#when you're in space where would you walk
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shoot an arrow through my heart
max verstappen x reader
there's something you need to hear max say, but you're not sure if he's actually going to say it. you do know one thing though, it was always gonna be you and max.
a/n: started this longer ago than i'd like to admit but here we are! a big thank you to my fave beta reader K and to @scuderiahoney who helped me figure out all the banner image stuff. based on prompt #966 from this list.
masterlist
It starts with Lando. Because doesn’t it always?
Lando says shit he doesn’t mean, Lando says things just for the sake of saying them. Lando says things as if they are fundamentally truths when they are in fact are lies.
And so, one moment you’re hanging out with Lando, letting him talk you down from buying the little trinket of the week you’ve fixated on, and the next he’s saying that Max is in love with you, saying it like it’s a truth, and then moving on as if he hasn’t just tilted your world on its axis.
And then, before you know it, you’re banging on Max’s front door trying to figure out if it’s true or not.
Trying to figure out if your best friend is in love with you.
“Max! Open the door.”
He doesn’t.
You honestly don’t know if you want him to, or what you’re going to do when he does. Or if he even will, Max doesn’t know you’re here and you don’t even know if he’s home.
You’re just about ready to search for the spare key, the one you told him to hide in the firehose down the hallway because having a fake rock in front of his door makes no sense when he lives in an apartment building, when the door is flung open and a very grumpy looking Max, headset in hand, is giving you just about the most fed-up, unimpressed, stare you’ve seen in your life.
“Are you in love with me?” You can’t help it, the words foreign on your tongue but there’s an urgency to get them out and into the space in between you. You’re so desperate to hear him say it back.
Max blinks at you, bewildered at your words. You can see the gears turning in his head trying to work out what you just said and if you’re being honest you don’t know if you should be offended at the fact that the answer isn’t an immediate yes.
His brow furrows and his lips purse, “what?”
A beat passes, and then another, and then the idiot actually has the audacity to close the door.
You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it you know that he knows that you’re doing it. As you push the exasperation out of your lungs you knock again.
“Max, nuh-uh, that is not going to work, open the door and answer my question.”
Nothing.
You bang your fist on the door one more time for good measure, “Max, you know I know where your spare key is and we both know that I’ll let myself in if necessary.”
It’s true and he knows it.
There have been many nights where you’ve verged on the edge of too far gone and walked from the club to his apartment. Nights where you didn’t want the fun to end so instead of going home you go to Max’s where you can cuddle and coo at Jimmy and Sassy and sit around in comfy clothes and watch as Max putters around doing whatever it was he was doing before you came over.
It’s true. He knows it. But still, he doesn’t open the door.
You sigh and softly thump your forehead against Max’s front door, through the absence of your knocking you can hear his nervous shuffling on the other side. The inquisitive meows from the cats, the faint scrape of the peephole cover as Max checks to see if you’re still there, if you’re still waiting for him.
You would wait for him for forever, but that’s just for you to know really.
Max opens the door again, just the barest amount. Just enough so his eyes, wide and disbelieving can lock onto yours.
They’re so blue, you don’t know how you never noticed it before, so classically storybook blue that you’re really starting to wonder if this is all some kind of weird dream where you’re standing at his doorstep begging to be loved by him, like some kind of cheesy romcom star. Because after all, aren’t you just a girl standing in front of a guy?
“You’re in love with me.”
The words stretch the impossible distance between the two of you. Even when he’s halfway around the globe he’s never felt this far away.
And still, somehow, you feel too close to him. Like somehow all the other versions of you and him have been false proxies to what you’re reaching for right now. Like all of a sudden, somehow, he’s been molded into your every contour of your soul and you don’t want anything else
The door edges open a little wider.
“Are you asking me that or are you telling me?”
He’s stalling, you both know it. But, you can’t really bring yourself to do more than give him a fondly smile and roll your eyes at him. Because you know, if the roles were reversed, if he was the one throwing pebbles like some kind of suave Dutch romeo, demanding to know if you were in love with him, you would be doing the same thing.
“You and I both know how much you like being told what to do.”
With a sigh Max opens the door to his apartment a little wider once more to let you in, “and yet, you’re still here telling me to open my door.”
You can’t really fault him for that one can you?
You make your way to the living room where you settle down on your spot on the couch while Max flits around the living room. Sassy is meowing at Max, desperate for a taste of the outside she only ever gets when the front door opens, and even though he knows she’s not going to make a run for it he still takes the time to half-heartedly shoo her away.
Max does this, dragging his feet, until both of the cats have curled up next to you on the couch and it is only then that he makes his way over to you. Coming to stand behind the armrest on his side of the couch, putting a little too much distance between the two of you for you to not feel spurned by him.
You can hear it in silence between you, you can feel it in the way your body seems to ache from having him in the ways you have him now and not in the ways you want to have him.
You’re not ready to have this conversation.
There’s a part of you that almost wants to say nevermind and forget that you even said anything in the first place. But deep down you know that the two of you have been putting on this elaborate dog and pony show for far too long. You’re only delaying the inevitable.
“So,” you say, nervously running your fingers over the fabric of the couch. “Is it true?”
You try to catch his eye as you say it, not only to try to make sure he doesn't chicken out but to see the reaction he gives. You want to see his soul and know that he means whatever he says.
But Max doges your gaze at every move in a way that makes him look like a kicked puppy. And you’re not really sure what it means but you can feel the way the dynamic has shifted. All of a sudden the two of you are on shaky ground, not sure where you stand with each other. Even though two hours earlier you would have called him your best friend with your entire heart.
“Well?”
“Please,” he says your name, strained and with a weight to it that you don’t quite want to acknowledge, “don’t make me say it.”
You’re not above begging, you really aren’t, but something about the way he sounds makes you falter. Just a little.
“Max,” you say his name softly, “I think you and I both know what your answer is going to be.”
“Then why do you need to hear it so bad?” His words bite, tinged with an anger that you know he doesn't really mean.
“So, I can say it back!” Your words match the sharpness in his and you can see how much they throw Max off kilter.
He blinks at you and then rocks on his feet, first a step forward and then a step back like he’s blown away by the force of what you said. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
You cross your arms and shrug your shoulders, “it was a personal issue.”
“You being in love with me kind of also involves me.”
You really don’t want to admit that he’s right on with that one.
You huff and shrug your shoulders again, “well it goes both ways, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I asked first,” Max shoots back.
You groan at his response and launch yourself up towards Max in a play attempt to strangle him. “Argh, you’re so!” You drape your arms over his shoulders as you slump against him, head resting in the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, “God I hate you.”
Max laughs underneath you, his arms coming up to wrap around your waist, “you evidently don’t.”
“You're so silly,” you sigh, tilting your head up to look at him. "You want to hear me say it so bad."
Your nose nearly brushes against his, he’s so close you think you could count every single one of his eyelashes if you tried.
Max makes a noise that’s somewhere between exasperated and surprised and you know that you’re toeing the line with your teasing
You always know when to give in when it comes to him.
“Okay, yes, I love you! I love you,” you say, “do you love me?”
“Yeah, I do,” Max says as he moves to cradles your jaw in his hands. “I love you.”
You grin, “good. Now kiss me please.”
And he does. He does and it feels like all the cliche things people say. It feels like coming home, it feels like fireworks are going off in the background, it feels like you were meant to be, that he was made for you just as much as you were made for him.
And you just know. You know that there can never be anyone else but him. That there was a version of you before Max and now there’s going to be a version of you that’s with Max, but there’s never going to be a you after Max.
“I love you.” Softer, quieter this time.
You don’t dare look him in the eye, instead choosing to press your cheek against his and stare out the window of his apartment. Your gaze settles somewhere in the distance as you try to memorize the feel of his body pressed up against yours.
You curl your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging absentmindedly as you say, “I’m glad that worked out, I didn’t even know you were home.”
He pulls away from you to fix you with a look that is so quintessentially Max, “you have my location on your phone, you’re always stalking me,” he says, punctuating his words with little jabs to your shoulder.
It’s true, and you honestly don’t know why you didn’t try to check his location in the first place, your logic getting lost somewhere in the panic of knowing that he loved you.
“Mhmm.” You shrug noncommittally, trying very hard to ignore the rushing feeling of warmth in your chest that comes with the realization that Max was so ingrained in your life and you in his from the start.
You try not to think about the fact your toothbrush sits next to his in his bathroom, about the fact that your hand automatically gravitates to his favorite spoon in your cutlery drawer, the one you can identify solely based on the weight of it in your hand. You try very hard to think about how you couldn’t separate the love from the friendship.
It was always gonna be you and Max.
There’s a silence between you for a moment. You try to match your breath to his and let the sounds of outside filter through your ears. And for a moment you can hear how the rest of the world keeps turning, even when your world has stopped spinning on its axis.
“So, what now?” Max asks, turning his head to press kisses to your hairline, his hand squeezing your waist. You can feel his nose brush against your temple as he makes his way down, lips featherlight on your skin. The intimacy of it makes your blood sing with electricity.
You pull “Mhmm, you could take me to bed?”
It’s half serious, half a joke. You’ve waited so long to have Max like this that now that you finally do you want him in all ways possible. But still, there’s some young and girlish part of you that wants it to be special.
Max pretends to think about it for a little bit and it’s so impossibly silly that you have to resist the urge to strangle him again for it, “it’s three in the afternoon, I think it’s a little early for sleep.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, stop being a smartass.”
Max smiles, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “Well,” he says, “how about I send you home so you can get all nice and pretty for me and then I’ll come pick you up and take you to a nice dinner, hmm?”
You flush, not just from the way he pours honey, slow and sweet, into your ear, but from the way it feels like this was always meant to be. Like you were always meant to have this, always meant to have him.
“And then,” he says, dropping your hand to pull you in by your belt loops so your hips are press flush against his, “after dinner, that’s when I’ll take you to bed.”
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fic#mv1 fic#mv33 fic#mv1 x you#mv33 x you#max verstappen#mv1#mv33#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic
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Curtain call - Spencer Reid
Summary: You're an actress. Opening night of the show, a cast member is killed. FBI finds out you were the real target...
Warnings: mentions of blood, a kiss
2k wc
Adrenaline rushes through you as you run through the wings, catching your breath as you made your way across the backstage. You had just about a minute until you had to be on stage once more, the big number now coming to its end. Rushing into the costume room, you barely acknowledge the one thing obviously wrong with the messy space until you reach for your next costume on the rack, moving all other clothes aside to find it. There’s something inappropriate about your outfit. One, there isn’t supposed to be any blood on it yet there it is, a bloody handprint, running all the way to the bottom of your dress. That’s when your eyes trail down to the bottom of the clothing rack, where you get a clear look of the body lying underneath the row of clothes. Blood was soaking through her entire costume and her skin was turning blue. It’s only when someone runs into the changing room at risk of missing your cue that you hear a gut-wrenching scream. Later, you’d be told that it had come from you.
Being called into the theatre the next day for “mandatory debriefing” was not what you had expected after such a traumatic experience, but you came in nonetheless, afraid of losing the job after the scene you had caused the night before. After screaming bloody-murder, half the cast ran into the changing rooms to find you hysterically crying over your cast mate’s body, holding her cold hand. The audience had been scared half to death, and after the authorities made it onto the scene, everyone was evacuated out of the theatre. By finding her body, you had cost everyone a night of the show.
But once you got to the theatre, angry yellow tape cutting off access to the public, you were approached by a handsome man with a serious face and confident posture, offering you his hand even as he walked towards you. “Miss L/N? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Agent Morgan with the FBI, and this is Dr. Reid. We just have a few questions we would like you to answer for us.” Agent Morgan had been a very kind man, who told you every formality that was written in the book, however the man he had introduced to you as Dr. Reid caught your attention in a way you weren’t aware would be good or bad. Dr. Reid stayed silent as Agent Morgan questioned you, deeply staring at you as you answered all that was thrown at you, shooting you quizzical looks every now and then and glancing down at your fidgety hands.
“Thank you so much for all this Miss L/N, that’s all our questions.” As Agent Morgan began to stand, Dr. Reid looked up at you, “Actually, I do have a few more if you don’t mind.” Agent Morgan shot his partner a confused look, slowly backing down into his seat once more. “Do you know why Evelyn was in the costume room when she was? With my limited understanding of the play, I was under the impression that her character didn’t have any costume changes up to the point you had gotten to before she was killed.” And then those that followed:
“Was anyone other than you supposed to be in the changing rooms at that moment?”
“Is there anyone in the cast who has taken a specific liking or dislike towards you?”
“Can you remember any specific encounters with anyone as you were going in or out of the theatre?”
“Have you received any eye catching letters from fans recently?”
Finally, Dr. Reid’s prying had gotten you somewhere, leaving you more terrified than ever, with Agent Morgan reassuring you “It’s just a theory that Dr. Reid has, so we’re only taking precaution. There’s nothing to worry about just yet.” The two agents drove you back to your place where you led them to the curse fan-letter drawer in your study. "I don't usually read them because there are so many." You admitted, crossing your arms tightly over your torso, observing as the doctor starting frantically pulling letters out of the tidied drawer, eyes briefly scanning the name on the front of each envelope. He threw several to the side, dropping the rest onto the floor after reading the name until nearly ten minutes later, all the letters laid on the floor.
Dr. Reid scrambled to gather the letters he had tossed to the side, standing up hurriedly. You stared at the pile in his hands, glancing back up at the two men for an explanation. "These are all sent from the same person. I'd like to read them and see if analyse the language used. I think one of us should stay here with you for the mean time." You nodded at Dr. Reid's words, briefly looking over to his partner for confirmation. "I think Reid should stay here as he looks over the letters." He moved his attention from you to Dr. Reid "You can ask her any questions you might have and it'll be good protection." The partners nodded to each other and immediately, Agent Morgan exited the room.
Dr. Reid's hand came up before hesitantly placing it on your shoulder. "Do you mind if I get settled here? Ask some questions?" You shook your head silently before asking "Um, since you'll be here awhile, can I get you something? Coffee?" Dr. Reid nodded, muttering a quiet "That would be lovely." You don't know what it was: maybe the fact that he was here to protect to or trying to save your life, but felt your heart beat in your chest aggressively, as though trying to break through your skin. You brought him coffee, sugar and packets of cream on the side just in case and watched in awe as he emptied out the small cup of sugar. Sweet, just like him.
"Dr. Reid-" "Spencer. Please." You nodded, scooting your chair closer to him as he took a sip of coffee. "Did I make a mistake by not reading these?" The envelopes made loud unfolding noises every time he pulled a letter out of a different one, and he shook his head. "No. I know I wouldn't open so many of these and I have an IQ of 187." You grinned, your chest bubbling with a giggle. Spencer perked up at the sound of your laughter, smiling gently at you. He wasn't trying to joke around, but he was happy to lift up your mood. He studied all the letters laid out in front of him, and immediately noticed a pattern.
'02.02.18, I saw you in Oliver! today, you make an amazing Nancy.'
'14.02.18, I watched you in Oliver! again. You somehow get better the more I see you on stage.'
'07.03.18 I loved you today in the show. I watched the evening show. Did you see me too?'
'17.03.18 I saw your show again. I can be your Bill Sykes if you'd let me."
'11.04.18 I've been waiting anxiously to see you again since Oliver stopped touring. You make a wonderful Veronica.'
'15.04.18 We can be Seventeen together! Let me be your JD.'
"This isn't good." Without any further explanation, he pulled his phone out, dialling a number. "He's using obsessive language and saw her in Oliver! and Heathers, both of which have abusive partners who either kill or try to kill who Y/N's playing. You need to go visit his address right now." Coincidentally, just as he hangs up the phone, your doorbell rings. Your blood runs cold and you stand up instantly, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking you from going anywhere. "Stay behind me, but stay close." He mutters, pulling his gun from his hostler. Spencer watches you closely, and the profiler in him notices how your breath begins to speed up and your eyes glaze with tears.
One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and he whispers "Breathe. I'm right here so no one's going to hurt you, okay?" You nod, staying as close as you can to him without touching him until you get to the front door. He peeks through the peephole and his shoulders drop as an "Oh." Escapes him. He opens and closes the door faster than you can register, now holding another letter in his hand, identical to all the ones scattered on your desk.
Six words are written on the letter when Spencer opens him, and his face pales. It was meant to be you. Spencer grabs your hand, dragging you back into your study - the one room in your house with no windows. He locks the door, pressing numbers on his phone again before it's against his ear. "It's definitely him, he just sent another letter. We're in her study but he might be around the premises or returning to his house. I don't plan on getting her out of the study until you get him." The second the words leave his mouth you're processing them, and tears are welling in your eyes once more.
The sound of sniffling gets his attention back to you and his hands are gently coming up to your shoulders, leading you to sit down in a chair. "I'm scared." You whisper helplessly, looking up at the doctor. He crouches down to your level, and hand on your knee. "Hey, what did I say before?" He looks at you intently waiting for an answer. "No one's gonna hurt me." Spencer nods, a soft smile gracing his features. "Yes, exactly. No one's going to hurt you. I have an excellent team looking for that son of a bitch as we speak and I am right here with you."
You nod, not entirely convinced, which he can apparently tell, so he continues with "Come on, look at these muscles. You think anyone will get to you when I have these babies?" His tongue pokes out slightly as he flexes his arms, which are actually more toned than you realise. You laugh again and feel yourself launching your body at him before you can stop yourself, pulling him into a tight hug. He hesitates, but eventually, his arms are pulling you even closer to him, one hand rubbing circles on your back to soothe you. You break the hug, but before you can help yourself, you realise you're leaning into him, pressing your lips against his in a passionate kiss. To your surprise he immediately returns the kiss, his hands cupping your face as he deepens the kiss.
He's panting when he pulls away from you, whispering "This is unprofessional. I'm sorry, I like you, I do, but I shouldn't." Cocking your head to the side, you can't help but smile slightly. "It's only unprofessional for one of us so technically it's not unprofessional at all." His face twists in confusion as he tries processing your words. "That's not how it wo-mmph." the rest of his words are muffled by the second kiss you give him, which you feel him melting into as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. "After- after the case. After the case, I'll take you on a date." His face falls at his own words, his face reddening in embarrassment. "That is- I mean that's only if you want. I wouldn't take you on a date if you didn't want to, that's totally fine."
The door to the study slams open just as he finishes rambling and you scream in fear, tightly gripping Spencer's hand and turning around expecting to find a middle aged balding creep, only to find a much sexier bald man, putting his gun back in his hostler. "Did you not hear us screaming for you? We thought he might have gotten to you before we found him. Ms. L/N, you're safe, we found him." Agent Morgan's gaze slowly trails to where your hand tightly grips Spencer's, and when he sees the flush on Spencer's face he makes a "Huh" noise, before walking out of the room once more.
taglist: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist
#spencer reid x you#rainydayathogwarts#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#dr spencer reid#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer x reader#criminal minds fanfic#criminalminds#criminal minds fics#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#derek morgan
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The Facility Manager
Alastor x female!maid reader
Summary: Alastor uses his title of the hotel's facility manager as an advantage to be with the new pretty maid. You.
Warnings: Al is VERY flirty, actually.. I Mena (how can you not when you're wearing a hit maids dress am I right?)
A/N- hope y'all enjoy :)
You were hired as the new maid for the Hazbin Hotel. You were quite excited because you believed in the cause and you loved to clean and organize. It was your first day on the job, and the Princess had a simple task for you: dusting. You were dusting something from below, so you had to bend down slightly. That's when you heard a voice that sounded staticky.
“Charming, I haven’t seen you around here before!” The voice struck you out of your thinking space. To your surprise, you turned your attention to the voice—it was a rather tall and slightly handsome deer man who was right at your face. You didn't know how to respond before he did.
“Pleasure to meet you, Dear, just a pleasure! I’m Alastor, the radio demon! You must be the new maid, hmm?” You stood up from your somewhat bent position and brushed off your maid's dress that was black but had red accents. "Yes, yes, I am," you replied, taking a small step back to give the two of you some space. The deer man only smiled.
He hovered over you, then he bent down at the waist as his finger rested under your chin. "You're quite adorable," he complimented you. You weren't sure if your blush had shown, but all in all, Princess Charlie regretted to tell you that the Radio Demon was one at the hotel and two the Facility Manager in the first place, so your interaction between the two of you was just you being shocked.
"Um, thank you?" you replied, and the smile that he seemed to be wearing this whole interaction only got bigger. Then he said, "You'll be working for me, I'll be keeping a close eye on you." Confused, you told him, "Well, the princess said I'll be working for everyone, technically."
"In a way, yes," Alastor hissed as he drew a finger down your exposed chest due to the uniform that was given to you. You definitely blushed, and he most definitely noticed. Angel Dust, the fellow pink spider, had told you about his nickname for the demon: tall, dark, and creepy. And in this scenario, you would agree, but you had a feeling that he was flirting with you. Was he?
"I... um should get back to work..." you said, picking up your duster. But he didn't seem to get the hint. "Oh, don't be so silly! You can take a small break..." Before you could respond, he leaned in close again to your face, and you only just looked up at him as a response. "Take a break." Your heart started to pound in your chest all of a sudden due to the close proximity.
Most certainly didn't help when he ever so slightly moved closer to where you could feel his breath on your lips. "Mr. Alastor, I—" you began, but certainly was shut down. He covered your mouth with his claw with another wide grin.
"Oh, but it's only just getting fun." What did he mean by that?
"I need to get back to work," you pushed once more, but of course, the man LOVED to invade everyone's personal space, so he pushed back. He knew he was making you flustered, so he only kept it going by placing his other hand on your shoulder.
"I said, you're taking a short break," Alastor said with hooded eyes almost and a closed-lipped smile. You had to get away from the conversation and wanted to veer away from it. "Could you show me to where I'll be staying?" you asked. His eyes got wider with a head tilt, the Radio Demon said, "Of course," he purred while placing a claw on your lower back and leading you towards a door, his eyes closed and head up before the two of you stopped in front of the door.
Alastor holds the door open for you to your room. You walked in. "Now, my room is right next to yours, so it won't be an issue if you ever need me, dear."
"Great... thanks," you said. Of course, he put your room right next to yours; the two of you share walls, just what you had ever wanted. Placing your bag on the bed, feeling Alastor press against your back, "You're welcome," he whispered with a smirk. You paused.
"Now, I'll be keeping a close eye on you, so be sure to behave," you gulped, and Alastor took a step back as you just looked at him. He laughed and patted your head. "So serious."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight. my dear" Alastor placed a hand on your hip and whispered again. Your heart pounded in your chest. Alastor then shut the door softly, leaving you just standing there, rethinking what just happened. Then you decided to finish getting settled in and then going to bed. An hour or two later, there was a soft knock on your door. Groaning, you got up and were in your PJs, opening the door. He stood there, looking down at you. "...Can I come inside for a moment?"
"I um, suppose." He nodded and walked into your room as he looked at the progress you made of settling in before looking back at you.
"Now, you must be tired, no?"
"I am."
"Alright then... let me make you... 'a bit more comfortable. "He steps closer, and what did he mean by that? Your heart sank. Truly. "Actually, I'm okay..." You didn't care if he heard the terror in your voice; there was no way that you were going to get down to the supposed Facility Manager on your first day.
"Oh? You're turning down my kindness?" He said as he took a small step forward. "I'm comfortable but thank you."
"Hm... are you sure?" His neck cranked to the side, and he was now dangerously getting close to you. Only inches now stood between you two. Your back had hit the bed, and you were laying on top of the covers.
"You... sure you're comfortable?" He was still staring down at you.
"Yes, thank you." You said, and he leaned down again, a few millimeters away from your lips, he had that small closed-lipped smile again. He reached for the blanket to put over you.
"Goodnight, again." A sinister grin spread across his face. "...Sleep well, my darling."
You went to sleep and was ready for your second day of being the Hazbin Hotels maid.
HERE'S THE PICTURE OF THE DRESS I DESIGNED :D
#alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor x you#the radio demon#hazbin alastor#alastor imagine#alastor x reader#i have an obsession
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Honkai Star Rail X Arknights | Yandere!Sunday X Sankta!Reader | Part Three
Sunday sits you down in a room that you can only compare to a conference space. You had walked through a long corridors littered with sparkling windows, golden statues. There was a room with a mini city in the centre. You didn't get a chance to look around though, Sunday was insistent that you follow close to him.
The room was round with an evenly round table, place eerily perfect in the center. Tall bookshelves that reach the ceiling cover the walls, some having library ladders next to them.
"Make yourself comfortable," Sunday says casually, running his finger tips across the top of the table as he makes his way to his seat, "We might be here for a while."
You uncomfortably shift within your seat, the cushion beneath you not as comfortable as you'd expect. Your poor ass.
"Now," Sunday interlaces his fingers, "Where should we begin, hmm? We already had polite introductions, what should we do next?"
You can't help but feel a bit uneasy; his casual demeaner is so off putting. You leg begins to bounce rapidly, a nervous tick you picked up.
You attempt to clear your throat.
"Well... let's go over what we already know," you say, trying to regain control over yourself.
You scoot a little in your chair, straightening your back and folding your hands.
"I am (Y/n), codename: Lamplight. I am a combat specialist and medical researcher in Oripathy. Uh... I'm from the region of Laterano, species: Sankta. I currently work under the association 'Rhodes Island' under the direction of Doctor Kal'tsit, Doctor Loriann, and Amiya. Uh... there's nothing really else that comes to mind... Oh! I am also highly dangerous as I am infected with Oripathy."
Sunday sits quietly, his lips lightly pursed, eyes closed as he takes in all this sudden information. All of these things... he's never heard of a single one of them. Sunday takes a deep breath before letting it go through his nose.
"Alright. Thank you for your introduction. Let us first go deeper into these statements. In return, I will explain as much and equally about me and the world around you. Does that seem fair, Lamplight?"
You nod your head, eyes slightly wide at him referring to you by your codename.
"Good. Then let's start with this 'Oripathy' you speak of. You say you're a researcher in this field while also being... infected?"
Your hands fiddle with one another, once again shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You clear your throat again.
"You just had to start there, huh...?" you say with a somber tone, "Alright, I'll tell you everything I know."
You begin to explain your home, how a powerful and dangerous material, 'Originium.' You explain the usages it has... and the horrible, deadly effects it has on the human body. You even roll up the pant sleeve to show a small collection of black crystals forming on the side of your shin. You even told him how you became infected.
"I was on a mission with Doctor Loriann when I got pierced by a Originium lump. Luckily, The Doctor was right there and was able to immediately slow and contain the growth of the Oripathy. I'm glad that I don't use Arts, or the growth would be a lot faster. You don't know just how lucky I am to have my Oripathy growth so slow. Other infected would kill to have theirs infection be so well maintained. I just hope it gives me enough time to live a somewhat fulfilling life."
Sunday's gaze during the whole time never left your form, and once you showed your leg, his eyes never stayed from the crystallin chunks that speckle your skin. He attempted at one point to touch, but you quickly grabbed his hand.
"I wouldn't, not unless you want to be infected too."
It was more of a warning than anything, of course, but you could never be too sure. You would never forgive yourself if you got an innocent person infected.
"I see... Well, let's continue our conversation, shall we?"
#honkai star rail#star rail#crossover#arknights#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere x oc#sunday#yandere sunday#sunday x reader#sunday x you#sunday x y/n#sunday x oc#yandere sunday x reader#yandere sunday x you#yandere sunday x y/n#yandere sunday x oc#sankta#halovian#hsr#hsr x reader#yandere hsr x reader
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How they help you through mental health struggles
(this is one of two prompts suggested by a particular anon 💞 keep an eye out for your other request soon!! hope you all enjoy this read)
John
John starts the days by ringing your house/flat to see how you're doing and to hear your voice
he'll try his damndest to talk you through panic attacks or depressive episodes, drawing from his personal experiences with inner turmoil
he'd be the type to research more alternative and obscure forms of treatment, such as primal therapy or hypnotherapy
he's willing to accompany you to these sessions if you'd like, overcoming his defensive and guarded ways in an effort to support you
helping you through your struggles opens his mind to seeking therapy and practicing healthy habits in his own life
he often invites you out for walks to get some vitamin D or over to his place in the evenings to listen to music together
even on days when he's entrenched in his own troubles John still finds the time to do small things to show his love for you, like fixing you tea just the way you like it or grabbing you a treat from the corner store
Paul
Paul feels an intense need to do whatever he can to "fix" the way you're feeling
it's just the way his mind works when a situation is out of his control
because of this he's more hands-on in his support, offering to help you with daily tasks like grocery shopping, washing up, or picking up medications
he helps you to stay organized and prioritize tasks to keep you from feeling overwhelmed
he'll walk you through more mentally draining responsibilities such as cleaning/rearranging your living space or budgeting
Paul just wants to take care of everything for his beloved partner
he will gently encourage you to engage in whichever form of therapy you feel most drawn to
you find that he shows his support in other small but thoughtful gestures, like surprising you with your favorite meal or a brand new plush
George
George shows his support by creating a sacred space in his home for you, dedicated to relaxation and recharging following social events or particularly rough days
he furnishes this room with comfy cushions and dimming drapes, always burning incense and playing calming music to soothe you
he tries to gently guide you towards mindfulness practices and encourages you to find solace in nature
he's inclined to suggest pursuing alternative therapies such as reiki and aromatherapy (especially if you don't resonate with traditional talk therapy), favoring holistic approaches to healing the mind, body, and spirit
George will begin a collaborative journal where you can both write out your thoughts and feelings, creating a sense of connection and shared experience
he also buys you a small potted plant/flower as a gift and physical representation of your progress and personal growth
he invites you to join him for stargazing sessions in the evenings, laying out an intricately patterned blanket in the backyard so you can admire the night sky together
Ringo
Ringo transforms his home into a haven for you, removing any potential stressors/triggers and creating a calm and comfortable atmosphere for you to unwind in
he'll play fun board games, dance with you, and invite you to try out new hobbies with him as a way to foster connection in your day-to-day interactions
occasionally, he will plan low-pressure social activities to help reduce feelings of isolation
Ringo would help you research treatment options and create a support network so you never feel alone in your struggles
he'll work with you to set achievable goals and celebrate every one of your accomplishments, no matter how small they may seem to you
he allows you open access to his drum set so you can release any anger or anxiety you may be harboring in a healthy and engaging way
he wants to be your rock and act as a pillar of love and encouragement in your life
he's curated a comfort box for you, filled with things to bring you joy and ground you such as photos, fragrances, plushes, and calming sensory items
#the beatles#beatles#beatles x reader#beatles imagines#john lennon#john lennon x reader#john lennon imagines#paul mccartney x reader#paul mccartney imagines#paul mccartney#george harrison x reader#george harrison#george harrison imagines#ringo starr x reader#ringo starr#ringo starr imagines#richard starkey#headcanons#beatles fanfiction#LMLBeatles#mental health
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Hiii, how are you? I love your writing sm, especially your Mycroft fics. I didn’t even like his character that much until I read your fanfics about him ^^
So can I request a jealous Mycroft Holmes x trophy wife reader? Something similar to your last post or maybe a continuation?
Thanks sm <3
✦ YOU BELONG TO ME ‧₊˚✩彡
🌷: HII im good :) thnx sm for the kind words !! have a nice day/night
🌷: F!TROPHY WIFE READER x JEALOUS MYCROFT HOLMES
⚠️: such a cliché 🙏, somewhat suggestive at the end.
surely this was to be expected; you were in no way lacking. the attention your beauty and elegance brought with you was only one of the many implications that came with marrying you. he could handle it, couldn't he? surely he could. you were his trophy wife, an accessory to be shown at the best.
but that position didn't quite please you. no no, you wanted more. you wanted all of him, him and his affections, every bit of his attention. you wanted to be more than just a mere prize to him. which is why..
“right! and then he said—” music & loud voices dipped in cheery laughter blur into the background.
watching yet another group of men group you crowd you for the umpteenth time this night—something began to rise within him. anger, frustration, disgust.. he wasn't sure what it exactly was. perhaps a mixture of them all. all he knew was that it made his stomach feel hollow, his chest burn with something foreign and bile crawl up to his throat.
you high five a nobleman. that noble looks too happy over mere skin contact. the muscle under his eye twitches slightly. ‘really?’ he wishes to say out loud. he's the one who brought you here. you're his wife.
“..mr. holmes.”
“mr. holmes.”
“mr. mycroft holmes.”
mycroft snaps out of his thoughts. “ah.” he blinks. his dark eyes smoothly shift back to the man infront of him. “apologies, secretary general. please continue.”
“...” the secretary general scans mycroft's face for any expression hinting to why he seems so out of it tonight. mycroft is too clever not to notice so he arches an eyebrow and the secretary general clears his throat. “ahem. as i was saying, if we are to implement better rules and regulations then..”
the secretary general's voice fades into the background for the second time this night. mere background noise to mycroft holmes—the man known to be devoted to his work. well.. not tonight though. there was something else bothering him.
“you're so beautiful, miss. (name)!” the man infront of you chirps, a patch of hair on his chin for a beard.
his beard doesn't even connect, mycroft scoffs under his breath, thinking to himself. if you can even call it a beard—it's just barely visible stubble. barely there.
“oh thank you!” your hand pats his forearm lightly.
what on earth are you doing? he wishes he could say.
he glances back at the babbling man infront of him; not a stop to his endless tirade of words. he sighs.
“mr. holmes, are you okay?” the secretary general says, tilting his head to the side by the slightest.
“i am.” mycroft replies curtly, not even looking at him. his attention is somewhere else entirely. on you, to be exact. and that rat looking bastard besides you.
“i should be the one thanking you for attending. otherwise i wouldn't have been able to meet you.” the nobleman's gaze falls to your neck where a beautiful pearl necklace rests. “such a gorgeous necklace, i must say.” he uses it as an excuse to caress your neck with the back of his fingers.
mycroft's face darkens visibly, a vein protruding on his jaw as he clenches it. his eyebrows furrow, forming a small line in the space between.
that's enough. he thinks. he doesn't like that. no, not at all. why aren't you saying anything to that bastard?
instead of pushing the nobleman away, it felt like you were encouraging his actions, letting him do as he pleases with you—and that really irritated mycroft.
a server carrying several glasses of sparkling wine walks to each group of people, asking them if they would like some. when the server comes to you, the nobleman alongside you picks up two glasses.
the man is cheerful as he speaks to you, obviously feeling quite joyous at the chance of being able to talk to someone as beautiful as you. “here, miss. a glass of champagne each for you and for me.”
“thank y—”
in mere seconds mycroft has excused himself and began striding to you, footsteps large and distanced.
“thank you.” a man's hands, large and veiny slithers into the space between you and the nobleman. and when they pull back, they retrieve the two glasses of sparkling wine from the nobleman.
your neck snaps around to the deep, familiar voice behind you. you look up to see a tall and looming mycroft, annoyance plastered across his face, hand you one glass and keep the other to himself.
“mycroft!” you smile up at him, eyes glittering. you take the glass of champagne from him and sip at it.
“o-oh,” the nobleman falters, stepping back instinctively. “good.. good evening, mr. holmes.”
“evening.” mycroft's voice is low and rumbly. an arm travels to your hips and he pulls you in close to him.
“fine banquet, isn't it? i quite like the atmosphe—”
“yes, yes.” mycroft hums dismissively. “pardon me, but me and my wife have somewhere to be.”
that's all he says before he's practically dragging you away, a firm hand still grasping onto your waist—not even letting either of you bid farewell to each other.
“we do?” you peek up at him as you're walking away.
“yes.” his voice is quiet. tight. firm. growly. everything sexy. “i feel as if a little disciplining might be in order.”
you gulp thickly at his words as he leads you to the bathroom. but this was what you wanted, after all.
you can't help the small and subtle smirk that appears on your painted lips. “ofcourse.. darling.”
#mycroft holmes x you#mycroft holmes x reader#mycroft holmes x y/n#moriarty the patriot#yuukoku no moriarty#moriarty the patriot x you#moriarty the patriot x reader#yuukoku no moriarty x you#yuukoku no moriarty x reader#mtp x reader#mycroft holmes#mycroft holmes mtp#mtp mycroft holmes
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Whisper to me your shrimp secrets (shrimp design courtesy of @earthworms-worm )
#digital art#cosmic shrimp#is it lonely to be a god#hey hey hey if your reading this my friend made me a cosmic shrimp and its so pretty#and all the best colours too and beadssss#and in reality they were made without legs and why would they#you dont need legs when your a cosmic shrimp#when you're in space where would you walk
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There is a ravine somewhere containing all of the couples who toppled like dominos off the sidewalk because they persisted in holding hands instead of going single-file when other people were trying to go the opposite direction.
Honorable mentions also in the ravine: families of 5 or more and unreasonably large tour groups of matching ethnicity.
#it's me I'm the one shoving them off 😂😂😂😂#it's my honor-bound duty to improve the society these people are supposed to be living in#somehow couples will expand to take the entirety of the available space#and then they won't move for you#just today i encountered three people side by side by side coming my direction and eating the ENTIRE sidewalk#so i picked a side and did not stop#the fucking geniuses immediately peeled off to the side ... IN MY WAY. instead of the side that was free#well. like i said i did not stop.#they live in the ravine now#also i have nothing in particular against these tour groups#except for the fact that SOMEHOW. It's always the groups of matching ethnicity (doesn't matter which. pick one. i know you've seen them#which are UNGODLY large to an unmanageable degree. idk why they make them that way. i would never. i have more self respect than to settle#for THAT nightmare#anyway these groups do not care about you or where you're walking and they will also eat the entire path.#just the other day i was going the opposite direction with my umbrella. not hard to see.#and these people get right into your face before they realize you and the umbrella exist#and then they dodge like crazy because they couldn't bother to guide out of the way earlier#anyway this group also lives in the ravine#my favorite strategy (when i don't have an umbrella) is to just boldly go down the middle and watch people get mad for some reason#sorry but if you think you can take the entire damn path#then I'm picking my favorite direction and you will part like the Red Sea. bc clearly you didn't care before now what side you were on !#some of these people who live in the ravine have lost eyeballs to my umbrella. :')#anyway don't be like these jerks#the sidewalk is made for two direction#get the fuck onto your side and let people pass you#i WILL divide families from their children#i WILL enact sudden breakups and divorces#i WILL trim down these tour groups#if you cannot be considerate like the most rock bottom NORMAL person#humor. but is it really
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Semi-regularly going to the movies has really opened my eyes to how weird our local theater is
Not every theater room has the same seating capacity, which I figured would be the case, you make the IMAX one the biggest since those tickets cost the most, you put the newest movie there.
But they have SMALL ones too like ~50 people seating capacity
When I saw Lisa Frankenstein, it was within the first week and we had the higher capacity theater. Same with Madame Web, since I saw that days after it came out bc I was bored that week.
The first time I saw the hunger games prequel, I think it was like mid-size room, the second a smaller 90 people max room
But when I saw the Oscar's Movie Week re-release of Oppenheimer (boring as shit, glad I only paid $6) we were in like a ~55 seating capacity one which I thought was amusing that they even had ones this small
Like I get it, it was like 4 people in the theater (but that's normal for when I go, since I go around 10am), and it was a tuesday showing. But it was so little it was funny how small it was
And theres a second floor?? I've been going here since I was little and i guess i never looked up?? But theres like a little seating area up there in like a balcony that overlooks the lobby. I haven't been brave enough to go up there yet but 👀 inch resting...
I wonder if that's where the pizza hut is, bc you can order a full pizza I think?? I know you can buy slices and those are preboxed out on a warmer you pick up and take to the register
Oh and I got a physical ticket yesterday, which since I've been preordering online to streamline the process (and not talk to anyone but the ticket taker and snack bar person) I've never gotten one. Which I'm kinda sad ab bc I would have liked to have gotten a physical one for thg prequel :( but I couldve used the ticket box for that if I really wanted it lol
I wonder if it was just for the Oscar's promo? Or if it's optional on the ticket takers end and only this guy does it 🤷♀️
Anyway weird lol
#marquilla#i never noticed the seating capacity plaques until i started going alone but thats bc i was always with friends or family so not focused on#the environment other than noticing theres smaller snack bars in the wings of the theater lobbies but theyre only open when it's busy#i like noticing the capacity idk why i just think thats neat sgdggdgd#when you order online they tell you what theater you're going in and i use that to decide where to park sgdgdgd like 1-15 or whatever is one#side and 16-30 the other not that it's that much of a walk between exits but when you go at 10 theres usually lots of space#little kid me would be in awe at how often i go to the movies now sgdgdggd bc it was always such a huge treat usually only for my bday if#that bc my dad didnt like going bc its loud and crowded with people in a cramped space#i did go more in hs bc my friend lived right by the theater and we went on nye freshman and sophomore year which was a lot of fun#anyway idk where im going witj this sggdgdgd
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he's a ten but he...
premise. sometimes certain bad habits of theirs make their overall rating just a tad bit lower—besides the fact that they keep doing it.
characters. dorm leaders
content. gender neutral reader
malleus (doesn't have a sense of space)
"look beastie, that flower is a native of ours,"
"I agree mal, but I didn't think you taking up the entirety of my seat will make me see it better,"
he blinks, then shrugs.
like i said, has NO sense of space.
if an average person would make an excuse to constantly be in physical contact with who they admire, then malleus is the complete opposite. well, not entirely but he doesn't even bother to construct an explanation as to why he's literally sat over your seat when you coincidentally get put in a table together.
if you start questioning him about it the most you'll get in a very outright 'because he wanted to.' it's not even one of those sarcastic replies he's 100% serious!
cause he believes there's no use in lying about things to be honest.. to further emphasize that, if he ever acts like he does hold fondness for you that surpasses the platonic meter but doesn't mention it he probably hasn't realized yet.
if he did he'd already walk over and bluntly tell you about it.
(I wish I could be that unbothered.)
lilia thinks it's the cutest thing though. you swear you see flashes of light for a split second from the ceiling but when you look up there's only a suspicious swinging chandelier.
^ totally has his own album full of pictures.
if malleus ever discovers it he won't even be disturbed, probably would ask for a copy 💯
since human lives, and their bodies are so fragile he'd taken it upon himself to protect you from harm. even if it means trailing behind you everywhere way too close for comfort, or standing a bees wing away.
while he is respectful most of the time, he's encouraged if you don't comment. if anything, he seems pleased you dont seem to be bothered! (and it'll get harder to tell him to stop when he's so happy the more you let it happen..)
"child of man, have you slept?"
*starts leaning his body forward, to squint at your eyes.* practically right in front of your face.
"WTF."
not even a warning or anything! but atleast he's concerned?
idia (won't even show up for anything and insists a 'virtual' date is better.')
user: where tf r u??
ghoul666: WDYM? at the dorm?
user: IVE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR 20 MINUTES
unintentionally stood you up 💀
you literally have to tell him that you're waiting for him to arrive at the specified area you discussed where your date would take place but would end up vastly irritated when he questions if you guys even did.
ghoul666: we do??
user: I'm taking my minecraft bed away from urs.
ghoul666: NO PLS
ghoul666: HELLO????
next time you log in minecraft it's probably because he begged you to play, you WILL end up seeing some kind of structure that probably took days to make. that's not even the entire thing cause the inside is entirely decorated to your taste.
in short: he constructed some kind of venue for a wedding.. even changed his skin to wear a tuxedo 😭
though he has sparked your pettiness, hence the ignoring him period. even you have got to admit that it's freaking adorable...
big sign, emphasis on please: Im sorry pls put ur minecraft bed back I can't sleep w/o u and I have to wait entire days for it to turn into morning :(
with what he's built you're sure it's 65% true.
if you do end up forgiving him, few weeks later attempting to schedule another date will only end up in naught.
ghoul666: can we not go there
user: 😐
user: you are testing my patience love
ghoul666: 😓 (he is screeching about the term of endearment part btw KABSJAJSAJA ortho would enter his room very concerned.)
ghoul666: how abt
ghoul666: mimic together? call
user: sighs
user: I'm only agreeing cause I want to spend time with you
queue more screeching from his end that you're completely oblivious to.
the only screeching you're gonna hear though is when you guys do get into call as you play, and it's mainly out of terror when his soul gets sent to the void ascending when the entity pops out of a corner and starts chasing him.
"I GOT THIS. ILL CARRY U THIS IS FINE" *screams again* but really wants to impress you so he pushes through.
unsurprisingly does carry you.
asks to match avatars right after (idia love languange)
vil (frets over you way too much.)
"vil, did you see the chocolate in the freezer?"
"oh, that? I noticed that you've already gone through the ideal number of bars this week so I took it upon myself to make sure you don't go sick on me,"
"I love you but please give it back—"
"I love you too, and no."
disclaimer: he does this for your own good 😜 (average mom excuse.)
looks out for you more than he does for his own dorm residents. everyone is wondering where he ran off to after class, especially since he's the one that scheduled the pomefiore meeting every fridays!
and to think he was the one getting irritated over the more newer first years for being late..
*shows up literally half an hour in*
why you ask? you simply shouldn't have texted him about abandoning your daily walk together through the gardens in favor of catching sleep since you called in sick (you're suspicious if crewel really did go in to check for proof, and not concern.)
vil's really feeling the absolute regret of not checking his phone during classes.. well, he only saw the message which was coincidentally sent like somehow ONE minute after the lecture started and he's only seeing it 59 minutes later.
oh you poor thing!! though the lunch break is short, he has about 5 minutes for a trip to the mirror chamber..
you'd think the 'seen' icon below your message was a weird omen for something you're not sure but it must be doom cause vil is right at the front porch of your crappy dorm. at his own expense?! looking more disheveled than you've seen him before.
if a few stray hairs was disheveled at all. more importantly, he still looked drop dead gorgeous!
you probably looked quite terrible with the blanket draped around your shoulders looking like you just crawled out of your grave, because he looked absolutely mortified at your state.
"oh great sevens.." he looked like he was faint, huffing and fanning himself with his hand. "look at you, why didn't you tell me sooner, darling?"
you blink, swallowing to make your throat less dry but your voice still comes out raspy. "I did, like an hour ago—" without your invitation whatsoever, he steps in. promptly shutting the door behind him (which surprisingly still stands sturdy.)
vil takes a hold of your shoulders before reaching his hands upwards to tilt your face around. "you should have sent earlier," he says. you keep in the comment that you were sleeping during it, and you told him about it during second period so.. "your face is so pale."
you sigh.
"yeah, I just saw. I know, I look hideous right now."
vil frowns at you, stopping to angle your face at him. "don't ever say that. I always find you beautiful even if you are.." he glances at you from face to toe, then back up. "sickly."
"... I feel offended."
"hmph, shush now. let me draw you a bath then I know something that will boost your system."
after much coaxing in his end, you reluctantly take a warm bath in the hopefully hygienic bathroom. true to his word, vil did... concoct something. though it looked pretty the random steam that flew from it was really suspicious.
the residents don't dare to question, except rook of course. who already knew what transpired! :)
epel: 😃 (atleast vil wasn't around.)
"roi du poison~ tell me, tell me! is the trickster well? have you cured them with your love?"
"rook, you have 5 seconds to get out of my face."
rook giggles away.
kalim (thinks money will buy anything, including your forgiveness.)
"here!" there's a suspiciously bright smile on his face as he hands you.. some keys?
you deadpan, jingling it in your hands. it weighs heavy than the average, probably because of the fact that it's literally made of gold. "... kalim what is this?" you emit a sigh, from suspicion and concern.
"a gift!"
"wait why does it say lot 111--"
as you can already, that was an actual, literal house. which you imagine would probably be a lots more grand, and new compared to your old baby ramshackle.
but you do love it despite it's love for falling apart at the most inconvenient of times..
fighting with kalim was rare but it was hard to even argue with him because the notion of disagreements are so bizarre to him that he unintentionally doesn't treat you seriously with your concerns, accidentally downplaying them aaaand now you're upset.
after the ranting to jamil about how you must be busy with a lot, since you haven't even talked to him in the past 2 days. all it took was a side glance to his friend in denial and jamil immediately knew.
"what do you mean they're mad!? D:"
"just.. go apologize, I don't want to get caught up in this."
if his definition of an apology is buying you an entire house...
( ^ it is btw.)
kalim really doesn't mean any harm. he just really wants to sate whatever anger you held for him <- maybe he's overthinking it but it's kalim so he's 99% sure it's his fault! even though it hasn't even been confirmed from your end he'd probably accept it whole heartedly.
he wanted you to talk to him again so badly that he wouldn’t mind showering you with houses... since your living situation doesn't live up to your kindness (sorry ramshackle love u xx)
you know what. he wouldn't even notice he's the reason you're upset at first even though he's been asking around on who put you in that mood. despite himself being the perpetrator but he didn't really know that did he?
the only reason he does is because he assumed you were just because you avoided him like some sort of.. cockroach! (he dislikes those.) and he couldn't take it anymore.
was probably 1 sec away from barging into your dorm which wouldn't take a lot of effort since one ram to the door would probably break it.
bless jamil for jailing all the carpets so kalim doesn't find them.
even if said carpets fling him off when he's riding them.
"kalim, why would you buy a literal house... and you also got a rare address paid--"
"for them! ;D"
"... you do know they'd be more offended by the fact that you'd try to replace that.., ahem. dorm, right?"
"oh... should I buy them a vehicle then?"
you only promise to forgive him once he takes back the keys, and the house entirely...
(grim begged you to keep it, 'house for him apparently.')
azul (keeps trying to offer you discounts thinking it's a good excuse to have you over.)
"I assure you. you'll find no deal better than this."
"I'm not even that hungry for sea food, actually I'm craving some--"
"you're in luck then! ahem, it's 26% off due to a special event for today."
pro tip: keep insisting to eat at other places cause he's gonna keep increasing the discount by 2% until you eventually relent. once, you made him go to the point of 75% off, it's almost hilarious if not for the fact it only worked once.
now he won't go last 50!
ahem. if you look closely you can almost spot tiny cracks accumulating with each denial you respond with, and each increase of his discount. he's grown to be wary about the bullshit 'lucky' promos you just happen to stumble on.
last time you did he practically lost a week's worth of the presumed income he's predicted cause you actually went around and told your first year friends about it... who.. in turn told some, other friends of theirs about it and you could guess.
love must hurt.. and unfortunately it's his wallet wailing.
but azul is not so easily swayed by this! for you have swayed him first! *wink wonk*
but azul has another trick up his sleeve... keeping on roping jade and floyd into it; whom are far too enthusiastic cause finally— something fun to do! someone to bother! not only have you got the most stubborn octopus having frequent suspicious 'deals' but here are his equally suspicious lackeys.
who keeps.. talking about fried octopus..
yeah, you're not sure if preaching about azul’s species is the job they were assigned.
they're fairly easy to point in the right direction anyways. the tweels have always associated you with the word 'fun' so just a little, friendly suggestion from and they were off to their merry way. mortifying every single person you come across with their sudden attachment.
one of their tricks? following you around. and just somehow, every single place you enter is just mysteriously full even though you peered inside and there was like 7 tables empty. what are they hosting? ghosts? spirits?
...
they do look like they've seen some though..
jade rn: "a shame indeed, you must be hungry. why don't we escort you back to monstro lounge?" :)
long story short you can't even reply cause the sleek eel is already guiding you around by the use of his hands on your shoulders. just to make sure you don't stray away from the destination, he says.
"didn't you say that yesterday's promo was like, a one day thing?" you quirk a brow, and you almost fool yourself into thinking he flinched.
azul clears his throat. "well—today is.. the month before you've graced octavinelle with your assistance—"
he praises himself for his quick thinking.
COME ON! it doesn't matter if you're sick of eating stir fried shrimp, or the butter one, or every single dish they serve that includes shrimp! (also do not mention that you ate somewhere else before you just decide to visit his dorm because that establishment just mysteriously got filed a non-legal business report.)
then you've got floyd chasing you around with a fork. which is more terrifying because he's holding it in a notion that would seem like he'd just stab down at you when he catches up with your little goose chase.
it's just.. you're not sure if your stomach could take another bite of the poor food he stabbed into, and is now chasing you around with.
you screech. "JADE PLEASE."
the man shrugs. "it's a free taste."
"AZUL."
"... only on a condition of course."
frankly. it took all the balls he had to actually sputter out the most simplest sentence ever, cause during the time he rehearsed that in front of his mirror it just plagued him with embarrassment but he's getting desperate.
'I'd like to take you out to dinner, somewhere else of course.'
actually, maybe obliterating any possible craving for the food of his lounge just might've been part of his plans to ask you out..?
leona (prevents you from actually being productive via dragging you down to 'nap' every. single. time.)
"I will literally fail if you don't let go of me right now."
"hmph. so what? it's not like failing a grade killed anyone."
"leona just because you've lived through a lot of fails doesn't mean I have to, we're not all rich enough to not finish school."
to which he'd retaliate that all you'd need is to marry him and you'd be set for life.
there is no winning an argument with leona when it comes to his naps. if he states that you're to be next to him as he sleeps, its final. no buts, no retaliations, cause apparently they're all invalid according to him even if you drag him to court.
rhetorically of course, that if its a comical court scene his only statements are; 'well you're wrong', 'who cares', and 'i dont care'. one way or another he's still gonna win you over and now you're fit snugly in his arms, lamenting.
and if crowley chastises you for not doing the errands (via leona's common interference.) the only thing you need to honestly do is to complain to leona about it and suddenly crowley has the kindness to forgive you for your 'laziness' then says something about enjoying your time together?
leona's work no doubt.
you suppose he does has its perks. even if most of it isn't exactly ideal.
if you're being smart then you should give him an ultimatum or something, or bribe him. but... that really has no guarantee to work either cause you're ending up defeated, or just defeated and flustered since he's somehow unconsciously flirty.
at the end of the day you can't really hate him cause the following day you find out he sent an already sleep deprived ruggie to do your work. 'so you can shut your fussing up and let me enjoy you.' he says, and you quote.
it goes something like;
"if i finish my work i'll stick by you all day."
a stready flow of confidence keeps your voice firm as you glower down at the blank-faced leona sat on the grass. he merely tilts his head, raising a brow at you and seemingly pondering from the way his eyes fly to the sky.
you'd think that maybe your plan actually worked but he merely grunts and flops backwards, holding the back of his head with his palms as he laid. and! he ignores you.
...this little greedy man... "why should i care whether or not you finish your work?" he huffs, like the evil, arrogant spawn he is but you can't really defend yourself cause said evil spawn bewitched you so much that you actually still like him.
"because you care about me?"
"...fine," he scowls, releasing a breath you'd mistake for irritation. "then, do you really think i need you to finish your work when i can just keep you right here?"
you sulk. "i'll do anything you want?"
he deadpans as if you said something stupid. "i don't need you to anything else but sit still and be pretty."
...
...
see what i mean about him eventually winning you over? yeah.
next morning there's a rebellion in savanaclaw about overworked residents and ruggie is the head of them.
"he said that he doesn't need you today." <- ruggie, steering you away.
"really?" <- you, confused
riddle (overthinks TOO HARD.)
“I'm just a little busy.”
“I understand,” riddle says.
“I'm just a little busy.” he understands.
“a little busy.” its just… a small thought…
“I'm just busy.” his mind is a hazard at this point.
for someone as supposedly maintained as riddle—you'd think his mind is as composed as it is organized. like the pens you'd perfectly align in correlation to order of colors, or the neat pile of clothing folded neatly, tucked in some corner in your closet that is farther in since it's used less.
that's just how he is, or at least seems to be. a bundle of organized thoughts, every thought connected to another. a mind too clean to be going on haywire (when he isn't in a particular mood, that is.)
you're just busy. he thinks. you said it yourself, with that agonizingly nice smile that must be sprinkled with some kind of spell from the way it just eradicated all the protests in his throat upon sight. he isn't one to question it, he wants to help but not if you don't ask.
he can only stare with resigned acceptance at your insomnia induced eyes.
but when the curtain of darkness befalls night raven college, even in the comfort of heartslabyul is he still thinking about that thought–and he can’t help but wonder; why exactly are you busy? its not that he’s suddenly hyper aware of your lack of presence since you’ve been attached to the hip the previous week and now you’re just.
…busy…
riddle likes to think of himself as a level-headed, private person. like the boy he raised himself to be and therefore proud of. but its way past 10AM. which is usually the time he sleeps, and let me tell you that he’s never once broke the cycle for years. yet here he is, a frown of frustration present on his face as he wills his mind to sleep.
somehow closing his eyes felt forced, he immediately snapped them open once his mind decides to conjure an image of you even in the darkness his lids offers.
“THIS IS ABSURD.”
and the yell promptly woke up the entire dorm from the ferocity of his scream. (and of course gave them the flashback of their year.)
that night was one of the worst he’s ever had because he woke up with red rimmed eyes and a pounding headache that ensured his bad mood the rest of the day.
everyone noted to steer clear.
and he unknowingly steered clear of yours since you were ‘busy.’
“why are you sulking?” a voice queried, spoken as though they were eating something as they asked. a reprimand rises in his throat, but it all just dies down once his sharp eyes settle on you, slipping into the seat in front of him then raising a brow and the traces of irritation practically evaporates from his eyes.
he feels the need to cough–so he does. “i’m– i’m not.” he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes but still sneaking in glances, something he notes is that you’re still looking everytime he does. (and boring an unimpressed face because he knows you don’t believe him at all.)
guilt rises in his mind, because he feels a slither of annoyance and its the presence of pettiness that bothers him. riddle knows you’re not at fault, just his mind at convincing that you just somehow decided in the span of a day that you might not like him anymore–so he can’t help the bite.
“why are you here?” a glance not intended to look mean.
“i thought you were busy.” he adds.
your brows raise, he spots your teeth holding your lips back from showing your grin and he feels warm. “what?” he hisses defensively, despite you not even having replied to him yet.
he leans backwards, straightening up in his seat when your chin leans forward, resting on your intertwined fingers. you flash him a smile.
“mr. rosehearts, are you perhaps… sulking because i’m busy?”
“no!”
silence.
“no.” he repeats, weaker.
“well,” you continue, beaming. “i heard from ace that you were awake the entire night, and that you kept him awake too. are you alright?”
he sputters. “it wasn’t because of you!”
you snort. “i didn’t even say anything about me.”
so you incline to following riddle around, poking fun at him and still trailing after the seemingly enraged red head because despite his angry protests, demanding you to go away because you’re annoying he keeps glancing back to see if you’ll follow,
so cute…….
#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland scenarios#twst fluff#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#kalim al asim x reader#vil shoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#riddle x reader#azul x reader#kalim x reader#malleus x reader#idia x reader#leona x reader#vil x reader#gn reader
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No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.
And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.
And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."
Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.
Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.
For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.
And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.
And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.
But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.
And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.
But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.
Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.
They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.
Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.
"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."
"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."
Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.
"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."
And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.
This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."
He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.
His next words come out without effort, without intent.
"Don't call me that."
He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.
"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"
Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."
Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.
"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"
Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.
His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.
"...You know."
Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.
Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.
Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.
"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."
Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.
"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."
Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.
"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"
Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."
Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.
"Yeah?"
Steve hums again.
"What about... sweetheart?"
Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.
"Yeah."
Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.
"Honey?"
Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."
Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"
Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.
"Especially big boy."
Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.
Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.
"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"
Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.
"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."
Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.
His response is overwhelming.
Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.
And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.
He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.
Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.
"You know which one's my favorite?"
Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"
"Look at me."
Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.
It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.
Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.
The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.
"Baby."
Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.
"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.
"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."
This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.
"Think that can be arranged, baby."
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie fic#steve x eddie#steddie headcanon#absolutely no idea where this came from#but it's here#first kiss#mutual pining#flirting#steddie first kiss#teasing#steve harrington is down bad#eddie munson is down equally bad#idk how to tag things
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I would give anything to know Ghost’s inner monologue during any part of the last fic you posted. Is he purposefully getting into her space at the beginning (because we all know Ghost is too aware of his body and his trauma to accidentally touch anyone, let along have his entire side against them)? When he walks in does he just blue-screen, is that why he doesn’t immediately leave? What is he thinking when he sees our wet cunt still stuffed? When he finds out no one has touched us that way, or made us cum? When we want him to fuck us so badly we beg him to do it raw? Does his heart break a little when he heard us say we thought he left us, while we were so vulnerable and still dirty? Is he also freaking out about the fraternization stuff, or has he decided that we are his in the same way that he is ours, and Price will just have to cover up another damn thing for his team?
yes to all of this
(a little drabble part 2 to this)
Ghost has a little habit, when you're concerned. He's usually hyper-aware of his body and his limbs and where he's touching, what's around and beside and behind him. His skin itches sometimes when he's touched without warning, though he always hides his reactions. But with you... he's not so careful. He lets his legs spread, his arms stretch, lets himself crowd into your space. There's something intoxicating about the way that you let him, the way you never lean away from him. You're just so soft, so warm, always letting him infringe on your space with a sweet little smile as though you're happy to see him. You're one of the rare people who are happy to see him, and it makes something uncomfortably warm wriggle in his belly.
So yeah, he leans into you when he sits next you in the rec room. It's mostly muscle memory, because you've never minded before. But today, you're a little tense. Ghost knows you, knows you well. He can see the way your spine is a little stiff, the way your eyes are a little glassy as you stare off into the distance. You look a little... ruffled. Ghost watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, probes a little, but backs off when you dance around his question. He's knows boundaries well, and he won't push yours. Even if he thinks it's... strange that you leave so quickly, eyes averted.
Finding your phone wedged into the seat after you left was like an opportunity. Simon Riley has never had much, he's always made do, and yet he's admittedly greedy when it comes to you. He's not often a selfish man - he's never had enough to be selfish about - and yet he's hungry for your time, your smiles, your touch. And you're always so generous with yourself, so he doesn't second-guess his decision to follow you down the hall to your quarters. He's never been there before, and he wants to see your space, hungry for any shred of you he can get.
He should have knocked. It was rude not to. But he's so, so fucking glad he didn't.
He's a little rough when he opens your door, a little too eager to get into the room and see your pretty grateful smile when he gives you your phone back. But when he gets that door open, sees the sight of you on your back among your sheets, legs spread, head back, eyes fluttered closed, his mind goes fucking blank.
He watches you scramble, watches the mortification flash across your face as you attempt to shut your adorable little pink vibrator off as you shut your legs, depriving him of the prettiest view he's ever seen. Ghost is not a man with a weakness for pretty things, but it seems only natural that you're the exception, you and your pretty wet puffy pussy.
He hardly even knows what happens, his fingers and toes numb and his attention narrowed down to you, only you. Before he knows it, he's sitting on your bed, feeling enormous and ungainly next to you as you stare up at him. He reaches out, his big hands scarred and ugly against your pretty skin when he holds your vibrator, his blood buzzing at the thought that this had been inside you mere moments ago.
He never thought he'd be envious of a piece of fucking plastic, but here he is. A big man, a deadly soldier, reduced to a fool at your bedside. And yet, you don't even seem to notice. You're so good, so sweet, parting your legs when he asks you to and letting him look.
He asks you to finish. It's bold, and stupid, and greedy. He wants to see you come - he already knows it'll be the prettiest thing he's ever seen, that it'll be seared in his mind forever. In this moment, he thinks he'd do anything just to watch your eyes roll back, your face go slack, to hear the pretty little noises he knows you'll make.
It escalates faster than he could have imagined. Such a sweet thing, laying back and showing him how you use your vibrator. And he watches eagerly, his breath catching at the realisation that this is how you play with yourself when you're alone. You're clumsy about it, which is absolutely adorable.
But then you make a confession, and Ghost thinks he might be spiralling. You've never been touched, never been fucked, never come. It feels like an outrage. He thinks of how tense you'd been earlier, shifting beside him in your blue jeans, and he just thinks... what the fuck? Prettiest girl he's ever seen, and you don't even know how to touch your own cunt properly? He wants to show you, more than anything he's ever wanted before. Greedy. You make him so greedy.
"Let me try."
He's between your legs before he even knows how he got there, pulling your stupid little vibrator out so he can replace it with his fingers. And if he thought he was greedy, he soon finds that he's well-matched when it comes to you. You're just as eager, just as hungry. Spreading your legs and whimpering, all those sweet, sweet noises that spill out of your mouth, just like he knew they would.
You have the prettiest cunt he's ever seen. Pretty, slick, swollen, just as hungry as the rest of you. He alternates between his fingers and his mouth and your little dildo, a little drunk on your taste and your soft thighs when they squeeze around his head. He kisses you too, because he can't help himself. Greedy.
He's never been a chatty man, but his cock is so hard now and he knows his mouth is running. He can't help himself. Your salty-sweet slick on his tongue has loosened it; he barely even knows what he's saying, or what he's promising, but by god he's going to live up to it.
Then, your lovely sweet voice, all breathless and pitchy, asking “Can I try yours?”
Not only that, you beg. You plead with him to fuck you, to do it raw, as if he was ever going to say no. As if he'd ever be strong enough to say no. He can hardly handle hearing you beg like that; he feels as though he's going to blow before he even gets his cock inside you.
In his wildest dreams, he never imagined you so needy. You writhe, you're soaked, you make the most heart-stopping little noises deep in your throat when he presses inside. You're so hot and wet and tight that it feels as though you're about to squeeze his cock right off, and he tries so hard to feed it to you slow, to give you time to take him. You're so good, taking him even though you struggle a little. He's not a small man, certainly not an easy man to take inside of you for your very first time, but it's a testament to how slick and eager you are that he slides in with minimal effort.
After that, he loses himself. Hardly even knows what's he's doing, working based on pure instinct, filling and fucking you until he's losing his breath. God, you're beautiful, and he clenches his jaw hard to bite back his orgasm - he has to focus on you, only you while the tears are streaming down your pretty face as you gasp and cry for him.
He can see your orgasm creeping up on you before you recognise it yourself. When it hits you, it's a whole body event. Your back arches, legs spasm, stomach trembles, eyes roll back. Your cunt clenches down so fucking tight that it's a little bit painful. Simon doesn't dare blink - he's never going to fucking forget this. Your very first orgasm, and you're experiencing it on the end of his cock.
He loses it a little after that, his thoughts fizzing and slipping from his grasp as he loses his coordination. By the time he comes inside of you, cock throbbing and skin tightening, he's already decided that he's going to have to make you come again. Once isn't enough, not for someone as hungry as him. Or you.
He thinks he might have fucked you stupid. Your eyelids are fluttering and your lips are parted, but you're a little bit dead to the world. It's cute. He feels his pride swell, smug at the thought that he's fucked you so good that he's sent you reeling off into dreamworld.
He leaves, only for a moment, unable to be away from you for too long. He just wants to get a cloth, something to wipe you off with to make you all clean and fresh again. You're already awake when he comes back, though you're still hazy and clumsy and all teary-eyed.
He's happy to wipe you clean, despite your quiet mewling complaints, and then he hauls himself into your bed just so he can curve his big-ass body around your smaller one, relishing your sweet softness. God, he's wanted to hold you like this forever, but he's still a little nervous about hurting you. Killing and maiming and hurting have been the only things he's been really good at his whole life, and he's irrationally fearful of moving wrong and hurting you, even after the sex. Or maybe especially after the sex.
He can see your brow crease, the uncertainty in your eyes. He realises you're probably a little uncertain about where you stand with him, or what this is. That's fair. Simon has never been the most demonstrative man, but he's also been the type to cling on like a tick to the things he values, the things he wants to keep safe. He holds you, checking his strength, proud to be able to keep you safe in his arms.
He's going to make sure that you don't worry about it either. Your hair smells sweet, your skin is so warm, and your ass is so soft where it's pressed against his crotch. He's reaching for you before he can think about it, and his heart pulses hard when you spread your legs for him so easily. God, he's gonna ruin you. Just like he promised.
#asks#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod smut#drabble
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jealous slashers~!✧
With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman
tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included
Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys
Michael
Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.
Brahms
Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.
"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.
Jason
As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.
Billy & Stu
Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.
"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.
Vincent
There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.
But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.
"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"
Bo
Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.
"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.
Lester
Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.
A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."
Thomas
Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.
Sal Fisher
Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.
"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.
Patrick
A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."
#slashers x reader#slasher imagines#michael myers x reader#michael myers imagines#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees imagine#scream x reader#scream imagines#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#billy x reader x stu#brahms heelshire x reader#thomas sawyer x reader#tcm imagines#house of wax x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#bo sinclair x reader#lester sinclair x reader#sally face x reader#sal fisher x reader#sally face imagines#patrick bateman x reader#cherubfae 2024
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YANDERE JOCK 🏈
TW: OBSESSION, YANDERE THEMES, STALKING, MILD HARASSMENT, IMPLIED MURDER
(FEMALE CHEERLEADER READER)
Yandere! Jock who is convinced that the two of you are dating.
Yandere! Jock who is like a golden retriever but is a freaking beast on the field and absolutely crushes every game because he sees you cheering on the sidelines for him. When asked how he gets his wins, he says, "My girl is watching. Can't let her down."
Yandere! Jock who blows you kisses and waves even when you ignore him. He just loves you so much and is so happy when he spots you. Sure you might not always respond but the just means he has to try harder next time.
Yandere! Jock who doesn't care when you tell him to leave you alone. You're probably just in a bad mood but it's okay! He'll make you feel better!
Yandere! Jock who has the school also convinced that you guys are dating. He follows you around like a puppy and he always calls you 'my girl' so people naturally assumed you were together. Whenever you try to squash the rumors, he amps it up again.
Yandere! Jock who loves when people think you're together. He begs asks you to wear his letterman jacket so you have his name on you. He literally lights up if you wear it because it's cold or you want him to stop pestering you.
Yandere! Jock who only messes up during games when he stops to watch your cheer routine. If you're on top of a pyramid or some other dangerous stunt, he's rushing off the field to catch you. The football coach has since banned you from participating in any stunts.
Yandere! Jock who is glued to you so much that you slowly start to get used to his presence. He takes advantage of your indifference and tries to do more stuff to get you to acknowledge him. He carries your stuff, buys you lunch, drives you home and even walks you home when you don't want to enter his car. Sure, you don't exactly know he's walking with you but he's just looking out for his best girl!
Yandere! Jock who is so eager to see you, sometimes, that he's waiting outside your door first thing in the morning. What you don't know is that he's been there all night, staring at your window and waiting for you to wake up.
Yandere! Jock who bribes the cheerleaders to wingman for him. All of a sudden, your team is telling you what a sweetheart he is and how you guys look so great together. With all these people on his side, you have to give in sooner or later, right?
Yandere! Jock who finally asks you to be his girlfriend officially and is over the moon when you agree. If you thought he was clingy before, just wait. He's started leaving his things around for you to wear or carry like he's staking his claim on you. You have to explain the concept of personal space and alone time to him but he just stares at you in confusion. Why would you not want to be around him all the time? He loves being around you!
Yandere! Jock who runs up after every game to hug you, despite your protests because he's so sweaty. It's like a dog being so excited they just jump on you and lick all over you. His teammates have to drag him away to his dismay. He just wanted to give you a little kiss, why's everyone keeping you from him?
Yandere! Jock who let's you take charge, in and outside of the bedroom. Boy's just happy to be there.
Yandere! Jock who is clingy even in his sleep. He likes to lay on top of you so you can't slip away and leave him all alone. He's huge so it's like sleeping under a giant space heater. If it's too hot to cuddle, he pouts and whines when you tell him not to touch you at all. He still finds a way though, and sometimes you wake up to him holding your hand from across the pillow wall.
Yandere! Jock who is actually pretty harmless. He's like a giant puppy and isn't violent with the people around you. All he wants is your love and attention 24/7 and everyone is pretty much used to his antics to know where the line is drawn. That is, until a new person comes to school and starts making moves on you.
Yandere! Jock who is usually very friendly but is cold with only them and refusing to leave your side when they're near you.
Yandere! Jock who is in a great mood when they suddenly disappear without a trace.
FIND ALL OTHER PARTS + MY OTHER WORKS HERE
A/N: Please leave a like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed this! I personally this character he's adorable. If you want any headcanons or special requests, leave an ask too :)
@justabratsworld @pinkrose1422 (i feel like you'll like this oc lol)
#obsessive love#obsessive yandere#yandere#fanfic#yandere boyfriend#writers on tumblr#yandere boy#yandere male#yandere x#male yandere#soft yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x female reader#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere jock#yandere x y/n#high school
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are you stupid?
gojo satoru x fem!reader
summary: you come home injured and satoru isn't cool with it
warnings: literal hurt/comfort, descriptions of a wound bad enough to warrant stitches, little angst, fluff, slightly ooc satoru
last part | next part
*
year six.
“are you stupid?”
your hands are frozen to the touch, barely able to grasp the doorknob when his voice comes from nowhere at all.
you almost don't notice it when satoru opens the door. you have to blink to focus on him, but by the time you do, you're already falling against the empty space in front of you.
satoru is quick to catch your arm, righting you before you break your nose on the hardwood.
“that’s my line,” you tell him, slightly coughing--it sends shocks down your spine and you shiver. you shake his hand off of you, trying to walk forward, but there's a wall of a man standing there. you blink at him. "hey, satoru. would you mind moving?”
“i could smell the blood from down the block,” he says, his voice rougher than usual, completely still. “what did you do?”
you roll your eyes, waving a hand (even though it makes you a bit woozy). “there’s no way you could smell that. it’s not even that bad.”
“it’s dripping down your shirt.”
you pout, looking down. "i just washed this, too.”
it is a lot of blood, you realize suddenly. you would definitely get some looks if you were walking down the street in public.
still, you don't feel all that banged up. it's not really your fault that you were slightly distracted when that curse snuck up on you... or at least, you're pretty sure it's not.
satoru, shaking his head--maybe finally realizing that you're fine--moves out of the way, holding the door open for you. "what did you do?"
you step through, using the wall to keep you steady. “how do you know i did anything?”
you finally look at satoru, even though he's fading from your eyeline, in and out of focus. he's not wearing his blindfold or his glasses, and he's got a frown that rivals one of megumi's at the moment.
it makes you laugh, just a little, as you try to shake the shoes from your feet.
he was probably sleeping, you think. usually, you'd probably feel... at least slightly bad. but right now? you don't even care.
you're just happy to see him, right in front of you like your own personal greeting card. you've only been gone a day, but satoru feels much further away than that.
especially with his frown and his furrowed eyebrows. he's in a mood, you remember, frowning.
“why are you bleeding, y/n?”
you cough again, tapping his chest as you move past him. “jeez, lighten up, satoru. i’m good,” you say this as you limp down the hallway, wincing with every step.
you don't get to watch satoru's eye roll, but it takes less than a second for an arm to wrap under your shoulders, satoru forcing your weight onto him, and he practically carries you through the house until you reach the kitchen, where he sets you on the countertop.
he's looking at you like you're a fragile baby bird.
and he doesn't bother to ask--of course he doesn't--before he lifts your shirt from your abdomen, it slightly sticking (due to the blood) before it rolls up.
satoru's eyes widen as he inspects you. "woah," he whispers, paling just a little bit.
you don't look down with him--because that's a terrible idea--but you watch satoru.
you can barely feel it, actually. it's basically just a minor cut, nothing too--
you try not to gasp when satoru presses a finger near your ribs, not directly touching the wound, but far too close to it. it would be embarrassing to double over in pain, wouldn't it?
“is it bad?” you wonder, breathlessly, feeling a bit light-headed.
satoru’s head snaps up, “you didn’t look?”
“i was a bit distracted. the curse wasn't gracious enough to give me the chance to grab a couple of bandaids, the bastard."
“how did you even manage to do this?”
your eyes trail down unconsciously, but all you can see is your bunched-up shirt--drenched in blood. yeah, you'll probably have to burn it.
satoru is looking up and down, his face entirely disgusted, nose scrunched up and eyes avoiding your own.
it makes you laugh a little--because you're very familiar with satoru and his opposition to anything humanly--which then makes you wince with him.
it doesn't hurt that bad, really.
“can you get the first aid kit?” you ask him, pushing his hands away from you and your cut. but as soon as satoru isn't right there to lean on, you begin to tilt forward.
satoru immediately resumes his position as your pillar. “are you kidding? i’m calling shoko.”
“i know how to do stitches, satoru. it’s late.”
“you need, like, a stomach replacement for that.”
you roll your eyes, leaning even further into him. at least when you're pressed up against his chest, you don't have to breathe. “you’re so dramatic.”
satoru is still frowning. “doesn’t that hurt?”
“nope,” you lie, sitting up and pushing his hands away again. “i’m running on adrenaline. it’s not that deep, anyway.”
he gives you a hard look.
you sigh. “what’s wrong with you? you can drop the act.”
“what act?”
“the ‘i’m the caretaker’ act.”
“what if i came home with a hole in my stomach?" satoru's jaw is clenched. "what would you do?”
“i can't think about hypotheticals right now, satoru,” you whine. “please get the first aid kit?”
“should i get megumi too? might as well teach him how to stitch you up, he's getting to that age, you know.”
“funny,” you say, dryly. “do you want me to bleed out on our counter, or…?”
satoru sighs, but he walks out of the kitchen a moment later. hopefully to save you from dying.
you exhale, feeling your chest tighten. you can't feel much, for the most part. but then there's that feeling every couple of seconds, a memory of the whole thing playing out-- except your head is fuzzy, and everything looks sort of… colorful right now.
you can’t even remember how you got here. or the last time a curse managed to actually injure you.
it feels a bit juvenile, really.
especially because you’re in no position to be taking care of yourself—but in no world would you wake up shoko in the middle of the night for this. in no world would you wake up anyone, except for satoru, to deal with you, with your blood and your stubbornness.
god, you hate pain. you hate having to wash blood out of your clothes, and you hate sitting here by yourself.
you slump down. only seconds have gone by, but it feels like so much more than that. the wound burns, you think, in an unnatural way.
you probably got poisoned and you're probably going to die and satoru is going to stomp on your grave, and--
“do we even have enough gauze to cover that up?” satoru is asking you when he walks back in. he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, you realize, watching him.
his eyes are stern, focused, and the rest of him is morose. you should be able to gaze at him, to stare--but you can't because your vision has spots in it, and everything about satoru is too hard right now.
he’s been like this for days. casual but stuck—like he can’t find it in him to laugh about anything. his face has been a field of lines, with no breaks in between, and his eyes have been greyer than they should be, a sort of dim color that you hate.
satoru's eyes are wild, usually. they are blue fires and the vast expanse of the universe.
but not right now, when he's looking at you like this. and not this week--because he's barely been looking at you at all.
and it's unfortunate not just because you miss him, but because you're not as good at casting it all away as he is. you can't shove things aside and make light out of the darkest situations.
you can't fill his role, and yet you keep trying to.
it's an inevitable cycle of failing and never being enough.
“i’ll just cut up your shirt if there’s not enough,” you tell him, putting on a smile so he can’t tell how badly you want to start crying.
is this real pain, you wonder, or a dream?
“use your own shirts.”
you pout. “but yours are the best quality.”
satoru rolls his eyes, again, and begins to wipe off all of the well-used tools you have. a needle you've had for years, stolen from jujutsu high, and thread you can't remember taking.
“what are you doing?” you try to grab the instruments from his hands, clumsily, almost cutting yourself again in the process.
satoru is quick to hold them away, keeping them up and out of your reach. not that you were going to try very hard anyway.
“i’m going to stitch you up," he says, like he's scolding you.
“you don’t know how.”
“please,” satoru scoffs, shaking his head. he gets a cloth wet under the facet, and then holds it towards you. “i probably learned how to do this before you were even born."
“when you were nine months old?”
“clean it.”
you listen, holding the cloth to your wound and still not looking down. it feels sort of ticklish, and also like you're being tortured.
“you don’t have to,” you tell satoru after a moment, breathing through the nausea that comes with the pain. “i know you’re squeamish around blood.”
“i am not squeamish.”
you grin at him. “sure.”
satoru looks up, and finally, his face relaxes, just a little bit. you can even see the workings of a smile on his mouth—the first you’ve gotten in days.
he shakes his head. “i’ll be fine. sit up.”
“seriously,” you say, again, catching his hand just as he’s about to touch you. “i can do it.”
“seriously, i’m not letting you. your hands are shaking.”
you look down, releasing his wrist. “oh.”
“yeah, oh.”
satoru kneels so he can see your cut properly, his face narrowed in concentration. you focus on him as he touches the tender skin by the wound, featherlight fingertips trailing across your skin.
you shiver and apologize under your breath.
he hasn't been this close in days.
“does it hurt now?” he asks you, voice so quiet that it almost echoes through the house.
“not really,” but you look up towards the ceiling. somehow you know it’s going to be worse if you watch.
“i can call—“
“no, satoru. i already told you, if you don’t want to do it then i—“
“okay, i’m doing it. i’m doing it.”
you close your eyes when he punctures your skin, waiting for the feeling to subside. it's just a prick, but you still have to think about getting the mail, going to the store, taking a shower after this, or maybe just crawling out from your own skin and becoming a spirit.
but satoru seems to recognize this, maybe from your face, and he asks, “what kind of curse was it?”
“dunno?” you breathe out, mapping a picture on the ceiling in your mind.
“what do you mean?”
“i can't remember.”
satoru looks up. “what?”
“it’s all a blur,” you say, wanting to shove his hands off of you. you've been trained to kick people away, so it's really not your fault. “i think i won though.”
“i don’t think this is winning.”
“keep going,” you tell him, instead of arguing. “i’m fine.”
satoru tsks but does as you say, resuming the smooth movements of suturing. any normal day, you'd probably want to watch his hands work, want to inspect his job and make fun of him for the way he holds his breath while looking at an open wound.
“how were the kids?” you ask him, after a moment.
satoru breathes out, nodding. his hair is messy, his face slightly wrinkled from sleeping still. “they missed you.”
“it was only a day. did megumi get that book report back yet? he was worried about it before i left, but i told him—“
“i missed you.”
you look down, forgetting about pain or blood. “what?”
“i miss you,” he says, this time, like it’s any different. satoru keeps his eyes down, his hands moving. but there's a guilty look on his face--something that tells you he didn't mean to say anything.
“satoru…”
“are you still mad at me?”
you tilt your head. “mad? why would i be mad at you?”
“you haven’t been coming to bed,” satoru answers, obviously.
your eyes widen. “satoru—“ and there’s a sharp pain in your side.
“sorry,” he murmurs, softly, at your flinch.
“i’m not mad at you,” you tell him, trying not to double over. your voice is high-pitched and breathy. you feel like a child—ridiculous and foolish—but it doesn’t stop you from speaking. “i was never mad at you.”
“you weren't?”
“you asked me for space. i was just giving it to you.”
satoru pauses, looking up at you.
“i… i didn’t want to push you into talking to me. i thought—i don’t know, that maybe things had changed. i mean, we don’t have to…” you wince, and it’s not because of the pain this time. “to sleep together. or in the same room. if you don’t want that anymore—“
“no."
"no what?"
he shakes his head. "i want that."
“satoru, you’re not going to hurt my feelings—“
“i was wrong," he cuts in, voice rough. you don't think you've ever heard him say those words before. "i don’t want space, i never did.”
you blink at him, brows furrowing. “then why did you…”
“i—“ he stops. looks around. “does it hurt?”
and you know, just as you know most things about satoru, that he can't continue. that the truth is going to cut just a little bit too deep--deeper than your injury--and he can't bring himself to say it.
so you only take another deep breath, pushing away the feeling of your skin being patched back together, and nod.
“a little,” you say softly.
an unspoken understanding passes between the two of you, and breathing gets a little bit easier all of a sudden.
maybe it wasn't the pain. maybe it was just the tension, the build-up of days apart.
it makes sense, even to your slightly fogged-over mind.
and then the two of you sit there while satoru patches you up, sharing a glance every couple of seconds—a glance with so many words, so tender and feeling that it succeeds in making you even dizzier. blood loss has nothing on the way satoru makes you feel.
you can't see his hands--don't dare to--but you can feel the softness of them, the care he's taking in stitching you up.
if it were any day, you would laugh at him for it. but right now, you just accept it. bask in it.
“how’s that feel?” satoru whispers to you, after he’s tied it off and wiped the blood from your skin.
you don't bother to look down. really, you don't want to see the freshly sutured line on your abdomen, but also, you just want to keep looking at him.
it's much more gratifying, at least.
“good," you say, voice stronger, easier. "is it going to scar?”
satoru scoffs. “if you wanted untouched skin then we should’ve called shoko—“
“shut up,” you interrupt. “i’m not listening to the medical advice of someone who’s never gotten a scratch in his life.”
“i let you scratch me.”
“well, obviously, i’m the exception,” you smile at him, exhausted and sweaty and still a little out of it—but home. with him.
and this time satoru actually smiles back.
it’s a bizarre thing, his smile. the first one you’ve gotten in days and it wakes you up immediately. almost like realizing you’ve been in the dark for weeks, just getting a glimpse of the light.
he's a peek into something more--unearthly. if the closest thing you get to divinity is satoru, then you won't complain.
“you okay?” you ask him, but you’re only teasing.
“that’s my line,” he says.
“you sure?”
satoru leans towards you, forehead against yours. “i’m sure.”
you sit there for a moment. satoru is usually the one clinging to you, but tonight you feel like if he moves away you might never get him back.
so you sit there, make sure to hold him to you, secure with your hands wrapped around his biceps, his arms grazing against yours as he leans against the counter.
you're probably a mess right now--your skin stained with blood that shouldn't be outside your body, your face covered in dirt, your hair and clothes drenched in sweat and rain. but satoru doesn't seem to mind, so you don't think about it too hard.
he deserves it, at least, for making ridiculous assumptions. you have to get him back somehow, after all.
after a minute, or two, or maybe even three, you clear your throat. “great. i’m alive, you’re… less annoying than usual. let’s go to bed.”
“‘less?’” satoru gapes at you, but his laughter is unmistakable.
“yeah, i know," you say, feigning shock, "i was surprised too.”
he flicks your forehead but you’re still smiling at him.
“okay,” satoru whispers, leaning back. “bedtime.”
you rub at the spot around your wound one more time, already feeling the days of sore skin and itchy muscles, and then you push satoru so you can hop off of the counter.
“hey,” he says, suddenly, stopping you. his voice is quick, almost lost. but his hands wrap around your wrists, keeping them between the two of you so you can't escape. and satoru's eyes are on your face, flickering between the different points of your skin, looking like he's just realized that he's lost something.
you raise a brow, but don't push back against his chest or try to pry his hands away. “what?”
satoru swallows, still watching you.
his eyelashes are long enough to touch his skin, and his eyes are blue enough to take up the whole world. you want to grin at the saturation of him--so much brighter than you've seen him in days--but you refrain. you don't want to scare him away.
but you're not so eager to move. it's easy to wait on satoru, really--to wait for his words, to let him collect his thoughts--because you've only spent nine years studying his face. you've only admired the slope of his nose and the tilt of his chin since you were sixteen, and there's much more to be discovered.
so staring at him is simple. especially when there's so much to look at.
you have plenty of unmarked territory you need to take over.
you keep a slight smile on your face while you wait, and eventually, satoru groans, hanging his head back.
“what?” you repeat, laughing just a little.
“can you stop looking at me like that?”
“like what?” you nudge your head against his chin, and satoru glares at you.
“i’m trying to be serious.”
“oh, okay,” you try to push away your smile, but you can't. it's glued where it is. “i’m serious.”
“you’re not.”
“what is it, satoru? i’m listening.”
his eyes meet yours, again, and you almost flinch.
everything about satoru is forceful, except for the way he looks at you. the way his eyes relax, his entire face falling when you're both eye to eye. it's a look you've only observed on one person, in only one particular moment.
and, you think, all of a sudden, it might be your favorite look.
but you're still fed up with waiting. you're tired of his consideration, his contemplative eyes. you want satoru back--with his ridiculous laughter and stupid jokes. you want him irritating the sanity out of you and simultaneously bringing you to life.
you don't tell him that though, because in this moment you'll take what you can get.
any version of satoru is better than none at all. you’ve learned that the hard way.
“hey,” he says, one more time. his smile is unusual, a frightened little thing. “i love you.”
you freeze.
your face falls flat, thinking of the words in a million different ways. you might've misheard him--but you're so locked in on him that it seems impossible.
at once, you consider exactly what he means, so many different variations of the same thing.
does he love you like your parents did, always too much but never enough?
does he love you like you love megumi and tsumiki—like your life depends on it? like you’d be wrecked without them?
or does satoru love you like you love him? does he love you like it’s breathing? like there’s never been a choice in the matter?
but, it's simple. a beat passes, three seconds of contemplation--just enough for the words to ring true throughout your body.
the way he’s looking at you is enough to answer any question you have.
satoru loves you like a promise, and nothing less.
“you idiot,” you say, a sudden, day-breaking smile on your face. “don’t you think i know that?"
*
"should we wake them up?" tsumiki asks, walking up behind megumi, staring down at you both. she's rubbing her eyes, her hair slightly messy.
megumi considers it for a moment.
neither of them have woken up like this in a while. you and gojo are getting better at falling asleep in bed instead of on the couch.
but, at this point, megumi thinks that it's probably a habit. or just to annoy him.
gojo's face is shoved into your chest and your hands are tangled in his hair. the both of you have silly smiles on your faces, and seriously. how do you both manage to fall asleep in such uncomfortable positions.
"no," megumi whispers, yawning. "i can make breakfast. mom probably got home pretty late."
"okay," tsumiki says, still staring.
megumi rolls his eyes and walks away. honestly, what did he do to deserve getting two idiots for parents?
*
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#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#a typical family
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Jealous of Their Tsum
Feat. Deuce, Azul, Jade
A/n: In honor of tsumderland 2!!! (though it took me the entire event to write it). Kalim, Rook and Lilia in the future if there is demand
♠️ Deuce Space ♠️
He gets along with his tsum though it's quite the troublemaker sometimes.
It doesn't have the same honor student drive that he does.
Though sometimes it gets into mischief, it's lack of proper inhibitions also make it bolder when it comes to you.
Deuce has had a crush on you for the longest time and never said a word because he was too scared.
His tsum however is not at all scared and has no problem launching into your arms.
You were initially startled by the little plushie that threw itself at you but once you realized it was Deuce's tsum, you giggled and let it bounce up to your shoulders.
It nuzzled the side of your face and you patted it's head affectionately.
Deuce --who had been running after the tsum to keep it from causing too much mayhem -- stopped short when he saw you cuddling with the little creature that looked so much like him.
"You're just a little sweetheart, aren't you?" You cooed at the tsum, squeezing it in your arms and holding it close to your chest.
Deuce couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the affection you showed the tsum.
Why didn't you ever hug him like that? What did Deuce-tsum do to deserve your cuddles?
"You are just so cute," you said as you pinched the tsum's little cheeks. The plushy bounced with happiness. "Almost as cute as the real Deuce!"
Deuce's eyes widened when he heard you.
You thought he was... cute? Cuter than the tsum even?
His jealousy was replaced with swelling pride.
He smiled to himself, knowing you weren't aware of his presence.
Maybe his dreams of confessing weren't so hopeless after all.
...
🐙 Azul Ashengrotto 🐙
His tsum had mostly been helping out at the Mostro Lounge, being cute and attracting customers.
Azul knew how good the adorable little plush was for business but he never expected to see you drawn to the crowds.
"What brings you to the Lounge on this fine day, dearest prefect?" Azul asked you with his signature charming smile.
"Everyone's been talking about the tsum that's working. He's just so cute!" you responded enthusiastically, looking to where Azul-tsum was filling up a customer's water glass.
Azul's perfect smile faltered for just a second, not long enough for you to notice.
"So even you can be tempted by our most adorable new staff member?"
"Seems so," you shrugged with a smile.
"I'll ensure it is sent to your table then," Azul smiled before turning away.
He secretly scowled at the tsum before walking back to his post.
He didn't hear you mutter "I can think of a more adorable staff member" before he left.
A few minutes later, there was a bit of a commotion in the dining area.
"What's going on?" Azul asked Jade when he saw the franticness buzzing around your table.
"It appears the tsum has attacked a patron," Jade said, though his smile was much too sly for that kind of news.
Azul was much too startled to notice the eel's ulterior motives.
He pushed his way through the crowd to find your table.
"I am terribly sorry about any violent behavior by our resident tsum. If anyone has been attacked in any way, I assure you, you will be reimbursed..."
You interrupted Azul before he could finish.
"Nonsense! I wasn't attacked so much as glomped by this little cutie!"
Azul couldn't tell if he was more startled by the attack accusations or the fact that his tsum was nuzzling itself into your chest. And you were cuddling it back?
Azul found himself becoming increasingly worried that his tsum shared the same feelings he had for you.
What if you discovered that he liked you because of his tsum? You would probably hate him and then he'd never see you again and all because of that stupid ball of stuffing!
First it was going to steal his job, then his crush. Sooner or later, Jade and Floyd would completely replace him with the thing!
Azul collected himself enough to take a deep breath and offer you a hand.
"My deepest apologies for this unprofessionalism. May I offer you a VIP seat while I get everything sorted with our clingy little waiter?"
You smiled and took Azul's hand holding the tsum against your shoulder with the other.
"I'm really not bothered but I'll never say no to a better seat."
While Azul walked you to your new booth, he put on a customer service smile just for you.
"Say, Y/N, you seem to enjoy cuddling with the little tsum quite a bit."
"Can't deny that," you chuckled and squeezed the puffball tighter. It wiggles its stubby arms with joy. "I've grown fond of the little fellow."
Azul's eyes narrowed slyly.
"I have a proposition for you, Y/N. You may cuddle my tsum as much as you like, with a few conditions of course."
"Of course," you repeated with a roll of your eyes.
"I don't even ask much of you," Azul continued as he summoned a contract with his magic. "Just sign on the dotted line and the tsum is practically yours."
You narrowed your eyes at the fine print before chuckling.
"For every cuddle Azul-tsum receives, twice as many must be returned to the original Azul," you read aloud with a smirk on your face.
"A tempting offer, is it not, prefect?"
You smiled and set the tsum down on a nearby table much to its dismay.
Before Azul could react, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Very tempting indeed."
🍄 Jade Leech 🍄
You were walking peacefully back to Ramshackle from your afternoon classes when you tripped over something soft in the road.
You spit the dirt out of your mouth and looked up to see a mini Jade hopping around on the road.
You sighed and stood up, dusting off your uniform.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you, you little schemer?"
The tsum stopped its gleeful hopping to wink at you.
You laughed and squatted down to be roughly eye level with the plush.
"Well don't think you can indebt me to you. I'm a lot bigger than you after all," you said before realizing the irony. "Huh, that's funny, it's usually the other way around with Jade."
You continued on your way home but noticed the tsum still bouncing after you.
"What? Did Jade send you to collect a payment?"
The tsum shook its head, or at least it would have if it had a head. More like it just shook its whole body.
"Do you need something?"
Another shake.
"Are you gonna follow me all the way home?"
An enthusiastic nod.
"Just like the normal Jade. Can never take no for an answer."
You sighed and held out your hands to the tsum.
"Come on, let's get going. I can't have you tracking dirty stub prints all over my shiny nice desecrated wood floors."
The Jade-tsum hopped eagerly into your hands.
Before too long, it started to rain.
You groaned and looked at the little tsum in your hands.
"Guess we gotta make a run for it, eh, Jade-tsum?"
The tsum bounced in excitement.
You held it close to your chest and made a break down the dirt road to your dorm.
By the time you made it back, the tsum was stuck to you like glue.
"Come on, little Jade, I'm all wet and muddy, I need to take a shower!"
The tsum stayed stuck to your shirt no matter how much you tugged at it.
"Guess this is my life now."
After your fourth lap around the dorm, trying to dry off with a plushie attached to you, you got a phone call from the Jade's cell.
"Y/N," you answered tiredly.
"How fortuitous I was able to reach you, prefect," you heard Jade's easily distinguishable voice from the other line. "Would you have happened to see my little lookalike anywhere? I'm afraid it's gotten away from me and it's much too difficult to search in the rain."
"Yeah, actually. It's kind of attached to me."
"Attached, you say?" Jade's voice perked up with interest. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean literally attached. It latched onto me like Velcro and I can't get it off for the life of me which is quite inconvenient."
You heard Jade chuckle.
"That does sound quite characteristic for a version of me," he mused, making you wonder what the implications of that statement were. "I shall be right over to remove it."
About 20 seconds after he hung up, you heard a knock on your door.
"That was quick," you said as you got up to open the door.
Jade was standing in your doorway, soaking wet with a sneaky smile on his lips.
"How did you get here so fast?"
"Oh, I was already on the way."
You laughed as you stepped aside to let Jade in the door. As per his usual polite self, he took off his muddy shoes before following you to the dying room (it's in such poor shape you don't bother calling it a living room).
"Why'd you call ahead if you were already coming?"
"It is polite to give warning of one's arrival, is it not?" Jade cocked his head in fake innocence. "I would never wish to be unexpected."
"Jade Leech, you are always unexpected."
He smiled at you rebuff.
"I shall take that as a compliment," he cleared his throat and turned to you. "Now for the matter of our other unexpected guest."
Jade looked at his tsum double who was still firmly snuggled into your chest.
He bent down to look the tsum in the eye and you didn't quite hear what he said to it but from the way it released it's hold on you and scampered off to the couch, you assumed it was a threat.
"Thanks, Jade," you said exasperatedly though you knew there was going to be a catch later.
"I accept your thanks, prefect, but your payment would be much more appreciated."
You sighed and grabbed your wallet from your pocket.
"If you're going to make me work shifts at the Mostro, I would much rather pay you in cold hard madol."
Jade pushed your hands down and looked at you with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes.
"I'm afraid your little leech has not been removed, prefect, only replaced with a larger one."
You backed up as Jade approached you with a sharp toothy grin. Eventually, he backed you up against the couch and you fell over backwards.
"Poor helpless prefect," Jade tutted, looming over you, his dark silhouette outline by the flickering light of your ancient chandelier. "Who would be able to help you if a slimy eel decided to... latch on?"
Your breath caught in your throat as the wind was knocked out of you by a crushing weight on your body.
You waited for Jade to keep squeezing the life out of you but for some reason it never came.
Instead you felt the nuzzle of a much larger head into your neck.
Once you recovered from the shock, you smiled and began stroking Jade's hair.
He growled under your touch.
"Mine."
...
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