#but she’s usually always very pleasant around him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moongreenlight · 6 months

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Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”

Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.

But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.

He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.

He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.

He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.

You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.

He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.

He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.

He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.

He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.

You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.

You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.

Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.

He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.

And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.

“Alright?”

You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.

It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.

“You sure, doll?”

The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.

You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.

“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”

You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.

“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”

You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”

He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.

“What? Baking me a cake?”

You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.

“Never been a very good baker.”

He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.

“That right?”

You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.

“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”

It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.

“Sure.”

You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.

“It’s complicated, John.”

Your voice is mousy now.

“I know.”

A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.

“I just-“

“Then tell me to go home.”

The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.

“My husb-“

“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”

The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.

“John, he-“

A throaty growl from him.

“He’s not getting a lick of you.”

And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.

He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.

Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.

When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.

It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.

You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.

He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.

He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.

And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.

The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.

He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.

And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.

You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.

He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like

“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”

#he sees a family with a present but shitty father and says ‘it’s free real estate’ I hate him #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #price cod #john price #cod price #141 x reader #x reader

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delulujuls · 3 months

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the prettiest boy in the paddock | op81

hi there, here comes the 1.3k of wholesome fluff with the pastry boi. its just-uh, i already know that i wanna write a part two for this so watch out!

summary: oscar is feeling a bit down but little does he know that for two people out there he is the prettiest boy in the paddock

warnings: none

pairing: fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri (ft. lando)

Oscar never had an opinion about his appearance.

Whenever someone asked him if he considered himself as an attractive guy, he would just shrug. Passing by shop windows, mirrors, or surfaces reflecting his image, he never stopped to check if he looked good. The same applied to taking pictures of him. He never needed to have a say in them; he didn't feel the need to improve any shot, as he might not look favorable in it. If the photographer thought he looked great, who was he to judge?

This, of course, didn't mean that Oscar didn't take care of himself; quite the opposite. The Aussie was always neat, smelled good, and sometimes even used hair conditioner, lip balm or even a hand cream. Looking at him, you could notice a handsome, young man with a well-built, slim figure, a pleasant gaze, and an infectious smile.

The fact that Oscar was attractive was especially noticeable on social media. He was adored by fans. The papaya army loved the McLaren duo, and Oscar was no less popular with the ladies than Lando. If anything, sometimes it seemed like his name was shouted even louder.

His teammates also shared the same opinion. Oscar was a good-looking lad, so it wasn't surprising that during conferences, interviews or casual conversations Lando couldn't take his eyes off him and Y/N took every opportunity to throw compliments at him. However, these compliments were one hundred percent sincere and true and Oscar took them very personally, blushing like never before. These compliments were perceived as harmless, friendly jokes by the public, but both Y/N and Lando believed that their friend was the indeed the most beautiful.

However, this didn't change the fact that sometimes Oscar had a bad day. This was one of those days.

With the hood pulled low over his head, the person in the orange McLaren hoodie entered the dining room. Y/N was slowly having her breakfast, scrolling through social media. She usually went for meals early to avoid crowds and have some time to clear her head. Her surprise was evident when someone pulled a chair next to her and took a seat.

"Oscar?" the girl asked in surprise, barely able to see her friend's face under the hood. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He muttered under his breath and opened a small chocolate packet, pouring it over his pancakes.

Y/N blinked several times, holding her phone in her hand. Clearly, something was off.

"Is something wrong?"

Oscar shook his head and leaned his elbow on the table. He ate in a hunched position, with his back slouched. It looked like he was hiding from someone. Or hiding something.

"You haven't convinced me."

She replied, putting down her sandwich.

The Aussie ate in silence. Only his chin and chocolate-stained lips were visible under the hood. Y/N looked at him, waiting, but when she saw it was better to drop the subject, she returned to her breakfast and scrolling through Instagram.

When Y/N finished eating, she glanced at her friend one last time. He still sat with his head down, swiping his finger on his phone screen. She gathered her things, planning to leave the dining room, realizing there was no chance for a normal chat with Oscar.

"See you around, grumpy."

As she stood up, she heard a quiet question.

"Can you help me?"

Y/N paused and finished her coffee.

"Of course I'll help you, but first I need to know in what matter."

She replied without hesitation, looking down at him. He raised his head and for the first time that day, she had the chance to look at his face.

"Do you have a moment now?"

The girl checked her phone's clock and nodded.

"To my room, then."

Once they were in her room, she sat on the bed and Oscar, after closing the door behind him, walked slowly into the room.

"I'm all ears."

He took his hands out of his pockets and sat next to his friend. He sighed and took off the hood, turning his face toward Y/N in silence. She looked at him surprised, studying him.

"What? You don't have the answer written on your face."

"I do," he replied tartly "You don't see gow terrible i look?"

Y/N furrowed her brows. She had no idea what he was talking about. He looked exactly the same as always.

"You look cute, just like every day."

She said playfully, smiling, but he wasn't in the mood for jokes. He lowered his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Acne," he said, resigned, lowering his hands to his knees. "It's worse than ever."

She gently touched his chin and turned his face towards her. Oscar avoided eye contact. He felt embarrassed, unsure whether he was more ashamed of coming to her with such a thing or of his appearance.

"If you want me to help, first, don't touch your face like you did a moment ago."

The girl smiled and brushed the hair from his forehead with her hand.

The Aussie looked into her eyes and, seeing her smile, he felt a little more confident.

"Can you help me with this? I have no idea what to do."

"You're lucky you're friends with someone who has half a Walmart in their makeup bag."

Y/N smiled and stood up, going to the bathroom. After a moment, she returned with a pink headband, which she placed on Oscar's head to keep his hair away from his face.

"Have you washed your face today?"

Oscar nodded.

"What do you use for face wash? Tell me about your skincare routine."

To be honest, there was nothing much to talk about.

"Uh, I wash my face with water, morning and night, when I take a shower."

Y/N blinked several times and looked at him in shock.

"And that's it?"

He just nodded. To his surprise, his friend smiled and clapped her hands.

"Great, I can teach you everything."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Oscar replied uncertainly, but he obediently stood up and followed the girl to the bathroom.

"Don't worry; it won't be anything crazy" Y/N said and took her face wash gel in her hand "It's gonna be Piastri's friendly skincare."

He listened to her even more carefully than when he analyzed the race result with the strategists. He asked when he had doubts, trying to remember every word she said. When he finished washing his face, she applied a gentle scrub and face mask after. After that, it was the time fot rest of the skincare routine. Y/N took a bit of cream on her fingers, which finished off all the major skincare. She crouched down in front of him and smiled, applying the cream to his face.

"Smile, Osc. You are beautiful."

Piastri involuntarily smiled at her compliment.

"Immediately better."

She added, massaging the remaining cream into her hands. For some imperfections, she applied a clear, specialized ointment and removed the headband from his head. She stood up, taking a brush and combing his hair.

"Thank you, Y/N."

Oscar replied, looking at her from below. His brown eyes sparkled as he raised his head to look at his friend.

"You are welcome, pretty boy."

She replied. She wanted to kiss his cheeks but refrained, partly because of the multi-step skincare routine on his face, and partly because Oscar was her friend. But mostly, it was about skincare.

"And you're beautiful, don't forget that."

"Of course, I am" a loud interjection from Lando was heard as he entered the room, making himself comfortable in it, quickly appearing in the bathroom "What's going on here and why without me?"

"You miss everything because you're the last one to get up"

Y/N replied, putting her things back into her cosmetic bag.

"Not true, don't be mean."

Lando retorted, but quickly his gaze turned towards Oscar and the Brit smiled at the sight of him "Wow, Osc, what a glow, mate!"

"Y/N did her hundred-step skincare on me."

"Really? Why are you torturing our friend?" Norris asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to the Aussie.

"I asked her myself," the younger boy replied before the girl spoke up, ready to throw some sort of retort at her friend, "I wasn't feeling very confident this morning, my acne was killing me a bit and it's gotten worse lately."

Oscar admitted, still a little embarrassed by his problem.

"Aw, Oscar," Lando wrapped his arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You'd win the competition for the prettiest boy in the paddock."

Piastri blushed and lowered his gaze. A slight smile appeared on his rosy lips.

"Oh yes, you would definitely win."

Y/N replied and put her makeup bag aside, also sitting next to Piastri and kissing his other cheek, feeling a bit more confident after Lando did the exact same thing. Oscar blushed even more and raised his hands to hide his face, but lowered them halfway.

"I can't touch my face, damn it!"

#f1 imagines #f1 oneshot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lando norris #ln4 #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you

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xanasaurusrex · 4 months

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comforting clarisse after breaking her spear

clarisse la rue x reader (any godly parent) a/n: i promise this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away (:

clarisse was stomping through the camp after capture the flag. everyone was practically jumping out of her way, no one wanting to face her very clear wrath.

by now, everyone knew what had happened right before the blue team won capture the flag. percy, the new kid, and clarisse had been in a pretty heated fight. the ares kids that usually followed clarisse around had backed off, realizing that the fight was a little bit more heated than they anticipated.

percy and clarisse both had a hold on the spear, and when clarisse threw him over her shoulder, the spear had snapped in two.

nobody had seen clarisse this angry in a really long time.

clarisse knew that she hadn't been this angry in a long time. honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to rip the world apart half as much as she did right now.

clarisse had spent enough time being forced into therapy by her mother to know that being this angry wasn't good. she was determined, even in her rage-induced haze, to not approach percy jackson right now, because she would only make things worse. yes, she hated the kid more than anything right now, and yes, if the opportunity arose, she would twist his arms right off his body, but again, that would only make things worse.

there was only one person right now who clarisse knew could calm her down enough so that she wouldn't go on a killing spree.

y/n.

clarisse didn't know exactly where she was, but she had a pretty good idea. if y/n wasn't there already, she would be soon.

clarisse completely bypassed all of the cabins and headed straight for the woods. a few people looked at her in curiosity, but a quick sneer from clarisse got them to mind their own business.

the second clarisse had passed the initial wall of trees into the woods, she took a second to take a deep breath of the pine-scented air. just taking a break from practically stomping through the camp, she felt a lot of the tension in her body relaxed. she was here, she was away from the prying eyes and nosiness of the other campers, and most importantly, she was away from percy jackson.

that was a big step in the right direction.

she looked up and to her right, and caught sight of the first tree. it had a circle carved into it. she walked past it, and a few feet later saw another tree with a circle carved into it.

she followed the trail of circle-carved trees into a clearing that she'd found during her first summer here at camp.

originally, clarisse never planned on sharing this area with anyone. it was only hers. it was her safe place from the world, from all the stresses and anxieties that plagued her day and night, an escape from camp.

the clearing was mostly used as her calm down spot, where she came when she was so angry all she could see was red.

like right now.

but then she met y/n, and at the end of their first summer together, clarisse took her here, and showed it to her. and so now, whenever they needed to, they met up here. to just... be for a few hours.

together.

when clarisse finally pushed past the tall grass that was closing off the clearing, and she stepped foot on the grass that clarisse cut every once in a while, she finally caught sight of y/n.

just seeing her made everything feel as if it was going to be okay.

clarisse felt her muscles relax completely, and all the angry thoughts were quieted as thoughts of her girlfriend climbed into her mind, took root there, and made themselves comfortable.

clarisse was okay with that, because thinking about y/n was much more pleasant than thinking about that punk percy jackson.

clarisse stood there for a few more seconds, admiring y/n. the way the sun shone on her hair. the rings that glittered on her finger, every single one of them gifted to her by clarisse. seeing y/n wear them always made her happy, made her feel like she could climb a mountain and barely break a sweat.

she was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

it was at that moment that y/n turned around. at first, there was a slight look of alarm on her face, but it calmed as soon as she realized it was clarisse.

"clarisse," y/n murmured, and just that one utterance of her name felt like a siren's song for clarisse, immediately drawing her to her.

y/n was sitting on one of the large boulders in the clearing, a thin blanket already spread out over the surface of it so she could safely sit on the rock without burning her legs.

y/n stood up, and walked towards clarisse. clarisse took a step closer to her, and then they were right in front of each other, faces just a few inches apart.

"hi," clarisse muttered.

"hi," y/n smiled.

the two looked at each other for a few more seconds, before y/n opened her arms, and clarisse immediately fell into them. clarisse's face buried itself in y/n's neck, and y/n didn't hesitate to start stroking clarisse's hair in the way that she knew she loved. the way her mother had always done when she would get overwhelmed as a kid.

clarisse let out a heavy breath, one that y/n suspected she had been holding for quite some time.

"do you wanna talk about it?" y/n asked quietly.

clarisse shook her head harshly, and then hugged her arms tighter around y/n's waist. "not yet."

"okay." y/n responded.

the two stood there hugging for a few minutes, clarisse's tight hold on y/n never wavering. clarisse's breathing was labored and heavy, and y/n knew it was because she was holding back tears.

clarisse was the kind of person who didn't like to cry. even though y/n knew that there were probably tears glistening in her eyes, clarisse was going to refuse to let them fall, because clarisse was determined to be as tough as possible.

y/n couldn't even begin to imagine the pain clarisse was feeling right now. her spear, the one gift clarisse had from her father, was now snapped in half and unusable. that spear had been clarisse's prized possession, the thing she regarded with utmost love and care, and never allowed anybody but her touch.

there had been one time that clarisse had allowed y/n to hold it for a few minutes, but even then clarisse was anxious at the idea of not being in complete control of it, even for a small amount of time.

y/n had heard clarisse's scream as her and the rest of red team chased after luke with the flag. she had been so close, ever so close, and had run even faster when she heard the scream clarisse let out.

when she stumbled onto the beach and saw the snapped spear, she immediately knew what happened.

y/n didn't stay to find out what happened after that, she just saw the way clarisse stomped off in anger, and she immediately rushed away to get to the clearing, knowing that clarisse would need to be calmed down.

and now the two of you were here, standing in the middle of your clearing, holding each other.

finally, after a long time of just standing there in an embrace, clarisse whispers, "that was the only thing i ever got from my dad,"

y/n pulled away to look at clarisse, and felt the small patch of wetness that clarisse had left behind on her shoulder. "i know, honey," she whispered. she took hold of clarisse's hand and pulled her towards the boulder that she had been sitting on previously.

once the two were sitting, y/n directed clarisse to lay her head in her lap. she began stroking her hair again, and occasionally stroking her cheek.

"i'm so sorry this happened," y/n whispered in clarisse's ear. "i love you,"

"i love you too," clarisse whispered back.

clarisse closed her eyes, wanting to block out the visuals of the world, and focus only on the way y/n's hand felt when it was stroking her hair and her cheek, and the comfort she felt whenever she was in y/n's presence.

she loved this. she loved that she had a person who she knew she was safe with, safe to tell anything to.

clarisse was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

#percy jackson #clarisse la rue #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse larue x reader #clarisse fluff #xanasaurusrex #guys i'm literally in love with clarisse #expect sm more clarisse content this is just the beginning

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yuellii · 6 months

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🪼 HI USER YUELLII OMG I LUV JEALOUSY TROPES MAYBE THAT SAYS... SOMETHING ABOUT MY CHARACTER BUT I LOVEEEE JEALOUSY TROPES. AND WITH NEUVILETTE????? SOEMONE WHO PRIABBLY DOESNT EXPERIENCE JEALOUSY OFTEN IF AT ALL???? im sold. IM SOLD. PULLING OUT MY CREDIT CARD. IWOULD LITERALLY KILL TO READ UR THOUGHTS ON IT

The Four Stages of Jealousy : THE IUDEX.

STAGE I. — Identification.

There is a threat, that a person may feel losing someone to someone better than them. "I want what you have, and I hate that you have what I want."

Neuvillette wasn’t quite sure of the sudden twist in his stomach as he stood at your doorstep, a bag of pastries tucked under one of his arms and a box of tea bags carried under his other.

Saturdays, three o’clock sharp in the afternoon held meaning: A time in which he’d arrive at your boutique, treats in hand and a pleasant look on his face. He’d try on one of your hats, maybe, for it was a prime time for tea, taken advantage of by the two of you, alone together every Saturday afternoon. It was an evening of the week where he was most happiest, though that might’ve been only an assumption. But the tranquility he usually felt standing at your doorstep was never one he could ignore.

Unfortunately, said tranquility seemed to be lacking this time around.

What he expected as another nice time alone with you ( especially since it was on your undocumented schedule—but who cared for documents, when he looked forward to this meeting every week? ) was instead being interrupted by a certain someone. Namely, a certain Champion Duelist. And maybe, Neuvillette would not be so bothered, had she not been sitting in his seat.

( Said seat was also unspoken, or ‘undocumented’ between the two of you, but still. He sat there every week—therefore by repeated pattern alone, that antique chair in front of the table should be his. )

( And sure, this might’ve been your boutique’s seating area, where everyone comes to sit during the day; But on Saturdays during tea time, he’d like to think that seat was practically reserved for him. )

“Neuvillette!” you practically gasped, facial expression turning into one of lightened excitement at seeing him. There was a blissful ignorance in your voice—‘ignorant’ in the way he was truly glad you didn’t know he was mentally annoyed at the mere fact his seat was taken. But nevertheless, the tightrope of his heart fluttered at the sound of your voice, which always sounded so enthusiastic every week he came back here. Perhaps you were just excited to see him as much as he was excited to see you—the thought alone brings a shiver to his spine.

He approaches forward with a polite smile of his own when you pat the empty spot adjacent to you on the loveseat. Ah, so the theft of his usual antique chair leaves him to sit beside you. Maybe the uninvited guest was welcomed, now that he thought about it.

“What brings Miss Clorinde with us today?” he finally asked, addressing the most obvious outlier first. When he set the bag of pastries down on the table, he watched as the Duelist eyed it with interest.

Clorinde hummed. “I was here for a small chat, then I was told that Monsieur Neuvillette would be ‘arriving soon’. And here you are.” At the recount of events, Neuvillette noticed how Clorinde threw a playful look at you. This playfulness did not stop, unfortunately for him, when she leaned forward to peek at the paper bag he brought in. “Then I stayed, because I thought: ‘What could the Chief Justice possibly say that’s interesting enough for weekly conversations?’”

You gasped at her teasing insult. “Clorinde!” you scolded with slight laughter. “Monsieur Neuvillette is a great companion for tea conversations! He’s very interesting, indeed, I promise you!”

“Thank you,” Neuvillette coughed through his words. He’s beginning to feel a bit awkward here…

“Oh?” Clorinde piped up again, just before Neuvillette could even get another word out. “There’s a lot of pastries in here, and also a new box of tea?”

“He brings them for us to share every week!” you exclaimed happily, grabbing the bag off the table and kindly distributing a treat to everyone. And that’s when suddenly, Neuvillette wishes he only bought one for the two of you, because he watches as you set down the pieces of Conch Madeleines in front of the Champion Duelist, despite Neuvillette knowing those were your favorites. Meanwhile, instead, you gave him and yourself the remaining other pastries. But surely, you wouldn’t just give up your favorites like that… Unless you favored Clorinde. Ah, but maybe he was overthinking it. “Isn’t he the sweetest?”

Clorinde sends him a casual smirk, likely to tease him. “Sweetest, certainly.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to any of this at all.

When he eventually had to leave, Clorinde still stayed there to chat with you, and he felt empty walking out of your boutique. Emptier than usual, actually. It was certainly confusing, due to the fact nothing inherently bad happened, and he certainly didn’t want to say Clorinde’s presence bothered him, or anything over-the-top like that.

Hm.

Neuvillette didn’t get to talk to you as much as he wanted to today.

STAGE II. — Confrontative.

Where negative thoughts start to bloom as "envy." Jealousy begins to indicate love for the person, and the individual is afraid of losing that object of their love.

It’s the following Saturday when he sees you again, and he can’t quite understand why he feels an air of relief upon seeing that Clorinde is not there today.

“Neuvillette!” You greet him with the same smile and same excitement as always, and the rush of paradise courses through his body before he sits across from you in his usual seat: the antique chair right in front of you. He sets down his paper bag of fresh pastries; And upon doing so, he can’t help but smile when he noticed there are only two teacups on the table. One for you, and one for himself. “You seem a little more delighted today”—Was it that obvious?—“What’s gotten you into a good mood, Monsieur?”

He hummed. “Nothing, really.” He actually wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling so joyous today, either, but as long as you were sitting there still smiling at him, then it would all be alright. “It’s just natural, since it’s always my pleasure to spend my Saturday afternoons with you.”

Bring your hand up to cover your mouth, you lightly gasped at his words. “Oh, Monsieur!” you giggled. “I hadn’t known you could be a charmer with your words!”

He liked the reaction you gave him. He thinks he liked the feeling of approval you gave him, but even more. Neuvillette learned rather gradually that you always tended to get a happy sort-of embarrassment from his ‘compliments’. Said ‘compliments’, however, referred to mere truthful facts he’s laid for you. But there’s a certain loveliness that comes with confiding in someone to tell all your truths to, and he’s more than elated that you’re the one he trusts to blabber endlessly to. He just hopes it can stay like this for a long time: Just the two of you, enjoying your Saturday afternoon tea.

“So,” Neuvillette began, watching as you took a bite of the Conch Madeleine he bought specifically for you. He had to catch himself from smiling at you—if his duty was to buy your favorite treat every week, then so be it. “How has your week been since I last saw you?”

Your hand once again flies up to cover your mouth as you quickly finish to chew and swallow the bite before answering him. “It’s been fun, actually! I saw a concert performed by a famous violinist—I believe I might’ve even spotted you in the front row…”

“Ah, yes, that would’ve been me. It was a spectacular performance; I’m happy to know you saw it,” he smiled. Hm, if he knew you were there that night, he certainly would’ve said hello. Your hand moves upwards once more to bring your teacup closer to your lips, and now he’s curious to ask: “And that ring of yours—that’s new, when did you get it?”

“Oh!” After setting the teacup down, you quickly leaned forwards, outstretching your right arm to show off the ring to him at a closer view. “I just got it yesterday, actually. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.” It really dazzles to compliment your eyes. Neuvillette catches himself thinking of little things he’s never thought before. Like the way your hair frames your face perfectly, especially at this angle. Or the way your eyes held this delicate shine he admired so dearly, only now heightened by the sparkle of the ring’s reflection. There’s a new tide of poetry unspoken in the depths of his mind, and they might as well stay locked until he figures out just what this emotion is.

When you offer your hand for him to get a closer inspection of the ring is when his breath seems almost stolen from his lungs. Months and months of these weekly tea meetings, and yet he feels this is the closest proximity he’s ever been to you. Here, in his antique chair in the middle of your boutique shop, holding your hand from across the table.

But he feels a spark that he prays you sense as well, for the mere desire of wanting this moment to last forever is enough to tell him that he is completely in love with you.

He leans down gently to reach closer to your hand, kissing your knuckle so featherlight next to the ring. “And it’s even more beautiful on you,” he mutters to you when he pulls away.

Your heart might’ve skipped a beat when you retracted your hand, but he has no idea—he was too lovestruck just now to even think properly. But you take just a moment to recover whilst he’s still stuck in his little daze; Though, who could blame him when he just discovered the ethereal feeling of falling in love?

“Thank you,” you exhaled with a smile that seemed a little breathless. “Lady Clorinde helped pick it, actually.”

…What?

Well, that was a name he completely forgotten until just now. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure after the sudden whiplash of emotions. From finding out he’s in love, to the pang of unwarranted negativity for the Champion Duelist. As expected, he couldn’t tell what this uncomfortable feeling was, but he certainly did not like it.

“Clorinde was there, you say?” he tried to clarify.

You nodded. A little too happily for his liking. “We went out shopping yesterday.” Oh. “And she said this ring really matched ‘the colors of my personality’, whatever that means!” you wholeheartedly laughed. The way you spoke of her, with all this smiling and all these giggles, was making him crave for something more. Did… Did you perhaps want to see him more outside of these tea times, too? You seem perfectly fine shopping with Clorinde now, after all.

He’s never gotten personal time with you like that. It’s always been solely Saturday afternoons, nothing more. And yet, Clorinde immediately gets invited to your shopping runs, and apparently her opinion is also important enough to make you buy the ring? How unbelievable. Neuvillette bets if he was there instead, he’d buy you every piece of jewelry that you even took so much as slight interest in, because that was what you deserved. But no, here he was, not invited to these outings at all, and further stuck wallowing as your mere ‘tea companion’, and not something more.

The door to the boutique suddenly opens, and the both of you turn your heads to the customer.

But instead of a client, you were met with the face of a slightly-smiling Clorinde, ever so amused to see the both of you here again. Well, she shouldn’t be amused. Neuvillette was here on schedule.

“Ah, you’re here!” you say excitedly, briskly standing up to grab another set of tea; And now, Neuvillette can’t quite tell if you greet everyone at the door with this same excitement, and it’s not just restricted to him alone. He shouldn’t be that selfish, of course, so he thinks perhaps it should just not be directed at Clorinde, specifically.

“Pardon me,” Clorinde announced, making her way to the table after you set the tea display down. “I’ll be intruding on the both of you again.” Neuvillette wishes he had any right to refuse.

This time, now that he’s regained his rightful spot on the antique chair, Clorinde had no choice but to sit… right next to you on the loveseat—the same place Neuvillette sat last week when his spot was stolen. A moment comes forth where he now no longer wants his seat at all ( which he doesn’t understand why, because shouldn’t he be happy his unspoken designated seat is back? ), and prefers the loveseat.

Maybe it was the sight of Clorinde next to you, and the fact she was sitting so much closer than he’d like to imagine. And suddenly, that’s when he realizes he doesn’t like the idea of Clorinde being this close to you at all.

“Oh! You’re wearing the ring I got you!” Clorinde recognizes. She grabbed your right hand to immediately inspect it, and Neuvillette can’t help but feel like someone just shot him. Not only did she comfortably grab your hand like it was nothing ( meanwhile, he had to find both the confidence and the breath to even try to kiss your hand earlier ), but she also got it for you? The little detail you never mentioned: That Clorinde bought you the ring.

Now Neuvillette is internally questioning what exactly this ring means. Is it akin to a proposal? A vow? A promise ring for the future?

The longer he stays here the more insane he may be driven, he thinks.

“Sorry to cut my time here short, but I think I have to get going,” he spoke up. Both Clorinde and you looked over at him, and he figured this was a good idea—he doesn’t think he can handle another tea session where the two of you are happily talking as he sits there awkwardly quiet. “I’ll be off, now.”

“Already?” you frowned at him, and that expression almost makes him want to stay. But the sight of Clorinde still absentmindedly toying with your hand sends him into a spiral of emotions he needs to sort out. He’s already stood up to leave without realizing it.

“Unfortunately so,” he says. He might’ve sounded colder than he meant to. It was clear in your face you knew something was wrong, but didn’t want to say it out of privacy. But when he walked towards the door, hearing Clorinde continue your conversation on like normal, it was fruitless to even consider it.

He opened the door. It was raining.

It feels like he was losing your love before he could even have it.

STAGE III. — Redirecting.

Where pleasure is derived from hurting others, stemmed from unconscious feelings of envy. The envy can come in a so-called as a form of competitive implication.

The next time he saw you was around the market area in the morning, wandering the streets like a normal citizen on this wavering Wednesday.

Normally, he would have just smiled and waved at most, but this time, something compelled him to walk up and join you. “Is this where to find you on Wednesday mornings?” he asked curiously, catching your starling attention and watching as your lips curved to a smile when you recognized him.

“It is, Monsieur.” When you stepped ever-so closer to him, a mere basket around your arm being the only thing between you, he felt as if his feet had turned into bubbles, and there was a flutter of heaven around his shoulders. “My weekly groceries are scheduled for today, however I don’t recall ever seeing you on this side of the city, if that isn’t just my ignorance.”

He chuckled, “I’m usually at my office by this time, so you would be correct.” Then his arm slid against yours, taking the wooden basket out of your hands and walking a few steps forward down the market street you shopped at. “But I’m open to a change of pace, so might I join you on this lovely morning?”

The little smile of contentment you gave him when you answered “Of course” made his heart skip a beat. And when you walked forward to hook your arm around his free one, he swears to the sovereign he might simply dissolve right then and there. The closeness of your presence to him now makes his heart race in a way he feels it drumming in his chest, a feeling that is so human that it makes him almost taste the fruit of mortality. You, walking along with him as you hold onto his arm whilst he carries your grocery basket—you look like romantic partners, and he can’t help but feel sort of lightheaded at the mere thought of that.

“Ah, look!” you pointed, and Neuvillette allowed himself to be guided by the arm to a nearby vendor. “They’re selling slices of apricot pie.”

“You fancy these desserts as well?” he mused, already fishing his pockets for his wallet. “Perhaps we should purchase a slice or two and save them for our weekend tea session.”

You agreed, “I thought the same.” Then you noticed his shuffling and playfully waved off his hand, insisting he needn’t pay. “But I fear it might spoil by the time Saturday comes.”

“You want a bite of mine?” And that’s when Neuvillette wasn’t even surprised anymore to hear the voice of the Champion Duelist appearing out of nowhere. He has such horrible luck running into her, that he’s now just accepted it at this point ( or, for better words: he still has yet to accept the fact that maybe Clorinde was specifically seeking you ). She stood there, leaned against a pole with an easy-going expression and a fork in one of her hands, carrying an aluminum tin with the exact same apricot pie you were just eyeing.

You gasp at her appearance, “Sure!” Neuvillette doesn’t even have a moment to process the mere seconds it takes for you to slip away from his arm, leaving him to follow behind as you skip over to Clorinde. The uninvited guest takes it upon herself to feed you a bite with her fork—it was at this time that the Iudex began to feel like an outlier once again.

“We were actually about to buy a few slices ourselves,” Neuvillette piped in. He did it quickly, perhaps it was instinct so he wouldn’t be left out of the conversation again. “But an excellent point was brought up, that the dessert might spoil by the time we reach Saturday afternoon.”

“Why don’t you just buy one and eat it now?” Clorinde shrugged. Ah. Neuvillette internally scolded himself; He should’ve thought of that. And when you waved off her suggestion dismissively, claiming it was fine now that she let you try it, Neuvillette realized he completely missed an opportunity to have dessert with you on a Wednesday instead of a Saturday. That while he was still a man you only saw once at the end of each week, you’d be seeing Clorinde multiple times throughout it.

He wasn’t fond of the way Clorinde was still feeding you more bites of pie, either.

“Miss Clorinde,” he addressed. If only he had more of a grasp of human sociability, then he might’ve realized how firm his voice sounded in this situation that was… not so serious. “Shouldn’t you be alongside Furina at this time of day?”

“On a typical day, yes,” she answered simply. “And shouldn’t you be in your office?”

He almost glared. “No, actually, I’ve given myself the time to roam around today.”

“Oh wowww,” she teased, though Neuvillette might’ve heard it as something mocking. “Lady Furina would be pleased to hear that. Instead of being cooped up in your office or the Opera Epiclese all morning long, you’re out here at the market, even holding a basket for shopping.”

The Iudex cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have you know that this basket isn’t mine.” There was an air of competitiveness in his voice, one that almost had him biting his tongue in surprise of himself. Because it was simply just as he said: a basket. But the fact it belonged to you, and the fact that he was carrying it for you—suddenly he wanted to boast it and show it off to the world, especially to Clorinde’s face. “The two of us are shopping together this morning, if you’ll excuse us.” His next move might’ve been bold, but the feeling of possessiveness was so airtight and he had no choice but to hook his own arm around yours once more, getting ready to turn and leave.

“So cold,” Clorinde rolled her eyes. ‘Cold’ was a word often used to describe him, but no, not here. He did not want to appear that way in front of you. “Is this really the attitude you want to spend all morning with?” she asked, this time directed at you.

Something in him snapped. There was an emotion that clouded his head far angrier than annoyance, and it sprouted from the way in which she made him look bad, like the stone-cold Chief Justice everyone thought him to be. Albeit with you, he was trying to be everything but that. Emotional, vulnerable, heartfelt, human—Clorinde was not going to take that away from him.

‘Is this really the attitude you want to spend all morning with?’ The question kept playing in his mind, as if she was any better than him? She, who most people also saw as stoic, should not be seen by you in a better light than him. She, who did not know your favorite desserts like he did, who did not make time for you like he did, who did not fancy you as much as he did—

He felt you tug at his arm, snapping him from his thoughts.

Your eyes held the same, worried look you gave him on Saturday when he left so abruptly. So jealously.

Neuvillette cleared his throat once more. “It seems you are correct, Miss Clorinde.” There was solemness in his voice. Yet he was so quiet as he unlocked his arm from around yours, and handed your basket to Clorinde. “My attitude proves to be too unfavorable for the likes of this lovely morning, I thank you for bringing it to my attention.” These emotions were too much right now; he was starting to fear them. “My deepest apologies to you both, I’ll be heading back to the Palais Mermonia now.”

He bowed his head as diplomatically as he could manage, but the skies were already darkening.

“I bid you both a fine rest of your morning.”

“Wait, Neuvillette!”

Your call was drowned by the deafening drums of his hammering heartbeat, and the patters of light rainfall from the somber sky.

STAGE IV. — Medea.

At this stage, the grip of envy appears almost irreversible. There is a hatred towards others that dominates their thinking, and happiness or success is no longer foreseen.

Saturday afternoon.

He couldn’t see you again, even if it was time for your weekly meeting, not when he was feeling like this.

Not when the sky was pouring from the mere thought of you, and how he’s probably already lost. It was inevitable for a man like him, and he should’ve realized so earlier. Three o’clock, and you were already probably sipping away with Clorinde at your side, pastries on the table and a dazzling ring on your finger. She was much more human than him, after all, and such a shortcoming became his eventual downfall.

The Palais Mermonia was quiet, though that might’ve been due to the endless rain that’s been pouring since Wednesday morning.

While it was nice, he couldn’t help but feel the silence only amplified his feeling of loneliness in this moment. Especially at this time: a time of the week in which he looked most forward to.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” a Melusine knocked from right outside his door. “You have a visitor!”

And before he could even reply, that was when you ignored all formalities, all proper respect as you pushed your way through the door and into his office. The surge of panic he felt from your sudden presence was unrivaled to the way you made haste in getting seated in front of his office table, setting down your handful—said handful consisting of two teacups, and a bag of pastries.

His heart practically shattered. The familiar cups and bag of treats on the table, the way your hair and clothes were lightly damp from the rain—you made the effort, coming all the way here just to see him. Just so the both of you wouldn’t miss a single Saturday afternoon together.

“I believe you might’ve forgotten our schedule, good Monsieur.” A light scolding, yet partnered with the most comforting smile you’ve ever given him, and he starts to feel his hands tremble. “You seem surprised to see me,” you commented further, filling in the silence as he has yet to utter even a word. “Did you really think I’d just let you ditch me like that?”

It was hard to breathe, hard to find his voice when you were so patient with him. “Sorry.” It’s all he can mutter now, this blistering swell of emotions causing a waver in his voice. “I’m so, very sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you chuckled at him. His body tensed when you reached forward to grab one of his hands. But you felt cold just like the chilling rain outdoors, and now he worries you might catch a fever because of him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what was wrong, but…” Your eyes drooped with a certain sorrow in their crevices, and Neuvillette found himself slightly squeezing your hands. “I couldn’t seem to find a good moment alone with you.”

He shook his head at you, whispering, “I don’t even know what’s wrong, myself…”

You frowned. This atmosphere was suffocating and just from one glance upwards at your face, Neuvillette could easily tell you were holding back something to say. Granted, it was his fault. He’s the one who’s here, sitting and sulking in his office with little to no explanation. He’s the one who’s kept you worried this past week from leaving so abruptly two different times now. If anything, he might understand how to be a human even less after this ordeal.

“Would you be so kind…” he starts, words like lumps in his throat, “to allow me to be honest? To let me ramble whatever nonsense I’m feeling for just a moment, so that maybe you can make some sense of it all?”

You gave his hands a comforting squeeze. “Of course.”

There’s a certain phrase caught dead in his tongue. And he’s never been afraid to speak his mind before, yet suddenly, your judgment of his feelings mattered much more than the truth of his words. But he was feeling so much, and if this was really the emotional baggage humans had to carry all the time, he could only wonder how most people have yet to burst from the hauntings of their own mind.

Or more accurately so—the hauntings of their own love.

These words were doomed to come spilling out. “You’ve bewildered me with mountains of emotions,” he rambles quicker than he thinks. “All from the sleight of your hand, I best believe I’ve fallen in love with you.”

He forces himself to ignore how your eyes widen in that moment, or how the grip from your hands suddenly loosens from the shock that rings through his confession. He doesn’t have a way with words, and he knows this. So in a hasty attempt to piece together a board of emotional exposure his mind cannot even comprehend, he does the only thing he knows how to: talk and talk, until he has no more truth to confess to you.

“But the feelings that came alongside my love,” he began to you, “are unexplainable.” As his voice ended in coarseness, there was such an hopeless look of utter confusion you had never seen on his face before, like he was silently pleading for you to help a poor soul like his own. “The beating of my heart when I see you… A stark contrast to the tightness in my stomach I feel… When Miss Clorinde joins us.” The ending of his sentence dropped to nearly a whisper, like he expected it to be sin. “But what I just don’t understand, is why,” the section of his brows furrow in distress, “because she’s my coworker, and I do not dislike her, but I feel as if I cannot stand her when she joins us…”

You listen quietly. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or fearful whilst awaiting your reaction.

He continued, “But when she sat with us for tea, and bought you that ring, and joined us at the market…” This confession; It was arguably harder than confessing his love to you. Because Clorinde was your friend—maybe even closer, if he was so unlucky—and he might’ve crossed a line here he didn’t even know existed. “I felt like I hated her,” he finished.

You were still silent, though it wasn’t like he could see your expression anyways. He refused to even look up to it, choosing instead to stare down at your joined hands.

But this silence was deafening. Please, just reject him already. He let out the most exhausted sigh he has ever before, the weight of these human emotions bearing down on him. “So I was just…”

“Just jealous,” you finished for him, and he noticed in your voice how you were almost laughing quietly to yourself. The emotion you just named—he didn’t know how envy even felt like, much less jealousy ( though, he supposes he knows now ). “Neuvillette, you should’ve just told me you felt uncomfortable with Clorinde there.”

“Hm?” He was confused. So confused, that his eyes finally darted up to meet your own. And there you stood, most comforting of smiles on your face as your thumb began to trace patterns on the back of his hand.

You reassured him, “Those are times we spend together, dedicated to the both of our comforts.” Which was true, but he was ready to argue that he felt selfish that way—and that you wouldn’t love nor deserve a selfish man. “I trust you to tell me when you feel things are unfavorable,” you continued, “and I promise you, Clorinde would understand if I told her.”

“But,” he piped up, so much doubt in his eyes as if struggling to believe your words, “is she not important to you?” And now, he could not comprehend the bashfulness that raised blood to his cheeks, or the complete disbelief that you’d wave off the Champion Duelist just because of his silly discomfort. Human relationships; He feared he may never understand them.

“Of course she’s important to me—she’s my friend!” you lightly laughed. “But you’re important to me, as well. Please understand that.” His heart might’ve stopped for just a moment. “And when we have our scheduled times alone together, the last thing I want to have is you feeling uneasy when we’re supposed to be relaxing.” Your words, the kindness you shed—it was all so confusing yet so welcoming at the same time, that he feels it’s only a matter of seconds until he drowns from the sound of your voice. To feel such comfort in a person was bizarre to him, but it’s a feeling that makes him crave your presence all the same.

His eyes fell to another slight frown, voice quieter as if losing the will to argue. “But… I should not have the right to impede on a relationship significant to you…”

Now it was your turn to look baffled. The way he worded it. Oh, surely he didn’t— “Monsieur, do you think Clorinde and I are a couple?”

“Well, I certainly thought you two were getting to that state in your relationship,” Neuvillette answered truthfully, voice flowing without hesitation as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. The man who just confessed his love for you only moments ago was fully convinced you felt romance for another woman. “Hence why I was…” He turned his head to the side, shyly clearing his throat. “Envious…”

You practically burst out into giggles. In fact, one of your hands even let go of his grip just so you could cover your mouth to laugh. “Oh… Oh, Neuvillette, surely you jest!” you attempted to name whilst controlling your laughter. The Iudex was shell-shocked into pure silence, wondering what he could’ve possibly said to make you react this way, because as far as he knew, he was not making a joke. “Clorinde is only a friend to me,” you clarified. “Nothing more.”

He remains silent, but there’s a sweeping wave of new emotions that suddenly flood his shoulders.

“And if she sees me as anything more, then, well,” you continued, glancing up outside and then back down to meet his awaiting eyes. “Unfortunately for her, the love in my heart has already been captured by another.”

“By whom?” The lack of hesitation from his immediate question has more giggles escaping your lips. He looks at you, and your face tells him it’s an obvious question with an obvious answer, and yet he still cannot comprehend this even when you squeeze both his hands in yours once more.

“Who do you think, Monsieur?” And yet even after his face flushes red, he still has a focused look of anticipation on his face—it’s as if he absolutely will not believe it until you spell it directly to his face. “Neuvillette,” you sighed, but there was an air of gentleness in the way you say his name that relaxed his soul. “It’s always been you.”

The rain continued on.

But now the sun shined between each droplet, because if he could cry from happiness right now, he was sure you’d already be busy wiping his tears away. And this sunny rain continued on and on, even as he poured you tea, even when he bit into the pastries you bought, and even when he looked at you fondly across his desk, not a single doubt of your love.

And as for Clorinde, well, he might need a few more days to recover before he can forgive her for all the sporadic heart attacks she’s almost given him.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette x you #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin x gender neutral reader #neuvillette

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kafkasmuses · 2 months

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thinking of luke finding his best friend high at one of those parties they secretly hold at camp…

semi inspired by murdrdocs’ blurb abt smoking w luke & princessbrunette’s blurb abt jj finding his innocent friend high!!

typically luke never came to these, he was never really a party person, just until you’re texting him some sloppy words that barely make any sense— so now he’s weaving his way through the mess of trees towards the booming music in the distance. did they know how to not get caught?

luke’s nose scrunches as soon as he gets close enough to make out where you might be in that bright pink skirt he always saw you in, his steps move faster, especially since you’re talking to some asshole from the hades cabin. his jaw shifts as soon as he plants his hands on your shoulders, pupils cinched as he glares at the man you’re speaking with.

“oh, hey, luke!” you smile so sweet, a little too sweet, in fact, you smell.. he blinks once, then again, then again. to be honest, you don’t really remember texting luke, and it’s always a pleasant surprise to see him appear out of nowhere.

“hey, uh, lets go, yeah?” his hands are gentle when they move you to take a step or two back from the brooding man who clearly looks disappointed, if not a little agitated, with luke’s arrival.

“but ‘m having fun, do you want to meet my friend? this is my friend—“

“yeah, yeah,” luke stares at the man for a second, “hey, dude, ‘kay, time to go.”

“seems like she doesn’t want to,” the man suddenly speaks, and it should be a blessing from hades himself that luke doesn’t have his sword strapped to his belt.

“seems like she does since she texted me,” his tone is firmer, a certain bitterness and bite to it, “should be lucky ‘m too busy to rip that smartass smirk off your face.”

the last sentence comes out as a mumble as he gently guides you away from the party, having to take more of a precaution than usual since you’re stumbling an awful lot. god, how much did you smoke.

“why’d you say that to him—“

“mmm, no reason— hey.. jus’ asking but, you didn’t get that weed from one of the guys there, right?” you seemed much more than just high, unless you smoked like, five blunts— gods, did you?

“no, nono, got it from um.. lucy, she said it was reaaaalllyyyy strong but like— i only smoked a little,” he hums along to your non - stop giggles, failing to keep his hands from your shoulders since every time he lets go you nearly walk into a tree.

“yeah, yup, jus’ a little, you know, uh.. you could always just ask to smoke with me,” he shrugs like it’s simple.

“wooow, you smoke..?” you ask very slowly all of a sudden.

“what, you think ‘m not cool enough to?” he tuts, steering you to the hermes cabin, which is of course, empty as it always is. you were sure the hermes kids were all dead by now since every time you’re in the cabin it’s vacant, well, besides chris, but he’s always glaring at luke and leaving to bother clarisse.

“not what i said—“ you frown up at him, and he just nods, moving to sit you down on his bed as he inspects your face to make sure you’re solely high on weed— you really do reek of it, gosh, maybe he should spray his cologne on you. he doesn’t get more time to think before you’re pawing at him, “miss you, luke, talk to me.”

he chuckles at the hazy glint in your eyes, “c’mon, princess, ‘m not the man for that job.”

you hook a finger around one of the belt loops on his jeans, tugging him in closer, “what do you mean?”

“‘m your friend,” it comes out hushed, breathy, “jus’ here to take care of you.”

“so take care of me,” your eyes catch on to the bulge forming in his pants, a lazy smile curving your lips upwards.

he pauses for a second, considering, before unhooking your hand from his pants and moving you to lay down on his bed, “time to get some beauty sleep, yeah? g’na get me in trouble if you keep acting out, princess.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan smut #pjo tv show #pjo series #charlie bushnell #have i ever smoked before?#no… but let me imagine ok

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hi! I would love to see Steve being really affectionate with shy reader? Maybe at the beginning of their relationship when everything is really „big” for reader? Only if it’s something that you like. Lots of love and thank you! 🩷

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 745 words

Selfishly, Steve has an easier time being brave when you’re so clearly the nervous one.

“So this guy, he wasn’t being a dick or anything,” he says, fingers loosely intertwined with yours as you walk down to the 7-Eleven, “but he just wouldn’t leave Rob alone. Couldn’t take a hint, you know?”

You hum. Your hand starts to slip in his, and you tighten your fingers almost imperceptibly. Steve adjusts, taking your hand more securely in his so it doesn’t happen again. A bit of pink tinges your cheeks that he doubts has much to do with the warm weather.

Steve doesn’t mean to fluster you, but if he waited on you to make the first move there’d be no moving at all. That said, he doesn’t mind flustering you either. You get this sweet, startled look on your face and sometimes you try to hide behind your hair so that he gets to move it away. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you, and you press your lips together like he’s done something far more brash.

“What did she do?” you ask.

“She told him we were dating.”

“What?” You laugh, the sound starting up a pleasant buzzing in Steve’s chest. “But she tells everyone else you’re ‘platonic with a capital P’.”

“Exactly!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. You smile back for half a second before your gaze drops to his chest. “He’s gonna find out as soon as he brings it up to literally anyone, and then she’s gonna have to cover her ass all over again. I don’t know why she does this to herself.”

“Maybe she’s panicking,” you muse. “Just, like, saying the first thing she can think of.”

Steve guesses you’d know something about that. The first time he’d tried to ask you out, he’d suggested going to the drive-in and you’d blurted that you didn’t watch movies.

“Maybe,” he says, unable to mask the amusement in his tone (and not trying very hard, if he’s being honest).

You look at him curiously, then shy at whatever you see in his expression. “Oh, I forgot.” You duck away under the guise of digging through your bag. “I got this off my neighbor’s tree today.”

You hold a peach out to him, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt on the spot. His heart feels all heavy and made of mush. “No way.” His voice is soft, reverent. “You stole from your neighbor for me?”

He takes the peach from you, and you immediately turn from his gaze, pretending to adjust your bag over your shoulder. Steve knows you didn’t really forget to tell him earlier; you just hadn’t wanted this display in front of your roommates. It’s cool. He’s fine with adoring you in private.

“I didn’t steal it.” The smile is evident in your voice, and Steve waits until you turn back to shoot you the best one he’s got in return. The pink spreads to your ears. “I asked. They always say they have too many to eat by themselves.”

“Still.” He thinks about mushing a kiss into your temple, but even Steve’s not feeling bold enough for that yet. He settles for wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, thanks.”

��It was no problem,” you murmur, tilting your head so your hair curtains your face.

Steve is gleeful at this development. He reaches forward with his other hand to brush it out of the way, hooking what he can behind your ear. Your eyes flit to him bashfully. He knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he can’t help it. It’s just the way his face likes to be around you.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, then decides to put you out of your misery. “So, what kind of slushee are you gonna get?”

“Mm, dunno,” you reply softly. “You?”

“Blue raspberry every time.” He nods certainly. “Never wavered since I was a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve tried that one,” you say. “I usually get a coke and cherry mix.”

“You can try mine,” Steve offers.

“You don’t mind if I sip from your straw?”

“I mean, I was thinking you could just kiss me to taste it,” he says. And fine, now he might be stirring the pot a little bit. It’s worth it when you put your face in your hands. Steve squeezes you tighter against his side, affectionate. “But that works too, yeah.”

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vampiresbloodx · 17 days

Text

(a series or more of a au between you and librarian!Wanda. Legal age gap, mentions of smut, soft fluff, pinning, lots of pinning, I usually don't write any specific gender for reader ((same goes with physical appearance, but I will slip up sometimes and I apologise)) though sometimes I might mention their clothes, if it may be a skirt, pants etc. And if it's smut I'll always tag it.)

After older!Librarian!Wanda kisses you for the first time, she can't stop thinking about your lips.

How perfect they feel against hers, how she forgets about everything around her and only just focuses on you. She never really enjoyed the way her ex husband kissed her, it wasn't all that pleasant. He was a bit forced, quick, Wanda wanted more than that, even if you're going to work, a quick kiss can still mean something so much more. She was a romantic. She likes to paint the scenes in her head on an empty canvas of what she really wanted him to do at the time, but he wasn't that type of man. It saddened her.

Maybe he too was too caught up in the traditional ways. So was she. After kissing you though, all of that went away pretty quickly, she thought about you non stop, always having to touch you, whether that was a hand on your arm, shoulder, etc, pulling you close to her, she was always a touchy person, once you get to really know her.

She was obsessed with how your touch made her feel, the tingles she got, the sensation of merely just a brushing of the fingers when she passed you something, a book, a cup of tea or coffee, whatever it may be, set her heart off. She surely thought she was going to have a heart attack.

No man could ever make her feel the way you do.

It was truly something magical.

When you'd touch her back, giving her the same attention, knowing she'd want it but would be a bit shy at first to ask you, but it seems you'd know what she wants. It's like this non spoken communication between you two. It was special. She's never had that. Where someone just gets her, you haven't even known her for that long, but it felt like you both had known each other for years.

She understands what people meant by those special connections.

And she doesn't take any of it for granted.

Older!Librarian!Wanda is so precious and caring, loving towards you. She likes to bring you things she finds interesting that you might like, if that was a book or something else, she takes your interests very seriously too, even if she doesn't quite understand them as she grew up very differently. But she loves how excited you get whenever she asks you about it, it makes her happy, she also learns something new she didn't know. Which she likes. She does like to joke around with you, have that little banter as they like to call it, you've even taught her some newer things that may be trendy or help her understand it more. It's nice. Because she'll do the same for you.

After she learns what fidget toys are and whatever helps distract you, keeps you focused, whatever it may be you'll have plenty of it. If you forget a specific fidget toy while you're both out, Wanda has the exact same one in her bag, anything you need she has it. Since she knows you get stressed a lot, especially when there's a lot of people, it can get a bit too much, she gets it sometimes, how overwhelming it is, people being in your face and in your personal space, but when you feel her hand squeeze yours, you feel much more relaxed knowing she's there by your side.

#Liberian!wanda #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fluff #stuff i wrote

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pucksandpower · 8 months

Text

Head Over Heels

Charles Leclerc x Vasseur!Reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: in which Charles and Carlos are head over heels for you and you’re still painfully oblivious despite their best efforts

Warnings: this is a poly fic, overwhelming amounts of fluff

“Hey, Y/N! You’ve got a delivery!”

You look up, confused, as one of the mechanics hands over a beautifully wrapped bouquet. The vibrant pink roses and lilies contrast strikingly against the red of the Ferrari motorhome.

“For me? Who’s it from?” You ask, genuinely puzzled.

The attached card is simple: For someone who lights up the track without even racing.

“Must be from a sponsor or someone thanking Dad,” you muse aloud, inhaling the fragrant bouquet.

Your father, Fred Vasseur, chuckles from a few steps away, “A sponsor, you think?”

You nod, genuinely convinced, “Who else?”

Charles, emerging from his cool-down session after practice, spots you with the flowers. His heart does a little jolt, hoping you’d recognize his gesture. “Those are beautiful,” he comments, trying to sound casual.

“They are, aren’t they?” You beam, holding them out to let him get a better look. “I think they’re from a sponsor or something. It’s a nice touch.”

A small, knowing smile tugs at Charles’ lips but he just nods. “Very thoughtful of them.”

Your father watches the exchange with an amused smirk, clearly catching on to Charles’ hidden intentions. He leans in to whisper to the Monegasque driver, “You sure you want to keep it anonymous, Leclerc?”

Charles shrugs but there’s a hint of red on his cheeks, “I thought it’d be more … romantic? But I didn’t think she would be this oblivious.”

Your father chuckles, patting Charles on the back, “Give it time, son.”

The day continues and you go about your tasks, occasionally stopping to admire the flowers, still clueless about their real origin. Everyone around seems to be sharing knowing glances and subtle nudges.

Carlos, having heard about Charles’ gesture, approaches you. “Heard you got a surprise today,” he comments playfully.

You nod, beaming, “Yeah, a pleasant one. It’s always nice to be appreciated, even if it’s indirectly.”

Charles, overhearing, sighs from a distance. “I need to up my game,” he murmurs to himself.

***

“Morning, Y/N! I brought you something.”

You glance up from your paperwork to find Carlos holding out a steaming cup of coffee and a beautifully wrapped pastry. You can’t help but smile, already salivating.

“Thanks, Carlos. This is such a treat! How do you always know where to find the best coffee and pastries?”

Carlos shrugs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles, “Oh, you know. Just lucky, I guess.”

Your father watches the exchange from a distance, laughing softly. “Carlos sure seems to have a knack for pleasing your taste buds,” he teases as he approaches.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you reply, “He’s just being friendly, Dad. Everyone loves a good pastry, right?”

Your father just raises an eyebrow, sipping his own coffee, “If you say so.”

Carlos, seeing an opportunity, chimes in, “Actually, I’ve been exploring the local bakeries in each city. You know, trying to find the best treats.” He pauses for a second, cheeks reddening ever-so-slightly, “Glad you like them.”

It’s a small confession but enough to get a teasing cheer from some of the mechanics nearby. You just laugh, assuming it’s part of the team's usual banter. “You’re too dedicated, Carlos! Thanks for always thinking of me.”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes betraying a hint of something deeper, “Anything for a … friend.”

Later, as you’re engrossed in your work, Charles passes by, subtly observing the pastry and coffee by your side. He exchanges a brief, understanding look with Carlos.

“You know,” Charles says casually, taking a seat opposite you, “Carlos wakes up an hour early just to find these for you.”

You blink, surprised, “Really?”

Charles nods, smirking, “Ask anyone here. They’ve seen him race off, rain or shine.”

Your heart swells with appreciation. “I had no idea,” you whisper, truly touched.

Carlos, overhearing, intervenes with a chuckle, “Leclerc, stop making it sound so dramatic! I just … like to start my day with a good treat, that’s all."

You smile warmly, taking a sip of your coffee, “You’re such a good friend, Carlos. I’m lucky to have you looking out for me like this.”

Carlos nods, swallowing down a hint of disappointment, “Always, Y/N. Just looking out for a friend, right?”

Your father passing by, catches the tail end of the conversation. He winks at Carlos, teasing, “Oh, absolutely. Just a friend.”

Carlos shoots him a mock glare but there’s a smirk on his lips. “Exactly. Just doing what any good friend would do.”

You laugh, completely missing the underlying tension, “Well, here’s to more coffee-filled mornings. Thanks, friend.”

Carlos raises his cup in a mock toast, “To friendship.” But there’s a certain longing in his eyes, a silent hope that someday friendship might evolve into something more.

***

“Y/N, have you ever thought of getting behind the wheel?”

You glance up from your notes, finding Charles leaning against your desk, a mischievous glint in his eye. You laugh, “Of a race car? Surely you’re joking.”

He shrugs, an inviting smirk on his face, “Who better to teach you than a Ferrari driver?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Are you offering?”

Charles nods. “Why not? It’ll be fun and maybe you’ll get a new appreciation for what we do.”

You consider it. “Alright, when?”

“How about after tomorrow’s practice session? The track will be free.”

Carlos, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “Planning some secret training without me?” His tone is playful but there’s an underlying hint of jealousy.

Charles grins, “Just thought I’d offer our friend here a little taste of the track life.”

You chuckle, “Don’t worry, Carlos. If I crash, I promise I’ll come to you for my second lesson.”

Carlos smirks, “I’ll hold you to that.”

The following day, after the practice session, you find yourself clad in a racing suit, helmet in hand, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. Charles approaches, looking much more confident than you feel.

“Ready?” He asks, voice full of anticipation.

You nod, gulping down your anxiety. “As I’ll ever be.”

The next hour is a blur of acceleration, sharp turns, and the roar of the engine. Charles proves to be a patient and encouraging teacher, guiding you through the intricacies of handling a race car. The adrenaline, the rush, and the sheer power of the machine are intoxicating.

At one point, as you glide around a particularly challenging curve, Charles whoops in delight from the passenger seat, “That’s it, Y/N! You’re a natural!”

Your laughter rings out, pure and genuine, “Maybe I’ve found my new calling.”

As the session comes to an end and the two of you climb out of the car, Carlos approaches, clapping. “Not bad for a rookie,” he teases.

You playfully shove him, “Thanks to my excellent instructor here.”

Charles laughs, ruffling your hair, “You were great, seriously.”

Carlos nods in agreement, “I guess I’ll be out of a job soon.”

You roll your eyes, “One lesson and suddenly I’m a pro? You flatter me. But seriously, this was amazing. Truly. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Charles grins, “Anytime. And remember, there’s always more to learn.”

Carlos smirks, “And more instructors available, just in case.”

You laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, let’s celebrate me not crashing the car!”

As you all head off, you link arms with Charles, “You know, for a moment there, I felt the thrill you must feel during races. Thanks for being such a good friend and showing me that world.”

Charles smiles softly, a pang of both happiness and a touch of disappointment at the word you used. “Of course. Anything for a friend.”

Carlos, observing from a distance, shares a knowing look with Charles. The message is clear: the race is far from over.

***

“Hey, Y/N. Can’t sleep?”

You’re startled to find Carlos waiting by the hotel lobby, a charming smile playing on his lips. The clock on the wall reads just past midnight.

You rub your eyes, yawning, “No, not really. Jet lag, I guess.”

Carlos gestures toward the entrance, “How about a midnight stroll? I know this beautiful spot nearby.”

You hesitate for a moment but then nod, intrigued. “Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

The two of you step out into the cool night to find the quiet city bathed in soft light. The silence is comfortable as you walk side by side.

As you amble along, you can’t help but wonder, “Why are you up so late?”

He glances at you, “Couldn’t sleep either. And I thought maybe you’d enjoy some company.”

You smile, touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He points to a quiet park with a pond, its surface shimmering with the reflection of the moon. “Here we are. This place always helps me clear my head whenever we’re in town for a race.”

You settle on a bench and Carlos quickly sits beside you, shoulders brushing lightly.

The night unfolds with shared stories and laughter. Carlos opens up about his journey in racing, the challenges he’s faced, and the moments of triumph. You listen intently, feeling a newfound connection.

As the hours slip away, Carlos admits with a soft chuckle, “You know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? Why me?”

Carlos smiles, the moonlight illuminating his face. “Because you’re special. You’re different from anyone I’ve met on or off the circuit.”

A warm feeling washes over you. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

He turns toward you, his gaze intense, “Y/N, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say. Something I’ve been feeling for a while.”

But just as he’s about to speak, you yawn loudly, unable to hide your exhaustion any longer. “Sorry. I guess jet lag finally caught up with me.”

He chuckles, disappointment flickering in his eyes, “No worries. Let’s head back.”

When you reach the hotel entrance, Carlos bids you goodnight, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. “Get some rest. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

You smile sleepily, giving him a friendly hug, “Thanks for the midnight adventure. It was nice.”

He holds you for a moment longer than usual before pulling away, “Anytime. Sweet dreams.”

***

“Another one? Seriously?”

You chuckle, pulling out a small folded note from your jacket pocket, the fifth one this week.

“The world’s fastest circuits are slow compared to how fast you make my heart beat.” You read aloud, your cheeks warming at the words.

Carlos, seated nearby, smirks, “Someone’s clearly smitten with you. Any idea who?”

You shrug, “I figured they’re just motivational notes from the team. You know, to keep spirits up.”

Charles joins in, trying to keep his face neutral, “They’re quite poetic for just team motivation, don’t you think?”

You ponder his words, tilting your head. “I guess? But who would be sending them?”

Carlos snorts, “Oh, come on! It’s so obvious.”

You shoot him a confused look, “It is?”

Carlos and Charles exchange a glance, silently communicating. Charles, deciding to have a bit of fun, teases, “Well, they’re definitely from someone who admires you. And since they’re always hidden in places only the team has access to, it’s likely from someone here.”

Carlos nods in agreement, “Sounds about right.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You guys are just trying to rile me up. It’s probably just one of the pit crew playing a prank.”

Charles, a touch defensive, says, “You might be surprised. Maybe you have a secret admirer closer than you think.”

Your father, passing by, overhears the conversation and chuckles, “It’s about time she figures it out.”

You stare, completely baffled, “Figures what out?”

He just winks, patting Charles on the shoulder, “Keep trying.”

Your day is filled with speculation and curious glances, with everyone seeming to be in on a secret that you aren’t privy to. The notes, while touching, become a source of playful teasing.

That evening, as you prepare for bed, you find another note tucked inside your notebook: Your passion and dedication make even the toughest races feel like victories.

You can’t help but smile. “Who are you?” You whisper to yourself.

Little do you know, just a few rooms away, Charles is scribbling down another note, his heart set on winning yours, one word at a time.

***

The night is electric, the post-race party in full swing, music thumping and lights reflecting off the crystal-clear waters of the pool.

“Y/N! Join us for a dance?”

You turn, finding Carlos standing there, his hand outstretched and a playful smile on his face.

You laugh, “You’ve seen me dance. You sure you want to take that risk?”

He chuckles, pulling you closer to the dance floor, “For you? Always.”

As the music shifts to a slower, more intimate tune, you feel a bit self-conscious. But Carlos guides you gracefully, making you feel as if you’re the only two people in the world.

“See? You’re a natural,” Carlos murmurs, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

You chuckle, “Or you’re just an excellent lead.”

Carlos smirks, “Could be both.”

Throughout the night you share more dances, both with Carlos and a few with Charles, who also proves to be quite the dancer. Each time you’re spun, dipped, or drawn close, there’s an electric charge, a connection that’s impossible to ignore.

“Enjoying yourself?” Charles asks during one dance, his voice soft and sincere.

You nod, “Very much so. It’s not every day I get to dance with Ferrari’s finest.”

Charles smirks, “Glad to be of service. You’re quite the dancer yourself, you know.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re just saying that.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I mean every word.”

Before you can process his statement, Carlos swoops in, teasing, “Mind if I cut in?”

Charles sighs, releasing you, “Go on but save the next one for me.”

Carlos, dancing you away, smirks, “He’s quite smitten with you.”

You laugh, “Oh, stop. We’re just friends.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure about that?”

You nod, “Absolutely.”

Carlos, holding you a bit closer, murmurs just low enough so only he can hear, “And he’s not the only one who’s smitten.” The hint of longing in his eyes remains hidden to you as the dance continues.

***

“Welcome to the local side of my home!” Charles exclaims with an open gesture, Monaco sprawling before you in all its glory.

You gaze around, taking in the sights of the city. “It’s beautiful. The tourist traps and casinos really don’t do it justice.”

He grins, obviously proud. “I thought you’d appreciate a personal tour. Ready?”

You nod enthusiastically, “Absolutely.”

Charles leads you through winding streets, each corner revealing another story, another memory. “This is where I had my first gelato,” he shares, pointing at a quaint little shop. “And over there,” he gestures to a narrow cobblestone lane, “is where I learned to ride a bike.”

You chuckle, “Really? These streets seem a bit treacherous for a kid on a bike.”

He laughs, “Let’s just say there were a few scrapes and bruises.”

As you continue, Charles points out his favorite viewpoints, cafes, and even his childhood home. It’s an intimate glimpse into his world and you feel honored.

“You know,” you say, pausing to gaze out over the harbor, “it’s one thing to know someone as a colleague and it’s another to really know them. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Charles looks at you, genuine warmth in his eyes. “I wanted you to see where I come from, the place that shaped me. Who better to share it with than you?”

You smile, touched. The two of you continue, with Charles occasionally slipping his hand into yours, guiding you along.

Towards the end of the tour, you stop at a cozy café overlooking the sea. As you sip your drinks, Charles leans in, his tone serious. “Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You look up, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Before he can speak, his phone rings. Glancing at the caller ID, Charles sighs. “It’s the team. I have to take this.”

You nod, understanding. “Go ahead.”

When Charles hangs up, he looks apologetic. “I’m so sorry. Duty calls.”

You smile, reassuringly, “It’s okay. Today was special. Thank you.”

Charles nods, hesitating for a moment, as if wanting to say more. Instead, he simply leans in, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “Until next time.”

***

“Oh, this doesn’t look good,” you mutter, noticing the looming dark clouds as you hurry through the paddock.

Before you can take another step, raindrops start to fall, quickly morphing into a torrential downpour. You’re caught in the middle, water soaking your clothes and making your paperwork soggy.

From a distance, Carlos notices your plight. “Y/N!” He calls out, already running towards you with an umbrella in hand.

By the time he reaches you, you’re thoroughly drenched, strands of hair stuck to your face. “Took a sudden shower, did we?” He teases, even as he huddles you under the umbrella.

You chuckle, shivering slightly, “It seems so. Thanks for the rescue.”

Carlos slips off his jacket and wraps it around you. The warmth of it, combined with his scent — a mix of cologne, fresh rain, and something uniquely Carlos — is comforting.

“You’re getting soaked!” You protest, noticing his wet shirt clinging to his toned body.

Carlos just shrugs, “You needed it more than I did.”

As the two of you find shelter from the storm, the tension between you is palpable. The rain has created a sudden intimacy and you’re both acutely aware of each other.

“Better?” Carlos asks, his voice softer than usual, noticing you inhaling the scent of his jacket.

You nod, cheeks heating up. “Yeah. Smells like ... well, you.”

He smirks, “Is that a good thing?”

You glance up, meeting his gaze, “Definitely.”

There’s a pause, a shared moment where neither of you needs to speak. The rain pattering outside creates a rhythmic backdrop to the charged atmosphere.

Carlos breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, “Y/N, I …”

You lean in, “Yes?”

Just then, a gust of wind blows the umbrella out of Carlos’ hand, startling the both of you. The sudden distraction breaks the intensity of the moment and you both laugh at the absurdity of it.

Carlos, trying to chase the runaway umbrella, calls out, “Rain check?”

You laugh, trying to calm your racing heartbeat, “Quite literally.”

***

“You won’t believe what Carlos did this time,” Antonio, one of the lead engineers, whispers to Paolo, a senior mechanic.

You’re nearby, checking the equipment for the upcoming practice session, but their hushed conversation catches your attention.

Paolo chuckles, “Can’t be crazier than what Charles tried last week.”

Antonio smirks, “Trust me, it’s right up there. Both of them, head over heels, and all for the same girl.”

Your curiosity piqued, you edge closer, feigning interest in a nearby tire. “Who is it?” You wonder internally, trying to think of any new female team members or journalists that might have caught their eye.

Paolo, clearly enjoying the gossip, leans in, “You think she has any idea?”

Antonio shakes his head, “Nope. She’s completely in the dark. It’s actually kind of adorable how clueless she is.”

You bite your lip, even more intrigued. “Who could it be?” You muse.

Deciding to join in the speculation, you casually approach, “Hey, what’s this I’m hearing about someone making our drivers lose their heads?”

Both men look up, surprised to see you so close. Antonio stammers, “Oh, hey Y/N. Just, um, some silly paddock rumors.”

Paolo, trying to divert the topic, adds, “You know how it is. People love making up stories.”

You nod, playing along, “Of course. But, come on, spill. Who’s the lucky girl? Anyone I know?”

Antonio and Paolo exchange glances, trying to gauge how much to reveal. Antonio finally speaks, “Let’s just say she’s someone who is always around but seems to be missing all the signs.”

You laugh, “Sounds like she’s got her head in the clouds. I can’t wait to find out who she is.”

Paolo grins, “Oh, it’ll come out eventually. These things always do.”

***

The meet-and-greet in Maranello is packed to the brim. Fans from all over the world have gathered to meet their favorite drivers and the team uniform you’re wearing means you’ve gathered a considerable crowd around you too.

As you sign autographs and chat with fans, you notice a group of them exchanging knowing glances and excited whispers.

“Y/N,” one brave fan begins, “we’ve got a question for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Sure, fire away.”

The fan clears their throat, “We’ve been following you and the drivers closely, and, well, we couldn’t help but notice something.”

You exchange a curious look with them, “Notice what?”

Another fan chimes in, “You see, Charles and Carlos, they ... they seem to be really close, you know, off the track.”

You nod, “Yeah, they’re good friends.”

A third fan interjects, ‘It’s more than that, though. We think they’re totally into someone.”

You chuckle, thinking they’re just indulging in the typical gossip. “Well, they are both very passionate about racing if that’s what you mean.”

The fans exchange disappointed glances. “She really doesn’t get it,” one of them whispers.

But they’re not giving up that easily. Another fan seems to have a plan. “Okay, Y/N, hypothetical scenario. What if these two drivers were in a race not for points but for something else?”

You’re intrigued, “What do you mean?”

The fan grins, “Imagine if they were trying to win someone’s heart and that someone is right here, oblivious to it all.”

You laugh, amused by their playful scenario. “That would be quite the competition.”

They exchange triumphant glances, “Exactly! So, who do you think this lucky person is?”

You shrug, genuinely not knowing who they’re referring to, “I have no idea. Probably some lucky girl out there.”

The fans let out an exaggerated groan, “She really has no clue.”

Another fan leans in, conspiratorial, “What if we told you that this lucky person is not some random girl but someone they work closely with?”

“What do you mean?”

The fans exchange sly grins, “We mean, what if the person they’re vying for is ... you?”

Your eyes widen in surprise and you laugh, thinking they’re just pulling your leg, “Me? That’s crazy. They’re just my friends.”

The fans share a look of exasperation and one of them sighs, “She’s hopeless.”

***

“Alright, everyone, gather around! Intervention time!” Your father announces, drawing you into the center of the group of staff that were gathered on the first floor of the Ferrari motorhome.

You look around, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

Paolo, chuckling, pats your shoulder, “You’ve got the observational skills of a goldfish.”

You pout, “Hey! I notice things.”

Antonio snorts, “Oh, really? Do you recall Monaco? During the team photo?”

You nod, confused, “Yeah, we were all there.”

Antonio grins, “Carlos was standing right next to you. Instead of giving a thumbs-up like everyone else, he made a heart sign with his hands right behind you. Literally, right behind your head.”

Eyes wide, you protest, “He did?”

Your father chimes in, “And remember in Silverstone? When you lost that bracelet your mother gave you?”

You nod, “Yes, I was devastated.”

He continues, “Charles spent the entire night searching for it. He found it at 3 am and then hand-delivered it to your room.”

Antonio adds, chuckling, “Wearing those ridiculous race car pajamas, I might add.”

You blink, processing the information, “I thought I just dropped it while getting dressed ...”

Paolo, shaking his head in amusement, recounts, “During the team BBQ, Carlos grilled those vegetarian sausages especially for you. Remember wondering why we had them?”

Your cheeks turn a shade redder, “I just thought he was being considerate for the vegetarians on the team.”

Your father laughs, “We don’t have any other vegetarians on the team, darling.”

Antonio recalls another incident, “In Spain, during that heatwave? Charles, out of nowhere, had a mini fan delivered to you. Said it was team equipment.”

You gasp, “That was him?”

Paolo, grinning, continues, “Ever wonder who leaves those freshly peeled oranges on your desk every race day? That’s Carlos’ handiwork.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “But … why?”

Your father steps forward, placing a comforting arm around you, “Sweetheart, it’s because they’re both completely smitten with you. And while it’s entertaining for us to watch, it’s also driving the entire team bonkers with every passing day that you don’t realize.”

You look around, taking in the nodding heads and amused expressions, “I ... I had no idea.”

Antonio chuckles, “Clearly.”

Paolo adds, “It’s like watching a rom-com unfold right before our eyes, only you seem to have missed the entire plot.”

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, “Okay, maybe I’ve been a bit oblivious.”

Your father smirks, “A bit oblivious? That’s like saying Ferrari is known for being a bit red.”

Antonio gives you a friendly pat on the back, “Welcome to the real race, Y/N. Buckle up.”

***

Carlos clears his throat, his usual confidence replaced with a rare nervousness, “Y/N, can we talk? Like, really talk?”

You drop what you’re doing, “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Charles, appearing from the shadows, adds, “Actually, I’d like to be part of this conversation as well.”

You’re taken aback. “Alright, you both have my attention.”

Carlos begins, running his fingers through his hair, “You know, racing isn’t just about speed. It’s about timing, making the right move at the right moment.”

Charles nods in agreement, “Sometimes, you wait too long and the opportunity passes you by.”

You squint, trying to decipher their cryptic words, “Are we talking about racing or ...?”

Carlos exhales deeply, “This isn’t about racing. This is about ... us. You, me, Charles.”

Charles interjects, his gaze intense, “It’s about feelings. Ones that have been growing and evolving.”

You swallow, your heart pounding, “I think I know where this is going.”

Carlos, his voice laced with vulnerability, confesses, “Every time I do something hoping it will make you smile, every time I go out of my way just to be near you ... it’s not just because of friendship.”

Charles adds, “And every gesture, every moment we’ve shared, it’s been my way of trying to show you how I feel.”

Your eyes well up with emotion, “I ... I gained an inkling just recently but I still wasn’t sure.”

Carlos takes a deep breath, “We’re not just talking about individual feelings here. What we’re trying to say is we both care for you and we’ve discussed it. We both want to be with you and for the three of us to explore this ... together.”

Charles nods, “We want to navigate this track as a trio. If you’re willing.”

Carlos steps closer, his eyes searching yours, “We just needed you to know. Whatever you decide, we’ll respect it.”

Charles nods, “Just ... take your time. We’re here, no matter what.”

You take a deep breath, “I need some time to think, to process all of this.”

Carlos offers a soft smile, “Of course, Y/N. We understand.”

Charles gently places a hand on your shoulder, “We’ll wait, however long it takes. Your feelings matter to us. You matter to us.”

***

“Safety car deployed, safety car deployed!” The voice over the radio jolts you into high alert.

“What happened?” You ask anxiously, watching the large screen that displays the race.

Your father’s voice shakes slightly, “Multi-car collision at Turn 4. I can’t see which cars are involved yet.”

Your heart races, thinking of Charles and Carlos. “Please, let them be okay.”

Paolo, eyes glued to the live feed, mutters, “This looks bad.”

The images on the screen show plumes of smoke and debris scattered across the track. The safety car slows the procession of vehicles and you can see marshals running toward the crash site.

Suddenly, Charles comes on the radio, sounding strained but intact, “I’m okay but Carlos ... I can’t see Carlos.”

A weight settles in your stomach. Panic floods your veins. “Please, no.”

His race engineer’s voice cracks with urgency, “Carlos, if you can hear me please respond.”

What feels like hours pass but in reality it’s only seconds before Carlos’ shaky voice breaks through, “I’m here ... I’m okay. Got a bit shaken but I’m fine.”

You slump in relief, tears pricking your eyes. The reality of how precious life is and how quickly things can change hits you like a tidal wave.

Once the chaos subsides and both Charles and Carlos are confirmed safe, you rush out to the pits, needing to see them with your own eyes.

Charles, spotting you first, rushes over, his race suit smeared with dirt and sweat. Without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace, the tension and relief palpable between you two.

Carlos joins, wrapping his arms around both of you, his breathing still slightly labored from the shock.

You pull away, tears streaming down your face, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Carlos musters up a hint of a smirk, “Didn’t plan to, trust me.”

Charles adds softly, looking deep into your eyes, “It makes you realize what’s really important.”

You nod, your decision clear. The events of the day, combined with the confessions of the previous week, cement your feelings. “Life is short. Too short not to be with who you care about.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, “Does that mean ...?”

You smile, nodding, “Yes. I want to be with both of you. We’ll figure it all out together.”

***

“France in winter is so enchanting,” Carlos muses as you all stroll through the snow-covered streets of your hometown, having flown there right after the end of the season.

You laugh, “You should see it in spring.”

Charles wraps one an arm around your waist and the other around Carlos, “With you as our guide, I’m sure every season is beautiful.”

The moment you all step into your family home, the familiar smell of your favorite dish wafts through the air. “Ah, maman’s coq au vin!” You exclaim.

Carlos looks intrigued, “What’s that?”

“It’s a traditional French chicken stew,” Charles explains, revealing his fondness for it too.

At the dinner table, your father raises a toast, “To family, old and new.” It’s a nod to Charles and Carlos, welcoming them into the fold.

Throughout the night, more wine is poured and stories are exchanged. Heading about your childhood misadventures makes Carlos chuckle and Charles smirk as your mother brings out the photo album no matter how much you beg her to save you the embarrassment.

Your grandmother pulls you aside and whispers, “It’s beautiful, cherie, how the heart can expand to make room for more love.”

***

Next stop: Monaco. Before you can even ring the doorbell to Charles’ family home, Lorenzo swings it open, his grin wide. “Ah! The infamous new trio. We’ve heard so much about you.”

You laugh, “All good things, I hope?”

Arthur, joining Lorenzo at the doorway, smirks, “Mostly just about how our dear Charles here can’t stop talking about you.”

Charles rolls his eyes, a hint of red tinting his cheeks. “Can we not start with the teasing five seconds in?”

Carlos chuckles, elbowing Charles lightly, “It’s what brothers are for, right?”

Lorenzo nods, winking at you, “Oh, absolutely. You should’ve seen Charles when he was younger. Always getting into mischief.”

Arthur, with a gleeful glint in his eyes, adds, “Remember that time with the go-kart?”

Charles groans, “Do we really have to bring that up now?”

“Oh, but now I’m curious.”

Lorenzo, not missing a beat, narrates, “Our dear Charles decided to modify his go-kart engine. Let’s just say it ended up in the neighbor’s pool.”

Carlos bursts into laughter, “I wish I’d seen that!”

At one point, when Charles steps out to take a call, Lorenzo leans in, “In all seriousness, we haven’t seen Charles this happy in a long time.”

Arthur nods in agreement, “Whatever you two are doing, keep it up. It’s good for him.”

***

The three of you touch down in Spain to ring in the New Year. The evening is filled with laughter, traditional music, and the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked meals. As midnight approached, Carlos’ mother brings out individual bowls filled with glistening grapes.

“You know about the Spanish tradition, right?” Carlos asks.

You shake your head.

Carlos explains, “At the stroke of midnight, for every chime of the clock, you eat a grape. Twelve chimes, twelve grapes. It’s said to bring good luck for the coming year.”

You chuckle, eyeing the bowl, “Sounds easy enough.”

It was not easy.

The first chime rings out and everyone pops a grape into their mouth. By the fourth chime, you’re struggling, laughter bubbling up around a mouthful of the fruit as you desperately try to keep up.

Charles, equally struggling, shoots you a wide-eyed look, grapes nearly falling out of his mouth.

Carlos, on the other hand, seems to have mastered the art, smoothly munching away, though his eyes reveal his suppressed laughter.

As the twelfth chime rings out, you finally manage to swallow the mouthful, gasping for breath air rounded by the hearty laughter of Carlos’ family.

Carlos’ father claps you and Charles on the back, “Well done! You two are practically Spanish now.”

You laugh, wiping away a tear, “I think I’ll need a few more years of practice.”

Carlos grins, wrapping an arm around you, “Don’t worry, we will have many more New Years for you to perfect it.”

***

The sun casts a golden hue on the beach, the waves gently lapping at the shore. Your feet are buried in the soft sand and you lean back, enjoying the feeling of warmth on your skin.

Taking a moment to appreciate the surroundings, you sigh, “The view is so breathtaking.”

Charles, reclining beside you with sunglasses perched atop his head, follows your gaze. His eyes, however, are not on the horizon but on Carlos, who’s emerging from the water, droplets glistening on his toned body. Without missing a beat, Charles replies flirtatiously, “Yes, he definitely is.”

Carlos laughs as he approaches, water dripping from him, “You two are impossible.”

You smirk, “Well, can you blame him? You do look quite ... impressive."

Carlos, towel now draped around his neck, grins, “Is that so? Maybe I should spend more time at the beach then.”

Charles mock pouts, “And less time with your car?”

Carlos pretends to think about it, “Tough choice. But I think I can find a balance.”

***

“Look who’s back and glowing!” Paolo greets as the three of you walk into the paddock together for pre-season testing.

Antonio joins in the teasing, “Carlos, you’ve got that sun-kissed tan going on and Charles ... did you forget the sunscreen again?”

Charles laughs sheepishly, touching his slightly reddened nose, “Apparently, I just burn.”

Carlos smirks, “We tried but some people are just destined to be crispy.”

You laugh, nudging Carlos, “Don’t be mean. But … we did have that one day when he turned a shade that matched the Ferrari.”

***

“Here’s to the dream team!” Antonio raises his champagne flute, his eyes shimmering under the bright lights of the party.

Charles, holding his second-place trophy, grins, nudging Carlos who’s proudly holding his first-place one. “Feels pretty good to have another double podium, doesn’t it?”

Carlos laughs, “Only because I’m one step higher!”

“Hey! It was the other way around last weekend,” Charles pretends to sulk.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Children, children. Share your toys nicely.”

Paolo chimes in, “It’s not just about the podium finishes. The energy this season ... it’s been different, more vibrant.”

Charles takes a moment, his gaze flitting between Carlos and you. “Well, happiness does tend to have that effect.”

Carlos wraps an arm around you both, pulling you close. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

***

“You would think that after all these years, I’d have gotten the hang of it,” your father laments, eyeing the bowl of freshly washed grapes in front of him.

Carlos’ mother laughs, patting his arm, “You’ll do just fine this time, Fred. We’ve all been practicing.”

Charles smirks, glancing at his brothers, “Oh, trust me, they’ve turned it into a competitive sport. Last year, Lorenzo managed to eat an extra grape by mistake!”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes, “One time! And I blame Arthur for distracting me.”

“Okay, it’s almost time,” Carlos says. “Remember, the key is not to rush.”

You chuckle, “Says the man who’s been acing this since he was a kid.”

Carlos winks, “Natural talent.”

The clock begins to chime, marking the impending arrival of the New Year. Everyone takes their positions, holding their grapes, waiting for the signal.

As each chime rings out, laughter fills the room. The past mishaps with the grapes only make the current attempt all the more entertaining.

When the twelfth chime fades, everyone erupts in cheers. Even your father, much to his delight, has successfully completed it in time.

Charles wraps an arm around you, “Another year, another challenge conquered.”

Carlos steps up to kiss both of you, tasting distinctly of grape, “With many more to come.”

You smile, looking around at the blending of families, the fusion of traditions, and the love that fills the room. “I can’t wait to spend every New Year together with you for the rest of our lives.”

1K notes · View notes

kingconia · 9 months

Text

HOW TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS ACT WHEN YOU ARE THEIR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY

— ; gender-neutral ; might as well do the second and the third part with vices and first years if you want ;

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— You are his favourite fashion designer. It might sound ridiculous on some extent, but he fell in love with your collections of clothes in his early childhood;

— Not only you made an exquisite pieces on your own, but also, as a former student of NRC—most likely, from Pomefiore—you often create collections inspired by each of houses;

— Riddle's mother strongly shares his strange obsession over you, so she bought him a lot of your clothes;

— When he becomes a student, he indulges himself by ordering a special lining of clothes that will be made only for him.

•

”I see,” you nod, gripping a pencil harder as you frantically draw something on the paper. ”That wouldn't be a problem at all. In fact, I actually enjoy your ideas.”

”Really?” Riddle blushes traitorously, almost knocking the tea cup of the table. Gladly, you don't notice due to being too involved in sketching. ”I, I mean, it is pleasant to know.”

Just as rumours told, you were a very interesting, though, extravagant creature. Not in the rude way. But it seemed like an outside world hardly existed for you. All your attention was centred on your works.

”Give me two weeks, and I will finish everything,” you finally look at him, eyes sprinkling with a pure inspiration. ”Will it be fine for you, mister Rosehearts?”

”Of course,” he offers you a nervous smile. ”Take all the time in the world, please”

”Good,” you hum, standing up from your chair. ”It is pleasant to work with you.”

He nods, being completely at loss of his words. You are his idol, his legend... He doesn't know how to talk with you.

”Oh, and... Thank you for this short opportunity to visit the walls of my old school once again. It is interesting experience,” you wink at him, before disappearing in the depth of his garden.

Riddle gasps.

That is so much better than his dreams!

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Might be a controversial opinion, but you are his favourite political figure in the Afterglow Savannah;

— Perhaps, it is because you are not dazzled by his brother, always keeping your coolheaded and calculated attitude. Or maybe it is because you actually tried to help him to get involved in the country's council. Nevertheless, he strangely adores you;

— As a kid he dreamt a lot of becoming a king, and making you his consort. But, of course, his dreams were useless and quite embarrassing;

— Yet, even after all these years, are the only person, who makes him stutter. Ruggie honestly loves it;

•

”It is pleasure you meet you again, prince Leona.”

As soon as Leona makes an eye contact with you, he gets absolutely lost. It takes almost a minute from him, to bow his head before you respectfully, and to answer.

”...Farena never mentioned you coming,” he tries to sound cool as usual, but his tail is swaying nervously, betraying him. ”But, of course, you are very welcomed here.”

You nod, but stay very oblivious to his excitement. You never actually notice his adore towards you, always too focused on your work, rather than paying attention on people around.

”I had a meeting with this head of the school of yours,” you frown a little at these words, and he assumes you didn't really like Crowley. ”And his Majesty decided to bring Cheka along. Since he insisted, I couldn't deny the wish of little prince.”

”Yeah... Thank you very much for taking care of this little cub.” He mutters, tugging his own braids nervously. ”May I ask what could possibly be required from Crowley?”

Your ears perk up a little; a good sign of you being interested in the topic. Leona instantly feels smug that he was able to raise a right topic to drag you in conversation.

”If prince Leona doesn't mind, we could discuss it while walking around your school,” you suggest, now with your tail swaying enthusiastically. ”I also think, you will be interested in my proposition."

As if he isn't interested in everything you do...

”I wouldn't dream of anything better,” he answers honestly. ”Ruggie will take care of Cheka then.”

Ruggie, whose present was forgotten easily, rolls his eyes. As two of you leave, speaking in the hushed tones, he couldn't help but cuss at Leona. What an annoying brat he is.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Quite predicable. You are his favourite lawyer in the whole world, much to his stepfather's displeasure;

— He is actually the one, who told stories about you—since you are working in the same area—but he couldn't imagine that his son will be so invested in your figure;

— Azul has a whole wall with cutouts from news about your wins in the court. He stares at it every morning, for—as he says—a manifestation a luck and success;

— He is buzzing with excitement, when Crowley invites you on the orientation day to inspire his students.

•

You let out a tired groan.

It is not the first time you are invited on lections for kids, but it was definitely the hardest one. Mostly, because there was this very enthusiastic boy, who asked you a million questions about everything. Your work, your ideals, your previous cases.

And while you could feel a great potential in him, you also was drained. That is why when you hear his voice again, you are thinking about running away.

”Excuse me, Y/n Y/s? I... I apologise for the interruping your rest time, but I simply wanted to say how impressive you are, and—”

You raise your hand, gesturing him to stop. He does so, a little bit ashamed.

”What is your name?” You ask him instead.

”I... My name is Azul Ashengrotto,” he pauses, glancing at the floor, probably, assuming you will scold him.

”Oh,” you blink in late realisation. ”I know your father. He is the lawyer, too, isn't he?”

He nods, and you finally realise where he got this persistence from.

”Well, Azul...” You shuffle in your pocket, finding one of many visit cards you carry with you, handing it to him. ”You are truly quite smart kid. And if you will still be sure in becoming a lawyer later, after your school ends, you can always contact me. I think, I could become your mentor.”

He stares at your visit cards so shocked, that you wonder if he is okay. Nevertheless, as he is speechless, you are quickly attempting to leave the corridor, before he starts asking more.

”T... Thank you very much! I will.” You hear him saying, when you are already at doors.

It is a shame you miss his screeching sounds of happiness as you left, though. People will kill to see Azul Ashengrotto acting like this.

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Another predictable answer. You are his favourite dancer;

— You dance in some different styles at the same time, and he honestly adores the way you switch so easily between them;

— ...He is crying from the pure excitement, once you try east style of dances, and Jamil listens him sobbing for an hour, while he spams your Magicam with millions of complements;

— Of course, Kalim shoves a sack of money in Crowley's face, so he could invite you on some ball in the school to perform, lmao.

•

”I am honestly flattered,” you admit shyly, while Kalim kisses your hands adoringly. ”And surprised! We, dancers, rarely appreciated as much as actors or singers... But, uh, thank you very much!”

Kalim jumps on his feet, smiling even wider with each word. Not only you danced gracefully, but also spoke this way! He is so amazed by you!

”No, no, thank you! You can't explain how much joy you bring in my life!” He practically screams, making others to glance in your direction suspiciously. ”I actually wanted to show my gratitude! So, maybe you want to have dinner with me and Jamil! Jamil's cooking is just amazing! You will love it!”

You raise your brows in surprise, but laugh quietly. This boy is very, very funny.

”Oh, that sounds nice, but... I have a special diet, so I assume I cannot...”

Before your finish your sentence, a lean and dark figure of the boy around Kalim's age appears behind you. With a slight nudge to your shoulders, he whispers, almost pleadingly.

”Please, agree to this offer. He is literally will cry for hours if you don't.”

Ah, that is supposedly Jamil...

You return your gaze on Kalim, who is watching you with big, watery eyes. You really can't say no...

”I assume... If only for an hour or, so...”

"Yay!”

Idia Shroud. 💙

— You are his favourite cosplayer, because of course you are;

— A love from the first sight, some can call it. But he is obsessed with each character you do! You nail it!

— He is not social enough to actually write comments on your photos, or even appear on the same Cons as you, so instead, he keeps his love anonymous;

— And by that I mean sending you a lot of donations, and buying all your Wishlist for new cosplays, lmao.

•

You stare at the big amount of money that came to your account this morning. The sender stays the same throughout this year; an anonymous fan named as a Hounddog666. No matter how concerning it is, you are actually flattered. Someone really loves you this much!

So, as usual, you message to him to thank for it.

His account—the only one you has—is private and closed, no photos, no names, no followers. You assume it is fake.

You:

Hello, hello! :) I just received your new gift, and I wanted to say how much I am grateful for your support. I wish I could do something for you as well, though.

Answers comes immediately.

Hounddog666:

Greetings. Please, continue to make all of us happy with your art. It means a lot for me. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. How sweet.

You:

Thanks, really. Maybe we should meet sometime, if you are such a fan of mine, haha.

Perhaps, it is slightly stupid and naive decision. This person could be a possible stalker or maniac, but... Well, you couldn't help but be curious of how exactly looks a person that adores you like this.

Hounddog666:

Perhaps.

You hum as he vanishes from online.

At the meantime, Idia Shroud falls from his chair after recieving your message, making other students in the History of Magic class glare at him with disapproval. But what would they know? He is just became closer to his idol!

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Surprisingly... You are his favourite writer;

— The connection between actors and writers is always a strong one. Writers and books are a constant tools for actors that help them understand characters and their inner thoughts;

— Vil isn't an expectation! He loves your books for many years, and his only dream was to play some of your characters;

— That is why he immediately suggested his candidature on the main lead in the film adaptation of your book that was announced recently.

•

Vil huffs, staring at his reflection absent-mindedly. A closed scenario in front of him ache his eyes, making his chest to tighten nervously.

This character, whose role he got, is his favourite actually. As a teenager, he found this boy with a complicated writing, a very relatable one. And he thought, it would be easy to play him as they share the same issues and pain. Bur instead, he finds himself... Feeling worse as he does so.

Each conversation with your about this character makes him feel nauseous. It is as if he is playing himself! And for some reason that he can't understand, it is not pleasant at all!

”Here you are,” he hears your warm voice, and before he realises you are close, you already put a cup of green tea in front of him. ”Are you okay, Vil?”

He nods thankfully, accepting the drink.

He should be happy now. He met his favourite person in the world, he has a possibility to speak with you so casually. Then why, he feels so shattered?

”I am,” Vil answers. ”It is just... A hard role.”

You nod, and he catch the glimpse of understanding in your eyes.

”Trust me, I know. Writing him wasn't easy, too. Do you know why?” He shakes his head. "Because I put a lot of myself in him. And it felt... Awful. As if I was peeling my own skin from myself, layer by layer, until I was left naked in front of thousands... No, millions people. It is never easy to be sincere, I am afraid.”

Vil blinkes.

This! This is why he loves your books. It is the way how beautiful you yield your thoughts, putting them in gentle, yet piercing, words. It is about you understanding him, despite never knowing before.

He finds himself smiling widely.

”This makes me even more glad that I am playing him,” he says, more collected than before.

You laugh, patting his shoulder slightly.

”I feel the same way about you playing him, Vil. Believe me or not, you look and act exactly as I pictured him to be.”

He gasps happily.

You are satisfied with him. That's absolutely beautiful!

”I will try not to disappoint, then.”

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— You are his favourite artist whose works were introduced him by Lilia;

— He fell in love with your drawings first, but as soon as he realised that you not only draw, but also make sculptures, he fell in love even more;

— Buys and adores everything you do, but especially likes it, when you give interviews, explaining all little details and historical context behind your works. You are smart. He likes it about others;

— No surprise he commissions a gargoyle statue from you, eventually.

•

”You speak so beautiful, young prince,” you murmur, astonished by the fae in front of you. ”I... I can't explain how charmingly inspiring your stories are!”

Malleus feels unexplainable amount of joy, when he sees you pacing from one side room to another, inspired by his words. His stories.

No one ever shared his interest in gargoyles, and this kind of reaction feels... Strangely rewarding.

”It is only small part of what I have to say about gargoyles,” he assures you quietly. ”But I am glad that you find it as curious as I do.”

”Curious?” You echo his words, stopping in front of him. ”That is not curious, young prince, that is ethereal. Ephemeral. It feels like chasing a dream.”

He smiles at your excitement, baring his fangs out. He feels the same way about it. For once, Malleus's assumptions were right; you are exactly who he searched for all these years.

”Young prince,” you take his hands in yours, making his breath hitch, ”please, if you enjoy my result on your commission later, I am begging you to work with me on my next project about gargoyles. I feel like it will be my magnus opium. I—”

You continue to chatter actively, voice becoming higher with each sentence, but Malleus only can stare at you and at your linked arms. The tip of his ears are reddening. Is it even real?

Not only he will have new works from you, but also... He will be able to spend time with you?

Does you expect him to refuse?

”It will be a pleasure of mine,” he tells you, with a genuine adore in his eyes.

”My prince,” you squeak,” I already love you. Thank you, thank you!”

And at this point, others can't say for sure, who is whose fan here...

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #leona x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #kalim x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader

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shalotttower · 4 months

Text

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere #hunter x hunter fanfic #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

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pirateprincessblog · 3 months

Text

2 batteries away

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: if he can choose to spend time with someone else rather than you, daryl would do it. not because he hates you. he simply doesn't have any type of connection with you. and you are so young. but when rick demands that you join him on a scavenge hunt, he doesn't have much of a saying into it, and chooses to act unbothered. he also chooses to ignore the way you tease him the whole trip, your hips swaying just a bit more when walking than usual. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daryl dixon x female reader 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: alexandria, pre-negan 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: big age gap, reader is half daryl's age 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, masturbation, breath-play, subtle ddlg, toys, subtle dacryphilia

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am on season ten of twd (my first time watching) and it feels like this man's clothes keep getting tighter and tighter each episode and i am so here for it. also the way his arms magically always glisten in the sun as he subtly flexes when the camera is on him? give me a break I BEG

Also I miss Rick very much 🥺

"i have a special request. if i'm allowed to do that." a playful voice calls behind you.

you turn around, squinting. the sun is high up in the sky, and right in your eyes. you make out carol's short hair, and nod at her as a sign to keep speaking.

"i'm gonna need something i can make cookies or cakes with. hazelnut, chocolate, almonds,... you know. cake stuff." the woman smiles.

"i'm going out for ibuprofen and possibly viagra, not chocolate."

"viagra? for who?"

you chuckle under the cap rosita has given you, and try to subtly glance over at the man loading the car with weapons. he grunts, glaring at you and instantly shutting down the bullying party you wanted to start.

"i don't need no damn viagra." he slams the trunk door shut, and walks past you, intentionally pushing his shoulder into yours.

you fall a step back, holding in a laugh. carol has her hands on her hips, but her laugh isn't hidden. she knows daryl can't say anything to her.

"oh, come on. i know that you like to stay quiet and mysterious, but a little joking in hard times never hurt anybody." the woman defends you, scrunching her eyebrows at daryl.

"it's hurting me." he yells from the car, slamming the door shut.

"how am i supposed to survive this trip with him, ricky?" you complain, shoulders hanging with rising irritation with the situation.

"you survived a walker flooded prison with nothing but an axe before you found us on the other side, and you're telling me you can't survive a grumpy old man for a few hours?"

"thing is, i killed walkers. i cannot kill him. boo-hoo, the precious tracker. i also, when i see a footprint on the floor facing a certain way, know that someone is headed there. wild, right?"

rick pats your head, messing up the cap in the process just to tease you.

"bring me some shirts on the way back, i'm getting sick of these flannels. and get yourself something nice."

one would think that he gave you his credit card to buy him those shirts at the nearby mall. telling you to get yourself something nice, that idiot. the less fun truth is that you are headed towards a landfill two hours away from alexandria, in hopes of finding anything. glenn and morgan haven't had any luck for a few days now, so rick decided to change the route and the team. daryl and you, apparently, make a great one. that pain in the ass of a man.

"i'm leavin'. you stay and talk 'bout me all you wan'. i'm the one actually doin' something for this place."

"stuck up much? see," you open the car door, sitting inside annoyed, "with the viagra, you'd be a much more pleasant person to be around."

"enough with the damn viagra. fuck's the matter with you?"

"god, just start driving and drop me off somewhere in the middle of the road and i'll find my own shit from a different place. rick doesn't need to know."

"no," he simply responds, not sparing you a glance.

rick waves at you with a smile on his face, knowing damn well what he did putting the two of you together for such a long quest. he's so going to hear from you tonight. if you make it out alive while trying to kill daryl.

"so, what are you hoping to find? booze, peanut butter, new clothes? i'm starting to think you stapled those clothes to your body."

he says nothing, eyes focused on the road. you sigh. maybe you're the problem. you're poking him too much, knowing he has zero patience and doesn't very much like your company. you decide to keep quiet for the rest of the drive, only occasionally glancing over at him out of boredom.

you can't lie, he is an attractive man. you don't know why you're mean to him. he is gorgeous to you, your taste in older rugged men not failing you. you're surprised rick isn't the one you fell for. but next to daryl, he looks too... neat. daryl is just perfect. most of the time his deep raspy voice has you subconsciously rubbing and squeezing your thighs, led by a tingling sensation in your lower stomach. his clothes have recently gotten very tight on him, the buttons of his black shirt threatening to pop and give you a view of your lifetime. he has been working out a lot, you've seen him. fuck, not only have you seen him, you also stayed there, secretly snapping pictures with your polaroid your father had left you before disaster struck. you only had a few films left, yet no self control. something about seeing daryl all sweaty as he did push ups, grunting and almost moaning, thinking that nobody can see him, did things to you.

"wha'?" he asks, sensing your intense gaze.

you turn your head away, flushed. "nothin'."

"mmh."

he keeps it short and stern, and if your panties weren't drenched as your brain replayed the memory of his glistening arm muscles, you'd probably make a sassy remark. he raises an eyebrow, probably also wondering why you aren't being mean for so long now.

"shoes." he says after some time.

"what?" you ask, absent-mindedly staring into the tall trees and the walkers hidden among them.

"i'm hoping to find some shoes. it's gettin' hard to walk in these. i also hope i find sum more arrows."

you nod, surprised that he has actually graced you with an answer. you thought he'd say something like cigarettes or alcohol. you hated people who smoke. but daryl is an exception. he looks damn hot doing it.

"you?" he asks.

"well, new underwear would be nice. i ripped all my good panties, and let me tell you, these thongs are not apocalypse friendly."

"shit, girl, oversharing much?"

"what, you disgusted by female underwear?" you poke back, playfully.

"not female underwear. your underwear."

you're offended. you squint at him, and have to fight the urge to smack the back of his head.

"for your information, you don't look or smell all flowery and fresh yourself. i could use your hair to grease up carol's tray for her cakes. and your fingernails? they have their own ecosystem at this point."

and back to the bickering it is. he grunts again, furrowing his eyebrows. he secretly glances at his fingernails. indeed, they had a layer of dirt under them, but daryl thinks that he has bigger issues than some dirt that will get washed off anyway.

"oh, i also wish to find-"

"yeah, lost interest." the man interrupts. "also, for future conversations, you do not mention your... thongs... to people that are ol' enough to be your father."

ew.

he did not.

"what, is that how you see me? you could be my father?"

how utterly disappointing. there you were, sitting next to him, imagining him going feral between your legs, all while he is viewing you as his child. there goes your masturbating material for tonight.

"well the age fits the description."

"fuck you. seriously." you sigh, turning your body towards the window so you can fully ignore him.

arriving at the gates, you immediately notice a few things that you will be taking home. how foolish of you to not take a truck instead of the crusty old car.

"watch it." just as he says it, an arrow passes by your head, followed with a loud thud.

you don't have to look back to know that a walker had managed to sneak behind you, while you were foolish enough to stay swooning over his arms glistening in the sun with sweat.

"damn it, girl, i don' know what it is with you, but you gotta snap outta it. i can't keep saving ya ass."

"yes, dad." you reply, annoyed.

"hey." he calls, hand reaching to cup your jaw and turn your head towards him. "shut it before i make ya."

if it weren't for the feeling of his rough hand on your face and his raspy voice sending you a warning turning you on, you would've slapped him and told him not to touch you. but oh, you were going crazy inside. you found a new way to push his buttons, and you're going to have so much fun with it.

you walk behind him into the landfill, the smell of junk pinching your nose. daryl is also bothered by it, seeing his scrunched expression as he scanned the first piles of garbage.

"there." he points his crossbow a certain way.

you follow the invisible line, your eyes landing on what seemed to be several taped boxes. they could have three things inside: food, weapons, or traps. weird how nobody has discovered this place yet. or maybe they have, and they took all valuables already.

daryl doesn't wait for you. he makes his way towards the boxes, keeping his crossbow ready if something goes wrong. you, on the other hand, have tucked your knife safely and are walking around like there isn't walkers scratching at the fence, waiting to sink their teeth into your skull.

"dammit."

you hear rattling. you turn around, only to find the man kicking the boxes angrily. the can he has just thrown on the floor rolls up to your feet, and you crouch down to examine it. it is food, but expired. eating it would be like playing russian roulette.

"i mean, we can still... ya'know, take it with us. what happens happens."

"dixon, if i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die from a bullet or a bite. not from a rotten macaroni."

he raises an eyebrow at you, amused with your laid back attitude. he doesn't give you much attention, just silently walks next to you while scanning his side of the landfill.

"ah, sweet!" you cheer, running towards a pile.

"wha'?"

you almost trip over the broken wooden chairs, trying to get to a certain little box in the pile.

"the hell are ya doin'? we're losin' time!"

your eyes instinctively roll at his voice. you know he has nothing smart to say. finally reaching the box, you jump back on the floor, eagerly opening it. seeing that the item still has the foil sealed on it, you victoriously raise it in the air, cheering.

"you have made it a goal for yourself to die today, didn't ya?"

"nah, not anymore. i found something that will keep me occupied and will fuel my will to live a little longer."

you continue your way forward, leaving daryl to stare at the box you have discarded, trying to figure out what it is. but he has decided he has no time for your immaturity. he needs to ask rick to not ever put him with you on a hunt again. he's lost a lot of time already, and hasn't found a single thing to bring back.

"clothes." you point, the pile of fabric sitting on top of a garbage hill.

"you gonna go get 'em?"

"why would i go? you go."

"you wanted your... thongs... so, you go get that."

you scoff, setting the newly acquired item on the ground and slowly climbing up the hill.

"what is this, anyway?" his curiosity wins.

you sit on top of the pile, examining the clothes and discarding the ones with holes in them.your eyes dart to the man below you, and you chuckle when you see him crouch and take the item in his hand.

"it's a wand."

"wand?"

"yes."

"for?" he keeps pressing, his eyes never leaving the pink gadget.

"masturbating."

thud.

you look down, mortified. he better not break it.

"careful with that, what's the matter with you?!"

"you're fuckin' crazy, girl."

you silently mock him, sticking your tongue out at him and repeating his words with exaggerated face expressions. he really gets on your nerves. you gather the clothes you have found into a bed sheet, tying it up and putting it over your shoulder, then pick up the gadget from the floor. it seems alive, it didn't break. you only hope it works. you're young, inexperienced, surrounded by people that are either too young or too old for you. though, the old part never was a problem for you, it was for them.

feeling bored, you decide to keep poking him. he is just so grumpy, and silent. and inviting to irritate.

"so, dixon, you've never heard about one of these?" you wave the gadget in front of his face.

he spares you a glare, and continues walking.

"come on, we're talking. nobody's around. tell me, since all of this started, how many times have you even approached a girl? do you even mastu-"

"'m not in the mood to be picked on right now."

"i'm not picking on you. i promise. just trying to converse."

"you want to be useful? hold this. it's in my way." he throws his vest at you, now only wearing a tight black t-shirt.

you scowl at him, shoving his vest into your backpack.

"you're so fun to be around. i get why rick put us together."

he grunts, leaving you behind. rolling your eyes, you go down a different path, hoping to find something useful to all of alexandria and not just you. turning a few lefts, you find yourself standing in front of a little shed like structure. you bang on the door with your foot, and when hearing no growls, you bravely enter. it is dusty and dark, with a singular armchair and a few cupboards.

you open each one of them, happily shoving all the food you managed to find into your backpack, opening a protein bar along the way and chewing on the oats and dried fruits. you missed having those with yogurt for breakfast.

not only will carol be happy with the amount of nuts and flour you have found, rick will be proud of you. you might even ask for a reward when he sees the amount of canned tuna and jam you have found. you forgot what pancakes taste like.

after clearing the room, you peek out the window. daryl is in the distance, going through piles and kicking stuff out of his way, as if playing. you've collected way more than him, and the sun is at it's highest point. the shaded room seems like a perfect place to take a nap, or just rest your feet and ears from him.

you plop on the armchair like a star washed up on the shore. it feels so lonely lately. rick has michonne, carl has enid, rosita has her boytoys, even gabriel might be having more fun than you. as wrong as it was, you stay up listening to the noises coming across the street. they're loud, there's no way you could ignore them even if you wanted to. even rick had to step in and ask them to be quieter. but what is a problem to someone else is a solution for you. is it wrong to touch yourself while listening to someone else fucking? yes. but is it the only way that works for you? also yes.

you eye up the toy that peeks from the backpack, then glance out the window. daryl is busy with his crossbow, having found something that he could use on it.

fuck it.

you unbuckle your pants, not bothering to take off the panties. your fingers are quick to pop the batteries that come with the package in the gadget, and when the lid clicks, you admire it for a second. there it is, in all its glory. waiting to be abused every day by you, until you find a replacement. hopefully a softer and live one.

taking off the thin protective foil from the head, you position yourself on the armchair. you glance at the window again, carefully monitoring daryl. now, if you thought that eavesdropping and touching yourself was bad, what was this? watching daryl's fingers work on his crossbow, arms glistening in the sun, all while the pink toy softly vibrates on your pulsating clit.

you sigh at the newfound pleasure, rubbing the toy up and down your slit, while your eyes stay focused on the man unaware of your situation. he probably even forgot about you. or is thankful that you have left him alone. even better for you. you get to be a pervert without him ever knowing.

you arch your back, throwing your head on the backrest as you focus on chasing the release. it's been awhile, it won't take you long. your eyes open again, just enough to see if the man is still in his spot. your fingers change the vibration strength on the gadget, and instantly, you gasp. it is so intense, and so much, but you don't want it to stop. this thing is your new best friend, you better get used to it.

something else peeks out of the backpack, the leather catching your attention and giving you an idea. like an animal in heat, you grab the vest, burying your nose into it and spreading your legs further. daryl's scent takes over your senses, making you lose control and become a moaning mess. you are getting wetter by the second, the toy now slipping up and down your slit with ease and giving you maximum pleasure.

"fuck- daryl-" you can't help but gasp, enveloped in his manly scent and fabric.

your hips hopelessly rub against the toy, chasing and chasing after something that isn't quite getting closer, even though it feels like it.

"the hell?"

your eyes widen at the interruption. you drop the vest in your lap, hiding the crime scene from him. the man stands at the door, expression unreadable. yours is one of horrified mixed with desire, the way he stares down at you angrily sending arrows to your core.

"daryl- i- did you, uh, find anything?" you try to play it off, foolishly.

"yeah. i found an animal in heat it seems. couldn't wait for alexandria to do that shit?"

"I-"

"is that my vest?"

he slams the door shut, leaving you two in darkness. you gulp, moving the gadget from your core and letting your panties fall back in place.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry-" you stutter, failing to put a sentence together while he intensely glares at you.

"ya ain't sorry." he grunts. "ya know why i despise being around your ass? you're inappropriate."

"no, look," you try, but he points a finger at your face, making you close your mouth.

your eyes burn, tears announcing their arrival.

"it's not like that-"

"shut up, dammit! i'm talkin' now! do you have any idea in how many uncomfortable situations you've put me? all those snarky dirty comments, all that flirting, now this? do you understand what that does to me?!"

he's yelling, frustrated and angry with you. but why are you getting wetter? why can't you think rationally? he is scolding you for being inappropriate, and you continue to be even more inappropriate by sexualising simple yelling. not your fault he looks damn hot while he does it, though.

"you're- you're half my age. i can't allow myself to play your games, no matter how tempting."

what?

"what will alexandria think? they already have no good opinion on me. engaging with someone half my age the way you want me to engage is- it is a horrible idea. i'll be out faster than i was in."

silence swallows the room. you still lay on the armchair, half naked with his vest covering you. he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts. you think whether it's time to finally say something, but you wait another moment. you need to gather your thoughts too.

tempting, he said. so he thought about it too. he saw past your jokes, and has been controlling himself so well. if only you knew what it would take to shatter that control, even for just a moment.

"since when do you care what other people think?" you start.

"since rick chose to trust me."

you hum, understanding.

"listen-"

"so you've been thinking about it." you're the one to interrupt now.

his head snaps up, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, as if asking you where you're going with that statement.

"there's nothing wrong with it. it's not like we're getting married or something."

"i'm older than you. way older than you."

"so?"

"i could be your father."

"if you say that word to me one more time i swear i will turn this landfill upside down to find another sex toy to shove up your asshole."

"why do you get so triggered by it?"

you roll your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. you press your thighs together, missing the warmth and buzzing from earlier. fun killer.

"because."

"why?"

"doesn't matter."

"tell me," he presses further.

you finally look at him, frustrated. "because i have fucking daddy issues and the thought of you being so much older than me turns me on. there."

you get up from the armchair, putting his vest on so that you can cover yourself. it almost reaches your knees, hiding your body from his gaze. he says nothing, and does nothing for a few moments. you have your back turned to him, hands resting on the counter of the half chipped kitchen cabinet. your head hangs low with embarrassment from the confession that just left your mouth.

tears stream down your cheeks, luckily hidden by your hair. but daryl doesn't miss the little sniff that comes your way. he sighs, then paces around the place a little more. when you don't hear him anymore, and finally face the fact that nothing will be the same with him anymore, you dare turn around. you almost gasp when you come face to face with him, his chest pressing against yours.

"wha- what are you-"

"shh..." he hushes you, eyes roaming your face.

you aren't sure what to do, or what he wants to do. if he tries to comfort you by giving you a hug, you will break down. and you will never face him again. you thought it was only sexual, but the way he looks at you and hushes you as you cry is awakening new emotions inside of you. ones that you will push down for now, because it is not the time.

"daryl, i'm sorry." you hiccup, genuinely feeling sorry for ruining whatever you had with him.

you feel his hands on the back of your thighs, and before you can react, he picks you up and places you on the counter. you instinctively spread your legs, letting him in closer.

"don't be. or else i might regret this."

you look at him doe eyed as he places his hand on your neck, gently holding you just beneath your jaw and softly pressing into the sides of it. he brings his head close to you, eyes half closed as he stares at your lips.

"daryl." you whisper, not sure of this anymore.

"just hush."

and with that, he presses his lips into yours, softly moving them with rhythm only known to the two of you. his other hand caresses your thigh, then creeps to your bottom and pulls you to the edge of the counter, enough to have your crotch press against his.

you can taste your tears while you kiss him, and he probably can too. he doesn't say anything, hell, you even feel him twitch between your legs. you grind on him, unable to control yourself. it is different than the wand. it's warm, and it responds back. it's better.

"hey," you call, slowly pulling away. "i don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me or something like that. are you doing it because of that?"

"nah."

before you can continue bombarding him with questions and overthinking, he places his lips back on yours, this time a little rougher than before. you open your mouth, tongue eager to taste him properly. and fuck, he tastes good. you hated cigarettes and alcohol, but from his mouth, you adore it. you finally give in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. finally.

it doesn't take long for him to have you whining and grinding on him, wanting more than just kissing and thigh grabbing and occasional choking. you beg into his mouth, quietly at first, but with each kiss he gives you, you become louder and more demanding.

"touch me, please, please, please," you're desperate.

he smiles, for the first time in a while, and snakes his hands under your top. you hurriedly take off the vest and the top, to make it easier for him, but he pulls his vest back on your body. you are now wearing nothing but panties and the leather vest, making daryl incredibly impatient.

"ya just needed some attention, didn't ya?" he kisses your neck, his hand cupping your breast and thumb playing with the hard nub. "some sense fucked into ya to shut that mouth."

for someone that almost never talks, he is quite the talker now. and you can't complain, when his words have you clenching around nothing down there.

"needed someone older to take care of ya."

you moan at his words, spreading your legs further and raising your hips into his crotch. his hand reaches down to your panties, landing a light slap on your clothed clit as a warning. there's growling outside of the shed, but not enough to make you care. you'll get what you want, and no amount of walkers will stop you, even if it'll be your last.

daryl moves your panties aside, pulling away from you to see you. he hums, thumb coming to contact with your clit and circling it a few times. you shake under his touch, throwing your head back. it isn't something you haven't done before, but the touch is foreign, and different. his fingers are rough and big, an opposite of the soft flesh of your clit. he rubs your slit up and down, enough to smear your arousal so he can touch you better.

"fuck..." you trail, grabbing the edges of the counter and digging your nails into the hard surface.

"didn't find a boy your age to open you up?"

you shake your head. he hums again, fingers now circling your tight entrance.

"that's a shame, then. i'm gonna have to take my time with you."

"what? why?" you ask, disappointed.

"i'd split you in half, little one."

every word in that sentence sent arrows to your core. fuck, just how big is he?

"then, what are we doing?"

he turns around, leaving you yearning for his touch while he grabs your discarded toy from the armchair.

"you share toys?"

"sometimes."

"good."

he pulls himself out from his pants, and you are left with your jaw dropped. it fuels his confidence, the way you're staring at him as he rubs himself up and down. he isn't big. he's huge.

"daryl, how will that fit in me?" you ask, actually concerned.

"it'll take a little time. i'll train ya, and you'll take it like a good girl, the way i teach ya. but ya have to start listening to me and stop pissing me off."

nodding eagerly, you push your hips towards his hands, searching for his touch again.

he turns the gadget on, pressing it against your clit. you moan out loud, grinding on the buzzing toy and sliding with ease. you hear him grunt, and even a quiet moan. your eyes drop to the situation between your legs, and when you see him pressing his cock to the gadget, you swear you could squirt all over him. he rocks his hips with yours, pushing you up against the wall and grunting in your mouth, just like you moan into his. he doesn't break eye contact with you, instead getting off on it.

"i'm gonna cum, daryl." you whine, hands reaching into his hair to pull.

"give me a second."

you'd give him two if he wanted. you try your hardest to focus on not yet cumming, but the way he sweats and grunts for you doesn't make it easy.

"daryl-" you warn, moans becoming high pitched and inviting the walkers around the shed.

he sticks two fingers in your mouth, keeping you silent and helping himself get closer. you only needed to swirl your tongue around him a few time and take him all the way to his knuckles to have him moaning and cumming all over your stomach, rubbing the toy up and down in a sloppy pace.

you follow, pleasure washing over your body along with a thin layer of sweat, the sight of his seed on you making it more intense. you are dehydrated, hot and filthy. and you love it, because he is the same. you'd be like that every day, if it meant getting him the way you just had him.

"you didn't have to..." you say as he helps you dress up, wiping his seed from you with his bandana and discarding it.

"i wanted to. before, today, too."

"you sure?"

"yes."

you nod. he sees that you are not convinced, and he sighs. he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i rarely regret my actions. trust me."

"yeah, well, i hope i'll get more of these actions you speak of."

he chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you know, for someone who just came all over me, it's weird to see you so sentimental and comforting."

you don't even finish the sentence, he already playfully throws the bandana at you, rushing outside to hide his smile and to hide from your attempt at attacking.

"oh, you- you- you asshole!"

"right back at ya."

***

yippie! my first twd oneshot, idk how to feel about it lol. had this in the drafts for a while now. feel free to send feedback, doesn’t matter if it is good or bad 🩷

#twd #twd imagine #twd smut #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl x y/n #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead smut

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spdrslayr · 10 months

Text

001. atsv headcanons ! ★ jonathon ohnn & miguel o’hara both falling for the reader…

⁀➷ srcs... masterlist . rules . intro .

| synopsis, ୨♡୧ for the sake of this scenario, miguel and johnathon are working for alchemax in the same universe at the same time. miguel is a geneticist and johnathon is a physicist. you, my dear reader, are the cute receptionist!🥺

★ tags -> gender neutral reader; au; miguel o'hara; spider-man 2099; johnathon ohnn; the spot; love triangle; jealousy; fluff; etc...

★ warnings -> jealousy, slightly implied age gap, cursing

★ w.c -> 1,028

| xox, mei! ୨♡୧ -> woo my first post yay!! anyways requests are open for johnathon ohnn, miguel o'hara, and hobie brown if y'all are interested <3 my masterlist n rules are still a wip so stay tuned for that!

both men love their work but it still stresses the hell out of them. they’d enter and leave work exhausted. but then you started working at alchemax. you - with your bright smile and glittering eyes. most of the scientists and associates were drawn to you, but miguel and johnathon were on a whole nother level.

johnathon definitely fell first. it was daunting when someone he found attractive was being so sweet to him. jonathon’s usually too stuck in his own little world to care about such frivolities, so you were something special.

★ he’s been late so many times because he’d chat with you for too long at your desk. at first he stumbled on his words with you, struggling to maintain eye contact while simultaneously trying not to stare too hard. now you’re one of the few people he feels comforting rambling to, because he knows you’re listening ★ johnathon loves it when you’d call him “doctor,” despite him insisting on his first name. sensing that air of respect from you makes him feel good about himself. ★ he takes great pride in making you laugh and smile with every chance he gets. this physicist has a vast arsenal of cheesy jokes, bad puns, and cute pick-up lines. ★ he visits you throughout the day whenever he can, and tries to muster up the courage to have lunch with you. you’re young and gorgeous and out of his league but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. and then miguel o'hara came back from his business trip.

miguel didn’t care for the last receptionist. she was rude and lazy and got his name wrong. so it was a pleasant surprise when he was greeted by you instead.

★ at first, your peppiness was too much for him, especially in the morning. he’d brush off your attempts at conversation and only mumble back to you when needed. such is the way of the resident grump at alchemax. but eventually, you wormed your way into his heart by remembering how he likes his coffee and staying up to help him on late nights in the lab. ★ miguel had to admit, you were a joy to have around. …and very very nice to look at. miguel's had a few serious relationships in the past, but they never ended well. since then he’s only indulged in one-night stands and temporary hook-ups. but he refused to look at you so fleetingly. ★ miguel started bringing you expensive bouquets of flowers for your desk, along with sweet little notes. he’s obsessed with the scent of your vanilla perfume. he wants to be your hero, there to open every door, pull out every chair, and drive away any creep. for him, creeps include johnathon.

johnathon wasn’t concerned when he’d see other scientists and workers flirt with you. he wholeheartedly believed you two had a special connection that couldn’t be replicated. but seeing miguel turn you into a blushing stuttering mess proved him wrong. there was competition closer than he thought, and if he didn’t act quickly, he’d lose you for good.

★ johnathon felt deeply insecure in comparison to miguel. dr. o’hara’s movie star face & dreamy hair made him feel like crap. ★ miguel clearly had way more experience in dating, always flirting with you so smoothly. johnathon on the other hand, is pretty sure he’s stuck in the friendzone with you. so he decided to experiment with bolder methods of winning your heart. ★ jonathon’s been more direct, showering you with compliments and buying you lunch whenever he could. he made it abundantly clear that he was single and that he liked you very much. you were his favorite person at alchemax, and for good reason.

miguel honestly thinks johnathon’s annoying as fuck. once john accidentally spilled hot coffee onto miguel on a very bad day, and he’s been bitter ever since. in the past johnathon would be friendly, but miguel would brush him off. who the hell is this lanky ass nerd and why is he hovering over him in HIS lab?

★ now he’s wondering why the geek is messing with his love now. it pisses him off, not just because johnathon knows he feels the same about you, but how john makes you happier than he’s ever seen you be. miguel’s flirty, and funny in his own, stubborn way, but he lacked johnathon’s endearing dorky nature that had you hooked. ★ miguel is soooo grumpy lmao ★ really johnny is such a silly sweet guy while miguel, mr. give everything 1000% over here is fighting for his life. it took miguel a whole ass week to come up with a joke as good as johnathon’s that made you laugh your ass off. my guy is trying waaay too hard.

at first, miguel confronts johnathon kindly. he’s sympathetic and straight to the point - they both hold the same intentions towards you, but only one of them can win. he can tell that johnathon’s a good guy, with a big heart, so he’d understand… right?

★ “i’m in love with them, dr. ohnn. this isn’t just a silly crush. so either help me, or please refrain from getting in my way.” ★ “no, i’m good.” ★ “...you’re WHAT?”

war!!!!! miguel is a bitch to johnathon. dr. octavius has to give johnathon advice on how to win you over and how to fend off miguel. he’s gotten a lot better at brushing off miguel’s judgemental comments and acting unbothered by them.

although it’s not like johnathon isn’t cunty either. when he makes you laugh sometimes it’s because he’s making fun of miguel behind his back. he has a killer miguel impression that puts the original to shame.

★ “ugh, my shoulders are too broad and muscular. it’s so hard being so fit.” ★ “johnny!! he’s coming this way!” ★ “i work out every single part of my body at the gym. i do forehead pushups to keep my hairline in check.” ★ “JOHNNY-”

as long as a certain collider project goes swimmingly, and a radioactive spider stays in it’s fucking lane, you’ll end up with one of them.

…unless…? ;)

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv miguel #johnathon ohnn #jonathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn #the spot #johnathon ohnn x reader #jonathan ohnn x reader #the spot x reader #atsv the spot #atsv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader

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har-rison-s · 5 months

Text

counting on it | coryo snow x fem!reader

a/n: hello all... this is supposed to be a part 2 for fear or endearment, but i feel like rewriting that one so idk, this could as well be a stand-alone writing / one-shot with a possible continuation? idk though. happy reading <3

this is techincally part 2 of this little drabble

next chapter coryo masterlist

main masterlist

word count: 4k

themes: fluff

warnings: mention of bombs, idrk what else??

gif credit goes to owner <3

the phone in her room never rang, which meant only one thing – it wasn’t the usual mysery business calling. each time the house phone rang, however, it was like a heart attack for her. any incoming calls to her home were only to her parents to tell them about her making trouble at the Academy again, and again. so it was never a pleasant phone call.

but she knew it could only be Coryo calling now, so she picked up the phone with a lovey-dovey smile on her lips already. “yes?” she asked into the round microphone end of the device, squeezing it between her rosy cheek and her shoulder.

“good evening,” coryo’s shaky voice said into the speaker, and it was so uptight that she giggled, “is this you or not?”

“i-it’s me, yes,” she confirmed with another giggle. he’s nervous around her still, and miserably so, and it’s coming out in the form of a very formal greeting, “but is this really you, coryo?”

“of course it’s me,” he said, now so sure of himself he was bleeding with it, “were you expecting someone else to call?”

“well, there’s the routine call from the Academy about me misbehaving that comes once or twice a week,” she answered, “no one other than that. why are you calling? i usually call you.”

she could hear him make a smile into his microphone, and she blushed at the thought of it, and his quiet chuckle that she heard, too. “i was thinking of you,” he admitted, and she raised her eyebrows. coryo being nervous one minute but then blunt the next really does a number on her. she wouldn’t believe he was such a nervous wreck around her by his looks, or by her own. he must be really... “if you’re free and not sleeping, i wanted to show you around grandma’am’s—well, our family’s—garden upstairs. o-only if you want to, of course, and if you’re free.”

she smiled again and shook her head. this cold boy was warming his way into her heart quicker than he was before. before they’d crossed that sacred line with the kiss in his empty kitchen. “yes, i’m free and not sleeping, and i would love to,” she said, “didn’t know you had an upstairs garden. i’ll be over in less than twenty minutes. do you need anything from my cooks?”

she always looks out for him, doesn’t she? he hadn’t even thought of that aspect of their relationship. he’s only in total emotional turmoil and was missing her terribly. the bombing at the arena and then being in hospital, out for who knows how many days, robbed him of seeing her every day, like he usually would, which he’d grown used to. she would have visited him in the hospital, but apparently she was not permitted to – she guesses because of her trouble-making at school. her presence and the frequentness of it brought him comfort. he couldn’t think of anyone else at this time, not even Tigris could console or comfort him. not like y/n could.

she got barely a good enough answer from Coryo, but packed a bag of sandwiches and pie nonetheless before departing in her driver’s car for Coryo’s apartment in the Corso. she knew he didn’t like charity, and wouldn’t be asking for food from her if it wasn’t absolutely the end of days. he also didn’t let anyone else from school but her see where he lived – and even about her, taking her upbringing and current wealth, he had doubts. with her unpredictable nature, he could never predict her reaction to seeing his home. and not knowing whether she’d run and belittle him at school or stay and still like him regardless was frustrating. because he could never have any control over her reactions, and that scared him.

but she didn’t run away, nor belittle him, nor think less of him. a home is a home, and she knew how hard anything was to come by for the Snows. because her and Coryo had become friends over all their time spent together at school, even despite the vast difference in their personalities, they had this undoubtable connection, she had grown to care about him. therefore it was her idea, of course, to bring him any food she could from her mansion of a home where food was always excess. truth be told, Coryo had thought of the possibility of asking her, but he would never have let down his pride or let her see his vulnerable side. perhaps, until now.

she was panting and heaving when she finally reached the floor of the Snows’ penthouse in the apartment building, which isn’t the ideal state to meet the boy of your fancies in, but seeing his welcoming smile made her feel at ease. she hardly came off to people as anything but frazzled, but Coryo has proved that it doesn’t matter to him, so she dares not worry. she smiled back wide, too, and doubles over for a few moments to catch her breath.

Coryo paced over to her and put a hand on her arm, which made her look at him. “hey,” she said in a heavy breath and with a smile still on her lips, “i’m fine, really,” she said with a shake of her head. Coryo nodded and then shrugged.

“how improper of me, i should have gone down to walk you up,” he said, then, and they both chuckled.

“don’t worry your pretty head over it,” she said in response with a carefree throw of a hand, “just a shame the elevator doesn’t work.” Coryo nodded again at her statement, and y/n breathed one last sigh of heavy breath before really looking up at him. there was something different about him. most of all, his piercing blue eyes looked glassy, unlike their usual look- cold, convicted, confident, calm. all the characteristics she could match to Coryo himself. her eyebrows twitched slightly as she reached a hand out to his cheek, and upon touching it found him trembling. now that she looked at him closer, and he let her do that, she noticed his curls messy, out of their usual arrange, and his cheeks not as rosy as always, blueish rings under his eyes. something was troubling him, and she didn’t have to guess twice what.

she kissed his lips quickly, feeling as though he might fall apart or spill his worried words out like a river if she didn’t. Coryo immediately sunk into her through the kiss, arms wrapping around her coat-covered waist so close he nearly started to lift her up and, really, with the mood he’s in, he might as well have. he was so desperate for her, so desperate to feel her close that it made himself nauseaus. he’d sworn off any romantic relations until he and his family had a better place to live, and the breaking of his own promise made him an enemy to himself. what was she doing to him?

but this felt so good with her, so good that he never wanted to let go of her, never wanted there to be a day in which he doesn’t get to see her if only for a few seconds. she was making him feel things he’d never felt before, things he couldn’t understand now. pulling away from her after giving her a searing hot kiss was torture, but he had to give them both air to breathe. “i missed you,” he admitted to her what he’d never admitted to anyone else before. y/n smiled and nodded, their foreheads touching, “i wanted to see you. i had to.”

“i know,” she nodded again, “i’m sorry i didn’t come to the hospital – i couldn’t.” she admitted with a gentle shake of her head, and suddenly she felt strongly overcome by emotion. “they wouldn’t let me in.” her hands rested on his neck, on his chest, she nearly made desparate gestures, as if he wasn’t in her hold or would be taken away any second. she’d missed him, too. Coryo furrowed his brow. they wouldn’t let her in? he looked into her eyes, and she nodded, her eyes sad, too, but not nearly as sad as his own. “my reputation as sort of a rebel and all.”

that word. poison to him. poison to the whole nation. her using it as a joke didn’t come off too strongly with comedy, and he wished she wouldn’t use it at all. “they were fools not to,” Coryo said amidst his inner disagreement, “you should have come with Tigris and Sejanus, they would have let you in then.”

“pretty hard to get hold of them when they don’t really know about us,” y/n pointed out the fact with half a smile on her face, hoping it wouldn’t stir the wrong nerve in the boy. but it didn’t. Coryo always knew the truth, just didn’t always act on it or deem it worth anything. what good was the truth if you could tell lies instead? he nodded at her and closed his eyes, “i only found out you’ve been hospitalised from the news. and the bombing – god, Coryo, that’s just...”

he made a firm shake of his head at her words and pressed a kiss to her cheek before taking her hand and leading her away from the stairwell. she just watched him as he pulled her through his door, knowing Coryo doesn’t like remembering the war days. they both experienced it, both had run-ins with bombs and many other traumatic war characteristics that they’d rather forget. Tigris and grandma’am were both asleep, so there were no worries about accidental run-ins with either of them, while y/n was still unintroduced to both. Coryo wanted to avoid an awkward situation right now as best he could.

Coryo led her to a door by their kitchen, which opened up to a stairwell, rather than a simple cupboard (what would they keep in there, anyway? the Snows had so little belongings to them and so little food to eat that there was hardly any excess anything in the apartment), and, himself going first and y/n following suit with her hand still in his, led them both up those stairs that looked older than his grandmother with no doubt. the breeze of the night welcomed them with sweeping arms as a cloud of red and white surrounded y/n’s vision.

a rooftop garden. the Snows were giving y/n’s family a run for their money with the beauty of this scooped-away little paradise. she gasped as she tried to take it all in, looking all around herself at all the roses – white and red – engulfing her and Coryo. there was scarcely anything else on the rooftop besides the roses, just a pair of old chairs, gardening tools and a watering can in one of the far corners. this was just unbelievable.

her hand covered her mouth as she looked at Coryo in shock and fascination. there was quite nothing like the beauty of so many roses, and the view this rooftop gave of the city. truth be told, the Capitol could look better – torn, burnt buildings, trash littered in the streets, hardly any plants growing anywhere, and it looked especially worse now in the night, scary even – but still, a panoramic view was a panoramic view. she clung to Coryo, arms around his waist as she all but blushed and gushed at the sight around them. “it’s breath-taking, Coryo,” she said finally, and he put an arm around her, smiling softly at her joy. he didn’t know another person’s smile could mean so much to him, and even warm him and make him feel better.

“grandma’am’s pride and joy,” he said to her, overlooking the garden, too, and he walked them both further into it, away from the door – god forbid either of his sleeping family members woke up from their voices in the night.

“i’ve been wondering where you got those roses you like to give me,” and the one for lucy gray, y/n said as she ran her hands over the beautiful, seemingly perfect white petals. no flaws on them, none visible, anyway. just like Coryo himself. she looked back to him, his hair seeming to glow in the dark of the night, and Coryo smiled at her with tightly closed lips, “god, it’s great here. i love this view,” she said and leaned on the edge of the stone balcony, her hands splayed on either side of her, stretching further away from her. Coryo took slow steps to approach her, and finally he dared to come up just behind her, arms wrapping around her waist again. she immediately leaned into him, locking her hands on his on her stomach.

“it’s great for when i want to be alone, catch a break,” he said and sighed softly. her thumb gently grazed across the pearly white skin of his hands and her eyes slowed down in wonder. they usually jump around, never rest, but it’s different when she’s with him. he seems to ground her a little.

“was tonight one of those nights?” she asked quietly and felt him nodding as he made a hum of confirmation. she turned around in his arms and looked up at him, hands on his chest. “i figured as much. you never call me yourself.” she said and made an airy chuckle, though Coryo’s lips barely lifted to make any kind of expression at all. “what is it?” he shook his head and made to kiss her again, dipping his head down, but she moved away. “you have to talk to me.” she said, with a firm hand on his cheek now, in case he attempted for her lips again. “you have no reason to hide from me, come on. and i wouldn’t tell anyone, you know that.” it’s her unavailing ability to always somehow make a half-hearted joke that Coryo likes about her, even though he wouldn’t let himself like that.

but he found himself unable to say no to her. so he turned them around, him being the one who leans against the edge now, both of them holding onto each other still. he looked at her thin coat and the dress she’s wearing underneath, and he traced his hand up her arm just to ease himself. “the bombs were horrible,” he finally said in a quiet voice, “i was scared for Lucy Gray, too. but see, she saved my life.” Coryo said, and y/n could see he hated to admit it. that a district girl could do good. all this propaganda about district people being animals and monsters worked well on them as children, but now, as they’re growing up, they’re seeing some truth for themselves. even if the propaganda is hard to erase from their minds. “i’m in her debt for that. and i’m not sure i could ever repay her.”

“you could help and make her win the games,” y/n suggested, but with nods from Coryo she knows he already thought of that, of course.

“i don’t know if i can do that,” he said in a frail voice, “she said to help her i should start believing she actually could win, but... i don’t think she’s gonna make it,” Coryo admitted, “other tributes are better at fighting and stronger than her, she barely has a chance. which means she’ll probably be one of the first ones to get killed, and then i’ll lose the Plinth prize and the Snow name will go into ruin.” he jumped to conclusions quickly, as she has found that he usually does, and it made her sigh. she pulled him in for an embrace, her arms around his neck, forehead to forehead, her curls tickling her cheek.

“i still can’t believe they let the games go on after the bombing,” she admitted quietly, “but that would be Capitol showing weakness, so of course they wouldn’t stop the games. but look,” she held his trembling face in her hands, trying to make him look at her, “you and Lucy Gray both have charm. as much as i’ve noticed, no one else does. and no one is as bonded to their tribute as you are. her song brought her a lot of donations, and you can work with that. she just has to hide out long enough and...”

“that’s where i stopped, too,” Coryo said and shook his head with a sigh again, “it was doomed from the start. Highbottom has something against me, i know he does. i got the last district, and i couldn’t help her – just as he wanted.”

“i still believe you can prove him wrong,” she argued back, convicted, “but as mentors, you are pretty helpless when the games start. it’s all up to the tributes themselves.”

Coryo looks up at her again, “i bet you would have made a great mentor,” he told her with that charming half-grin on his delicious lips that made her tilt her head at him in disbelief.

“me?” she echoed and Coryo nodded. “please, you’re just saying that to get into my pants. i can’t even make people like me at school, much less make the whole nation like someone from the districts enough to support them in the arena.” she shook her head. “i would be a terrible mentor.”

Coryo shook his head and pulled her closer to him again by her waist, her having taken a step back while talking. he had her attention now, she looked down at him again, with seemingly a question mark in her eyes. “i like you, and i’m from school,” he said as his hands slid up her back, his fingers so long and his palms so big he could cover just half her back with his hands.

“yeah, but i didn’t make you like me. i didn’t even try and here we are,” she said dismissively and meant to pull away again before Coryo kissed her lips again. ah, so that’s what he was trying to say – she didn’t even need to try to get him to like her. there was no effort, there was just her usual self and he liked her for that. it still seemed hard to believe, though. “i like you, too, by the way,” she butted in again before returning a kiss and smiled at Coryo chuckling at her little joke. he spread his legs for her to get even closer, now standing between them and kissing his pink lips with one of her hands splayed on his cheek and the other carefully ghosting over his snow-white curls, not wanting to ruin them.

but Coryo didn’t care, they were all dishevelled before they met up, anyway, and in this moment between them his own visual look didn’t matter that much to him. she was already kissing him, anyway, he’d won her over, so to say. and he was pulling her closer and closer to him with his hands roaming all about her back and her hips as their kisses grew more frequent, more hot, more messy. Coryo felt like his head was spinning, and he knew he was disobeying the doctor’s orders to rest and take everything easy with this. but he couldn’t help it. it was her.

he hoisted a leg of hers over his, surprising her and earning a gasp from her. which gave him the advantage to deepen the kiss with his tongue now poking at her own between their heated kisses, and he actually made her moan. it hummed so deliciously into his mouth and Coryo felt himself shudder because of it, his trousers tightening exponentially around his crotch. she was no longer afraid of ruining his perfect hair, she ran her hand through the soft curls and reached into his half-unbuttoned shirt with her other hand, skimming his perfectly-shaded naked skin with her careful hands. their kisses lost count and air ran out, but they just needed each other so much that they didn’t even notice. Coryo ran his hand across her up-hoisted thigh, even reaching under her dress, which made her hum against his lips again. “ungh, Coryo,” she mumbled into his burning mouth and grabbed onto his neck for support as he edged his hand higher and higher up her dress.

he might have reached near the spot where she had the most heat ignited for him, but her accidentally pressing her hand into a sensitive, wounded area on his back made him yelp out and jerk like he’d just been hit by live electricity. she immediately jumped off him and saw the hurt expression on his wincing face and felt guilty. a hand covered her mouth as the other one carefully reached out to him. Coryo took his shirt off and looked over his shoulder—though he could barely see that way—if any stitches had broken loose, and then exhaled sharply, suddenly sounding exhausted.

“Coryo, i’m so sorry,” she said in a hushed voice, still wary to touch him without his permission. he looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. she could see the pain was fading away by the expression on his face – the wince and cringe were slowly letting go of his facial muscles – but she still felt bad.

“don’t be,” he told her in a hoarse voice, “i didn’t tell you about my injuries. you couldn’t have known,”

“but i still feel bad,” she said and came closer to him again, “i—i could take a look for you. maybe stitch you up, uh...” Coryo shook his head just as she took his hands in hers, and his head hang low again. “i’m sorry, let me fix it.”

he gave her a firm head shake again. “you don’t need to, i’ll go to a medic tomorrow,” he assured her and looked up into her bambi eyes again. she looked so pretty to him suddenly. well, of course, she always looks pretty and beautiful to him, it’s just her emotions right now that made her eyes look bigger and... he couldn’t put it into words.

“i could... stay over, if you don’t want to be alone. we could just talk or sleep, whatever,” she suggested with a naïve smile on her over-kissed lips, though already knowing that it’s probably going to be a “no” from him, knowing that the two of them were a pretty private item. if they were an item at all, of course. and, of course, Coryo shook his head.

“it’s late, you should be home,” he told her and gave a kiss to one of her hands, “besides,” he added, getting close to her again, nose to nose, “i’ll just get carried away with you again and then i’ll bleed all over you,” he said with a slight smile, and she appreciated the notion of a joke from him this time, instead of her. she giggled and her head dipped lower, his words – both dangerous, comedic and enticing – making her blush as if she was as young as twelve or thirteen and a boy had just flirted with her for the first time. Coryo kissed her temple and squeezed her hands. “you’re irresistible to me.”

she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and lust as he said those words, so she believed him. she took a deep breath and made a small smile, that blush ever present in her cheeks. “as you are to me,” she said, “you could stay over sometime, though, at my place. i’d love for you to stay over,” she admitted quietly before she got ready to leave.

Coryo made a sheepish grin at her words and walked her back down the stairs and to the door of his penthouse. he took her close in his arms again for one more time before she had to leave and whispered in her ear, “i can’t promise i’ll be on my best behaviour with no one but you around.” he told her words that made her shiver and she just smiled wide as she stepped away from him.

before slipping out and through his door in the hour of creeping dawn, she said something very characteristic of herself, “i’ll be counting on it.” and with a kiss blown to Coryo, she was out and on her way home.

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vikkirosko · 23 days

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Okay, I have an idea: Alastor, Striker, Blitzo, Sir Pentius and Andrealphus with Reader, who's from Royal Elite, but have quite different personality: kind, peaceful (although not afraid of fighting if it's the only choice), never shows elitism or prejudice towards others, willing to help others. Bonus if Reader very loves various animals.

Headcanons White crow among the elite

📻 Alastor x Reader 🎙

Alastor was familiar with unusual sinners. The aristocracy of Hell had nothing to do with him, just like with other sinners. You were the exception. You and Alastor met by chance. You literally bumped into each other on the street and, as it turned out, you had to go in one direction, so a conversation ensued between you. He quickly realized that you weren't a sinner, and that you were most likely an aristocrat

You turned out to be not what Alastor thought. You reminded him of Charlie in some way, except that you were more realistic than she was. You were a kind, sincere person. You judged people by their actions, not by their ancestry or social status. You knew many aristocrats who had high status, but they were cruel, rude and arrogant. It seemed funny to Alastor that the difference between sinners and aristocrats who were born in Hell was not that big, and your words confirmed it

You often visited a hotel where you and Alastor could talk in peace. He saw how you communicated with others with a kind, sincere smile. You liked being in such a pleasant, warm atmosphere, and Alastor liked the fact that he had the opportunity to communicate with you more often, thanks to the fact that you started coming to help at the hotel

Alastor was interested in learning more about you. You didn't look like him, but that didn't mean he didn't like talking to you. Your friendly nature helped him relax, knowing that you weren't hiding any motives. You were just there for Alastor, even though he thought you were too kind for someone who was born and raised in Hell, but he still felt comfortable and calm around you

🐍Sir Pentious x Reader 🎩

Sir Pentious knew that there were aristocrats in Hell. He did not meet them personally, because those who belonged to the aristocracy of Hell usually did not associate with sinners. When he met you, he was sure that you were just as much a sinner as he was. He liked talking to you and you always listened to his stories about his inventions

He found out that you were an aristocrat when you offered to provide him with a laboratory in your house. When you came to your house, he was really shocked. You told him that you were an aristocrat and you really didn't want to hide it from him, but you liked talking to him so much that you were afraid that he wouldn't want to talk to you anymore. Looking at you, he wouldn't think you were an aristocrat, but not in a bad way

You continued to communicate and sometimes you told him about how you attended various events that you were forced to go to as an aristocrat. According to your stories, he realized that the aristocrats were not the most pleasant to communicate with. You had visitors several times and he heard them talking to you. When he heard that they were rude to you, he wanted to intervene, but you always asked him not to do it, fearing that he might be harmed

When he started living at the hotel, he told you about it and you began to visit him there often. You were always welcome at the hotel, and Sir Pentious was especially pleased. He liked you, even though he hadn't decided to tell you about it yet. But you were both in Hell and you had more than enough time

😈 Blitzø x Reader 🐴

Blitzø did not like working with aristocrats, but worked with them when they paid good money. It was during his work that he met you. You weren't his client, but you were at the same party where he worked as a bodyguard. Blitzø heard how the other guests spoke rudely about you while you stood quietly on the sidelines. You obviously heard what was being said about you, but you didn't say anything until they started openly insulting Blitzø. He wanted to answer them, but you intervened, firmly saying that they had no right to condemn him

He came to you soon after. Perhaps if it had been someone else, you would have called security, but you remembered him and greeted him with a friendly smile, telling him that if he decided to come next time, he could use the door. He was surprised that you invited him to come back if he wanted to. There was no hint of compliance with social statuses in your communication, and Blitzø felt comfortable while communicating with you

You were surprisingly kind and you completely ignored your differences in social status. You didn't hide your communication from others and didn't come up with excuses. Blitzø couldn't help but notice that he liked it. He enjoyed spending time with you and enjoyed talking to you. Sometimes you talked about animals. You loved animals and you liked taking care of them, and he was happy to talk to you about horses, which he liked so much

He never thought that through work he would get to know someone like you. Maybe he liked you more than he was willing to admit. He would like to spend more time with you, and the fact that you could actually go on real dates without fear of being judged by others. You have never allowed statuses and other people's evil words to interfere with you and your happiness

🦚 Andrealphus x Reader ❄️

Andrealphus found out about you from his sister Stella. She sometimes told him about an aristocrat who greatly annoyed her with his character. Andrealphus was sure that his sister was exaggerating, but when you met in person, he realized that you really were not like other aristocrats. You were kind to others, you treated others as equals and judged others by their actions. Looking at you, he understood why his sister, who was so different from you, was angry

You were kind and attentive to others and Stella often tried to hurt you with words, but to her disappointment, you did not pay attention to her words. Andrealphus was wondering what you really were like, so he started chatting with you. He told his sister that he would find out something about you so that she could use it, but he didn't really plan on doing it. The more you talked, the more he realized that your kindness and sincerity made him fall in love with you

Andrealphus often invited you to various events, but only when you were in quieter places did you become more calm. You told him that you loved animals and that you would rather spend time in silence than attending another social event. You were like a breath of fresh air. You were sincere and real, which is why you stood out so much from the rest

Andrealphus had big plans. He already imagined what his sister's face would be like when he told her that he had decided to make you part of their family. It may not happen as quickly as he would like, because he has not yet told you about his feelings, but he was sure that it would happen

🐍 Striker x Reader 👢

Striker didn't like aristocrats. He often worked for them and saw how arrogant, selfish and cruel they could be towards others. That's why when he arrived at a meeting with the head of an aristocratic family, he was sure that this would be another murder order, but this time it was different. He was hired to be the bodyguard of the heir to the head of the family. He was supposed to be your bodyguard. At first, Striker thought it was just the whim of a spoiled aristocrat, but when you met in person, he was surprised. You were very different in character not only from your parent, but also from other aristocrats he met

Unlike other aristocrats, you were kind and considerate towards others. At first, Striker thought it was just a mask, however, watching you, he saw how you helped the servants in the manor, you treated them as equals and during the events you stood apart from the rest. Striker has heard other aristocrats say nasty things about you because you behaved inappropriately for an aristocrat. You were too kind, you judged others by their actions and not by their background. Striker couldn't believe that an aristocrat like you could exist. Even towards him, an assassin, you were friendly and caring, bringing him snacks, knowing that he worked hard and you were grateful to him for that

You and Striker began to communicate often. You felt comfortable and calm around him. He didn't tell you the details of his work, but he did tell you about the places he visited. You listened to his stories with a smile, and sometimes you shared with him dreams of starting a new life on a farm, taking care of animals and living a quiet life, away from intrigues and scandals. You both knew that your dreams were destined to remain dreams, but Striker wanted to take you to one of the farms he once visited so that at least for a short time you could be happy

Striker understood that he had romantic feelings for you. He had never felt this way about a person he had a working relationship with before, but he wasn't going to leave you. It wasn't just his job, but the fact that he didn't want to leave. Striker wanted to take you to the farm to see your happy smile and tell you about his feelings. He didn't know what you would say, but he was determined to confess his love to you

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Helluva Boss headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Sir Pentious #Sir Pentious x Reader #Blitzø #Blitzø x Reader #Andrealphus #Andrealphus x Reader #Striker #Striker x Reader

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