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semification · 24 days

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- DIE WITH A SMILE . . . VERITAS RATIO ✧.*

Veritas comes to realize that he loves you, but perhaps he comes to that realization far too late.

content: fem reader, death, penacony quest spoilers, angst with comfort (?), blood & injuries, veritas is a meanie (but he INSTANTLY regrets it!1!), friends to (grins evilly) …lovers

authors note: first fic on this account i hope you guys like it <3 i ran out of motivation while writing this halfway can u tell. anyways go stream die with a smile by bruno mars and lady gaga because i was listening to that song on loop while making this fic and i think its a super fitting song for this hehe

wc: 5.9k (its a quick read i promise)

masterlist

“You’re being ridiculous, Veritas.”

Bickering with Dr. Veritas Ratio was not out of the ordinary. In fact, it was a pastime for the two of you, engaging in various academic debates to see which party presented a better argument. It was seen as a great deal of praise to be able to do such a thing with an esteemed man like Veritas. It made it seem like you two stood on the same ground–the same ground of a man who felt so out of reach.

“Oh, really now? I’m the one being ridiculous? I am ‘ridiculous’ simply because I am looking out for your safety, Y/N?”

This… however, this was not normal. This quarrel felt personal, stemming from your feelings instead of facts and objective data. This felt like an attack on your friendship–but from the amount of vile he’s spitting from his mouth, you wonder if Veritas has ever considered you as a friend in the first place.

The more he speaks, the more you are reminded that you didn’t stand on the same ground as him. You felt terrifyingly inferior, and even though he was right in front of you, you felt like you were miles away from him.

“No, I’m saying you’re ridiculous for calling me weak and incapable because apparently, I’m not good enough to go on this expedition when it’s my fucking job.”

However, you mostly felt like a fool.

You felt like such a fool for falling in love with a man like him. You fell in love with him because of his neverending thirst for knowledge. You fell in love with him because you were just as much of a bibliophile as he was. You fell in love with him because you wanted to spread your knowledge around the universe as much as he wished to. You fell in love with him because, for a moment, you thought he saw you differently from everyone else, and that he truly enjoyed being in your presence.

You turn away from him, tears forming in your eyes. You stubbornly blink them away, because you think back to what started this argument in the first place.

You had just finished detailing your mission to Veritas, which was your routine every time the Intelligentsia Guild dispatched you on some kind of research expedition. This mission was different, however. You would be gone for three months, longer than usual–and the mission was very combat-oriented and dangerous, which wasn’t like your usual expeditions. Despite the warnings, you still accepted it, thinking of it as something new, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Veritas seemed to think otherwise, however, because when you peer over to look at his reaction, he looked very displeased.

(It wasn’t a very uncommon look to see on his face, but you could tell he seemed more serious–like how the frown lines on his face were deeper than usual.)

You weren’t particularly surprised by the expression on his face. What surprised you the most was the first thing that came out of his mouth after hearing your expedition’s rundown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to go on that mission?”

You look at him incredulously, surprised at the amount of distaste in his voice. His displeasure was directed at… you? “What is that supposed to mean, Veritas?”

“I’m saying that you’re too weak and incapable to go on that expedition, Y/N. I do not know why the Guild would assign you such a difficult mission. They truly are overestimating your power.” The words came out of his mouth so casually, like you had just asked him about the weather. Is this how his students feel when they take his infamous course with a passing rate of a mere three percent? How his students feel whenever they get scolded by him?

You just can’t believe it. He said those words like it were a fact—straight from the myriad of encyclopedias that he’s read. Maybe because it was a fact in his head: he saw you as nothing but “weak” and “incapable”.

A stray tear manages to escape from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away angrily before turning back to Veritas with a sniffle. No. You cannot cry in front of his face. Crying is an expression of weakness–of vulnerability. And what you are trying to prove to Veritas is that you are not “weak”. You are not “incapable” either, and you are going to prove that to him by going on this mission and making him eat his words.

“I will be leaving in three system hours. Do not bother showing up during my departure.”

You cringe at the way your voice shakes at the end, but you stand firm. Those words were the last thing you said to him before leaving his office with a bitter heart. When you exit his room, you finally let your emotions run free, letting the tears stream down your face without end. You quietly sob as you retreat to your own office, closing the door and letting out a shaky exhale, escaping all the nosy whispers and chatter of the Guild members.

You sob at the heartbreaking realization that just when you think you’ve gotten close to the “untouchable” Veritas Ratio, he pushes you away just like how he does to everyone else… because that’s just simply what you are to him.

Another person who fades into the background, and nothing more.

Dr. Veritas Ratio is a man who exhibits prestige and greatness like no other. Throughout his academic career, he obtained eight PhDs and graduated with the First Class Honors Degree, which hadn’t been awarded to anyone for two Amber Eras. He was gifted with knowledge, and now he uses that knowledge and spreads it far across the cosmos to “cure idiocy”, treating it like a disease that needs to be treated.

And yet, for once in his life, he refuses to admit it out loud, but he’s acted like the one thing that he completely loathed. The very thing that he was trying to exterminate.

An idiot. He was an idiot, and it was all because he could not word himself correctly when he spoke to you. He has written hundreds of papers, essays, and dissertations, but time and time again, he could not seem to think—to be able to formulate the proper words to say when it came to you.

And now, Veritas has royally messed up, and for once in life, he has no idea what to do.

He was just genuinely concerned for your safety. It was all he thought about once you had finished detailing your expedition to him. He wanted to convince you—to pick the right words to say so he could persuade you not to go, but it seems that his fear of being seen as vulnerable shone through first. It reminded him of the days when you two weren’t close; the days he spoke to you while wearing his alabaster head.

He only wears that head because he “can’t bear to see idiots,” but given how he just called you “weak” and “incapable” in the argument that just transpired, one could almost laugh at the hypocrisy of it all. Veritas may as well talk to himself while wearing the alabaster head.

Because only idiots would address you with those terms.

You were an enigma to Veritas from the very beginning. People from the Intelligentsia Guild rarely stood out to him, but you were different—sticking out like a sore thumb the moment he laid his eyes on you.

That’s because your presence utterly enchanted him—you had similar tastes in literary works, you matched his sarcasm and topped it off with even wittier replies, and you also wanted to use your knowledge for other people to learn.

You were not weak and incapable. He saw you as anything but that, in fact. He was at fault for the argument, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, for Aeon’s sake.

He knows that he owes you an apology, it’s the least he could do... He just needs to apologize, then convince you to not go on that expedition. You’re scheduled to leave soon—approximately two and a half system hours—he still has time.

And yet, his mind is being stubborn. He knows that he needs to apologize, but he just can’t bring himself to. He can’t remember the last time he’s genuinely apologized to someone—an apology without a trace of sarcasm at that.

“Trouble in paradise, doctor?”

He could recognize the esteemed gambler’s voice from miles away, and it irks him how he always seemed to show up at the worst times. Aventurine’s got a knowing gaze on him—a stare that can pierce through any poker face so he could see exactly what they’re thinking. “I suggest not meddling in any business that doesn’t concern you, gambler.”

Except he’s already got him. “This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aventurine believes that one’s eyes are the windows to the soul–and he doesn’t miss the way Veritas’ eyes soften when he says your name, smiling at the unintentional answer to his question. He definitely doesn’t have the best poker face in town. For such a stoic man, he surely cannot put himself together when it comes to anything that has to do with you.

Aeons. Just what were you doing to him?

There was no use hiding it from him, so he just silently nodded, with Aventurine clicking his tongue. “Rumors fly fast in the guild, especially when Dr. Ratio’s dear friend Y/N was seen walking out of his office crying. I just had to see what this was really about, you know?”

You were crying when you left?

He doesn’t voice his concern out loud, of course. Instead, Veritas just sighs heavily. “All I wanted to do was convince her to not go on that mission that she’s currently dispatched on. It just seems… far too dangerous.”

Aventurine’s got an idea of what happened next considering how you ran out of this room crying, but he decides to ask anyway. “Oh? And how did that work out for you?”

Veritas refuses to meet his gaze, his heart sinking when he simply thinks about what happened earlier. “…”

“At least humor me, doctor.”

He turns away from Aventurine completely, a deep shade of red coating his cheeks. Was it out of embarrassment? Shame? Whatever it was, he didn’t need him to see it. “…I called her weak and incapable.”

When Aventurine doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Veritas speaks to fill the silence. “I admit, I did not know what was going through my head when I addressed her with those words.”

The uncomfortable silence drags on for a little longer until it’s interrupted by the piercing sound of Aventurine’s laughter. His laugh makes the red spread across Veritas’ cheeks even more—uncharacteristically so, especially since he’s normally so put together. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell Aventurine to stop laughing, because a small huge part of him feels that he deserves this.

He deserves to sit through this feeling because he knows you faced the same humiliation when he shut you out.

“Hahaha! I can’t—“ Aventurine’s nearly keeling over in laughter, and the gambler swears he could feel tears build up in his eyes. “Oh, please! You have such a way with words, don’t you?”

Aventurine continues, failing to conceal his hysteria. “Weak and incapable? If anything, that’ll only fuel the fire. She’d want to go on that mission just to prove you wrong.”

“I’m well aware. It is exactly what happened after all.” You’re leaving soon. The thought of you leaving makes Veritas’ stomach churn, and he has no idea why. Out of all the many expeditions you’ve been sent on, this is the first time he’s felt this way–been filled with so much dread.

“Well,” Aventurine pretends to think for a moment, putting his hand on his chin. “It won’t hurt to sacrifice a little bit of your already enormous ego to apologize to her, no? There’s enough of your pride to go around.”

I don’t know if I can bring myself to.

Veritas doesn’t say those words out loud. Instead, he masks his worries with a scoff. Aventurine doesn’t have to know. “Watch your mouth, gambler.”

“Oh my, I really struck a nerve there, did I?”

“Researcher Y/N? I’m sorry sir, she just departed a few minutes ago.”

You left.

The three system hours hadn’t even passed yet—there were still two hours before your scheduled departure—and you left early.

You left, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to apologize.

The researcher could only watch as the great Veritas Ratio, normally so composed, looks away from him wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. He’s utterly dumbfounded, a look that is never seen on his face. What is he supposed to do now?

You’re too late.

For the next several weeks, Veritas could only wait anxiously for your return. Worry follows him like a cloud, and even his students pick up on his weird behavior. It’s all so grueling—waiting for you without so much of an idea of how you’re doing or if your expedition is going well.

While waiting for your return, he plans out his actions for the next time he sees you. He doesn’t want to apologize over text–Veritas sees it as inappropriate and prefers to show his sincerity in person. Face-to-face is how he is going to do it, and he sends you a message in preparation for that. “I’d like for us to talk when you’re back. Please message me immediately upon your arrival.”

…Except an error message stares at him back when he presses the send button. It’s almost mocking him in a sense, like the universe is doing everything in its power to prevent him from atoning for his mistakes. Of course you weren’t going to have signal when you’re so far away from him. Just what was he expecting?

You were scheduled to return after another few weeks, and Veritas could only prepare for the days to pass by excruciatingly slowly. Until then, he thinks over what he’s going to say for his apology. Maybe he could give you something too. He thinks that finding a way to get your favorite flowers is a nice start.

You’re tired.

Exhaustion envelops you like a blanket, and after trying your hardest to resist, you just can’t anymore.

You’re so tired.

You finally succumb to the fatigue, falling onto the ground as your sword clatters with a thud. You lay there, lying in a pool of your own blood, accepting that this was the cruel fate that the great Aeons above bestowed upon you in the end. You laugh at the absurdity of it all, but it only comes out as a weak cough, which quickly transitions into a fit of hacking up crimson droplets—lighting your throat on fire.

It was a fragmentum monster ambush. The planet you were exploring contained a lot of them–mainly due to the Stellaron corrosion that it was experiencing. After three weeks of exploring, it was supposed to be just another day of collecting data and extracting information for the guild. You’ve done this countless times already–anything out of the ordinary happening was beyond you.

The ambush had occurred when you least expected it–you barely even had the time to draw out your sword. One thing led to another, and at some point, there were just too many of them that leaving the battle unscathed was out of the question. And at the end of it, you were a mess, standing in a field of bodies with blood sticking to your clothes–a mix of the fragmentum and your own. The worst part was that it was mainly your own, with the source coming from a deep gash in your abdomen. You were losing blood at a terrifying rate.

Panic fills your veins once you fully process the gravity of the situation. Heart thumping, you realize that you’re going to die–and you are going to die alone.

What a pitiful end this was.

You’ve sent a distress call to the guild, but you know that your fate has been sealed already. You’ll be long gone before anyone will be here to help you, and they’d just be here to clean up your remains. You hope that the guild would at least grant you a proper funeral.

It’s truly comical how fate works. People your age are usually too busy thinking about marriage, or deciding how many kids they want to have in the near future. And yet, here you are, on the precipice of reaching death’s door, thinking about your funeral.

Your vision turns blurry, and you sniffle as hot tears begin to roll down your cheeks. Fuck, you don’t want to die. There are far too many things that you haven’t done. And yet, you can’t find the strength to continue on either. You’re just so, so tired.

In the midst of your cries, you softly mumble out a name. A name that you love, hate, and everything in between with a passion.

“…Veritas.”

You initially wanted to go on this mission with the intent of exploring this planet, but after the argument, you know you went mainly because you wanted to prove him wrong.

You wonder if he truly meant those words. Even if he didn’t, maybe he was right, because look at what your determination had cost you–lying in a pool of your own blood, all because you wanted Veritas to see that you weren’t weak and incapable.

Even though you went on this expedition angry at him, (a part of you still is angry) you’ve never wanted to see him so badly in your life. You were going to die with many regrets–perhaps the biggest one was that you never got to tell Veritas how you truly feel about him.

You just want to see him once last time. Is it selfish to ask for one more day with him? One more hour… or to engage in at least one more heated debate. Hell, you’d even take one more minute with him. And in that minute, maybe you’d slap him in the face for what happened. But maybe you’d tell him you love him and kiss him over and over, apologizing for even thinking about slapping his stupidly perfect face.

Despite how much of an asshole he can be at times, you love Veritas Ratio. You love his snark and sarcasm and everything about him, and you’re going to die without even knowing if he loves you back. This is your biggest regret.

No, you can’t die like this. You need to tell him. You have to.

As darkness starts to cloud your vision, you use all of your remaining strength to pull your phone out from your pocket despite the wound in your abdomen screaming in protest. Your fingers shakily make their way to Veritas’ contact, and with a pained breath, you begin to type.

“Take me to where she sent the distress call, now.”

There was a bunch of commotion in the guild—too much commotion considering how early it was. Veritas could only wonder what all the clamor was about, but he froze once he heard your name leave one of the researcher’s mouths.

And his biggest nightmare is now a reality once someone finally fills him in on the situation: Your signal had disappeared off the radar, but not after you sent a distress call to the guild. You needed help, yet you were so far from his grasp. “But Doctor, we-“

“I need not repeat myself. Her life is in grave danger, and yet here you are, arguing with me and wasting precious time when this time could be used saving her.” His words surprised both himself and the guild member, who shakily nodded at his request. Veritas was certain that if you were just anybody else, he could have less of a care about your distress signal. But no, this was you—and he needed to make sure that you were okay.

Veritas looked calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, he was falling apart. Calm yourself, you need to be the strong one in this situation. She’s the one in danger here.

Aeons, all he had to do was convince you to not go on this expedition. Instead, he made everything worse with his poor choice of words, and now he’s paying the price for it. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.

Wait for me Y/N. Please. That’s all I ask.

In his office, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers resting on his desk, and they’ve slowly begun to wither away.

When Veritas finally arrived at where you were last seen on the signal, there were bodies littered everywhere, and he could only hope that none of them were yours. Paired with those bodies was the color red—crimson was scattered all over, and it was practically all he could see. Did you take all of these fragmentum down by yourself?

As Veritas inspected all of the fragmentum bodies, all slain by a single blade, one of the researchers accompanying him pointed out a trail of blood leaving the site. It makes him freeze, because it might be…

“Y/N.”

Shit.

He immediately goes after the trail without an ounce of hesitation. The scene laid before him is something that has only haunted him in his nightmares, yet at this very moment, it lies before him as a terrifying reality.

His blood runs cold, and for the first time in his life, Veritas Ratio is rendered speechless.

Your limp body lies in front of him, in a pool of so much blood that just seeing it sickens him to his stomach. He can’t feel his own body as he falls to his knees, paying no mind to the other researchers around him. No, right now, it was just you and Veritas. Nobody else.

With trembling hands, he pulls your body close to his own as your blood taints his clothing. Even though he knows you’re too far gone already, he can’t help but try to feel your pulse, because there’s a part of him that just refuses to believe that he’s too late.

There was nothing.

It probably hasn’t been beating for a while, and that thought leaves him utterly empty, with a single stray tear rolling down his cheek.

If he were just a little bit faster, maybe he could’ve saved you. If he could’ve just formulated his words correctly so he could convince you not to go on this expedition. If he could’ve just apologized…

If he could’ve just been… a better friend.

All these could haves, yet Veritas didn’t act on any of them.

Pathetic.

Your phone is beside you, and Veritas gingerly picks it up. The screen was still lit, despite it being shattered to oblivion. It was open to the messaging app—specifically his contact.

It was never sent due to poor signal, but you were messaging him before you died. He was your last thought.

“I’m sorry Veritas. I just don’t want you to think I’m weak and incapable.”

“Still, I want you to remember that”

You were the one apologizing to him, even after everything was said and done. He can’t even fathom that.

And weak and incapable, huh. You were anything but that. If anything, Veritas was the weak and incapable one. He was weak for not being able to swallow his pride even if he was the one in the wrong—and he was incapable of simply apologizing to you.

And the last message… What is it supposed to mean?

What do you want him to remember?

When Veritas was sent to Penacony and matters with the head of the Oak family, Sunday, had been dealt with, he was finally allowed to leave. It was the first mission the guild had assigned him since you left, and his efforts to prevent Aventurine from going on an all-out suicide mission helped Veritas take his thoughts away from you, even if it was just for a moment.

And yet, you always find your way back to haunt him. Not even the Land of Dreams could prevent that.

Still, he had done his part, sorted out his deals in Penacony as a representative sent by the guild, and it was time to go.

It’s been a few months since your death, and Veritas thinks that living without you is like living without the sun. It’s funny how he’s only realized how much you’ve changed his life only after you’ve gone. You lit up his life, both metaphorically and physically—and now, everything feels so dull, and he constantly longs for your presence in the darkness.

But now you’re gone, and he feels so terribly lost, even now as he does paperwork in his office. Life became way more monotonous after you had left. The quiet is suffocating, because Veritas can only think about the times that the quiet office was filled with your voice instead.

Even now, in the rare moments that Veritas picks up a book nowadays, he thinks about how much you would have enjoyed it as well.

Paperwork is one of the few things that he finds solace in anymore, as it helps him drown out his thoughts so they don’t end up drifting back to you.

…You.

His eyes land on your sword before he can even do anything about it, and he swallows thickly. Your blade is displayed on his wall, another way for Veritas to show his honor for you.

The blade you singlehandedly used to defeat all those monsters, and the blade you’ll never be able to wield again.

He tears his eyes away from it before his thoughts can spiral again. He can feel his vision start to blur, and he blinks the tears away before they escape. He wonders how many tears he’s shed for you since you’ve been gone.

Veritas tries and fails to focus on his paperwork once more until he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

He thinks a walk will do him good.

He stands up from his desk and slowly walks over to his office door, wondering who it could be. He rarely gets visitors nowadays, unless it’s something that’s of utmost importance. Everyone else is afraid to talk to him, as Veritas became… colder after your death.

If anyone were to ask why—it’s because when you died, a part of Veritas did too.

He turns the door’s handle, only to see…

You.

You were standing right in front of him, in the same outfit that you were in the day you left for your mission. Except this time, you were alive, and Veritas has no idea what to think.

You’re the first one to break the silence, whispering his name. “Veritas?”

Hearing you say his name feels like he can finally breathe again. “Y/N? Is it really you?”

Before you can even answer his question, he engulfs you in a tight hug, breathing in your scent. Veritas held you like his life depended on it—because at this moment, it felt like it did. He says the words that hve been on his mind for the past few months. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry darling. If only I hadn’t-“

You pull back from the hug, putting your pointer finger against his lips as a signal for him to stop talking. Barely even registering the endearing name that he called you, you smile, cupping his cheeks before sighing tenderly. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Veritas.”

He only hugs you tighter, coming to a revelation that only makes the pain in his heart ever worsen. He saw your lifeless body himself, he paid respects to your body at your funeral… and he laid your favorite flowers on top of your gravesite where your body rested, even though those flowers were supposed to be an apology gift. “You’re… not real.”

“I’m still in Penacony, right? This is all a dream.”

You smile, nodding in conformation. “Nothing truly gets past you, does it? You’re dreaming what you desire the most right now.”

“I promise you that we will meet again, Veritas. it will not be today, but the day will eventually come, and I’ll be waiting for you every step of the way.” You breathe in deeply. “But right now, you need to wake up from this dream, before it's too late.”

He’s not sure if he wants to wake up, though.

“But what if… I just want to stay here with you?”

“We both know it’s not what you really want.” You can see right through him. “If you stay with me in this dream, you’ll be living nothing but a simulated life. I may be here with you, but you’ll never truly fill that hole in your heart, because I am not Y/N. I’m just a creation of your deepest desires, and you know that I’ll never be her. That is not a life worth living.”

“I know she would want you to live your life to the fullest, to truly experience things, to teach your students unforgettable lessons… so they become great people like you.” You pause, looking right into his eyes. They’re filled with pain, sorrow, and the desire to cling on to the past. “And when your time comes eventually, she will be waiting for you. You will apologize once again, because you never got to apologize to her before she died, but she has forgiven you long ago, and it’s all because…”

Despite that, you have to teach him that it’s time to let go. “She wants you to remember that she loves you, Veritas Ratio.”

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

A tear rolls down his cheek at your words, and then another…. and another. “Even if I don’t know how to apologize?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding your head. “Even if you don’t know how to apologize.”

“Then… I will do as she asks. It is the least I can do to make up for what I’ve done.” He says, and he takes a deep breath before his next words. “Can I… hug you one last time? Even though you aren’t… actually her.”

“Go ahead, Veritas. But I’m afraid that after this, you have to let go.”

You need to let go.

He nods before wrapping his arms around your figure. It was such a vulnerable act, like a man putting the entirety of his heart and soul out for you to take. He breathes in your scent, wanting to take it in once last time before he has to bid you goodbye. You feel a few of his tears staining your clothing, but you pay it no mind.

How many tears has he shed for you since you’ve been gone? Not enough. He doesn’t feel that it’ll ever be enough.

When he opens his eyes, you’re slowly fading away from him. There’s a melancholic smile on your face, your eyes meeting his—filled with pain, sorrow, a desire to cling onto the past, and yet… a hint of acceptance.

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

Yes, he remembers. And he’ll remember your words for the rest of his life, until the moment that he leaves this cosmos on his deathbed. He’s just hoping that you’ll wait long enough for him to say it back.

Before you’re about to fade away completely, you lean in one last time and whisper to him…

“It’s time to wake up, Veritas.”

He wakes up from the dream pool with a gasp. The water splashes around him, and a few stray tears roll down his cheeks.

The rest of his actual Penacony trip went by surprisingly smoothly, and he doesn’t mention the dream that he had to anyone. It was like a secret shared between you and Veritas–and he was going to treasure that secret forever.

And now, the Charmony Festival has commenced, and the fireworks have begun. As he watches the sparks explode into thousands of dazzling rays of light above, he pulls out his phone to text you. Almost like one final goodbye, because he knows it’s what you would’ve wanted.

“I love you too, Y/N. I will love you my entire lifetime–past beyond the boundaries of eternity, even after all the stars long die out in the cosmos.

I long for the day that we will meet again… because then, I’ll finally be able to tell you this confession in person. For now, I hope you can continue to find the patience to keep waiting for me.

…Until the stars align, and we’re able to see each other once again.”

He looks up to the endless bursts of blazing rays lighting up the night, mixed with the eternal shine of the cosmos. It was truly a sight to behold. And for a split second, he could feel someone by his side watching the fireworks with him. It warmed his heart, even if it were just for a moment.

“Aren’t these fireworks beautiful, Veritas?”

“They will never be as enchanting as you, Y/N.”

#semi writes #dr ratio #dr ratio hsr #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #dr ratio x you #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio angst #dr ratio comfort #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #divider by cafekitsune

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harryslittlefreakk · 6 months

Text

obsessed

summary: harry is your roommate, best friend … and crush 💃 he’s finally broken up with his girlfriend and you’re struggling to hide how you feel about him. loosely based on the song!!

warnings: none! fluffy fluff, teeny tiny bit of angst, mentions nudity

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i am a loud & proud olivia rodrigo stan sooo naturally i had to write something. it’s silly and cheesy and short! but i hope you enjoy!!

you can find my masterlist here and join my taglist here!! happy reading my loves 💖

“Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?” You didn’t even need to look up from your book to know Harry was about to throw himself down on the end of your bed, his coat and shoes still on. Every time you got home before him he’d bound into your room like a little labrador, too excited to see you to even drop his stuff down first.

“No, you have to guess.”

“Could’ve been anyone, H,” you told him, feigning reluctance as you closed your book and looked up at him. The second you heard his key rattling in the door you’d wait for the sound of your door bursting open, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life. But you’d never let him know that, so every day you’d pretend it was an annoyance to have him perched at your feet.

“Think of someone you really don’t like,” he persisted, a toothy grin nestled between his dimpled cheeks.

“Literally could be anyone.”

“Come on! Blonde hair, tall, pretty…”

Of fucking course. His stupid, evil, awful ex girlfriend. And naturally, the only way you could react to hearing about her was to reach over and shove him before crossing your arms over your chest. “Ow! What was that for?” Harry laughed, rubbing at his upper arm.

“I was having such a nice day. And then you have to come in and mention that.” It was massively childish, but you couldn’t help but feel violent every time you heard about her. She was fine for the most part, maybe a little too conceited for your taste, but she’d made Harry happy. But you’d watched from the outside as Harry went through relationships, and he always morphed into whatever version of himself he thought the girl would prefer. He stopped being your Harry, and your friendship would suffer for it. But you couldn’t say anything, could never treat his girlfriends with anything but a polite smile and quick conversation, unless you wanted to out yourself as a jealous little girl. And you definitely didn’t want to do that.

This time, however, the ability to hate her had been handed to you on a silver platter when she decided to go home with one of Harry’s friends on a night out. You were his shoulder to cry on, the one to make him smile again after days of moping around. So you had full permission to hate her, and you were relishing in it - as much as you could while still tiptoeing around Harry’s aching heart.

“She wants to meet for a coffee this week,” he told you, scrunching his eyes tight as he waited for another shove. When nothing came, he squinted over to see you rubbing at your temples. “Are you gonna?” you asked, brows furrowed as you imagined the two of them back together.

“Am I allowed?” Harry teased, turning round to lay on top of you, his face only inches from yours. “You’re a grown man, H. Couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to,” you told him, your voice void of any emotion.

“Dunno if it’s a good idea. She might find me too irresistible and then I’ll have to deal with that,” he grinned, not noticing the change in your face. You looked down as you felt your lip start to quiver, too proud to show how your heart sank. “I need to shower, H. Dinner after?” you asked, slipping out from under him and dragging your heavy limbs towards the door. He looked over at you with round, questioning eyes, only to be met by silence and a weak smile as you headed for the bathroom.

You barely got the door shut behind you before the tears came, hot and heavy drops rolling down your cheeks. You knew you couldn’t have Harry, but every minute spent with him had your heart breaking over and over again. Every little cuddle, every touch, lit you up with a fire that burned to the bones. But then you’d see the way he acts with a girlfriend, the way he loved someone, and all those moments you shared seemed silly and infantile. He was your best friend, nothing more and nothing less.

You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as the sobs wracked your body. You’d tried so hard to push away the feelings, to convince yourself that you were just confused and overwhelmed. He’s a friend, he’s a friend, he’s a friend, echoing around your mind. But deep down, you knew that no one could ever compare to Harry. He was yours, the only one to ever steal a piece of your heart.

“Y/n? M’coming in.” You froze as Harry’s voice came from the other side of the door, clamping a hand over your mouth to hold the sobs in. “I’m naked,” you called out, scrambling to your feet and wiping away your tears with your sleeve. But he opened the door anyway, stopping in the doorway when he saw your tear-stained face. “Didn’t even turn the shower on yet,” he muttered, glancing over at it.

“Why’re you crying?”

“M’not,” you whispered, choking out a giant sob as you turned your face away from Harry, sinking down onto the edge of the bath.

“Quite clearly are. Move,” he ordered, swatting you away before reaching to turn on the taps.

“What are you-”

“If you’re sad, I’m sad. And I like having a bath when I’m sad,” Harry shrugged, turning around to grab one of your bath bombs.

“I was gonna shower, you can’t-”, between the sobs, your confusion and the need for Harry not to know why you were crying, you could barely string a sentence together.

And when Harry pulled off his t-shirt, you were even more lost for words, left with your mouth gaping and only air coming out. “Joining me?” he asked, tipping too much bubble bath into the steamy water - something you’d have to scold him for later.

“I’m not getting in with you,” you told him, once you’d finally got a grip on your brain.

“Just get under the bubbles. And you can close your eyes when I get in.”

“No way.” You hugged your arms over your chest, drawing your swollen bottom lip into your mouth as you watched a shirtless Harry mix the bubble bath into the water. The way his muscles flexed, the tattoos littered across his tanned, slender frame. His skin always looked perfect, not Barbie doll smooth but irresistibly soft. Your fingers took on a mind of their own, slowly reaching out to touch him before he turned around with a smug grin. “Fine, go away then while I have my nice relaxing bath.”

“I want a bath,” you whispered, barely audible over the running water splashing into the tub. “What was that, angel?” Harry grinned, moving his towel onto the toilet seat. “I want a bath,” you told him, louder now, a tiny smile dancing on your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of one of your hands, tugging you closer to the bathtub. He turned you around before pulling your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your little pyjama shorts. Just the brush of his fingertips against your bare torso sent chills down your spine. “M’not looking. Tell me when you’re in,” Harry told you, dropping your t-shirt to his feet.

You pushed your pyjama shorts and panties down your legs, checking behind you to see if Harry really wasn’t watching. True to his word, he had his eyes scrunched tight and his hand clenched over them. You’d seen each other in bathing suits and underwear so many times before, but being naked in the same room as Harry felt beyond weird. You’d never been overly shy about your body, especially with someone who made you feel as pretty and as comfortable as Harry did, but this would add a whole new layer to your friendship - and you didn’t know if you’d survive it. Still, you sunk into the bathtub and pulled the mass of bubbles to your end, trying to keep your breasts under the water before you told Harry he can look. “It’s really hard to make bubbles stay put, H,” you told him, screwing up your face as you tried to hold them steady.

He was laughing as he pulled his trousers and socks off, great big guffaws tumbling out every time the bubbles tried to escape your grip. “Want me to turn the lights down a bit? Then it’s harder to see,” he shrugged, nodding towards the light switch. You nodded, grateful that he cared enough to make sure you were 100% comfortable. It was one of the things that first drew you to Harry, and definitely what you valued most about him. He was always so kind, always caring, so willing to put anyone’s needs above his own - and that’s why relationships always changed him.

“Close your eyes then,” he said, mockingly holding two hands in front of his bulge. You rolled your eyes, finally starting to lighten up as the hot water washed over you. When Harry reached out to swat at your nose, you closed your eyes tight. You felt him stepping into the bathtub after a minute, his long legs slotting down your left-hand side.

“Hi,” he smiled when you opened your eyes. “Gonna tell me what upset you now?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you told him, your voice small.

“It is if it made you that upset,” Harry countered, placing a gentle hand on your calf, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin.

You paused for a moment, trying to think of what you wanted to say and how to say it. “It just- she doesn’t deserve you, H. Anyone who hurts you like that doesn’t deserve any of your time and respect.” Your eyes dropped to the water as you spoke, your body frozen. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but as soon as he did, you needed to say more. “You were really sad, Harry. It sucked for you and it sucked for me too because I don’t like seeing you like that. I’ll always be there for you, you know that, but I can’t just sit and wait for her to hurt you like that again. Not when you know she’s capable of it.”

You watched the smaller bubbles popping one by one by one, suddenly anxious in the silence that followed your speech. You hated going against Harry, putting your two cents into something that really didn’t concern you, but sometimes he needed to hear it.

“I know,” he replied finally. “But do you think that because you don’t like her?”

“Harry, no! I don’t like her because she did that to you.”

“You were never her biggest fan,” he shrugged, his brows knitted when you finally pulled your eyes up to meet his.

“She changed you, H. You were different with her, less you. Everything is so surface level with her, it’s looks and Instagram likes and who’s got trouble with who. There’s no substance, nothing deeper.”

Harry’s thumb halted as he shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. “It doesn’t always have to be deeper,” he sighed, rubbing at his chin with his free hand.

“I know it’s not my place but you need someone who brings out the best in you, you need-”

A bitter laugh from Harry stopped you in your tracks, your mouth snapping closed as a chuckle slipped out of his. He met your questioning gaze with a tiny smirk. “She always used to say you were jealous of her.”

You could feel the tears collect on your bottom eyelashes again as he said it, the words stinging like barbed wire sinking into your skin. How could you even respond? “Harry-” was all you could manage before your mouth ran dry.

“I don’t wanna fight with you, y/n,” he told you, his voice soft as he reached out for your hand. “Come here,” he whispered, tugging at your fingertips. “I’m- we-” you started, gesturing between your bare bodies with your free hand, eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, motioning for you to turn around.

Somewhat reluctantly, you did, leaning back into his body until your back hit your chest. You were exposed in every sense, your chest sitting just above the waterline and your heart on your sleeve. Harry wrapped an arm around your torso, his delicate touch careful not to go anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Truth is I probably need someone like you. Only one to make me happy on a shitty day, only one who gives me any effort,” he murmured, his voice so low that if he wasn’t speaking directly into your ear, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your heart quickened as he spoke, your pulse pounding against your inner wrists. “I’m not- I don’t have anything that she-” you choked out.

“S’a good thing, no?” Harry asked, turning his head just slightly until his lips brushed tentatively against your earlobe. “No, Harry. You need more, you need-”

“You,” he finished for you. “Just say the word and I’m yours, angel.”

It was like someone had handed you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter, all you had to do was reach out and take it. But it wasn’t that easy. If anything went south, you risked losing Harry forever. You shuffled back out of his grip, turning to sit in front of him, perched on your knees. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about him seeing your body, your words willing themselves from your lips. “If anything went wrong Harry, I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, blinking to keep the tears at bay.

“What would go wrong? We know we get along, we have the same traits and the same values. We’re already doing life together,” he reached out a hand to cup your cheek as he spoke, his eyes laced with nothing but earnestness.

“I don’t want to be your consolation prize.”

“Never. Never ever, I swear. I thought about it for a while but it never really clicked until now.”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Harry spoke, desperately needing to figure out if it was all a dream. The sensation of his touch, the sound of his voice, the gentle heat of the water – it all felt too real to be a dream. But a part of you couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was too perfect, too surreal to be true. You hesitated, unsure if you should dare to believe in the fairytale unfolding between the two of you.

As if he could see the cogs turning in your head, Harry dropped his hand from your cheek, entwining your fingers in yours instead. He squeezed lightly, the corners of his lips turning up into a little smile. "I'm here, y/n," he whispered. "This is real, promise." His words were a lifeline in the sea of doubt that threatened to consume you. Even if it was a dream, it was a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“It’s all I ever wanted,” you confessed, allowing yourself to give into the fantasy for at least a little while. You fought the urge to search for the hidden cameras, check the date to make sure it wasn’t an April Fools prank. Harry was a goof, but you were a thousand percent sure he wouldn’t play with your feelings like that.

“Just say the word,” he repeated, his husky voice laced with sincerity and longing.

“I want this,” you whispered, clutching onto Harry’s hand as if you could fall off the Earth at any minute. His face erupted into a grin so cheesy that you couldn’t help but mirror it, eyes locked onto his as he closed the distance between the two of you.

Harry’s lips met yours softly, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you melted into him, the air nearly knocked out of your lungs by the urgency and desire behind his soft movements. He pulled away after a minute, his forehead pressed to yours as he searched your eyes for any sign that you wanted to stop. Although all Harry was met with was a sparkle in your gaze, and a further few pecks landing on his lips. “Should’ve done this a long time ago,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands splaying across your back. “Should’ve done it before you got me naked,” you teased, succumbing once again to his kiss.

rrrr i really don’t know how i feel about this but i wanted to get something out

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #harryslittlefreakk

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temis-de-leon · 2 months

Text

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Levi and Satan (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4

Main Masterlist

A/N: not very satisfied with this one, but I don't want to get stuck in writer's block forever. I will revisit this in the future to improve it, but, until then, I hope you enjoy it <3

Leviathan – He didn’t think he deserved you

Companionship from him was hard to earn; not due to pickiness, but rather fear.

Would you make fun of him when you discovered the things he liked? Would you call him a pathetic, sad excuse of a demon?

He wasn’t embarrassed about his passions, mind you; in fact, he was quite proud of them, but he knew an otaku like him wasn’t considered as attractive or interesting as others with more… normie preferences.

Take Asmo, who knew how to talk to people and profited from his appearance; or Beel, who knew how to keep his muscles; or Lucifer, whose presence was enough to call for everyone’s attention.

He couldn’t hold a candle to them, as much as the knowledge pained him, and he was sure you thought the same.

How else would you feel? You, a human suddenly lost in the Devildom with no way of surviving but proving your wit and your strength. You, who fought with tooth and nails to stand your ground and still acted with kindness towards him, paying attention to his rants, asking out of pure curiosity, keeping track of the passwords…

Falling for you came immediately after you became his best friend, but Levi couldn’t lie to himself.

There wasn’t a way in hell, heaven or earth where a possible reciprocation wasn’t fuelled by pity, no matter how much you tried to convince him otherwise.

He closed the door of his room again, keeping everyone out, hoping that if he couldn’t see your lovesick gaze anymore, then you’d find someone fitter and more deserving.

The thought pained him to no end, but really.

Levi couldn’t lie to himself.

His chest hurt, no wonder. The shape of his clothes was imprinted on his skin, sternum and ribs aching with each breath after hours of sleeping on the edge of the bathtub. He thought he’d also twisted his wrist for a moment, but the pain just came from the weight of his torso resting on top of it for who knows how long.

Levi slowly blinked as he started to wake up, a pool of drool drying next to where his head had previously been and his mouth completely dry in return, the taste of something stale and unsavoury covering his tongue.

There was a water bottle on one of the glass tables, his headphones and a half-full glass of soda, but his DDD was on the floor with his jacket. He saw a blanket there too and your scent reached him like a siren’s song.

Groaning at the rigidness of his muscles, quickly embarrassed once more of his unfit body, he pushed himself out of the bathtub and tried not to trip on the clutter around the room. Most things were his, obviously, but he also found some of your clothes and even a pair of shoes and your backpack, covered in custom pins he’d carefully designed just for you.

The image of his door closing and leaving you out of his life resurfaced in his brain. What else could it have been if not a nightmare? While he was perfectly aware you were way out of his league, Levi was also conscious about his sin and about how weak he was under its power. There was no way he would’ve survived seeing you with someone else, let alone after confessing your love to him.

Noticing your absence with a sudden wave of nausea, he wondered for a horrible second if he’d talked during his sleep and woken you up with nonsense and rejection, but there was no way you would’ve left him for that, right? You would’ve woken him up instead, offering words of comfort and reasoning.

Him knowing that fact was the main evidence of how ridiculous the nightmare was.

How could he ever forget dating you, if just for a few seconds after waking up in pure stupor? As though your mere presence in his life didn’t change him; could he ever fool himself into thinking he could go on without the chance of being with you? His dream self may have been idiotic enough to believe so, but he knew better.

Levi would never let you go.

Satan – He didn’t realise how deep he’d fallen

He wouldn’t describe himself as superficial.

Feeling wasn’t a foreign experience; hell, he was doomed to feel, but there was so much he could understand about emotions.

Why did there have to be so many layers?

Asmo fawned over himself, rejoicing in who he was, yet he couldn’t bring himself to show how deep his mind and heart could reach.

Diavolo, so prepared for political business, yet so unsure at matters of the heart, abandoned and lonely.

You, so obviously afraid of your new surroundings, yet unwilling to bend your knee and show weakness.

Himself, falling for you slowly without either of you realising. He cared for you with what he knew was fondness, respect and appreciation. After all, given everything you’d done for him and his family, there was no other way he could look at you.

You confessed to him one day out of the blue, hope in your eyes, and his heart skipped a bit; but what if that flutter wasn’t enough? What if he was reaching too far, anticipating a chapter that would never be written?

Over time, the warmth in his chest turned bitter and electric, not stimulating anymore, but painful.

Yet, he smiled at you.

How confusing.

What a stupid mistake he had made.

You weren’t with him when he opened his eyes, which only fuelled the anger his dream had caused. Frustration at the cycle, always returning to the comfort of his sin, and fear upon your absence.

The swaying towers of books covered the window and cast shadows where they weren’t supposed to be, taunting him with the presence of someone else just as he was coming to terms with the lack of your company. His stretched arm, searching for your touch, slowly returned to him and pulled him deeper under the covers.

He still felt the goodnight kiss you had given him hours ago lingering on his lips, but it wasn’t that what helped settle his uncontrolled mind.

No.

Satan didn’t need reflection to know how much his soul yearned for yours. Although intimidated by the intensity of it, he wasn’t afraid to show just how much he loved you. Also, he would be caught dead before rejecting an idea due to a lack of perspective. Exploring your relationship had been his favourite subject by far, after all.

He knew that, had his rejection been real, his dreams would’ve been filled with the never-ending hope in your eyes and his willingness for more instead.

What he had with you in what he knew was the undeniable reality, was what he would always want in any other.

He may not understand the strength of your love and all that came in between, but wasn’t that what made it all that exciting?

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion

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4unnyr0se · 4 months

Note

pookie pls can you write for gojo where reader and him are coworkers at jujutsu high and have a dynamic similar to utahime and gojo? and like yaga is always making them work together even tho they don’t like eachother, but Gojo lowkey gets off on reader being annoyed at him so there is *tension*? 🥺🥺🥺

❥ whole lotta attitude | satoru gojo

warnings: enemies to lovers, gojo is a dickhead but it's okay because he's gojo, fem! reader, unprotected sex, office sex (im a slut for office sex), multiple orgasms, wall sex, roughness, one hickey, spanking, oral sex (m! receiving), making out, filthy filthy words are spoken, hella sexual tension, reader hates gojo but gojo loooooves her, gojo gets slapped once, degrading, praise, hair pulling, hate(?) sex, gojo texts like a super senior, a little bit of a textfic but not rlly, fluff at the end

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 3.6k

Jujutsu High was quiet today. That wasn’t unusual because most of the students were either out on missions or in Shokos’ office experiencing whatever the hell she called “medicine.” The quiet was nice, strangely calming, and reassuring. Being a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, calm was a foreign feeling. The cool breeze blew your hair softly in the wind, the songbirds tweeting a melody that was most becoming on this quiet say. You took a deep breath in as you leaned against a wooden pole, admiring how clear the sky was. Everything was simply perfect. If tomorrow was your last day alive, today would be the most wonderful send-off.

“Hey there princess! I missed you!”

And just like that, there was no more peace. No more tranquility, no more sing-song bird crap. There’s only Satoru Gojo and his humongous ego that crushes anyone within a 50-foot radius.

His deep voice was laced with a sickly sweet playful tone that made you want to grab his collar and punch him right in his perfect nose. God, you fucking hated him. He was the bane of your existence with his smug attitude and that stupid infinity that he only turned off when you were around. Did he seriously think you were that weak, and he didn’t even need to use infinity because he could defeat you within a millisecond? Stupid fucking handsome bastard, you hated him with every fiber of your being.

“What, you’re ignoring me now? Don’t be like that, it’s not nice!” Gojo laughed and practically teleported to where you were sitting, his eyes no doubt sparkling under that black blindfold he always wore.

You groaned and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and looking away from the smug bastard. “Fuck off, Gojo. I was having a perfectly peaceful afternoon before your very existence ruined it for me.” You pinched your temple with your index finger and thumb, rubbing the stressed skin. “I was calm for once in my damn life. You really do have a talent for making me wish I was six feet under.”

Gojo playfully pouted and shifted himself to your other side, taking your hand off your temple. He cradled it with his own, royally pissing you off in the process. “Why are you always so grumpy all the time, huh? Is it because your students are always out on missions instead of keeping little ol’ your company?” He mocked slightly, letting go of your hand. His blue eyes sparkled beneath his blindfold, filled with mischief. “I could keep your company, you know that right? Or is Little Miss Grumpy Pants too high and mighty to give me a shot?”

“I would literally rather make out with Jogo than spend more time with you than I’m legally required.”

“Ouch, that hurt.”

“Too bad, so sad.” You smirked, shoving him away. If anyone else had seen that they would have been shocked. The mighty Satoru Gojo, pushed to the ground by a grade two sorcerer. You rose up from the wooden desk and dusted yourself off, walking away as quickly as you could in your tennis shoes.

“I always look forward to these meetings you know!” Gojo yelled at you in the distance only to see the faintest image of your middle finger wiggling at him. Gojo smirked and put down the hem of his blindfold, his hair returning to its usual upright position.

You stormed back into your office and locked the door shut, sliding down against the mahogany doorframe in exhaustion. How was it possible that just being in his presence absolutely drained you of all resolve? Was he really that strong, or was he just super fucking annoying? You had no idea, no one ever had any idea when it came to Satoru Gojo.

The beautiful day finally came to an end and you got back to your apartment, collapsing onto your couch. Most jujutsu sorcerers had house provided to them by their clans, but that was not your case. Your neighbors thought you were a teacher at some religious school deep in the country side. It was the best excuse you could come up with for being gone for practically days at a time. Maybe the only bus to the train station broke down or something, any old excuse like that in order to keep the nosy (and mostly elderly) fellow tennents off your back.

“Fuck my life…” You groaned, placing your head in your hands as you stumbled over to your cozy bedroom, it’s warm environment almost giving you a hug in its own way. You slipped into your pajamas and curled up under the covers, setting your alarm on your phone for the next morning. Just as you were about to close your eyes, your phone started to buzz. At first it was just a single vibration, probably a text from your mother or something. But the buzzes and vibrations kept coming until your phone was practically moving itself off the bed.

You groaned in annoyance and turned over, checking the notification center to see who the hell had the nerve to text you nine times in a row. And sure enough, sporting the contact photo of a .5 that he took of himself when he stole your phone that one time, Satoru fucking Gojo had spam texted you at 11:41PM.

“What the actual hell?” You whispered, unlocking your phone to see what could possibly be this important. Nothing was ever this important past 10PM, not even if your apartment building was on fucking fire.

The messages plagued your screen, his smirking face in the contact photo made you even more angry. And yet a faint blush found itself creeping up against your face. Maybe it was the sheer excitement of a man texting you at night, or maybe deep down you actually liked Gojo. You smacked yourself lightly on the cheek, trying to erase that thought from your sleep-ridden mind.

Worst person alive: heyyyy

Worst person alive: r u up???

Worst person alive: theres no way u actually went to bed, omg ur such a grandma

Worst person alive: im bored talk to me

Worst person alive: megumi wont answer my texts :(( i think he hates me

Worst person alive: i know ur awake, u were active three minutes ago on insta

Worst person alive: ik u blocked me on their but jokes on u i have 5 other accounts

Worst person alive: pls pls pls pls talk to me im dying over here princess

Worst person alive: btw yaga assigned us on a mission tmrw mwah

Your eyed widened at the last message, your hands gripped the phone with white-knuckle strength. “Fucker!” You yelled, turning off your phone before melting under the covers. Why did Yaga have to do this to you? You and Gojo together was torture enough, but now you had to do actual work with each other? Gojo was grossly incompetent at anything that didn’t involve exorcising cursed spirits.

You sighed and closed your eyes, silently praying that a curse would somehow break into your bedroom and murder you right then and there. But unfortuanly, you woke up to your alarm blaring in your ear the next morning.

Gojo and yourself were sat in Yaga’s office, Gojo smirking at you the entire time. You blushed under his gaze, hands gripping the edges of your seat as you waited for Yaga to tell you what the assignment was. Was Yaga being late on purpose just to mess with you? Did you manage to piss him off somehow? A million questions were flying through your mind and there was no answer in sight.

“I saw you read my messages princess.” Gojo finally spoke, leaning forward. He was significantly taller over you, his towering muscular frame intimating you. “Why didn’t you respond? I was really bored. It’s rude to ignore your friends.” He spoke, that same sticky and syrupy voice coming back to haunt you.

“Maybe that’s because we aren’t friends, Gojo.” You scoffed, flipping your hair behind your back. “Could you please just shut up until Yaga gets here? If I have to listen to you mock me again I might actually explode.” Sighing, you placed your face in your hands.

“Actually,” Gojo purred, getting up from his seat only to sit down in Yaga’s velvet office chair. “Yaga doesn’t have a mission for us, princess.” He kicked his feet up on the desk, taking off his blindfold. His snowy white hair fell into a beautiful mess, with his painfully gorgeous blue eyes lighting up his already hellishly handsome face.

You looked up from your hands to raise an eyebrow, your face immediately turning a bright red upon seeing Gojo without his signature blindfold. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t follow.”

Gojo tutted and threw the black fabric onto your lap, his eyes still staring at your blushing face. Gojo found it simply adorable how you would always get so flustered, so annoyed in his presence. How you would always deny being attracted to him, how you swore up and down that he was put on this Earth to make your life a living hell. But he noticed that you would always squeeze your thighs together when he spoke. It was precious, really. How you thought you could hide your painfully obvious desire for him.

“Ae you hard of hearing or something, princess?” Gojo purred, leaning forward to he could grab onto the collar of your navy blue work uniform. With just a snap of his wrists his face was mere centimeters away from your own, the tips of your noses were pressed up against each other so perfectly. You felt your breathing quicken, the atmosphere in Yaga’s office so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. “I said that Yaga never gave us a fucking mission. I just wanted to see you again.” He breathed out, his steaming air causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. His grip on your collar tighten, his eyes were filled with desire. Desire for you that’s long overdue to be broken.

Your brows furrowed at you gripped onto his wrist, trying your best to pry his hand away from your uniform collar. Twisting and turning his wrist every which way turned out ot be fruitless, causing you to grow ever more angry and flustered. Fuck Gojo and his superhuman abilities, fuck him for being the strongest.

Instead, your hand came flying at his face. Your palm collided with his flesh, the cold stinging sensation snapping Gojo out of his lustful trance. His spare hand crept onto his cheek, rubbing the mark softly. You gulped, nervous to see how the strongest jujutsu sorcerer would react to getting slapped across the face by a grade two.

He smirked and threw his head back slightly, a dark chuckle emitting from his throat. He looked back down at you, his grip on your collar so strong that you started to choke. “God, I was hoping you would fucking do that.”

In an instant his lips were on yours, roughly clashing against each other. It took every fiber of his being to not rip all your clothes off right then and there, to bend you over Yaga’s desk and fuck you senseless. Oh how long Gojo had waited to feel your plump lips being ravaged by his own, and how deliciously rewarding it was to play the long game. Finally your lips were melding perfectly with each other, his tongue picking up just the faintest taste of peach chapstick.

Gojo pulled away from the kiss after about a minute, a thick strand of saliva connecting your lips. He sighed in pleasue as his eye landed on your flustered face, your mouth still agape like a slut.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he muttered, stepping out from behind the desk. He pulled you out of your chair and trapped you against the wall, his muscular torso being so easily felt under the think fabric of the uniforms the school provided. “Been wanting to kiss you since forever, y’know.” He mumbled, dragging his callosued hands up and down the clothed snatches of your wasit. “Your lips taste even better than I imaged, sweetness.”

You blushed at his sultry words, the faint glim in his ocean blue eyes only making your knees evern weaker. Slowly but carefully, your arms wrapped themselves around his broad shoulders. “You’re still on my shitlist,” you muttered, standing on the tips of your toes to meet his eyeline.

“And you’re as stubborn as ever, princess.” Gojo purred picking you up by the bottoms of your thighs, Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, making it look like a scene straight out of a movie. “Such a pretty mouth, you gonna let me fuck it?” He whispered, rubbing circled on your bare thighs. The modest jujutsu skirt you wore covered your legs quite nicely, so you never really felt the need to wear tights. And that drove Gojo fucking wild.

“Depends, what’s in it for me?” You smirked, tugging lightly on the baby hairs at the back of his head. Gojo hissed in pleasure, kind of proud that you were being equally as bratty to him as he was to you.

“The best fuck you’ll ever get, plus some more.” Gojo let go of your thighs, letting you drop onto your knees. You looked up at him, gulping in anticipation as you saw the imprint of his throbbing erection covered by his pants. “You gotta get me prepared first, princess. Or else I might not fuck that pussy as good, got it?” His voice was dripping with desire for you as his expert hands pulled down his pants, tossing them aside along with his boxers. His cock tapped against his shirt, leaving the smallest precum stain.

You bit down on your lip at the sight of his cock, moving yourself foreward. Ever so carefully, your right hand gripping onto the base of his cock. Tongue falling out of your mouth, you took his cock in your wet cavern slowly, your cheeks hollowing out to accommodate his girth and length.

“Shit princess, just like that. Yeah, I knew you would be good at suckin’ dick.” Gojo praised, offering you a slanted smile as your hands stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit. His large hand tangled itself into your messy hair, tugging on the roots ever so gently. His hips bucked into your mouth ever so slowly, almost painfully slow. He treated you like you were so fragile, sharp contrast to when he had you pinned against the wall with his tongue shoved down your throat.

He groaned in pleasure as his cock his the back of his throat, his hips driving his member down your throat even faster. His grip on your hair tighten, causing a small pool of tears to well in the corner of your eye. A singular droplet ran down your pretty little face, which Gojo thought was just the cutest little thing.

“Oh, is my princess crying? What, my dick to big for your slutty little mouth?” His hips stopped snapping into your face, pulling your mouth off of his member slowly. “Well, if you can’t handle my dick in your mouth,” He grabbed your arm, throwing you against the desk. His pushed you down so your face was against the hard mahogany wood, with your ass up and on display for Gojo to smack. “Then maybe your pretty pussy will be able to handle me, hm?”

He shoved your skirt above your ass, the blue material bunching the divet in your waist. His hand ran over your soaked panties, shoving them aside to expose your soaked core to the cold office air. “So pretty f’me…” Gojo mumbled, gathering up some of your slick on his thumb and popping it inside of his mouth. “Delicious too, maybe you’ll be my dinner one day. Wouldn’t you like that, princess?” He teased, his hand cracking against the supple flesh of your perfect ass.

“Fuck!” you cried out, your hands gripping onto the wooden desk for dear life. You grew increasingly frustrated, especially knowing that Gojo was taking immense pleasure in making you wait tt get fucked. “Dammit Gojo, just fuck me already!” You demanded, your eyes being slightly covered by your mess of hair falling in front of them.

He smacked his hand across your ass again, alighting his cock with your sobbing entrance. “You sure got a whole lotta attitude, princess.” He purred, teasing your hole with his mushroom head. “I’ll be sure to fuck it outta you, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

He shoved his cock inside of you, hissing as your tight walls enveloped his member. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, having never experienced someone as big or as girthy inside of you. Sure, you had slept around before but this time he might actually make you cum. You wouldn’t have to fake an orgasm just for it to end.

“Shit, Gojo!” You screamed, lifting your head up from the desk to meet his gaze from behind. “Y-you’re too fuckin’ big, you know that?”

Gojo smirked and started to slowly thrust himself in and out of your weeping cunt, the sound of his groans mixing with your moans of pleasure filling the chilly office. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezing me already, princess? Good fuckin’ slut.” He grunted, pulling your hair back so your neck was against his mouth. His hips were now snapping furiously at your ass, his balls clapping against the skin. “You won’t mind if I give you a little mark, right? Gotta make sure you remember being bent over like this, pretty thing.”

His sharp teeth bit down onto your neck, sucking a nasty purple circle right where your jugular would be. The stimulation was utterly overwhelming, your mouth was agape and your throat was starting to hurt from all your cries. “Fuck, such a good slut for me.”

Gojo’s rough and callosued hands reached under your top to grope one of your tits, his fingers pinching and rubbing your nipple under the thin fabric. He could feel your orgasm was fast approaching the way you squeezed onto his cock, almost like your body was trying to suck him in even deeper inside of you. “Gojo, fuck! T-Too fucking handsy!” You managed to moan out, your brain slowly starting to turn to mush as the coil in your belly threatened to snap at any minte. “Fuck, gonna fucking cum!”

Gojo smirked and smacked your ass once more, slipping his hand from behind you to rub on your sensitive clit. “Cum all over this cock baby, f-fuck. Be a good fucking girl.” He demanded in your ear, his fingers now furiously rubbing themselves on your clit while his cock hit every place it needed to.

With a wanton gasp you threw your head back onto his shoulders, your orgasm washing over you like tsunami or a tidal wave. Wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over your every nerve, your eyes feeling fuzzy as you swore you could see stars.

“Fuck, holy fuck! Gojo, oh my fucking God!” you sobbed, your bottom lip trembling as you came down from your high. Gojo sighed and began to kiss your neck gently, his thrusts becoming faster and desperate as he felt his own euphoria approaching.

“Shit, gonna cum princess. Lemme cum inside of you, yeah? God you’re so fucking warm and tight, fuck!” He moaned into your neck, the movement of his hips becoming staggering and sloppy as his hot ropes of sticky cum coated your insides, filling you up so nicely. “F-fuck, oh my god…”

Gojo pulled out of you, smirking to himself as he saw his cum leak from your sloppy pussy. “Fucking amazing, princess.” He bent down to pick up his boxers and pants, putting them on quickly.

You got up from leaning over the desk and turned around, your face flushed and your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. Your hands still gripping onto the table, your pretty lips slightly agape. “Holy shit…I think that was the best sex I’ve ever fucking had.” You breathed out, brushing the sweaty babyhairs out of your face.

Gojo smiled and bent down slightly, kissing your nose with a gentleness that was the complete opposite of how he fucked you. “I’ve been wanting to do that sicne I met you, you know.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, adjusting your stretched-out shirt collar. “Stop lying, you already fucked me. No need to lie anymore, Gojo.”

He frowned and grabbed onto your hand, his thumb carefully rubbing onto the back of it. “I’m not lying, you know.”

Raising an eyebrow you looked into his blue eyes, curious as to why there wasn’t a hint of deception swirling around in his oceans of blue. “Gojo…are you being serious?” You whispered, a blush once again covering your face. It wasn’t a blush of desire but a blush of shyness, like you were sixteen years old and just got confessed to.

“Satoru,” he spoke, bringing your hand to cup his pale face. “Call me Satoru, please.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes once more, your hand gently petting his flushed face. You took a step towards him, allowing Gojo to wrap his other hand around your waist. You two held each other in Yaga’s office, the scent of sex and passionate still filling up the otherwise stiff air.

“What are you gonna call me then, Satoru?” You softly spoke, standing on the tips of your toes so your lips were hovering against his once more. Gojo offered you a gentle smile, pecking your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna call you mine.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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star-girl69 · 8 months

Text

Don’t Delete The Kisses

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

—-

synopsis: after breaking someone’s heart as apart of your initiation into the aphrodite cabin, you don’t think love is meant for you after your cruelty. clarisse thinks you’re ridiculous.

a/n: my friend was talking about how like insane this song makes her and i was like oh so this is genius

Don’t Delete The Kisses - Wolf Alice

warnings: insecure and very sad y/n ☹️, so like yeah all of that stuff, very ooc clarisse but IDC, i hate everyone but you trope fr, more talking about our feelings which we know is very hard for clarisse, the usual mentions of death and weapons, all that demigod stuff, more clarisse wanting, clarisse is insane as always i love her my ladybug fr, swearing, mentions of food, crap ton of violence, broken noses, whole bunch of blood, teeth get knocked out, yeah, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“Well, did you do it?”

You wanted to sneak into the Aphrodite cabin silently, hoping your pink jacket would blend into the walls and hide you. But that was just wishful thinking. That was just something you whispered to yourself on the walk back to comfort your shaking body, wiping away the tears.

This is your initiation. They’re all sitting on their beds, waiting with eager eyes, greedy for a taste of someone else’s suffering, the comfort of knowing it’s not their own.

“Yes,” you say, pretending tears don’t rim your eyes.

You stand stall, shutting the cabin door behind you.

“I did it.”

Your sister Drew stands up and grabs your hand. You think she might comfort you. You think she might tell you Carter was in it all along, you didn’t really hurt him, it was all some elaborate prank.

Instead, she raises your hand up in the air and turns towards the rest of your siblings.

“Y/N!” she says, “Daughter of Aphrodite!”

Your siblings clap and cheer, smiling widely- one of the younger girls runs right up to you and hugs you, face in your stomach.

“You played him so good,” she giggles, pigtails swinging in the air. She is so naïve, so young, so unknowing. You wonder if you can give yourself amnesia if you slam your head into the column holding up the cabin.

You would do anything to forget this night. To forget the look on Carter’s face. He fell in love with you and you let your siblings guide you on what to do, what to say, you let them dress you up and and put pretty bows in your hair that he reached out to touch.

He thought he would end the night with a kiss, but instead he ended the night with your hand in his face, scoffing animatedly and asking “How could he ever think a daughter of Aphrodite could like him?”

You could feel his heart break, and you could feel your mother ghosting around the wind, you could feel the muscles in your face strain as your eyes filled with tears.

You wrap your arms around your younger sister and force yourself to chuckle.

“His face was so funny,” you say, but there was an unintended action to your initiation. Your heart broke too. You saw the look on his face- if that is how losing love feels then you never want to give yourself the chance to lose it.

Besides, it’s not like you could ever deserve love after this. The love your siblings crave but never quite get. True, encompassing, all-consuming love. After this night, after the hatred coiling up in your stomach like a snake, it’s just not meant for you.

—-

Everyone at Camp calls you princess.

It made you feel like a baby, weak, like you were nothing but a pretty face. But no matter how much you flinched at the nickname, grimaced when you found yourself answering to its call, no one stopped.

Your siblings all cooed and said it was so fitting, saying with curled lips that you were most definitely Aphrodite’s favorite. Your hair always fell in the most beautiful way, your makeup always stayed and looked beautiful, you know you can’t walk through camp without someone looking at you.

Especially after your charmspeak developed, you became a shell of yourself, scared constantly like you are just a walking knife, doomed to cut anyone you come near.

You’re not that different from your siblings- the only difference is you won’t ever lead someone on. You won’t ever make anyone thing they have a chance. Because you’ll never break someone’s heart again.

You’re still Aphrodite’s daughter, you still like to look pretty. So, you do your makeup and your hair, you revel in the feelings of eyes on you but you choose your words carefully.

But other than that, you despise love, your mother, everything about the Aphrodite Cabin.

But you suck it up, you let boys fix your posture, let them teach you to fight while they dream of kissing you, and you work silently and you wait to get out of this hellhole Camp.

You stay silent and you let them realize that you’re just simply not interested in a relationship. They’re sad, but their hearts aren’t broken.

Everybody calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently.

Clarisse La Rue is probably the bane of your existence. She’s drop dead gorgeous, you would kill to run your hands through her curls, and she is the most talented person you know in battle. You’re pretty good, after all this silent training and the tips and tricks shared in vain, but she is a force.

She’s the one guilty pleasure you let yourself have. If only because you know she’s too strong to get hurt. So you let yourself look, keep a secret crush tight in your chest- only bursting out when you can’t stand it, and you just have to stare at her and revel in that for a second.

The thing about Clarisse is that she likes you. Which would be fine, you just tried to stay away, but she kept coming back for more and more until it became impossible to ignore her. It’s like you two were just doomed to forever be in love with each other, and you have to live with that and eat it like crow.

It’s not like she outwardly flirts with you. She just says your nickname differently. She caresses the words and says it softer. She doesn’t stare at you like everyone else- she looks at you. It feels amazing, your one guilty pleasure is to revel in her love from far away, but you make it clear that you don’t want a relationship and you never will.

Clarisse seems intent either to ignore that or wait you out. You don’t let her get close enough. You won’t break someone else’s heart.

Everyone calls you princess. You only like it when Clarisse says it.

—-

“Hi, princess.”

You don’t look at him, focusing on tying your shoes instead. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I thought I could help you.”

You finish tying your laces, taking your foot up off of the bench and onto the ground. You grab your sword, hair tied back, tank top and stretchy pants. He looks you up and down. You do the same.

“Uh… Van, right?”

“Funny name so you won’t forget it, huh?” he winks, and you very obviously grimace.

“Ha, yeah.” You set your sights on a dummy currently not being attacked by a sword or spear and take a step forward.

“I noticed,” he starts, arm in front of you, stopping you from moving. “That the only weapon you don’t know how to use is the spear.”

You finally look at him. He’s wearing cargo pants and the orange camp t-shirt. His hand is plain and blonde, cut short, and his cheeks seem to be permanently flushed. He’s a son of Ares, pretty good fighter, but nothing else to speak for. Clarisse, at least, is the absolute best at almost everything she does- and she puts in the work to show it.

Van looks like he trains the minimum amount and gets by on his natural abilities as a demigod.

“Okay?” you say, wanting nothing more than to get away from him and go back to training. “I don’t get what you’re saying. And don’t flirt with me, either- one of my siblings would be happy to make out with you in a shed somewhere.”

“I’ll teach you,” he says, slightly exasperated. You finally notice he is, in fact, holding a spear. “Huh?”

You squint at him.

You do have a reputation in this camp. Part of the reason you’re called princess is because you’re standoffish and cold- people mistake it as you thinking you’re better than them. Really, you’re one of the worst people at this camp. You’re saving them from being tainted by association.

But every once in a while, someone will get it in their heads that soulmates do exist, and they’re the right person for you- and you’re mean and you shut them down, but that’s way before they fall in love. It hurts them, but not as much as it hurts you, not as much as it would hurt them if you gave them any ounce of attention.

The only person who keeps coming back for more sticks her spear into the ground next to you, fingers drumming against the wood.

“Van, you look fucking stupid.”

“Clarisse,” Van hisses, glaring at her. She glares right back, unimpressed. “Can you just go? Fuck.”

She raises her eyebrows. His spear hits the dirt before you can even comprehend that Clarisse kicked it out of his hands, and you have to admit- Clarisse is quick. Clarisse is good at what she does.

She pours everything she’s got into training- and pursuing you. You think it might just be a joke at this point, or something she finds fun, been doing it too long that stopping feels wrong. You would be lying if you said it wouldn’t be weird for her to stop. For both of you to stop whatever this is. This silent wanting.

“First of all, you are mediocre with a spear. Second, if Y/N wanted spear lessons she would come to me, right?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, walking away.

“Clarisse,” you can hear Van groan. “She was going to say yes until you ruined it.”

“Bro, she was not going to say yes. You’re welcome for saving your ass from even more embarrassment, Gods.”

“You’re just mad she doesn’t like you after you’ve been pining for years.”

She laughs, loud and boisterously, but there’s an edge to her voice, one of doubt, something like she’s scared.

“Oh, you’re fucking funny,” she says, and you can hear her slapping his shoulder. You stretch, risking a glance over your shoulder- Van is walking off and she’s looking at you.

But when your eyes meet hers, she quickly looks away. And you notice. You notice, but you do nothing about it. The way it’s always meant to be.

—-

The strawberry fields is the most beautiful place at camp. It’s where you feel something for your mother, because while gardening and plants are Demeter’s thing- finding beauty in the way the strawberry sits in your hand, the way the sun turns the sky into purple and oranges, the way the bright green trees stand out against that- it’s all your mother.

You can appreciate beauty here.

You see beauty everywhere, and you see love everywhere, but not the kinds your mother is famous for.

You’ve been picking strawberries for what seems like hours now, but it’s bearable under the setting sun and when you think about how good it will feel to finally sink into your bed.

“Y/N!” someone calls. “Princess!” you roll your eyes but stand up, turning around and putting your hand over your face to protect from the setting sun.

“Yeah?!” you shout back, squinting. You realize you’re alone in the fields.

“We’re heading back!” a Demeter girl, Sasha, says.

Your eyes flick to your basket that will only take a few more minutes to fill up.

“I’ll go back later!”

“Okay!” she shouts back, running off after everyone else.

You crouch back down, taking a deep breath before you begin ruffling through the leaves of the strawberry plant to find the juicy berries. You sneak a few as you work, shuffling down the line of plants. It’s so calm here. There’s no one to hurt. There’s nothing to be scared of.

When you stand up, there’s four figures standing by the shed. You gasp, bringing your hand to your chest, but Clarisse takes off her helmet.

“Princess?” she asks. “What’cha doin’ out here all alone?”

“Collecting strawberries,” you snort, full basket hitting your knees as you walk towards her.

“I see that,” she huffs. You notice Van behind her, and another sister, Carrie, a brother named Matty. “But what are you doin’ out here alone?”

You shrug, coming to a stop in front of the little group of Ares kids.

“Everyone else left.”

“It’s almost dark.”

“Not yet, though,” you smile sarcastically.

Carrie and Matty continue walking after they realize nothing fun is going to happen. You’re not gonna entertain them, so why would they care? But Clarisse and Van stay. You stare at Clarisse for a moment longer before finally looking away.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Van notes. “Smart to be out here alone?”

“Oh, relax,” you sigh. “We’re still in the barrier.”

You tighten your grip on the bucket and turn left, walking towards the shed. Clarisse is hot on your heels.

“And how do you know that? What if it had spontaneously, like, failed and shut down, or something.”

“Then I think everyone would be running around and screaming, because monsters would be crawling through camp. I would know.”

You place the bucket next to all the other buckets collected today- you’ll keep the good ones here over night, away from the animals and bugs and someone will collect them in the morning.

You stand up, rolling your wrists, wiping the sweat from your brow. You take the small cutters for the thicker branches from your pocket and throw it into the bin with the others.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can walk me back.”

“I jus’ think it’s stupid to be out here all alone,” she shrugs. You stare right past her, watching as the door slams shut. Was it windy?

Clarisse whips around, but sees it’s just the closed door. You frown, Clarisse steps forward.

“Sorry, Clarisse!” Van shouts from outside, and that’s when you hear the lock sliding into place. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s done.

“Van, what the hell?!” Clarisse shouts, trying the knob. The door stays firmly shut. She slams her shoulder into it, but this place was built strong to protect from the elements, from all the little animals hungry for strawberries. “Let us out right fucking now, I swear, Van!”

“I can’t!” he says back, sounding sort of pained. “I just couldn’t get her alone!”

“Me?!” you yell, feeling increasingly trapped and claustrophobic. You shove Clarisse out of the way and rattle the doorknob, but it really is locked. “I didn’t do shit to you! Let me the fuck out!”

“For Carter!”

You take a step back. Your face falls from anger and anxiety into pure and utter turmoil. Your chest squeezes like it does every time you think about him. You carry the pain and the regret so heavily you doubt you’ll ever get rid of it. You’ll always be like this, rotting in your head, watching your beauty fade away and everyone give up on you.

Will you finally be free then? If you scream and take a knife to your face, make yourself unrecognizable, will everyone finally leave you alone then? Can you be something other than this stupid camp’s stupid princess?

But it’s wishful thinking. You’re a daughter of Aphrodite, and you were born to be beautiful, and you were born to be alone.

“Van, I’ll fucking kill you. Let. Us. Out.”

“Sorry!” he shouts, and you hear his footsteps in the dirt, running away while Clarisse screams for him to come back here.

You take a deep breath but it all comes crashing down like a dam breaking. All of the anger, the regret, the fear, it all comes pouring out until you’re sobbing into your hands in the middle of the shed.

Clarisse stops trying to break through the door. It’s painfully tense for a moment, nothing besides the crickets and the sounds of your sobs. You end up sitting on half-empty bags of fertilizer and mulch in the corner- although it’s not really used much, sometimes the Demeter kids like to experiment- it’s the most comfortable thing in this shed.

You’re 17 now, and you broke Carter’s heart when he was 13 and you were 12. You wake up and you feel your guilt like you feel the sun on your face- it’s your morning routine to stare at yourself in the mirror and know that you are the blessed one who doesn’t deserve it. You beg to be free, but this is your punishment.

“I’m sorry,” you cry out, “How does he not know I’m sorry?”

You never said it to him, of course- your siblings had told you Aphrodite would curse you if you said you were sorry, and you were 12 and scared so you shut up and you stared at him from afar, your first love and your first heartbreak. Could he not see the way you hated yourself? The way you hated everyone?

Why couldn’t anyone see that you weren’t a princess? You were a demon, so wicked you were worthy of being Hades’ right hand minion.

Clarisse sits down heavily next to you. She doesn’t say anything. She waits until the sobs start to ebb like a wave, until the worst is over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one final time. Maybe the wind will take pity on you and carry your words to him. You wish it would, but why? Why do you deserve it? Your nails dig into your palms, leaving blood red moons.

“Why are you sorry?” Clarisse breathes, seeming more genuinely curious then demeaning. “Who’s Carter?”

You miss the way her lip curls around the name.

“I can’t tell you,” you moan, because Clarisse is the only person who actually gives half a fuck about you, and it feels so nice to have her eyes on you- not in the way everyone else does. They admire you, despise you, she appreciates you. She stares at you from afar and you both know that you want more, but she’s content to stare and you’re content to let her.

She laughs. “Yes, you can. I wouldn’t even care if you killed someone named Carter. But seeing as you escaped punishment from Chiron, and you only got locked in a shed, it’s probably not that bad.”

When you look up at her you can feel the mascara streaming down your face. You’re sure you look like a raccoon, and you can see how unnerving it is for her to see you- always so calm and put together- reduced to tears by a single name.

“I’m a daughter of Aphrodite, Clarisse.”

“I know,” she says, although it sounds like a question.

You stare at her, not able to say it, trying to convey to her with your eyes. You can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she thinks about the Aphrodite cabin.

“Oh,” she says. A few tears fall down your face. “The initiation thing- you have to break someone’s heart, right?”

“Yes,” you say, bitterly, resisting the urge to throw something and have a tantrum. You press your hands into your eyes, breathing heavily. “That stupid, stupid initiation. I hate being her daughter. I hate being like this.”

The hug starts out awkward. Clarisse places her arm lightly around your shoulders, starts mumbling apathetically that it’ll be okay. It’s not that she doesn’t care or anything, you’re both just foreign to what it’s like to feel this way for someone.

And it feels good to have someone touching you, so before you can stop yourself you’re shoving your way in her arms. She stiffens, sits up straight as your tears stain her orange camp shirt. But after a moment she hugs you back just as fiercely, with just as much desperation. She doesn’t say anything, probably because she doesn’t know what to say, and you can’t even comprehend your embarrassing, secret, unrealistic guilty pleasure of a crush is hugging you right now.

You’re too focused on the way she shushes you softly, her arm against your waist, the other around your shoulder- thumb drawing circles on your skin.

You’re too focused on the way she feels against you to even care about how awkward this will be later.

Finally, when night has really fallen and the wind starts to howl, you let go of Clarisse.

“Sorry,” you mumble, body locking up, staring firmly at the ground. Your face is caked in runny makeup- you feel as disgusting as you’re sure you look.

“It’s okay,” she says, hesitating for a moment before she stops touching you. “I, uh, I don’t think you should hate yourself.”

You scoff. Both at the ridiculousness of her stuttering and what she’s saying. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“No, I’m being serious.” She seems a little firmer now, like she really believes what she’s saying. But she doesn’t know you. “You shouldn’t hate yourself. Like, what do you even mean, you “hate being like this?’ What’s this?”

“I’m a monster, Clarisse. Literally, a fucking monster. I’m a horrible person, and yet everyone walks around and calls be princess because, what? I’m pretty? You can still be Aphrodite’s favorite and a monster. Maybe I am her favorite for a reason. Because of what I did.”

“A monster? Really?”

She looks at you like you’re the stupidest girl in the world. And Gods, coming from someone like Clarisse does that hurt.

You stare her down like you’re not about to cry. You squint so the tears won’t come, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the feeling in your stomach.

“I asked him to meet me at night. He told me he thought he loved me, and I laughed in his fucking face and said how could he ever think that I would love him? Who does that? Who is so fucked in the head?”

You look at her face, slightly twinged with disgust, and it feels good. It feels good to drive someone else away. To save them from yourself.

“This is my punishment. My life. And I hate it, but I know it’s what’s meant for me. I’ll never be loved. No matter how beautiful I am. I won’t let myself, I won’t hurt someone else. I don’t deserve it.”

She grabs your hand. You look at her, and she’s still so disgusted, so why is she touching you? Why is her face morphing into concern? Why does she still look at you like you’re this precious thing? Why do you like it? Why do you crave her like air?

“You don’t deserve this,” she says.

Why isn’t she listening to you?

“I don’t, Clarisse. Just- jus’ stop, please.”

But it finally hits you why she’s so disgusted. It’s not what you did, it’s the way you think about yourself.

“You came to camp when you were 12, right, so that’s when you completed your initiation? So, you were 12. You were 12 and listening to your older siblings. You were 12 and you made a mistake, and you’ve spent years and years punishing yourself over it. Most of the people at camp are blind, Y/N, but I’m not. I see the way you treat yourself, and that- you just don’t deserve that.”

“Fine,” you mumble, feeling a little breathless. “Maybe I was 12. But it’s too late. Everyone at camp thinks I’m a bitchy fucking princess.”

She smiles. “Well, you are.”

You throw her hand off of you and pretend to glare at her, but you’re smiling.

“You are a princess, Y/N, let me help you see it.”

Clarisse is your secret crush. She was a comfort for lonely nights, someone to think about when you were eating alone at dinner. And it didn’t help that she would stare at you while you imagined her sitting across from you. Clarisse is your secret crush, locked up in your chest and waiting to burst out like a cuckoo clock.

Clarisse is your secret crush, unrealistic and wishful thinking- but the way she looks at you right now makes it real.

The door clicks open.

“Oh,” Sasha, the girl yelling at you earlier says. “Sorry- I forgot my… uh…”

You quickly stand up, pushing Clarisse away from you. Sasha moves to the side and let’s you through the door. Against your better judgement, you stop and look over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, princess.”

—-

The next day, after waking up and realizing what happened yesterday wasn’t a bad dream, Clarisse is really doing something this sweet for you, you’re ready to forget it all ever happened and sit alone as you usually do.

You stand at the edge of the pavilion, searching across the tables for an empty one-

“Y/N!” Clarisse yells. She looks at you expectantly, and you notice the empty seat next to her.

Oh. She wants you to sit with her.

As beautiful and sweet Clarisse is, you still can’t let her be anything more than your secret crush. But you can sit with her for one meal. You can pretend, and maybe that will hold you over when you eventually succeed in pushing her away.

Your head was clouded by her touch, her smell, her voice- you weren’t in the right state of mind to be making decisions about “seeing Clarisse tomorrow.”

You stop at the fire pit in the middle of the pavilion.

“Please, Mom,” you mutter, dumping almost all of your plate into the flames.

This is probably the first time you’ve really prayed to her since the day you broke Carter’s heart.

You set your tray down next to her, swinging your legs over the bench and under the table, settling yourself in. Her siblings don’t even look up, all busy eating identical bagel sandwiches- you squint, resisting the urge to laugh at the cheese, bacon, sausage, and eggs. Ares kids are always eating the most gluttonous foods, seeing as they train 24/7.

Clarisse glares at your plate.

“What?” you say, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

“That is not enough food.” And while your plate mostly is empty space, you’re really not that hungry this morning.

You shrug. “I was in a praying mood today.”

“Don’t care, go get more.”

You roll your eyes, but you’d be lying if you said her concern didn’t make your stomach twist in a good way.

“Okay, I’ll grab something on my way out.”

She hums, turning back to your sandwich. All of her siblings are intent on eating their big sandwiches, a few people at the end of the table talk in between bites- but the Ares kids take breakfast very seriously. They’re a bit more rowdy at lunch and dinner, but breakfast is always such a sordid affair, like someone died.

Someone else sits at the table. You look up from your plate, watching as Van digs into his sandwich, sporting a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a busted lip.

“Oh,” you mumble, cringing at his bloody, messy face.

You look over at Clarisse, notice her knuckles are split open. She feels you looking at her and turns to you, a bite of half-chewed sandwich in her mouth.

“Wha-” she starts, but catches Van out of the corner of her eye. She giggles, just a bit, and it makes your stomach twist. “Oh, Van, you are one of the funniest people I have ever met.”

Everyone at the table turns to him.

A few giggle at his busted up face, Clarisse smiles at him in that demeaning way she’s famous for.

“Move.”

“I’m not fuckin’ movin’, Clarisse. Go fuck yourself.”

One of her siblings laughs loudly. Matty, you recognize him. “Dude, you’re seriously going to get beat up- again.”

“You are,” Clarisse shrugs. “I’m serious, move.”

Van rolls his eyes and sets his sandwich down.

“Listen, Carter’s my friend, he never wanted to get revenge, but I wanted to get it for him. I know it’d make him feel better. I was tryin’ to convince him to go fuck up her bed or something when… well, yeah. I didn’t mean to trap you in there with her, Clarisse, okay? I know you’re fuckin’ obsessed with her, whatever, but she’s a serious bitch. And not even that hot.”

Matty puts his head in his hands.

The table is deathly silent. He looks around.

“Come on. All those Aphrodite kids are stuck-up bitches, but she’s just got a particular rudeness about her, huh? And, really, I don’t think I could fuck her even if the world was ending.”

“What the fuck,” someone across from you, Max, mumbles. A girl adjacent to you coos softly, and you realize that there’s tears falling down your face.

Clarisse puts her hand on your thigh.

“Van,” she says, her voice calm and even. She breathes in and out. “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Van looks over to Clarisse, and that’s when he finally notices you sitting next to her.

“I-” he starts, but doesn’t get to finish, not when you pick up your tray and throw it across the table- hitting him directly in the nose. “Holy fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Gods, fuck-”

You stand up and make your way around the table, tears clouding your vision, and he quickly stands up as well. No one makes any move to hold you back or protect him.

“Bitch,” he hisses. “Huh? Come at me, princess.”

And you meet him, attacking like a feral cat, all scratching and kicking and hitting, a fury fueled fully by your anger and the beauty in letting it all go. He grunts and tries to hit you back, but they barely touch you.

You can see Clarisse out of the corner of your eye, watching closely, arms crossed over her chest. It takes you a second, but for some reason, you can see her face so clearly. She’s slightly worried. She watches the fight with an intensity, like she’s happy to let you fight him- but if he actually hurts you, then she’ll jump in. But more importantly, she’s proud.

Gods, does it make you feel good.

“Fucking- bitch!” he shouts. “Get off of me!”

He pushes you back, you steel yourself. When he sees you coming at him again, he punches you hard. You swear you see stars. You swear you almost met Hades, just for a second.

Blood runs down your face, gushing like a geyser- you groan, one of Clarisse’s siblings making you pinch your nose and tilt your head back. Matty puts his hand on your shoulder, and mutters something encouraging about keeping your head back.

It’s all a daze.

“Clarisse!” her sister Carrie shouts, trying to hold her back while Van scrambles away on the ground, yelling incoherently about his teeth. “Clarisse! Clarisse! You got him, you got him, c’mon.”

It all comes rushing over you. Adrenaline kept you sane just for moment, but all the pain comes rushing back, and you almost scream with how much it hurts. You double down, chest pressing to your stomach while Matty and someone else try desperately to pull you back upward.

“Oh, Gods, why does it hurt so bad?” you say, more blood gushing forward, even through your fingers. It’s running down your neck and chest, permanently ruining your shirt.

“Van has a good right hook,” Matty winces. “Ass at everything else, but.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. She’s in front of you in a moment, hands under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. You can feel your face is absolutely covered in blood. “Hey, it’s alright,” she says, so softly that you’re the only one who can hear. “Okay, I’ll take you to the infirmary, okay?”

Matty let’s go of you, Clarisse replaces him, arm wrapping around your waist, fingertips still keeping your chin up. You walk in silence until you reach the infirmary.

She chuckles a bit. “You’re good,” she says.

“At what?” you groan, eyes screwed shut. “Getting punched?”

“No,” she says. “Just… you’re good.”

One of the healers rushes over before you can even think of an answer.

—-

After your nose was reset, your shirt was changed, and all the blood was cleaned- you sat in the empty infirmary. Van was in a private room with most of the healers who were having a fun time trying to fix his face and do something with the teeth Clarisse knocked out.

She finds you slipping your shoes on, face puffy, a bag of ambrosia in your hand.

“Princess,” she says. “I told them it was all me. So, you’re fine. I made up some shit about you getting caught in the crossfire.”

Your chest deflates a bit. You were sort of looking forward to the punishment. “You didn’t have to do that, Clarisse.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to. And I do whatever I want.”

You smile, and she sits down next to you on the creaky bed.

“What’d you get?”

“Oh,” she sighs, hands on her knees. “5 months no dessert. 3 months of teaching sword practice to the little kids, that’s gonna be like Tartarus come again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “It’s all my fault.”

“I could have easily let the two of you beat each other to death. But I didn’t. You were too busy winning that fight to care about what I was doing.”

“I didn’t win,” you scoff. “If you didn’t jump in, the way he punched me, he got me.”

“You didn’t know about Van and his right hook,” she shrugs. “It’s okay. I fucked up his face a bit, but you did so much better.”

You’ve been permanently on the edge of tears because of the pressure in your nose, so when they spill over, it’s no surprise.

“W-why are you crying?” Clarisse asks, turning slightly towards you, placing her hand on your arm.

“Still a monster,” you remark, sarcastic smile on your face. “I shouldn’t have done that to him. I… I was just mad. And look, here I am escaping with no punishment yet again.”

You go to stand up, feeling like your heart is a hole in your chest.

She puts her hand on your thigh to stop you.

“I think… just the fact that you feel so bad means you’re not a monster. I don’t feel shit for Van. I’m glad he got hurt. I would do it again. I hope I get to do it again.”

“You’re horrible, Clarisse,” you smile. She smiles back.

“The only person I feel bad for is… you. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt bad for. Everyone else in this camp is blind, Y/N. But I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”

And it’s like you’re seeing her for the first time. The way her curls always stick up in that one place, the way her eyes reflect the sunlight streaming through the window, the way the rough skin of her hands is nothing compared to the bones inside that hold you so softly. The way her lips look. The way she calls you princess. The way she sees you.

You’re both leaning forward, you’re both just teenage girls learning to love themselves, because you’ve always loved each other.

When her lips finally meet yours it all comes rushing back to you. You gasp and pull away after just a moment.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that-”

Clarisse grabs your face and kisses you.

“You’re not deleting that. I don’t care what you think of yourself right now,” she whispers, lips against yours. “Because you’re wrong, and I’m going to show you.”

And against your better judgement, you let her show you. She shows you with her hands in your hair, her hands on your neck, on your face, her lips against yours. You let her teach you love with just one kiss, and you decide you have a newfound appreciation for your mother.

If love feels this good, this beautiful, then you’ve been missing out.

This goes against everything you’ve been preaching for years. But you’ve found a new religion in her, you promise to listen to her and to feel what she makes you feel- no matter how wrong you think it is. Clarisse shows you it’s not wrong.

She finally pulls away for air, searching your eyes, but you can’t breathe when she’s not kissing you. She seems to like what she finds, because she smiles.

“You’re beautiful, princess,” she mutters, and kisses you again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re so kind, and I’ll show you what I’ve seen for years.”

Everyone calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently. Clarisse says it like she’s caressing the word, pretending to caress you. Clarisse says it in the way you want her to say it, in the way that selfishly makes you feel so, so special. Clarisse says it like she knows you.

You were right. You’re not meant for love, it’s not meant for you. You’re meant for Clarisse.

—-

carter watching literally everyone fight over smth ridiculously stupid that happened when he was 12 and he got over 2 weeks after it happened: uh 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

—-

clarisse when she realizes y/n hates herself: WHAT????? HOW IS THIS???? HUH????? like she just doesn’t even understand she can’t comprehend it

y/n after hating herself for like 5 years and pretending she’s chill: 🤗

—-

van after he loses his teeth: 😞

clarisse when van loses his teeth: LETS GO FUCK THAT BITCH

—-

clarisse being y/n’s new religion btw 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

Text

🖤 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖆𝖓 🖤

🖤 Pairing: ex boyfriend!choi san x chubby!fem!reader (mingi's spoken about but doesn't appear)

🖤 Genre: angst/fluff/smut

🖤 Summary: You make a living stepping on men's necks, literally and metaphorically speaking. Men spend every dime they have for the chance to be your lapdog. You are their weakness. Your dirty little secret? You have a weakness of your own, one you've tried your hardest to leave in the past, but you've managed to make him jealous and, oh, I think he's knocking on your door right now.

🖤 Word Count: 2.3k-ish

🖤 Warnings: reader works as a dom so she does qualify as a ✨sex worker✨ & it's treated as a positive cause slay queen, jealous /possessive San, unprotected sex, fingering, nibbling, scratching, reader for sure has a lil praise kink, this man does not pull out, San's giving dom vibes & reader's quite subby for him, pet names (baby, my girl, good girl) & that's all darlings

🖤 A/N: My chubby girl smut agenda continues with this fic as it will with all others and the best part is, no one can stop me. Mwahahahaha. No, but really, I hope you lovelies enjoy reading it.

Also a big thanks to @anyamaris for test reading everything my brain throws out all of the time. Love of my life, truly.

Your night routine is sacred. Never more so than on nights like tonight when you take extra steps to make it particularly romantic for yourself. You treat yourself like a lover, running a nice warm bubble bath and preparing your favorite fruits to snack on while you soak in it. You don’t rush to cover your body afterward, instead taking the time to find pleasure in every stretch mark and every curve as you massage rich tropical oils into your skin.

The rain is your companion, singing to you in the form of raindrops patting at your window. Candles burn on your windowsill, tiny lanterns reflecting shadows in the darkness of this place you call home. Crawling into your bed, you slip beneath your freshly washed sheets and scroll through your phone to find the right song. It doesn’t take long to find it. You hit “play” and close your eyes, ready to be swept away by the sweet notes emanating from your phone.

This is serenity. This is heaven. This is—

“What the actual fuck?” you shout, shaken by an unexpected knock at your door. The knocking is impatient, the agitation of the person on the other end undeniable. You jump from your bed, the sheet still clinging to your figure, and cautiously approach the door. You specifically didn’t schedule any sessions for tonight and your clients know better than to pop up unannounced.

“Whoever you are, go away! I have a gun!” You do. You have to. In your line of business being able to protect yourself is a necessity. It’d be silly not to have one and if ever there were an example why, this has to be it. The knocking stops. A brief moment of silence passes and then—

“You have a gun?” San asks, more confused than he is threatened. You don’t notice until now that you’ve been holding your breath this entire time but at the sound of his voice, you can miraculously breathe again. “San? What are you doing here?” you frown, cracking the door enough to get a good look at your ex.

The look is, in fact, good. Better than good, it’s wonderful. For all of this mysterious frustration he seems to be carrying, he still manages to be the most handsome thing you can imagine finding in your hallway near midnight.

San pushes past you, marching into your cozy studio apartment as if it were his own. “We need to talk. Now.” You roll your eyes, holding back laughter as you close the door behind him. “Someone’s sassy tonight” you tease, watching as he removes his wet boots and coat. He places them exactly where they’re meant to go.

You smile to yourself, finding it sweet that he still remembers how things go after nearly a year apart. “Don’t patronize me.” “I’m not patronizing you,” you say, approaching him with a hand outstretched to stroke his cheek, “Sannie—”

San takes a step back, the darkness in his eyes intensified by your attempt at affection. “And don’t call me that!” “Lower your voice! This is my home. You can respect me in it or get out.” Seeing you upset cools him down a bit. Enough to question the emotions that led him to drive over here to begin with.

He shouldn’t be here. He has no right to confront you. To care what you do or who you do it with. But it’s been eating him up inside for days, plaguing his every waking thought. Some part of him is still tethered to you and that’s why, against his better judgment, he’s here.

“Are you…” he stutters, the anger bubbling up once more at the thought of what he’s about to ask, “How long has Mingi been coming to you?” “Ah,” you gasp, fully realizing the awkwardness of the situation. Dodging eye contact, you head for the kitchen, busying yourself with the tea kettle. “You want some tea? We should have tea.”

Raking his fingers through delicate strands of pitch black hair, he approaches the kitchen and lets himself, for the most fleeting of moments, enjoy seeing you like this again. He’s missed you making him tea late at night. This would be everything he ever wanted under any other circumstance than this. “I don’t want tea. I want you to answer my question. How long?”

“A few weeks” you sigh, abandoning the kettle on the counter, “We ran into each other at the club one night and we started talking then, I mean, I don’t know, it just sorta happened.” In an instant, he’s on you, fingers squeezing your wrists as he presses you against the counter. “Things like this don’t sorta happen!” “Oh, come on, San. I have bills to pay. If I don’t take on clients, who’s gonna pay them? You?” “Haven’t I before?” Something about being reminded of before makes you as breathless as he is. “That was a long time ago.”

A long time ago but why does it feel like yesterday when he last had your body pressed against every wall in this apartment? So many hours were spent using your fingertips to traverse every exquisite muscle on his body. There are new ones now, you see them flex when he readjusts his grip on you. How good they must feel to touch. God bless the gym.

Shaking yourself free of your lust fueled daze, you break your wrists loose from him. “If that’s all you can go.” Why are you doing this? Why are you so stubborn? You don’t want him to go. Your body—your heart—begs him to stay even if it’s just to argue for the rest of the night.

“Fine, I’ll leave, but not until you tell me one more thing. Does he touch you? Like I did?” he asks, his expression cold as he tries to contain his jealousy. “Touch me like you did?” you giggle, reaching to stroke his cheek again. This time he doesn’t step away. He lets you touch him, your soft hand warming the cool raindrops on his cheek. A fire ignites in his eyes, not unlike the flames dancing atop the candle wicks. It’s distant, buried somewhere deep, but you see it and it makes you smile.

“I never let anyone touch me like you did” you whisper, “Mingi just wants someone to boss him around. I happen to be good at that. There’s nothing sexual. I could…” San tugs the sheet tightly around your body, gathering the two loose ends at your hip where his knuckles just barely graze the plush of your thigh. You let out a sound that’s almost a moan but not quite. He smirks, bringing his other hand to your side to massage the softness of your love handles. You're so cute when you’re flustered.

“I, uh, I…” you stutter, watching as his lips grow nearer to yours, “I could stop seeing him if you want.” “You’d do that for me?” San asks, teasing your lower lip with his. “I would do anything for you. You know that.” This is what he does to you and this is why you broke things off with him. San’s love brings you to your knees. You fold for him in a millisecond. You’re supposed to have every man in the palm of your hand yet you find yourself, delicate and fragile, nestled in his.

“Will you do something else for me?” “Like what?” “Kiss me.” And you do. No hesitation. No time for second guesses. Anything for him. A rush hits you, threatening to knock you off of your feet. San only holds you closer, his tongue tangling with yours, indulging in the taste of you. A craving much overdue to be satisfied.

“Do I still have to leave?” he pants, his voice a low rasp as he kisses his way down your chin. He buries his face in your neck, his kisses growing more passionate with each passing second. You smell good enough to eat and he almost does, nibbling at your neck sharply enough to send chills down your spine. You shake your head, wrapping a leg around his waist to grind against him. The simple act of kissing you has him hard enough that not even the few layers of fabric between you can suppress his need.

“Fuck, baby” he groans, his eyes nearly rolling back from the rhythm of your hips. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him back up for another kiss. “Don’t leave me, Sannie. Please.” You’re prepared to beg more, as much as he wants you to, but your words turn incoherent at the sensation of his thumb stroking your clit. His other fingers dance dangerously close to your entrance, happily collecting the juices dripping from your core.

You look down to find that the sheet barely clings to your body, except for a small corner stuck between you and the counter. Everything has fallen away leaving you completely exposed. San’s favorite way to have you. “You’re so wet for me. My girl” he coos, easing two fingers deep into you, “Still my girl? Hmm?” You’re trembling, gripping his shirt as you ride his fingers in time with the flicking of his wrist.

Only he could do this. Make you feel this unbelievably good with just his fingers. "Always your girl. Always—ah” you moan into his mouth before he’s kissing his way down your neck again. The way your back is arched makes your breasts sit so deliciously that he has to taste them. San needs to feel the weight of them in his hands as he captures your perked nipples between his lips, circling them with his tongue.

His mouth is so full of you that every moan that leaves him vibrates through your chest making sure that you never once underestimate the intensity of his longing. Your thighs are soaked, your pussy dripping—pulsing—clenching around his fingers. Your little squeaks and moans are too pretty. Too addictive. San picks up speed, his only mission to make a complete mess of you or to make you make a complete mess of yourself. Either or both. Definitely both.

“Sannie. You’re gonna make me—fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you cry, feeling the pressure build within you. “Mmm,” he hums, releasing your nipple but not without taking one last lick of your overstimulated bud. You didn’t need to tell him. You never do. He knows when you're close, down to the second, which is why his timing is perfect when he pulls his fingers away leaving you hanging on the edge of oblivion.

You whine at the unexpected loss, your clit twitching and your walls greedy for something to hold onto. San moves out of reach, taking his time to shed his clothing. “Not on my fingers, baby,” he says, flashing that devilishly handsome smile of his, “On me.” He disappears around the corner and you trail behind him like a bright eyed puppy who wants more than anything to be the object of its owner's affection.

San sits on the edge of the bed, admiring the way your body jiggles as you skip over to him. He takes you by the hand, lowering you onto his lap, and the skin to skin contact sends a shot of adrenaline coursing through both of you. “I could just look at you all night. So beautiful” he muses, palms slapping your ass. His fingers dig in, keeping your hips raised enough that the tip of his cock almost presses at your slit.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, kissing him on the bridge of his nose, “You can look at me all you want.” One of San’s hands disappears beneath you, stroking his length as he lowers you down onto him. He stops at the tip, letting your arousal run down his shaft. “All I want because you belong to me?” You bite down on your bottom lip, eager to take him. “Yes,” you mewl and he feeds you another inch. A reward for being his good girl.

“No more Mingi?”

“No more. I swear.”

Another inch and your heart skips a beat. This is evil. “No more anyone else” he demands, taunting you with one more inch before taking it back, “I’ll take care of you, my sweet girl. Only me.” “Only you” you promise, unintentionally batting your eyelashes in the most innocent way. San grabs your hips, slamming you down onto him, “Good now cum for me.”

Being stretched by him, full of every thick rigid inch of his cock, is intoxicating enough. But the feeling of handing over control, of letting him have you completely, has you buzzing. San bounces you in his lap, kissing you everywhere his lips can access, whispering every praise he’s saved up for you over time.

Precious. Perfect. Never letting go. Love you. My everything. My world. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Sannie—” you draw a breath in. A flash of heat hits you and you’re lost to pleasure. Your body explodes and implodes. Heavy and weightless all at once. You gush down his length, every inch of him drenched with your juices. San doesn’t stop, not even when your nails dig deep into the skin of his shoulder. He only goes faster and harder, wanting to break you, his precious girl, and put you back together then do it again.

But his body’s as sensitive as yours and he can’t hold back, spilling into you to the point of overflow. There’s so much warmth and fullness. It’s comforting, soothing you as you gradually float back down. Lying back on the bed, San cradles you in his arms, not wanting to be anywhere else than right here with you.

You rest your head on his chest, feeling his love for you in every breath he takes. How you ever pushed him away you can’t understand but you know, as he softly kisses your forehead, that you never will again.

#choi san x reader #choi san x you #choi san angst #choi san smut #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x female reader #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #chubby reader #plus size reader

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calisources · 11 months

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CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT. a collection of quotes and scenarios about vampires. change pronouns/names as you see fit. These were all taken from different sources of fiction, both in literature and audiovisual media. all known triggers for vampire media apply (blood, death, murder, gothic horror, obsessive love and more).

SENTENCES AND QUOTES. change pronouns and names, locations as you see fit.

"I took mythology a lot more seriously since I’d become a vampire."

“None of us really changes over time; we only become more fully what we are.”

"A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age."

"How do we seem to you? Do you find us beautiful and magical?”

"The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him."

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"

"The blood is the life!"

"Loving the monsters always ends badly for the humans. It's a rule."

“When people see good, they expect good. I don't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations.”

“Love is a vampire’s greatest weakness. And we are not weak.”

“You know that old saying. Once you go dead, no one's better in bed.”

“For a hundred years I offered ugly death to everyone I met, and I did it with a song in my heart.”

"I'm not human. And I miss it. I miss it more than anything in the world. That is my secret."

“I'm in love with a woman I can never have. The point is I'm in love with her and it's driving me crazy. I'm not in control.”

"Your life is pathetic. Your after-life doesn't have to be."

"Life sucks either way, Jeremy. At least if you're a vampire, you don't have to feel bad about it if you don't want to."

"You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure and even a little danger."

"Sometimes the world turns good people into bad people."

"People have been after me for a thousand years, but I'm always one step ahead."

"Mother made us vampires. She didn't make us monsters. We did that to ourselves."

"Perhaps one day, in a year or even in a century. You'll turn up at my door and let me show you what the world has to offer."

"Do you have any idea how rare love is? In a thousand years, I have found it but twice, and when I have, I have honored it."

"You're a vampire, sweetheart. I don't think you'll ever be okay again."

“When you feel the blood rush in, you tell yourself that you’re gonna get through it; that you’re strong enough.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to forget the past, Elena.”

“I wanna rip into your skin. And I wanna feed on your blood. Under your skin.”

“I just want one taste. That''s all I need. I just want one taste.”

“There’s the briefest of moments before we kill, where we literally hold their life in our hands and then rip it away, and we’re left with nothing.”

“Do you know the secret to immortality?”

“The vampire bond. There is no human equivalent.”

“He was my mentor, my murderer, my maker.”

“When was the last time you drank blood?”

“Left you with a bit of a craving, didn’t it? One day that craving is gonna grow.”

“That's cause you took my life! I got nothing. I lost everything. I lost my brother. I lost my family. About to lose the last fucking thing I care about.”

“And then I watched you pull over and drain a dog. And run down an alleyway for two more rats. This is not a life!”

“Hunting is an art. You have the power to subdue anyone you want, but sometimes restraint is your most powerful weapon.”

“What does this taste like to you?”

“There is one thing about being a vampire that I must fear above all else, and that is loneliness. You can't imagine the emptiness. The void.”

“Vampires are killers. Apex predators whose all-seeing eyes were meant to give them detachment. The ability to see a human life in its entirety.”

“Don’t underestimate the allure of the darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it.”

“End of the day, human life is just a means to an end. Our means to our end.”

“A mutual law of nature is the strong always take from the weak.”

“It’s better to have a flawed life lived than wasted rotting away in clay.”

“Hatred, a pure and perfect hatred that’s greater now than the day I first took your life.”

“A thousand years of history isn’t going to write itself.”

“I can’t be killed.”

“I’m the monster lesser monsters fear.”

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you."

"You don't know what you are asking of me. To drink from you."

"You need blood, take it."

"To walk with me you must die to your breathing life, and be reborn to mine."

"I love you, Stefan. We will be together again. I promise."

"You loved me once, you will love me again."

"I made him. Did you know that?"

"I never compelled your love. It was real, and so was mine."

"What did you think was gonna happen? She would look at you, see your real face and give you a kiss?"

"I could swap this life of shame. Swap it out for a dark gift. You just have to ask me for it."

"Vampyrism is, by definition, an afterlife."

"I'm not the one who was sleeping with one vampire while half in love with another. Your morality is a moving target. Mine is not."

"A man damaged by his demons and those demons are not dormant, they are hell-bent on killing me and everything I find beautiful. And you, you are beautiful."

"You are stronger now. Meaner. Sexier."

"They are like vampire royalty. The oldest among us."

"He is the original hybrid. Half vampire, half werewolf."

"We both know I could snap your neck and do my nails at the same time."

“Viktor. The oldest and strongest of us. That night, he made me a Vampire. "

"Stop fighting who you are."

"I'll tell you what I know about death, Camille. Death dances silently in everyone's shadow, and she doesn't give a damn."

"Turns out, I have complicated feelings for a monster."

ACTIONS AND SCENARIOS. Add a +reverse for the inverse action. Change names as you see fit.

[YOU ARE NOT HUMAN]: sender figured out receiver is a vampire and confronts them.

[FEEDING HOUR]: receiver finds sender feeding on someone's blood.

[WHEN IS A MONSTER NOT A MONSTER]: sender touches receiver's vampire face, showing they are not afraid.

[YOU NEED TO]: sender offers their blood to receiver.

[ECHOES OF THE PAST]: receiver is a doppelganger/looks like a person the sender knew in the past.

[DEATH AND THE MAIDEN]: receiver and sender can't be together as one is immortal and the other is a vampire.

[MY MAKER, MY LOVER]: sender is receiver's sire and they reunite after centuries after.

[BOND]: receiver is senders fledgling and sender can feel them.

[ELIXIR]: receiver is hurt and sender, a vampire, feeds them their blood.

[SHARING]: sender tempts receiver to share a meal of blood.

[HUNTING THE HUNTER]: sender is a vampire hunter, and they found receiver.

[THE INVITATION]: receiver receives an INVITATION to stay at sender's gothic/ancient manor.

[DRACULA'S BRIDE]: sender wants receiver to be one of their wives/lovers.

[BLOOD FAMILIAR]: sender is a vampire familiar, a human bloodbag under receiver protection. receiver finds out another vampire had bitten them.

[CRAVING]: sender tasted receiver once and craved them again.

[INVITED]: after bring invited inside, sender shows up at receiver's home.

[LICK]: sender licks receiver's blood remains from their mouth.

[LAST RESORT]: receiver has to turn sender into vampire because they are dying. sender wakes up in transition.

[ANCHOR]: sender calms receiver down after receiver went on a bloodlust spree. sender reminds them their humanity.

[RIVAL COVENS]: sender and receiver are from rival vampire covens and they talk in neutral ground.

[HUMANITY]: sender is human and because of them, receiver is starting to feel humanity again.

[I'LL BE YOUR GUIDE]: receiver is guiding sender through the early stages of vampirism.

[RIVAL SPECIES]: sender is a werewolf/witch and receiver is a vampire. they fall in love/ally with each other.

[DHAMPIR]: sender is a half human, half vampire who just had their first taste of human blood. receiver finds them.

[REFLECTION]: sender looks in the mirror and finds out that receiver has no reflection.

#rp meme #sentences memes #meme call #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme #you can send suggestions

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childrenofcain-if · 4 days

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Fuuuckk! *Throws some angst for W*

Childhood Friends to lovers are really my weaknesses when it comes to stories and I am left just craving for more when I see this trope because most of the time it's just never executed right. Forgotten Childhood Friend with the other pining for MC, while MC (can) remain obvious 👀👀👀 Now that's a great setting for angst if I ever saw one!

Because in a scenario where MC has a trinket, a stuffed toy, a keychain, and W sees it and freezes, because it's the same one they gave MC years ago. MC mistakes it for interest and tells them "Oh, I don't really know where I got this from but it looks cute, don't you think?"

Just *ASDFGHJKL* What would be their reaction? Because MC still kept something that symbolizes their time together. But on the other hand! MC forgot about them and only kept the trinkets!

Also crying over this song that reminds me of W. The story within the song is different but the longing and yearning is there that rips my fucking heart out. I could not find the song cover that I really liked on YouTube so, here's one that seems close.

https://youtu.be/YiVpWPkbdPY?si=R2csRdrSsRFsO9K6

Also I can't wait for Sept 22! So excited to play the demo!

the moment W spotted the red muppet, everything about them stilled—their breath, their posture, the casual air they usually carried around you. their hand froze mid-motion as they’d been reaching for something else, but now their fingers hovered above the clumsily stitched muppet, their gaze glued to it as if the sight had transported them somewhere else.

the stuffed elmo sat on the dresser, slouched and frayed at the edges, its stitched seams visible in uneven lines—clearly done by an unpracticed hand. it was amateurishly repaired, the kind of haphazard work a child might do when they were trying to fix something that was once beloved, not caring how it looked as long as it was whole again.

it was the same one. there was no mistaking it. the muppet’s orange nose was slightly off-center, where their stitches hadn’t lined up properly, and one eye was smaller than the other.

their heart clenched, an ache so familiar it was almost comforting, and for a second, they were eight again, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their childhood bedroom, hands trembling as they tried to patch the torn elmo plushie back together. it had been torn to shreds by paolo, your mom’s neighbor’s pitbull, and you’d cried—they hated seeing you cry.

the memory hit them like cold water, their body suddenly stiff, eyes wide as if they’d seen something that didn’t belong in the present.

and then, you speak, completely unaware of the weight they were carrying.

“oh, i see you found my favourite plushie. don’t really know where i got this from, but it looks cute, don’t you think?”

your voice was light, casual, almost dismissive as you twirled the stuffed toy in your hands. like it was just an object, a relic of some forgotten childhood. but for them, it was the artifact of a time when the world was bigger, when the two of you were inseparable, when they would’ve done anything to fix even the smallest thing for you.

W’s breath caught in their throat, and they had to force themselves to blink, to remember how to speak. their heart pounded, not from excitement, but from the disorienting rush of memories. they had given this to you. or tried to.

they had stitched it back together so carefully, spending hours making sure it was perfect before nervously handing it over. you’d smiled back then, said you liked it, and they’d believed it meant something. something more than just a token, more than just a toy.

but you didn’t remember. you didn’t even know where it came from. a part of them wishes you didn’t still have it. wishes you’d forgotten completely, because this—you keeping it, but not remembering them—is so much worse.

they swallowed hard, trying to keep their voice steady. “yeah, it’s... cute.” the word felt wrong in their mouth, like it was somehow betraying the weight that muppet plush carried for them.

their gaze lingered on it, their mind racing, wondering if you had kept it because you cared, or if it was just some forgotten relic of a time you no longer remembered.

you smiled, tilting your head. “it kind of feels like something special, you know? like it was given to me by someone important. i just wish i could remember who.”

W’s chest tightened, the claustrophobic feeling spreading through them. someone important. you didn’t remember them, but you still felt something. they looked at you, at the elmo plush dangling from your hand, its threadbare form a little sad, like a reflection of something lost. something that was once held together, but now, you didn’t even recognize the hands that put it back together.

they wanted to say something, wanted to tell you the truth, but the words tangled in their throat. what was the point? you didn’t remember, and the idea of reminding you now—of laying bare this vulnerable part of themself—felt utterly terrifying.

W laughed, though it sounded strained, and ran a hand through their blonde locks.

“i, uh…” they cleared their throat, glancing down, hands gripping the edge of their denim aviator jacket. “i used to know someone who had one just like that. torn by a dog, actually. i stitched it up for them.”

your head snapped up. there was something flickering behind your eyes, something W couldn’t quite read. it almost looked like jealousy, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? you couldn’t be jealous over a stupid story from childhood.

“really?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral. “who was it for?”

they paused, their heart hammering in their chest. they didn’t want to say it outright—they didn’t want to ruin this delicate, strange balance between you. so they shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “just... someone i knew. a friend.”

you nodded, but there’s a glimmer in your eyes, something that was very close to envy.

“i bet they were really important to you, huh?” your voice has an edge, and W can hear the undercurrent of an unspoken emotion which you were trying to suppress.

they want to laugh, but it catches in their throat. “yeah,” they mutters, their gaze flicking to the floor. “they were.”

you glanced down at the toy again, running your fingers over the uneven stitching, and W’s stomach twisted. they wanted to reach out, to tell you it was theirs, that they’d sewn every stitch with clumsy hands, that it meant something to them because it had been for you, only for you. but instead, they just stood there, rooted to the spot, their mind spinning with the weight of what you didn’t know.

“was that friend really close to you?” you asked softly, your voice almost too quiet, as if you were afraid of the answer.

W froze, caught off guard by the question. they hadn’t expected that. they hadn’t expected you to ask, hadn’t expected you to care. but now, standing there with the past pressing down on them, they realized they couldn’t lie—not about this.

“they were... they meant a lot to me,” they said carefully, their voice barely above a whisper. they looked away, not wanting to see the confusion or the hurt or whatever it was that might show on your face. “it was a long time ago, though.”

you nodded slowly, though something about your posture had stiffened, like you were trying to process what they’d said, trying to make sense of it.

“i see,” you murmured, your eyes flicking back to the toy in your hands. “that’s really nice. i don’t really remember much about my childhood.”

W swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words. you didn’t remember. of course you didn’t, the last summer you spent together was the darkest period of your life. how would you remember them, or the hours they’d spent trying to make that muppet perfect for you, or the way they’d felt when you smiled and said you liked it? and yet, you’d kept the plush. you’d kept it all these years, even though you had no idea it had been them.

“yeah,” they said quietly, their voice heavy with understanding and empathy. “i guess a lot of things get forgotten once you grow up.”

you didn’t respond, but you didn’t need to. the silence between you said enough—that painful, lingering silence that wrapped itself around the two of you like a python of what could’ve been.

the muppet sat in your lap, a symbol of a shared past that only one of you remembered, and W felt that ache again—that deep, hollow ache of being close to you but so far away. like you had travelled to the stars and they had no way of reaching you anymore.

they took a deep breath, trying to pull themself back together, trying to focus on the present, on the fact that you were still here, even if you didn’t remember.

“anyway,” W said, forcing a smile, “i’m glad you kept it. even if you don’t remember where it came from.”

you smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and W wondered if some part of you did remember, somewhere deep down. whether it was an actual possibility or W’s wishful thinking, you didn’t say anything else about it, and neither did they.

and in the end, all W could do was smile back at you, pretending like it didn’t hurt. like they hadn’t been completely forgotten as well.

#W my babie #to be the only one who remembers #oh i hope this isn’t a recurring theme in the future #👀#listening to adrianne lenker’s “forwards beckon rebound” while writing this was not a good idea #why is my writing playlist so damn sad #ro: w ostendorf #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro scenarios

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jeonscatalyst · 1 month

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I don't get it. Taekookers and most ARMYs alternate from bragging that Jikook enlisting together 100% disproves that they are together, to praying with their entire souls that Jikook are not actually in the military together (that JK would go to Tae after 5 weeks of training). So which is it? Which really debunks the Jikook ship according to their standards? Jikook enlisting together? That their joint enlistment was only temporary and that JK went to Tae (even though they still brag that JK and Tae NOT enlisting together proves they are a couple)?

Why is the narrative so exhaustingly inconsistent? I can't believe those are the people Jikookers let get inside their heads and become all insecure over. I don't know when y'all are gonna wake up and realize that you're dealing with literal clowns here, and start learning to be mentally obstinate, for God's sake.

I'm not saying Jikook spaces should become an echo chamber where differing opinions and people expressing doubt about Jikook is not allowed, but there's a difference between a Jikooker who practices rational thinking and always *questions*, and someone who has been mentally broken down by Taekookers' narratives. You see it when they sulk about Jikook not being real because JK did this or did not do that, that he was in the same room with Taehyung, that he didn't ignore Taehyung and treated him like a human being and didn't interact with Jimin who was in another room, and now their shippers won't shut up about it so it means Jikook is not real.

Jikook shippers have become weak and pathetic, not gonna lie. And this space has become so miserable because of it, I never in all my time as an ARMY and Jikook observer, thought that Jikook spaces would ever come to this.

You know what funny though anon? It’s literally always been like this. Jikookers have always let taekookers get into their heads over the siliest things when it is obvious that taekookers have always wanted the things jikook did to happen for taekook. Let me give you a good example. Can you remind me again what tkkrs said when the travel show was first announced? Didn’t they call it scripted and fanservice? Didn’t they laugh at the fact that we were going to be getting merch and a photobook? Didn’t they claim that jikookers were stupid as hell for thinking that the company would make a travel show for two closeted idols? Can you tell me what is happening now? Aren’t they the same people using moments from that same “scripted show” to prove their ship? Aren’t they the same ones getting hit tweets from posting moments from the show they have spent a year insulting? Now look at them making their own merch from the same show they called “scripted fanservice”

Look at the likes. You wouldn’t believe this is from the same show these exact same people insulted for a whole damn year.

Anon, taekookers only insult the things jikook do that they desperately want for their ship.

When Jikook traveled together it didn’t mean shit

When Jikook were the only two who were constantly seen in and out of work hanging out, it didn’t mean shit

When Jikook shared a car for years, it didn’t mean shit

When jungkook listened to Jimin’s songs it didn’t mean shit.

When the travel show was announced, it didn’t mean shit

When Jikook enlisted together, it meant they were not in a relationship

But what happened when similar things happened with taekook or when they thought something similar would happen with taekook? They suddenly made a complete turn and acted like they didn’t say all that shit before.

The last thing anyone should be worrying about is what a damn taekooker has to say about Jikook. There is more than enough proof that shows that these people have ALWAYS wanted everything that jikook had and that is the real reason why they are so nasty.

#jikook #jikook blog #the cult #taekook #my asks

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ghostfacesvalentine · 4 months

Text

You’re no good for me - Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight itsy angst/kinda unrequited love/loneliness

Type: One shot/Blurb

Request: the fake relationship trope w Patrick bateman needs to be a fic RIGHT NOW 😩😩

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Based off the song “Diet Mountain Dew” / Fake relationship trope

Notes: This started off so Lana coded, but it did finish abruptly since it’s kinda like a tiny one shot/blurb. I just wanted to write something. Let me know what you think! No I didn’t proofread are you nuts

Word got around fast about the breakup between Patrick and his fiancée. Not that it was anything tragic to either party, but appearances were everything.

A playboy like Patrick was hard to keep up with, of course you made your attempts, gathering outfits that flattered you, experimenting with different styles of hair and makeup in hopes that you’d find your niche.

More like find Patrick Batemans time of day.

You weren’t even sure if they had finished splitting up by the time he approached you, one Thursday afternoon. Nothing about his character was subtle, not in the way he talked at least.

“Y/N. I have a proposition for you.” His attention catching you off guard.

He always spoke in a matter of fact, especially with you, never in a rude way, just maybe overtly confident. Whatever it was, always made you feel weak in the knees.

You daydreamed about him shamelessly, the way his lips curved into a tight smile after his sentences, the manner in which the air surrounding him gave a vague smell of his cologne. Patrick was used to the prolonged looks, but there seemed to be a sincerity in your eyes.

Patrick was talking but you weren’t listening, instead your eyes adapted to the shape of his jaw, the glistening cheekbones, all carved by his slick back hair and gently brushed eyebrows.

“Y/N” He prayed out loud.

Your dreaming cut short, now looking at him in an embarrassing manner. “Sorry.” You mumbled out, eyes dropping down to his glossy shoes then away towards the floor to ceiling windows.

“Could you do that for me? I’ll pay you for any inconvenience that comes with it.”

It was only then when you realized how much you really weren’t listening. Your eyes then braved enough to look at his own, chocolate delicacies that mirrored nothing. Patrick was handsome, there was absolutely no doubt about that, yet he never emitted any warmth, even as the back of his hand reached to trickle along the curve of your cheek.

“Yeah, of course, uhm. What do you need exactly?” You feigned the urge for clarification.

“Dinner. I need you to pretend we’re seeing one another. Again, if it’s not something that you’re interested in-“

You cut him off almost too quickly. “I’m there.”

And you were.

Both propped up in a two person table at the most exclusive restaurant in the city.

You weren’t sure if it was the booze or the simple privilege to have Patrick’s eyes on you, even if it was a little white lie. You didn’t have to fake much and you tried to push the idea of Patrick feigning his interest in you.

There were eyes on you both, of course there was snarky comments of rebounds and those wondering out loud if you were the reason his engagement was no more.

Patrick relished in the moment, the gossip definitely boosted his ego, too much for his own good. You, however, were just happy to hold his cold hand in public.

You didn’t have to fake much, you watched him in the most endearing way and though you weren’t old money, you gave Patrick the upper advantage of having your full attention on him when his business friends couldn’t pay anyone enough to keep their eyes on them.

Something about the attention you devoted to him openly only made him more desirable. You almost didn’t care for the bottle service he ordered for you both, nor the tasty delicacies that petrified his diet.

This somber ask of his made you feel like the stars were aligning for you and you were enticed to keep up with the facade.

It quickly became a habit, date night once every Friday became every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Then he would make sure those who had interested thoughts, would see you leave his apartment or him leave yours.

You never did anything other than “enjoy” each others presence. Mainly hearing about his day, drinking some of whatever he had, but mainly listening to his rambles about how he viewed those around him.

As the weeks morphed into months, the kisses you were over the moon to give him while his past interests were watching, now became more painful than before. You never took any money from him, much to his offense, yet he always made sure to give you the best time he could offer you.

Sometimes he would go the extra step to send you flowers, all to “keep up with appearances” but when you crawled into your cool and oversized bed on your own, reality would struck your heart.

You spent too many nights curled up in the corner of your bed while you knew Patrick was delightful to stick to his bachelor routine.

Much to his dismay, you started to get sloppy with your actions. It was a few months into your lie that your eyes began to wander. It started with the longing, seeing other couples who seemed genuinely interested with one another, sharing casual touches and warm feelings.

The ache had you thinking about the men who appeared affectionate, your eyes lingered longer than Patrick had been used to.

Clearing his throat caught your attention again, a fake smile crossed your face. “Of course, whatever you say.”

It was not the response he was looking for and it didn’t take long for him to see what caught your eye. “Really Y/N? He hasn’t made half of what he made last month, I have no idea what he’s doing here. Enjoying what he has left while he can I guess.” A malicious laugh spurred across the table from Patrick.

This time it came with an unsure gaze, worried that someone would be better than him.

“Hm?” You replied nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah. I know.” You soothed, your hand no longer reached for him, rather than to trace the curves of your fork.

You didn’t intend to make him feel small, but if you were being honest, his lack of interest in you began to mirror you. He was still as gorgeous as ever, yet when the doors were closed, it was hard to not long for a man who would kiss you when no one was looking.

Patrick didn’t understand what was happening, he didn’t understand why you were starting to decline in your part of the deal. He found himself competing more aggressively this time with those in the environment again, in this case, for your eyes.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, for the first time, you wanted to go home early. You didn’t even have to use the bathroom, you just wanted some space from him.

A hand latched onto your forearm, halting you from the entrance to the hallway where the bathrooms were. You looked back to see a handsome man in a white button up with a rag hanging from his side pocket. A glistening smile greeted your confused face “Hey, I’m sorry I just wanted to let you know that dress really brings out your eyes”

Before you could respond, you watched as he was gripped by the shirt and shoved to the side away from your sight. You tried to look for the waiter before you felt a frigid hand pull you by the wrist towards the entrance.

Your shoulders relaxed when you noticed it was the familiar figure of Patrick. He was furious.

“Y/N. I’m sorry- I was under the impression that we had an agreement.” He scolded as he let your wrist go when you made it to the sidewalk beside him.

You watched him blankly as he appeared to throw his tantrum. “Nothing even happened Patrick. You already made your point with your friends, I can’t keep up with this. I want to have my own person. My real person. I don’t want to scare others off because I have to pretend to have something going on with you.” You breathed out what was weighing heavy on your chest.

He almost couldn’t believe how you felt. He didn’t even know how to decipher what he felt. Deep down he knew what you meant, yet he didn’t care enough to let you go easy. “If you couldn’t do it in the first place, you shouldn’t have agreed.” He scolded again, roughly running his hands through his slicked back locks desperately.

“Well I don’t want to do it anymore.” You admitted. Patrick stared right through your eyes lacking of any expression. He’s never had to decipher his own feelings, how the hell could he figure out that what he was feeling was jealousy?

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #Patrick Bateman one shot #patrick bateman

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themonochromaticcat · 3 months

Text

Graag, Graag, Graag!

(part I)

>Joost x suicidal!reader

>genre- angst / fluff (ending)

>warnings- mentions of SH and suicide, attempted suicide.

A/N This is written from the 2nd point of view, it’ll be specified otherwise. :P Please let me know if I missed anything, uhm, this is based off of my failed attempt :,( (I’m better now tho- ish) Just enjoy!

Suicide hotline (116 123)

It had been an averagely difficult day in the Netherlands, first it was the weather, then the colleagues, then timings. Overall, it was just a plain day that tipped yourself over the edge just a tad bit more, just how it had been doing for the past couple of months: years even. At this point you couldn’t really remember when you felt normal when not in your loving boyfriend’s; Joost, Joost Klein’s embrace.

He had known you longer than you could even remember, you were childhood friends, best friends even; that blossomed into the most picturesque couple people thought of. In social media, in real life and behind closed doors, Joost was perfect; supposedly you were too, but you most definitely didn’t feel like it. You felt more… disappointed in yourself, it felt like you didn’t put any effort into your relationship with Joost. Well, Joost felt the opposite way, and he always reassured you of it, yet the feeling was still there.

What could it be? The fact that he was practically an a-list celebrity now that he got unfairly disqualified from Eurovision and having ‘the best’, song in Eurovision, though it was probably just a fan-favourite instead. Nevertheless, you always felt weird next to him, like you didn’t belong with him any longer.

Overtaken your consciousness was what your thoughts were doing to you, it had gotten to the point where your half an hour journey from your job to the little apartment (that you shared with Joost) had gone by in the brink of an eye. You waltzed into the apartment, the soft, soothing, sensational scent of the candle you had bought Joost engulfed your senses, making you realise that you were home.

Without any noise, you made your way into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers from the day before. And, before you knew it; there he was, muttering a soft string of praises into your ear, constantly switching between Dutch and English. It took you a good minute to turn around and thank him due to the strong hold he had on you, not letting you do much. Though, once you had gently pried his hands off of you, you lazily ran your hands through his long, healthy hair; pulling him in so that you could murmur and he could clearly hear you. And so, you did just that; in a weak, sickly voice, you murmured into his ear.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Joost. I want this to end, now.”

You two drowned into a sickly disease; silence, it could mean nothing and everything. It left you thinking, overthinking yet all of these thoughts that consumed your mind, you knew they weren’t true. He would never do anything like that, he hadn’t done anything of that, bad, nature for the whole time you had been together. Instead of judging your bad habits, he tried helping you prevent them, from the moment he figured out, he sat next to you. In that dingy bathroom, cleaning them up, wrapping them tightly in paper towels before grabbing actual bandages.

“Lieverd, alsjeblieft.” (Darling, please.)

A excruciatingly large sigh left your lips as you slowly rested your head onto Joost’s shoulder, using him as a pillar to remain up on your own two feet. You felt a salty liquid drip from your eyes, travelling from your waterline, to your pink; swollen cheeks to your neck then onto your clothes.

“I love you Joost, I really do, you know?”

Idk what I think about this 😓😓😓

Suicide hotline (116 123)

Part II

#stand with joost #free joost #rambles #yes #joost klein #joost x you #joost fanfic #joost x reader #justice for joost #joostice #joost klein x you #angst #light angst #fanfic

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bunchesofoats · 2 years

Text

Dancing In Your Downpour.

Feat — Rowan Laslow x Siren!Reader

Contains — Mutual Interest, No Established Relationship, Fluff, Only One Bed (/j) - Only One Umbrella, LIGHT WEDNESDAY SPOILERS (By that, I mean the absolute tiniest sprinkle), Literally saving this boy’s life from an asthma attack, etc

Length — ~1.4k words

Notes — Inspired by The Weekend Run Club’s song called Holliday and also the fact that Calum Ross is really really pretty. Also, Rowan had at most 10 lines, and here I am making this because he stole my heart… SO ENJOY! (Not proofread, I’m so sorry)

“The rain’s getting a bit heavy, don’t you think?”

Everyone gathered around the windows as they watched the rain pour outside Ms. Thornhill’s Greenhouse. Class was already 3 minutes over, you were all sure to be late to your next ones due to the downpour.

“Children, I have a few extra umbrellas and rain coats! You can use them to get to your next class!” Your teacher called from the front, drawing everyone’s attention. They all scrambled to the front, grabbing umbrellas and coats and filtering out of the greenhouse in groups. The only people left were you and Rowan Laslow at the entrance of the class waiting your turns.

You didn’t know the boy personally well enough, just that he was Xavier Thorpe’s roommate, he had Telekinesis, and that he was fairly cute. You tried to make a habit of being nice to everyone despite most people’s assumptions of sirens. The most you’d ever spoken to him was being partnered with him for an English assignment. After that, it was nothing but Hellos and Heys in the hallways. You did catch him staring once during lunch, you had given him a small wave and he immediately looked away.

You were lost in your thoughts, hand outreached into the rainfall, feeling your scales slowly come out. You let out a smile, water was the element you always felt at home with, so what was a little rain gonna do to you?

“I only have one umbrella left.” Your attention turned to Ms. Thornhill and then to Rowan. He gave you a weak glance before attempting to hand you the umbrella.

“You can take it.” He mumbled shyly. You eyed the boy, brow creasing in confusion. Rowan Laslow looked like he’d get sick from eating an ice cube, why would he offer you the umbrella when he’d absolutely get drenched out there?

“What are you talking about? You’d practically die out there without this.” You joked grabbing his wrist, taking the umbrella within your other hand. He yelped as you pulled closely him to your side before opening the umbrella with the other. He understood what you were up to pretty quick, adjusting himself to a safe distance where he wasn’t squished against you but still under the umbrella. He hesitated wrapping his arm around you, balling his fist to avoid making you uncomfortable.

“Ready?” You awaited his response. He stared wide eyed into the rain, gulping before he gave you a small nod. That was all you needed before you both stepped into the rainfall. You could feel the heavy patters hit you almost as if it were hail. It wasn’t too bad to walk in, but it seemed the wind had other plans.

Your umbrella blew backwards, the wires breaking in on themselves. It was a useless shield now, you were both drenched head to toe. Your back hit Rowan’s chest as you both pushed against the wind. You both definitely couldn’t make it to class at this rate.

“Hold on, there’s a shed!” You could hear Rowan’s attempt to shout. You looked in his direction, finding Eugene’s Hummers shed. That would have to do.

Each step you took was harder than the last. You were going the opposed direction of the wind, the only thing keeping you from being blown away was Rowan holding onto you. Thankfully, you both made it in and set your belongings down on whatever dry surface you could find. There were a few leaks in the roof, you could tell it was handmade.

You had no time to think about that though. You could feel Rowan’s touch leave you as he dropped to the floor wheezing. You quickly reached for his bag, rummaging through unorganized bits of assignments and loose sheets of work. You’d expected the boy to be more organized considering how great his grades were, how neat his uniform was kept, and how he styled his hair so nicely to the side. Not that you were paying that close attention or anything. Who would do such a thing? Definitely not you. Totally.

You couldn’t find his inhaler anywhere, and to be frank, you were panicking. You were totally about to watch this kid die in some shed and you were gonna go to jail or something. It wasn’t until you felt Rowan’s touch lightly against your wrist that you snapped your attention his way. He peered up at you, brows creased, eyes leading you to his blazer pocket behind his fogged up glasses. You got the message, reaching into his pocket you brought his inhaler to his lips. He lifted his hand to yours, instructing you before he breathed in.

You let out a breath of relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding onto it. He was breathing easier now and you could feel him loosen up in your arms. You dropped your head into his chest before pulling back into a laugh.

“Gods almighty, do not scare me like that again!” You lightly punched him. Rowan looked up at you, the hand gripping yours loosened as he sat up. Realizing the position you two were in, he glanced away from you.

“I didn’t think you cared all that much.” He coughed out awkwardly. You tilted your head, what did he mean?

“Why would I not care about you?” His gaze met yours. You finally managed to see his deep blue eyes past the dissipating fog in his glasses.

“I just mean, I never thought it was possible to be an outcast in a school full of outcasts. Yet you seem to actually care.” He mumbled mostly to himself. Why wouldn’t you care about saving someone’s life? Was he stupid?

“I mean, is it not common sense to save someone who’s on the ground with breathing issues? What do you want me to do, mouth to mouth?” You questioned incredulously, the response managed to make him smile.

“Gods forbid one of the most popular sirens in the school is seen kissing the Telekinetic crazy kid.” He breathed out a laugh.

“Oh please, if I was popular then I’d be in the notoriously super secret Nightshades.” You rolled your eyes at the idea of the division in popularity standpoints, the kissing part didn’t seem so bad though.

“They kicked me out a couple weeks ago, you’re really not missing much.” He fiddled with his hands as you both fell into a comfortable silence. You had positioned yourself next to him, sitting upon the ground as your backs leaned against the shed walls. You two were absolutely missing class, but you were kind of glad it happened like this. The only thing that seemed bad was the fact that you were utterly freezing. Forget what you said about a little water not hurting you, it was terrible now that you were shivering.

“Here,” Rowan pushed off the wall, removing his blazer. He spread it out, presenting it like a blanket to you.

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” He gave you a confused look as you took his blazer and removed yours to spread them around you both. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was the best you could do. He was literally on death’s door a second ago from an asthma attack, yet here he was offering you his coat. He froze as you curled your legs up, leaning into his side.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you ok with this?” You pulled away, noticing his sudden change. He looked pained for a split second at the loss of your proximity.

“No, no. It’s fine! I just didn’t know if you were uncomfortable with me holding you or anything. I didn’t want to assume and-” He rambled on and on. You hushed him by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling the blazers back on. You really wouldn’t have been this forward if he hadn’t approved.

“Let’s just take advantage of this rainstorm, we can wait out the downpour.” You hummed, listening to the sound of his breathing and the pitter patter of the rain. It was an easy rhythm to fall asleep to. Besides, what was one day of missing classes?

“O-M-G!” You heard not so hushed whispers ring through your ears. “I have to put this on my blog!”

“Enid, do you not remember the fact that they’ve been missing all day? They better have a good explanation for this!” That was definitely Principal Weems voice.

It took you a second to gather where you were. The warmth holding you was, in fact, a person. Not just any person, but Rowan Laslow. You began to remember what happened before you fell asleep. You bolted upright, looking at the source of all the commotion. Squinting, you managed to look past the beaming flashlight to find pretty much everyone you knew and their mothers’ at the door of the Hummers shed.

That was an exaggeration of course… but Principal Weems did not look happy.

Pt. 2, My Heart Is My Sleeve: Here

#rowan laslow #rowan x reader #rowan laslow x reader #calum ross #wednesday (2022)#x reader #rowan laslow imagine #rowan laslow one shot #wednesday netflix #wednesday #nevermore

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bel1ewrites · 1 year

Text

The Alcohol Helped (Tara Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: sorry about the drought.

Description: It's too hard to stay away.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: sorority setting, mentions of drugs and alcohol (underage drinking), drunk Sam and Tara, idiot reader with top energy, I changed the ages of Sam (22) and Tara (19) to fit the narrative better

COLLEGE parties are never as fun as you think they’ll be. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, possibly the absence of mind bending drugs that makes them seem kind of, well, lame. Being the designated driver always reminds you of the pure stupidity that flows through sweaty, half clothed twenty-somethings with a knack for getting themselves into trouble.

“Oh president!” slurs your new assistant. Sam had secured her position after being one of the least insufferable people you’d ever known. Her first night in the house was spent drinking and watching all of the Pitch Perfect movies with you well into the early morning, and her second night was spent signing all of the new members up for random websites after acquiring their emails.

“Hello, Samantha.”

She giggles at the formality, drunkenly mocking the way you said her name and gripping your shoulders, looking into your eyes with serious intensity. “My sister loooves you.”

Tara. A new addition to the sorority. She didn’t even really have to rush due to her sister being your second in command. She was all doe-eyes and sickeningly sweet smiles, raven black hair and the kind of face that had recently begun to creep into your dreams. Truly the picture perfect active.

“Does she?” you’re smirking a little, arms crossed and back pressed against the cool, probably germ infested wall. Vibrations run through you with each pump of the bass in some mind-numbing song.

“Mhm,” she hums, a dopey look on her flushed face. She lifts her hand from your shoulder and boops you on the nose. “We were dancing with Chad, and Chad was all,” her voice deepens in an attempt to recreate his, “‘You’re soo beautiful Tara blah, blah, blah, we should blah, blah, blah’ but then Tara was all,” this time her pitch rises, “‘No, Chad. I’m totally… no you’re like my brother blah, blah, I’d never do that with you blah, blah, blah I wish Y/N would blah, blah, until I blah, blah, blah.”

“First of all, stop saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ before I punch you, and second of all, what did Tara-”

Speak of the devil, she’s stumbling towards you, drink sloshing around and spilling over the sides of her cup. Her cheeks are red, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“Sam, come do another shot with me,” she’s begging, tugging on her sister’s arm. It’s a weak tug, fueled by her foggy mind. She hasn’t noticed you standing there, too preoccupied with her mission to get more alcohol in her system.

“I don’t think you need another shot,” you cut in. Typically, you didn’t really care what the members of your sorority did in their spare time, so long as it didn’t interfere with their performance. Tara was nineteen. She was old enough to do as she pleased for the most part, and even if she technically wasn’t old enough to drink, she was still an adult who could make her own decisions. That being said, you couldn’t help but feel protective over her, brushing it off with some half-assed excuse about how she’s Sam’s sister.

Round, brown eyes blink up at you as she processes your presence.

“I mean,” she stutters, “let’s go uh… form meaningful connections?”

“Nice one,” you’re running a hand through your hair, slightly damp with the perspiration that comes with a night full of standing and watching.

“Well,” Sam starts with a little laugh, “I’m gonna go somewhere else.” Her figure retreats, blocked soon by the current of shifting bodies.

Tara sways lightly on her feet. Midnight black strands of hair fall from her ponytail, framing her face with a flaw free air of carelessness. She’s wearing a cropped tank top and baggy jeans that make her look shorter than normal and sit perfectly on her hips, smudged eyeliner resulting in a strenuous difficulty for you to keep your hands in your pockets.

“You know what we should do?” she’s grinning, eyes droopy. “We should dance.” Her hands reach for yours as you attempt to maneuver out of her range, aware of what a bad idea this is.

You tell yourself you tried, but ultimately you fail to keep her off of you when she grabs your forearms and places them on her shoulders, backing up and effectively pulling you away from the comfort of your wall. With your arms resting casually over her shoulders, hands limp and unmoving, she sighs happily and clings to your torso.

“You’re the perfect hug shape,” she mumbles, words muffled with her face against your ribbed tank. She’s breathing you in and humming.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is low and what the two of you are doing couldn’t possibly be defined as dancing. She’s hugging you tight, hands around your waist, and you’re holding her to you, one arm curved around the back of her neck and the other still hanging off her shoulder. There’s a comforting sway, the both of you rocking side to side soothingly.

“I mean,” her hands are moving on your back, “You have such a sturdy body,” fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, “muscular and soft. Tall-” (“Everyone’s tall to you,” you interject.) “-and you smell so good all the time. It’s like some sort of sorcery. You’re like a hot, good smelling witch or something.” She’s fumbling over her words but you’re barely listening, focused intensely on the way her nails run over your bare back from under your shirt.

Tara Carpenter has her hands under your shirt and it’s so hot where you stand but you’re shivering and pulling her closer. Tara Carpenter is scratching your back and you're stone cold sober but you can’t think through the fog in your mind.

“I love this shirt on you,” she groans. She’s groaning and her hands are on your naked back and you’re holding her to you and all you can think about is her.

“Yeah?” your voice shakes a little.

“Mm,” she nods against you. “It’s sexy.”

It’s your turn to groan. It’s too much and you’re dangerously close to cracking under the sexual tension.

“I’m gonna go get Sam.” you gently nudge her off of you. “I think you’re both in need of a glass of water and a bed. “

She’s frowning when you walk off.

—-----

By the time you manage to drag Sam away from her game of beer pong and into the car, Tara still hasn’t spoken more than two words to you. She sits silently in the backseat and picks at her hands with intent whilst her sister insists on taking aux to listen to the Tangled soundtrack the whole way home. Every once in a while you glance in the rear view mirror and catch her eyes before she looks somewhere else again.

As soon as the three of you clamber out of the vehicle and through the door, Sam heads for the leather couch in the common area and falls face first into it. You hang up your keys and watch Tara stumble slightly as she makes her way to her room.

It’s silent, the sound of the heater kicking on fills the space around you along with your racing mind. Had you taken it too far with Tara? Did you make her uncomfortable? Maybe you should bring her some water and leave her an Advil for the morning.

“Tara?” you call from outside her room, water and medicine in hand. She’s still awake, light on and soft music playing, muffled by the shut door. Beneath the light thrum of the melodies you can hear soft sniffles and little whimpers that make your heart drop in your chest.

Tucking the pill bottle beneath your arm, you turn the knob and slowly crack open the barrier between you and her, still not peeking inside. “Tara?”

A pause. “What?” her voice is watery and you finally gain the courage to step inside.

Her room is so impossibly her that it’s shocking. Soft white walls covered in bulletin boards, a few shirts scattered around the floor in a mess that seems intentional. It’s contrasting with the current state of her. Her eyes are puffy, cheeks still flushed from earlier, deeper now with the addition of tears. With the comforter pulled up over her neck all you can see is her face.

“Tara,” her lip quivers, face crumpling. “What’s wrong, baby?” Placing the things on her dresser, you rush to sit on her bed and rest a comforting hand on her forehead, moving the hair stuck there out of her face. She only cries harder.

“I’m sorry,” the bed shifts as she turns to lay on her side and face away from you.

“For what?” Confusion filters through you. If anything, it’s you who should apologize.

“Making you uncomfortable with everything I said earlier,” she replies, body curled into a ball beneath her blankets. “It was really inappropriate of me.”

Uncomfortable? The only thing that was uncomfortable was the metaphorical boner you got every time you were in her general vicinity, and that had nothing to do with anything she’d said.

“Wait,” it clicks in your mind, “when we were dancing?”

She nods.

“Tara, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you rub circles on her upper back through the layers, “Hell, I was too comfortable.”

The gears in her mind turn weakly and she turns to look at you with wet eyes; asking, “What’s that mean?” with a sniffle.

“It means we were swaying and you were rubbing my back and calling me hot and I had to step away before I did anything irrational.” She’s on her back now, staring up at the ceiling fan silently. “Not because I don’t want to do… irrational things with you- it’s just that you’re Sam’s sister and I don’t want to complicate anyth-”

“-Sam’s the one who told me to go for it,” Tara informs you. Her tears are gone, their pathways dry on her face. “Said she’d had enough of our eye-fucking back before she’d even had her first shot.”

Agape. Your jaw is agape and you close it before opening it again like a fish out of water, struggling to find a response. Sam was the reason you’d tried to keep your distance; stuck to admiring from afar and aspiring to be close. Was the attraction that obvious?

“I only got the courage tonight because I’d caught you staring at me all week,” she finally smiles, “But the alcohol helped I guess.”

A noise of pure embarrassment emerges from your throat and you fall back against her mattress, crossing your forearms over your blushing face. Clearly you needed to work on your stealth abilities.

The surface you lay on dips with movement. Tara’s warm hands wrap around your forearms as she struggles to pull them away. It’s truly laughable how little she moves them. She manages to uncover your eyes, her own sparkling with unknown emotions, a warm smile on her lips. You peer up at her with a hidden grin on your face.

“So,” you start, “a hot, good smelling witch, huh?”

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #screamxi #scream #sam carpenter #fluff #wlw #gxg #lesbian #jenna ortega

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simplydannie · 3 months

Text

Inspired by and written for @meadow-hearthfire. Based on their ask:

“Oh! I got an idea:

Veneer has a very bad day (be it practicing for performance, a shopping trip, having a fight with Velvet, etc).

Guided by his subconscious, Veneer goes to the room Floyd is being held captive in without realizing it. Veneer picks up the bottle Floyd is in, but doesn't spritz himself with his essence. Veneer just vacantly stares at him, unsure why he even went into room in the first place.

Then Veneer sheds a tear before he realizes it, and then another, and so on. Soon, he remembers who Floyd is and what Floyd means to him, then Veneer and has a breakdown. Turns out Veneer subconsciously still saw Floyd as a father figure whom he'd go to for comfort and whom he feels most comfortable allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable around.”

I loved this! Thank you! Just added a little twist in the end 🫶

It was just a rehearsal… but everything had to be perfect. SHE wanted it perfect.

“Again!” Mistress would cry out, “Again!…AGAIN!”

This time they had it though… this time it was going to be perfect. Sitting amongst the empty seats of the auditorium were the other producers that were part of corporation Mistress fell under, part of the powers in Mount Rageous. They watched as the twins rehearsed…

“Not bad. You’ve really turned them into your own little creations haven’t you.” A male Rageon told her.

A dark smile came across her face, “Molded them just like clay. The Troll helps. Funny to think a business their family started in the under-city would benefit them up here.”

“Does he know where they are at? Does he know you brought them up here?” He asked.

“…. He does.” She smirked, “He wants them back. When he comes knocking, that’s when we offer our exchange…”

They continue watching the twins. Velvet of course was meant to take the lead, Veneer was just meant to follow, push her, acknowledge her presence so the rest of the world can see. But for some reason, today, he was really feeling the music. His voice boomed a little higher than his sisters. Velvet turned to give him a warning look. He noticed…. He backed away…

“Interesting…Did he use the Troll today?” The male Rageon asked.

“She did…… he didn’t…” a scowl came across the Mistress face.

“Hm, then you have a problem on your hands.”

Velvet laid out the final note to the song. Both struck their final pose, breathing heavily, their eyes glued upon the Mistress and the rest of the producers who were watching. Mistress was the first to stand up… she wasn’t happy… and they could see it in her face. Her heels clicked as she approached them…

“Again.”

“What?” Veneer was the first to asked. He turned to his sister… she was exhausted.

“…. Again.” The Mistress said more sternly.

“Can I have a break? I’ve been none stop.” Velvet replied.

“You can have a break when your brother stops messing up.” The woman replied.

“Me? But I’ve done everything you’ve told me too.”

“Your ONLY job is to act as a backup. You’re there for looks and nothing more. Yet, you feel the need to over step your sister?”

Veneer didn’t know how to respond, sure he got a little carried away, but he’d never steal the spotlight from Velvet, “….That was an accident…”

“…. That’s all I ever hear, “it was an accident” perhaps I should have you replaced.”

“No! No. I can do it, I’ll try better. I won’t mess up….”

SMACK!

Mistress struck him clear across the face as her anger was released. Her nails scratching his skin. She gripped him by the collar and pulled him towards her. His face only inches from hers. Velvet took a step forward but was held back by Gruff, one of the Bergen body guards.

“…. You’re pathetic, you know that? You serve us no purpose. You’re just a spare in this world Veneer. Even daddy was disappointed that his only son turned out to be so weak, wasn’t he Veneer?”

His lower lip quivered as he tried to hold in his tears. She snarled and throw him back on the floor, “The mood is broken. Tomorrow you’ll get in that extra practice… No dinner either for both of you, we need to make sure you’re as thin as can be for the cameras.” She snapped her fingers, the Bergens escorted the twins back home…

….. The ride home was silent. Velver would only cast glances to her brother. She was never good at comforting, in ways she was like her father. Veneer was always the one to comfort her… like their mother. Velvet extended her hand but paused midway before retreating it. She then turned and looked at the window, no words being spoken between them…

Veneer allowed himself to cry alone that night. He hugged his pillow as he allowed the tears to fall. He took a moment to look around his room: it was big, luxurious, he had everything he had ever wanted, he was finally living the life of a Mount Rageon… he should be happy…. But deep down he wasn’t. Veneer began feeling that everything was just a lie..

“….. Daddy, please find us….” He whispered. Was running away from home a good idea? Was it ever? He wanted comfort… he needed to hear soothing words…. He needed someone. Veneer thought back to the words he had spoken…. dad. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he threw his blankets off him and walked out his door.

His mind wasn’t thinking, he allowed his feet to take wherever they wanted to go. As he walked the events of the day replayed in his mind… so did the words Mistress spoke to him. Veneer found himself standing in front of a door. It wasn’t Velvets room, but it felt right, it felt like he needed to be there. Opening the door, he walked in to a small room. The only furniture within the room was a table and a chair. It was decorated with lights all around. He flipped the switch allowing for the lights to illuminate little brighter. He went to the chair and sat, Veneer then reached over to grab the object that lay at the center of the table…. A diamond.

He picked it up gently and carefully so to not wake the small, sleeping Troll that lay inside. Veneer looked at him. Troll….Troll…. No, he had a name. A name he and Velvet once knew, once called him by. He looked at the small sleeping Troll encased inside…..

“……Floyd…..” The name escaped his words in a whisper. As if a key to a chest, the name allowed for memories to flush in Veneers mind…. The day Floyd fell victim to a Troll trap, the day Veneer laid his eyes on the small Troll… He looked gray, weak, and sick. Veneer freed him, hid him from his father… of course was punished for it too. When they ran away Floyd came with them.

“You’re doing to need an adult to watch after you out there.” He had told them.

And he did. He went with them. The little Troll could’ve left, could’ve gone home, but he didn’t. He remained. He became what the twins needed after their mother died….a father. Right now, that’s what Veneer needed, that’s why he subconsciously came to find him…to find Floyd.

Veneers lip quivered again, but this time he didn’t hold the tears back…. He allowed them to fall. One by one until a river fell down his face. His body shook as he cried. The small trembling awoke the Troll in the diamond.

“Veneer?” Floyd woke with a small yawn. Rubbing his eyes, he finally saw the Rageon breaking down in front of him. “Ven?” Floyd saw the light scratch marks across the boys face….Mistress laid hands on him….again.

“What did she do to you? Ven, look at me. What did she do?” Floyd asked again. But Veneer didn’t answer, he just continued to cry. He wanted an embrace so badly, he wanted to feel warmth wrap around his body. So Veneer held the diamond close to him, squeezing it in a tight hug.

Floyd felt the trembling in his body as Veneer continued to cry, soft sobs escaping his lips. He knew what the boy wanted…. Unfortunately he couldn’t give it to him. So all Floyd did was outstretch his tiny arms around the diamond, hoping Veneer could feel the hug he desperately wanted to give him.

“….its okay…. I’m here. I’ll always be here….always.” Floyd said.

At the sound of his voice and words, Floyd felt Veneer let a sigh of relief. He could feel the tears and sadness begin to diminish away, but Veneer didn’t let the diamond go, he still held it close to his chest, hugging it as tight as he could. Floyd squeezed the walls of the diamond in a hug, hoping Veneer could feel it. The two remained in peaceful silence…that’s all Veneer wanted, comfort, comfort from his dad…

Back in Under Rageous…

Within the walls of the Montegue manner, a tall pale Rageon sat on his arm chair. His face was cold and stern, he was twiddling a ring in his fingers….his wedding ring. He had never worn it to protect her, but now she was gone, he continued to wear as a reminder to kill the ones who would dare hurt her, who would dare kill her.

He placed the ring back on his finger. He stared at some pictures in front of him, articles he had obtained, pictures and headlines covering them all:

SUPERSTARS VELVET AND VENEER TAKEN MOUNT RAGEOUS BY STORM!

QUEEN AND KING OF POP! WHO ARE THESE FABULOUS TWINS WE ADORE!?

He search through and through in the under-city but never found them… until the news began to leak of these new pop stars. Who ever took them from him, whoever took them from Under Rageous was going to pay ten fold…but they weren’t the only one. He looked at one picture in particular, a paparazzi shot of Veneer. He looked closer and saw something perched on the young boys shoulder…a Troll. He recognized that Troll, it was the little devil Veneer rescued… the little devil that Veneer bonded with…

“The little devil that first took my children away from me.” Taking a knife he stabbed the picture….stabbed the little Troll. It pained him, being outsmarted by a little Troll, a little piece of nothing….

Vaughn was going to get his hands him….and kill that little rat.

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