#oh naive ones how I love and pity you

[girlfromthecrypt]

I just started the demo and it's the first time I've ever seen my name as one of the default options (jared). That was super rad, I didn't expect that since it seems like a somewhat uncommon name, thank you.

I̴̹̥͊ ̴͎͙̈́͝k̴̡̩̓͒n̷̺̙̈o̷̺͍̒̽ẃ̸̖,̶̛̤̫͘ ̵͕̥̓J̵̣̈́ẫ̷͍r̶̲̽e̵̩̿d̴͚̙̓.̸̬̈́ ̶͉̐̏ ̶͚͙͘ ̵̝͚̃Ḯ̵͍̳́ ̶̻͗k̶̮̍n̵̩̭̏o̷̡̖͘w̴̟͎̌.̵̼͛̏

[devotion-disorder]

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

Oh noooo....I'm just a naive human lost in this big forest with no one waiting for me...would be a shame if some beautiful elves whisked me away and brainwashed me into thinking I'm their pet/breeding machine and only need their "love and devotion". That would be terrible /silly

- 🩵

wdym the beautiful elf men do not, in fact, have my best interests in mind and were planning something nefarious from the start </3 I was just gonna write down some quick thoughts but it kinda got out of hand LOL

Content warning for: implied drugging (hypnotics, aphrodisiacs), dubcon/ noncon touching (nothing explicit though), manipulation, slight obsessive/ yandere themes, general elven condescension?

Imagine that you’ve accidentally wandered too deep into the forest and lost your way, your shoes hardly holding up in the rough terrain, and the last remaining rays of the setting sun are snuffed out by the overgrown foliage…

To make things worse, you walk right into some sort of trap - a stumbling step is all it takes to activate the runic trip switch, and a suffocating cloud of purple gas is the last thing you remember before things fade to dark…

How clumsy of you! Good thing Priest Killian happened to be on his evening walks when he spotted your pitiful form twitching and writhing in the hunting trap he’d set up; carefully he scooped you up and went his way back to the village. Only the most observant would be able to discern that the Priests’ unmoving smile seemed a bit wider than usual.

It was a trap the elves set up for hunting animals, he’d explained. The poison was almost enough to be fatal, had he not been there in time to save you. It’ll also take a bit for all the toxins to be out of your system. No worries though, because Killian offers to take care of you in his quarters until you’re up on your feet again. 

You don’t even remember if you’d managed to give a response, what with lead-heavy limbs and relentless migraine pulsing in your head. Luckily, Killian treated you with utmost care. 3 meals a day (along with the antidote treatment) brought to your bed (well, his bed), and spoon-fed to you because you were too weak to even sit up. He massaged your stiff muscles and brushed your hair. He ran warm baths and washed you – and even then he never opened his eyes – so at least there was some comfort in that.

Under Killian’s care you gradually regain your strength, save for the occasional dizzy spell and fatigue. But he saved your life after all! Feeling indebted to him, you offer to stay longer in the village to help around. While Killian’s expression is ever-unreadable, you can’t help but sense a bit of…amusement from him upon your suggestion. Regardless, he agrees – so long as you agree not to wander too far outside the village, because it’s very dangerous out there, he said.

And of course, he maintained a watchful eye over you, shadowing your tottering form as you went around introducing yourself to the other villagers. How cute.

You worked whatever odd jobs the elves had for you. which isn’t much at all. Mostly just menial tasks, or perhaps relaying messages. Things that they could’ve easily done themselves with their magic, but it’s fun watching an over-enthusiastic little human do it instead, so eager to please. You would say they are…endeared, perhaps. Or maybe they’re just looking out for you, what with your unfinished recovery. Anyhow, the elves are charmed by the newfound presence in the village.

Killian gifts you a new set of clothes, made by the local tailor (you don’t remember visiting a tailor for measurements at any point though, strange). To help you feel more at home, he said. It's pretty, a delicate garment that flutters cool against your skin in the warm summer heat, with an unmistakably elven style of elegance. It is a little short but, well, elves are known for being tall so maybe they're not used to human proportions? The white silk is a bit sheer in places, and you tried to ignore how it clung to the contours of your body when you sweat…

You hadn’t expected elves to be so openly affectionate. Being a long-living race known for their high culture and intelligence, it made for the perception that they were maybe a bit prudish, engrossed in their endless pursuit of finer things to care about lowly desires. But you suppose the elves are as curious of you as you are of them. You got to know some of them quite well, and soon it was routine for them to envelop you in their embrace. They pet your hair and nuzzle into your neck (Killian said something about how common skinship is in elven culture), at times slipping their digits beneath your clothes…sometimes you don't really remember, because the medicine still made you a bit sluggish. But it's ok! Their affectionate nature is a surprise but one you welcome. You think. 

During all of which, your treatment continued. Just a little longer, Killian promised. The side-effects seem to show no sign of waning, if not worsening at times. Sometimes you struggle to recall what has happened and what has not. The elves didn’t seem to mind, gladly cradling your tired body when you are overcome with sudden bounds of weakness. You poor little thing, they cooed, one hand combing through your hair to distract you from their other that wandered along your body.

Some days the medicine leaves you feeling more flushed than usual, and a strange feeling you can’t quite place invades your senses; a deep, frustrating kind of yearning that throbbed in your core. You assume it's the side-effects of advanced elf sorcery/ enchantment in your antidote treatment. It’s a tad embarrassing, but you can’t really do anything about it when the elves (if not the Priest himself) check in on you so frequently. 

Your only reprieve comes when Killian slots himself snug against your smaller form at bedtime. Were you always this close? You’re not sure if you recall, trying desperately to suppress the suggestive thoughts flooding your brain. His cool hands trail over your body, and it feels way too good against your overheating skin, so good that you can’t even think about resisting as his lips come crashing on top of yours, when he slips his arm underneath your waist to push you closer, closer against him.

Stumbling out of Killian’s quarters in the dead of night, confused, and your vision blurred by hot tears, all you can think about is getting away from him, from this godforsaken place. The other elves stepped out of their houses from the commotion. It was as if something in the air shifted. Their friendly, curious pretenses have dropped completely, leaving a ravenous hunger and unyielding need in their place. The way they leer at your body, the disheveled elven outfit failing to provide much cover, makes your hair stand on their ends. The elves close in on you, their concerned voices laced with something unmistakably sinister. You’re trapped.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor.

“Now, now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about our little one here, but everyone will have their turn sooner or later.” Killian explains. He leans close to your ear, whispering in a volume only audible to you. “Look at you getting everyone so riled up already. Aren’t you such a needy little pet?” You’re paralyzed in fear, but his husky voice in your ears is still setting your nerves alight. 

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you let me 'take care of you' back at home,” his arms snaked around your body again, lithe fingers fanning across your thighs. “Or we’ll give everyone a show, and maybe let them get...a preemptive taste, as well. What’ll it be?”

[pucksandpower]

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[prettiedup]

Fratboy! Gojo when reader decides to leave (maybe she saw a movie or show or something talking about people like Satoru who manipulate innocent naive girls) and he's like oh shit this is actually happening and tries to stop her

Maybe he promises he'll change but he still keeps manipulating her the slightest bit and with more mundane things (he thinks he's protecting her)

passionfruit ୨ৎ

3k words :3

“ya know—you’re not the first girl gojo has done this to, right?” you’re pulled from your psychology book. the library is deathly quiet and even with the girl speaking in a hushed tone, her voice still rings. your eyes take in her appearance; short cut hair that’s in a straightened bob, makeup that compliments her face structure and complexion well. every detail, from her meticulously styled hair to her carefully chosen makeup, speaks of a woman who knows herself and embraces her unique beauty with effortless charm. she exudes this confidence that makes you sit up higher in the chair and straighten your back.

“excuse me?” you’re absolutely confused as to what she’s referring to. your hold on your book tightens as you feel yourself growing defensive as the seconds tick. 

she gracefully invites herself to a seat at the polished wooden table, her movements fluid and poised. as she settles into her own chair, her posture remains straight, radiating a sense of elegant charm. beside her, a luxurious dior handbag rests upon the table, its sleek lines and gleaming hardware is even more evidence of her advanced style. the supple leather exudes opulence, subtly reflecting the ambient light in the room. in her presence, the atmosphere seems to shift, filled with a sense of poise and sophistication. every detail, from the way she holds herself to the choice of accessories, speaks to a woman who understands the power of elegance and carries it with unwavering confidence.

“i’ve known gojo long enough.” she ignores your offended remark. “he takes pretty girls like you, and breaks them.” she looks directly into your eyes with every word, hoping that her words get through to your head.  “let me guess, he buys you all that you want. sometimes you don’t even have to ask him. it all feels so good, huh? having an attractive guy doing whatever for you. you love it don’t you?” her tone seems condescending and it angers you.

you drop your book onto the table. her eyes examine you like a hawk. “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” you frown.

“oh, honey. yes i do.” she gives you a pitiful smile. she almost feels bad for you, you’re so naive and it’s painfully obvious. she knows how satoru gets down, she knows his thought process, she knows how he likes to break down women. “i was you at one point.” she points at herself. she makes to pronounce the word you hardly to get you to understand.

you bite down on your lip. you’re at a loss for words. she seems so serious and it’s hard for you to convince yourself that she’s lying. you can’t understand why she’s doing this, though. why did she come up to you? is she being petty or is she genuinely caring for your wellbeing? you can’t decide.

“i was the new girl on campus, no friends, very little confidence. but i had some fight in me. and gojo loved that.” she explains. “all i’m saying is that once he corrupts you and fucks up your way of thinking, he’s gonna throw you to the side and find a newer toy. i’m speaking from experience.”

it almost feels like you can’t breathe. you’re staring at her with widened eyes and your bottom lip is trembling. her words place a seed of insecurity in your head that quickly sprouts. 

“h-he wouldn’t.. he-”

she cuts you off with a sigh .”yes he would. and i’m telling you this now so that when it happens you can think back to this conversation. remember vividly that i told you so.” she says before standing up. with a fluid motion, she rises from her seat, the soft fabric of her pencil skirt rustling gently in the quiet of the room. there was a purpose in her movements, a determination evident in the way she straightens her posture and squares her shoulders.

in the stillness of the moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if acknowledging the significance of her departure. and as she turned to leave, a fleeting glance over her shoulder hints at a depth of emotion left unspoken, a silent goodbye to you. 

your bottom lip trembles and unshed tears cloud your vision. the world becomes blurry as you try to hold back crying in public. your breaths became shallow and uneven, each inhale a struggle against the rising tide of emotion threatening to engulf you. the hushed quietness of the library seemed to amplify the unease within you, every sound felt like an intrusion, a reminder of the fragility of your facade.

with a trembling hand, you reach up to brush away the moisture threatening to spill over, your fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your cheek. the touch was fleeting, a fleeting attempt to stop the flow of tears threatening to portray your vulnerability to the prying eyes of strangers.

the library turned into a haven of paradoxes at that point, a place where comfort and unease coexisted.

  ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ 🪜 ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

surrounded by the comfort of satoru's frat brothers chatting animatedly in the adjacent living room, you stood behind a counter, cutting neatly to the best of your ability. you were preparing a fruit salad, an offering of a refreshing solution to the sizzling heat.

with each slice of fruit, the kitchen was filled with a sweet aroma. beads of sweat glistened on your forehead, a loud example of the relentless grip of the summer heat that seemed to seep through every crevice of the house.

as you moved throughout the kitchen, the sound of satoru's footsteps followed closely behind, his presence sprouting something unsettling in the midst of the heated atmosphere. with unpracticed ease, you continue your task, the rhythmic motion of slicing fruit a welcome distraction from the discomfort of the day, and from your newborn insecurities.

just as you reached for another piece of fruit, satoru's arms encircled your waist from behind, his touch a sudden burst of warmth against your skin. startled, you instinctively recoiled from his embrace, the abrupt movement disrupting the calmness that flowed through the kitchen.

in the wake of your sudden withdrawal, a tense silence settled over the room, the air thick with unspoken tension.

he gazes at you with piercing blue eyes, a blend of bewilderment and annoyance evident in his expression. crossing his arms, his muscular frame becomes more pronounced. “what’s been up with you?” satoru asks. 

you spare him an uninterested glare. you don’t stop cutting up the fruit, the knife continues to loudly slam down against the cutting board. the slices aren’t as congruent as you would like them to be, and that irritates you. satoru questioning you isn’t making the irritation go away not one bit. 

“what do you mean?” your voice comes out softer than you anticipated. 

“you’ve been actin’...” he rolls his hand as if circling it in a fluid motion would make the word come to him any faster. “weird.” he finishes.

“i haven’t been actin’ any differently than how i normally act.” you say, offended. 

“yes you have.” satoru frowns. “always pushin’ me off and shit. what happened to my lil slut? you used t’never reject me ever.” satoru hasn’t said much but what he has said so far is enough. you slam the knife down onto the counter, you turn around swiftly. your angered eyes search for his.

“is that all you see me as? huh? a slut? a sex addict?” it’s your turn to cross your arms against your chest. “you think ‘m stupid, toru? you think i don’t know your plans?” 

satoru looks at you as if you’ve grown four heads. an airy sigh escapes past his lips. “what the fuck are you talkin’ about, bun?” 

“‘m not fuckin’ stupid, toru! i know! i know that you’re gonna stop messin’ with me once you get bored!” your voice grows louder, drowning out the chatter of the boys nearby, who fall silent as soon as they detect the shift in your tone.

“bun, ‘s too hot for you t’be actin’ like this一” he’s cut off by you continuing your heartfelt rant.

“you think ‘m naive and stupid! i know you think so, don’t even try to deny it!” 

“stop fuckin’ yellin’, girl.” he hisses the word out as if it is some insult. he’s grabbing at your shoulders, trying to get you to calm down.

“i won’t let you hurt me, toru.” your anger quickly dissolves into sadness and in seconds you’re crying in his hold. 

he thinks you’re throwing your usual temper tantrum until something along the lines of “leaving you” utters past your lips. his eyes widen and he’s quick to wrap his arms around you and pick you up. he throws your over his muscular shoulder and makes his way towards the stairs.

“put me down, satoru!” you shriek. your hands pounding on his lower back do little to slow down. he walks with purpose and security. you raise your head when he passes by the living room, only to see his brothers already looking at the two of you. you immediately drop your head in embarrassment. 

your cries and threats do not waver satoru, not one bit. once he has you in his room, he’s locking the door and placing you in the middle of the bed. the second your back touches the soft mattress, you’re attempting to rise up. he’s quick to push you down and climb on top of you.

“toru, move!” you cry even harder. you feel so weak against him. while your mind screamed at you to be angry at him, your heart begged for you to not push him away.

“‘s okay, baby. daddy’s gonna make this all better.” he mumbles. he’s pressing desperate kisses all over your face and neck while his large hands make quick work to undress your body. 

even with your futile attempts at pushing and kicking him away, he stays firm. your eyes are squeezed shut, you didn’t want to see those hypnotizing blue eyes. you didn’t want to see any more of him, ever. loud cries and gasps escape from you, you quickly grow tired and lay pliantly on the bed. you don’t take notice of the bed shifting and him feeling further away than he was seconds ago.

you’re about to tell him to move off of you once again until you feel his arms suddenly snake around your thighs and his tongue come in contact with your clit. your back arches off of the bed, your eyes fly open and you look down in between your legs. he’s already looking up at you, he laps at your pussy like a starved man. your hands fly to his hair, you’re uncertain on what you want. bring him closer? push him away?

your wails are quickly replaced with uncertain moans. your hips shift as you rock yourself against satoru’s face. feeling him lick and suction your clit before making a straight line down to your slit that’s dripping wet from his spit and your own arousal. 

he pries your pussy lips open with the flat of his tongue. his eyes flutter when he snakes his tongue inside of you, going as far as anatomy allows. he shakes his head from side to side expertly. the grip he has on your thighs is on the borderline of hurting, but you’re becoming too hazy to comment on the firmness. 

it almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy from the way he places long kisses to your clit before flattening his tongue. your whines and gasps merge in with the lewd sounds of his mouth kissing and sucking on you. 

“daddy..” you mewl when he suddenly places all of his attention of your clit only. his eyes go back onto your face as he’s looming over your clit and spit is slipping from his mouth and onto your pussy. your mouth is stuck in an ‘O’ shape when he hungrily feasts. spit drips from his chin, it slowly slides down to your asshole that’s left unattended. 

“mmm.” he moans. the vibrations cause your legs to shake and your hips to flinch. your back arches up, off of the bed. he has to bring a hand up to push you back down. 

“g’na cum, toruuu.” you whine. the grip you have on his hair tightens. he lays lax with his mouth open. you begin fucking yourself stupid on his face, loud whines and babbles escaping past your mouth. the sound of your spit and arousal covered pussy meeting with his tongue is absolutely lewd. 

you’re both letting out drawn out hums. your breath gets stuck in your chest when your orgasm finally hits. you sink as far into the bed as it allows, your eyes roll back as cries escape past your lips. you accidentally close your legs around his head, satoru doesn’t care though. he focuses on lapping at your folds, drinking up all of the arousal your climax brings out. he greedily licks at your pussy until you’re desperately pushing at his head, clearly overstimulated.

you’re still out of it when satoru fixes his position in between your legs. his face which reeks of you is inches away from yours. he’s quick to press a long kiss against your lips, as you open your mouth, he lines his cock up to your entrance and sinks in. inch by inch, he stretches your pussy out. 

“i know, baby. i know.” he coos at you as you prattle incoherent things. he shift your thighs until they’re thrown over his shoulders. “you’re jus mad at me. you ain’ goin’ anywhere.” he hums as he begins fucking into you.

you can’t talk or even think right now. you grip the covers as you wail out a deafening moan when he gives you a particularly hard thrust. his arms are placed right beside your head, even just his forearms almost dwarfs your head. the size difference between the two of you makes his cock twitch even while inside of you.

“mhmm. pussy’s s’wet for me. who’s gonna fuck you like this if you leave me? hm? who’s gonna stretch this greedy pussy out like it needs to be?” his words fall on deaf ears when you throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut once again. 

you feel so full of him. his stretching you out deliciously. you could feel your pussy creaming over his cock, if you were to look down you knew there would be a white ring at the base and coating his balls. 

“daddy’s never gonna hurt you, baby. everything i do is to protect you.” he’s kissing on your jaw with every word. “my sweet lil bunny.” 

the threat of you leaving him rings through his head. he feels a sharp pang in his chest when a fleeting vision of a future without you flickers in his mind. in response, he propels himself forward with an almost punishing intensity, driven by a desperate need to defy the looming threat and cling to your presence with every fiber of his being.

there’s a fucked out look in your eyes when you finally crack them open. your boobs flow with every thrust, satoru can’t help but to grip one. you whither from how hard he grips it and he shushes you by placing his lips on yours. the sound of his hips meeting against your ass along with your whiny moans fills the room.

satoru lets out airy moans of his own before pulling cock out and sitting up a little. he bends your legs until your almost folded over. he uses two fingers to rub at your dripping pussy, with practiced ease his fingers ease into your pussy.

“nooo, toru.” you whine. “wan’ your cock.” you pout.

satoru’s cock jumps at your whining, beads of precum drabble from his tip and soil onto the covers. he’s quick to push his dick back inside of you, fucking you with inhumane speed. the icky sound of his heavy balls slapping against your skin makes butterflies churn in your stomach.

“‘m gonna do better, okay? gonna spoil you even more, gonna一fuck jus’ gonna do so much more, baby. you hear me?” his skin is flushed and there’s a glazed look in his eyes. 

“mmm.” you hum. your eyes are glued to where his dick is pounding your pussy. it’s almost fascinating to see your arousal coat his dick and balls so prettily.

your breathing is cut short when he wraps his hand around your throat.

“talk t’me, baby.” he whines. his breathing is sped up and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. his other hand darts down and begins circling your sensitive clit.

“h-hear you, daddy. ‘m not goin’ anywhereーohmygaaa ah!.” you let out a loud squeak as you suddenly begin cumming all over his cock. your vision blackens and you’re quick to lay your hand against his stomach to slow him down. “cummin! cummin! daddyyy!” 

“mhmm, cum for your toru. goooooddd girl. there we go, bun. let it all out, baby. mhm j-just like that.” he praises you. his own orgasm is seconds away. with a few more thrusts, he’s quickly pulling out of you and rubbing at the tip of his cock. “f-fuck! shit!” his head tilts back as becomes rougher with each stroke. warm, thick spurts of cum shoot out from his cockhead and onto your pussy and thighs. 

“shit, shit, shit, fuuuccckkkk.” he’s moaning and whining as he goes. when he has nothing left to give and his thighs are trembling for overstimulation, he pulls his hand away.

the two of you breathe heavily as you try coming down from your orgasms. he helps you shift onto a spot that’s not wet, while continuing to mutter sweet nothings to you.

“i was serious, bun.” he says while kissing on your neck. “you’re my bunny. alright? my pretty, smart bunny. you’re my girl. daddy’s baby. you’re not going anywhere.”

his words of dedication weave a delicate mural of emotion around you, coaxing heat to bloom within your body. your heart flutters with each syllable, sending ripples of warmth through your veins. with a shy yet heartfelt smile, you tilt your head in a tender gesture of appreciation, your eyes sparkling with the unspoken language of affection. maybe that girl was just jealous that you have satoru and she doesn’t. you decide at that very moment that you won’t let her hatred words get to you.

“‘m daddy’s bunny.” you repeat softly. he grins at your words and places a long, sincere kiss against your lips. 

[nicoliine]

The night Lucifer became your god.

☆彡 Your god had abandoned you; the devil stayed by your side.

Whose your devotion is with?

☆ Disclaimer: I'm an atheist myself but was raised Catholic, so I understand that some people may find this disrespectful. Please, if you find the religion subject as a taboo to write about, don't continue reading.

☆ G/N Reader—no pronouns or y/n used.

☆ English isn't my first language and I wrote this drunk, so if there is any mistake please excuse me <3

Religion as a metaphor for love 🛐

 

—"Eli, Eli, lema sabachtani?" Matthäus 27:46.—

In Lucifer's eyes, you were an angel.

There were few things that he considered pure in hell. His daughter, the love he once had for his wife, and the joy he felt when his last rubber duck wasn't a fiasco.

 

You, however, were the purest thing that ever stepped on hell.

 

It made him sick. It was like heaven had taken pity on him and decided to send you to bring love and comfort to his shattered soul.

 

The first time he ever stepped on your room, he almost thought you two weren't in hell, but in a church, your room resembles a presbytery. He was met by a big cross on the wall in front of him and a lot of candles around; the final straw was a bible on the nightstand.

 

Where did you even get that?

It was creepy.

It gave him chills; surely he was uncomfortable at first; he hated sacred places; it made him feel dizzy. But the way you talked to him and how you looked at him in the eyes made him feel as if he were in heaven again.

Except that both of you were in hell.

You were in hell. With him.

Your looks weren't any different; you often had a kind smile on your face. When someone made a gross comment, he never failed to see you putting your hands together in a praying motion. He got a glimpse of your scarred knees one time, and a thought came to his mind: you on your knees, praying to God countless nights instead of going to parties.

 

He felt jealous; oh, to be adored in that way, how would it feel?

 

And you were so sweet; you always knew what to say and how to react. Even when he felt like getting back into his depression hole, kind words came out of your lips as you held him.

He wanted you; he never, in thousands of years in hell, ever prayed to God, but he would do it for you to be his.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

If you are an angel, then how did you end up here? He often wondered: surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to send you to hell, right?

 

A scoff left his lips; of course he would.

 

It was dark outside, and the pouring rain could be heard from outside your room. In the comfort of your room, he couldn't help but ask. You just finished your prayer, an old but well-conserved rosary on your hands.

You don't really know what to say.

 

"I just guess that I deserved it."

 

Hearing you say that broke him, how could you say that you deserved to be down there? How could you be so cool about it? You even laughed it off. He didn't deserve to have you there; please don't be so mean to you.

You tried to change the subject almost immediately; you don't want to go on about the many nights that you stayed awake calling for your god to take you out of there, just to hear you. You think that Lucifer wouldn't like to hear you say that you don't want to be there.

 

Oh god, my god, why did he forsaken you?

 

Truth be told, you often questioned it yourself; you didn't want to. Guess that's why you're down there; you asked so many questions? how you spent your whole life following his rules, praying until your knees bled, and giving all your life to him, just to be thrown into hell forever.

 

It wasn't your fault.

You were so young and so naive.

Please, how can you leave me here?

How could you let me down even when you said you loved me?

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

When you woke up in hell, you felt your heart shatter. Somehow,  you managed to make it to the Heaven Embassy, looking at the building and hoping for them to come back for you, you stayed there for days. But it never happened.

It should be a mistake. You couldn't have failed; what had you done wrong?

 

When you arrived at the hotel, you wanted to cry. Everything Charlie told you would take for you to be redeemed has been everything you did in life.

Then why are you there?

 

Every passing day, your chest hurts a little more. It was like pieces of your soul were falling apart.

 

"I feel guilty, Lucifer; I know I shouldn't question his actions, that I would never understand," you said as your eyes were fixated on the big cross on your wall, "but he abandoned me; he doesn't love me anymore. I highly doubt he ever did."

 

You later felt guilty for breaking the rosary in your hand. Lucifer, however, felt excited about it.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

It hurts to see you like this, it made Lucifer feel so bad.

I mean, he understands how you are feeling; he used to have so many dreams that were taken away from him the moment he talked to his creator. He just wanted to be heard.

But he wasn't heard.

He remembers how it happened—the court spat on his face in his trial. They didn't even let him talk. He remembers how he felt the air leaving his lungs, so humiliated and despised by his father. He grabbed a fist of his shirt while they brought his sentence. His chest hurts a lot. He looked at his father, asking for forgiveness that he was never granted.

So he understood your pain; he felt your pain as his while you looked so hurt. You two weren't so different.

Except you were, you are a pure soul who did everything right, no questions asked ever. It makes his blood boil.

 

How could God treat you like this while Lucifer could break hell apart just for you to be on your knees for him?

He wanted to bring you comfort, but what does one say in a moment like this? What could he say that could give your heart rest?

 

You felt guilty; you felt remorse, wrath, pain, sadness—you didn't know what to think or how to react. You felt like your own father had abandoned you, leaving a hollow in your soul that couldn't be filled.

 

Everything left was for you to wait.

Wait to find something else to live for.

Something to pray for.

Someone to believe.

 

"If you were mine, I would never abandon you." Lucifer felt no remorse to say that; he wasn't taking advantage of your state. He just was showing you the right way, by his side you would never feel neglected or hurt. This is how it must have been since the beginning; if you had given him your heart since the beginning, you wouldn't have felt so much pain.

 

He would take care of you forever.

 

To have you on your knees before him was strange. He dreamed about this exact moment for so long, but he never thought it could really happen.

But it was happening.

You were there, with so much devotion in your eyes that it was impossible to look away.

He could see in your eyes that you would do everything he asked for.

How could God let you go when you were so devoted?

 

He wouldn't let you go.

Never.

You are his now.

You are his loyal believer; he's your god.

 

Like it always was supposed to be.

 

About where the inspiration for this came from:

There's a Mary statue in Spain that I absolutely loved the work of the sculptor, it's called: "María Santísima de la Quinta Angustia." —love the name!Her hurt face gave me chills and I thought about this writing. Please take a look at her, she looks like a doll! ✨

 

Likes and reblogs are appreciated. 💞

[voonroo]

Could I please request some platonic HCs for Sir Pentious and Angel Dust with a more reserved/naïve teen!reader sinner that’s relatively new to hell, somewhat overwhelmed by just all that chaos beyond the hotel, and ends up forming a paternal/sibling-like bond with them? Like they got the impression early on that Pentious/Angel either were fun to be around or maybe even helped them feel safe, and so they’ve kind of been hanging around them and coming to them for advice ever since? Thanks!

Cover Your Ears I'm About To Say Something You Don't Need To Hear!

⌐‣Angel & Pentious + Teen Reader REQ.

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I LOVE SIR PENTIOUS SO MUCH. He will get his moment. Trust. BTW ANGEL AS AN OLDER BROTHER WOULD BE SO FUNNY–

Angel & Teen Reader

When he first saw you in the hotel not looking your hottest, he immediately felt a pang of pity.

News spread quickly in the hotel that you were new to hell. So he gave you some time before striking up a conversation.

You two hit it off without a hitch!

Angel often just calls you “kid” but it's in the most loving way possible.

He doesn't mind your reserved nature, easily talking enough for the both of you. So often, he’ll lead the conversation (a rant) and ask for your input every so often.

He tries his hardest not to spit dirty jokes in your presence, he doesn't really give two shits if you're naive, he's gonna try to keep you that way.

He wouldn't tell you what he does for a living and would probably try to avoid you after a rough shift to make absolutely sure that he doesn't pop off at you.

When you begin to come to (him!) for advice— oh that's when he takes the title of big brother.

He’d try his hardest to give you the best advice for anything you ask. If he can't think of something on the spot then expect a message with step-by-step advice at like 1 am.

Pentious & Teen Reader

When he met you in the hotel and saw how young you were and how stressed you looked, tears could be seen in his eyes. (he's an empath I swear.)

He’d try to distract you from your own negative feelings frequently.

He calls you “my child” at first- even though you're a teenager… But soon it changes to him calling you your name like a normal person.

Another one who talks (rants) enough for the two of you. However, he’d be talking inventor and even if you don't know what he's talking about (you will soon) he will ask you your recommendations, thoughts, ideas, etcetera etcetera.

He loves trying to teach you how to build things. Whenever you're successful he claps his hands excitedly with the proudest smile on his face– and he's crying…

He grows attached very easily and will gladly take on the title of “father” The egg bois call you “the boss’s child”

Pentious won't allow any disrespect on your name even if it means he gets all the disrespect himself.

“You're naive? Oh don't worry I can be that too sssometimes—”

He knows he's so happy when you come to him for advice. He may not give the best advice but god damn it, with how he presents his answer to you with so much confidence- it might as well be.

“We ssshould nuke them!”

Word Count: 443

[cyzi4]

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐘𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

A/n: this is me coming back from the dead. I fr couldn’t come up with any ideas but im back and im gonna try my best to be consistent 🤗

You and Light had met in high school. You were new and the teacher asked Light to show you around and get you acclimated to the new school.

At first, Light didn’t want to have someone following him around like a lost puppy, but when you sat next to him and started up a conversation with him, you piqued his interest.

Light fell for you almost immediately (though you’d never know that due to his innate ability to hide his true intentions and feelings.) You were intelligent and so kind to everyone around you. He saw you as the perfect girl. His perfect girl. It became his ultimate goal to make you fall for him.

He would do some simple acts of service, walking you to all your classes under the guise of “I wouldn’t want you to get lost, you’re still new after all.” No matter how many times you insist you know where you’re going, he’d still walk with you like the obsessive man gentleman he is.

Then, Light would buy you a few gifts. He would buy you little snacks, (all of your favorites he found on your socials which he would stalk check from time to time.), stuffed animals, and really anything he thought would make you smile.

Now, at this point, Light had started to notice your kindness wasn’t just saved for him. You were just oh so kind to this one boy in your shared class with Light. The boy was an idiot, plan and simple. He was always asking for your help and your answers, which you eagerly gave him. It made Light almost lose his composure. Surely you realized that loser was just using you? No. You were too kind and naive to realize.

Light nearly lost it when he asked you to come over for one of your study sessions (which mostly consisted of watching movies in his room instead of actually studying) and you declined. Stating you had a date.

A.

Date?!

Light, as calmly as he could muster, asked who the lucky guy was, and to his utter distain, it was that blundering idiot who would always beg for your attention and pity. Light forced a smile and wished you good luck on your date, silently scheming on how to put a stop to it.

Now, Light had never imagined using the death note on anyone who wasn’t a criminal. And at first he didn’t think about using it on that loser. He tried to have a calm and polite conversation with him, but instead he overheard a conversation with that guy and his friend. He was calling you easy, and that he was definitely going to get to laid. It made Light sick. Light was going to enjoy snuffing his life out, even if it would be indirect.

After the deed was done, Light didn’t expect to see you at his doorstep, face stained with tears and asking if you could stay with him for a bit. Of course Light let you in, how could he not when you looked so sad? He was going to do his best to make you feel better.

Light let you cry on his shoulder while you spoke about being stood up. He played with your hair and shushed your cries. Deep down he knew he was the cause of your misery, but, he was intent on making your sorrows disappear. He spoke so sickening sweetly into your ear, whispering how he’d never stand up a beautiful girl like you. That made you smile. His plan was going even better than he anticipated.

After that day, you and Light were more attached. You really started to fall for Light. And Light started to notice it too. So he decided to finally just ask you out. “Be mine, please?” He looked at you so lovingly, how could you decline?

When you two started dating, Light started to get possessive. Any guy who even looked your way started to get anonymous threats warning them to stay away. If they still tried to get in your good graces, their picture would be found in an obituary within a week. You noticed how guys started to disappear from around you, but your sweet, caring, loving boyfriend couldn’t be behind it, could he?

Light would even be jealous if you spent too much time (in his eyes) with your friends. “You want to be around them more than me, don’t you?”

You would’ve noticed these red flags plain as day if you were dating anyone other than Light Yagami. He’s just so good at manipulating people. He’ll always make you forget with his gifts and his kind words. He’ll make you think you’re just awful for thinking that your sweet, sweet boyfriend could be anything other than that.

But even in his twisted, obsessive ways, he still loved you to death. You were always his poison. He would never lay a finger upon you or make you do anything you didn’t want to. He loved to be in control but you (even if unknowingly) had all the control over him.

Light would do anything and everything for you. If you wanted everyone in your school to disappear? He’d make it happen. Even though he knows you’d never request something so vile. But anything and everything he had the power to do for you, he’d do it in an instant. Its just the obsessiveness gentlemen in him.

[snailpebbles]

Charles Tries Piano Tiles - CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x long-time gf!reader

summary: it's bedtime and Piano Tiles is kicking your ass, so why not spread the gift to your loving boyfriend?

tags: vomit-worthy domesticity, purely fluff, yeah they're just too cute

a/n: this is kinda all over the place and ass but whatever

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It's late at night, both of you tucked up into bed all cozy besides one another. Charles is reading some book he found at the local market, glasses you fondly refer to as old man spectacles propped on the end of his nose. Your arms are pressed together just like your legs are tangled beneath the soft blanket, the comfortable silence having been curated over your long term relationship. Charles loved the peace you brought into his life and how everything seemed to soften around you; every moment with you is one engraved in his heart, soul, and mind.

"Fuck!" The explicative comes out of the blue, your boyfriend startling next to you. As he glances over in confusion, his heart melts further. You look absolutely adorable with your little frustrated pout and furrowed brows. A smile tugs at his lips as he peers over your shoulder, only to dim once more to confusion.

"Love.. what are you doing?" He murmurs, watching your fingers tap little black boxes on a scrolling screen. A faint song plays from your phone, one he'd previously tuned out in favor of listening to your breathing; a sound that always soothes him.

"Piano Tiles." You mutter, too focused on correctly playing the Can-Can to look at your darling boyfriend. You've been trying to beat this song for God knows how long, the Can-Can haunting your dreams like Ferrari haunts his. At your response Charles leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck and cheek to distract you. From this, you mess up and the Can-Can mocks you from Hell.

"Why are you playing this game? I can teach you piano!" He offers, the idea making him light up in a way that relaxes the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You place your phone down beside you, knowing if you see that losing screen for one more second your phone will end up embedded in the wall. Charles, unaware of your seething rage at the children's game, seems absolutely taken by the thought of teaching you his passion.

"I have many books we can use and I'm sure you will love it.. oh, we can do duets!" He borderline squeals, already halfway out of bed as if it isn't almost twelve. You gently take his hand and pull him back, chuckling quietly.

"It's time for bed, remember?" A grin spreads across your face as a pout takes over his, his body slumping back beside you. Charles sulks, but then again, he sulks at everything. Knowing the perfect remedy to his silly dilemma that is time, you grab your phone and open the cursed app again.

"Would you like to play Cha?" The sickeningly sweet smile on your face should be noticeable, but Charles is too excited to learn something from you to care. Whenever you offer to teach him something, no matter how miniscule or simple, he suddenly becomes the most dutiful student with a slight (extreme) staring problem. He carefully takes your phone and, after a bit of direction, begins playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He finds it easy, just like how his ego is easily inflated.

"My love, this is so simple. I promise that real piano is much more challenging, you would like it more." Charles exclaims, your earlier frustrations still not clicking with him. A wonderful, potentially cruel idea forms in your brain. That same smile spreads across your face and you rest your head on his shoulder to further lull him into a false sense of security you secretly use any excuse to touch him.

"Here's the one I was playing, maybe you can teach me it?" You click on the dastardly Can-Can, almost feeling pity at the naive confidence he displays. An excited smile glows on his face at the mention of teaching you; He'll take any excuse to spend time with you and getting to be squished beside you on a piano stool is a definite plus. When the song starts though, that confidence drains almost instantly. He manages to play for roughly seven seconds.

You giggle quietly as he tries again, and again, and again... and, you guessed it, again. By this point he's frowning and mumbling curses you don't think he even knows the meanings of, his shoulder tense beneath your cheek. Trying to draw him out of his relentless torture cycle, you gently kiss his stubbled jaw. Charles puts your phone down, all attention instantly on you as he relaxes.

".. Why would you introduce me to this game?" Charles asks, wrapping an arm around you to hold you closer. You cuddle into his side, tracing shapes over his white sleep shirt.

"Everyone needs Piano Tiles trauma, it builds character." You explain, peering up at him from his chest. Unable to resist such a cute sight, he kisses your forehead as his other arm comes around to hold onto your hip. A laugh bubbles in his chest though once he registers your words, only growing when he realizes you're fully serious.

"Really? You do this to me for character development?" Charles gasps as though you've offended every part of him, shaking his head.

"I can never forgive this crime my love." He tuts as you sit up a little. It's obvious what his charade is since he does it at any chance he can whether that be you forgetting a goodbye kiss or just bumping into him. A dramatized sigh escapes your lips as you cup his face, ready to plead for mercy over this horrendous offense.

"How can I make it up to you hm?" You hum, kissing the tip of his nose and giggling when it skews his old man spectacles. His nose scrunches at the peck and he glances up at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. As he ponders what could give you retribution, you play around with his soft hair, giggling to yourself as you make pigtails and whatnot.

"I will forgive you if.." He dramatically pauses, of course, and you tap the top of his head as a mock drumroll. A goofy grin breaks through his serious facade before he fixes his face.

".. You let me teach you piano tomorrow." He says decisively. Obviously you saw this coming and can only pray he forgets (he won't). Charles can get.. passionate while playing piano and with you struggling to play alongside him.. well, you've fallen off the bench enough that he puts pillows down to catch you.

"Yes, yes alright." You groan, tucking yourself back up under his chin. He laughs quietly, knowing your exact train of thought. As compensation though he holds you extra close, arms tightly wrapped around you and legs hopelessly tangled while he rubs your back. You feel sleep tugging at your eyes, the steady heartbeat of your boyfriend only makes it harder to stay up. Wordlessly you reach a hand up to take his glasses off, the movement second nature from the many times you've had to help out the forgetful man. He murmurs a quiet thank you, followed by an 'i love you' that never fails to warm you right up. At your whispered reciprocation his heartbeat speeds up a tick, one that you can hear and makes the task of tomorrow worth it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

[kelppsstuff]

Hi. I really like your works, you amazing writer so i had this silly idea in my head for a while and wanted to request Adam x reader who is Lucifer's little sister. Like she is kind, patient, a little shy (blushes if you compliment her etc.) and very loving angel. She is very close to her brother and he loves her very much but after meeting Lilith they start to spend less and less time together. After finding out that her big brother "stole" first man's wife, she feels bad for Adam and wants to keep him company (after all, she knows that he is problably feels lonely just like she is). Two quickly become friends and eventually starts dating. She is afraid to tell Adam that she is Lucifer's sister thinking that he would hate her for it and abandons her (obviously he is not, but whrerever), but eventually he finds out thanks to Lucifer who is worried about his baby sister who spends too much time with Adam behind his back and confronts his sister boyfriend (I feel like he woud said something like : "Hey! Keep your hads off my sister!" "What?! Sister?!"

I teally hope this is not too much, again I so sorry if it is. If not in a mood for or its too much I understand. Don't push yourself too hard. You amazing writer! Take care!

“Say what now?”

Masterlist

Warnings: none

Taglist: @adamsfavoritesinner @fandomsbookclub @leathesimp @michellesn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger

Adam x lucifer sister

—

You and Lucifer were the closest siblings that could ever be. For a while you didn’t think you two could ever be torn apart. However that changed.

From the dust of the Earth the first two humans were made. Adam and Lilith.

You saw the way your brother’s eyes lit up as he saw Lilith be created. You could practically see the hearts in his eyes.

It started small, Lucifer would go on and on about the first woman. Then he would miss your plan events together. Then soon he would completely ditch you for the woman he had grown to love.

Rumors of your brother new relationship had flown all around heaven. How he stole the first man wife. It had made you feel pity for Adam.

You had decided to just take a peek at what was really so special about these humans. That’s when you saw Adam petting a golden flying animal that had flown onto his hand. He was alone.

“I’ll call you a bird.”

You heard his voice and then you slightly understood Lucifer’s starstruck gaze as you shared the same one. Staring at Adam.

It had become a habit that you would often look after Adam. It wasn’t long until he had noticed.

—

“You can come out you know?” He was staring into the lake but he could feel your eyes. Watching him, always watching him.

You knew the gig was up as you sighed. You had thought you’d been more discreet. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” You spoke softly, embarrassed.

Adam felt heat running to his cheeks at your kind voice. The opposite of Lilith’s. You had inviting (E/C) eyes, and delectable lips.

“Who are you?” The only people or angels Adam had come across was Lilith and Sera. He heard of Lucifer, but he hadn’t even seen him.

“I’m (Y/N). An angel!” Adam head tilted. “I thought Sera was the angel to interact with me. Why are you following me?”

So many questions. Granted they were good ones. “I’m a guardian angel!” You rushed out panicking. You hadn’t want to tell him the true reason for your watchful eyes, that you were Lucifer’s sister.

“Oh okay.” So naive Adam was. So trusting of you, it had made you feel guilty.

—

You didn’t feel guilty enough to confess your relationship to Lucifer.

You would listen contently as Adam would complain about Lilith and her new spouse.

In the menace of talking Adam had two animals floating in the lake. “Look at those!” He pushed your head to the white and gold animals.

“A duck. That’s the gold one.” Adam had got to name all the animals. Every angel made one and Adam would name it. “Lucifer created that.” It had slipped out as you thought of your brother. Missing the times he would gush about his animal that had yet to be named.

“Whatever. That white one, what do you want to name it?” You looked to Adam quickly eyes widened. That was his job. “You know that’s against the rules.” You hushed out.

“Not entirely. You’re just giving me an idea that I’m taking.”

You looked back to the animal you had created. A smile forming on your face. You had never been given a choice. “A swan.”

Adam looked at you with a smile that made you melt and eyes that made you feel warm. That’s when you knew.

Why Lucifer ditched you.

Why he went after Lilith.

Why he would always talk about her.

Why he always wanted to be with her.

He loved her.

And as you looked at Adam you knew you loved him. Entirely. He was him and you love him.

—

Adam too had started to grow a crush on you. You were kind, listen to him, cared for him. You even had a bit of spitfire that Adam had grown fond of.

So when you confessed your feelings Adam had accepted them. He would say he loved you. Adam never really felt love, but he did deeply care for you.

The two of you had started to grow closer and closer and overtime, it be rare for you two to be apart.

—

Lucifer had went to check up on you only to find you gone. He immediately panicked. You never left without him.

He searched all of heaven. The only place left was the garden of Eden. He felt his chest tighten at the possibility that Adam would do something to you.

However what Lucifer saw was the complete opposite. There the two of you were laying down laughing with each other. That did nothing to stop Lucifer brotherly worry.

“Get the hell away from her!”

He had shouted and grabbed your arm, pulling you to him. Adam felt a slight sense of panic. A man was trying to take someone away from him — again.

“What the? Hey what’s the deal?!” Adam had questioned, voice filled with confusion.

“Keep your hands off my sister.” You felt fear lie in your stomach. Your brother had just told the man the secret you kept from him.

“Say what now?” Adam at first didn’t believe it. Not once did you mention a brother. You told him you had no siblings. “Who are you?”

“Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.”

You could feel tears prick your eyes. Adam looked at you with utter betrayal. He had been hurt -/ he had a right to be hurt — and you caused him that pain.

“Adam wait please let me explain.” You had begged. Adam only shook his head. “Don’t. Just go back to heaven.” Adam needed a moment. He needed to think.

He still cared for you. He still wanted to be with you, but how could he? What else have you been lying about? Did you actually love him?

—

Lucifer had dragged you back to heaven. Forbidding you to ever see him again. Adam was trouble according to him.

“You can’t keep me here! Away from him!”

Lucifer knew he couldn’t and fear struck. He went to Sera and proposed a new idea to her. Give Adam a new bride.

—

“Humans need population and if Adam and Lilith won’t, the surely a new woman couldn’t hurt?”

If Adam had a new bride he want nothing to do with you. Lucifer wouldn’t have to worry about your heart being crushed.

The sad truth however was that he had crushed his sisters heart.

He saw your heart break and immediately regretted his actions. He had caused his sister so much pain.

He heard you cry your heart out. Begging Sera to just let you have a chance with Adam. He remembers when he was the one — begging for Lilith — he remembered the relief of her saying yes. You had no such relief.

Lucifer watched as Sera said the final no. He watched as the joy, and love, the life drain from your eyes.

What had he done?

—

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a flight with me?” Lucifer had asked you.

You had loved your brother dearly, you couldn’t find it in you to say no to him. “Fine.”

You slugged out of bed and went on a flight all around the earth. The oceans water hitting your face. The air flowing your hair like crazy.

You had eventually flown over the garden. Like instinct you dropped to the trees. Returning to that old habit of yours.

You watched as Eve kissed Adam and Adam had kissed her back. Those lips that use to kiss you.

You turned away and Lucifer immediately hugged you. Knowing your pain. A pain he hadn’t wished upon you.

“It’ll be okay.”

—

When Lucifer reveled to be your brother, shock was the first emotion Adam felt. Then was the betrayal. Then the anger. Then the sadness.

He just couldn’t figure out why you would lie? Until one day a pebble hit him in the head (from a swan no less). You had lie in fear.

Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Obviously you lied cause you didn’t think he would still care for you. And he went ahead and made you think you were right. Of course he would always care for you.

He went over to the swan and started to pet it. Missing you. Wishing you were there with him.

He remembers when he let you name the creature. The look you gave him. The feeling he felt in his chest when you stared up at with pure adoration and love. Love. Love.

Holy shit he loves you.

A big smile flew onto his face as he hugged the swan. He loves you, and you love him back. You two would be okay. You just had to come back and see him.

—

Overtime you hadn’t came back and Adam cursed himself for sending you away.

A voice called out to him as he petted his swan. “Adam.” He looked up to the woman. He hadn’t recognized her at all. “Do I know you?”

“I’m your new bride, made from your rib.”

Adam felt horrified. No that was wrong. He wanted you to be his bride. He wanted you. He loved you. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t.

“I think you got the wrong Adam lady.” He continued to pet his swan. “I’m spoke for.”

Sera flew down and backed Eve up. “She’s right Adam. Eve is to be your new bride.”

“But I love someone else!”

“You are forbidden to be with her.”

Adam felt tears of frustration come to his eyes. Tears of pure anger. “So Lilith can run off with Lucifer and I can’t be with his sister?!”

In the end Sera force was final. Eve is to be wedded to Adam and he couldn’t stop it.

—

“Ow, that swan just nipped me.” Eve spoke, hurt lacing her voice. Silently Adam praised the Swan.

Ironically the Swan hated when Eve would try and touch Adam. Adam never went anywhere without that swan as well. As you can see quite the problem in gave Eve.

It was one of those rare time the swan was with her lover rather than Adam. Eve took this opportunity. “You know we’ve yet to kiss.”

Good let’s keep it that way.

Adam silently thought. Though he knew eventually he would have too. Adam rolled his eyes and placed his lips on hers.

The kiss was meaningless. It lacked any emotion. And when he was done Adam walked away, rubbing his mouth. He only wanted you.

—

Lucifer knew you weren’t going to be truly happy without Adam. He expressed his concern to Lilith. She was the one who gave him the idea of the apple.

If they had free will, Adam could choose you.

So Lilith and Lucifer had offered Eve an apple. Eve ate the tasty fruit and begged Adam to try. Adam rolled his eyes and took the apple.

He looked to the swan as he took a bite, and suddenly he looked to Eve. Why was he with her.

He didn’t want to be with her. He wanted you, and he bloody well intends to have you.

—

The heavens were enraged with Lucifer’s acts, and the three humans temptations. The banished Adam and Eve.

You cried as you held onto Lucifer. You knew you couldn’t hold on forever, but if he left you truly would be alone.

“Please don’t leave me big brother. I love you so much.”

Lucifer too was crying as he told his sorries to you. He kissed your forehead and was banished from heaven, never to return.

—

You had became heartless.

When Adam joined you in heaven he was surprised by the void in your eyes.

For the first few years you had beloved Adam to be a fake. You couldn’t believe after all this time you weren’t alone anymore.

It took honestly centuries for you to fully open up to Adam.

“I miss my brother.” Your voice broke and Adam swore to you that you would see him again.

Adam didn’t care if he wasn’t fond of your brother, he would find away if it made you happy. And find away he did.

He saw an opportunity and took it. He suggest a yearly extermination.

So every year during the extermination and would give you a kiss as you flew off to be with you brother. And every year you’d cry when you had to go back.

However eventually with Charlie’s new Hazbin hotel you could cost more often.

Adam gave Charlie the go ahead as long as you specifically could go down there once a week to monitor it.

You were finally happy, and no longer alone as you helped Lucifer repair his relationship with Charlie.

—

Ahhhh, omg I really really hope you liked this, and thank you so much for saying those kind things!

[messylxve]

goddess | elle greenaway x famous!reader

content warning: unlabeled sexuality, SA, douchy men, self-deprecating thoughts, soft elle, google translate spanish, laufey

divider by @enchanthings

It always goes like this

Could have predicted it

I’m so naive to think you loved me for me

It was almost humiliating how many times you’d been in this position. Heels were abandoned at the door, makeup streaked down your face, and your heart felt too heavy to even make it to your own bedroom.

You threw yourself on your couch, dragging a blanket over yourself and taking your phone out apprehensively. Through your tears, you felt the hesitation of dialing that number.

The number you knew through and through.

You knew it by heart.

‘She doesn’t want to hear from you,’ that little devil whispered into your ear. ‘She’s so sick and tired of you and your bullshit.’

A whimper escaped your lips. You wanted to throw your phone and let it shatter on impact. But you never did.

Instead you clutched it tighter and shoved yourself deeper into the cushions of your couch, the memories of that night resurfacing.

Kissed as I ran off stage

Too old to play this game

Guess you’re still growing up at thirty

You met him on a quiet Sunday morning. You were at your favorite cafe and there he was, approaching you. Calling you beautiful, unlike any other girl you’ve met.

But most of all. He didn’t recognize you.

You detested dating fans. You already got your heart broken there before. You swore off of that.

He showered you with so much affection, you completely missed the signs.

Red flags always seemed normal under your rose-tinted view of the world.

Were you surprised by me

When you took me home?

When the glamour wore off

Reduced to skin and bone

You should have known it was all a lie.

You should have known he was just like all the other

You don’t know how long you sat there, wallowing in self-pity, but the sound of your phone ringing took you out of it for just a moment.

You pulled it away from where it was resting under the couch pillow and your eyes widened at the name.

Elle <3

Once again, you hesitated, your thumb hovering over the green button. You finally picked it up on the third ring.

“Ellie, hi!” You cringed at the way your voice nearly immediately cracked as you tried to feign your usual chipper mood.

“Hey lovely.” Her voice sounded so comforting. Even with just two words, you felt a twinge of warmth attempt to spread through your chest. “You okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, what makes you ask?”

“You sound like you’ve been crying. And it’s nearly midnight in LA, you aren’t usually this chipper this late unless you’re faking it.”

A sigh escaped you. You never could lie to her.

“You’ve always been so observant.” Your voice dropped the octave now that the facade faded.

“I hope so,” she chuckled lightly. “It’s kind of my job. Do you want to talk about it?”

‘She doesn’t mean it. She’s just being nice.’

“I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

She hummed in disapproval. “You know I always want the details from mi estrella.”

A sad smile slid on your face at the nickname given to you in your childhood; coined after you had gotten the solo in the choir concert.

‘Super star by day, best friend by night,’ 10-year-old Elle had quipped.

You huffed out a small laugh before it all fell away as you recounted your date that night.

“You remember Trevor right? Met him at that coffee shop on Melrose Avenue?”

You heard a pause on her end before she spoke again, her voice softer. “I do.”

“Well…I had a date with him tonight. Fourth one.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

His lips pressed harshly into yours and his hands skimmed over your body as you struggled to keep up.

“I invited him to see me at a concert. My final one on my tour.”

I can’t even tell

Who you want to know

“Trev,” you had tried to laugh. “Slow down.”

Your words fell upon deaf ears as he kissed down to your jaw and began attacking at your neck.

“I um…I thought it was a good idea to invite him backstage when it was over…talk to him for a bit before I had to go out again.”

Elle listened as your tone got darker and darker, reliving your own fresh memories. She heard every bout of emotion in your voice. The pain that shone through from a broken heart.

He began lifting your skirt. You grew dizzy with nausea the more he continued.

‘This isn’t right,’ a tiny voice screamed at you.

“Trev—Trevor, please stop.”

Your hands found his chest, steadying yourself on it before pushing him away. “I said stop!”

“y/n…” Elle’s voice was a whisper now.

“I-I told him I didn’t want that. That I didn’t think we were there yet. He didn’t really like that…”

I’m a goddess on stage

Human when we’re alone

“What do you mean we’re not there yet,” he scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for basically two months for you to be ready.”

He moved in close again, placing a hand on your waist. “I’m so tired of waiting. I’ve listened to your stories, your music. Hell I even talked to that she-devil of a friend of yours, Bella.”

You couldn’t decide whether or not to feel disgusted or betrayed. “It’s Elle…You mean you didn’t want any of that?”

“I wanted you, baby…isn’t that enough.”

You cried freely now into the phone and Elle listened quietly, her own heart breaking for you.

“You’d be proud of me Ellie,” you sniffed. “I stood my ground. Told him no.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, regardless if she’d see it or not. “Yeah… He didn’t really like it though. I had to call security to escort him out.”

“Did he put his hands on you,” she asked.

You bit your lip, the line going quiet for just a moment before you spoke again. “Do you think I can visit you? Just for a week or so?”

She frowned at the sudden change in topic.

“Of course you can, lovely.”

That next day moved so painstakingly slow for Elle. It was a paperwork day which meant she got to sit around anxiously as she waited for another call from you.

You had already called twice. Once to tell her you were leaving your apartment, twice to tell her your plane was about to depart from LA.

Hours has passed and now she awaited your call telling her you were at the airport waiting.

“Alright,” Derek quipped, rocking back in his chair. “What’s up with you today?”

Elle looked over at the man, lifting an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been staring at your phone all day,” Spencer claimed, not looking up from his paperwork.

Elle’s attention snapped between the two men before finally settling on Morgan. “So?”

Derek grinned. “So…? You hate the phone Elle, now you look like you’re waiting for it to come to life in front of your eyes.”

The girl scoffed out a laugh, shaking her head.

“You know what I think it it,” Derek continued. “I think you’ve got Mr. Mystery you’re waiting on.”

Her smile halted for just a second at his words. She twirling the pen in between her fingers once then twice. “You’re delusional Morgan.”

Almost right on cue, her phone rang and Derek let out a laugh seeing the usually preserved woman scramble for it.

“Agent Greenaway.”

“So professional,” you mused, a sly grin sliding on your lips.

A smile eased onto her expression as she turned away from Morgan’s prying eyes. “Hola amorcito. ¿Cómo estuvo tu vuelo?”

“It was good, I slept the whole way here.”

“Eso es bueno. Lo necesita.”

“Rude,” you fake gasped. “Are you calling me grouchy?”

“Sabes lo que quise decir y/n.”

Morgan and Reid looked at each other as they listened to Elle’s end of the conversation, completely clueless as to what you were saying.

“Estaré allí en veinte. Estar segura. Te amo.”

Reid furrowed his brows curiously. He might not have been a whiz in Spanish, but he definitely caught those last words.

“Alright boys, you better behave.”

Spencer frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the day together.

You didn’t want to go out, so she took you straight to your apartment and there you had the time of your life. You two binged movies, played board games, and now you were cooking together.

It was pure bliss and you couldn’t as for more.

“I missed this,” Elle mused.

You sat perched on the counter, your head laid comfortably on the cabinet behind you and you passed ingredients to the cooking woman.

“Cooking,” you asked with a giggle.

She looked over at you with a laugh. “Pass me the oregano would you. And no I don’t mean cooking. I mean being with you. Phone calls don’t feel like enough anymore.”

You twisted your body around as you shuffled through her spice cabinet. “Yeah,” you mused. “Hearing your voice is definitely what keeps me sane though.”

Elle’s heart stuttered at those words. The cooking spoon in her hand slowed it stirring and she looked up at you.

“I can’t find the oregano,” you mumbled, your attention now fully on the cabinet.

“…it’s on the second shelf,” she cleared her throat, pointing up to where it should be.

“I’m looking on the second shelf,” you whined playfully.

“Here,” she moved away from the hot stove and in front of you, leaving over your head to reach it. “It was right…there.”

She didn’t even realize what position she had put herself in until it was much too late. Either one of your thighs laid beside her hips. You looked down at her and you could feel her breath on you. You could smell her addicting perfume that you found yourself missing every time you two were apart.

It was like an invisible magnet between you two, beckoning the both of you closer and closer. So close that you felt her lips brush against yours.

It was like an epiphany to you. Everything clicked in your head.

The pauses over the phone.

The nicknames.

Hiding your phone calls from her team.

But just as the fireworks began to rise, they sizzled out before ever going off.

She pulled away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

‘You’re so delusional,’ that ugly voice hissed to you. ‘She’s seen the real you. The ugly you. Why would she want that?’

You swallowed hard and blinked away your tears. “Elle.”

She didn’t look over to you. Just focused on finishing the meal. “Yeah?”

You released a dying sigh. “Do you…do you think I’m unlovable?”

She had never looked up so fast. You would have thought the spoon burned her from how quickly she dropped it.

“What?”

You felt like the question was a plot for attention, but it wasn’t. It was probably one of the most genuine questions you asked in a long time.

“I- never mind. I’m sorry.”

Elle looked at you as if you grew a second head right in front of her. “y/n,” she moved back to that same position she had just run from. Except this time, her hands fell to your cheeks, caressing them oh-so gently. “How could you ask that question?”

You frowned. “How could I not?” It came out as a whisper. A moment of pure vulnerability. The first of its kind since that phone call last night.

“I’m not that impossibly perfect, beautiful super star they all expect me to be. I’m just…me. No one wants that.”

Elle shook her head, eyes scanning all over your face before finally settling on your eyes once more. “I want that.”

She felt you freeze under her grasp, but she continued on. “Every single failed date and false expectation was never your fault. You are…so incredibly talented, beautiful, and utterly amazing. In more ways than people give you credit for. If all these other people can’t love you the way I do, for you, then they don’t deserve you.”

Your breath stopped in your chest. Stuck. Unable to move in or out. “You love me? Or do you love me?”

You put that emphasis on your final words. There was no other way it could have been interpreted other than

“y/n, I am so utterly in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

Your hands found her wrists where you stabled yourself onto her. A smile broke free from your shocked expression. With a broken laugh, you surged forward, pressing your lips onto her’s in a kiss.

“I love you too.”

Translations:

“hi lovely how was your flight.”

“That’s good, you needed it”

“You know what I mean y/n”

“I’ll be there in twenty. Stay safe. I love you.”

@mackannkees

AN: I can’t believe I wrote that all in one night. It’s officially 3am as of posting, I’m not expecting this to get much attention, this was more self-indulgence if anything. I hope u guys like it tho

[i-hate-accidents]

Would you ever consider writing the conversation Anthony had with Benedict in his bedchamber? When he scolded Ben for being alone with Y/N?

the author would like to share that upon reading your message, they immediately said, out loud, to no one but for herself to hear, "that is a BRILLIANT idea." she offers many thanks for your idea and your generosity in sharing it. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

i hate accidents: a drabble

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  brief description of grief from losing a parent

word count:  623

author’s note:  the character of y/n, whilst heavily talked about, does not appear in this drabble. the author hopes you enjoy these bickering brothers~

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

anthony turns towards him, quiet fury simmering in his eyes.

"brother," begins benedict, "i—"

"have you lost your fucking mind!" booms anthony.

"if you just let me explain—"

"have you compromised y/n?"

"what!"

"i said!  have you compromised y/n!"

"how can you even insinuate that!  of course i have not!"

"and why should i trust what you say?"

"because i am your brother!"

"precisely!  you are my brother!  you lie to me as naturally as you breathe!"

that is something, benedict admits to himself, i cannot deny.

"well!  i have no reason to lie now!" he declares aloud.

"and you expect me to believe that?  when i saw your mouth and her mouth mere breaths away from one another?"

lightning shoots throughout benedict’s body and butterflies erupt in his stomach at the memory.  the two of you were, indeed, mere breaths away from—— from—

"see," anthony interrupts, "you have nothing to say.  are you finally admitting to your guilt?"

"we were discussing my art!  that is all!"

"i am not a fool, benedict!"

"you look like one!"

"and you act like one! alone! in your bedchamber! with a lady!  our friend!  how do you think our family will react when they hear of your impropriety?"

"you make it sound as if this were some, some— devious scheme!"

anthony shakes his head.

"brother, i know you are in love with y/n—"

it would have been kinder if anthony shot him point blank in his chest.

benedict gapes at him, but his brother merely responds with an expression that makes him feel like a naive child.

"benedict, please.  your affection for y/n is deeply apparent to everyone in this house. mother, kate, our siblings, the servants, penelope.  good god, francesca, daph, and hastings even know, and they are not even here. you," anthony states simply, "are in love."

"i have not said anything of the sort!"

"so what do you mean to say? that you do not love y/n?"

benedict freezes. he feels the swell of his heart and its collapsing all in a mere breath.

of course i do.  of course i love y/n.

he swallows.

"it matters not what i feel.  it matters what she deserves."

y/n deserves someone good.  someone who will not hurt her.  someone who is not me.

anthony’s face softens, and it would be an expression that would be kind if benedict didn’t feel as though he was on the receiving end of its pity.  still, it reassures him.  anthony’s gentleness seemed to have passed when their father had.  it seemed to no longer have existed as a possibility within him; and then kate entered their lives.  whenever he sees evidence of its restoration, benedict cannot help but feel gratitude—even, as in this moment, at the cost of his own pain.

anthony sighs.

"did you two have to be in your bedchamber?"

benedict rolls his eyes.

"this is where all my art is!  but it shan't happen again."

"oh, that i will make certain."

he furrows his eyebrows.

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"did you truly think i would let you get away with this indiscretion?  you have completely disgraced y/n!"

"nothing!  happened!"

"bedchamber!  together!  ALONE!" anthony checks his pocket watch and, with its closing, resumes a dignified composure.  "i am done with this conversation.  we have kept y/n waiting long enough.  we must go to her promptly, offer our deepest apologies, and ensure that she is safe and well after this event.  we will be most fortunate, indeed, if she chooses to absolve us from your transgression."

benedict puts his hands over his face.  of all the people in the world, why did his elder brother have to be anthony bridgerton?

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

[cloververse]

Moon 48 (pt5)

WRITING BELOW THE EXPAND

GRRRRRrrrrr this amazing page holey shit was made by my dearest friend TACOBELLA, who works on the amazing @fog-clan Catch them at: https://comicfury.com/profile.php?username=TACOBELLABAE https://bsky.app/profile/tac0bella.bsky.social https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fog-clan

Next:

Previous: Moon 48 pt4

"He is alive??” Poodle exclaimed, swatting the half eaten mice away. Trouble winced at the action but remained still, tension radiating throughout her whole body. “Oh that little ungrateful pup… You have been hiding right under our noses all this time, haven’t you…” The fluffy molly growls lowly in the direction of the trees, racking her claws against the mossy stone.

She soon let out a heavy sigh, grooming her claws in frustration. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all.”

Trouble hesitated, aware of the ruthlessness of the Hound’s executioner. Had seen first hand her power. “And what will it be done…?” Not that it was any of her bussiness, but something about seeing the cold and collected cat lose her temper like that was shocking enough to chase away some caution.

Poodle, however, didn’t even grace her with an answer, almost like she had forgotten the cat was even there, licking her paw in thought. “You were his friend once.”

“What?”

“He cared about you.” Poodle turned to face the scruffier cat, a plan clear as day formulating on her eyes. “Did he not?”

“I-if you call what happened caring, maybe love is overrated after all-“ Trouble huffs with fake humor, taking a step back, starting to feel cornered, the tension in the air getting noticeably thicker.

Poodle just laughed, equally mirthless, finally looking back at the other cat, with some sort of pity that one would look at a small kitten with. It set something off in Trouble’s mind immediately. “He tried so hard to keep your little group out of Heller's sight and yet…” She sighed. “He was a naive thing, that one. But determined enough to make every stupid decision in the book before running away. A coward.”

run.

“His heart is his biggest weakness.” Poodle continued, checking on her sharp, unsheathed claws. “Also so easy of a target. You see, it was easy to affect him the first time those he cared about got hurt. I bet this time wont be all that different.”

Run.

“You- You promised we wouldn’t get harmed if I agreed to work for you.” Trouble’s voice was starting to betray it’s shakiness, breath catching on her throat when Poodle leaned forward. “We had a deal.”

“The deal was to keep your sister fed and well trained.” Poodle’s green and blue eyes seemed sharper by each second. “Did you think we had resources to house any and all desperate Strays that come crawling? You know better than that. Or at least I thought you did.”

Run.

“You lied to me—“ Trouble hissed in outrage. “You—“

“Isn’t that what you always tell your fellow rats, love? You can never ever trust a Hound? Why are you even surprised?”

“How do you—“

“I have my ways. Eyes everywhere. Things need to stay in order after all.” She huffed, leaping down from the rock, claws disrupting the muddy soil. “Just like I’m about to find a way to let our dear pup that we miss him.” The look in her mismatched eyes was downright predatory, a simple and unmistakable threat paired with a low laugh that came before every execution. Trouble had only one word blasting through her head as she sprinted in the direction of the dirt road.

Run.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Incubus Fyodor 2

Part one

My last repost for a while, the next part will be out in a month or so :>

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

Warning: teasing, hierophilia, manhandling, otherwise pretty tame

You were minding your own business as always, since today was a mass at the church you were in charge of. Running around all day and helping with preparations, then reading verses as well as singing songs in the main hall. It was a busy day, so much that it annoyed your lovely little pet. From the moment the sun shone til the afternoon, you didn’t even get to spare him a glance, and he couldn’t visit you neither. Wait, why couldn’t he, what was stopping him?

Long story short, that is why he dressed up as a nun and decided to pay you a visit, sneaking into the building. He put on a confident air, as if it was normal for him to walk around like that. The costume was perfect, it covered his face almost entirely and the long robe hid his tail. When he found you, his heart skipped a beat. It was so much more intense seeing you in this setting, how everyone was looking up at you in awe. The incubi found himself admiring you in silence, until he got reminded of his mission. He waited on the sidelines until you were done, following you down the hallways. Fyodor really thought you didn’t notice him, or rather didn’t recognise him, but you already knew the moment he entered. You could find him even if he was a needle in an ocean.

Suddenly you made a turn at the last corner, into the direction of the confessing rooms. The boy just followed you stupidly, looking around before stepping inside the small cabine. The next thing he knew was how he got pushed against the wall, the veil fell from his head and revealed his face. “Wha-” he yelped slightly, the hit hurt him a little. “Oh? So it’s my little incubus who followed me around.” You said with an amused tone, as if you were expecting him. “Dressed up as a nun? Have you finally acknowledged your pitiful self, and decided to reach out to god?” “Ha-huh...no, I was just…err.” Fyodor struggled to find the right words, what was there to misunderstand? What could he have said to escape this embarrassing situation?

“I just missed you... master.” In the end, he decided to just flirt, putting on his best pitiful face and pouting softly. A scheming smile behind that facade. “Is that so? What exactly did you miss?” Pressing him against the wood, gazing over your shoulder to make sure the curtains were hiding you two nicely. It was truly cramped as hell, but you would manage, you had to. “What do you mean?” He asked, staring at you with a sincere expression. You weren’t sure if he was just acting naive or actually confused. “I mean if you missed me, or something else.” Then with a swift move, you pulled his pants down to his ankles. A shocked gasp following, yet no objection could be heard. Afterwards you picked the male up, his slim body pressed against you, legs wrapped around your waist as you slam him further against the wall. “UgH! Wha-what..?” “Wrap your arms around my neck, I can’t hold you forever.” Fyodor did as you instructed, lessening some of the burden on you.

This position was rather vulgar, especially considering the fact that you two were in a church. During a mass, on a sunday, paired with many visitors. Your faces were so close to each other, due to the limited space you two had. “Right now..?” He asked gently, not a hint of fear or nervousness was present, instead ecstasy and anticipation was filling his voice. Seems like he finally caught on to your intentions, “yes, right now.” Was what you said, it was times like this that he was happy you were his master. “But there are still visitors outside..” you chuckled into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “I didn’t know you cared about such things, fyodor.” Right, he didn’t, he couldn’t care less wether which unfortunate soul will hear you two. “Or maybe you don’t want to?” Now you were teasing him, feeling quite entertained at his antics. “Of course I want it~ do as you please then..! <3”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Tenderness

AU Reverse Therapy

Previous Part: Peaceful Sleep, Next Part: Feast

Summary: Red corsairs find it harder to keep their desires while the girl becomes attached to them.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism, stolkhom syndrome, somnophilia

Word count: 3056

Author's note: Suddenly I realized that if I had written Feast, it would have been a very choppy and quick ending to "Malina's assimilation". So that's how this part was born. And I must say, I'm glad I wrote it first.

Song: London After Midnight - The Bondage Song (Unchained Mix)

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21

“I saw Him bestow His blessing upon His servants. Shining like a slashing sword. Bright as the vivid sun. They were gifted with His love and will. And the faithful servants rose from their knees, they abandoned their fear. And turned their weapons against His enemies. The battle was not yet over. Humanity will live. And it will fight for its Emperor.”

“It’s… so beautiful.” - all Luka could whisper, unable to stop looking at his Malina.

How delicately she held the book, how tenderly she whispered the stupid sermons of a stupid old man. How her lips, enchanting lips, moved. How she had to pause and her pink tongue gently outlined the flesh. And her face almost glowed.

He wants her. He wants her so much. Always. All the time. All eternity.

“Yes, the sermons of Saint Ignatius are my favorite.” - the naive girl smiled happily, not understanding that the man was not talking about them at all. - “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a personal book at home, I had to listen to them in church. But thanks to you, Luka,  I finally have one. Thank you.”

“Y-your welcome.” - the man hesitated awkwardly, trying not to blush. If his dear love continued to praise him, then he would have to leave the quarters as soon as possible. He had few ways to calm down. Most often, he had to use his hand.

Well, and last time, due to an excess of emotions (she, with tears in her eyes, kissed him on the cheek with joy when he gave her this stupid book!), he had to go to the lower levels and eat a child. It was delicious, but Luka loved children and therefore cried for a long time after eating. But then he was able to pull himself together and go back. To find his beauty sitting on his bed and waiting for him.

She wanted to read to him. To him~

“There was no point in learning to read on the agri-world, but I had a very smart uncle.” - the girl whispered, involuntarily remembering the past. - “Apart from Ignatius’s sermons, I adored the romance novel about the Sister of Battle and the guardsman. To tell the truth, it was banned for obvious reasons, but my uncle managed to get a copy. Huh, only now do I realize that we behaved like heretics.”

Luka just laughed at this story. It’s even a pity that they almost mowed down half the population of her home world. Judging by the girl’s stories, they were not fanatics at all.

After all, maybe he lied to Malina that he served the Imperium. But the fact that he saved her was not a lie. She is a young girl dreaming of a beautiful and pure love (and she will get it with him). But the bastards from the Inquisition would have burned her alive even for this innocent desire.

They never listen. Never try to compromise, to forgive those who stumbled. To forgive those who did not even break the law. Who simply wanted to survive and used all the resources, even if they were still alive and begged him not to do it. But the Imperium itself says that everyone must carry out their duty. And Luka was the best in his squad, he should have survived.

His brothers ended up in his stomach for a reason. It was their duty.

"But in my defense, I skipped the raunchiest parts." - The girl giggled, clutching the book to her before jerking it away. - "Oh, I guess that's not something I should talk about while reading Saint Ignatius."

Naive, sweet, gentle Malina. Only his, his love, his salvation. His angel~

“Saint Ignatius?” Virgil suddenly entered the room, abruptly interrupting their wonderful solitude with a question. Confusion was written on his face.

“Yes, Saint Ignatius. His sermons were often held in my church. He valued peace more, but also participated in battles. They say he died an honorable death in one of the battles near Milestorm. Or rather, he disappeared, but our clergy are sure that if he is not fighting, then he is feasting near the God-Emperor.”

Vergil, who was listening attentively to the girl, stood for some time with a thoughtful expression on his face. Before bursting out laughing. Luka thought about shutting the freak up, but changed his mind as soon as the frightened Malina pressed herself against him. Yes, that’s better, closer…

“Good propaganda in the Imperium. Or rather, good training.” - the man smiled sarcastically before lying down on the bed. He was still laughing. - "Feasting near the God-Emperor."

It was really funny. And Luka wanted to laugh too and even go tell the crew about the noble fighter Ignatius. But the look of the upset girl stopped him. The lamenter slowly ran his hand through the girl's dark hair. She immediately looked at him.

He wanted to devour her.

"Do you want to pray?"

Malina prayed. Luka told her that he did it silently. Since he had something to say to the Corpse on Throne (for example, that chemotherapy of the Astartes was the most idiotic decision and his former brothers are pathetic). But he just watched the girl with her eyes closed, pressing her hands to her forehead.

"Sure," - a soft, trusting smile blossomed on her lips.

He loves her so much.

***

Baphomet was disappointed when Virgil asked him for a safe sleeping pill. Not the kind that makes the victim have nightmares and make their eyes pop out of their sockets. Not a drug that makes the flesh boil like meat on burning oil.

He had to explain for a very long time what he wanted. But the main thing is that the disappointed apothecary still gave him the remedy he needed, which the girl took along with the fruit drink. And looking at how soundly she was sleeping, the man understands that his suffering in the stuffy office was worth it.

Malina was quietly snoring, burying her face in her soft pillow. Her eyelashes were gently trembling. Saliva was almost ready to fall from her lips. Virgil wanted to get it out. Which he probably did when he stuck his black tongue into her pink mouth.

Luka insisted that they not touch Malina ahead of time. To give her time to assimilate, get used to the new home, get used to them. She is not a temporary pleasure, she will be with them forever. And if earlier Virgil reluctantly endured, now he himself was ready to wait. The girl is either a psyker or a saint of the Corpse on the Throne, she was able to awaken tender feelings in him.

But while she sleeps, the space marine could at least indulge himself a little. He did not penetrate her, did not even use her tights. He just looked. This was the first time he decided to use her mouth. Apparently, the leader's words excited him too much.

“The next target is the forge world of Hephaestus-VI. Huron Blackheart intends to get as many weapons as possible and is not averse to reining in the Imperials. Two in one. The battle will be hard, but that's part of the fun, isn't it?”

The laughter that followed throughout the war hall confirmed his words.

“And then we will have a feast.”

A feast. A feast. Rivers of blood and meat, moans and cries of supplication, excesses and temptations, a reward after no less delightful slaughter, genocide. All this was soon awaiting him. And Bacchus, pleased with a slightly calmer Virgil and finally controlled Luka, not only allowed him to take the second one with him (Luka was glad like a child). But also allowed him to take Malina.

“I would never have believed in my life that all you two need is a wet cunt.”

No. Virgil and Luka only needed Malina. Although he would never say this out loud while everyone was awake. Only when they were asleep, when they became vulnerable. Only then could Virgil give free rein to his hidden feelings.

The quiet moan that escaped the lips of the sleeping girl sent shivers down the man's spine. He was too carried away. The man stuck his mouth out, allowing the girl to gulp air before attacking her lips again.

Licking her teeth clean and sucking in the saliva that had collected in his mouth. Playing with the limp tongue that was not only unable to resist, but even able to keep up with him. He just wanted to devour her.

Virgil, restraining himself from pushing his tongue further down her throat, sucked on the girl's lips, swollen from kisses. Enjoying that she was in his hands. Enjoying control. Dominance. Her submission and quietness.

Malina doesn't even realize what kind of monster is sitting above her. What it's doing to her body. That it's ready to tear apart anyone who dares to offend her. That he needed nothing but her beating red heart under her ribs.

Delicious, tasty little mortal. And all his.

"And what are you doing with her?"

Almost all his.

“Are you blind or do you need an explanation of what grown men do with pretty girls?” the furious traitor hissed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take her, I’m not an idiot. But there was no talk of kissing.”

“Too much. She’ll find out.” Luka’s blue eyes glittered furiously. His pupils almost disappeared when he looked at her reddened lips. Virgil almost cringed. Crazy bastard.

“Just tell her it’s all about the fruit drink and she’ll believe it.” Virgil relaxed as he saw Luka calm down. “Hah, and I almost thought you were worried about me stealing her first kiss. Do you really not love her as much as you said?”

The silence that followed the question and the scarlet cheeks were the best answer.

“Well, well, and he's accusing me.” - the man scratched his bald head irritably, trying to hide his disappointment in everything concerning Malina. The first one would always be the lamenter. - “And when?”

“When we brought her to the ship. I pecked her.” - Luka shrugged his shoulders as if nothing had happened.

“But I had a tongue!” - boyish joy almost overwhelmed the former flesh tearer, but quickly dissipated.

“I didn’t want to rush things on the first day. With the tongue, it was on the seventh night.” - the boy’s pale, freckled face turned red like a tomato, and his eyes sparkled. - “It lasted two seconds, but it was magical.”

A cheeky, cunning, stupid puppy. He made up the rules himself, but still breaks them. And yet, Bacchus was right. Only with the appearance of Malina did Luka become more manageable. If before he was simply the best warrior, now he got the opportunity not only to be the first to board, but also to enter the main halls of the Feast. Taking the girl away from him would be simply blasphemy in the opinion of the entire crew.

“It doesn’t matter, the first kiss will only count when she’s conscious. Eurydice reported we’ll be arriving on Hephaestus VI soon. And then there’ll be a feast. Bacchus said to bring Malina. Perhaps it’s the perfect time to finally make her ours.”

“Yes… she’ll be mine soon.” Luka whispered almost blessedly, ignoring Virgil. Bastard. So be it. He was only going to touch the girl when she was asleep anyway. No great loss.

For now, they needed to prepare for the massacre.

***

Luka and Virgil had strictly forbidden Malina to leave the quarters. Even on the very first day. But they reminded her of the rules again when they left the ship. As Luka said, Hephaestus-VI was attacked by heretics and they, the faithful servants of the God-Emperor, came to the rescue.

As he says.

The battle promised to last a long time. Therefore, they prepared everything necessary for the girl. If for some reason the operation lasted longer than expected, then she only needed to press a button. And then they would bring her food. The main thing is to hide in the bath.

But as Virgil said, putting the device on the shelf, this would only happen if all the food ran out. And there was enough of it in the quarters to live well and healthy for a whole month. So the girl hoped not to meet other inhabitants of the ship.

Two weeks had already passed.

It was hard to admit, but Malina realized that she missed them. It didn't mean that she wasn't afraid of them. She still was and would be. But over the time she spent with them (a month or two?) she had gotten used to them. They protected her.

Virgil was a monster, but he never dared to hurt her. He hardly spoke to her. If he had dark desires for her, he kept them deep inside. In the darkest night, when she couldn't see him.

And Luka... he loved her. He loved her. He cared for her. And even if Malina knew that the smell of blood followed him. And even if she didn't know his worst side. But she saw his smile. Cute freckles and blue eyes. Blue as the sky of her home world.

They were a new home in every sense of the word.

A sudden crash pulled the girl out of her thoughts. Malina looked at the door with fear. She heard moans and sighs coming from the hallway. But it was not like before. Not those distant screams that haunted her in distant nightmares.

Someone was right behind the door.

She should stay inside. She should hide in the bathtub. Turn on the water and take a shower. Wait for the sounds to fade. Wait for it to go away. But Malina's legs wouldn't obey. She followed the words pouring out of the mouth of... a man? Yes, it was a man.

He sounded like a boy. But old enough to join the army. Old enough and educated enough to know and memorize not just a prayer. But a sermon of the saints. And Malina herself knew that sermon quite well for her status.

It was the sermon of Saint Ignatius.

“And, ah, I saw, I saw the Saint herself. Descended from heaven at His call. And her light f-f-filled me. My soul sang. And I understood that H-His w-will is still, s-still, ah, s-still…”

“Strong,” the girl finished, pressing herself against the door. Malina herself did not notice how she did it.

“Not strong. Hard. Wait. W-what? W-who is there? Y-you here?” - Hearing the girl moan, the man pressed himself harder against the door, judging by the sounds. Scarlet blood slowly seeps over the threshold, forming a tiny puddle. - “Y-you believe in the God-Emperor? They also captured you? Are you safe?”

“Y-yes.” - the captive felt her heart beat with anxiety. But Luke and Virgil continued to play the defenders of the Imperium with her. She had no need to lie, no need.

“Oh, I thought, I-, ah, oh,” the man on the other side of the door was gasping for breath. With every sound he made, he was becoming more and more afraid. Malina realized that the prisoner was looking around. As if he was being followed. - “P-please, open the door for me. I-I was tortured. I-I, d-don’t even know how I c-could get out.”

Malina stared at the huge iron door. At that moment, it looked gigantic. The girl had never felt so small as at that moment. So defenseless. But she was protected. They were taking care of her. She just had to stay inside.

“C-can you hear me? H-help me.” - the man’s voice trembled. He was crying.

“I-I can’t. I can’t.” - the girl whispered, moving away from the gates leading to hell, back to her bed. Maybe this was a test? They wanted to make sure Malina was behaving well? She's good. She's very good, she won't open the door. Mom said not to talk to strangers.

Luke and Virgil will be angry.

"P-please open the door, they're close. P-please." The man was openly crying, weakly knocking on the door.

Sitting down by the bed, the girl only pressed her head closer to her knees, covering her ears. If only not to hear his pleas. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed. But not to the God-Emperor. Not to the forces of Chaos. She just wanted Luka and Virgil to return to her quickly. The boy’s sobs and the girl's were almost in sync. Then the sound of feet was heard. And a nasty human laugh.

"No, no, no. Don't touch me, no. GOD-EMPEROR!"

But the God-Emperor did not answer his prayers. The boy continued to scream as people like him carried him away. All that was left was a pool of blood. And a girl crying in the dark. Who could not save him. Only delay the inevitable.

But she could save herself.

***

"Hey, hey, what happened?" - Luka gently stroked the back of the crying girl, who immediately threw herself into his arms. Not paying attention to his bloody armor from the battle.

Vergil, just like the lamenter, looked at Malina in surprise, clinging to the golden armor. He threw the bag with trophies and gifts for the girl on his bed before starting to take off his armor.

"There was a man here. He said that he served the God-Emperor. He said that he was being tortured by heretics." - The girl, with red eyes from tears, looked at Luka, not noticing his frightened expression. - "I didn't believe him! I didn't open the door. Angel, I was so scared."

The men looked at the poor girl, unable to utter a word. Was this the blessing of the Four Gods or the God-Emperor himself? No. But the red corsairs knew that they were incredibly lucky with Malina. No one would replace her.

"Everything is fine, everything is fine. The bastard has already been taken to prison. You did well not to let him in." - the blond tenderly grinned, stroking the girl's hair. At that moment, he could hardly be called an angel. - "We are proud of you."

"Yes." - Virgil exhaled. - "Good girl."

That day, they restrained themselves and allowed the girl to fall asleep quietly on her bed. The feast was approaching. They could wait a little longer.

[libertyybellls]

PITY PARTY !

‟ and he loved her like he loved no one,

the way she’d laugh and hold a smoking gun. „

pairing;finnick x victor!f!reader

summary;finnick odair is a man of many fortunes, all he wish he didn’t posses- red, hot, and irate he lets it fool you.

contains; ANGST, self destructive-finnick&reader, insinuations of infidelity, acts of non-con, arguments, TW descriptive forced prostitution.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

it was your victory party, supposed to to be the happiest night since your games.

it was only the most stressful, the most draining. you hair was pulled up almost too tight you gained a headache, dress to tight you could suffocate. champagne flute after champagne flute, finnick had slid away from you- told you he’d be back nearly an hour ago.

you were struggling to stand, your arms were crossed over your indecent frame- chilly, without finnicks presence. without your finnick.

you went up to a familiar face, he was near your age- you think he’s friends with finnick? but how do you know what’s real in the capitol?

“have you seen where finnick went?” your head tilts to the side slightly, and by the way his breathy laugh reached your nostrils and the alcoholic scent burned your senses, you can tell he’s probably drunker than you.

the man has to steady himself from laughing so hard, you were almost concerned at his inebriated he was. “oh you sweet naive victor, he has quite the track record. where would a boy like yours possibly be at a party like this- i mean he’s not much of a boy after all he’s done.”

you’d zoned out halfway into his sentence, was finnick known for getting too tipsy? was there something you didn’t know? was the man you were speaking too so drunk he had lost his mind?

you began to slowly slip away from the man, slipping past people, looking for that soft, gentle, sweet face.

the air was getting too thick, your breath began to quicken, everything was moving in slow. your mind was begging for someone to find help for you, to find finnick.

you find your stylist, he was nice- you think. he’d done you a great fault with the comfortability of your get-up, but otherwise you’d trusted him.

“y/n!” he smiles, ecstatic to see you but a hint of concern in his features and he takes your glass of booze, placing it down on the table. his concern seemed too strong to be just for your alcohol consumption, like there was something else. something you didn’t know, or couldn’t know. “how are you?”

what the fuck?

“where’s finnick.” you’re feet hurt, your heads throbbing, your body is buzzing and you are so sick of not being apart of whatever’s going on.

now your stylist looks pitifully towards you, “oh honey, room five.”

your shoulders slump. was he okay? had he gotten a panick attack? you rush towards to intimate rooms, you weren’t sure if you could count to the number five right now but your mind assumed he’d be in the only closed room.

your worry is sickening, the chill in this mansion is sickening, the confusion of it all is purely- sickening. your hand twists the knob open, ready to see his tears in the dark- but you don’t see his eyes at all.

“yes! i love that finnick. i love you!” she’s under him, her skirt is pushed up- his eyes are screwed shut- his beautiful eyes are screwed shut.

who is this woman? her hair is curly, long, blonde, she seems tall but you can’t see much of her, she seems older. this seems wrong- almost. why is she saying she loves him? who is this woman, lying?

you don’t know how long it takes you to perceive it all, but she looks up and notices you- shrieking in exposé.

you just barely see his head shoot up, before you’ve closed the door. your back flies to the wall opposite of the door, you hear shuffling. you hear her asking him where he’s going.

you can’t breath.

it’s like you’ve taken a shot to the heart, and you’re bleeding out. your body can’t move, you want to run. you don’t want to know, you’re sure of it.

you’re not even sure you want to hear him speak, not for a long time. not until your world stops spinning.

you’ve just started to move, you’ve just started to escape. when the door flies open, your name is being called- no shouted.

but finnicks legs move faster than yours, longer, with flat shoes and hefty strides he’s grabbed your wrist in seconds and he’s spinning you around to face him.

you want to scream, no more, please. but your words are stolen from you, his face looks like he’s just walked in on the same thing you did.

he looks like he wants to speak, to say something. he looks into the corner of the hallway, at the light fixtures, the cameras, and the words are lost on his tongue.

it has felt like ever since finnick had won his games, there was a part of his soul you would never understand, and you thought that you would- and if you told him this, he would probably tell you it’s too early for you to know just yet.

his eyes fall back onto yours, and his eyes are frantic- switching back and forth between each eye. again, you’re missing something, there’s something you’re not picking up, and as much as you want to scream and run away from him- to cry- you stay.

“what the fuck is happening.” you’re trying to sober-up now, your hand finds your hair. and you’re taking steps away from him, your eyes are wide.

he hasn’t moved a muscle, finnick thinks the odds have never been worse for him. does he break you or does he seal your fate with a scarlet letter?

“what the fuck is happening!” you repeat, turning around to face him now, he looks back to the camera, and back to you. and you aren’t in the right state for this. “finnick!” you place your hands on either side of his face, you’re trying to tiptoe around this.

he takes an inhale, trying to find solace in your sweet smell- but all that fills his senses is the alcohol hot and heavy on your tongue. “your drunk, y/n.”

your hands fall from his face, this is cruel, the present is too cruel. and at that moment he’s chosen your fate, you break.

a cry leaves your mouth, your hand going over it, shaking. he feels sick now, his pupils are blown and he’s shaking, he swears his own heart has stopped.

you’re sobbing, and it’s because of him. finnick odair was a selfish monster. finnick odair was a liar, a tyrant. but he was your boy, the same man who spun you around when you wore long skirts just to hear the giggle leave your lips. the same man who didn’t sleep for days when you were reaped- moreso until you came out of that arena. the same man who gave everything he had just so you’d gain sponsors.

and you thought you could be that same girl for him, the same girl who held him when he cried the night before you left for the arena, unable to hold his composure for you any longer.

and now, you’re tears couldn’t stop, and his couldn’t either. you were too stunned to move, and he couldn’t stop muttering words that made no sense.

“lets just go home, please.” he pleads, he would get on his hands and knees. he’d die for you to stop feeling like this, he’d soak it all up just so you would stop.

“how many women?” you remember his own friends words, he has quite the track record- not much of a boy after all he’s done.

and his eyes screw shut once more, a look he often wears when he wants something to be over with, and quick. and you can recognize that from the scene that will forever be etched into your mind.

and he sees you, piece it together in your mind- he sees it all line up for you. he sees the red hot fury behind your lashes, he then sees it turn into an unwary look.

“who’s making you do this?”

he shakes his head, his hand running over his wet face. “stop, now.” there are ears everywhere, even when you’re the loneliest in panem, you are never the only person there.

and his heart races at the thought of how your concern for the good in him will push to your demise, how if you say the words you were never supposed to know, he may never see you again.

and when you go to speak, he slaps a hand over your mouth, he’s rough, he’s not himself. he turns you around- pushing you away from him as he rushes out the emergency exit.

you chase after him, and somehow he’s still faster than you. there’s fresh tears in his cheeks it the cold air, he thinks they’ll freeze. you’re screaming after him, he thinks it’s nothing more than a bad dream.

he wished he wasn’t there, like he was in the backseat as his body moved farther and farther away from you. a second hand perspective on himself and he didn’t know who he was.

and once more, finnick odair was a plague. a wrath awakening in every bridge he burned.

-

masterlist

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