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yesimwriting · 1 year ago

Note

omg i’m so happy ur taking young coriolanus requests!! i’d love a oneshot of him falling for reader (whos from the districts) and him trying to deal with it

Summary: Coriolanus has no interest in his assigned tribute beyond her potential assistance in helping him win the Plinth prize...or at the very least, that's what he tells himself.

Warnings: Coriolanus being kind of delusional (in deep denial) and possessive, jealousy, a crush being treated like a terminal illness, Coriolanus trying really hard to talk himself out of said crush by comparing the reader to an animal/pet in his internal thoughts

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His nails dig into the soft skin of his palm with enough force to leave stinging crescents in their wake. He's too far gone to feel the marks, to know when to relieve pressure to avoid breaking skin.

When the idea of having the best and brightest of the Academy's senior class was initially presented, the concerns about having such prominent members of the Capitol interacting so closely with representatives of the districts was highly contested. Most of the outcry had been from concerned parents--wealthy fathers and overly doting mothers desperately attempting to convince their leaders to not subject their poor, innocent children to that kind of proximity with something considered so other.

After all, those from the districts are closer to animal than man. If an outburst of hatred doesn't result in a Capitol heir's life and potential being cut short, perhaps some sort of disease would take them instead.

Coriolanus had found that part ridiculous. Not the way the tributes were seen, but the level of coddling the Capitol elite were willing to openly mark their children with. There are ways to mentor from a safe distance and there hasn't been public knowledge of a strange and fatal virus running through the districts in some time.

Now that he's here, standing at the zoo's entrance under the cover of night, food that he can't truly afford to waste tucked into the pocket of his coat, he realizes how naive he had been to not head their warnings. He's come down with something, that's the only explanation for the sweat coating his palms and the nervous turning of his stomach.

This infliction is something that you've done to him. Unintentionally, of course--your lack of cut throat nature and maliciousness had been a disappointing discovery at the time--but still true. Why else would he come here to feed you when his family can barely feed themselves?

Coriolanus walks further and further into the zoo until the familiar cage is in view. There are a no peacekeepers inside of the space and less than a hand full patrolling the perimeter. It's late and the games are tomorrow morning, any of the tributes that wanted to cause problems would have done so by now.

It shouldn't matter to him, none of them would turn him away. The mentors weren't explicitly told to stay away which means that the peacekeepers wouldn't bother him. He could always say that he's here to discuss last minute strategy, that the earlier bombing had cut his time short and that Dr. Gaul had given Academy students permission to make up that time if they so wished. But the thought of having less of an audience soothes him slightly.

He stands where he had stood beneath the daylight, near the corner, as far from the other tributes as physically possible. Regret begins to knot his stomach. Everyone's asleep. This will be the most alone together the two of you have ever been. It's also so dark, and you're likely asleep as well. How will he find you? Is it wrong to disturb the last peaceful rest you might ever experience?

The more he thinks, the more an urgency he can't wraps itself tight beneath his bones. The sensation, a likely byproduct of his ailment, makes him wish that there was some way to scratch beneath his skin. Right no longer matters, and neither does his growling stomach that begs him to just eat the food he had taken from the Academy's lunch and disappear back into the night. He needs to see you, to see that--

"You're going to be okay." Your voice, a soft whisper that brings him back to the present.

You're awake, the vague shape of your crouched form resting against one of the artificial rocks. You're also comforting someone with a much larger frame. Something in his chest turns to stone.

Here he is, wandering the Capitol streets in the dead of night, a pocket full of food that he had hidden from his own family for your sake and you're--you're not thinking of him at all.

Maybe his infliction had been more intentional than he thought possible. Your kindness could be a ruse and Coriolanus has heard rumors of your people. Some say that your ancestors practiced spirtual arts in order to enchant others. Perhaps you've bewitched him.

His own naivety burns through his chest. You're supposed to be his. If that's how it is, then he's freeing himself of you and your kind eyes and honey-laced voice. He'll--

"Coriolanus," a surprised, careful sound that's much warmer than your attempts at soothing someone had sounded.

His name forces the pinching feeling in his chest to be replaced by an uneasy warmth that crawls its way up his neck. He's suddenly glad for the darkness.

He follows your silhouette as you quickly push yourself to your feet with no regard for the boy next to you. Your movements are swift yet quiet, and the care behind them keeps him steady. You don't want to wake anyone; you want this to be just you and him.

"You're--" You stand so close to the bars that it'd take nothing at all to reach for you. "You're here." You place a hand on the bars that divide you, fingers curling around the cool metal. "Are you okay?"

The question is laughable. He's at the tribute zoo only a few hours before the games begin because some instinct had made seeing you again feel as important and necessary as breathing.

But you're not asking about that. You're asking about him, about his injuries from the bombing. "I'm fine," he assures you, "A little scraped up from the debris and I did lose consciousness, but I was treated for all injuries."

You're finally close enough for the moonlight to make a difference. He can make out the unruliness of your hair from the way that life has treated you since your reaping, the form of your tattered dress, your facial features and...the long gash that now marks your forehead.

"And I was told that you were as well." Someone in passing had mentioned that the tributes were cleaned up after the bombing. They weren't prioritized or given valuable resources, but they were cleaned up. Injuries were cleaned and dressed to prevent infection from getting in the way of the games.

You frown, tilting your head slightly as if to hide the length of the mark. Something in his chest tightens again, the sensation much more aggressive than before. Your smooth, gentle skin now marred...

His own defensiveness hits him like a physical blow. Coriolanus blames the feeling on familiarity. The desire to keep you in the best condition possible is no different than what someone would feel for a prized pet. You're his tribute, after all.

"It sort of happened after."

Panic seizes at his chest. After. One of the peacekeepers or another tribute had hurt you. "Who?" The coolness of his own voice shocks him.

You angle your head downwards, the motion distinctly dismissive. Coriolanus won't accept that. Who are you to hide something like this from him? After everything he's done for you, don't you trust him? His arm moves forward without his permission, pulling at your arm so that your body shifts closer to the bars. His other hand then slips between the poles and grasps your chin firmly between two fingers.

He tilts your head, giving himself the space needed to examine the entirety of the cut. It stretches down the start of your hairline and stops just short of your eyebrow. Not too long or wide, but the dried blood still smeared on you implies that it's deep.

"Who did this to you?"

His hold on you is steady, but not so tight that you couldn't step away if you wanted to. You hold still as he takes the time to examine the rest of your face for injuries. Your acceptance leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Coriolanus releases you like you might burn him.

"I don't--" Of course you don't want to tell. Your nobility runs so deep, you don't care what it costs you.

An odd wave of distress washes over him. The night air feels wrong against his skin, too cold for the thin clothing he put on in his hurry to get to you. "You shouldn't alienate your mentor the night before the games."

Your lips pull down into what feels like a pout. You stare at him with wide eyes. "I'm not trying to alienate you." The genuineness of your words knots his stomach. "I--I'm glad that you're here, that you're okay." Usually, sugar coated words from you are enough to crack at his exterior. He's feeling a lot less amicable tonight. "The girl from district 4 was aggravated tonight. I think she wanted to intimidate the other careers into listening to her so she targeted Wovey and I was kind of--around."

Translation: your too-good-for-the-arena heart took over and you inserted yourself in a conflict that had nothing to do with you. "I told you to be careful."

You nod solemnly at the reprimand. Your lips part, but before you can say anything, the sound of your name steals your attention. You turn away from him, keeping one hand on the metal bars. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

The question jabs at him like a thumb finding a bruise. The tribute you were comforting may come from the same district as you, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. By morning, your destiny to be rivals in the arena will be sealed. He won't risk anything for you the way Coriolanus is. He'd snap your neck in an instant if it meant going back home. Surely, even you're not kind hearted enough to not see that.

You crane your neck to look back at him, but your body stays angled towards the other tribute. The urge to hold you in place, to bring your attention back to him physically aches. Is your final meeting before the games really going to be cut short because of some other tribute? The look you give him is apologetic enough to make his chest constrict. After all he's done for you.

"I'm talking to my mentor." Your response dislodges something from his chest. "Why don't you check on Wovey? I think that'll help."

The sound of shuffling fills the space, and then that's that. The two of you are as alone as two people like you can be.

"It was nice of you to come here," the admission leaves you carefully, "I-I tried to see what happened to you after, but they brought us back here so quickly, and I--"

"It's alright."

He never expected for you to be at the hospital. The mental image is strange enough as a concept in itself. You, sitting in one of those stiff hospital seats, waiting desperately at his bedside. You, in the same room as his cousin and grandmother, all three of you concerned and co-existing. It doesn't fit, you're not like them. You're district. That's inherently lesser, inherently replaceable no matter the level of your charm or--or appeal.

But if that's reality, than why was your name the first thing that stumbled past his lips when he woke up? Why was his first thought after being discharged about getting back to you? Why does the fact that you were sitting with the male tribute from your district turn his stomach? Why does he now have a personal vendetta against the girl from 4? These can't possibly all be things that someone would feel for a favorite pet, can they?

This train of thought is nauseating, and the last thing he wanted for the final night before the games. "I was worried." You force these words out in a jumble of colliding syllables, like if you didn't pry them out fast enough, they'd never manage to find their way out.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, imprinting the details of the small crease between your eyebrows and your nervous eyes to memory. The look tugs at something dangerously close to fondness. "Then you know how I'lll feel tomorrow." That, in itself, is a confession pulled from him the same way a rotten tooth would be extracted. "How I'll feel until you come back."

You stare at him, eyes wide. "If this is about the prize money the peacekeepers talk about, you're doing a good job."

There's a stiffness to the way you say this, a guarded quality that soothes him more than it should. The thought of him only being invested in you only because of what he can get out of your success displeases you.

It's instinct to want to ease you. It'd be easy, too. All it would take is a comment that implies that he can be here for more than one reason. The response sits at the back of his throat. Is that why he's here?

The natural answer is of course. Why else would he lose sleep? What other reason could he have for risking taking Academy food and exposing his poverty? Something he's rarely willing to do for himself and his own family.

"A person can want more than one thing at the same time."

You can't hold his gaze, eyes cautiously darting downwards. The display of shyness makes things feel a little warmer. It makes him bolder. Coriolanus moves his hand again, letting his fingers cover yours. You don't move away.

"I almost forgot." His free hand makes its way into the pocket of his coat, finding the carefully folded napkin. He's going out of his way to emphasize the casualness of food. The only thing caring about this gesture is that he had thought to come, not the food itself. There's no such thing as scarcity in the Capitol. "Here."

He offers the neatly tied fabric in the gaps between the bars. You don't attempt to take back the hand pressed between the pole and his own palm. You take the gift in your free hand and don't attempt to let go of him until you realize that you won't be able to untie the makeshift parcel with one hand.

You open it slowly, examining the contents of his offering carefully. Two biscuits, a few crackers, a small wedge of cheese, and another baked good that reminds him of a denser, more durable version of cake.

"Thank you," The truth to your gratitude forces something uncomfortable to wedge itself between his ribs.

You don't start eating right away, your head instinctually turning back. He realizes what you're doing almost instantly. "If you're going to share everything I give you, there's not much point in bringing it."

A little harsher than he meant to be out loud. It's not your fault. Your family is large and of a taking care of each other mentality. If there's food for one, there's food for all.

You nod, accepting the criticism the way you usually do. It's a good thing that you're so pliable, that you're eager to keep the usual comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Sometimes, though, it feels a bit like kicking a puppy.

Carefully, you bring a cracker to your lips, chewing cautiously. Taking anything makes you guilty, another byproduct of your upbringing. Sometimes Coriolanus wonders if all of this would be easier if you were brought up like the majority of district children, more ravenous and unapologetic.

You'd told him about your mother before, a free spirit who works in a textile factory that produces lavish fabrics instead of standard peacekeeper uniforms. Even though the work isn't much different, you spoke about it like it made all the difference. My mother loves beautiful things so much she doesn't even care about who they're for.

That had been the first time he had found himself thinking about your appearance. If your mother's love is reliant on beauty, he realized, then you must have grown up with consistent affection.

You speak of her, of your entire family, in a way that confirms his hypothesis. You've told him stories of the way she hangs up the prettiest fabric she can find to hang up and turn one room into two--a necessity with so many of you living in a set of conjoined apartments.

"You're..."

You trail off, pressing your lips together nervously in a way that he's gotten used to. It usually signifies that you're concerned about being impolite. That's another thing that doesn't fit the district mold, even here you hold onto manners and social cues. Even when you first met him, you had fallen back on habit. He had introduced himself as your mentor and you absentmindedly asked how he was in that way that people do when they run into an acquaintance.

Normally, if he presses or even just prompts you once or twice you'll reveal your initial thoughts. They're rarely what he expects them to be. Instead of responding to the light raise of his eyebrows, you pick up a biscuit before stretching your arm towards him.

"Oh, no I'm--"

"You're hungry." That's what you almost blurted out.

You don't mean anything by it, or, at the very least, not anything beyond the realm of worry. Heat rises up Coriolanus's neck slowly but surely. You know nothing of his world and yet you knew that to have his hunger exposed would be embarrassing. You know that it's not the kind of hunger that comes from missing a meal or two on a particularly busy or chaotic day.

"Don't worry," you tack on, "It's not noticeable unless you know what to look for."

The comment is a little too reassuring, too on the nose. Can you read him that easily? Coriolanus takes the biscuit before he can pick apart your comment any further. The corner of your mouth shifts into an almost smile. You then break apart the wedge of cheese and try to hand him that along with most of your crackers and a piece of the pastry.

"No, I can't take all of that."

You stare at him oddly. "You've been injured," you stretch your hand out again, "You need your strength."

There are several reasons why you need your strength more than he does, but he can't figure out how to insist on that without making it seem like this is a final meal. He doesn't want to give you a chance to see it that way, so he takes the a little less than half of what you're offering. "Compromise."

You nod, accepting his terms. He's unsure who starts it, but the two of you end up sitting in front of each other. You smooth the napkin out in front of you, setting up what's left of your food like a makeshift picnic. "My mother used to take me for picnics."

"Yeah?" There's something about your stories about your life back home that are attention drawing. It's not so much mundane content of life in district 8 and the fact that it still managed to produce someone like you, it's the way you speak. You're expressive and bright.

"Mhm," you finish off your first cracker, "Eight isn't exactly full of nature, but there's this wooded area past the factories and if you know where to go, you'll find this clearing that's practically untouched. She'd go there sometimes on days off when she needed to collect wildflowers to turn into paints and she'd bring who she could...me, my siblings, cousins..."

You pick up a piece of cheese, setting it on a cracker. "Neighbors, sometimes." Your voice wavers in a way that sticks out. Despite an initial tearing up on your first night, you haven't cried or behaved in anyway that indicates that this could be your end. He doesn't want you losing hope now. "Tanner used to go with us."

It's whispered with the intensity of a confession. The boy you came with, the boy you were speaking with--you grew up with him. That's a bond that's not as easily dismissed. That's something strong enough to challenge his connection with you.

Why does it matter? He's earned enough of your trust, you spoke in a way that earned more donations than anyone else. You trust him enough to actually fight in the arena. It--it doesn't matter if you...

"Do you care for him?" The question surprises both of you equally. His own bluntness, the slight edge to his tone...it's too much for a mentor.

"Uh," you sniffle once, "He was a good friend when we were little, our families know each other." An knot so tight it's difficult to stay sitting there twists his stomach. "We're a little less close these days."

If you comforting him during the dead of night, losing sleep during your last chance to rest is your version of less close, Coriolanus doesn't even want to imagine your normal. "You shouldn't expect any loyalty during the games, the second the count down begins, there's no such thing as friendship."

You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. "What makes you so sure?"

Your question isn't a challenge or an attempt to convince him that the boy would never hurt you. You're asking because you're curious, because you want to know his thoughts. "Human nature."

It's more nihilistic than he usually is in front of you, but his patience is wearing thin. The soreness of his body is starting to catch up with him and wasting the little time you have less discussing someone so insignificant is draining.

His annoyance has to stem from how little the other tributes matter to him. That's the only reason he can piece together, especially when his brashness is likely pushing you away.

"Then why can I trust you?"

Another question that you mean. It's not a slight or an attempt to indicate that you're not there yet with him. He didn't come here to cast doubt on the bond he so carefully helped build.

He can't look at you as he speaks, "Because I'm going to do anything I can to get you back."

You nod, your eyes retreating to focus on your lap. "For the prize money, for your school."

He picks at the edge of his biscuit, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "I already told you, I want more than one thing."

That's not exactly what he said...this reiteration of it is more blatant. Heat burns his face. You peak up at him through your lashes.

If you had been born in the Capitol, you would have done well. You're found of civility and social norms despite a lifetime in the Districts and despite only knowing you stained in various levels of grime, he can tell that our features are pleasing. Polished, dressed, and brought up differently, you would have been a regular Capitol darling.

Coriolanus shakes his head once, an attempt to dismiss his thoughts. Why care about what you could have been? Why imagine what you'd be like if you were part of his word?

"You're not going to--to rely on him in the arena." It's framed as a question, but in reality, it's more of a hopeful statement.

You pause, genuinely thinking about your response. "No." You rest a hand on your bent knee, gently scratching at the skin. "Not rely."

The answer isn't concrete enough, but he has no right or reason to say much else. "Don't let your guard down. Not for anyone."

You nod, reaching for what's left of your biscuit, "I won't, I promise."

"Good, I'll be watching and I'll remember when you get back."

Get back. You wipe at your cheek with the back of your palm. "Yeah, when I get back."

The dryness of your voice cracks at him. If you consider yourself defeated before even stepping into the arena, you won't come back to him. For him. For the Plinth prize.

He shoves the thoughts down as deep as they'll go. They don't manage to get very far, crowding his throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Coriolanus doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he slips his hand between the cage's bars. He lets his hand sit there, palm facing upwards in a silent offering.

Coriolanus stares at his arm as a way to prevent himself from taking in your reaction. A beat passes, and then the tips of your fingers are brushing against his before settling against his palm. He squeezes your hand tightly, so tightly he's aware that it's probably uncomfortable, but the prospect of holding you so tightly that you can't vanish is too assuring.

"Do you have to--to go soon?"

He adjusts his hold on you, bending his fingers so that they can rest between yours. The rest of his household is asleep by now, but they'd be able to tell if he spent the night here and that would worry them. It would also make the morning much more complicated...he'd have to shower and change before the games begin in order to hide where he spent the night.

"No," it leaves him before he realizes what he's saying, "I can stay as long as you'd like."

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, "Good."

That makes something in his chest feels like it's going to burst. He shouldn't care. He should see this open display of clinginess as an inconvenience. And why would he risk getting caught as someone that spent the night on the floor of the zoo when there's nothing left to convince you of?

The answer strikes him so harshly he nearly lets go of you. He didn't just want you to ask him to stay to prove something, he wanted the excuse to stay. He--he wants to be near you...and not in the way that someone wants to spend time with a puppy.

The truth to it is simple. Straightforward. He cares about you.

He can hear that you're speaking, but your words are too distant to mean anything.

"Coriolanus?"

No. No. He--he isn't meant to care about you of all people, to feel these kinds of--No. No, he can't. He's not biologically wired to. And yet, he can't let go of your hand.

"Coriolanus?"

He squeezes your hand even tighter. "You didn't ask me."

"What?"

"The other thing I want, you didn't ask me about it." The words leave him in a rush, an uneasy mess that he needs out.

Confessing turns these kinds of thoughts into reality, an undeniable force that he wishes he could vanish. But maybe if he gets it out, the ache of it will be expelled from him. Maybe he'll finally be able to think about something else that doesn't involve analyzing your every expression like your life depends on it.

"No," your eyes are wide, a deer realizing they're not the only ones at the watering hole, "I-I didn't."

A small part of him is disappointed that you don't take the opportunity to press. You usually do, chatting like you're a regular friend and not his tribute. "I'll tell you anyways." He swallows, gripping your hand like a lifeline. You squeeze back, a silent display of support. "It's you."

Your hand goes slack in his. Coriolanus warns himself that it's best to keep his eyes away from you, to not read any--he breaks, gaze snapping upwards to watch you.

"Me?" Your voice is fragile and impossible to read. You lift your intertwined hands as best you can between the poles that make up the cage. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the back of his palm. Your eyes briefly fall shut.

"I--" You set your intertwined hands back in place. "I think the practical thing to do would be to forget about me." The rejection cuts through him. All he can do is stare. "You know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Your twist your hand in an attempt to steal it back as you push yourself upwards, adjusting so that your weight is on your knees. Coriolanus instinctively shifts forward, grabbing your arm to keep you close. He moves to sit up on his knees. "You're going to come back." You stop trying to push him away. "Do you care about me?"

"You're being unfair," your whisper is harsh, "Even--even if I win, where would that leave us?" He's silent. "I'll be back in a cage and you'll stay on the outside, only this time they won't be in proximity to each other."

You're logical. You're right. And he can't bring himself to care. "Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do," the response is frustrated, exhausted, "I think I might even--" Your mouth clamps shut, eyes briefly leaving him. "I think I love you." You drop head, giving Coriolanus only the slightest glimpse of your now glassy eyes. "But what does that matter?"

The word loosens something in his chest. He gets as close to the bars as physically possible, pulling on your arm in a way that almost makes you fall forward. The new proximity seems to drain any remaining fight from you.

He leans forward, his lips finding yours in the space between metal. It takes you a second to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you return the display of affection. He pulls your bottom lip between his own before releasing you enough to let you breathe.

"Is this real?" The question takes its time coming out, slow and through pants. If he thought thinking about you before was a type of sickness, then this is something terminal. You nod instinctually, urgingly. "Then we'll find a way." You're both resting your head against the bars. If it wasn't for the invasive metal in the way, you'd be resting against each other. "Just come back to me, and everything else--we'll figure it out."

He can write to you. He can find an excuse to bring you back to him. Maybe another aspect of the games--something that requires victors to visit the Capitol.

You nod, acceptance finally coloring your features as you squeeze his hand. "We'll figure it out."

----

a/n i've gotten so many Coriolanus/thg requests,, pls feel free to keep them coming <3

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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rorasjournal · 2 months ago

Text

Comfort in shadows | Azriel

lil short azriel fluff to start off my journey on tumblr hehe

pairing: azriel x reader

synopsis: y/n is stressed out about her responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can soothe her anxiety

word count: 819

warnings: none really, maybe some light man handling

The balls of my knuckles turn white as my grip on the terrace rails tighten while I stare out at the night swept view of velaris laid out in the distance, anxiety plaguing my mind. I've been trying to distract myself from all the thoughts gushing around for the past hour, but nothing has been working.

There's just too much going on right now, too much that I feel the need to deal with all on my own, and I'm fucking tired.

Whispering shadows cling to my skin, dancing along my body before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a familiar chest.

"It's cold out here," Azriel mutters, tucking his face into the crook of my neck and pressing a soft kiss there. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against his shoulder.

"I know."

"So why are you out here?"

When I don't reply, Azriel spins me around, sandwiching me between the rail and his body and forcing our gazes to meet. "What is it?"

I don't want to talk about any of it, especially not to Azriel. He's always so calm and collected, dealing with his responsibilities with so much grace and without complaint. I don't know how to be like that. "Nothing."

He lowers his face to mine, our noses brushing together and pulling the air from my lungs as he whispers, "I thought we were done with the lies."

"I'm not lying," I insist, ultimately webbing myself up in more deception regardless of the fact that Azriel clearly sees straight through me. He doesn't even need to use his shadows to figure me out.

A breath passes through his nose before he scoops me up, dangling me over his shoulder and walking inside while I yell out in detest.

"Put me down, asshole!"

"Gladly," he says, flipping me so my back hits the mattress of our bed. He's on top of me in a flash, his mouth attached to my neck as he sucks on my sensitive skin. My breathe hitches in my throat, a hand instinctively reaching to his head and threading my fingers through his dark hair. "What's going on?" he asks again, mumbling the words against my neck as he continues his work.

So that's what he's doing. Azriel is turning my mind to mush so he can get an admission out of me. Slick bastard.

Smart bastard though.

"I just—" I'm not sure if I'm struggling to get the words out because I don't want to say it out loud, or because his tongue is running up the base of my neck. "I'm stressed out, I don't know. Rhys wants me dealing with the Autumn Court and Beron is just such an asshole, I don't know how to handle all of this at once."

Pulling away, Azriel looks at me with furrowed brows. "Why was that so difficult for you to tell me?"

I turn my cheek against the mattress to avert my gaze, but Azriel grips my jaw, forcing me back.

What is with him and male-handling me today?

"Can you not see how it would be embarrassing admitting that I'm overwhelmed to the spymaster, the shadow singer who always keeps his head level, who always knows what's going on and how to deal with it?"

With a sigh, Azriel sits up, grabbing one of my hands to urge me up as well.

"I think you of all people should know that I've lost my cool a few number of times.”

“Yeah, a few," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "That's a few hundred less than me."

The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Y/n."

"Azriel."

That just makes his smile grow. "You know it's okay to ask for help, right?" he whispers, tenderly tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear as I lean away. "Especially from me."

"But that's my point, I shouldn't need to ask for help. I should be able to deal with this on my own like everyone else does."

"There's not one person in this court that hasn't needed assistance from the others at one point or another, and I'm pretty damn sure you should know that considering it's usually you that's doing the assisting." He chuckles. "You don't even realise you're doing it, do you."

I sigh, leaning over and resting my forehead on his chest as he drapes an arm across my shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"You're the strongest person I know, that's not going to change just because Beron is pulling your strings."

"I wish you didn't always sound so wise, it makes it hard for me to not listen to your advice."

His chest rumbles as he laughs quietly. He completely scoops me up into his arms, dragging me onto his lap as he whispers, "I will always be that reassuring voice in your ear."

#azriel #acotar #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #fluff #azriel fluff #short #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses

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rottenpumpkin13 · 27 days ago

Note

In honour of the menstrual pad question- how would ASGZC (+the Turks) react if they had to help deliver a baby? 😁

Sephiroth: Calm, precise, and surprisingly knowledgable while everyone panics. "Labor can last anywhere from a few hours to over a day, but based on her current dilation—" *Everyone stares* "…What? Hojo made me study reproduction extensively. I've assisted in three live births. Of course, they were all lab specimens, but I assure you the baby will not be taken away to be dissected."

After delivering the baby and ensuring everything is stable, he looks down at the mother and says "You will need to maintain your attachment to the child. Do not leave it unattended. Do not die mysteriously and leave it to be raised by someone else."

Angeal: Absolutely glowing. More emotional than the mother. "You're doing amazing, just breathe, you've got this!" Then the baby crowns. He starts crying tears of joy. The mother is screaming. The moment the baby is born, Angeal grabs the kid and insists on holding them for way longer than is probably acceptable. If you try to take the baby from him, he gets very defensive.

Genesis: Acts like he knows what he's doing. "Ah, the miracle of life. A creation more profound than any verse, a testament to the enduring will of—" *the baby crowns* *genesis violently faints* He does not get up until the baby is already in someone else's arms.

Zack: Wild mix of enthusiasm and sheer panic. "Okay! Okay! We got this! You’re doing great—oh man, that's a lot of blood—okay, breathing, right, we're breathing!" *tries to help but is mostly bouncing around like an overexcited puppy* Then the baby actually starts coming. Zack freezes. His hands shoot up like he's trying to surrender to the situation itself. "OH. OH WOW. THAT'S A WHOLE—THAT'S—THAT'S HAPPENING—WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FUCKING STORK??"

Reno: "I did NOT sign up for this. Wait, did I sign up for this? Is this kid mine? NO IT'S NOT." *Halfheartedly fans the laboring person with a magazine while mostly looking like he wants to escape* "Where is the doctor? Shouldn't a doctor be here? No? Okay, cool, yeah, let's just deliver a whole-ass human today." By the time the baby arrives, Reno is in full panic mode and has 8 cigarettes in his mouth at once.

Rufus: Has never been this close to childbirth and is visibly displeased about it. "There are hospitals for this. Surely one of you has a phone?" Watches Tseng do everything.

Tseng: Rolls up sleeves. "Very well." *Delivers the baby with expertise, ensuring minimal distress for both parent and child* When asked where he learned this: "I've delivered many children in my time." Refuses to elaborate further.

Cloud: The second things start happening, Cloud surprisingly is the calmest person in the room. "Alright, someone get me hot water, towels, and a sturdy knife."

*Everyone stares at him*

Zack: WHY do you need a knife?

Cloud: For the umbilical cord. Or for protection in case a spirit tries to steal the baby. You know, standard birth precautions.

Zack: WHERE? Standard birth precautions WHERE?

Cloud: In Nibelheim? My mom was a midwife at one point. I know what I'm doing.

Cloud, to the mother: You're doing great. Deep breaths. Just like we do in the fields. If the baby's born under the full moon, they'll have the be rich. If it's storming, they'll be a warrior. If a crow caws three times, you have to name them after your grandmother or risk a bad harvest.

Zack: That doesn't even make sense!

Cloud, ignoring him: But if it's born with spiky hair, they're destined to be a hero.

Zack, fist pumping: Oh yeah!

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #tseng ff7 #reno ff7 #rufus shinra

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gamesetattach · 25 days ago

Text

The Space Between Us

Jannik Sinner x Reader Everyone loves reader, but Jannik Sinner doesn't even entertain her. Lowkey enemies to lovers, but not. Also features little bit of hurt/comfort nurturing done by our one and only Number 1. Warnings include... bruising from tennis ball, being on camera, knee/wrist scrapes.

---

You hadn’t expected to become part of the show.

When you started as a production assistant for the ATP media team, your job had been simple, clear, and exactly what you expected: you were to coordinate filming schedules, ideate content, make sure players hit their marks, and keep production running smoothly behind the scenes. But somewhere along the way, your role evolved.

It started with small moments—an off-camera laugh, an accidental cameo, a joke that made a player break mid-sentence that got included in the final cut. Viewers loved it. They liked the way you interacted with the players; how you didn’t treat them as untouchable stars, but as regular people who just happened to be absurdly good at tennis. They liked when you broke the fourth wall, chiming in with a quick quip or offering the occasional exasperated sigh when a player inevitably went off script. The players on screen were always relaxed and enthused when you were the one asking the questions, and it was notable difference from their standard, somewhat reluctant attitude when it came to being on video.

And soon enough, what had initially been incidental became intentional.

“People love you, and the players take to you more than anyone else,” one of the media coordinators had said, grinning as they showed you a comment thread. Who is the new PA? We need more of her. ATP media gold. This girl has more chemistry with the players than half the tour does with their rackets.

And so, bit by bit, you became a part of the content. You still worked behind the camera, but now, more often than not, you were pulled in front of it too. Players fed off your energy, teasing you, joking with you, dragging you into their antics. You were quick-witted and could hold your own, and that made the scenes all the more entertaining.

Ben Shelton was a frequent culprit, often grinning at the camera as it began to film before tugging you into frame for whatever nonsense he was up to. "Come on, tell them you think my backhand’s the best on tour. I know you've said it before."

"I don’t lie on camera, Ben, and you shouldn't either. That's not what the internet is for," you shot back, deadpan, making Shelton and the crew erupt in laughter.

Andrey Rublev wasn’t much better. He would often break into one of his slow-growing, broad smiles mid-answer at your expressions. "What do you think, then? Why you making me laugh? Don't make such faces."

"I didn't say or do anything. Just answer the question." You said with some effort to sound serious, trying and failing to hide your own laughter.

"Ahh, you’re a bad influence," he teased, pointing at the camera. "She’s corrupting me."

Then there was Stefanos Tsitsipas, who always felt the need to turn the question asking back to you. "Last one for you—if you had to pick someone on tour to be your mixed doubles partner, who would it be?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Probably Daniil."

Daniil Medvedev had conveniently just walked into the studio to follow Stefanos for filming, which of course hadn't influenced your answer at all. Stepping on the white backdrop and leaning into the camera's view, he raised a smug brow. "See? She has good taste."

The players adored you, on and off set, and it came through to the viewers. Every time a new ATP video went up, the comment sections were flooded with fans demanding more of your cameos. You had this way about you that brought out the most authentic parts of the players, and you had come to make up the very fabric of the content; the favorite behind-the-scenes personality of both the audience and the athletes.

Most loved it. They leaned into it, really.

Well, all except Jannik Sinner.

---

At first, you hadn’t thought much of it. Some players were more reserved than others, and that was fine. You knew how to read the room, knew when to push and when to back off.

But Jannik?

Jannik was different.

You never could get a read on him. You tried—more than you had with anyone else, actually. You'd make jokes when setting up his content, throw out some light teasing to see if you could get a reaction. And you did—kind of, sometimes... maybe. You thought you'd caught a few almost-smiles, some fleeting amusement in his eyes before he schooled his expression back into his default detachment. Though you definitely did see the way his jaw would often clench in response, almost like it pained him to humor you.

And he never engaged the way the others would. He gave you only what was necessary—short answers, nods, the occasional one-word reply when prompted. No banter, absolutely no participation in your antics. Just polite professionalism and an impenetrable wall of disinterest.

If he didn’t like you, fine. You could be civil. You could still do your job. And you weren’t going to waste any more energy trying to crack someone who clearly didn’t want to be.

So, you stopped trying altogether.

You were still lively and fun in your role, still joking and teasing with the other players, but when it came to Jannik? You were decidedly neutral. Professional. Just as he was to you. It was simply another transactional work obligation, and you were just another assistant ensuring his content was filmed and uploaded on time.

And if he noticed the shift, he didn’t say anything.

Not that you expected him to.

---

Your first media meeting with the players attending had been going smoothly—just a standard PR and media planning session at the beginning of the season with ATP players and the media team, updating the athletes on procedures and discussing upcoming content ideas. It was nothing particularly taxing, and you welcomed the opportunity to spend more time with the players you'd quickly come to call friends. At least up until someone pitched this one idea, one that made you want to curl up into a little hole: a video where players would coach ATP staff, before competing in doubles for a mini, amateur, content-farming tournament.

The concept had a great reception as soon as it was pitched, most everyone agreed it'd be a hit. It had the perfect mix of entertainment, sport, chaos, and fan service. Even the players in the room, who often felt burdened by video obligations, jumped in to support; everyone immediately started to weigh in on who should be part of the video, of who should be paired with whom. Then pretty soon, as you should have expected, someone threw your name into the mix.

You felt your stomach tighten. Playing tennis with professional athletes—on camera, for hundreds of thousands of people to consume—was a whole new level of terrifying. You liked being part of ATP content, sure, but you still felt you better fit a role that was more behind-the-scenes. Being the voice and occasional face breaking the fourth wall was all fun and games, but actually competing against players or even just playing along with them? That was something else entirely.

"You've got to be in it," Ben Shelton said pointing at you as he grinned at the rest of the room. "I mean, she's practically an honorary player at this point."

You forced a smile. "Right, right. Except for the part where I don't play professional tennis."

"That's just semantics," Stefanos Tsitsipas said. "Viewers enjoy your addition."

"Yeah, that and watching you get destroyed on court would make for great TV," Tommy Paul chimed in, chuckling beside Ben.

"I hate that you’re right," you muttered, sinking back in your chair as the discussion continued. There was no point in fighting back, so you took a deep breath, tried to release any anxiety, and allowed yourself a few moments to zone out.

Around you, they began to deliberate the player-staff pairings. Names were thrown around, debated, adjusted. And then—

"...Okay then that leaves..."

You started tuning back into the conversation just as your boss addressed you, "You’re with Jannik, then."

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, "Who, me?"

Of all the players, Jannik? You literally got along well with everyone else. Anyone else.

He was already distant enough as it was, and after months of failing to get through to him, you had quietly resigned yourself to the fact that he just wasn’t a fan of you. And that was fine. But now you had to play tennis with him? Be on a team with him?

Maybe he'd be more agreeable in his natural element, or at least you hoped he would be. Though you doubted just being on the courts would make him magically greet you with joy and cheer and sparkles.

You stole a glance at him. He was unreadable, as always, nodding at the decision without any reaction or even a look your way.

You, on the other hand, were trying not to spiral.

Fucking media team.

Now you got where the players' disdain came from.

---

After the meeting, as everyone gathered their things, you felt a someone hovering beside you. You turned to find Jannik standing there, looming over you with hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You shouldn't have to stress about it," he said, his voice even.

You just blinked at him, completely caught off guard. He'd never initiated any words with you before, like ever. "Wait, what?"

"The shoot," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I can help you practice before."

His gaze flickered toward the others leaving the room before settling back on you. "If you want, I mean. Just if you want to feel more comfortable when we film."

It was a simple offer, spoken so casually, but something about it made your heart stutter. Jannik Sinner, who had barely acknowledged you for months, was offering to help you. And he'd somehow managed to notice your worries, even if he did spend his time ignoring you.

You nodded, voice slightly unsure. "Uh—yeah. Yeah, okay. That would be… nice."

"Nine o’clock, practice courts," he said, before turning to leave.

You stared after him, still processing.

What in the hell was that?

---

At exactly 9 PM, you arrived at the courts, nerves thrumming under your skin. Jannik was already there, casually bouncing a ball on his racket, looking every bit like this was just another training session. Maybe he did these kind of evening, charity lessons all the time... you didn't know the guy after all—you laughed a little at the thought.

"You’re on time," he noted, glancing at you. "That’s good."

You scoffed. "I try to be punctual when my dignity is at stake."

He let out a quiet huff of amusement—so slight you almost missed it.

The next hour was spent going through the basics. He showed you the mechanics of different swings, his voice steady as he corrected your form. When you moved on to drills, you were surprised to find that you weren’t terrible—you picked things up quickly, and, to your delight (and maybe even his), he would murmur the occasional praise.

"That was good."

"Better."

"Nice timing."

Each acknowledgement of progress sent a strange thrill through you. You let yourself pretend it was just the adrenaline from learning something new.

After drills, he set up a small rally between you two. He went easy on you, obviously, but you both got really into it. Every time you managed to hit a decent shot, you’d throw out some cocky quip.

"That was almost an actual point! Be afraid, Sinner."

Jannik smirked—actually smirked. "I’ll try to contain my fear."

Slowly, one-liners started coming from his way too.

"That was just luck."

Or "I let you have that one."

"You wish you let me have that one." You'd shot back.

After a few back and forths, you were both laughing freely between rallies and you had forgotten why you were ever nervous in the first place.

You were missing less, hitting the balls harder, and a smile had stayed plastered on your face throughout it all.

But after one, particularly hard swing from you, Jannik returned the ball your way with full power—forgetting himself for a moment. A sharp cazzo leaving his lips as soon as his racket made contact with the ball.

It was a real hit, one with too much force and speed for you to react in time. The ball was coming straight for you, and all you could do was twist your front away from the collision. It struck your shoulder right as you turned, your balance giving away at the odd angle, sending you stumbling forward. You hit the ground hard, scraping your knees and palms.

Jannik was above you in an instant, crouching beside you before you could even process what happened.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low and urgent. His hands hovered over you, hesitating, like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how.

You forced a laugh, wincing. "Well, I won’t be turning pro anytime soon."

But he wasn't so easily amused. He gently lifted your chin so your downcast gaze had to meet his, your eyes had welled up from the impact. He didn't waste any time, already helping you up. One hand gripping your arm, the other steadying your waist.

"Come. Let’s clean this up."

---

In the locker room, he sat you on a bench before leaving you in search of some first-aid equipment. With a squeeze of comfort on your unharmed shoulder, he'd murmured, "Wait here."

He returned with a bright red kit and came down to your level, resting the supplies on his leg. And the sight of him—Jannik Sinner, world-class athlete—kneeling between your legs, so close you could feel his breath, made your stomach flip.

His fingers were gentle as they gripped your thigh, moving upward and settling just beneath the seam of your shorts to steady your leg as his other hand cleaned the cut on your knee. You inhaled sharply, the heat of his touch searing into your skin.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” he said, voice barely a whisper as he worked his way down the gash. His eyes stayed trained on the wound, brows furrowed in concentration, and you found that couldn’t look away from him.

"You're not." You replied, trying to sound reassuring, but the words barely carried—cutting off as he switch to your palms. He took your hands in his own to inspect your scrapes there, his fingers traced lightly over the raw skin. His touch slow, deliberate. Your breath hitched and your fingers quivered. If he noticed, he made no sign of it—he'd yet to look up at your face.

Then, he reached around you to press his fingertips along your shoulder blade, checking for a bruise or any swelling, and you felt the warmth of his hand spread through you. You couldn't help but straighten at the touch, your back arching ever so slightly into his hand. You swallowed hard, your pulse a little too fast.

Finally, he met your eyes and held your gaze. And, for a moment, it felt like there was no space left to close. You could have counted his every lash and every freckle—you let your eyes flicker to his lips.

He blinked, exhaled with slight shake of his head and moved to sit beside you on the bench without a word, breaking the moment.

You both sat in the echoing quiet of the locker room, tension tangible in the air.

"Are you alright?" He asked, the first to break the silence.

"Yes, thank you." And because the sincerity in your words felt too heavy, you added, "Better to get the injuries out now, rather than on tape tomorrow."

He had no reply, he only nodded as he shut the first-aid tin. Neither of you moved for some minutes after that.

"I thought you couldn’t stand me," you admitted after a few more beats of silence.

He replied, and his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, "That was never true."

Something in your chest tightened.

Not knowing how to handle the weight of it all, you forced a smile and deflected once more. "Well, I’ll still be good for the tournament. Try not be the weak link, okay?"

His lips twitched, then finally cracked into a small smile. "I’ll do my best."

You both left in silence, but the traces of your intimacy lingered. Traces of his care.

And the knowledge that something had almost happened.

That maybe, next time, it would.

---

The next day, the energy on set at the courts was electric. The ATP media team had pulled out all the stops—cameras stationed at every angle, players mic’d up, the mini “Grand Slam” trophy sitting on a table like it was an actual piece of silverware worth fighting for. There was an undeniable buzz as the filming began, and somehow, throughout all the pairings, the biggest surprise came from you and Jannik.

There was an odd contrast between you two—after last night, things still felt slightly unnatural, stiff. Like you were both hyper-aware of each other. But at the same time, you had never felt more in sync with someone.

He was always there, just within reach. When you moved, he followed. When he positioned himself on court, you instinctively slotted into place beside him. Every time he set up a shot, you knew exactly where he wanted you. It wasn’t something either of you had to vocalize—it was just something you felt.

The other players took notice immediately.

“Where did this come from?” Carlos Alcaraz muttered after you and Jannik advanced from your first round.

“I didn’t think they’d make it past the first match,” Ben Shelton added, arms crossed as he watched in disbelief.

By the semifinals, it was undeniable. You and Jannik were good together. Even in a casual, barely-serious tournament, the chemistry was obvious. You celebrated small victories with ease—when you landed a decent shot, Jannik would step forward with a closed fist, other hand on your back, murmuring, “Nice one.” In between points, he’d throw you a towel as you passed him his water, like it was second nature. The way you moved together, the way you read each other—it was like you had played as a team for years.

And then, against all odds, you won the whole damn thing.

---

As the final match point was scored, the celebration was pure instinct. You turned toward Jannik, arms outstretched in disbelief, and without hesitation, his hands found your waist, lifting you slightly in a triumphant embrace.

“Did we actually just win?” you laughed, sliding your hands down from around his neck to his chest.

His smirk was soft but victorious. “We did.”

The rest of the players groaned in exaggerated dismay.

“I don’t believe it,” Stefanos said, shaking his head.

“Who let them get this good together?” Daniil added, crossing his arms.

“This win came out of nowhere,” Ben muttered. “Did anyone see this happening?”

The mini trophy ceremony was as ridiculous as expected. The ATP staff made a grand show of presenting the tiny, poorly spray painted trophy, which Jannik took with a mock-serious nod before passing it to you.

You beamed, lifting it over your head. “I’d like to thank my coach, my trainer, my physio, and of course, my partner in crime—” You turned toward Jannik, nudging him playfully. “Bit of an underground player, but he really came alive today on the court. Couldn’t have done it without you, Sinner.”

For the first time in front of all of them, Jannik actually smiled at you, the full breadth of it. There was something warm and deeper in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, quieter but just as certain. “We make a good team.”

---

After filming wrapped, you and Jannik found yourselves alone in the locker room again, the commotion of the day settling into something more still between just the two of you. You sat on the bench, absentmindedly spinning the tiny trophy on a finger, still amused by the absurdity of it all.

Jannik sat next to you, shoulders barely brushing. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt charged—like something was waiting to be said.

Finally, he broke it. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You turned to him, confused. “About what?”

He took a breath, eyes flickering to you before looking straight ahead again. “That we make a good team.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart stutter. Because you knew he wasn’t talking about tennis.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the trophy. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “We do.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air between you thick, expectant. He was so close—you could feel the heat radiating from him, see the way his jaw clicked slightly like he was holding something back. And for the second time, if you leaned in even slightly, there would be no space left to close.

And then, finally and slowly, the tension relieved itself.

Jannik shifted, his hand reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear—slow, deliberate, like he was testing something. His fingers barely skimmed your skin, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You looked up at him, heart pounding. “Jannik…”

He hesitated, then, voice nothing but a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t have to think. Didn’t want to. You just nodded.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and sure, like he had been holding back for longer then you could ever know. The tiny trophy slipped from your grip, clattering onto the bench, but neither of you noticed.

Because finally—finally—there was nothing left between you but this.

---

Cute cute!! Hope you like it xx

#jannik sinner #jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner blurb #jannik sinner one-shot #jannik sinner fanart #jannik sinner smut #atp tour x reader #tennis #tennis fic #jannik sinner fluff #forza jannik #GameSetAttach #jannik sinner one shot

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allthelovenina · 10 months ago

Text

Nothing lasts forever

NSFW warning, MDNI.

Pair: levi ackerman x reader

Shout out to @leviismybby for giving me the idea.

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for writing errors and mistakes.

Also, it's my first time writing smut. Please be nice T-T

It's been a long week. Training, paperwork, and negotiations for the upcoming mission funding.

So, there you were attending another ball alongside other scout higherups, Hange, Erwin and Levi. The ball was thrown by a "rich brat" as Levi calls him, who was enthusiastic about spending his money in places no one else would. In truth, Erwin saw this as an opportunity to convince him that the Scouts could take back Wall Maria with the assistance of Eren Jeager, the titan kid. In that case, he was able to expand his construction business further and gain a huge profit, considering the amount of destruction the buildings had gone through.

The "rich brat" who was only the same as yours, named "Benjamin Scott". A handsome and smart man who threw this party and invited everyone involved in the three regiments to find more connection and link with people who would one day be useful to him.

Anyways, there you were. Makeup on your face like a piece of art, hair done, in your heels, turning heads to yourself. No one could not notice you. Which of course, was a pain in Levi's butt, except that he didn't know why. He had no idea why was he so pissed off the moment he stepped into this stupid party, surrounded by idiots. Of course, he didn't acknowledge the fact that he was jealous, even to himself.

Whatever was going on between you and Levi was...complicated. you weren't in a relationship but you were definitely something more than "friends" or "colleagues" which was just a headache to you. You were sick of this situation, you were in no place to roll your eyes at the new recruits who constantly tried to hit on him, or to get close enough to him to bring him out of his agony and you were certainly in no position to touch him, kiss him or give him a pat on his head when he is tired and overworked. You were really done with him not acknowledging you nor your feelings, when you finally realized he wasn't going to ever be anything more to you, you gave up. This party had the perfect timing because now you had an excuse to be drunk without anyone suspecting you that you're drinking because of Levi.

Afterall, being flirty with those rich bastards has always been your job to secure the funding for missions, handed to you by Erwin. Add some alcohol to that equation, and there you are. Flirting shamelessly with the one and only Benjamin Scott. To be honest, you took his attention the moment you stepped into the hall, he could always appreciate a beautiful woman with the right amount of strength.

On the other side of the hall, there stood Levi, no real expression on his face but his eyes said something else. He was staring at you and Benjamin from afar and as unusual as it was for him, he was drinking. He wasn't listening nor was he paying any attention to anything and anyone but you and the man you seemed so fond of while chatting. He sighed with anger once he saw the blush on Benjamin's face.

No one really noticed Levi's anger, he had always been grumpy anyway so it didn't seem anything unordinary. Except for Hange of course. They could easily read his mind and expression, with a tease in their voice, they said "Seems like y/n is having fun. I guess the guy will fully cover our financial matters."

Levi remained silent and he took another shut. "Someone's having it tough, huh?"

"Shut up four eyes."

"Jeez it's not my fault she chose him over you!"

"I said shut up! I don't care."

"You know Levi, if it's messing your head to this extent I think you actually do. You're not being honest with yourself."

"It's not that I like her like that it's just that Erwin shouldn't take advantages of her like that! Sending her to flirt with these bastards so they would give us the fundings we need. That's all!"

"Oh yeah? Well it's not the first time he asked her to do so and you never seemed this worked up. Could it be that not only she seems to be having a good time with him, she's been ignoring you?"

He frowned, they had a point though. A few nights ago you went to him, expressing concern about the amount of work he'd been doing and of course, all he said to her was "I'm busy doing your job as well, peace out." You didn't talk to him ever since that incident, only a few words like "hey" and "sign this".

He waited. He was probably the most patient man you knew. Anyways, on your way back to the HQ, you kept ignoring him. Hange called you to hold a conversation with you about the lovely, handsome man who was determined to fund the next operation. Meanwhile, Levi was gone. Perhaps he was too tired. Perhaps...

Damn it. He didn't mean it that. He just wanted you to know that the main reason he was okay with overworking was you, so you would have less work on your plate since you two had the same rankings. He could see now how offensive he came off as. So after a handful amount of blaming and cursing himself and overthinking everything, he decided to wait. Like a patient hunter who waits for his prey, he waits. He kept watching you chatting with the handsome man, he almost felt like a creep. Imagining things he would do to you the moment you get back to the HQ. Although he was inexperienced he felt like he knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

You got to your room only to find Levi, sitting on your bed with his eyes on the floor. You were surprised by the sight. "What the hell are you doing here?"

You raised an eyebrow, little did you know it was going to be about tonight or the other day in his office. "What about?"

There was no emotion in his expression nor his tone as he lifted his head and looked at you "We need to talk."

He sounds annoyed as he lets out a sigh and says "You're right. Why would I talk? I've never been good with my words..." Unlike Erwin or your lover boy of a spoild rich brat.

He got up, stepping towards you. As your confusion grew, the distance between you two shrank by him. He basically invaded your personal space, whispering, "You don't get it, do you?"

Before you could answer him, or even ask him what was he talking about, his lips were on yours. His tongue getting in your mouth, swirling around. You were in one word, shocked.

It finally happened.

You knew damn well no joy in this world lasted long so now that you had such a delightful moment, you claimed it. You closed your eyes, kissing him back as he put one of his hands on your waist and the other on the back of your shoulders as he pulled you even closer. You rested one of your hands on the back of his neck, and the other ran through his undercut, yanking his raven hair a little.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath and hallelujah, you were blessed by a scene no one had ever seen. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. The blush was spread all over his cheeks and his lips were swallowed, puffy and wet.

He was like a painting by some lavish artist in Wall Sina. You could just look at him all day long but as you were too busy admiring his beauty, his lips invaded your neck, sucking it oh so desperately. He kissed your skin and ran his tongue on it like a thirsty man who finally found water. He felt helpless in your presence. All of the questions in his head were answered now. Why does he get pissed whenever someone gets too close to you? Why does he find himself looking for you in every crowded room during the meetings or meals? Why is it that he hates it when you overwork yourself and when you ask him for something and he gives whatever it is to you like a mindless puppet?

He...adored you. Simply loved you. As much as anyone like him was ever capable of loving someone.

So there he was, cursing your soft skin and scent for making him this animalistic. This brainless as he bit your earlobe. He just wanted you, at this moment, in was only you and him in this whole world.

And oh man, when he finally heard your moans...it was as if something got into him, driving him to the verge of sanity. He felt a disgustingly sweet warmth in his heart as he heard those angelic moans. He wanted more, no he needed more.

When he finally could let go of that smooth neck, his mouth got close to your ear as he whispered "If you want me to stop this is your last chance because if I take one step further I won't be able to stop. Make up your mind and make sure you won't regret it."

Is he fucking serious? Hasn't he noticed it already? Hasn't he seen the desperation in your smallest actions? Didn't he realize you needed him?

Probably not, otherwise, he wouldn't say such a dumb thing. As a response, you unbuttoned his shirt as your eyes never left his. Running your hands on his chest, drawing circles around his nipples with ghostly movements. He grabbed your wrist and made you lie on your back on your bed. He got rid of his shirt, throwing it god knows where. Now came the hard part.

Should I tear her stupid dress up or fuck her with it on?

He slid two fingers in your mouth while your head rested on the pillow beneath your head. The other hand unbuckled his belt. You sucked his fingers as if your life depended on it, taking them into your thraot, muffled moans came out of your mouth. Then he pulled the wet fingers out of your mouth, slid them into the collar of your dress and ran them all over your breasts. He pulled out your breasts, perhaps if you weren't a mess and your mind actually did have any room for anything except for Levi and pleasure, you would've seen the spark in his eyes once he saw your exposed body. Oh he wasn't going to take that dress off. You would be fucked with that tease on.

He sucked your nipple as if it was his meal after long days of starvation while the already wet fingers of his played with the other, pinching and twisting it. He hasn't really done much at this point but you could still feel the heat between your legs. You were on cloud nine, so you didn't mind the marks he had left on your breasts once he was done with them. Exposed, wet and sore. The air hitting the wet flesh makes you feel the chill down your spine. He went down, holding one of your legs by the ankle as he put it on his shoulder. You still had your heels on. He kissed your ankle, leaving hot, wet traces on your leg as he was kissing it and running his tongue on it. He marked your legs too as he was sucking and nibbing them, worshipping them basically. He goes up little by little until he reaches the gates of heaven. He specifically only runs the tip of his tongue on where your hips are connected to your body. He wanted to tease you, he kissed your skin so hard and sucked it while bitting it. Small bites all over the skin that are close to that era. All of a sudden he slipped his tongue into your panties, leaving kitten licks on your folds as the fabric was still on and that's when you saw the stars. "You were having fun, weren't you? Ignoring me and chatting with a spoiled brat. Huh? Did you like it when he was eyefucking you? Tsk...he had no idea I'd be devouring you like this, had he?"

"Levi...Please..."

"Answer me!"

"Nghh no I didn't enjoy it!"

"Oh? And why is that? You seemed very pleased by the attention he gave you."

He couldn't help but leave a slap on your pussy, you gasped in surprise and pain as he started stroking it while the underwear was still on. He pulled the underwear so up the fabric was now rather exposing everything and leaving a delicious pain.

"Doesn't matter anymore cause you're mine!"

He pulled the underwear down, put both of your legs on his shoulders and he got closer, stroking his cock on your entrance, feeling your wetness. Then with no warning, he slid two fingers in. You moaned loudly then she smacked your buttock with the other hand.

"Keep it down unless you want everyone to know what a mess you turned into under me. Not that I have any problem with that though."

He increased the speed of his fingers, and then, they found the sweet spot in you. Once he saw how you reacted-practically jumped- he knew he pushed the right button. He aimed the spot again and again and again until you had to shut your moans by covering your mouth with your hand.

"You like it, don't you? Fuck you're so wet. What a filthy girl you are! My filthy girl."

"Levi...not enough...please..."

"Please, what y/n?"

You didn't see any smirk on his lips but you heard it in his tone .

"Slow down? Stop? Leave you like this? What?"

"No! No no no no, please! F...fuck me already. Levi!"

"You're lucky I'm not going to punish you for ignoring me this whole week!"

He then pulled out the fingers, digging them into the flesh of her thighs now as he repositioned himself between them, holding his cock, entering her hole slowly. Her eyes rolled back and a loud moan skipped from her mouth, she bit her lips to shut the moans. Levi, on the other hand, kept it quiet with ease, not that his cock didn't twist by the scene in front of him but he kept it down only to listen to her. He slowly pushed further and now was fully in her. He put a hand next to her head, on the bed as the other held one of her legs on his shoulder. He was looking at her closer as he whispered "Look at you..."

He wasn't sure if you heard him, you didn't really. Too preoccupied by the pain and the pleasure.

"Tell me when you're ready, okay?"

He tucked a stray of her hair behind her ear as he was waiting for her to adjust, secretly admiring her in every possible way. Not only her beauty but also her grace.

"G...go on."

And that was all he needed to hear. All those years of training and his stamina were paying off in another way now... not to fight or destroy but to pleasure and satisfy. Initially, his hips moved in a slow yet hard and steady way. He didn't moan, but he was panting while you were a hot mess, trying so hard and desperately to get a hold of yourself and keep it down, shutting your moans, but you failed. All you could do was not scream.

That was until he found that sweet spot again. (Bold of you to assume he forgot where it was in the first place). Your neck arched back as you let out another loud moan. He increased his speed, aiming for that poor spot. Hitting it over and over. You could swear at this point your walls got his shape, feeling every vein and curve of his cock.

One of his hands grabbed your breast tightly and the other was now working on your clit. Started with ghostly slow touches, getting more and more aggressive as his speed increased. You were seeing stars. It didn't take you long before your pussy was tightened around his cock, and that's when he knew you were closed.

"Cum for me. Make a mess on my cock."

And as if that was all you needed to hear, you followed his command. Reaching your climax in no second, still moaning. Good thing everyone's already asleep. You hoped so.

The marks on your neck and breasts, the mess you became because of him, your smudged lisptick, and ruined mascara made him proud. No, that's an underestimation. It struck his ego. That alone could make him cum and boy, he did cum. He pulled out and cummed on that stupid dress on yours that had been on his nerves all night long.

Still both of you were panting when he fell right next to you on the bed.

"You...ruined my dress...jerk!"

"I'll buy you another brat."

#levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi aot #levi ackerman x y/n

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

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a/n: You know me so well bb! I've been thinking about this all day. 💚

barbatos x gn!reader [nb] | 0.6k words | sfw (fluff)

content/warnings: hinted established relationship with og!barbatos, solomon slander. 😈

Barbatos invites you to the castle for a late supper because someone has to look after you properly. He knows you spend so much of your time caring for everyone else. Who can he trust to feed you if not himself? Lucifer and his siblings? Solomon? No, he won't rely on the fallen angels to think beyond their own problems to worry about yours, nor will he subject you to more of that damned sorcerer's definition of edible food.

He’s worried that a detour to the castle will make your long day even more exhausting for you, but he can’t resist the temptation to offer his assistance. He dampens his cautious optimism and prepares himself for your apologetic refusal, but eagerness blooms in his chest when you thank him profusely for an excuse not to return to Cocytus Hall just yet. (You tell him that you could smell Solomon's food from outside the building, and you were lingering outside contemplating what to do next.) It doesn't take long for you to arrive at the demon lord's castle, and your eyes brighten sweetly when you notice him waiting for you on the front steps. You look relieved to see him, like you're greeting an old friend, or like you're coming home. He wonders what he’s done to deserve such admiration.

He realizes that he should've thought this plan through because once he leads you to the kitchen, he has no idea what meal to serve you. Dinnertime was hours ago, and everything has been cleaned and put away. He urges you to sit and relax at one of the countertops while he debates what he can make for you. He doesn't want to simply reheat leftovers for you—it feels like a waste of his talents. He can do so much more for you. He knows your preferences by now; he's seen the dishes you pass over and the ones you take seconds from. He hides his unpreparedness by distracting you with lighthearted conversation.

After a few minutes, you stand up and fill the kettle for a pot of tea. He can’t help but sneak glances from the corner of his eye as you move around the castle kitchen like you know it as well as he does. It doesn't escape his notice that you place two cups on the counter, or that you reach past the sugar in the cupboard and grab a jar of honey instead. You always seem to remember the little things he likes and doesn't like, the same way he remembers those things about you.

Dinner is plated not long after the tea is steeped and ready to drink. He looks forward to finally being able to focus on you, showing you the utmost respect and attention you deserve. He sits on a barstool next to you while you both chat idly over a plate of sandwiches and a light salad. He’s not used to this type of quiet intimacy and he hopes you don't notice. Your fingers nearly brush against his own when you both reach for food off the same plate. He sips your delicious tea and hides his smile behind the rim of his cup when you tell him amusing stories about your work earlier in the day. Your murmured words of appreciation for inviting you tonight are pleasing. Sometimes you nudge his shoulder playfully like you crave his closeness and not only the services he offers you. It goes against everything he is—professional, poised, collected. He shouldn't like this as much as he does.

Maybe he's simply not used to having friends, with the exception of the Young Master he dutifully serves. He's cooked elaborate feasts for demon lords, of course—spending hours in the kitchen to ensure everything was made and plated to perfection, watching blandly as hours of his hard work is consumed within minutes, bowing at the waist when he acknowledges each polite compliment they offer him. Once he's walked you home and he can retire to his room to contemplate, he’ll wonder why your praise for his simple cooking and modest company feels so much more satisfying in comparison.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #barbatos x reader #barbatos x mc #barbatos x you #obey me x reader #x reader #gn!reader

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moodymisty · 9 months ago

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Hello! I can not tell you how fERRAL I went when I discovered your blog a couple days ago, I've binged the fuck out of your Darksiders content and I just can't belive I havent found you sooner (where have you been fr ;7;) !! Your writing style and vocabulary are impeccable, and I can't wait to read moreeee ahhdjshdjsjdj I am eagerly awaiting the next chapter of 'Tree in Bloom' but if I may request also a continuation or conclusion of your 'Death returning to the one he abandoned post well of souls' fic cuz I'm a succer for your angst and fluff and everything else you do really jdjshdj<3 sfw or nsfw idc as long as I get to read more of your writing!<333

Lots of love and support from a long time Darksiders community member and fan <3

Part 1

Author's note: Sure fam, I think I can squeeze out a bit more for that one.

Relationships: Death/Gn!Reader

Warnings: none really

Death hadn't returned to you since the confrontation.

It's a rare feeling for him, but he honestly doesn't know what to do next. If you were missing, injured, he could formulate a plan, kill something, even bite his tongue and ask for assistance. But you're right here, and so unfathomably angry at him that the anger has morphed into something else entirely.

Apathy, perhaps. Death wouldn't be unfamiliar with that sort of transformation. He'd felt that change towards the fate of the Nephilim a long time ago.

But Death knows that he doesn't want to just leave you behind the way he does with everyone else. The way he had tried to with his death in the Well of Souls, and had failed to successfully do. He enjoyed having you beside him, enough so that it almost made him upset at how attached he was getting. It made him even angrier that it was becoming more than just acquaintanceship, or friendship. He shouldn't be having the sorts of thoughts he was about you, he didn't deserve them.

You didn't either; Not after what he did. He knows he had to, it's what he thought was best, it was the only way to save War and your race, but that doesn't mean he hasn't realized how it had hurt you.

But now he stands in front of you completely silent, and all the words he was thinking about saying suddenly sound so stupid.

"I told you Death, you can just leave. I don't know why you keep coming back."

His jaw shifts behind his mask. That sounds eerily similar to something that he would say, and he isn't a fan of being on the other side of it. Perhaps for a moment he understands a bit of how you feel when you try to speak with him.

You look up at him with raised eyebrows, wondering why he hasn't either talked, or just moved on. Your anger fades ever so slightly when you seem to realize that he's... nervous. Or at least something in a similar category.

"What is it, Death?" He swallows the knot in his throat. What he's going to say isn't something he's said in so long that he doesn't remember how the words taste, nor does he know if it's even the right thing to say.

"I wanted to apologize to you."

Your face changes from anger to surprise. He thinks he sees your lips mouth what, but your voice was silent. You cross your arms across your chest as if trying to give yourself a hug.

"Why?" At first he thinks you're asking why he's apologizing, but when he sees the watery shine in your eyes he realizes that you're asking why he did what he did. You just wanted an answer, this entire time, and he knows now that he at least owes you that.

"I thought it would be better to just leave than to drag it out."

You wanted to be angry at him still he can tell, demand that he explain himself more, but you know in the end that's all you'll get out of him in words. You could at least understand him; That it was easier to rip the bandaid off than to say goodbye and risk feeling hesitation over what he had to do.

You sigh, still crossing your arms over eachother.

"You don't have to apologize. Just, don't leave me like that again." Death watches you look away from him again, and your next words hit him harder than he's been hit by any weapon in awhile. "I don't know if I could take something like that a second time."

Death doesn't comment directly on it, on how you so easily show you're attached to him. Death had tried desperately to stop you from doing so, for your sake and his. You shouldn't attach yourself to someone like him, and someone like him doesn't deserve such upfront, vocal infatuation.

"Dust stayed with you this entire time?"

Death looks down on you with his familiar expression, though even you can tell behind the mask it's a bit softer. The bird warbles softly at his name being called, ruffling his feathers a bit but still staying mostly still. You nod at his question.

"Yes, ever since you left." Death looks at his left shoulder at the crow, watching the bird eye him.

"Good bird." You smile at his praise. Dust deserved it, after everything.

"I imagine I have plenty to catch up on," Death says. He knows you have a penchant for curiosity- as does your entire race it seems - along with the changes he himself brought not long ago. He's sure you've gotten into trouble under the Makers care, as well as anything that has changed since he brought Humanity back from the dead.

"You do." You take a breath and raise your tone to something more questioning, and more importantly expectant. "But I can bring you up to speed, if you can stay awhile?"

Death out of habit wanted to say no, but perhaps he can defeat a centuries old habit just for you.

He nods, and follows behind you as you go to sit down together with him, and tell him everything.

#death x reader #darksiders death x reader #darksiders x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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omorfax · 10 months ago

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ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴀ11 - ɴᴇᴡᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ.

A Maze Runner Series :)

TW: character death(s)

Days seem to pass as you lay in the grass behind the walls, the ones that were set to open back up in just a few moments. Gally is there, preparing for the worst, as were many other Gladers who gathered in the early morning. Contrary to the worried looks of the others, you refused to jump to conclusions. You could not fathom the thought of losing any of them, not your friend, not your boyfriend, not even the kid just introduced to the lot. They were just here, here within arms reach. Your eyes simply bore into the split growing by the groan and grind of the walls. Once opened, those of you that gathered meet only the empty walls of the maze, the sway of vines and moss sing in the eerie silence of this morning.

You only scramble to your feet when there's a sliver of movement beyond the vines, in the distance. It's then that you see the trio, Minho and Thomas struggling with a still unconscious Alby. Once assisted into the Med-Jack Hut, you and Jeff both see the deathly mark creeping up his neck.

"Stung. . . he's been stung." You shake as you cut open the fabric of his blood and dirt-stained top, feeling tears brim in anger.

You don't even bother to dress the sting itself, merely clean him up and get him damp towels for the ever rising fever. It pained you to see him like this, so helpless against something that only the Creators could be damned for. You allow tears to roll down your face as soon as the Keepers, Second-in-Command, and Thomas attend a Gathering in the Homestead. Gally of course was the one to have called it, being the hot-headed, cautious brother you came to know. In all honesty, you were grateful for Thomas helping Minho and Alby. Without that impulsive decision, you would have lost them both.

You are replacing a damp towel on Alby's forehead when a familiar blaring alarm echoes throughout the maze. The box. There's an uneasiness brewing in the pit of your stomach, recognizing that the premature delivery would be nothing good. Rushing out of the hut, the Keepers are already halfway to the box, running with an urgent curiosity. There is a Glader trying to keep up with them, but slows to a stop a few feet out in front of you. It's Newt, meeting your gaze when he realizes you are looking at his leg, the one he had been limping on quite often more recently. You look up, finding a rather unreadable expression on his face, when you remember how you had been sobbing into your arms earlier, above your unconscious and rather sickly boyfriend.

You rush to wipe away the remaining tears as he resumes his jog to the box, and you follow close behind once regaining composure. Everyone is looming over the box again, similar to the day you arrived. Newt jumps in the box, an incredulous look painting his face before saying,

"It's a girl."

***********************

"We don't even know what this stuff is," Newt turns to you and the newest Glader, Teresa.

"We don't know who sent it, why it came up with you." He accuses further, before turning to you.

"You haven't even met the girl before recently, and now ya wanna shoot our Leader up with it?"

Grabbing the vile from Newt, you sneer at him, "At least she has something to offer here. I don't see anyone else bringin' anythin' to the table. He's dying."

A pause settles amongst the group, when Newt finally nods ahead, finding no alternative to the situation. You walk back to Alby's side, raising the solution before slamming down to his chest. Only, you don't make contact. Alby awakens with a quick growl, gripping onto your wrist with a strength hard enough to make you drop the vile onto the cot. He is looking right into your eyes, and you watch his look of pain and betrayal as he looks between you and Thomas with a sort of knowing you both could not understand.

"Alb-" you start, whimpering at his crushing grip, he was hurting you.

"You shouldn't be here, you both shouldn't be here."

His grip only tightened as he pulled you closer, everyone else hollering to grab the vile, grab the vile before he got worse. Thomas is pulling you out of Alby's grip when Newt grabs and slams the solution into his chest, finally releasing his suffocating grip on you. You fall back into Thomas, before releasing a shuttering breath out. Your wrist is slowly returning to its original hue, yet you found a reddening shade spread throughout, ghosting the grip that just held you. Everyone is looking at you, you could feel it.

"I guess I should go tend to this," You mumble, slowly moving towards the medical kit in the corner.

Newt's eyes follow you, concentrated on your nursing hold on the wrist. But, when you meet his gaze, he hurriedly looks away, commanding to all that he be put on a mandatory 24-hour watch. A few hours after the fact, Minho was the one to find you beside Alby's cot. He finds a stray stool to bring next to you, watching as you trace the bruise darkening around your wrist in an empty gaze. Rather than speak, he rests his hand around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. An act of comfort, pity, you could not tell. He was just there, and you believe that was all you needed at the time. You let yourself fall against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heartbeat while he rubs circles on your shoulder.

"What could he have meant, Minho," you take a shaky breath before continuing, "Why shouldn't I be here?"

"It's the Changing, it'll do some jacked things, ya know?"

"You didn't see him, the way he looked at me. He looked angry, upset. Like he didn't want nothin' to do with me." A tear slides down your face, as you relive the scenes before.

"I'm sure you can talk to him once he's up, (Y/N). How 'bout ya get some shuteye, yea?" Minho releases you from the hug, urging you on out, "I'll get Newt to take over for the night."

Speaking of the devil Himself, Newt walks into the room, only to halt before the sight. You have your hand shading your eyes, letting your injured hand fall onto your knee. Newt's eyes bore into yours, it was hard not to feel such an intense look. He immediately knew you were shading your tears from him, trying to hide the pain from the one you were sure to make fun of you. Minho looks between you two, before confirming Newt take over in your place by Alby's side.

"Good that. C'mon, (Y/N), off to bed with ya." Minho drags you out, avoiding the gaze of Second in Command.

***********************

The following day, you leave Jeff and Teresa to monitoring Alby while you, Gally, and the others await the newly appointed Runner on his first official day on the job. Minho and Thomas return with ample time, relaying to Newt their findings of a new part of the maze: a possible way out. You follow behind them as Thomas tells you all of the possible Griever den, and how it their way in is our way out.

"But you don't really know, do you, Thomas. Let's be honest here, the shank doesn't know what he's done, and what he coulda brought to us."

"Yea? Well at least I did something, Gally." Thomas spins with a face of anger, meeting your brother close.

"Let's get something straight here, Greenie. You've been here three days, I've been here three years."

"Yea, and yet you're still here, Gally! What's that say?"

You step between them, just about to diffuse the confrontation, when Theresa runs up in a quick nature. You knew what it meant, it meant he was awake. Alby. You follow her, Thomas, and the others to the bedside, finding him sitting upright in his cot. You sigh in relief, everyone allowing you to crouch beside him.

"Alby? Alby. It's me," He doesn't respond, only seemed to contain his gaze to the floorboards.

"Alby, you alright?" Newt joins, to no avail.

You roll forward on your knees, reaching up with a wary hand to cup his face. He turns his empty gaze to you. "Thomas and Minho may have found a way out, we're getting out of here." A tear rolls down his cheek, and you know you all share the same drop of your hearts, trickling as the tear did to your feet. The Leader was breaking.

"No, no we can't. We won't, they won't let us." He reaches up, holding your hand closer to his skin before glancing to Thomas, "You were always their favorite, Thomas."

Sudden hollering and frantic voices sound beyond the hut following his statement, gaining the attention of the others. As the others depart in curiosity to the noise, you look back to Alby, who is gazing at you already. He has a knowing look, one that scared you.

"(Y/N)," He brushes back a stray strand of hair, before placing a kiss on your forehead, "you were always the strong one. They didn't like you very much." He chuckles, as do you with tears streaming down your face. "I need you to promise me something." Alby pulls you close hugging you as he says his next phrase, one that chills you to the bone. "No matter what happens, promise me you'll follow him. Follow Thomas. . . and protect him. Protect Newt."

Screams bring you both from the embrace, and you jolt as Griever roars sound throughout the Glade. Immediately, Alby is grabbing you, pulling you outside to meet the others. They've already split, but Thomas is leading you all to the Homestead, Gally leading the rest to another location. Panic settles as you realize you're split from your brother, and now you were sitting ducks in a hut built of flimsy wood planks and straw. Alby holds you close, eyes training on Thomas as he shushes the lot of you.

It was then that the Griever reached its stinger in, destroying the roof above you all. Screaming continued as Gladers get ripped from all sides, until it openly targets Chuck. "Chuck, no!" You reach out to grab him, as does Thomas, who pulls and pulls on him from the mechanical grip of the machine, but you cannot seem to pull hard enough. Grunting and groaning came from the Gladers, all trying to save the younger one from the fate the others succumbed to. That is, until Alby begins screaming, smashing the Grievers stinger repeatedly, as if all his pain, anger, and fear released with each smash. He ended up detaching the stinger from the Griever itself, sending the appendage flying past Thomas's head. Chuck is immediately pulled into the arms of his fellow Gladers, but the reunion is short-lived when another stinger crackles behind him.

"Alby!"

You run toward him, but he's already being pulled up, through the roof. Alby holds himself by the beams, holding himself steady as you and Thomas reach out to him.

"(Y/N), remember my promise."

"No, no, Alby, please." You sob, desperately pulling at his shirt to keep him here with you. "Thomas," his voice is calm, steady, but your heart and mind race miles a minute, "get them out."

He lets go of the wooden beam, and you're both left empty-handed. Alby was gone. Gone.

***********************

this is so crazy I can't believe (Y/N) gets in trouble w the creators. that's so crazy. can't believe i'm also about to k word mister toy story next. (y/n) is about to go THROUGH it. <33

anyway thank you all for the support! I hope you love this story as much as i like writing it. definitely comment what you think/want to happen between the to-be-lovers ;)

PART IV COMING SOON!!

#tmr fandom #tmr minho #tmr gally #tmr thomas #newt tmr #tmr newt #tmr #thomas tmr #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure #newt x reader #newt maze runner #minho maze runner #thomas maze runner #gally maze runner #alby tmr #maze runner x reader

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interestingplan · 2 months ago

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Unsure, but sure of you

Jorah Mormont x Reader

a/n - i honestly haven't written in a while and im kinda on a writing spree right now, but enjoy some more jorah content lol

Warnings: angst, jealousy, fluff, (no nsfw)

Summary: You've longed for the handsome knight Ser. Jorah for a while, however you see him constantly with Daenerys which makes you question if he feels the same way about you.

You and Ser Jorah have become quite quaint with each other. Since the beginning of Daenerys time with the Dorthraki, you've stayed by her side helping and assisting her along with the fellow knight.

You've grown quite close with Ser Jorah and have slowly developed feelings for him, he was always so kind, caring, and even considerate of you and others which made you fall for him even more. He truly was a knight even if he didn't feel like it at times, however if anything has been bothering you it's been his closeness with Daenerys. You noticed the way he treats her which such loyalty and it makes you question if the knight even reciprocates the same feelings as you do for him. You know you shouldn't be feeling this way as he treats everyone with the same respect but there was a difference in the way he treated Daenerys, thus making you jealous and starting to ignore him out of spite. You didn't want to ignore Jorah however with your building feelings you decided to do so to protect yourself.

You walk through the halls of the Great Pyramid awaiting the big meeting of Daenerys plan for conquering the iron throne. Trying your best to ignore the feeling in your stomach You enter the room seeing everyone around you as you take your place in one of the near-by chairs. You see Jorah out of the corner of your eye but decide not to look at him. Daenerys starts to discuss her plans with everyone about her ideas and strategies for claiming the Iron Throne. The whole time while you where distracted and in your own head trying to stay focused on the plans, Jorah kept looking at you wondering why you where acting stoic towards him. Jorah always knew your demeanor was jovial even during rough times, you where always happy and extremely kind with everyone however your behavior made him wonder what was going on. Jorah already had feelings for you, he knew it in his heart how he felt about you but also didn't know if you felt the same way about him. Both of you where in the same dilemma about each other which made things even a bit more difficult.

Daenerys had to dismiss the meeting early to discuss somethings with Grey Worm, you decided to walk out as quickly as you could trying to head back into your chambers as you didn't realize Ser Jorah following quickly behind you. As you reach for you chambers you hear the footsteps of someone behind you until hearing a soft voice speak

"Lady Y/N."

You already knew who it was by the voice as you turn around slowly trying your best to avoid feeling strange in that moment. You gain the confidence to speak up,

"Ser. Jorah" You try to speak in a confident way

"I.. wanted to ask you about something" Jorah speaks while clenching the sword handle on the side of his belt

"What seems to be the issue?" you speak again

"Could we perhaps, talk somewhere more quiet? Maybe in the small garden outside." Jorah suggests

Hesitating for a moment at his proposal before you speak once more towards him.

"That's fine, shall we head there now?" speaking to Jorah is a semi-cold voice

Jorah notices the way you've been speaking to him, the way you've become more distant, more avoidant of him. It killed him inside why you where behaving this way towards him, he knew it's because you where not happy. There was something else there that was making you act this way towards him from your usually cheery and kind demeanor.

Both of you started your way to the garden both walking side by side in silence, Jorah had the urge to say anything to you in that moment but kept his composure calm. He didn't know why you where acting this way towards him, it drove him mad and even a bit upset at times. You both finally reach the gardens heading inside, the smell of the fragrant Meereen petals dancing in your nose. You both find the more secluded part of the gardens where Jorah seems a bit distressed from his calmer demeanor beforehand, Jorah drops the formalities finally.

"Y/N, why.. why have you been acting so cold towards me. Have I done something that has insulted you or.. hurt you..?" Jorah asks his tone quite upsetting but not loud

You feel bad and guilty as Jorah starts speaking to you, feeling the jealously creep up a bit again in you. Not knowing how to respond to his comment you turn around and face him as small but subtle tears where pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I just.." trying to contain your voice

"It's just.. you and dany..-" you respond back to him

Jorah notices the small tears from you eyes as you speak these words to him, Dany and him..? He felt confused by your statement

"Daenerys and me..? what do you mean by that..?" Jorah started to pick up the signs, that you probably felt the same way he did about you.

You held your hand on the side of your face looking down on the ground as tears started to form from your eyes. Jorah sees this and looks concerned as he rushes over to your side holding your shoulders as you continued to weep while looking at the ground. Your hand trying to block your face from the tears you where sheading. You felt embarrassed and ashamed about how you where feeling in that moment. Jorah takes his hand and removes your hand from your face. Your eyes where red and bloodshot, eyelashes appearing longer than before as you still sobbed looking at the grounds of the gardens trying not to look at him. Jorah lifts your head to face him as he sees the way your feeling expressed like a watercolor painting on your face.

"Y/n.. there's no me and Daenerys, I serve her to help and protect her but I don't love her in the way you might think." Jorah confesses to you

Your eyes widen a bit at his statement as your tears feel a bit relieved from his words of reassurance. He places his hand on the side of your face and pulls you closer to him as he leans in and kisses the remaining tears away from your cheeks, reaching back up to look into your eyes before kissing your lips softly and tenderly. In that moment of angst and emotions, Jorah couldn't help any longer how he felt about you and his feelings for you. He couldn't help reaching in and kissing your tears away for he's longed to kiss you for a while. You also longed for his kiss, the tenderness of the moment relieved you of the intense emotions of guilt and jealously as you felt that all melt away. You briefly break the kiss to look back up at him still wiping some of your tears away.

"I just.. didn't know if you felt the same way I did.. you where always around Daenerys and I just.. couldn't tell.. it made me feel.. upset.." you confess to Jorah.

Jorah looks at you still holding the side of your face as he softly smiles while placing a small kiss on your forehead.

"I've been sure of you for a while Y/N, I didn't know how to approach you on the matter since your always very friendly with everyone and didn't know if you felt the same way.." Jorah confesses

This made you smile and laugh a bit while some tears still laid on your cheeks, this made Jorah smile back at you. One thing was for certain you two where both sure of each other in that moment, even with the feelings of angst and emotions, you both showed affections for each other, you both wanted love from each other. Jorah wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer as he sits you both down on a nearby bench, he continues to hold you close resting his head on top of yours. In that moment, you felt calm and safe even after the intensities of your complex emotions, it was a beautiful moment of endearment and tenderness.

#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #jorah mormont #jorah mormont x reader #got #daenerys targaryen #ser jorah mormont

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volturiprincess · 3 months ago

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Day 12: Twelve Drummers Drumming

Alec Volturi x fem vamp reader

Warnings: Angst no comfort, a little hallucination

Word Count: 1654

(Moodboard here)

Christmas was my most anticipated time of the year, the queens and I would try to add some festivity into the castle by some simple decor. The masters along with the queens would walk around the snowy grounds on Christmas morning while Felix and I threw endless snowballs at each other like children. It was that simple for centuries, but even in that time I yearned for a companion. Sure Felix is a great friend who makes this immortal life enjoyable but yet when I see the queens with their respective partners, I wish I could have that. And so when I finally did find my mate, my life took a turn in the wrong direction. Things at first were fine, I gave him his space, not wanting to overwhelm him with this bond since at the time he was a newborn.

I told him if he ever needed help controlling his thirst or if his sister needed anything I would gladly be of assistance to him. But he never came to me, he only went to Felix but Jane did come to me. We bonded quite nicely, even if she was hesitant I gave her space and time as I did with her brother. As that much anticipated time came around, Jane joined me and the queens in decorating the castle. And once again I felt a little more joyful than usual thinking this would be my first Christmas with my mate, I had a plan planned out already. I would ask him if he would like to take a walk with me in the Gardens to enjoy the snow, that would give us an opportunity to get to know one another and maybe build up our bond.

But oh was I so naive to think it would be that simple. As I made my way around the castle to find Alec, I spotted him by the doors that lead outside with Felix. They were talking as they usually do, Alec’s back was facing me while Felix was leaning against the open door. I was about to approach them when I heard Alec’s voice

“Are mates really a grand thing?”

Felix answered immediately. “They are, your mate is your everything, your reason for being, your better half you can say also. Without them you will always feel like you can never feel complete.”

“So how come you don't have one, shouldn't you be searching for them unless you already found them”

Felix this time smiled sheepishly. “Well you see mates don't just appear out of the blue, well in y/n case it kind of did since we would never suspect you and her would be mates”

Alec’s next words stung a bit. “Please don't say that, I'm not her mate, whatever Master Marcus has said is not true, I don't even feel anything towards her”

Felix's gaze turned hard after Alec’s words but when he met my gaze his eyes widened. I turned away quickly and vanished, I could never have others see me in such a vulnerable state. After that day, which marked December 25, right on Christmas day, I hardly left my chambers. That whole winter I never stepped foot outside, I had no motivation or desire to go out there. I would only be hit with the delusion I could have had with Alec.

Time went by and today marks exactly a year since that day. Today is Christmas, yet I feel like it's any other day. I didn't help the queens or Jane this year to decorate, I didn't do the annual epic snowball fight with Felix. I didn't even touch my new winter cloak that Master Caius gifted me this year, it's just hanging in my closet waiting for me to put it on and run outside. This year I’m spending my time alone, away from everyone, in my chambers by the fireplace. It's the only physical warmth I get nowadays, Felix has frequently come to try to convince me to go out but my stubbornness always wins.

Jane has also come to see me but I treat her the same as I do with Felix, everyone else has come to get me out of this gloomy aura except him. I'm not surprised though, why would he come and check on me? He himself said he does not feel anything for me. But today out of all the days this could ever happen to me, I felt something in me snap, almost like if I was physically slapped with reality. I got up and dressed myself properly, I even decided to wear the new cloak and I headed outside. I went to this lookout that oversees the ocean. I used to come here quite often until I eventually stopped coming all together.

The detailed railing was covered in icicles and a thin layer of snow, it was beautiful as always. I stood there looking over the ocean with no thoughts in mind, just the gentle feeling of the breeze hitting my face and the salty smell of the ocean meeting my nose. The sun was already setting and the stars were starting to come out to cover the sky like a blanket. It was a comforting environment, nobody was around which helped me maintain my thoughtless brain, empty. I closed my eyes as I leaned into the railing, I don't know why but my eyes started to burn in a way, was I crying? It should be impossible to do such a thing. I opened my eyes again to try to blink them away when I saw Alec standing in front of me.

I have never had the opportunity to see him up close without him turning away the minute our eyes meet. To be able to do that now is almost like a joke. He was so dreamy, I felt as if I were in a dream, a dream that I wish could have happened that day. He studied me, as if I were a foreign thing to him, an unknown, in other words he was looking at me with uncertainty. He reached a hand to my cheek slowly, he is acting as if I were to bite his hand off. Once his hand made contact with my cheek and it just rested there I almost wanted to gasp out loud, his hand sent little shockwaves through my body, it gave me life for a moment.

He turned back to meet my eyes again, and oh what a site, the stars were in his eyes at that moment, his burgundy eyes were so unique and beautiful. I never seen such a shade before but they suit him perfectly. He seemed so surreal, this moment here cannot be real. I must be dreaming for sure. I wanted to tell him so many things, try to salvage what can be and try to seal our bond, I still had hope. He leaned in a bit. Is he going to kiss me? Is he finally willingly accepting our bond?

He seemed like he was about too but he mumbled a quick “I can't” and then he was gone, I was left there, still being able to feel his hand on my cheek. Still being able to feel that tingly feeling he gave me when he made contact. I wanted to break down, I wanted to scream, I wanted to rip someone's head off, I wanted to go on a rampage of subduing my thirst that had suddenly crept up on me. I…wanted to go after him and pull him into my arms and actually be wrapped in his arms like I have envisioned to happen if I ever had a mate.

I went back to my room ignoring Felix's surprise gasp, ignoring all of the voices that were heard all around the castle, ignoring how my mind started to be clouded with the worst of thoughts to mankind, ignoring the feeling of heartbreak. I was right back to the beginning, back in my room with the cloak discarded somewhere in my room, my shoes were off before I could even take three steps into my room, my hair was once again a mess, my dress was ripped off so I was left in my white slit. I went to my floor length window to be met with my reflection, my mess of a reflection, a being who used to feel so much joy and had high hopes for their immortal life was gone.

I blinked once and the reflection changed. Instead of me it was Alec, but his clothes were different. He was dressed quite elegantly, he looked like a prince from those books I used to read with the queens. I reached a hand out to the window while he mimicked my movement, our hands finally touching, it looked like my hand could fit perfectly into his. I met his gaze as he was already looking at me, this time he was not starting with confusion, no he was looking at me with..love, his face was soft and relaxed. A small smile was starting to form on his handsome face as I myself felt one spreading onto mine.

I wanted to intertwine my hand with his when I am met with my hands clawing glass, I am met with reality. I remember this is not real, I remember he's not actually there, i remember he's no prince charming, I remember that I have a power to create illusions, I remembered I used my own ability just now to create a reality I so desperately want, I remembered that my own mate does not want me and he turned away from me again. I remembered that my last Christmas was the one where my perspective on mates changed, not all mates want theirs or accepted them gladly.

#alec volturi #alec volturi x reader #alec volturi imagine #the volturi #the volturi guard #twilight renaissance #12 days before Christmas 2024

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randomshyperson · 2 years ago

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The List - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda shouldn't be sneaking off to your bedroom during the farewell party, and she certainly shouldn't be reading a list of pros and cons about the women you care about. Inspired by ‘Friends’ but make it Ross’s list something actually thoughtful.

Warnings: (+16) Some implications but nothing explicit, very brief angst of relationship going wrong and other lovers, implied friends to lovers, some Yelena x Reader and Vision x Wanda ‘cause they made bad choices, drinking, feelings talks, making out, getting back together, attempt to poetry and a hella of self-insert stuff. | Words: 3.052k.

A/N-> The author should be working on the last two Skam series but is doing midnight one-shots instead (self-criticism). This is short and dramatic and I just wanted something about one of the most popular scenes in Friends. Hope you like it.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

A full tower meant Wanda would be locked in her room. Or at least, that's how it used to be.

Tonight, however, there is a 'Good Voyage' banner in the middle of the room filled with friends and guests, each with their own glass of drink, wanting to celebrate your last night as an Avenger. Technically, this party was also for Wanda. In official terms, she didn't leave the team, but she had a room booked at the Harkness Residence and no belongings in her old room. For the two of you, this was the last night in the tower.

This is why Wanda was wearing a party dress and wasn't locked away from the celebration as she would have been years ago when she was a new recruit and you would sneak out of appointments to keep her company.

She tried to avoid staring so much. Whether it was the lost smiles between you and Yelena, or the lingering hugs and complicit whispers. There was nothing official, yet Natasha had commented that you had been sleeping in Lena's apartment for many weeks and that you were probably the only number saved on her secure cell phone beside the older widow.

"Would you like me to get you something to drink, Wanda?" Vision's voice made her jump in fright softly. She stared at him, and for a moment couldn't say anything, still getting used to the synthesizer's new appearance. Sometimes she missed the red, it was less intimidating than the full white.

"N-no, Vis. Thank you." She manages to reply when he looks at her curiously towards the silence. Wanda risks diverting her attention to you again, catching the moment when Yelena entwines her arm with yours and rests her head on your shoulder. It is so domestic that she feels sick. How many times has she made the same action? Swallowing dryly, she lets the robot beside her know, "I need some air. "

She left him before he could say anything else; and missed the moment he exchanged a glance with Natasha across the room as if asking her oldest friend for some kind of assistance.

Wanda lied - It wasn't her intention, she thinks, but her feet made their way alone. She went up the elevator in silence, offering nothing but forced smiles to any stray guests she met in the hallways to your old bedroom.

The place was dark and full of boxes ready for the move. All your belongings would be shipped the next day to somewhere in Europe, where you and Yelena continued on the mission to free the rest of the Black Widows, the personal operation that had to be paused for a few months with all the problems the Mad Titan brought to earth. With the victory of the Avengers, who were outnumbered for some time, everything needed to undergo some kind of reform. No one ever wanted to be caught as unawares as when Thanos appeared, and everyone had work to do. Wanda, and her growing magical power, included.

She let her fingers trace through the closed boxes, a red sparkle doing the work of turning on the lights at the entrance. Her mind was haunted by memories of a friendship long forgotten, glimpses of movie nights under those covers, stolen touches at breakfasts, and promises sealed with kisses that would be forgone and impossible to keep when reality fell on your heads.

When Wanda thought of you, she felt a pang in her chest. Missing you hurt her physically, and even with only a few rooms between you now, she felt as if the distance she had placed was much greater. She knows she would start to cry if she kept thinking about it, but there was no avoiding it, not when there were still some of her belongings scattered on your study desk and some of these were polaroids taken by Peter Parker with his intention to keep memories of his adventures with the Avengers.

She traced the photographs of younger versions of herself smiling beside you, but at the current moment, her smile was much more whiny than happy. She took her attention away from the pictures to the computer that turned on as soon as it recognized movement, and let her fingers play with the keys for a second.

"Welcome." FRIDAY's sudden greeting made her eyes widen softly at the fright. "Little witch."

She bit the inside of her cheek at the nickname she hadn't heard in a while. She lifted her finger to touch the colorful stickers you pasted on the device but bumped into the screen and was surprised by the automatic unlock. Her shock at still being allowed to access your belongings had to be forgotten because the open file was much more relevant than overthinking about this.

There were two columns in one document. Her name and Yelena's, below each a list of items.

The witch swallowed dryly and turned her face to the door. A peek at something that contained her name couldn't hurt...

Wanda.

‘Complicated.

Complicated friendship.

Complicated everything.’

Frowning, the witch felt something in her stomach sinking. When she read Yelena's first item 'It happened as it was supposed to' she understood that it was a list of pros and cons and she immediately regretted starting to read this at all.

But there was no stopping herself now. She needed to know where this was going.

Wanda.

‘Just because she was my first love, she doesn't have to be my last.’

Sniffling slightly, she looked at the next item on Yelena's list.

‘I don't have to fall in love with her just because everyone else thinks it makes sense.’

Wanda froze. A mixture of conflicting feelings surged through her chest. She wanted to be only upset by how distressed you felt, but she couldn't help the thread of hope arising from hearing your doubts regarding your feelings for Yelena.

Clicking to advance to the next lines, she held her breath without realizing it. The formatting of the list changes, taking away the bullet points for paragraphs that pull and bring the air out of her lungs with each sentence.

“Wanda only wakes up after all the alarms have gone off, I can always watch her sleep because of this.

Yelena never sleeps, and I can never fully relax knowing she's awake and haunted by horrors I can't take away.

They're both shorter than me, and they look adorable when they ask for help picking up something high up. Yelena kicks my ankle if I get too cocky about it. Wanda slides her hand under my clothes and turns me into a complete mess at her mercy, taller or shorter, she’s the boss.”

She pauses in her reading, a smile playing on her lips. She remembers doing the latter so many times. The memories hit her hard, and she had to take a deep breath to push them away and focus on reading again.

“Wanda feels so much that she explodes.

Yelena sometimes thinks the Red Room just left an empty cocoon behind.

I think I'm in the middle.”

Wanda pauses, thinking she hears someone approaching. With her heart racing with guilt and fear of being caught, she checks the door, but it's just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Wanda invades frequently. Privacy is a problem, especially because of her telepathy. I can never keep secrets from her, much less emotions. She gets so close that sometimes it suffocates.”

The witch pauses the reading with tears in her eyes. Guilt and shame burn her chest, and she takes a deep breath. She wonders how old the list is, or if the version of her that you have of it in your head is just the young girl who tentatively stumbled over her own feelings and traumas and hurt you even though she had no intention of doing so.

She sniffles again and controls the threat of crying before reading the next item.

“Yelena goes so far away that sometimes I wonder if she was ever here at all.”

The witch needs to stop; She has for a moment, the realization that perhaps, you are better off alone. For the way she and Yelena, even if in different ways, hurt you.

And the next part of the list does not make her feel better about this. In cursive letters, and repeated for three more paragraphs, there's the name of the person responsible for putting an end to the fragile relationship that you and she used to have.

“Vision.

Vison.

She notices a machine but she cannot notice me.

She loves a piece of tin, but not the one who finds pairs of socks for her cold feet at night.

She loves the tin-man who signed the agreements that say she should be locked up, and not the person who would fight the whole world for her.”

Wanda sobs, and has to sit up in her chair to keep from falling to the floor. She cries for a moment, all the emotions that seem to have built up since the whole impasse with the Avengers two years ago hitting her all over again.

You've got it all wrong. If there was a way, she would have gone back and done everything differently. She would have told her stupid young self that you were hurting like her, and that you always noticed her like she pretended not to be doing.

That forcing yourself to invest in Vision was hurting you like it was hurting her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda tries to stop crying to finish the list at once. It seems to be ending at least.

There is one note crossed out, and she needs to make a change and remove the underline to read it.

“Yelena never seems as happy with me as she is around Kate Bishop. She always diverts from the subject when I try to bring it up. It reminds me of Wanda when I would ask about him, and she would say they were just friends.

I wonder if I will ever be someone's first choice.”

Wanda shakes her head in indignation. You are her first choice. And her second and third. You are everything. You've always been too precious to risk losing. How can you not know this?

"People say that Yelena and I are very similar while Wanda is my opposite. Peter has been helping me try astrology and everything from Hogwarts houses to numerology.

I liked the phases of the moon where Yelena matches mine while Wanda is the part I am missing.

While Yelena mirrors me, Wanda completes me.

They say that the former is more important: That real, routine life is better with someone who resembles you. Yelena and I like the same pizza and the same movies. We never fight over silly things.

Every time I argue with Wanda I want to make her scream for another reason. She always looked so pretty moaning my name-”

The witch jumps to the next item, her face burning just like under her dress. She clears her throat quietly, fighting other memories that try to rise into her mind and which most likely would take away her ability to read anything.

‘I could write pages and pages of this, but this would be just me, running away from the truth. There is only one answer to your question, Captain Rogers.

Yelena can read me like a book, but Wanda is the only one who can edit the words.

I will meet a hundred people, and none of them will be like Wanda.

You told me that in order to make this decision, I needed to think about something simple. Who would I miss more if I had to lose in life, Wanda or Yelena? It was not so simple.

Because Wanda left me first and I had to get used to the pain day by day. But Yelena will never let me in enough to miss her. Not when she also knows that I'm always looking back, just like a little kid, waiting for the moment when Wanda Maximoff will have a spare piece of attention to trade with me.

I know I can survive missing her in my life because it is a feeling I am used to.

I just don't want to lose her again. I don't want to survive without her, I want to live with her.

I will tell her.

I will.

I-”

"Having fun, Maximoff?" The witch jumps out of her chair at your sudden arrival. It is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, she cringes like a child being caught and her face burns even more at your relaxed posture, waist resting on the doorstop and arms crossed. Her favorite smile on your face.

"I-I was just..."

"Snooping." You complete, but you don't sound the least bit angry, just provocative. You uncross your arms to reach for the cell phone in your jeans pocket. "Yeah, I got a notification of a small change in my drive. I guess I was right about the boundaries issues topic..."

Wanda steps forward, almost desperate. "I didn't mean to! I-I accidentally clicked on it, and when I saw my name, I couldn't help it-"

You chuckle, nodding in her direction as a sign that it was okay. "Relax, I'm just teasing you."

Wanda chuckles nervously, aware that you were getting too close. She holds her breath but you only lean toward the computer, humming in confirmation that it is indeed your list that she has spent the last few moments reading before turning your attention back to her.

"I'm really sorry." She murmurs embarrassedly, looking down at her own feet. Wanda really expects you to yell at her, to be angry at her for breaking your privacy and invading what is clearly a very personal vent. But you just stare back at her, and completely tear her apart as you take one of your hands to her hair, gentle fingers tracing the loose strands behind the nape of her neck to the front.

"I didn't get a chance to say that red really suits you."

"T-thanks." She risks a look into your eyes, and her heart explodes at the intensity she finds.

"Actually I didn't get a chance to say much at all." You continue, a small smile appearing on your lips. Wanda tries to focus on your next words and not on your hand playing with her hair. "You ran out of the party. I was planning to ask you to dance."

She swallows dryly, trying to calm her own nerves. She's tired of games; they've hurt you both enough.

"I don't understand your list." She retorts in an affected voice, her gaze in a mix of hope and fear. "You say...you say you're going to tell me, but you're leaving-"

"We both are." You retort as if you are reminding her. Without stopping smiling, you use your free hand to search for something in your coat pocket. "It turns out, Nat and Lena really do have a lot of time catching up to do. And well, I know you do magic portals now, but I still trust planes."

In your hand are first-class tickets to Central-Southeastern Europe. You let Wanda hold them, appraising the item in shock as you clarify:

"Agatha mentioned that you need to find out more about yourself, and I thought, there is no better place than where it all began. Unfortunately, Sokovia no longer has an airport, but we can stay around. And get a car..."

She looks at you with watery eyes. "And y-you want to come with me?"

You smile at her so tenderly that she would have burst into tears if she weren't already doing so. Your hands find her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears as you clarify:

"Isn't it clear yet, Wanda? I'll go wherever you want me."

Something mixed between a sob and a relieved laugh escapes her; You have a very similar expression, and as you wipe away her tears, you kiss her cheeks and the tip of her nose to reassure her.

Wanda sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Detka, I'm so scared." She confesses in a whisper. "We've hurt each other before. I don't want to ever hurt you again."

You nod and wait for her to stare you in the eyes.

"There is no such thing as a perfect relationship, Wands." Your tone, while firm, is also tender. "And we're both complicated. But I want this, us because I'd rather work on our differences than start anything new with someone else. You're the only one I want."

She stares at you trying to absorb all the sincerity in her words. For a second, even with the list, she takes a chance:

"But Yelena?"

You give her a small smile, holding her hand in yours at the height of your heart. "She could tell even before me that there was no one but you. Lena will continue the mission with Natasha, as it should be. And I will stay with you if you choose me."

She laughs tearfully, nodding. "Of course, I choose you, idiot." She assures. "I love you." And Wanda repeats and repeats until you kiss her.

It seems ridiculous that Wanda has gone without it you when your lips meet again. The worst part is that she only realizes how much she has missed you once you touch her again. The needy sounds that escape her are almost desperate, full of passion, and tugging at your clothes, trying to bring you closer than is humanly possible.

You give her everything. Your mouth, your tongue, your hands. She is pressed against the table, kissing you as if she wants to make up for all the time wasted in a single night.

There is a ripping of clothes, her dress will end up in a pile on the floor. No hesitation: Wanda gives you the green light as she snaps your belt off. There’s a promise of a future together that she can’t wait to live in the way you worship every corner of her body that night.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines

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