24 iris and madison are busy
bettyrice24 AND AND like conan said he wished he was there so hes not there
charles_leclerc followed yourusername
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conangray replied to your story!
conangray girl this isn't your close friends
conangray WAKE UP STOP MAKING OUT
yourusername huh?
yourusername shit
tatemcrae replied to your story!
tatemcrae spill.
tatemcrae now.
yourusername what?????
tatemcrae 👀
tatemcrae OK START TALKIJNG GIRL TELL ME HIS LIFE STORY
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charles_leclerc I think you're more than sweet enough. Two years with you have been the best in my life, Ti amo, je t'aime, I love you 😘 i love you, i love you, i love you
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conangray you better take good care of her 🔪
charles_leclerc With my life. ❤️
yourusername conan-
yourusername charles 🥺
yourusername come here so i can give you a kiss
madisonhu the caption im crying 😭
pierregasly damn 2 years and you're still scarring me every time
yourusername learn to knock
landonorris i went through hell keeping this a secret
yourusername we really should not have told you
landonorris hey i'm great at keeping secrets
yourusername im sure
apples.oranges THIS WAS NOT ON MY 2023 BINGO CARD
i_fulton1 I KNEW IT WAS HIM ON HER STORY
velmab99 THE BANDANA
bettyrice24 AHAHA WAHT DID I SAY
lalaur05 🙄
bettyrice24 YOU'RE BUYING
irene.larson01 bruhh charles mfing "i am stupid" leclerc managed to pull HER?
oliviakhan there is still hope for me
nothoughtsheadempty charles lecrizz who?
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yourusername i thought i was purple until i met you. always cheering for the red team, always yours ❤️
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charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️
landonorris also does this mean we can get front row seats to your next concert?
lovingleclerc lando 💀
landonorris what? i want to go 🙄
tatemcrae i cannot believe you didn't tell me 😭
yourusername im sorryyyy please forgive me 🙏
tatemcrae i accept paddock passes as an apology btw
username shes so real for that lmaoooo
lovingleclerc im crying so hard where can i find a love like this
roscoepawparazzi 😭time to take a bath with my toaster
single.sad. heading to the highway, anyone with me?
banana_leclerc ✋
francisca.cgomes aaaa tão fofo so cute
charlottesine belleeee beautyyy
yourusername je t'aime 😘 nous devons nous réunir un jour! i love you! we have to get together one day
time44hammertime i love that they're friends
apples.oranges THIS WAS NOT ON MY 2023 BINGO CARD EITHER
honeybadger3 OH MY GOD CHA HI
teamlando4 did charles homie hopper leclerc strike again??
f1gossipnews i actually heard that cha introduced charles to yn after they broke up so 😌no more homie hopper leclerc
pieasstree eek i love this sm
yn is such a girls girl
mrstealyogirl charles needs to watch out his ex is about to steal his girl lol
taglist: @remyspams 😘
requests are open! (i promise i'm working on them)
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc smau#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc instagram au#charles leclerc x singer!reader#f1#formula 1#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#charles leclerc fic rec
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𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟏 |
a/n: about fucking time lol im so exhausted. hope yall enjoy <3
Warnings: Contains cursing
AU Inspo: Soulmates can hear each other listening to music. The further the distance, the softer the music. The closer, the louder until they find each other.
| [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] |
— — — — — — — — — —
“Soulmates are essential to survive. There is nothing like the sensation of meeting each other for the first time, and subsequently knowing that you’re fated to be with each other forever. Through thick and thin, they'll always have your back.”
You snort. Miss Grenadine lifts her brow into a delicate arch, her unamused expression remaining the same as you cover your mouth, trying to fake a cough. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class on your last day?”
People around you start to snigger, and you can feel the glances poking your skin like tiny mosquitoes buzzing all over. “Not really.”
“No, no. Please, enlighten me as to what exactly you find so amusing about soulmates.”
“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t found hers yet?” Another classmate suggests. You turn around to see Henry smirking, high-fiving the rest of his friends who’re evidently entertained by his jab.
You roll your eyes, letting a huff slip past your lips. “And you keep arguing with yours, no wonder I’m not jealous that I don’t have one yet.” His friends suck in a sharp breath between their teeth in a hiss, glancing warily between you both.
“Thank you for your input, Henry. But I asked your classmate, not you.” He’s silenced from uttering another word under Ms Grenaline’s sharp gaze, wilting into his seat with a muttered retort under his breath.
You turn your attention back to your teacher who’s waiting patiently, hands folded over her stomach in a motherly manner. But you know better. This is fake sympathy, flaky pity in her eyes as she thinks to herself how unlucky you are for not having yet met your soulmate.
You get it. You’re an anomaly. It’s ‘not normal’ for people to not yet meet their soulmates by the time they’re 18. One way or another, the universe always finds a way to pull two people together by the age of 16. Yet, you’re the exception.
“I just think the whole music thing is annoying. I mean, do you all not get annoyed? What if you hate metal, but they love it? Even then, it’s just insane how much our lives border on needing someone. Why not just travel alone? Enjoy life?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms defiantly as Ms Grenaline’s eyes widen with every word.
You watch her take a moment to compose herself, plastering a smile on her face as she comes up with the right words to say. Honestly, you couldn’t care less what she wanted to say to you; it’s your last day here anyway.
“Well,” She pauses, clearly struggling on how to phrase her words in a way that wouldn’t get you to retort once again, “It’s…a very difficult process to describe in words. I understand where you’re coming from with the music aspect, but over time just like how one day you can wake up and decide that you like the colour purple, you’ll experience something similar.”
“You’re right.” You nod. She’s momentarily taken aback by your agreeable response, only to frown when you continue speaking. “It is a difficult process to put in words. And you know what? Maybe not everyone needs a soulmate.” You flash her a toothy smile just as the bell rings, grabbing your bag and starting for the door. “Been good, Ms G.”
You don’t turn to see her reaction, focused on getting to the diner on Sixth Street where you’d promised to meet up for one last meal with your friends before you moved to Ninjago City. Putting the earbuds into your ears makes you wince, shaking your head slightly as the familiar yet nauseating sound of jazz plays faintly in the back of your mind.
Stupid jazz, stupid music, stupid soulmate.
Right. Your soulmate. You still haven’t told anyone this, but a few months ago, you began to hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz play now and then in your head. You thought you were just going crazy at first, but upon further observation, you concluded that there could only be one cause: Your soulmate was nearby.
But for some annoying reason, your soulmate loves jazz with a passion. it was always either that or soft rock. Plus, they’re always annoyingly far enough to not have it impounded into your head, but still close enough to have it constantly on repeat in your head.
The day it first started, you had just finished watching a horror movie and were about to go to bed. However, your soulmate had decided that 5 AM was the perfect time to start listening to soft rock. The sharp twangs of an electric guitar and the steady beats of the drums were enough to keep you up instead of getting your beauty sleep.
lil binder [ 02:00 PM ]: u otw yet?
You grin at the message on your screen, typing out a reply to your friend, Melody, as pop music blasts away through your earbuds and effectively drowning out the beginnings of a saxophone.
smartie pebble [ 02:00 PM ]: yea be there in 7
Melody was just one of many of your friends. She had found her soulmate at the tender age of 15, accidentally spilling ice cream on him because she had been too distracted talking to you. Having bore witness to the entire ‘love-at-first-sight’ moment between them, you scooched away as she proceeded to forget about your entire existence in the next hour.
However, now Luke and her were inseparable, and wherever she was, he was bound to be there too. Luckily though, you had bonded with him over your mutual love of cooking, with Melody constantly being on the receiving end of many of your competitive inventions.
“Yo, it’s the one and only rockstar of our generation!” Luke crows as you enter the diner, and you instinctively stick up your middle finger at him. He grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you set down your bag in the booth seats.
“About time you got here.” Brendan greets, subtly nudging Nico who glances up from his game for a moment to say a quick ‘hi’. The former is in his uniform as usual, while Nico decided to change out of his, relaxed vest and tapered pants his go-to outfit.
“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Nico arches an eyebrow, though his gaze is focused solely on the rhythm game on his screen.
“Let me guess, you got into another argument about soulmates again.” You look up to see Melody arrive at the table with a large tray of food, tucking away the strings of the apron around her waist. “When will you learn that it’s inevitable?” She sighs, pinching the skin between her eyes and shaking her head in disapproval.
“Maybe it’s because she’s around us too much,” Luke pouts, snaking his arm around her waist. She grins, ruffling the top of his head.
“Please, for the love of the First Spinjitzu Master, make it stop,” You groan, pretending to gag and narrowly dodging the packet of chilli she throws in your direction. Picking it up, you tear it open and squeeze out the sauce, dipping the fries into it and eating them with relish.
“So, what’d Ms Grenaline say this time?” Luke focuses his attention on you, letting go of Melody who slides into the seat next to him. Nico steals a fry, munching away even though his meal is right in front of him. He even put away his phone, eagerly waiting to hear what new fight you’d gotten into today.
“She just said some shit about soulmates being essential to survive. Y’know, the usual mumbo jumbo.” You shrug, unwrapping the double cheeseburger and taking a bite.
“Sounds about right to me.” Melody raises her hands in surrender once you glare at her. “But hey, who am I to judge? Definitely not because I have a soulmate, and definitely not because he’s right next to me.”
“You’re so right.” She rolls her eyes at your automatic reply, barely audible through the massive chunk of pickle in your mouth.
“I know your family’s kinda complicated, but it doesn’t have to affect your outlook on soulmates forever. Besides, aren’t you moving to the city for your stepmom? That’s kinda progress.” Brenden volunteers his opinion, sipping away at his diet coke. “Don’t you glare at me young lady, you know perfectly well why you’re going. You like her.”
“As if,” you scoff, forcing down the last bite of lettuce and crumpling the empty wrapper. Melody doesn’t blink an eye at how fast you’ve consumed the burger, already having seen it for at least 6 years.
“She got you the signed copy of Black Beauty, remember?” Nico says quietly, tilting his head. “And besides, you haven’t fought with her in a long while.”
You bite back a retort, hating how right he is. It’s been at least three months since you’d gotten in a fight with your stepmother - the longest duration so far. “Look, she can try to bribe me all she wants, but I’m going to quickly get through school and move out so I can travel away from her.”
“Mmhm. You’d have a good chance, considering that you got into Business Relations at Ninjago University, so…” Your friends go quiet at the mention, as if just realising that you’re leaving tomorrow morning.
“I’ll be back for summer vacation anyway,” you casually state, finishing off the fries with a satisfied grin. “With autographs from those ninjas you’re always raving about.”
“You promise? I’ll cut off your pinkie finger if it doesn’t come true. You know a pinky promise is legally binding.” Melody warns.
“I don’t know how you put up with her.” Luke shrugs as you turn to him, amusement in his eyes as he glances at Melody who’s still glaring at you.
“River time?” Brenden suggests, trying to lighten the mood. Melody nods, turning to face the kitchen staff behind the counter a short distance away.
“Hilda, I’m heading out!” She calls out, untying the apron and draping it on the seat as everyone leaves the booth.
“Fuck off!”
“Will do!” Melody grins slyly, gesturing to the exit. “Let’s bounce before she realises I didn’t clear the tables.”
“Love you too Hilda!” You shout back to the grumpy old lady with a fond smile, waving goodbye as you leave.
“River time! River time! River time!” You join in on their chanting, laughing without a care in the world - and ignoring the faint sounds of guitars and saxophones playing in the back of your mind.
— — — — —
The truth of the matter is, picnics by the river are among the top few activities you’d willingly leave the house for. After having a few drinks and getting up to a couple of shenanigans, your friends dropped you off at your place with tearful goodbyes.
Nico had refused to let go of your arm, citing ‘who would I hug when you’re gone?’ as the reason why. He had let go after you promised to hug him all he wanted when you came back. It was also then that you vowed to never let him drink again.
After showering and emerging from the steam with a clearer (and significantly less tipsy) mind, you make your way to the comfort of your futon, avoiding stubbing your toe on the luggage near the door. The moving company had already taken most of your stuff, and all that you have to your name now is a singular suitcase, a sling bag, and your futon.
You wriggle under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the tiredness finally hit you with full force as your eyelids slowly close. The warmth draws you to sleep, dreams calling your name and reckoning for you to come into their embrace.
Unfortunately, your soulmate doesn’t like to sleep at 1 AM. Soft rock starts playing, and you press your face against the pillow to muffle your annoyed groan. You press the pillow on top of your face, wishing desperately for the music to stop, though you know it’d do nothing to help. Forcing your eyes shut and thinking of anything else to drown out the noise is the go-to method for you, and hopefully, it’ll work this time as well.
Stupid jazz, stupid music.
Stupid soulmate.
— — — — —
A quick Google search in the morning while you brush your teeth reveals a plethora of cafes in Ninjago City, all ready for you to explore. Accidentally clicking on a notification, however, brings you to a separate page where the headline of a news article practically screams at you.
‘Famous Author to make an appearance at Ninjago Museum Fundraiser! All proceeds from the auction are to be donated to preserve local history.
The bestselling author who goes by her pen name of Hanla will be making an appearance at the Ninjago Museum’s Fundraiser occurring next week. Locally curated pieces of artwork and a book of poems written by Hamla herself will be auctioned off. Hamla has also stated that 100% of all proceeds made in her name will be going toward the local conservation of Ninjago’s history. For all fans of her works - You, Me, and the Beat, Beauty and her Phone, and critically acclaimed bestseller Honey, Where Are My Pants?, be sure to stop by for an autographing session that Hamla will be attending! Our local heroes - the Ninja, will also be attending the session, so make sure to get your photos taken with them!’
“Are you ready yet? We gotta leave in an hour, Munchkin.” Your father calls out from downstairs. You pause to spit out the toothpaste in your mouth, gargling the residue and letting the menthol sting your lips after rinsing.
“Yeah, just gotta shower and I’m good to go.” You reply loudly, turning your attention back to the mirror. A round, puffy face stares back at you, eyebags apparent after only managing to fall asleep at two in the morning.
You really should stop drinking so late at night. Luckily, a shower helps to reduce the puffiness in your face, and you step out of your room looking somewhat presentable in a lavender hoodie and shorts.
The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath.
Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your father is waiting.
“Shall we?” He grins, placing the last of your luggage in the car boot. He closes it, offering a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to guide you to the front seat where the radio is already playing your favourite pop songs.
As he starts to drive, you’re momentarily distracted with taking the perfect picture for your Instagram story, singing along with your tone-deaf father who’s belting out ABBA as he drives past the massive signboard signalling goodbye. You watch it pass, fields and clouds dotting the sky moving by steadily.
It’d be a lie to say you wouldn’t miss home. But this is a chance at a new beginning - maybe one that could change your life for the better. As faint jazz starts up in the back of your mind, you smile softly. Not even that could dampen your mood.
— — — — —
You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you.
You're here.
Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush.
You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and he immediately turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything.
Luckily, he turns back around, choosing to let it pass.
You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. “Dad, could you drop me off here?” He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk.
You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront.
'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'
“Emily’s already making dinner, so just meet us back at the new apartment.” He texts you the new address quickly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Be nice.” He warns, satisfied with the small nod you give in reply.
“Yeah, just gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow.” You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back.
“See you later then, munchkin. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around.”
Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent.
“Right. Ninjas.” You mumble with a shake of your head, striding off toward the comic book store. The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him.
“Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?”
“Well, right here, of course!” You cringe at his response, realising how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you.
“Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?”
“I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man and throwing in your name as well as an afterthought.
“Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too.”
“Right,” You smile emotionlessly at him. Is everyone here such big fans of the Ninja? Sure, Melody’s a fan, but not as much as bringing them up every chance she got. “Good to know.”
Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips. He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating.
“It should be fine then….” He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up.
“Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics.” He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over.
The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.
Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze.
Oh no. He’s hot.
You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gives you. It wasn't a good one; more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.
You finally find the comic you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair.
After all, what would you be if not cursed with horrid coincidence?
You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.
You stiffen, eyes shifting into a glare.
Rude.
Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. “She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first.” Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.
“Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay.”
Oh. Oh. I see now.
You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pants' voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier.
Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.
“I trust Rufus. He's a good friend.”
“...Maybe.”
“Is that…? OMG! It's them!!”
You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past ten minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago. You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you.
“Fuck.” You watch all the colour drain from Greenie's face while Mr Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression.
"Not again…" You hear him mutter. “And watch your language,” He adds, elbowing Greenie who just sticks out his tongue. The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realise that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both.
"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.
"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.
At least now you know his name.
You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the apartment and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.
You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from a ramen store, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost falling.
A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier.
What the everloving fuck-
His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, summoning all the strength in your body to land a solid punch on his chest. He yelps, pressing his lips tightly together to silence himself. He glares at you, and you return it just as angrily. Your fingers close into fists, readying yourself for another punch, aiming for his jaw next.
He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. He had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.
"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your hands slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist before you can protest.
Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.
Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.
Your soulmate's a celebrity?
For a celebrity, his music taste sucks ass.
"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.
"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you.
"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seems to display. "And what do you mean nauseating? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily! I mean, who wakes up at 4 AM?? Only a psychopath, apparently."
You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper.
"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants.
You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realises the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory.
“You really gotta get more variety.” Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line.
“Speak for yourself.” You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you are.
He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. “Out of all people…” You mutter under your breath with a scowl.
“I could say the same. I don’t know how someone like you ended up as my soulmate.” He retorts, seemingly having overheard.
“I’m glad we share the same view then. At least that’s one thing we can agree on. Now, let’s make a deal. You go right, and I go left and we never run into each other again. Deal?” You propose, holding out your hand for a handshake. He eyes it for a solid moment, mulling over his decision. Instead of shaking your hand, however, he merely nods, crossing his hands over his chest. Your eyes narrow.
How insufferable.
“Looks like they’re gone.” He takes a moment to glance out of the alleyway, starting in the direction opposite and leaving you to your own devices. You continue to glare at his retreating figure, driving home your irritation by placing your earbuds back into your ears and hitting play.
Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated groan, turning to glare at his broad back. Curse his well-chiselled body and toned arms.
Stupid soulmate.
— — — — —
“So, how was your first day in town?” Your stepmother, Emily, sits down opposite you, taking out one of the hair clips she used to keep the bangs out of her face. Her hair is messy, tied into a ponytail and her skirt is stained with spaghetti sauce.
“Decent. Went to a comic book place.” You say through a mouthful. Your response is short, but it’s more than what used to be quiet dinners around a tension-filled dining table in the past.
“That’s good. Doomsday Comix, I assume?” She doesn’t flinch from your wide-eyed gaze, caught off guard by how eerily accurate her guess is. “I used to work there when I was younger. I hope you found the comics you were looking for. Starfarer, right?”
“Right,” You reply unsurely, spooning another bunch of pasta into your mouth. You forget that Emily had been born and raised in Ninjago, only having met your dad during one of her trips for ‘inspiration’. You and she had a rocky relationship, but one could say that you’re currently making progress - you think.
“Did you meet the ninja?” Your dad asks, taking some sliced-up steak on his plate and placing it on Emily’s. You eye the way she lights up at the action, a nauseating feeling beginning to stir in the bottom of your stomach. “I hope if you got in trouble, they got you out of it.”
“Oh yeah? What’re the ninja gonna do, spin me around till I get a headache?” You snort, chewing on an irritating broccoli stem that refuses to get chowed down on. “Mystify me to pieces? Bore me to death?”
The sarcastic jabs don’t phase your dad in the slightest. He shrugs, used to your disbelieving comments. “Just be careful out there still, okay? I know Ninjago City is safe but there are still pickpockets around and petty crimes.”
“Which is exactly why I called in a favour from an old friend.” Emily smiles softly at your father, but it fades slightly when she looks at you, uncertainty in her gaze. “He’s an instructor, and I’ve asked him to teach you self-defence so you can at least protect yourself.”
Your hand slows to a halt, the singular piece of spaghetti dangling off your fork as you blink owlishly at her. “I never asked for your help.” The words slip out before you can stop yourself, hurt flitting across Emily’s face before she composes herself, clearing her throat and picking up a piece of broccoli.
Aaand that’s a streak of 3 and a half months without being mean, gone.
“I just thought that maybe you should stay safe. Besides that,” You can sense the carefulness in her words, trying to choose the right ones to say. “I have an event coming up that I’d like you to attend. It’s a fundraiser, and I would like you to be there.” She pauses for a moment, looking from your father to you. “Both of you.”
“No thanks,” The clang of the metal fork against the porcelain plate makes her wince slightly at the harsh sound. You stand up with your half-empty plate, appetite vanishing just as quickly as a passing breeze. “I’m gonna head out. School stuff to catch up on and all.” You spot your father starting to stand up with a frown, only to stop when she places her hand on his arm and shakes her head sadly.
You ignore it.
Besides, you have a best friend to call.
— — — — —
“I think I met my soulmate today.” You instinctively pull the phone away from your ear just as she starts screaming.
“What? Where?? When?? How????? WHO???”
“Comic book store, today,” you reply, playing with a strand of your hair to distract yourself.
“Comic book store? Oh no, he’s a nerd.” The mock horror in her voice makes you suppress a defeated groan, picturing exactly how wide her smug grin is. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to inhale slowly. Damn. She remembers.
When you were younger, you had made a bet with Melody as to what kind of person your soulmate would be. Being the naive child you were, you had bet on him being a superstar.
Melody, on the other hand, had bet that you'd end up with someone the complete opposite of you. A secret nerd.
Even at the tender age of 15, she had already read countless romantic books filled with cliche tropes. Right now though, this knowledge is absolutely terrifying to you. You hear a sigh of satisfaction over the phone, lips curling into a frown. “I’m not going to do it.”
“You have to! We pinky promised. Plus, Todd’s back home and if you don’t want me to tell him about-”
“I’ll do it,” you groan, cutting her off from the effective threat. “The First Spinjitzu Master sent you down for just one reason and that was to make my life even worse.”
“Wait.” Melody says, “What happened to your whole spiel about ‘oh I hate soulmates and I never want to have one, bleh bleh bleh’ ?”
“First of all, that is not how I sound. Is that really how I sound to you??” You gasp. Maybe your whole stance against soulmates was getting a bit too much, even for Melody. “Besides, it’s nothing new. His stupid jazz started a couple of months back or something.” You grumble, deciding to collapse on your bed instead of pacing your room.
“And you didn’t tell me??” She says incredulously, her voice raised. You can hear a faint “What didn’t she tell you?” in the background, recognising the voice as her brother’s.
“Nothing!” She shouts back at him, “I expect details. Right fucking now.”
“It’s not much,” You sigh, looking up at your ceiling and letting your phone rest beside your head, her voice filling the quiet room through the speakerphone. “It came outta nowhere and honestly? If nothing happened, no way am I about to fly across the world just to see him. I have school. And homework.”
“You’ve never handed in a single piece of homework on time.” Her voice has a hint of accusation.
“What can I say? Moving gives you a whole new perspective on self-reflection.” You shrug nonchalantly, though you know she can’t see it.
“What’s his music taste?”
“Smooth jazz and soft rock.” You groan at her awws on the other end, “Yeah, let’s see if you still find that cute when you’re trying to sleep and he decides to blast music at 4 AM.”
“An early riser. Maybe he works out?” Melody’s wistful voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I sense dissatisfaction with your current soulmate.” Your snarky reply makes her chuckle.
“You wish. Luke’s gonna start going to the gym 'cause I said I liked his biceps last week.” She says with amusement, “Right, I have a date tomorrow. Should I wear the pink blouse or blue?”
“Blue.”
“Pink it is.”
“Why do you even bother asking me?” You say blankly, grinning when she barks out a laugh. “Have fun on your date.”
“Remember to get autographs!”
“I won’t if you don’t shut up and get to bed.” The call instantly concludes with a monotonous dial tone after you hang up, placing your phone on your table with a grin. You open your laptop with a new sense of purpose, searching for articles on the ninja. Your unfulfilled promise haunts you, knowing full well that although most of your friends thought it was a joke, Melody would be intent on at least fracturing your pinky finger if you didn’t get their autographs.
A sudden knock on the door startles you and your hands quickly close the laptop instinctively. The door slowly creaks open, and your dad steps inside. You turn away, pretending to busy yourself with tidying your desk with minimal clutter. “Is this about dinner?”
“Well,” you hear him hesitate. “Kind of. Look, it’d mean a lot to her if you went, y’know. Besides, the self-defence instructor we asked to teach you has already accepted.”
“Can’t you get a refund?” You finally turn to face him, lips parted to say more until you scan his face. Sunken cheeks and eyes filled with sadness stare back at you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d be more open towards his wife. Towards her.
And just like that, your temper which had slowly begun to bubble up again at the mention of your stepmom dies down, left with nothing but wisps of resentment. You swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to meet his gaze.
“Fine. Tell Hamla that I’ll go to her charity fundraiser, whatever.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, while you focus on your fingers already picking away at the skin on your thumb. Tiny flecks of peeled skin land on the floor, invisible in the lack of light. The skin is red and raw underneath, but you can’t feel the pain, focusing instead on the repetitiveness of the action.
“Thank you, munchkin.”
The door closes without any further conversation, and the weight on your chest suddenly lifts. It’s still there, but significantly less than before. You close your eyes, hands curling into fists as you breathe out slowly but shakily. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
You open the laptop back up, allowing the bright screen to distract you from any further thoughts. The picture of the ninja fills your screen, one in a black gi catching your eyes. What was he again? The Earth Ninja?
Glancing at the closet, you mentally flit through your outfit options for the fundraiser. A thought nags away at your brain, as if on the edge of remembering one very important fact. You pull up the article from this morning, rereading it once more as it hits you, looking from the article to the picture a few times before your lips pull up in a slow smile.
Looks like you’d get their autographs sooner than you thought.
#ninjago#lego ninjago#cole brookestone#cole brookstone x reader#cole x reader#ninjago x reader#cole ninjago#lego ninjago x reader
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(I’m) charming and endearing, and (un)comfortable
Written companion piece to the Lando x fakegirlfriend!reader social media au
Set after Part 6, at the dinner with Lando’s dad that is mentioned.
A/N: So, those of you who were here for the Max fix know that I do long form writing exercises to get more of a feel for the characters for the smau. I didn’t share the Max ones while the fic was ongoing because my writing is not my favourite, but I do like providing more of an insight into the real life stuff that isn’t covered in the smau and especially the reader’s thoughts. And I like this is kind of needed for this smau especially. So, I’m not going to tag anyone in these so that if you’d rather just read the smau you don’t get caught up with these, but you can read them if you want more of an insight into the reader’s character. If you hate it…just pretend it never happened 🫠🫣
“You look fine,” you tell your reflection, staring at it right in the eyes.
Your gaze flits down to your simple black satin slip dress. Black Amina Muadi heels peek out from the hem. Single, but elegant, you think.
You look fine.
“You look fine.” You tell your reflection one more time, and she looks like she believes you.
Of course you look fine. You wouldn’t have a career if you didn’t. People have paid obscene amounts of money for your face and your body. You know exactly how much Lando Norris has paid. You put together something that accentuates your shape a bit but not so much that his dad would think you’re trying.
You haven’t met a parent in a while. Once you’d started shooting womenswear at 15, parents were rarely around, though occasionally you would run into an overbearing mother. You can’t remember ever meeting anyone’s father.
Your alarm rings, so it’s too late to change now. Steeling yourself with one last deep breath, you go over to the interconnecting door and knock.
On the other side of the door, something bangs, and then someone grunts, and you’re about to just give up on this whole idea before the door wings open to reveal a panting Lando Norris.
He’s dressed in beige chinos and a black polo shirt, showing off a golden tan. Okay, you’d let Twitter win this one; he’s beautiful.
“I thought you were going to-“ he starts, but then stops himself. You suppose he assumed you’d knock on the external door. “Never mind,”
“So,” you gesture to the space between you.
“Oh, yeah, come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you into his suite.
It’s huge. You survey the large living room. Several pairs of chinos sit in dry cleaning plastic on the couch. The remains of a fruit platter sits on the dining table. Two sets of golf clubs rest precariously on a wall in the corner. He’s a bit of a slob.
“What?” He asks you. You turn to him, surprised to find his cheeks slightly flushed.
“Nothing,” you shake your head and shrug, but he doesn’t stop studying you. He’s making an effort not to be obvious, but he’s assessing you from head to toe. It makes you squirm. “It’s okay? The look?”
His eyes widen. “The look’s incredible,” he says quickly, probably embarrassed you caught him looking. His cheeks turn even more red. “You’re-“
“Okay, we can go?” You cut him off, smoothing you already sleek up-do. He should turn the damn air conditioning on.
Lando motions for you to go ahead of him to the door and he trails behind you until he hurries past you to get the door. You head to the lift in silence, hair on the back of your neck prickling every time you feel his eyes linger on you.
You look fine. He would have told you if you didn’t.
“Thanks again for doing this,” he says, when you’re in the lift. You glance at him, finding him already looking at you with a shy smile that would have any woman on her knees right there.
You shrug. “It’s not a problem.”
“Probably not your idea of a fun evening,” he continues, and you wonder if he’s trying to convince you to call it off and go back upstairs.
“I was going to eat from the restaurant anyway.” You say, watching as he yawns. “You’re tired?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Two sessions today. And quali always take a lot out of me, you know,”
You hum in response.
“I, uh,” he stops himself, and then notices you’re looking at him, so he sighs before continuing. “I actually did pretty well. At quali. Better than I thought I would, anyway. It’s…” he trails off, scratching at the back of his neck.
He looks sort of embarrassed to have even mentioned it. You almost give in and tell him you watched the qualifying live while doing your post flight skincare, but you don’t. You’re not sure why exactly, it just feels like you’d be committing to something, and don’t want to do that.
“Congratulations,” is all you end up saying, and then it’s back to silence.
When you get downstairs, three separate groups of girls ask for pictures with him. You stand aside awkwardly, watching the way these strangers lean into him and eagerly put their arms around him and stand so close. It makes your skin crawl. Lando doesn’t react to it. But then, you never do, either.
He apologises for the interruption and you wave it off, embarrassed that he might have noticed your discomfort. It’s not your business.
Inside the restaurant, Lando gently directs you towards a table by the window where his dad is waiting. You’d googled him, so you knew what he liked like, but the photos didn’t do justice to the serenity that rolls off this man in waves.
He stands when he sees you, opening his arms to his son. Lando steps into his embrace with no hesitation, and you wonder if that’s why he’s not bothered so much by the closeness of strangers. Maybe you wouldn’t mind being touched if anyone had ever touched you like that.
When they part, you pull your lips into a smile and step forward.
“Good evening, Mr. Norris. I’m Y/N,”
Adam’s wide smile falters for a second. “Of course I know that,” he says with a chuckle, beckoning you over. You oblige, and he leans in to kiss you on both cheeks. “Who wouldn’t recognise his son’s girlfriend, eh? And please, call me Adam,”
“D’accord.” When both men raise an eyebrow, you explain, “it means okay,”
“Ah,” Adam says with a sage nod, sitting down.
You startle when Lando pulls your chair out for you, flashing him what you hope is a grateful look rather than a confused one.
“I learnt French all through school but I’ve forgotten it all, unfortunately,” Adam says.
“I got the duolingo for it, but it’s harder than you think,” Lando chips in.
“Surely Y/N could teach you,”
“I’m too strict for him,” you joke, forcing yourself not to react when you feel Lando rest his arm on the back of your chair.
“Is that so,” Adam says, catching your eye.
You know the looks he’s giving you. It’s the look a casting director gets when they meet you and you aren’t quite what they asked for. That look they get in their eyes as they decide if you’re a good enough compromise is the same one Adam Norris is giving you now.
He’s the worst kind of casting director - the type that will try to make small talk as if they don’t have your life in numbers printed out in front of them; the type to make you laugh so they can judge the shade and angle of your teeth. Not content with your time, they demand a performance.
So you perform.
You order pasta instead of salad because being thin is most appreciated when it’s effortless. You tease Lando endlessly because the brits like to make fun of each other. You pretend you’re duly nervous when Adam speaks to you and not nervous every time Lando does.
You’re not sure if Adam buys into it. He and Lando have an easy and intoxicating rapport that you’re powerless to replicate. Lando’s admiration of his dad is almost palpable, and Adam’s adoration is plain to see. He loves his son so much that you think it must be clear to him that you don’t.
But he’s clever, and funny, and more gracious than you deserve. He’s so guileless that you understand why Lando would want to shield him from the truth of your situation. You feel a little guilty, being part of the lie, and even more guilty for being part of the truth, but you push that all down, reminding yourself that these people have no more to do with you than a photographer or a designer on a shoot.
By the time dinner comes to an end, you’re exhausted. You can taste blood in your mouth from chewing the inside of your cheek, and you feel sick from the Chardonnay that Adam ordered that you had to pretend to like on an empty stomach.
The knot in your chest loosens with every step the three of you take towards the lifts. Lando and Adam joke about what they’re going to eat for dinner after the race and you almost burst into tears at the thought of doing this all again tomorrow.
“I’m so glad I finally got to meet you,” Adam says with what you’ve come to believe is a trademark wide smile. “Honestly I was starting to think he’d made it up, getting the most beautiful girl in the world to go out with him,”
Ha. Most beautiful. Maybe when you were six, all lithe and pouty and innocent. Maybe when you were seventeen, no curves or dark circles or opinions. Not now.
He’s teasing you, not laughing at you, but your body can’t tell the difference.
You think you feel the bile rising up your throat but thankfully Lando cuts in before you have to.
“Dad,” he chides through clenched teeth and a pained smile. When you turn to him the blush that has become quite familiar to you is back with a vengeance, and spreading all the way to his ears.
“What? It’s not bad to say your girlfriend is beautiful,” Adam teases, turning to you. “Is it, Y/N?”
“I would be worried if he didn’t. It’s how I stay employed, after all,” you say with a smile. Your response is effortless, well rehearsed, right down to the way you lift your hand to ghost over your collarbone.
“Must be a glamorous life, being a model,” Adam says thoughtfully. You may not have any experience meeting parents, but you know well enough what he’s getting at.
You lift one shoulder in a shrug. “No more glamorous than being a formula one driver. And I’m sure you know from Lando that glamour doesn’t mean comfort. Very often the opposite, if my shoes are any indication,”
He’s taken aback by your answer, doesn’t even bother to hide his raised eyebrows. “No, that’s-“ he lets out a sigh. “That’s very true. You’ve got a wise one here, mate,”
“Yeah, she’s keeping me out of trouble,” Lando jokes, nudging you, and though it doesn’t hurt you feel a sting where his skin touched yours.
“I don’t doubt it,” Adam says, opening his arms to hug you again. “Go easy on him though, eh?” These words are half whispered as he pulls you close, squeezing you just once before he lets you go.
“I will,” you promise. It’s one you’ll try to keep.
He hugs Lando next, a tight one, cradling the back of his son’s head with a gentle tap.
“Well,” he says to both of you, “it’s been lovely to meet you, Y/N. I’m just going to check the front desk has organised my taxi to the airport on Monday, so I’ll see you both tomorrow,”
“Night, Dad,”
“Love you.”
Adam heads off to the desk just as the lift arrives and you dart into it. You’re too tired to even press the button for your floor but Lando takes care of it.
He lets out a heavy breath, looking over at you as though thinking you might do the same. He doesn’t realise your night isn’t over until he’s gone, too.
“I think that went well,” he says. It’s a confident statement said in an uncertain tone, and you can’t help but feel bad. It’s not as though he was the one who had to make a good impression.
“I’m sorry if I’m not-“ you stop yourself. It’s not your fault. “If he didn’t like me. I hope it won’t cause problems for you,”
Lando looks completely nonplussed by your comment. “Of course he liked you,” he says with reassuring scoff and a smile, as if anything else is unimaginable. “And he’s not really that kind of dad. He just cares that I like you,”
God, that smile. You’d hate yourself for the things you’d do to keep him smiling at you like that.
“I think you faked that well,” you say, smiling back at him.
He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for doing this,” he clears his throat. “Still don’t know why you did,”
He’s expecting an answer and you struggle for something to tell him. You don’t know what answer he’s looking for.
You can feel the pressure building as he waits for you to say something. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Your skin bursts into flames and your palms get clammy.
Why is he even asking? He didn’t think twice about asking you for a favour and now he’s changing the rules. It was dinner, not a kidney. Does he have so many vampires around him that he thinks you need a reason to be nice? Is he so used to paying for kindness that he thinks he needs to buy you, too? Didn’t he already try?
Thankfully, mercifully, the lift stops at your floor and you waste no time stepping out even though you’re beginning to feel unsteady on your feet.
The air conditioning hits you, and you realise you don’t owe Lando an explanation.
“You can just say thank you, you know,” you tell him, striding towards your rooms with him half a step behind. “You don’t have to think so much about it.”
“I did say thank you,” he argues. You glance at him as you pull out your keycard. He’s bewildered. You’re breaking your promise to Adam already, but it’s his sanity or yours.
“De rien.” You place your key card against the censor and open the door. “Goodnight.”
Once you slip inside, the door clicks shut with no trouble, and you wait to hear Lando’s door open and shut before you make your way further into the room. You kick off your shoes and shed your dress on the way to your suitcase.
You can hear him moving around in his suite, more attuned to it now you know the layout of the room. As you rummage around for your sweatpants and hoodie, half of you wants to send an apology text. The stupid half of you. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. You can’t afford for it to matter. The weight of his judgement will crush you, you know it.
As you pull on the brown Quadrant hoodie, you tell yourself it’s better he doesn’t think of you at all.
#f1#formula 1#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine
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Soap Operatic Symphony (A Fyuuture Kid AU ft. Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasomnia)
While camping in the mountains during Camp Vargas, you encounter a monster exactly like the one you fought off with Ace and Deuce at the beginning of the year. While trying to fight it off again, a strange portal opens up in the mine and a person jumps out of it to your rescue. He says he doesn't remember much, but it's clear when you bring him to Crowley that this boy is also from your world, despite being a mage, and until the headmage can think of a better solution, he assigns "Yutu" to your dorm.
Something a certain someone has an opinion about.
notes: yeah I have nothing to say for myself, I have other stuff I am supposed to be writing but this wrote itself ok? ok. Anyway this is a future kid au where your son has come back in time to try and prevent the end of the world but mostly to make sure you don't die. You can see this ask for a detailed explanation of what's up with Yuu and my masterlist for other fic. Oh and the other dorms can be found here.
Scarabia
In general, Jamil is going to be torn between being deeply suspicious of the entire situation and feeling like it's none of his business while Kalim is excited to meet a potential new friend. How they act on those feelings changes depending on who Yutu is trying to interact with.
Kalim- anyone trying to get close to Kalim has to be watched obsessively by Jamil, and Yutu is no exception. If anything the surveillance is worse due to the strange way he showed up, and Kalim doesn't like it but he understands. For Yutu's part he seems really receptive to Kalim's efforts to befriend him, which is the furthest Kalim is going to think about it for a while, but he also notices the strange nostalgia and grief Yutu seems to feel when interacting with you and he really wants to help. He's sure if Yutu would just talk about it, he could give him some good advice. They get along really well! But Yutu seems really reluctant to give out personal information… which Jamil really doesn't like. Kalim's sure he doesn't mean anything by it because of how apologetic he is! But he does sort of wonder if he's done something to make Yutu not feel safe around him... it makes him sort of sad.
Jamil- Once he got a look at that portal, Jamil realized that he didn't actually know what it looked like when you arrived at NRC. He certainly remembers the mess Grim made, but not much about you beyond how confused you looked. He'll have to ask about it sometime but for now, he's got questions. Number one: who the fuck is this guy really? His name isn't Yutu, he sure as shit isn't from your world, otherwise he couldn't be a mage, and his attitude towards you is just suspicious. He has got to want something, and Jamil is torn between protectiveness of you and his adamant refusal to give himself anymore work. It doesn't help that Yutu seems very apologetic to him specifically, he swears the kid seems to be apologizing for his entire existence. It's weird, and he tells him to knock it off because it's not like he's his dad. For some reason that just makes it worse.
Pomefiore
Vil- Epel is the one to tell him about the monster attack, the portal, and the strange protectiveness Yutu has towards Yuu. That last thing doesn't bother him as much as you might expect, as soon as he learns that you're from the same world he thinks it's perfectly natural. Admirable even. The fake name and desire for privacy doesn't bother him either, as an actor both things seem normal to him. What worries him is the idea that something very wrong is happening in the background that he doesn't know about, which he makes very clear to Yutu after sending Rook to distract you. Yutu seems hesitant to trust him, and only offers vague warnings about making sure Yuu stays safe and keeping an eye on Grim. Well now, they can both agree on that, and wouldn't it be easier if Yutu cooperated with him? He's not going to take no for an answer.
Rook- Oh? Ramshackle Dorm has a new member? What a charming surprise! He's sure this will lead to many new beautiful experiences. And he's right! Yutu is very beautiful, but there's something oddly familiar and yet… wrong about him. Like he doesn't quite belong here, and not in the same way that you don't belong here. He looks haunted, his interactions with you scream that he possesses (or to be more accurate used to possess) a relationship that can only have been built over several years. But you clearly don't remember him, and there's a painful aura of grief in his interactions with you. He also notices, with a great deal of joy, that the same grief is present when the little one speaks to him. Just what could that mean? The hunter is in no rush, he'll find out what that means in time, for now he'll keep dropping in unannounced to test Yutu's reflexes.
Side note: I don't speak French so I don't know if this would be the correct way to say it, but I like the idea of Rook's nickname for Yutu being Monsieur Caneton (Monsieur Duckling), because of how he follows Yuu around. Floyd's nickname I reserve the right to change depending on who Yutu's father is.
Epel- He starts off a hater, I am not going to lie. Protecting you is something Epel takes a great deal of pride in; he wants to be seen as manly, as the protector, as someone who you think of as cool and trusts to provide for you. So for a giant portal to open in the sky and drop a new guy determined to protect you from the monsters? He hates it, he really does, and that's BEFORE Yutu starts living in Ramshackle Dorm. He's determined to ignore him and not let him into the friend group, which proves impossible because of how Yutu follows you around so fine. He can sit with you but ONLY IF he accepts that Epel was there first. Something he's really surprised to see him do? He should be more suspicious of why Yutu is constantly asking him for advice or acting like he's cool for being so possessive over you but well. It's Epel he really wants to be seen as cool so he's just not going to think about it.
Ignihyde
Ortho- Ortho wasn't there to see the portal so he can't analyze it, but he can analyze Yutu! And he immediately finds the Shroud family curse. How curious, is this something he should tell his brother immediately? Or should he skip the line and talk to their parents… decisions decisions but he doesn't have to wait for too long for an explanation. Yutu explains himself pretty quickly when called out and Ortho is beyond excited to learn he's an uncle. Less excited to learn about the impending apocalypse but he's sure they can fix it if they work together. Now to double his efforts to get you and Idia together…
Idia- a second person has been isekaid to the NRC oh no. Whatever will he do? Well he intended to do nothing but Ortho isn't letting him. For some reason he seems really determined to get him to hang out with you, almost like he knows about his crush he's been so good at hiding. He can't complain too much, talking with you is weirdly soothing and much easier than he'd anticipated. And Yutu's there too he guesses. Sometimes they parallel play while Idia hangs out with you and that's nice. It's sort of weird how in tune Yutu is with him though, sometimes he swears they could be related. A thought that Ortho is weirdly determined to encourage, and refuses to explain why... maybe he should be more worried about what anime little bro has been watching recently.
Diasomnia
Right so dragon biology is weird and our knowledge of half fae is very limited. From how Sebek looks and how Malleus’s birth is discussed, I assume the eggs produced by love is exclusive to dragon fae and other species just get babies in the normal way. All of that to say:
Malleus- Yutu is an oddity from the jump. He looks very young, but insists he's around the same age as Yuu, and Malleus swears he feels his own magic is a part of him. It's like a precious stone has grown some legs and started walking around and talking back to him. He's a little bit in love, not the same way he's in love with Yuu, but much like a parent would think of a child… perhaps if they get closer he can offer him the night's blessing. He does seem to be lacking it and that just won't do, something inside him says that needs to be fixed immediately. Lilia questions him on whether or not he's jealous of how close the little one is to Yuu, which surprises him greatly. Why would he be- well. He does wish he could spend more time with Yuu but that sort of envy applies to everyone, not just Yutu. And none of those guys are so unafraid of him to have made him a friendship bracelet so there.
Lilia- a mage? From Yuu's world? How exciting! He's very pleased to see how well he gets along with his boys and takes Sebek’s shouting in stride. It's inspirational how quick he picks up on how gullible Sebek is and immediately starts telling- well Lilia supposes he doesn't know they're outright lies but the scolding he gets from Yuu certainly suggests they are. It's all very cute, and something he really wishes he could be a part of, but he knows his time is limited. He'll just have to treasure these experiences while he's allowed them, something Yutu is very willing to help him do! What a good kid, he'll have to tell him how proud his parents must be of him.
Silver- A portal, a monster, and a new mysterious person… it's concerning. Something dangerous has got to be happening with how worried over you this new person is, his name is Yutu? Weird but then his name is Silver so who is he to judge. Anyway he introduces himself to Yutu and he asks why he came through the portal and… isn't really satisfied with his answers. He doesn't think Yutu is a threat, not to Malleus anyway, but there's just something off about this whole thing and it's his task as a knight to make sure the people he loves are safe. What's that? Well of course you are one of those people. You're very important and- why is Yutu looking at him like that. He's telling the truth, what does he mean that makes it worse? Is it his face?
Sebek- Oh look another perfectly average human who is ok. He guesses. Not that he's thought extensively about you personally, only as a precaution to make sure you aren't disrespecting Lord Malleus, you get that right? Him cornering Yutu with a strained look on his face and shouting at him about how to properly respect Lord Malleus is something he would do to anybody. It has nothing to do with him assuming that if this person respects Lord Malleus they will be safe for "that human" to be around. Unfortunately, Yutu is not just anybody and immediately starts yelling back accusing him of disrespecting you. It's like there's two of them now, just with different biases, rip everyone's eardrums.
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#future kid au#scarabia x reader#pomefiore x reader#idia shroud x reader#diasomnia x reader
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— 𝒾 𝓈𝓅𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒 ౨ৎ
itoshi rin x reader. 1.4k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ spy au ﾉ spy!rin ﾉ spy!reader ﾉ rivalry ﾉ reader is quite infatuated with rin ﾉ a lil suggestive if you read between the lines :3
the glitz and glamor of the event you’ve found yourself at is blinding. between the crystal chandeliers and the light glinting off of everyone’s expensive accessories, you doubt that you’re going to find who you’re looking for—though, the thought only lingers for a mere moment.
there’s no way you could ever miss him.
whether it be keenly trained eyes or your personal interest, it doesn’t take your wandering gaze more than a couple of minutes to find your target within the crowd. he’s dressed to blend in with everyone else in black tie attire, slim-fit suit hugging the curve of his waist, highlighting his muscles. and he’s worn his hair just the way you like it, slicked back to expose his forehead, though some stubborn strands have strayed from the rest, turning the neat look into something more casual—sexy.
you watch from afar with a champagne float in hand and silently wonder who he put in so much effort for. saying you know rin well would be a gross overstatement—you’ve only become familiar with him through your missions, although you can confidently say you’ve never witnessed him dressed to the nines. it’s a good look on him.
swallowing the rest of your bubbly, you set the empty glass on a passing tray and look down to check your reflection on the shiny marble floor. as much as you’d love to stand here and observe rin all night, you have work to do.
your task is simple—intercept the handoff of a hard drive containing sensitive information.
you usually wouldn’t take on such a lackluster job but you jumped at the opportunity when rin’s name was mentioned. he’s representing the party meant to be receiving the intel—it’s a shame you’ll have to make his life harder by meddling in his affairs but it’s one part of the job you consider fun, even if it is at his expense.
you’re sure to stay out of his line of sight as you navigate the large ballroom in search of another character involved in the exchange. not much time passes before you spot the man and his presence alone is evidence that you're still on schedule—the handoff hasn’t happened yet.
the carrier is a new face, one you’ve never seen before. if his worrisome, flitting gaze is proof of anything, it’s that he’s never done this before. the fact that his people were dumb (or confident) enough to send an amateur makes you snort. but you won’t complain, after all, they’re making this process a whole lot easier for you.
and once you’ve got that hard drive, that’s when the real fun starts.
you quickly formulate your strategy before setting off to execute it. light steps carry you toward the man and while you're careful not to bump into anyone along the way, you purposefully knock into his shoulder once you finally reach him.
“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you exclaim, holding onto his wrists with your apology. there’s something hard tucked beneath his right sleeve and you have to stop your lips from pulling up in a smirk. so predictable. “are you okay?”
“uh, yeah, i’m fine.” he seems distracted, like your collision disrupted his train of thought. that’s all the better for you, your deft fingers inching up between the sleeves of his jacket and shirt to snag the thumb drive.
“i’m just so clumsy,” you laugh to punctuate your statement, concealing the stolen item in your fist once you pull away. “well, you enjoy the rest of your night!”
you slip into the crowd with a bit more urgency than you had before, eager to get the drive where it needs to be and make your exit without any problems.
when the cool air outside the venue meets your face, your mission is over—well, everything official about it, anyway. you’re still waiting on one planned aspect as you mosey around the back of the building and the sound of shoes scraping against pavement alerts you that it—he—is on the way.
you spin around to meet him face to face but as swiftly as you do, the man has you pinned up against the wall. the impact draws out a gasp at first, then a giggle. you didn’t predict that he’d be this rough but you quickly grow comfortable with his forearm against your collarbone.
he smells good, warm like cinnamon. it makes you wonder if he tastes like it, too.
“where do you think you’re going?” he spits out, brows etched together in a frown. it’s an intimidating expression, one you’re sure would have others in your position trembling, but instead of feeling any sense of unease or nervousness, you consider yourself lucky to see this side of him. it’s a far cry from his typical cool and collected exterior and while most would think that a scowl isn’t something you want to be on the receiving end of, the sight is nothing short of alluring to you.
“nowhere,” you tell him, tilting your head to the side and letting a smile take over your face, “i’m right where i want to be.”
his lip twitches in annoyance at that. “you have something i want. hand it over.”
“my heart? aw, rin, it’s already yours~”
he doesn’t seem to appreciate your nonchalance on the matter. “the hard drive. i saw you swipe it, now give it to me.”
“of course you did,” you say with a grin. this little interaction wouldn’t have been possible if you didn’t bank on the fact that rin would be keeping track of his collaborator’s movements. maybe you know him a bit better than you thought you did.
you sigh and meet his glowing teal gaze. “but i don’t have it on me.”
“where? where is it?”
“don’t worry, it’s safe in the hands of my associate.” you’re lucky that rin didn’t see you slip the information to a trusted friend on your way out. “and i’m willing to hand it over, but it’ll come at a price.”
rin’s irritation is palpable but his hold on you eases up as he considers your words. “how much?”
“it’s nothing really.” you roll your shoulders now that there’s a small gap between you and the building—not enough for you to leave, rin made sure of that much. you hold up your index finger. “one date. you and me.”
he scoffs. “you have to be joking.”
“i’m serious,” you tell him, not able to hold back the pout that graces your lips. “take me out to dinner and i’ll make sure those files get back to you without any trouble.”
without any trouble—the two of you must have different ideas on what defines “trouble” because going out on a date with you sounds fairly troublesome to rin. but he knows it’ll be his ass on the line if he turns up at the agency empty-handed. as troublesome as a date with you comes across as, facing a reprimanding sounds even worse.
“tomorrow night.” rin lets his arm fall to his side, freeing you from his cage.
your hand comes up to touch your collarbone that’s now cold with rin’s absence. you wouldn’t mind having stayed that way a little while longer, though, his reluctant acceptance of your offer leaves you more than content.
getting him to spend a night with you is the real reason you took on this commission to begin with.
“that works for me,” you let rin know with a smile, stepping forward to stuff a card with your contact information into his pocket. tipping your head up to meet his eyes, you offer him one last sentence. “call me and i’ll tell you where to pick me up.”
you wiggle your fingers in a wave as you take your leave, only pulling your phone out when rin’s figure disappears into the night. the device rings upon clicking the contact of your associate. she picks up after two of them.
“hello?”
“hey. is that duplicate drive going to be ready by tomorrow morning?”
the woman snorts. “who do you take me for? it’ll be done in an hour.”
as much as you’re interested in rin, you can’t risk losing your job over romantic feelings. hopefully he won’t mind you having a copy of that information, too.
“good. the boss will have my head if i don’t bring that intel back.”
thanks for giving this a read! consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed ❤︎ (perhaps i will write about the date?)
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock#itoshi rin x reader#rin x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#rin x you#bllk x you#rin drabbles#bllk drabbles#blue lock drabbles
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Like Blood on Iron | Part 2
Historical Executioner AU
Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.
Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.
Word Count: 4.6k
A/N: I fall off in second chapters. Odd-number chapters are really my strength. Anyway, if you like the story and you'd like to donate to my ridiculous expensive wisdom teeth removal, consider donating a dollar. I only need 2,000.
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part one
part 3
Neither of you moves; the lighting crashes in the distance - electricity crackling in the air. Your anger at your family overcomes your fear of him; you stalk towards the water, hands reaching behind you to try and unlace the stays. The dress pulls uncomfortably at you, and you can't reach the back.
"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to lecture me like last time?" You yell at him across the sand.
You come to a stop feet from the water, hands still fruitlessly trying to unlace your dress. He doesn't speak, and your anger grows. Your hands turn from trying to unlace your dress to being balled at your side.
"You're bleeding," his voice is low, nearly inaudible over the waves that threaten to crash into the two of you.
"It's nothing. Just a scrape." You feel his eyes on your hand; you move it behind your back so that he can't see it.
The silence grows, and your anger starts to wan - it feels strange to just stand there and say nothing so you turn away from him; you stare out at the dark ocean and rolling storm and wonder if you'll have to stay here all night. You don't know if you can go home and face your mother and father.
"You're unhappy," the execution says - voice flat and firm. As if he knows what's happened at home.
"You're the observant type."
He comes to stand beside you, cloak swishing on the dark sand. His presence is imposing, pushing you out of your comfort zone. You get the feeling that he's waiting on you to speak. It takes a moment of your thought; what repercussions could happen from explaining yourself to him? Who would he tell?
"My parents are forcing me to marry a man I don't want to marry. And I'm stuck in this stupid dress." It comes out of you all in one rush, a confession you didn't know you were making. You feel silly telling him your problems, but there's no one else to speak to.
"Is he a bad prospect?"
You scuff your shoe against the sand, carving a line between the two of you.
"No - that's the difficult part. He's perfectly fine. Perfectly nice. Nothing wrong with him at all - I don't like being forced into things."
Another pregnant pause.
"What would happen if you refused?"
You snort, and it hurts your ribs.
"I'll be sent to the convent to be a sister for the rest of my life."
"So you're unable to refuse." His voice is flat, empty but leading enough to make you want to talk.
You don't want to agree with him so you choose to ignore what he said, turning the conversation around to him.
"What are you doing here? I don't see anyone in need of beheading."
"I can't leave my own home?"
"I didn't say that."
You sink to sit in the sand and pull your shoes off. When your bare feet hit the sand you sigh, digging your toes into the warmth. After a moment, the executioner lowers himself down beside you; out of the corner of your eye you observe his clothes: black tunic and black pants, tucked into black boots. You suppose it comes with the occupation, the need to dress like midnight.
It's uncomfortable to sit there with the dress laced so tight, so you do something risky.
"Can you untie this dress, please? I can't breathe."
His hands twitch against his thigh.
"I can."
You turn slightly so that he can see the stays. His fingers are gentle, you can hardly feel them as he pulls on the string.
"I can't get them undone; whoever tightened them is an expert."
You let out a mirthless laugh at that.
"You can cut them for all I care - the dress is ruined anyway."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift, a flash of silver coming from beneath his cloak. He grabs the stays, pulling them back. There's a small snick and the bodice loosens all at once. You take the first decent breath you've taken all evening, your hands coming up to hold the bodice in place across your chest.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He slides the knife - the blade as long as your forearm - back into a sheath at his waist. So many questions clamber to the forefront of your thoughts. Why are you out here? is the one that slips from your lips first.
He answers you with a question of his own.
"Why did you come out here tonight?"
In the distance, you see something flash in the water. You keep your eyes trained on the horizon waiting for it to appear again, but it doesn't.
"I just needed to get somewhere I could breathe," you admit, thinking about the storm brewing at home.
"Likewise."
You trace patterns in the sand with your fingers before you speak again.
"How many times were you out here when I was?"
How many times did you see me through my chemise?
"A handful of times."
"And you never thought to say anything to me?"
He doesn't answer your question. The waves pull in closer, the tide coming in just reaching the two of you. A boldness takes over you - you push yourself to your feet, your bodice falling open. You pull the dress over your head, struggling for a moment before getting it free. You feel almost embarrassed by the thinness of your chemise, but you ignore it as you throw the dress to the side.
You don't look at the executioner as you wade out until the water is at chest level - everything is hidden. On the shore, the executioner looks politely to the side.
"You can look now! I'm assuming you have before."
"I've always looked away."
His tone is almost affronted. You can't help the grin that breaks out on your face.
"What is your name?" you ask, the warm water making you bold again. "I don't want to keep calling you 'the executioner' in my head."
"Why should I tell you my name; I don't know yours."
"You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine."
You think of the fairy tales Mother used to tell you when you were young: about fae in the woods, merfolk sunning on the beach, ghouls under the bridge. Never tell them your name she'd whisper dramatically, because your name has power in it.
"You can call me Ghost."
"That's not your real name is it?"
"No."
You level a look at him - his brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. It's part of being the executioner, you know, the loss of the name you were given under god as a child. You wonder if you can remember the last time anyone knew his real name.
You tell him your name, calling across the water to him. The power is his now.
You dive under the water until you can touch the bottom, scraping the dark sand with your fingertips. You push yourself towards the shore, skimming the bottom until you have to resurface for air. You keep yourself down in the water so that everything is still covered. Ghost has shifted in the sand, one leg stretched out in front of him.
"Why do you wear the hood? Do you ever take it off?"
"Sometimes."
"And the mask?"
"Don't you think you're asking a lot of questions?" His timber goes down half an octave - a warning for you to stop prying. He speaks again, getting you off of the subject of himself. "Do you plan to stay out here all night?"
"I suppose I have to. If I go home now my mother will probably use the whip on me."
"Has she done it before?"
"Once when I accidentally set my sister's bed on fire."
"Accidentally?"
"I swear."
Lightning crashes, close enough now that you can feel the vibrations; the sound is like a cannon in your ears. Pushing yourself out of the water, you clamber back toward your clothes. Ghost keeps his eyes on the horizon as you lift the dress, too ruined to put back on.
"Damn it," you mutter, "I'm going to have to run home in this."
"I thought you weren't going home?"
"Where else am I going to go in the middle of a storm? I'll just have to brave the whip. Unless you know somewhere I can hide for the night."
There's the sound of Ghost standing behind you; you're too busy trying to plot a way to make it home without anyone seeing you notice how close he is to you until he drips his cloak over your shoulders, heavy and warm. The smell of him envelops you.
"My mother is going to whip me if I come home in this," you mutter to yourself, pulling it around you - it pools at your feet, too long for you to hold up.
"Tell her you stole it," Ghost says, stepping around you, and for the first time, you see him without the cloak. Without the cloak, he seems larger, with a black tunic and pants, tucked into black boots. His mask, smeared with white ash, wraps around and covers everything but his eyes. The smell of him envelops you as you pull the hood of the cloak over your head to protect yourself from the coming rain.
"Yes, because that will make everything better."
You try not to stare at him as rain droplets start to fall, heavy and fat against the hood of the cloak. It feels almost intimate to see him like this, to see the distinct curves of his body, the way his tunic falls open, just slightly at the top.
"Anyway, I need to get home before the storm rolls in. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Like before, he walks up the steep and slippery path before you. You follow, far enough behind that you can stare at him as he walks, committing his shape to memory. At the top, he leaves you and you watch him until he disappears into the darkness. The rain is heavy and fast when you finally turn back home. Your feet squeal in the mud as you walk, the bottom of the cloak becoming caked in it, your shoes held in your hands to save them from the mud.
The house is cold when you walk in - lighting thrashing in the background. You're met with silence; you step on the sturdy spots of the floor, trying to keep anyone from hearing you. It's dark and you have hope that everyone is asleep and you can clean up and slide into bed without anyone noticing. But that hope is dashed when you hear Mother's voice from the sitting room.
"You finally made it back."
Her voice is like swallowing a sliver of ice.
"Get in here."
You don't dare disobey - the half-veiled threat of the whip is barely hidden in her voice. You keep the cloak pulled tight around you as you step lightly into the room. She's still completely dressed - her hair so perfect there's not one flyaway. She doesn't look at you as you walk in, hesitating in the doorway. The light from the oil lamp bounces off of her.
When she finally looks at you, her eyes narrow, eyeing the cloak. Your heart picks up, wondering what she's going to say about it.
"Sit down."
You ease into the seat across from her, trying to keep the fact that you've left Maggie's dress behind. The silence grows pregnant by the second, until Mother leans across to you, a letter in her hand. She holds it out to you, shaking it when you don't take it. It's heavy in your hand, the parchment thicker than a usual letter.
"What is this?"
"Read it."
You unfold the parchment and read with growing horror. Each line is a nail inside a proverbial coffin.
"You can't be - how long have you had this?"
Mother doesn't look at you as she smoothes the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. She chooses each of her words carefully, biting them off in small chunks.
"I obviously can not stop you from sneaking off to wherever it is that you have been going at night, or stop you from seeing whoever you go see," her eyes linger at the opening of the cloak, a sliver of your underdress showing. "But I am tired of having you act like a child. Your sisters have no problem with following the rules around here - I don't know why you can't."
You try to interrupt her, but she holds her hand up to stop you.
"I contacted the covenant last year. They have a spot ready for you. I can send you today if you wish to be rid of here that badly. But I am tired of this. You made an embarrassment of all of us. By some grace, Jonathan is still willing to marry you; although it does make me question his judgment. You will marry him as soon as he gets back."
"Gets back? From where? When?"
"He is going on one of your father's boats on its trip. It leaves tomorrow evening - and should be back in six months. He was going to tell you that last night."
Your stomach rolls, and you feel like throwing up. She stands, and even though she's no taller than you, she seems like a giant at that time.
"I will not stop you from doing whatever it is that you do when you sneak out at night or stop you from seeing whoever it is. But I will send you away if I need to. In six months you will be a wife or you will be gone. And that is the end of this conversation."
She doesn't look at you as she sweeps out of the room. You can hear her walk up the stairs, and then the door of her bedroom slam shut.
You tread up the stairs lightly, listening for sounds of Lily or Maggie, but there are none. Your room is empty, the bed made up and everything swept away. You drop down to the end of the bed - completely frozen by the idea of being sent away to be locked up behind a habit.
Stiffly, you strip your clothes off. The wash basin water is ice cold, but it does good enough to rise the mud and ocean off of your skin - you know tomorrow it'll be hell to get the knots out of your hair, but that's not a problem you want to worry about right now.
The bed is cold without Lily in the bed, and the sound of the storm racks your nerves. You think of Ghost, walking in this storm to the edge of the village, and wonder if he's made it to safety. After a moment, you pull the cloak up, forgetting the mud at the bottom, and drape it over yourself, the smell of Ghost washing over you to lull you to sleep.
You're woken by the sunlight hitting your face and a banging at the door. Maggie bursts in, hair damp with a sour expression.
"Do you need to wash your hair? There's still warm water if you need it." She crosses the room and jerks Ghost's cloak off of you. "Where did you get this? It's disgusting."
"I stole it," your voice is thick with sleep, "and thank you for telling me."
"Well, I figured you would want to wash after being out last night?"
"Why are you saying it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like I was out up to no good."
"Seriously? You came home without my dress and with a stranger's cloak. It has to be a man's, no woman in the village is this tall. I'm not stupid."
"I told you I stole it."
Maggie sighs, her wet hair leaving a small damp spot on her shoulder. Her hands wring at her skirt, wrinkling the material - something you know she's going to fret about later. She hesitates in the doorway and then crosses quickly to the end of the bed.
"You know last night-"
"Please don't start Maggie, I am not in the mood to hear you lecture me. In fact, I would appreciate it if you just kept it to yourself."
Maggie stares you down before turning on her heel and storming out. Your head is thick as you push yourself up to stand. A headache threatens the back of your eyes, a pressure that threatens to build throughout the day. There's a stale taste in your mouth that mixes with iron like you've bitten your cheek in your sleep.
You hear the general sounds of people downstairs, the heavy tread of your father's boots on the floor, and the sound of the front door slamming shut. You dress quickly, washing your hair until the ocean salt is gone.
Lily waits for you at the bottom of the stairs, twirling her hair around her fingers - a nervous habit no one has ever been able to break her of. You drop down beside her, pulling her hair from her fingers gently.
"You keep doing that and you're going to go bald."
"Where were you last night?"
You shrug dramatically, leaning back so that your elbows are supporting you.
"I got lost, and then I had to fight off a wild roving band of bears. That tore my dress, so I had to sneak into someone's backyard and steal their cloak from where it was drying. Then I got caught, so I had to run through the mud and rain home."
Lily giggles at you before her hands find her hair to tug on it again.
"You know everyone is mad at you."
"I do. As long as you're not, it doesn't matter."
"Mother is going to make you get a wedding dress this week. I heard her tell Father that we needed to take a trip to the seamstress."
You sigh, fingers tracing the worn wood grain of the steps. Years of your family tracing a passage up and down has written the story of the house: your grandfather, carrying your father downstairs in a wrapped bundle, your Mother so heavily pregnant that she needed a cane to walk, you and Maggie bashing your knees against the wood chasing your father, you carrying Lily up on your back when the sprained her ankle last spring. And in six months you'll be a memory to it.
"I figured she would do that soon. I look horrible in white. Maybe a nice black; I can always wear it again in mourning." You lean forward to look into the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?"
"Maggie went out - I don't know where she didn't say. Father went to see his ship off, Mother went to the church. It's just me and you."
A plan hatches in your chest, radiating outward in the seconds of silence that come through the house. You stand, pulling Lily up with you.
"Come on. I have an idea."
***
"We shouldn't be here - we're going to get in trouble," Lily whines, one hand on the back of your skirt, the other holding a basket.
"No, we're not. If anyone sees us, what are we doing?"
"Looking for Danesblood and yarrow." She repeats back to you what you coached her to say before the two of you left.
"And why are we doing that?"
"Because you twisted your knee last night and you need to make an ointment for the pain."
"Right."
The two of you crouch in the thick underbrush across from Ghost's cabin - a building off-limits to everyone in the village save for the judge and the council. In the daylight it's small and unassuming, the slight smoke curl wafting from the chimney almost pastoral. You remember once when Father had to visit the old executioner, the day before an emergency execution to sign off on it with the other council members. He'd come back shaken and refused to speak about it.
"What are we even doing out here?" Lily asks, breath hot against your neck as you crouch down, scanning the road to the left and right to see if anyone is near.
"I need to return this cloak," you tell her, holding the neatly wrapped cloak in your hands. You'd quickly scrubbed it free of mud, pressing it to your face to breathe in the smell of Ghost before running downstairs to pull Lily into the street with you. She'd worried the entire time here, nettles snagging at your skirts as the two of you crept through the woods to keep from being seen.
"You stole it from him!" she squeaks, voice rising to a pitch only dogs can hear.
"Hush!" You chide, pressing one finger to your lip before turning back to the street. "And yes. I stole it right off his drying line. It was very brave."
"You're a liar!" Her voice rises a pitch.
"Just hush and stay here. Don't move no matter what."
"What if he kills you?"
"You can go home then."
You take a deep breath, gather your skirts in one hand, and dash across the road. At the door, you drop the cloak, knock on the door once, and turn on your heel to run. You can make out Lily's face, eyes pale as she peers in fear. You make it beside her, turning just in time to see the door shut.
"Do you think he saw me?" You ask Lily, breathless.
"I think he did. Do you think he'll tell anyone?"
You don't answer her, just pull her back towards the village. At the edge, the two of you pause before melding back into the streets. You grab her hand, pulling her towards the bustling market street to seem like you've been there for hours.
"Come on," you say, pulling her, "let's get home."
The walk is tense, the two of you expecting at any moment to get caught by someone who can feel what the two of you were just doing. But no one stops you as you walk - no one stops you as the two of you cross onto your street, no one-
The sound of your name stops you and Lily short. Behind you Maggie walks, a quick shuffle, her hair falling around her face. She strides towards the two of you; grabbing Lily's wrist she pulls her away from you and tries to tuck Lily behind her back.
"What were you up to?"
"Nothing, we-"
"Don't be a liar."
You've never thought about hitting Maggie, but at this moment, you think about shoving her down into the dirt. Maggie breathes hard through her nose, her grip on Lily's wrist bruising.
"Lily doesn't need you dragging her into the messes that you keep getting yourself into."
"Maggie I swear-"
You don't get any words out, your anger blistering as you watch Maggie drag Lily back towards the house. Lily looks over her shoulder at you, her eyes apologizing, her feet causing rivets in the dirt. You watch as the front door of the house swings shut.
****
That evening finds you on the pier, your feet dangling toward the water, a sense of freedom finally overtaking you for the day. Here with no one ignoring you or speaking to you as if you were simple, and no one in the village whispering about your engagement behind your back.
Boots hit the wood behind you, and you recognize the tread pattern. When he's close enough to you, he speaks.
"Not hiding in the cove tonight?"
"No - I figured that my mother is hell-bent on running my days and that I will do what I want with my nights." You turn towards him, expecting his normal cloak, but instead being met without it. He looms over you in his all-black attire, eyes shining around his mask.
"You know I returned your cloak today."
"I saw that, thank you. Does my presence scare you so much that you needed to run?"
You scoff, moving over so that he can come to stand beside you.
"No. But my little sister is terrified of you, and I didn't need to scare her by stopping to have a chat."
You push yourself to your feet, your head coming to Ghost's shoulder. You turn on your heel, heading back towards the shore - you turn to see Ghost still standing at the end of the pier, eyes cast towards the horizon.
"Are you going to stand there all night or would you like to go on a walk?"
It takes a moment, but he turns back towards you.
"A walk?"
"Yes. I'm not sitting on this uncomfortable pier all night long, and I don't feel like swimming tonight. I'm going on a walk - you're welcome to come with me if you wish."
Ghost catches up to you by the time you reach the end of the pier, falling into step beside you, hands clasped behind his back. The two of you stride back towards the main section of the village, window shutters closed tight on each house.
"You're not worried about being seen with me?" Ghosts ask as the two of you round a side street - shadows long and thick across the road.
"Who is there to see us? It's long past midnight. Everyone is asleep but us."
The sound of your feet on the hard ground reverbs off of the houses, the swish of your skirt, and the sound of his boots filling the air. The air is blistering, the moisture from the storm steaming in the night air.
"Do you intend to walk the streets every night?" Ghosts ask, voice deadpanned.
"Well, considering no one in my house is speaking to me and my mother is going to make me go to the seamstress for a wedding dress this week, I think the nighttime is the best time for me to be out."
"Seems like a waste of money since every dress you seem to own ends up covered in seawater and sand." You can't tell if he's teasing or not, but you cut your eyes at him anyway. You give a sarcastic laugh, clasping your hands behind your back in a pantomime of his posture.
"My mother is probably going to tie me up on the wedding day so that I can't leave the house. So you will just have to do without seeing me strip that dress off."
Ghost lets out an annoyed 'humph' that you can't help but smile at. Your feet carry you onto the main street - the execution platform ahead of you two. Your feet falter, Ghost pausing alongside you. Even in the dark of the night, the execution platform has a dark hue around it.
Ghost starts ahead of you, erasing any questions you have from the air. His spine is rigid, and you can sense his discomfort rolling in waves off of him. Neither of you speaks until the platform is behind the two of you.
"Do you ever sleep?" You finally ask as the two of you walk down the market street.
"Why does it matter?"
"Well, most people sleep at night?" You say as if you're explaining something to a small child.
"You're here with me."
"I sleep once I get home. But do you sleep?"
"Occasionally."
The conversation drops until your house looms in the distance. You stop at the front, Ghost pausing with her.
"This is where I stop for the night. I do need sleep after all."
Ghost doesn't speak, just stares down at you with blank eyes.
"I may see you tomorrow night. Goodnight."
You don't wait for him to say goodnight, but as the door shuts behind you, you swear you hear him whisper it.
tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythots, @hearts4sky, @devcica, @crystalizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0th3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild
#my fics#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost cod x reader#cod fanfic#ghost cod#cod#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#cod mwii#call of duty#mw2#modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#modern warefare 2
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I come bearing a little Sidelined AU propaganda for the @tmntaucompetition ! Featuring a guest appearance by @intotheelliwoods Poptart and Sprout.
———
“Whooooooaaaaaaa!”
Leo can’t help but echo his brothers’ amazement as they enter the stadium. There are so many turtles here (and others, too!) - so many different versions of themselves, some familiar and others radically different.
It’s ridiculously cool.
“I knew it!” cheers Donnie behind him. “I knew I was right about multiverse theory! Oh, this has so many fascinating implications for physics! You guys know how…”
Leo tunes out Donnie’s ramble (he can’t understand any of it anyway) to focus on the turtles in front of him. It’s easy to pick out the other Leos in the crowd (their color coding seems to be one of the few constants between them), but he’s quickly noticing he’s an outlier in one very big way.
“Hey guys,” he says, interrupting Donnie, “am I the only Leo rockin’ wheelies?”
“Statistically unlikely,” says Donnie, coming to stand next to him. “Given infinite possibilities, there are definitely other worlds where you use a wheelchair, and myself and Raph and Mikey as well.” Donnie pulls down his goggles, scans the crowd, and then says, “But you’re right that you may be the only one in the building.”
“I wonder what the difference is between our timeline and everyone else’s?” asks Mikey.
“I dunno!” Leo’s eyes scan the crowd. “Let’s ask.”
He catches sight of another Leo nearby, this one missing an arm. He also seems to be in the company of a grandpa Leo, and Leo has no idea how to handle the implications of that one so he decides not to think about it too hard.
“Hey!” he calls out, wheeling himself up, careful not to catch anyone’s feet on his way. “Leo! …Oh, that’s so weird.”
The other Leo turns, doing the momentary skip with his eyes when Leo isn’t at the height he was expecting. Leo’s used to that by now. The one-armed Leo retrains his eyes, grinning and holding up a hand in greeting.
“Well there’s a handsome face,” he says.
“Takes one to know one,” replies Leo enthusiastically.
“Oh no, this is going to be the whole competition, isn’t it?” he hears Donnie say behind him. He rolls his chair back into his brother’s shin and takes satisfaction in the yelp he hears after.
“Quick question. Did Draxum and the Foot Clan put together the Dark Armor in your timeline?”
“Huh? Oh!” The other Leo laughs. “Yeah! That feels like forever ago.”
“And he didn’t put you in it?”
“Uh, no.” The other Leo shrugs. “He put himself in it. Is that what happened to, uh…” He gestures vaguely at Leo, who nods.
“Oh yeah. What about you?” Leo eyes his empty shoulder. “Was that from the Shredder?”
“Nope!” The other Leo waves that off. “This was from the Krang!”
“Oh,” says Leo. (Behind him, he hears Mikey whisper, “What’s a Krang?”) “Okay, thanks. We’re just trying to figure out where our timeline went different.” He grins. “Nice compression sleeve, by the way.”
“Thanks!” The other Leo grins back. “Nice wheelchair!”
The other Leo and the big Leo tailing him move on. Leo swivels his chair so he can look back at his brothers.
“Okay, so we know the difference,” he says. “In most other timelines, Draxum is an idiot.”
“He’s an idiot in our timeline,” says Raph, “but I see your point.”
“Cool!” says Mikey. “Mystery solved!”
“Now hold on!” Donnie dashes to stand in front of them, arms held out. “Gentlemen, you can’t really mean to take a single data point and form a conclusion based on that!” He pulls up the screen of his bracer, typing frantically. “We need to gather data from every group here, and then we need to run cross-references to find all the commonalities, and then-“
Leo looks at Raph and Mikey. “Nachos?” he suggests.
“Nachos!” they both cheer.
He starts making his way through the crowd, Mikey and Raph helping him navigate, leaving Donnie to catch up.
“Really!? That’s it!? Don’t you have any interest in the mysteries of the multiverse!? You’re abandoning it for nachos!? …Well okay, but no jalapeños on mine!”
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Hold My Hand Instead of His
Hello everyone!! We're answering a request for my event today!
Here is the first request coming from two anons, actually, who have requested the same tropes: “Hiya! Can I request The Darkling Soulmate AU with an arranged marriage trope? But the reader is meant to get married to someone else? Can have a little bit of jealousy if you wish. Either that or enemies to lovers you choose” and “Hi carooole!!! Congrats for 6k!! I'm so happy when I see you on my TL again i've been following you since 2020 aaaa
I would like to request The Darkling, Soulmates AU and Arranged Marriage please !🫶
I hope you're having a good day and congratulations again <3”
I love this idea of an arranged marriage with someone else ifoeofueuojeji that’s amazing. I hope you like what I’ve written for your request, anon! <3
Hope you all like this. Tell me what you think!
****
Pairing: The Darkling x Reader
Warnings: angst, fluff; I’m distorting canon rules of Grisha magic to apply to a Soulmate AU I hope you like it
Summary: You are engaged to the Prince of Ravka, through an arranged marriage, in order to pacify relations between Grisha and otkazat’sya. The issue: Nikolai Lantsov is not your soulmate, and you are torn between duty and love.
Word Count: 3554
The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist
What could happen if the world were to be devoured by shadows?
Sometimes, as you laid down at night, staring at the shining stars and moon, you asked yourself this question. Would it be the end? The beginning? The continuation? Would anything change?
You felt a little too lost in your life these days to be afraid of the shadows, of the blindness they carried. If you were so lost, weren’t you alone already?
Besides, these were his shadows. If anyone else could fear the dark because it was his, you felt the opposite.
Your gaze turned from the window to the door on the opposite wall. Why were you chosen to marry the prince anyway? Granted, you were a powerful Grisha, but there were others who could have done it, why did it have to be you?
You knew that Nikolai Lantsov was not your soulmate. There was no wonder about it. As a Grisha, your soulmate would be easy to detect: a simple touch and your powers would be amplified. A surge of power matching the rush of a heart. You had touched the prince before, had felt nothing. It wasn’t him…
Actually, you knew who was your soulmate. You had touched him once, without meaning to. While he was asleep, after a long day spent on a battlefield. You can see it all over again: the dry blood still tainting his forehead, the quiet of his breathing, the calmness on his features. He seemed so innocent then, so different from the man who had used his shadows against the world mere hours before. You remember as well the water you had been carrying to his tent, the reason for your presence in the first place. Because of course, you were a powerful Grisha, but he was The Darkling, a general, a leader, unreachable. You remember, though, the light shiver that shook his frame, the blanket that had fallen from his chest during his sleep. To this day, you didn’t know what had come over you that night, putting down your bucket of cold water, gently holding the blanket to cover his long frame once more. And it was an accident, really, a mere miscalculation of trajectory, when you brushed your fingers against his. And you remember the surge of power shaking your entire frame, making it hard to breathe, igniting every cell in your body. The sudden knowledge of your powers beating in your muscles at the same rhythm as your heartbeat. It was so strong, you could barely control your powers enough to not burn him, feeling flames surging to your hands. You were certain that the warmth escaping through every inch of your skin was warming the entire room. It felt like you could have burned the entire world…
It had taken you a long time to finally accept the truth that was revealed that night: the Darkling was your soulmate. Amplifying abilities could only happen between people bound by true love and fate alike, and that cold night spent on the verge of Fjerda, you had revealed an unbelieving truth. The Darkling was your soulmate. Your one true love.
Even now, you contemplated this fact with a tinge of bitterness. He was the Darkling, and you… it would be absolutely impossible for the two of you to be together. Now more than ever. You had been chosen to marry the prince of Ravka, it would strengthen the Grisha, protect them… you had worked hard to protect your people, you couldn’t abandon them simply because you were being a silly romantic. This wasn’t about love. This was about duty and the need of your people. Besides, it could have been worse. Nikolai wasn’t a bad man, marrying his brother would have been much closer to martyrdom.
These were the words you repeated yourself over and over again, every night since the announcement. And they were sensible and logical, but they did not prevent the aching in your chest, the tears at the corners of your eyes, or the urge to run across the Little Palace to the Darkling’s War Room to tell him the truth and beg him to take you away…
You closed your eyes, the world even darker than before. Against your eyelids, you painted his tall frame wrapped in his shadows, the dark of his infinite eyes, the sot beard on his cheeks. It was useless though, and terribly childish.
After all, how could the Darkling do anything against your union with Nikolai Lantsov? He didn’t even know you were his soulmate…
You didn’t know that he was your soulmate, and it was slowly killing him.
The Darkling looked at you now, dressed in the finest silk the kingdom of Ravka could offer. Your hand resting on Nikolai Lantsov’s arm, gloved in white fabric. He was showing you off, the bastard. He was playing his part in this political plot a little too well, took too much pleasure in parading with you by his side. And you were so unlike your true self. Too pliant, too obedient, smiling too politely. But Aleksander knew who you could be, this other side of you. The one covered with blood, the one burning like the flames ignited by your fingers and palms.
The Darkling was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He had worked too hard to reach this position, over the long hours of centuries, he had crafted his myth, his image, his power, his influence. And Nikolai Lantsov marrying a Grisha was a central part of his plot, it was vital, actually. It was a new step towards the throne…
But you… why did it have to be you?
He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He had abandoned the idea of an everlasting love such a long time ago. Centuries ago. He had built an armour around his heart, he had grown as ruthless as his shadows, he had grown too determined to be drawn off-course by sentiments.
And yet, as he looked at you now, at the way you leaned against another man, he wanted to destroy the entirety of Ravka and the world beyond too, if need be. He wanted to tear the fabrics of the universe apart, and scream against the night sky.
The Darkling was selfish, and he knew it. And yet, his selfishness was always directed towards the same goal he had been pursuing for centuries, for lifetimes… he could not simply yield now. Of course he wanted you, you were connected by a power stronger than the Small Science he used as weapons and shields. Still… still he couldn’t simply yield, it would ruin everything.
Aleksander remembers, though. He remembers that afternoon, the clouds of smoke rising from the broken earth, the screams, the irony taste of blood in the air. He remembers looking for you, though he didn’t know why his instinct made him look for your frame across the battlefield. And yet, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to find you. He remembers the beating of his heart and his shallow breathing, the pain of his own wounds making his head spin. He remembers catching the colour of your hair there, lying in the dirt, his gaze moving to your closed eyelids… He remembers the sudden fear that shook him, even though he didn’t know why he felt that way. Because you were, of course, a powerful Inferni, he suspected that you were unusually gifted, and yet… you were just a soldier. Why was he so upset? He had seen thousands of people dying, thousands of his soldiers falling… why was it so different now? He remembers the way he had stumbled as he rushed to your side, falling by your side more than kneeling. Your still frame, your peaceful expression, you looked like you were merely asleep. He remembers too well the slow movement of his own fingers towards your throat, pressing against your pulse to feel your heart, and the surge of power that coursed through his frame, ignited his blood, sparkling every cell of his body. Such an overcoming beating of power in his heart, he didn’t control the shadows that sprang from his frame, that gathered from all around the two of you to cover both of your frames. He didn’t control it. He knew at once what it meant though. And his shadows pulsed, at the same rhythm as his own heart and, as he noticed your pulse, as your heart as well.
Two hearts. One heartbeat. Soulmates…
Aleksander looked away, focusing his dark eyes on the drink in his hands instead of your frame. This surge of power he had felt, unbearable, uncontrollable, too wild to be tamed… he knew what it meant, of course. When he was young, and naïve, and stupid, he had spent long decades looking for it. The reason of his failure then was obvious now. You did not exist yet, you were born centuries apart… how cruel the world could be, making him wait for so long, only to snatch you away…
The Darkling was being ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. For longing for you so much it hurt, for seriously considering walking over to you and lie about a need to see you alone, and kiss you in the safety of his shadows, with your back pressed against a wall and your skin under his palms…
But was he so ridiculous? He couldn’t help it, after all. If fate itself had weaved your two lives, your two souls together, how could he simply ignore it?
He could have laughed at himself for being naïve all over again, a boy who longed for a fairer world. Fairness didn’t exist, it wasn’t in human nature. Marriages had little to do with love at all when they involved the royal family. It was about politics, not sentiments.
But then, why did Aleksander felt your numb body in his arms all over again, the weight of your unconsciousness resting on his forearms as he carried you to safety that afternoon, the shallow warmth of your breath against his neck, as you turned to him and looked at him from across the crowd, catching his gaze with ease?
But then, why did he want nothing but to leave everything behind now, everything he had worked so hard on and had lost so much of his own self to reach, at the mere hope of running away with you?
But you didn’t know he was your soulmate. You were unconscious then, when he had touched your skin, you couldn’t feel the amplification held in his bones for you.
He turned around, his back to you now to relieve the temptation to stare at you for too long. The Darkling was patient, but Aleksander was selfish. Would he hold on, or tell you the truth?
The answer came with the breeze of spring and a kiss stolen by the lake.
It came from you, actually. From the feeling of warm lips against yours, and hands on your cheeks, and the sudden knowledge of a truth you had been pushing away out of duty.
You couldn’t do this.
You pulled away quickly, leaving a rather stunned Nikolai Lantsov behind. You didn’t look at him as you spun on your heels, as you ran away across the grass and towards the Little Palace. You didn’t look back as you spotted the Darkling there, under the trees, speaking with Ivan. You were crying, you realised it only because it made their frame a little blur. Still, you aimed straight for the Darkling, who frowned at the sight of you. He dismissed Ivan with a mere gesture of the hand, and walked towards you.
“Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
You wanted to rush into his arms, but didn’t dare to. Because he didn’t know you were his soulmate, and would notice if you touched his skin…
You were surprised when he held your upper-arm to steady you, though. But he was touching the fabric of your dress, you couldn’t feel the bond between the two of you…
“Y/N, what happened?”
You took a couple of deep breaths. You were being utterly ridiculous. You had fought battles, had killed people, had buried friends… this was a mere kiss, why did it upset you so much?
When you looked up at the Darkling, his expression was unreadable, a perfectly calm demeanour. There was but the ghost of a frown to show that he cared.
Did he care though? He didn’t know…
You couldn’t hold it back any longer. You had to tell him. Because he would probably push you away anyway, remind you of your duty towards Ravka, towards your fellow Grisha, and break your heart for good. And then, perhaps you could accept your arranged marriage with the prince…
“I can’t do it,” you let out in a breath, shaking your head. “I am sorry, but I cannot do it. I can’t marry Lantsov.”
The Darkling’s frown deepened, he leaned a little closer, his eyes searching yours, digging their way into your mind and heart until he could peer right into your soul.
“Did he hurt you? What happened?”
“He didn’t hurt me, he…”
You took a shaky breath, closed your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to release the words and hold back a sob.
“He kissed me.”
When you opened your eyes again, fell back into the gaze as dark as the shadows they summoned, you couldn’t read through them. Aleksander had clenched his jaw, but he was still as unreadable as ever.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it… I can’t marry him…”
“Y/N, calm down. This is important.”
“I have a soulmate.”
His lips parted slightly, but he remained silent, frozen in expectation. His hold on your arm tightened, it was the only movement he made until you spoke again.
You wondered where your strength came from as you finally confessed the truth, you didn’t think you had it in you. Even if your voice was but a weak whisper, the words were let out, audible and clear, lifting a heavy weight from your shoulders and heart.
“It’s you. You’re my soulmate.”
You shook your head, eyes begging for forgiveness, even if none of this was your fault in the first place.
“I’m sorry. I… one day I touched you without meaning to while you slept, just… just your finger and… I felt it. The amplifying. And I… I didn’t tell you, because I know that you are focused on your task concerning Ravka, that this is not your priority, that you probably don’t even care but… You’re my soulmate. And I can’t marry another man, I simply can’t. I’ll fight as hard as I can, I’ll risk my life, I’ll kill and do whatever needs to be done, but as a soldier. Please… please, help me. Help me not marry him. I cannot marry someone else when I love you so deeply. I am not asking for anything else, I simply…”
Your voice died down as his hold on your kefta tightened, becoming almost painful, the hold unforgiving.
His stare was even more intense now, if that was even possible. You read hesitation in them, something you had never seen before on him…
His eyes fell from your gaze to your mouth, intense and holding you hostage, making your heart jump and crash against your ribcage. When his eyes flickered back to rest on yours, he was out of breath as he spoke.
“I know.”
You could only stare at him, stunned. You could feel your heart shattering…
“Do you remember when you were wounded in the South? About a year ago?”
Slowly, you nodded.
“I am the one who found you, unconscious, lying among the dead. I checked your pulse.”
“Oh…”
The ghost of an amused smile tugged at his lips.
“’Oh’, indeed.”
Slowly, you nodded. Because he knew, and yet he had done nothing to prevent this marriage.
“I thought you didn’t know,” he went on. “I thought it was better that way.”
“Because I must marry Nikolai to help the Grisha?”
But he was too earnest in his answer, his hand slowly rising to your cheek, but he didn’t touch you. Instead, he let his hand hover over your face, close enough to feel the heat of your skin, but still away, unbearably so.
“Because I do not want to have weaknesses. And loving you would turn you into a weakness.”
Again, you nodded, although you were more lost than ever.
“I can’t marry Nikolai,” you breathed again, the tears coming back into your eyes.
“If you do not, Ravka will be endangered, and Grisha more than anyone else.”
You looked down at your feet, the weight of duty too heavy on your shoulders now, despite the strength in them, the endurance of a soldier.
Aleksander could not bear the sight. Beyond duty, your frame was crushed by another burden he knew only too well, after carrying it for so many centuries.
Loneliness…
If he caved in, you would never have to be alone again, and neither would he…
Slowly, he closed the space between your two skins, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, guiding gently your face upward to look at him again. And the power that coursed through your bodies now was so intense, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help the flames that sparked in the air all around you, and he couldn’t master the shadows that twirled around your frames. Fire and darkness mingled in a whirlwind that covered the world, made you escape from it. It was a strange dance on your features, the burning lights of flames dancing with his shadows in your eyes…
The decision was easy to make.
He leaned down before you could move, or speak, or master your powers again. Only when his lips moved over yours, when you lost yourself in his touch, when he melted under your palms and pressed himself against you, did your powers calm down. You felt the warmth of the sun against your face instead of the heat of flames, the constant light of the distant star painting your eyelids red instead of the unsteady black of his twirling shadows. And there was no thought left to be thought, no breath to be drawn, no duty to cave under. Instead, there was the passion of Aleksander’s kiss, the gentle tug of your fingers on his hair, the tingle of his beard against your soft skin. There was nothing in the world but the two of you, feelings overwhelming, and at the back of your mind, still, the knowledge of immense power waiting to be freed.
When you broke apart, both of you out of breath, Aleksander pulled away just enough to look at you again, to capture your gaze with his, making your heart stutter all over again.
“Do not marry him.”
You stopped breathing altogether as the words passed his lips. He slowly shook his head. His hold on your face tightened a little, he moved a little closer, and his voice was dangerously tempting, almost begging, when he spoke again.
“I can take care of this,” he assured you, his tone sounding like a promise. “I can make him back down. We are soulmates, this is our right…”
“But what about Grisha…”
“Lantsov can marry someone else. He chose you because he had a crush on you, he will get over it and choose someone else.”
“Do you really mean that?”
He smiled.
“We are soulmates. Do you not know the answer already?”
And as you stared at him for a little longer, you did. You knew he meant it. You could see it in his dark eyes, in the tension of his jaw, feel it in the way he held you a little too tight, a little too close, a tinge of desperation searing cracks through his perfect composure.
One of his hands let go of you, and he offered it, palm up and open, an offering of weakness and vulnerability.
“Choose me,” he demanded in a breathy whisper. “I’ll manage Lantsov, I’ll get you out of this marriage. We could be together. We can fight. Choose me. Hold my hand instead of his. Share your heart with me, not with him. Y/N…”
He fell silent as you took his hand, as you pulled him down to kiss him again, passionate and breathtaking.
He smiled into the kiss, he couldn’t help it. Because of your lips against his, because of the love you shared, because of the relief coursing through his entire frame after finally surrendering to the feelings he had held back for months, because of the shushing of its constant loneliness under your palms, because of the power you released into his body by a simple caress…
Aleksander was selfish, after all, and he would have you, if you chose him. He would do without this alliance with the Lantsov family. He didn’t need it. Instead of political leverage, you were now offering a power of his own.
He broke the kiss, held you close to him, rested his lips against your hair. Yes, he would have you. And if need be, he’d take the light out of this entire world, while you burned it to the ground.
#the darkling#the darkling x reader#the darkling x you#the darkling x y/n#the darkling imagine#the darkling fanfiction#the darkling fanfic#aleksander morozova#aleksander kirigan#aleksander x reader#aleksander x y/n#aleksander x you#fanfiction#fanfic#writing
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YOU’RE LOSING ME! — LUKE HUGHES
— “AND I WOULDN’T MARRY ME EITHER,”
pairing; slytherin!luke x fem!hufflepuff!reader
summary; in which luke and yn are already dating, but his lack of care for their relationship is slowly making him lose her
genre; angst, miscommunication, hurt to comfort, fluff at end, hogwarts!au, black cat bf!luke + golden retriever gf!reader
author’s note; sorta part 2 to wanna be yours (you can read it before if you want for more context but it doesn’t have to be read if you don’t want to) ANYWAY, another slytherin!luke fic because i said so LOL i prob will be making this into a series filled with random imagines of him and our lovely hufflepuff yn 🫶 this fic is obviously based on “you’re losing me” by taylor swift so my fellow swifties, cry with me
✸ SLYTHERIN!LUKE MASTERLIST
“Luke you don’t get it,” you say, giving him a small glare. His eyebrows furrow at your harsh gaze, not sure why you were so upset.
“So what?” He asks, arms crossed like a child who didn’t get what they wanted, “what is the big deal here?”
“The big deal is you gave that girl your sweater!”
“She was cold YN,” Luke rubs his face tiredly, “it was nothing really, she was just shivering cold and I wasn’t going to be an asshat and let her freeze to death.”
“Jack was right there Luke,” you say, referring to the older Hughes brother who was sitting near the two of you during the Ravenclaw VS Hufflepuff Quidditch match. The girl who Luke gave his sweater to was also from Slytherin, which made you even more insecure. What if Luke liked her better? What if they related to each other more?
What if?
“Jack was busy watching the game,” Luke sighs, throwing his hands desperately down to his arms, “you know what YN? You win, fine. I’m sorry I gave that girl my sweater. Happy?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, not appreciating the passive aggressive tone your boyfriend was using on you. With a quiet sigh, you brush past him, leaving the boy silent.
For once, you wished he would come chasing after you, apologizing and not letting you go until you guys were made up. But your boyfriend was Luke Hughes—and there was no way he would do such thing. It wouldn’t be Luke Hughes of him to do so.
The next few days are radio silent from Luke, who seems to have his focus on Quidditch much more than on you. It wasn’t like this was anything new; Quidditch was one of his top priorities, so much so that you wonder if he would pick it over you in a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry Lukey,” you say as you find him inside the locker room. The other boys had all left, one of Luke’s friends, Mark, had patted you on the back and wished you a good luck.
Everybody saw the tension between you and the Slytherin star Quidditch player, but it was too awkward for anyone to mention.
He opens up his arms, letting you place your face into his chest. A few seconds later, he pushes you off gently, swinging his gym bag over his body.
“Slytherin’s having a party tonight,” he says as the two of you walk hand in hand. “Are you coming?”
“Depends,” you say, leaning closer to him, “am I invited?”
“Course you are baby,” Luke makes a stop, placing his full attention on you, “I’m sorry about yesterday okay? I really mean it when I say it was nothing between me and her. I didn’t even know she existed before the game, I only gave her the sweater because I wanted to be polite.”
You nod, hugging your boyfriend tightly as you tippy toe to place a kiss on his face.
When the sun set and the clouds were covered by the dark sky, you placed on your dress, a simple, but beautifully designed emerald green silk dress. You wanted to match with Luke’s house colors, which were a dark green.
As soon as you entered the Slytherin Common room, you were met with the smell of cigarettes and beer. In some corners, couples were making out, and in others, there was a group playing beer pong.
“Have you seen Luke?” You ask Mark, who happens to pass you as he tried to reach the alcohol.
“Oh—Luke?” He says that in such a tone that made you furrow your eyebrows deeply, wondering why he looked so guilty. “Yeah, uh, he’s in the main part of the common room.”
“Okay,” you say, starting to make your way there, but Mark pulls you back, giving you a gentle smile.
“How about you play some beer pong with us for a bit? It’ll be fun!”
You give him a small smile but shake your head. “It’s okay Mark, thank you for the invite,”
Mark sighs as he watches you go, hoping his best friend wasn’t doing anything stupid to make you cry again. He had seen the two of you fight endless amounts of time, mainly due to Luke’s stubbornness and his inability to be.. well.. good boyfriend.
Walking into where Mark said Luke would be, you could understand why he acted the way he did. There your boyfriend was, on one of the small couches, with a girl right next to him.
He was holding a red solo cup, a cliché that you’ve seen in muggle high school and college movies. She seems to keep rambling about something, giggling and twirling her hair as Luke looks the opposite direction, disinterested.
“Luke,” you say, your insecurities rising up once again.
Sure, Luke didn’t really give the girl the time of day, but she was extremely pretty, and seemed way more carefree than you were.
“You know her Lukey?” The girl asks, head leaning close to touch to his curls.
“I do,” he says, sitting up properly. “Cho, meet my girlfriend, YN.”
Cho smiles bitterly, “nice to meet you YN! I’ve heard soooo much about you.”
“Mhm,” you say, “nice to meet you too.”
“Well Lukey, I’m gonna go and say hi to Jack, see ya!” She hops off the couch, not before giving your boyfriend a kiss on the cheek.
He barely even flinches at this.
“Seriously?” You whisper out, anger fueling your body.
“What now YN?”
“You let girls be all over you and kiss you on the cheek now?”
“Oh my god, are we doing this again?” Luke stands up, discarding his solo cup somewhere in the common room. “Can we not have a good night YN?”
You scoff, “we can have a good night when I’m not treated like shit by you in this relationship, Hughes.”
Saying his last name felt like a blow to Luke’s face, making him more upset by each minute. “I don’t treat you like shit!”
“Yes you do!” You yell, exasperated. You watch as Luke tries to push his way past you, but you grab his arm, tightening your hold on him so he wouldn’t go. “Don’t you ignore me Luke!”
He looks down at your figure, his drunken daze almost fading when he sees how beautiful you looked. A green emerald dress on with your hair curled. You truly were the best thing at this party.
“Listen, I wouldn’t marry me either!” He spat out, “I told you this when we first began dating! That I was going to be a terrible boyfriend who isn’t good at comforting and communicating. You knew this right off the bat, YN! You know that I’m a pathological people pleaser!”
“I just wanted you to see me!” You cried out, tears now falling down you cheeks. “Yes, I knew what I was getting into—but all I wanted was for you to see me and love me Luke!”
Your breath hitches when you see Luke’s arm falling loosely off your grip, scared he was going to leave forever now.
Do something Luke, your brain screams. Say something.
He leaves the room, making you drop onto your knees. The pain you felt in your chest was overwhelming, accompanied by the seemingly endless tears.
Lose something, risk something Luke!
You don’t notice he re-enters the room until you feel arms wrap around you, carrying you to one of the large couches. Luke places you on his lap, a large tissue box in his hand. Using his free hand, he wipes away your tears, making sure to get the mascara that was dripping.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, giving you a soft kiss on your head. “I know I’m not a good boyfriend and that I do stupid shit—but I promise I love you—that I see you YN. I’m trying my best here, I’ve never had someone care for me as much as you and I guess I was just afraid of love,”
You don’t say anything, just holding onto Luke’s arms that were currently embracing you.
The two of you sit in silence for the next half hour, Luke never once letting go of you as he rocks the two of you back and forth.
“Just so you know,” you say, looking up to meet Luke’s teary eyes, “I would marry you. Regardless of you being shit at showing emotions.”
This makes him laugh as he hugs you tighter, mumbling another apology into your head.
“I would gladly marry you too baby.”
#luke hughes#luke hughes fluff#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes x y/n#luke hughes imagines#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes fic#nhl x reader#nhl fanfiction#nhl fic#hughes brothers#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes x y/n#umich hockey#umich imagine#umich blurbs#umich boys
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OKAY OKAY wing okay cool yes. But wing and nipple play AT THE SAME TIME but refusing to touch angel anywhere else. She cums from that and not at all
ALRIGHT ALRIGHT SO HEAR ME OUT!! R showing Nat how sensitive Wanda is because one day they were talking about it and Nat looked curious so ... ya know.. gotta help the bestie get hands on knowledge! (For anyone who doesn't know, in this AU, Natasha is a demon and R's best friend)
Can't believe you got me to spend my afternoon writing a whole angel babie fic, kit kat, how dare you... anyways this is extremely unedited because I didn't expect it to be this long so.. ya get what ya get, homos. I have gnocchi to cook
read the rest of the AU here. wc: 2.6k cw: 18+ only please . angelWanda/demons!Natasha and reader . threesomes, wing play, nipple play, innocence and corruption kink x2 because Nat has some Thoughts about her bestie's new angel girlfriend, orgasm denial, a sprinkle of degradation, kinda manipulation but not really because Wanda just doesn't understand why these two demons are giggling like they have an inside joke
When you first bring it up, it's over a few drinks because in any state, you never stop talking about your pretty angel girlfriend.
"Her wings always look so soft, but I think she might be offended if I ask to touch them." Nat's met angels before, but she's never been friends with them; as much as she enjoys trouble, she hadn't tread that far. Yet.
You shrug, understanding her point. It was a while before you asked to touch them on purpose, part of you scared the second you intentionally laid a warm hand on her bright white wings, Wanda would be banished instantly. "Nat, I'm telling you, if you touch her wings she gets so sensitive. It's like a magic button, drives her wild."
Alcohol always makes your tongue looser, but even sober, you'd tell Natasha anyways. The two of you shared everything with one another- which gives you an idea.
And maybe you'd teased Wanda already with the idea of having Nat join in to which she always tries to deny how often she stares at your friend, how eagerly she climbs into her lap when she's allowed... the handful of times you'd caught Wanda trying to sneakily grind down on the bulge from Nat's pants when she felt it under her thigh for too long.
Nat notices, but she's never touched Wanda in any way not strictly platonic. Still whenever those soft feathers flutter near her, she has to wonder. "If she says it's alright and you won't kill me for getting close to her, I wouldn't say no to trying."
So then it's a few days later when Natasha is over and the three of you are lazing about when you decide to put your plan into action. It's easy enough when Wanda's always cuddled up to you, your fingers lightly running between her exposed shoulder blades until she's shuddering. "Stop it, that tickles!"
It instantly pulls Natasha's focus, watching Wanda's previously still form twitch and fidget with every touch you put on her skin. You weren't doing much at all, but it was enough to make your girlfriend distracted. She was always mortified when you teased her in front of your friends, mostly because she didn't mind them watching and just realizing that made her want to shrink away from the exhibitionism.
But this was worse because right now it was just Natasha, the girl you'd made Wanda admit many times how attracted she was to her and the ways she tried getting off on her as if the other two wouldn't notice. Something about it being just the three of you affected Wanda in unexpected ways. "What's the matter, I thought you liked back scratches?"
"I do!" Wanda didn't want to risk one of her favorite things, shooting up to face you on the couch, "Just... lower. It's different when you touch there!"
"Different because it makes your tummy all fluttery?" The brunette nodded quickly, trying to shush you and diffuse the conversation before you could reveal too much with your friend around. But this is exactly what you wanted to reveal. "Nat doesn't mind, she wants to see too. She told me last weekend, right Nat?"
Wanda stopped then, shyly twisting around to face the other woman who was amusedly watching the discourse between you two. "I said only if she says it's okay. Doesn't look like she wants me to know."
You pushed Wanda closer to Natasha's spot on the couch, settling behind her and dropping your chin to rest on Wanda's shoulder. "Oh she wants you too. She's told me before she loves the attention you give her when you're over," Sly hands wrapped around Wanda's waist, keeping her still so that even in shying away, she's still in full view. "Go on, angel, tell Natty what you told me."
"I don't remember..." Wanda didn't like lying, but how was she supposed to admit to Nat's curious face that she wanted to try things with her.
It'd been comparable to pulling teeth getting her to admit it the first time, but you weren't as willing to wait today. "Lying isn't very nice, sweetheart," Even if Wanda wouldn't admit it, you wouldn't let it stop you and your friend having some fun. "I know you remember being laid on our bed all pretty for me, stretched open wide because you teased yourself with Tasha's strap all afternoon and begged me to use the big toy on you after she left."
This was the first Nat heard of that particular incident, but she wasn't surprised; while she'd never laid an intimate hand on her, Wanda certainly used her however she pleased and you laughed about it with the redhead frequently. "Luckily for her, I don't want to see what she looks like filled and stretched today."
"Show me what you were saying about her wings. I saw that with my own eyes just now so she can't deny it," Natasha sat up on her knees now, matching you and Wanda, and she couldn't help but laugh watching the girl visibly gulp. "Don't be scared, angel. I won't bite."
"She actually loves when you bite her a little." Wanda huffed at your comment, but she'd rather keep quiet than provoke either of you any further. Despite her earlier denial, she'd suffered more than a few dreams featuring her sandwiched between the two of you and she knew enough not to risk ruining whatever was happening here.
She didn't protest when you slid her dress straps off her shoulders, letting the silk fabric pool at her waist, and you rewarded her with a kiss to her rosy cheek. "Be a good girl and let me show you off for a bit. You trust me, right? We won't hurt you, Natty just wants to see what a beautiful angel I have."
Wanda nodded her agreement as you rubbed soothing circles into her hips, focusing on that instead of how riled up just being nearly fully exposed to Natasha made her feel. "I know neither of you would hurt me, but I don't want to do the wrong thing..."
"You couldn't possibly do anything wrong," Nat cut in then, hooking her finger under Wanda's chin and giving her a kiss of her own on the tip of her nose. She'd kissed various spots on her face a handful of times, but in this context, it felt different and the older demon couldn't wait to see how Wanda would react. "Poor thing looks cold, let's warm her up a bit."
"She's a huge fan of demon warmth and now she's got two! She won't be cold for long," you chuckled, finally moving one of your hands back up to where you'd first been teasing your girlfriend. You always started out lightly at first, knowing Wanda's hypersensitivity at the base of her wings could easily turn pleasure to pain. The same circles you'd placed on her hips worked wonders on her back, the tiny motions forcing her back into the starts of an arch. "See, told you it doesn't take much."
Natasha was effortlessly mesmerized by the sight, promising to commit the picture of Wanda knelt on the living room couch, whimpering and balling her fists into the cushions to memory. Eventually she watched you duck your head down and trail your nose over the top curve of Wanda's wings, murmuring something Nat missed mere seconds before Wanda shook.
The first orgasm always took Wanda by surprise, the feeling overwhelmingly euphoric and she fell forward on instinct, colliding into Nat's front with a quiet gasp. Natasha took Wanda by the shoulders and pulled her upright, grip tight as she pulled her gaze from the still recovering girl to you. "Can I take a turn?"
"That's what you're here for," The two of you switched positions easily, petting Wanda's cheeks as they grew tomato red from Natasha's experimental strokes over the length of the wings she waited so long to finally get her hands on. "They're just as soft as they look, I know."
Wanda cursed the coil in her tummy for being so tight over simply being talked about, but the way you instructed your friend to touch her most sensitive places, revealing every secret spot that brought her to her most vulnerable...she had no hope keeping her composure.
"Okay now try scraping your teeth right there," You reached over Wanda to point to the area where her baby feathers grew, letting her rest her head in the crook of your neck as Natasha lightly dragged her sharp teeth over where you'd shown. She moaned something deep and heavy, an uncommon noise from the typically soft-spoken angel. "You like when Natty uses her teeth, don't you, sweet thing."
"Mhm... want you to touch me too..." The most Wanda could do was lazily kiss your neck, her hands busy twisted behind her back to guide Natasha's arm where she needed to feel her play with the tips of her feathers. Thankfully the other woman relented, sliding the end of her wings between her fingers until Wanda was bucking against the air.
At her request, your hands went to her breasts, toying with her already hard nipples. Rolling them with your thumbs left Wanda panting, the sensation almost too much combined with Natasha's continued torment at her back. "Pl-Please, can't hold it—"
To Wanda's dismay, Natasha pulled her mouth away, leaving a trail of saliva to quickly cool on her overheated skin, a lingering torment. "Are you close to cumming again, baby doll? Just from playing with you for a little?"
The brunette nodded, feverishly clamoring for Natasha's hand to force it around between her legs. She was tired of clenching around nothing, needing to further her fantasy with Natasha's fingers deep within her. Besides, she knew better than to touch herself down there without permission, but you'd never said your friend wasn't allowed to venture that far.
Honestly you didn't mind the idea of Nat fucking Wanda, countless thoughts of how gorgeous she'd look being taken by someone else, but you had to punish Wanda for lying somehow. So right before your girlfriend could clamp her thighs around Natasha's hand, you stopped her. "Ah ah, did Natty say she wanted you to do that?"
"No, but I—"
"Did I say you were allowed to try whatever you wanted?"
"No..."
"But you decided you could get yourself off like a greedy little slut." Your free hand twisted Wanda's puckered nipple until she cried out, slapping her breast as she shrank back into Natasha. The only thing that turned her on more than the groping adoration she'd been receiving was just the right amount of degradation; something you'd never expected Wanda to actually enjoy, but never complained once you found out.
Natasha knew this, another one of your drunken ramblings about your bedroom adventures, but she'd already seen evidence of it herself each time she'd teased Wanda for her needy behavior and caught the pitiful pout she used to distract from how red her ears and cheeks grew. "You're so hard on her. She's such an innocent angel, I bet she doesn't even remember what she wants us to do."
Her phrasing hit Wanda like a brick, realization and disappointment drawing on her the instant she understood you'd make a point to leave her untouched everywhere else. The two of you continued your torture in sync now, both getting your mouth on her, licking, sucking, biting wherever you could reach and ignoring Wanda's hurried pleas. "I'm sorry, 'm sorry! I remember now! I just- I need to-!"
You pulled away from Wanda's nipple with a pop, making a show of laving your tongue over the pink bud while Natasha nibbled at the nape of the angel's neck, fingers ruffling through the currently shivering mass of feathers that made up Wanda's wings.
"I didn't say you couldn't cum, Wands. You can all you want." And oh Wanda wanted so badly to rut herself over your bent thigh, but Natasha was holding her too tight, her strength easily overpowering and making Wanda feel more trapped with each struggle she put up. She didn't think that was supposed to make her feel fluttery either, but she no longer cared.
"Make a mess of your nice new panties until you're dripping onto the sofa, I'm sure we'd love to see that...but you do it like this or not at all." Ripping Wanda's dress was easy as a piece of paper, exposing Wanda's ruined underwear as the fabric slipped away. You could smell her and if Natasha's feral groan was any indication, so could she.
Another choice set of bites from the two demons and Wanda felt an even bigger wave crash over her, forcing her body not to sink down and rub her neglected sex over the couch cushions, but she couldn't stop herself from whining about it. "Can Natty touch me now? I'll be so good, I'll never lie again."
Her wide, pleading eyes were convincing, but your own devilish inclinations is what made you change up your game. "Never again, promise?"
Wanda was adamant, shaking her head and pawing at you with as much energy as she could manage in her weakened state. When you beckoned Natasha to join over to your side, Wanda was hopeful, even more so when you two shared a look before guiding her to lay on her back. But Wanda had too much faith in your generosity.
"You want Natty to make your needy cunt feel better, pretty girl?" You almost felt bad for how giddy Wanda looked; she always thinks she can skirt by her punishments and some days she manages, but today you were eager to show your friend all of Wanda's limits.
Natasha wasted no time in dragging her nails over Wanda's clothed mound, delighting in how easy it was to get her spreading her legs wider. "I heard you got worked up easily, but who knew you made such a mess.. No wonder you're always so wiggly in my lap."
"You make me feel weird, it's not my fault..." Nat laughed as she pressed her thumb over Wanda's clit, her contented sigh yet another sign of how downed her guard currently was. "Do that again, please?"
She did and Wanda bit down on her lip, happily humping against Natasha's outstretched fingers. As her eyes slid closed, she felt your hands find her breasts once more, massaging them just as gently as Natasha's touches were and slowly but surely, the two of you worked her to the brink of another high. But that's when the hand between her legs disappeared. "No wait, don't stop! I'm allowed to!"
"Only from your wings or tits, baby, your rules haven't changed." Nat pat Wanda's thigh with faux sympathy, her grip turning harsh only when the angel attempted to close her legs. "None of that now, I'm allowed to play wherever I want, and I'm far from done with you. And don't you dare cum unless you want to find out how easy your girlfriend's punishments have been."
#my soul to keep au#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff fic#wandanat x reader#wandanat x fem!reader#wanda maximoff smut
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