#reading nemesis games. longing
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#theexpanseedit#tvedit#the expanse#josephus miller#amos burton#*#*tv#*gif#*theexpanse#i haven't made a gifset in 6 months. don't worry about it#reading nemesis games. longing#tv: the expanse#character: joe miller#character: amos burton
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I did a Deaf Chell Portal playthrough (no sound and no subtitles) and it totally works.
My two questions were 1) would it be plausible for Chell to survive to the end of the game? And 2) would Chell have any idea that GLaDOS even existed at all?
And the answers are 1) Yes and 2) No.
Basically, Portal is a very good game with very well designed puzzles. At no point do you need any verbal instruction from GLaDOS. All the information you need to progress is given by the actual design of the level itself. For instance, the companion cube level. I was initially worried that this level would rely very heavily on GLaDOS's dialogue. I was thinking that it probably wouldn't be obvious to Chell that she had to destroy the cube to move on and that it probably would take her some time to stumble upon the correct course of action while trying whatever she could. But no! The fact that you have to incinerate the companion cube is made very obvious. There's literally a couple of those hazard warnings on the ground in front of the incinerator that tell you to throw the cube in.
IMO it would be pretty apparent to Chell what she needed to do and how to move through the facility. She may not understand WHY but she would know what to do. Even the end of the formal testing part where she is about to be incinerated. I don't know if Chell would know if this part was purposeful or accidental but regardless, she would be able to escape. The long and short of it is at any point in the game Chell's only option is to move forward and there's only ever one way forward.
There is basically no indication of GLaDOS's existence if Chell is Deaf. Here are the clues you get:
-no other humans in the facility
-once or twice the door to a level doesn't open until she's done monologuing at you (Chell of course has no idea she's being monologued at)
-one of the scribbles in Rattmann's hideout says "She's watching you" (Chell would not be too surprised by this. The cameras and observation rooms are obvious)
That's it. That's all you get up until you open the door to GLaDOS's chamber.
And even then! Even then the conclusion she's going to draw won't be more complex than "this computer must be the thing keeping the facility running and it is currently trying to kill me".
Now the GLaDOS fight itself is probably the biggest stretch of plausibility. At first, before the neurotoxin, GLaDOS does nothing that indicates she wants to hurt you. A piece of her falls off. It's pretty obvious that you can pick it up and put it in the incinerator (again, level design) but why? Just to do something? This is the weakest moment in the whole theory. AFTER that though, the continued destruction of GLaDOS makes more sense. Chell sees the countdown timer. She sees the neurotoxin even if she doesn't know what it is and she probably feels it too. There is now one of those eyeball turrets shooting at her. It is reasonable for Chell to draw the conclusion of "this huge robot is controlling the facility" at this point. And if the robot is making things shoot at her it makes sense to destroy the robot.
So she does. And she gets spit up onto the surface with absolutely no idea that GLaDOS had spent the entire time insulting her or even that she was sentient in the first place.
Which is very funny.
#portal#if you're reading this please know I have very little knowledge of portal lore#I just thought this would be fun#wayyyy too long of a post tbh it's really not that deep lmao#I'm kind of curious about Portal 2 but I really don't think it would fare as well#I think you get a LOT more info in that game through dialogue#and I'm really reluctant to play that whole game without sound so...I probably won't#maybe one day#anyway VERY funny#Chell “wtf is even happening rn” vs GLaDOS “nemesis doesn't know she exists”
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waiting for people to realise that RE3R feels more action orientated because Jill is a fucking trained professional she was in STARS (Jill was one the few who survived the Spencer estate) and the fucking army be like
#resident evil 3 remake#playing the waiting game and we always return to rose dawson in the end#resident evil#jill valentine#tyrell patrick#carlos oliveira#fandom wank#kinda#its not like the re1 hd remaster came that long ago#sarcasm#the re1 hd remaster tanked and makes no sense because of being able to play either Chris or Jill#the canon version is Chris however it makes me twitch because we never get any real explanation for how Jill gets in the cell#where she sits twiddling her thumbs#or how Barry survives#re3r defense squad#yeah this is where I am now#the director for RE3R worked on the original Nemesis#RE1 is fun however headache inducing I find it (i am procrastination for it at the minute I am playing it hard)#i also read a post today talking about RE3R and complaining how easy the 2nd boss was once they knew what to do (they were on easy mode)#they shared a screenshot and those were their stats#took every thing in my power not to respond#block and move on (I found the post as I was trying to remember something and had to find it again for this post and petty block)#re3make#resident evil 3
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❝here i blur into you❞ | qimir x fem!reader
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pairing: qimir x fem!reader
summary: you've been stranded on an unknown island with your nemesis for weeks now, the air getting filled with unpalatable tension as you try to find a way to get away from him. one afternoon, the tension breaks as he offers his knowledge to help you train.
warnings: english is not my native language, reader also has a twin and has a similar situation as osha, reader is a bit paranoid, lot of foreplay from qimir, teasing, fingering, cunnilungus, vulgar terms,
now playing, acquainted by the weeknd
He smelled like sandalwood, filling the air every time he passed you by or handed you a plate of food. For the first few days, you ignored it, letting it brush against your nose, your thoughts concentrating on how to get out of the island or how to kill him without breaking the code. But after nights and nights of sleeping in the same cave, sharing his space, and smelling him in every corner, it started to drive you crazy.
You lost your nerves last morning during your hand-picked breakfast when he strolled into the cave after his morning swim, water still dripping from his hair, the smell punching you in the nose, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You didn't know where you wanted to go, but as you picked up your things and bottle of water, it wasn't your main concern.
The smell itself didn't bother you. He bothered you. You knew exactly what game he was playing. With your sister, he played the role of a big brother, older protecter that she always wanted and wished for. With you, his mask dropped, revealing a charming seductive character. Every time he handed you something, he towered over you, gazing into your eyes so intensely it made your knees shake. Or when he walked towards you, he took his time, his eyes going up and down your figure until they fixated on you, staring at you until he came so close you could feel his breath brushing over your face. The slightest touches of his hands, the knuckle strokes, the skin contact when he healed your wounds.
He was trying to seduce you, knowing your weaknesses, just so you'd turn your back on the jedi and stay with him. As a padawan, desire was one of the forbidden emotions, alongside hate, anger, and fear. You never felt the touch of another, not one you desired.
His act had its way with you. You didn't deny it, but it was just a role for him. A mask he put on whenever you were close. You wanted to know the real him and maybe even try to help him. Instead, you were met with lustful eyes and breathtaking smell of his. A few days ago, you returned his gaze when he spoke to you, to try to read his thoughts and emotions. You only saw the colour red.
After you stormed out of the cave, leaving Qimir wondering, you kept walking around for about thirty minutes before you found yourself surrounded by smaller rocks, standing ankles deep in a hot sand. It wasn't that far away from the cave but far enough to get away from him and his sandalwood smell.
You dropped your bottle and some spare clothes on one of the flat rocks, letting yourself fall on your ass, letting out an anxious breath. You had no idea what you were going to do, how to act, or how to survive the upcoming days. You were certain Sol was going to find you and save you. You started to think about Yord and Jecki. You weren't that close to Yord, even in your padawan days. Jecki, you knew from afar, but she always had a soft smile on her lips. Your heart ached for them, feeling guilty even if there was nothing you could do.
You sat there for hours, staring at your dirty shoes. You were frozen. You needed to train. You were sure there was going to be time when you would have to protect yourself against Qimir and his brute strength. He killed Yord with his bare hands. As long as you would attack his hands first, you'd be safe.
You found a branch, pictured it as a lightsaber, and started repeating over and over fighting methods you were taught by your master. You held up till the sunset, and when the sun rose again, you picked up the branch and started again.
You didn't bother with breaks. You kept going till your knees gave up, and your arms fell by your side. Your chest rose up and down fast as you sat down, the branch falling metres away from you. You rested your head against the closest rock, daring to close your eyes. You were away for almost a day, with no food, just water to keep you company. You slowly started to regret leaving so impulsively, but you had no idea what you would do if you'd stay another minute around the intoxicating smell of his.
You had to fall asleep, your body reacting to the unknown sound earlier than you. Trying to compose yourself as you rubbed your cheek, painful and red, from resting against the hard rock. You picked yourself up, turning around to find where the sound came from. It didn't take you long, for Qimir revealed himself, appearing just a few metres away from you, a bag around his shoulder. He took you in, scanning your body like he was searching for any weapons or injuries. He found nothing, only a thin branch right behind your feet.
"You could at least take some food." he broke the brooding silence and your mutual staring contest. His voice was soft, small tug on the corned of his lips. He wore his usual beige shirt, transparent to his muscles. You shook your head, trying to focus on something else than his forearms as he put down his bag to take out the stuff he brought you.
"I'm not hungry," you lied, holding steadily your position, scanning his every move. He took out all the food to put them on the rocks in front of you, gently, making sure not to drop anything. He didn't forget to bring you fresh water, new clothes and a lightsaber.
Lightsaber.
You took a quick step back at the sight of the lightsaber, your ankle meeting with a rock. He brought a lightsaber. He was going to kill you now. You were sure of it.
"It's for you," he read your mind, making himself a place to sit next to the food, lightsaber at the opposite end of the food row. He tilted his head, softly smiling at you. "The tide is going to end by tomorrow," he said, his eyes set low, eyebags underneath. "you could disappear."
"What do you want?" you asked, attitude and hidden fear in your voice. Why was he helping you. Why did he inform you about the tide and possible escape. Was he planning something?
"For you to eat," he smiled, his teeth showing up for a second. "I have no desire to hurt you or let you die of starvation." His hands rested on his lap, his eyes soft and gentle, morning sun reflecting in them. He was beautiful in this light. But you shook that though away.
"What's with the lightsaber," you pointed with your head to the weapon, not daring to move, feeling his eyes burn into your skin.
"I made it for you," he replied quietly, looking over at the saber. You flinched when he slowly stood up, walking towards it to pick it up, holding it so the handle could be in your direction. He was close, too close to your liking, a small circle of rocks surrounding you two. "Figured you'd want one." he purred, taking slow steps towards you, not breaking his gaze at you. Like he was waiting for you to run, taking in every detail of you.
He stopped at arm length, lifting the lightsaber to you. You didn't move to take it and just stared at it. It was small compared to his hand, plainly black.
"How long is it since you've held one?" he asked, almost in whisper, looking down at you with curiousity. You didn't answer, forcing to look away from the saber, mirroring his intense gaze. You tried to read him again but failed. You were too tired to even see one small thought. He took a step closer, instinctively you wanted to take a step back, but the rock behind you made you stumble, Qimir's arm catching you sharply, pulling you back up.
He was so close now that the saber handle was touching your ribs, his breath tickling your face again, the sandalwood, again, penetrating the air. You tried to move away, pushing against him, but he didn't move an inch. He looked like a marble statue against the light.
"Take it," he growled, shaking with the saber a little. When you still didn't move, he took your hand and placed it on the weapon, his grip strong and tense. "Turn it on," he moved even closer, the head of the lightsaber pushing against his abdomen.
Turn it on.
You repeated his words.
Turn it on and get it over with.
Only you couldn't. You tried to force your hand to move, but like someone froze it, it was paralyzed.
"I'm not like you." You managed to let out, breaking your neck to look up at him. "I don't attack the unarmed."
"When did I attack the defenceless?" he asked, still holding your arm firmly, keeping you standing in one place. His hair fell like a black curtain around his eyes that stared into yours, awaiting an answer.
"Jecki," your voice broke at the memory of her. She had no reason to be there. She should have been safe at the temple.
You heard him take a deep breath, his fingers slightly amplifying the pressure around your wrist. "She attacked first,"
"She was a child." You raised your voice, trying to move away from him but as much as you wanted he didn't let you.
"Your Master brought her there. He knew the risk." He replied, his voice soft and calm with no hints of remorse.
"What do you want?" You cried out, furrowing your eyebrows. You wanted to scream at him, punch him, fight him, erase the stupid smell he had that drove you crazy and confused your thoughts.
"For you to eat," he repeated, stupid smile dancing on his lips. For a second, you wondered why he wore a mask to hide his beautiful face, but you quickly erased it. With the final push, he let go of your arm and stared at you as you made your way towards the food. You devoured embarrassingly quickly, forgetting about the claim you weren't hungry. All the time he stood there, watching you carefully.
When you finished eating, you took advantage of the bird that took Qimir's attention for a moment to hide the fork and knife behind your belt. It was stupid, but it counted as something. You could sharpen it using the rocks and use it when he'd attack you in your sleep.
"Why won't you kill me?" You asked after you finished your plate, reaching for the water bottle. You felt his stare. Everywhere. At that point you didn't know if he was still playing the role of a whore or he just had a staring problem. Both options made you nervous.
"As I said, I have no desire to." He smiled, kneeling down to squat. He slowly started rolling up his sleeves, the scars on his arms now more visible than ever. His long, thick fingers were wrapped around the lightsaber, his other hand now hanging in the air.
It was useless talking to him. It was obvious before, ridiculous now. You nodded, accepting you won't get any honest answer out of him.
"Thanks for the food, you better get going now." You slowly stood up, your stomach full and warm. "Time for your daily swim." you added, hoping he'd leave you alone till tomorrow when you could swim to the other side and leave this abandoned island.
You didn't hear him letting out a chuckle, his dimples showing. "I can take one here," he pointed at the calm water in front of you, guarded by gigantic rocks.
Great.
"Do whatever you want," you murmured, trying to convince yourself you're okay with his presence. Naked presence. You saw him the first few days, where you followed him every morning, not trusting anything he said. He invited you to join him every time, and every time you didn't say anything, just stood on guard, scanning and taking in every movement he made.
He was well built, with big arms, strong back, and powerful legs. Was he stripping in front of you as a part of his act, or was he just that unbothered by your presence. You hoped it was neither. You rather got tricked than ignored.
"Okay," you heard him murmur, walking towards you for his clothes. You flinched, taking a big step away from him, finding the lightsaber lying in the sand. As he slowly made his way to the water and started to undress, you took the lightsaber in your hands, feeling it, remembering the last time you held it.
You started your routine again, this time with your lightsaber, the branch left lying in the sand. You were well aware he was watching you, motivating you to show off and not to embarrass yourself.
Minutes ran by before you heard a splash, Qimir walking out of the water. You didn't even think to turn around, but your body decided for you. Your head tilted his direction, your eyes going up and down his figure. It wasn't the first time you saw it but this time you saw it from a clear view.
Suddenly, you had a hard time swallowing the saliva forming in your mouth, your heart aggressively punching your ribs.
Focus.
You quickly turned your head back, hoping to remember what you were doing before you scanned his form. You wondered if it would hurt, or would it be pleasurable.
You felt shame thinking about these things, but you never received an answer. The Jedi around you never answered, and those outside you didn't trust.
The unknown heat overtook you again, you had to close your eyes to regain your focus. Instead, The Force directed you back to him. His grin fixated his lips as he put on his clothes, not bothering to dry himself. Water droplets falling from his hair to his shoulders, his muscles forming themselves against the skin-tight robe.
Opening your eyes, you took a glimpse of your lightsaber, unaware of Qimir slowly approaching you. You practised your movements, your hand twists, and leg work. You had to get used to the weight of the lightsaber after years of not touching one.
You stopped yourself from turning his direction when you felt his touch on your shoulders.
"Keep your shoulders back," he whispered, forcing your shoulders back into their correct position. You froze, now only focusing on the warmth reflecting of his body. He bent over so his lips could reach your ears, and his hands travelled down to your biceps. "Your elbows up. You have them too low." he simply added, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your legs together, unaware of your need.
You listened to him, tho, keeping your shoulders and elbows in the position he moved them. His hands didn't touch you fully, only tickling the surface of your skin, but it was enough to make you burn.
"You need to spread your legs," he added, hearing a small smile while informing you. You fought the urge to turn and hit him in the face with the lightsaber handle.
When you didn't listen, he forced his knee between your legs, forcing them apart.
"So you don't fall over," he whispered against your ear, the little hair on your neck standing up.
"I didn't ask for help," you uttered, bitterness in your tone. You wanted him gone, but not for the same reason you did yesterday. For the reason that he made you have physical reactions without touching you. Having to press your legs together because of his voice. Feeling your skin burn by feeling him pressed against your back.
"You obviously need it," He smiled against your earlobe before pulling back just to let his hands fall onto yours, checking the way you hold your saber. He fixed the placement of your fingers, his breath on your neck erasing all of your thoughts. His warm wet chest pressed against your back, his breath tickling you. Your ass pressed against his abdomen. It was all too much for you. You shouldn't be feeling this way.
Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he was charismatic and soft when he wanted to be. But he wield the power of the dark side. He couldn't be trusted. You were scared the dreams you were having so often might become true.
"Use your thumb," he woke you up from your thoughts, pushing himself against your back as he held your hands. His voice was low and dark. "Place it on the top to hold it steadily. That way, it won't slip out of your hands, and you won't have to use strength to keep it in place." Even the way he talked and taught you almost drove you over the edge. You knew that's what he wanted and fought hard against it.
"I know how to hold a lightsaber." You hissed, shaking off his hands. Regretting it as his hands found its way to your lower back, pushing in, you had to hold back a moan,
"Straight posture." he simply said, ignoring you, leaving his hands on the back of your hips. You focused on taking deep breaths, hoping the heat between your legs would go away.
Almost as if he felt it, his hands moved from the back to the front, tickling the exposed skin of your stomach. You wanted to cry out, his touch driving you insane. You wanted to do something and, at the same time, nothing. You wanted him to take you, but you also wanted to drive the lightsaber through his skull.
"You won't fight anyone without a straight posture," he emphasized, pushing his fingers into your stomach, holding you in place.
"I've fought many people without you before." you replied angrily, a small moan leaving your lips at the end of the sentence as he moved his fingers lower, under your belly button.
"And did you win?" he mocked you, whispering into your ear. His hands right above the place you used your fingers while wishing they were his.
You were done with his stupid comments and mockery, pushing against him to turn and punch him, but he didn't let you move a muscle. He was too strong.
"What do they teach you," he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. "They don't teach you how to stand still or how to hold a lightsaber. Only how to surpress your emotions to become a hollow shell."
"That's not true," you argued. "We are taught to control our emotions, to feel them but not to let them get the best out of us."
"So why do you supress what you really want?" his voice turned into whisper again, his thumb making circling motion on your lower stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew you were about to give up.
"Why do you shy away from your desire?" he added, using little to no strength to bring you skin to skin to him, feeling his length on your lower back.
Accidental moan left your lips. You closed your eyes out of embarrassment, wishing he didn't hear that. But you weren't that stupid.
"It's the path, path to the dark side." you stumbled over your words, feeling his fingers go lower, right above the belt of your pants.
Fuck.
"Then stop me," he whispered, his index finger going slowly underneath the hem of your pants. "Stop my hand. I'll let you." he added.
You didn't move a muscle. Only rested your head against his chest and let your arms fall by your side, lightsaber falling into the sand. You wanted him, and he wanted you. There was no reason to fight it. That was a problem for your future self.
"Tell me," he purred, his right hand painfully slowly maling their way to the hem of your panties. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"
He was mocking you, playing with you. He knew no one ever had. You didn't count. "No," was your simple answer, wanting to dig yourself a deep hole in the ground and bury yourself in it.
"How does it feel?" he asked, his fingers finally reaching your wet bundle of nerves, slowly starting to circle your clit. You grabbed his arm out of shock, digging your nails into his skin. It felt too good. You were dripping wet, it was too easy for him to find your weak spot.
"As a Jedi, you can't even be with the people you love," he murmured into your ear before starting to leave small kisses down to your neck. "Can't give them the pleasure they deserve."
His fingers started to go up and down your clit, always stopping right before your entrance. You wanted to start begging for him to take you, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already have. You didn't pay attention to anything he was saying, only focusing on his fingers driving you crazy, making it difficult to keep a steady stance.
"What kind of life is that? Hmm?" His sloppy kisses and his fingers teasing your core themselves, almost had you falling over the edge. You were so touch deprived you were surprised you didn't cum when he touched you for the first time.
"Qimir," you cried out, wanting his fingers inside of you already. The first time, you said his name out loud. And he listened. His fingers stopped their movements, deserving an annoyed groan from you. He took them out of your pants, placing them on your waist to circle you so he could be face to face with you.
He didn't say anything before he bent his legs, kneeling in front of you, letting the sand swallow him. He looked up at you with pitch-black eyes, hinting on your pants. You understood, taking your time but nodding, letting him take off your pants and underwear.
The urge to cover your face and run away was strong, but the feeling of his mouth on your clit was stronger. You cried out hard, grabbing his hair as he dipped his tongue between your folds. This is what the Jedi deprived you of. You wanted to scream.
Qirim's tongue moved with rhythm against your dripping cunt, his fingers holding you still by your hips. Your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging on them every time he moved his tongue, teasing your entrance.
"Fuck," you hissed, your knees bending. Qimir quickly caught you, not stopping assaulting your clit. "Qimir, please," you begged. You weren't sure what you were wishing for anymore, but his name in your mouth felt almost as good as his tongue felt between your folds.
Your arms moved from his hair to his shoulders, holding yourself steady when his hand left your hip to put them between your legs. You caught a glimpse of his face when you looked down. Lustful dark eyes, messy hair, sweaty against his forehead, his nose and mouth covered in your slick. The view itself almost had you cumming on his tongue. So when his fingers joined the game, pushing inside of you, betwen your walls you let a pornographic moan. You were alone on this island but if someone was on the other end, you were certain they could hear you.
His fingers moved fast, in and out of you, spreading and curling inside of you. He was gentle with you at first but as he felt you getting closer and closer to the edge he threw all the respect out of the window, fucking you mercilessly with his thick fingers.
If his mouth and fingers had you screaming his name you wondered how his cock would feel.
"Qimir, I'm- " you cried out, wanting to warn him, but he felt it. The way your walls started to contract, crushing his fingers inside of you. His tongue kept circling your clit, adding to the pleasure. You were sure you formed new scars on his shoulders as you came hard around his fingers and tongue, failing to catch your breath and keep your legs straight and strong.
He held you for a few minutes as you rested against him, his lips still glossy with your wetness. Without thinking, you bended over to press your lips against his, tasting yourself, mixed with the flavor of him.
#star wars qimir#qimir smut#qimir x reader#osha x qimir#qimir#qimir the acolyte#qimir fic#starwars fic#star wars smut#starwars#star wars#acolyte ep6#the acolyte
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operation: no hate, just date | 심재윤
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pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader
the objective is clear—make both of your fans believe that you and jake, in fact, don’t hate each other by convincing them that you’re actually in love. which you are. sadly, jake doesn’t get to shout it from the rooftops like he desperately wants to. instead he’s trapped in an elaborate plan that’s moving at a snail’s pace, but one night on weverse with the boys might speed things up.
genre. fluff & very very mildly suggestive
a/n. this is the second part to loverboy! you can read it by itself if u want but it might be more fun if u don’t lol enjoy! x
[ › first part ][ › third part ]
it’s been a week since jake and you were pulled aside and shoved into a meeting room where an unforeseen entourage informed him that he sucks at being your boyfriend but makes for a great arch nemesis. he had left that intervention feeling annoyed and his privacy violated, but at least they had a plan. whether that plan is a good one is still up for debate.
grey sweater guy from pr keeps responding to yuki’s plentiful emails with stupid roundabouts of how patience is a virtue and playing the long game always benefits the player. the problem is jake has no patience, and the only person who seems to get it is you.
which is likely why even after the fourth facetime call of the day, his darling-angel of a girlfriend has yet to tell him to piss off. he keeps peeking at his phone, which he has propped up against his pillow, only to begrudgingly return to his scattered lego set, positive he’ll crash out if he doesn’t hear your voice soon.
when the call finally connects and you appear on the screen, it’s like watching the sun rise. jake can feel the tension leaving his body and a lopsided smile curving over his lips. he’s hopeless, really.
you grin through the phone, hands in your hair as you tie it back, and say by way of greeting, “yunjin showed me a tiktok earlier.”
abandoning whatever he was building, jake scoots closer to his phone. “what was it about?”
“us, of course,” you say cheerily, and jake swears his heart skips a beat. not because he’s anxious of what you’re about to say but because it happens every time you refer to him and you as an item. an entity. it’s embarrassing but he kind of likes it. he likes being an idiot for you.
“someone put together a bunch of clips of everything we’ve been doing this week and it blew up on twitter.” you gently rub your oil cleanser over your face.
jake perks up at your words. he didn’t think anyone would’ve noticed any of the stuff he was told to do as part of the stupid plan. an unsettling concoction of excitement and terror swirls in his stomach. “what did they say?” he asks, fiddling with a lego piece.
you take a moment to wipe off your eye makeup, scrunching your nose when jake calls you a panda. “apparently people have been noticing how close we stood on the encore stage and that we kept looking at each other. it’s funny—i didn’t realise in that moment, but when i watched it back it looked like you’re either creeping up on me or you’re extremely terrified.”
jake tilts his head. “terrified of what? you?” he furrows his brows. “i just looked at you a couple of times like they told us to.”
“i know you did.” you turn off the faucet and grab a towel to dry off your face, trying to keep the amusement in your voice at bay. “but, babe, you’re either staring me down—unblinking—or you’re casting glances at me like you’re scared i’ll turn around and jump you.” you can’t help but giggle. “someone commented, ‘i can’t tell if jake is contemplating if he should push y/n off the stage or if he should throw himself off it.’”
jake gawks at you with his mouth agape. “that’s what they’re saying?”
you nod. he falls backward with a groan and covers his faces with his arms. “i can’t believe it. that’s what it looked like to them? really?”
“i know.” you say, more amused than empathetic.
“that’s crazy,” he says, pushing himself upright again, hair sticking out even messier than it had before. “i’m actively trying to act like a lovesick fool—which i am! don’t even—and people still think i’m trying to break your neck? that’s insane.”
you hum supportively. “at least some people believe you were offering to break your own neck for me. that’s romantic, right? we might be on the right track here.” you keep your tone playful, but jake looks at you with his starry eyes and pouty lips, resembling nothing short of a kicked puppy.
“i’m sorry i keep messing this up,” he says and the thinness in his voice makes your heart break.
“jake, you’re not messing anything up.” he looks at his hands, avoiding your gaze. “you can’t control these things, people will interpret and perceive it however they like. it’s always been this way, and it’s always been out of our control. doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”
“i don’t know, y/n,” he says quietly, and the sight of him hanging his head has you nearly sneaking out of the dorms and going over to his. you’ve never seen him look this miserably at a lego set before. “if i wasn’t so awkward and knew what to do, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”
“no one’s perfect and all-knowing.” you pick up your phone with a frown. “and why do you keep calling it a mess? is that what you think this is?” you enter your room and get into your bed. jake looks up at the sounds of your blanket and wishes desperately he was there with you.
instead, he loosens a breath and sweeps the lego pieces onto the manual, placing it on the floor and going under the blanket as well. “what else should i call it?” he says. “it’s not a blessing.”
you ponder his words. “a mess would be our sex tape getting leaked or people making up rumours that we’re drug dealers or cannibals.”
jake cocks his head. “like hannibal?”
“i meant more like in ‘bones and all’ but sure.”
“oh.” he scratches his face. “well, we’re neither of those things. we also don’t have a sex tape.” the corner of his mouth quirks up.
“no, we don’t.” you pout, forcing a mock sigh. “but we could always make one? ‘operation: no hate, no date,’ am i right?” you waggle your eyebrows at him, prompting a wry smile to flicker across his face.
“they’ll watch it and come to the conclusion that i hate you even more.”
you huff a laugh. “we will probably also get kicked out of hybe and have to start slinging fishcakes on the street. which sounds like fun, to be honest. oh! we could make our own jingle and sing it for our customers. maybe we won’t even have to make the fishcakes if we’re successful enough.”
this earns you a laugh. “that’s just busking, baby. what you want to do is busk.”
you gasp in fake surprise before settling for a rueful sigh. “i am but an artist.”
jake presses his lips together as if to say ‘good riddance, what tragic calling’ with a saddened face before the two of you dissolve into giggles.
“okay, i get it.” he turns to lie on his side, face squished against his pillow. “going from idol to man with leaked sex tape who sings on the street and runs an unsuccessful fishcake stand would be a mess. but this is not?”
“correct.”
“i’m so relieved then.” he grins toothily at you and, of course, you reciprocate it. an involuntarily yawn slips through your lips and jake coos at you.
“is my girl tired after working hard all day?”
“she’s exhausted,” you affirm with bleary eyes. “you seem chipper for someone who’s usually drooling on his pillow by midnight.”
jake shrugs. “i’m not sleepy yet.”
you hold back another yawn. “do you want me to stay awake until you are?”
he smiles at you fondly, relishing in the softness of your drowsy voice. “it’s all right. you should go to sleep, baby.” he glances at the clock on his phone. “i think i’ll go live for a bit. haven’t done one in a while.”
“aren’t we feeling chatty tonight,” you tease, eyes fully closed now. jake swears he actually dies at how cute you look and smashes that screenshot button repeatedly. “i’ll leave you to it then. greet engenes for me.”
he grimaces. “if i do that, you’ll get your jingle and fishcake dreams fulfilled by tomorrow morning because we’ll both be unemployed.”
“sounds lovely.” you rub your eyes.
“yeah,” jake merely whispers, attention span momentarily off the rails as his doting gaze traces your face. he takes another screenshot for good measure. “good night, pretty girl,” he says tenderly, raspy voice and all. “see you tomorrow for the dance challenge and the fishcakes.”
a giggle bubbles out of you, and you crack your eyes open to offer your best, dozy smile. “and the busking. don’t forget the busking.”
“i would never. i’ll even steal one of jay’s guitars.”
you nod, pleased. “we’ll be on the run like bonnie and clyde. except for all the atrocities, of course.”
jake helplessly swoons. “i love you.”
“i love you too. good night, baby.”
the intensity at which his pulse quickens and his stomach tumbles needs to be studied because it should not be humanly possible to be so goddamn whipped. he’s not ashamed to admit that he could write lines upon lines of poetry right now just to ode your every quality and marvel at the curve of your mouth.
again, hopeless. but he’s more than okay with it.
so what if he flips onto his stomach right after the call ends, smiling blissfully into his pillow and kicking his feet? he might not be a lover boy, but he is in love.
with that same crooked smile that is probably etched onto his face forever, he opens the weverse app on his phone and opts for a voice live. as the first few people pool in, he gets lost in mindless chatter. it’s always nice to do lives at night. mainly because they make him drowsy.
at some point, he gets up for the bottle on his desk, hoping that chugging some water will wake him up. but when he returns to his bed and glances at his phone, comments keep flooding in at a speed that make them very hard to read.
“what’s this?” he chuckles nervously. “what happened? i just went to get some water.”
enhaswife: jungwon is live!! go live with him plss
sim hitomi: jungwonnie is live~~
xo, liz: CAN U GO LIVE WITH JUNGWON ‼️
“jungwonnie is live?” jake raises a brow. “that’s actually pretty early for him. it’s not even one yet.” he settles back into his bed. “i was here first though, so you guys have to tell him to come. tell him to come send a request.”
he watches the number of viewers decline rapidly, all of them seemingly leaving to do his bidding. he wields too much power and it might actually go to his head, he thinks to himself in amusement. “i told him,” he reads out loud. “i told him, he’s coming, i told him. you guys are so cute.”
not long after, the request pops up and jake is quick to accept it. his screen splits in two before jungwon’s eager face appears before him.
“yooiii,” jake greets him with a wide smile.
“yoooiiii,” jungwon practically shouts into his phone with excitement that is more appropriate for daylight hours. “what’s this? why aren’t you showing your face, hyung? are you naked?”
“what?” jake guffaws, adjusting his phone. “no, my hair’s just all over the place. engenes don’t need to see me like this.”
“oh, okay.” jungwon nods understandably as his eyes flit over the computer screen before him. the song that’s currently playing in the background changes to a more calm melody, and jake sinks further into his blanket, nearly letting out a moan at how snug he feels. “he’s bald, by the way.”
jake jolts so hard he nearly tumbles out of his bed.
“jungwon!” he watches as the comments explode into chaos. “oh my god, what have you done.”
the younger boy ignores him. “ni-ki shaved his head after practice, you know. he got the clippers from hair and makeup and went right at it. they weren’t too happy about it, but it went well. thankfully, i am so happy to announce that our hyung does not have an egghead.”
jake burst out laughing, glimpsing how jungwon’s smile expands with delight when he hears it. “i nearly lost an ear, but yes. all’s good.”
“he gave his hair to jay,” jungwon continues for no apparent reason except to bring jay into this. “he put it in a nice ziplock bag and gave it to him. jay almost cried. he was really touched.”
jake is clutching his sides, trying to keep his laughter down. before he can speak, a highlighted message pops up in the comments.
JAY: Ya! Why are you ruining my image
JAY: When jake gave me his bag of hair I wept
JAY: I wept.
JAY: Get your facts straight punk
“hyung!” jungwon says delightfully. “you’re here too. what’s going on, why are we all awake? is this a party?”
“it’s just us three here,” jake remarks, still chuckling. “what party only has three guests?”
jungwon shrugs. “i’ve never been to one.”
JAY: Me neither
jake cups his neck, deciding to join them despite the fact that there are plenty of pictures of them at several afterparties. “me neither.”
JAY: Wow
“wooow,” jungwon echoes, lips tugging into a smirk. jake frowns. did he miss something? before he can address it, a comment stands out to him.
“yes, we are a sad bunch,” he says jokingly in response to it. “you’re breaking my heart, engenes. no need to rub it in.”
jungwon snickers. “these comments are so fun tonight. i usually only get song recommendations. seriously, what’s happening? where are all my engenes who ask me to play chamber 5 for the eighth time?”
JAY: It’s because I’m here
JAY: I bring the smart ones
JAY: Also can you play chamber 5
“it’s my live.” jake scoffs when he reads jay’s comments. “they were here before you two came, and we always have very stimulating discussions.”
that’s not true. earlier’s heated topic of conversation was whether a tiger or a tiger shark would win in a fight. but jungwon and jay don’t need to know that.
“oh, hey, we’re tripple j,” jake randomly observes while suppressing a yawn.
“we are!” jungwon says enthusiastically. “the moment jay came in, all the comments were saying tripple j. imagine if all of our names started with a j. septuple j!”
JAY: Junghoon
JAY: Jeeseung, junoo, ji-ki
JAY: Annyeonghasaeyo, jenhypen-imnida
jake snorts. he glances at the time and lets another yawn overtake him. “guys, i think i’ll go to sleep. i can barely hold my eyes open.”
“i was waiting for you to say that,” jungwon quips.
“oh?” jake pushes himself up to fluff his pillow. “why? do i sound tired?”
JAY: Ow hay weor wibble j
jake furrows his brows, nearly suffering a stroke trying to read that. “hah. you’re funny.”
JAY: yoar wonny
“ahjussi, please go to bed,” jake says fondly and pulls his blanket up to his ears, letting it almost swallow him. “you’re talking gibberish again.”
JAY: :(((
jungwon ignores them, typing away on his keyboard. “i think i’ll continue my live for a bit if engenes want to join me.”
“yes, keep him company, guys.” jake yawns once more and quickly skims the comments one last time. his mind has become delirious, not really making sense of any of the words on his screen. he’s no longer thinking straight. he’s not thinking, period. which might be why his focus zeroes in on your name as it passes by.
he scrolls back up, looking for it, and finds himself reading it out loud without a second thought.
“do you want me to fight y/n for you?”
he lets his arm fall over his eyes with a funny expression on his face that no one can see and that he’s not even aware of. a mental image of you occupies half of his mind while the other half has simply shut off.
chuckling, he replies, “nah, i can take her.”
it goes quiet in the room as jake’s breathing evens out and jungwon’s typing slows down.
“hyung,” he says with emphasis, a warning tone laced in his voice. jake blinks an eye open, way too tired to grasp the gravity of what he has done. jungwon, on the other hand, is close to breaking out in hives as the comments go ballistic.
jay is not of much help either. he has left the live to message the group chat, asking if they’re now in trouble and if they’re going to kidnap you and jake again. from what jungwon can gauge based on the rapid fire notifications he’s getting, jay’s coming in clutch with quotes and screenshots of the comments, and heeseung’s immediate reaction is to cackle away.
enhaswife2: wiat whaT DID HE JUST SAY
myseven: oh REALLY >:( y/n count ur days
sunoo’s gf: you sure about that? I can fight
xiiuu7: leave y/n to me, i can handle her for you
jake reads the comments through fluttering eyes, somehow finding it all very entertaining. “oh, i take her just fine, thanks.” he rolls onto his stomach, eyes closed, smiling like an idiot, and mutters into his pillow, “i’ve handled her in more ways you can—”
his door slams open.
not a second later, jungwon stands before him in his pyjamas and snatches his phone out of his hands, breathing heavily. it lands next to jake on his pillow with a thud. screen now black.
“hyung, have you gone mad?!” jungwon stares down at him in bewilderment, his own phone in his hand lightening up every microsecond. “are you actually insane? why would you say that into the microphone?”
jake blinks up at him. “what?”
another person joins them. “what’s going on?” sunoo’s socked feet pad over the floor as he pulls down his headphones, regarding the two of them carefully. “i heard doors slamming.”
wordlessly, jungwon passes him his unlocked phone. it’s opened to a twitter account transcribing and translating in real time what had just been said on their live, including jake’s slurred but still perfectly understandable words. in other words, stan twitter is going insane.
sunoo gasps, eyes widening with each tweet as he scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. he’s reading all kinds of things—engenes who are losing it and speaking of you, your group, and your fans as if there’ll be a sword fight at dawn.
your fans who are thoroughly disoriented and confused but ready to go for blood anyway because ‘what does he MEAN he can take her?? take her WHERE?????’
and people who don’t even listen to either group but are dying over the comedic timing of jake uttering those words, jungwon hurling himself out of his chair, his footsteps thumping in the hallway, the doors banging, and the live ending all under two minutes.
some people also seem to believe that jake is bald for some reason? sunoo shakes his head in disbelief. it’s like the internet has been bored for too long, and this has revived them.
an eternity must’ve passed now, and jungwon is still lecturing a very sleepy jake whose words and actions have finally caught up to him when sunoo suddenly yelps. he practically tosses the phone in the air, and both boys turn their attention to him. with a gulp, sunoo flips the screen around and holds it at an arm’s length.
“yuki is calling.”
jungwon exchanges a look with jake before he grabs his phone. “hello?” he says, clearing his throat. sunoo leans in to try and listen. jake, on the other hand, stays frozen on his bed, not even daring to breathe.
a heavy sigh sounds on the other line. “jungwon?”
“…yes?”
“there’s a change of plans.”
#sim jaeyun#jake sim#jake sim x reader#sim jaeyun x reader#jake sim x y/n#sim jaeyun x y/n#sim jaeyun fluff#jake sim fluff#sim jaeyun imagines#jake sim imagines#jake sim fanfic#enhypen fics#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enhypen#enha
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/56f411d63bc2e0522f6d068f896d1676/f764dec489a54ed5-9e/s540x810/398cbcb88150121ae9ed604cf265976d5f58b82f.jpg)
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⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, humiliation, degradation, sneaking around, use of sex toy, edging, ruined orgasm, enemies to lovers, bratttamer!matt, mean!matt, roughdom!matt
📝 author's note: 📝 here are parts one and two. i'm sorry i kept you guys waiting so long for part three. please enjoy and please read the other two stories for build up and context. :)
✍️ Summary: ✍️ After staying the night in a heated sexual encounter with your arch nemesis, Matt Sturniolo, the two of you now have to keep up the charade in front of his brothers.
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hatef--k part three
The rest of the night was calm. Matt helped me move my laundry along, gave me back my clothes, and apologized for being a dick. "Hey, I'm sorry about hiding your towel and shit. That was kinda the meanest thing I've ever done to you," Matt smiled, probably recalling what it led to. It was actually the first time Matt had ever apologized to me for anything.
"Don't be sorry. I liked it. And if you're sorry, that's kind of a turn off," I looked up at him with a twinkle in my eye and a devilish grin plastered on my face, still riding a high from the incredibly passionate sex we'd just had.
"But you seemed legit mad," he looked at me, confused. "Well, I was mad. And I liked it. Both things are true. That's part of the game, isn't it?" I rhetorically asked. Matt smirked at me.
He knew exactly what I was talking about. It was just the first time either of us had really acknowledged the dynamic for what it was. If Matt and I really didn't like each other, we'd feel indifferent in the other's presence. But the only difference between disliking someone and hating them is passion.
Matt still did little things to frustrate me and tease me the rest of the night, like constantly moving my phone in random places, or tapping me on one shoulder but standing behind me on the opposite side. I'd roll my eyes at him and slug him in the arm, but there was something about the banter that was more playful than before.
"Did you wanna sleep with me in my bed tonight?" Matt asked, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with his rings. "Why the fuck would I wanna do that?" I asked, but I was smiling.
"Because you're a little whore, and you might want something to rub up against while you're dreaming about how I just fucked you," Matt teased me, tickling my side. "Only if you keep your hands to yourself, perv," I joked back.
I fell asleep next to Matt in his bed that night. We did try to keep our hands to ourselves, but there were a few times in our slumber where I felt him poking me in my backside with his cock, and I did find myself mindlessly rubbing up against his hip bone like a dog in heat.
Finally, around 9 a.m. the next day, I woke up to the sunshine pouring into Matt's room, and I rolled over to greet him. He looked like he had also just woken up, and his eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the brightness.
"You know, I was joking when I told you I thought you were gonna rub up against me in your sleep, but you actually did it. Fucking whore," Matt teased me in his morning voice and let out a mean chuckle. "Yeah, and when I told you to keep your hands to yourself, I meant your hard on, too, perv," I rolled my eyes at him and smiled, intoxicated by the sleepiness that lingered in his words.
We heard a few noises downstairs, indicating someone had just walked in the door. Matt and I looked at each other wide-eyed, and I immediately jumped out of his bed, grabbing anything that was mine or anything that indicated I might have slept in there and booked it to Nick's room.
I frantically threw the blankets and pillows about on the bed to make it look slept in, splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom, and stepped out to see Nick ascending the stairs in a white t-shirt, jeans, a leather jacket, and sunglasses. He always looked like a movie star. "Oh, hey. Good to see you awake. And alive," Nick laughed, stopping in the hallway. "Yeah, good to see you too," I lied.
I was definitely hoping to get another round with Matt in before either brother got home.
"Is Matt up yet?" Nick asked, motioning towards Matt's closed bedroom door. "Hmm. I don't know. Haven't seen him since last night," I lied again. Nick glided across the carpet and made his way to his room. "Jesus, was the bed comfortable? It looks like a tornado hit in here while you were sleeping," Nick joked, looking at the sheets in complete dissaray. "No, your bed was great!" I lied once more.
I had no idea if his bed was comfortable or not, considering the first time I'd stepped into his room was two minutes prior.
"I slept fine. I guess I just toss and turn a lot," I nervously laughed. Matt abruptly opened his door, startling me. My face grew hot, and my breath grew shallow. I could hear my heart thumping quickly in my chest, afraid Nick would pick up on the sudden energy shift between Matt and me.
"Hey Nick," Matt said, rubbing his eyes. "Good to see you guys didn't kill each other while we were gone," Nick said. "She tried, actually. Good thing I'm a light sleeper," Matt joked. "Move out of the way, freak. You're blocking the bathroom," Matt said, pushing past me. "Make sure you spend extra time in there. You look like shit," I responded rudely.
"Was he mean to you?" Nick asked after Matt closed the door behind him. "Not anymore than usual," I nonchalantly said. I don't know, Nick, do you consider your brother throwing me up against the wall and choking me and calling me a slut while he fucked me, mean? Because I don't know how to answer any of your questions right now.
Nick was one of those people I never lied to, but in just the past five minutes, I'd fabricated all my answers. I didn't like the act of lying, but I got excited at the idea of having a secret that nobody knew about besides Matt and me.
My phone, placed strategically on Nick's nightstand, started buzzing. It was a call from the company who was working on my water issue. "Hello?" I picked up the phone. "Hey, miss. Your water is back on, and it's all good to go. Sorry for the inconvenience," the man said over the phone. "Oh, no problem. Thanks for the update," I responded, staring Nick in the eyes, and I hung up.
"Damn," I fake sighed. "They said it's gonna be at least another day until I have running water in my apartment." Why stop lying now? "Don't worry about it. Why don't you just stay here another night?" Nick suggested, which was exactly what I was hoping he'd say. "We'll just have Matt drive you over to your apartment and get anything you need," he told me. I like the way you think, Nick.
"Oh, yeah. Matt will love that," I said, rolling my eyes but also smiling because I loved pissing him off. "What will I love?" Matt asked, walking out of the bathroom and past Nick's room. "Hey Matt, my water's still out, and Nick here, just offered to have you drive me over to my place real quick, so I can pick up some things I'll need to stay here another night. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" I taunted him, batting my eyelashes and smiling.
"I'd rather shoot myself in the foot, but I'll do it for my wonderful brother here who loves to help people by volunteering me to help them," Matt slapped Nick on the back and gave him a look. "Let's go, brat," Matt rolled his eyes and motioned for me to come towards him. Matt pushed the front door closed on me as I trailed behind him out to the yard. "Fuck you, Matt," I muttered.
Once we were outside and Nick couldn't hear us, Matt turned around, held me by my neck, and said, "What the fuck did you just say to me?" I loved the feeling of his fist tightening around my throat while he spoke to me through gritted teeth. "I said, fuck you, Matt," I repeated. "I'm gonna make you pay for that one later," he smirked, loosening his grip and getting into the car. Jesus, way to make me instantly wet, Matt.
I hopped into the passenger seat, Matt connected his phone and started playing some music, but as soon as he pulled out of the driveway, I disconnected his phone and started connecting my own. "What the fuck!?" Matt yelled, pushing my hands away from the display monitor.
"Hey, both hands on the wheel," I smiled, tickling his side and causing him to swerve. "You're gonna make me crash," Matt barked at me. "You're gonna make yourself crash. You focus on driving. We're listening to TV Girl," I said, putting on 'Cigarettes out the Window.'
"Whatever. At least it's not as annoying as some of the shit you listen to," he rolled his eyes. We pulled up to my apartment. "Wait here. I'll be just a few minutes," I told him. I didn't need much, just a pair of lounging clothes, since all the laundry over at the Sturniolos' was either gymware or my work clothes, so I picked out a tank top and shorts to sleep in. And my vibrator. God, I needed my vibrator. I knew it would be risky, but in case I didn't get to fool around with Matt that night if everyone was home, at least the vibrator was a less risky route.
As soon as I went to reach for it off the top shelf in my closet, I felt a presence come up behind me, and I immediately whipped around. "Jesus, Matt. You scared the fuck out of me," I said embarrassed as I tried to hide my vibrator behind my back. "What do we have here?" Matt said walking up to me as if he were going to hug me, but he reached around my waist and grabbed my vibrator from behind me. "Is this what you use when you think about me?" Matt teased me, examining it.
"Shut the fuck up, Matt," I rolled my eyes at him. "You know, the funniest thing happened when I walked in," Matt whispered. I looked at him inquisitively, unsure of what he was going to say next. "I turned on your faucet, and your water is just fine," Matt replied.
"I know. They called me this morning. I lied to Nick," I admitted, looking away from him. "Why'd you lie?" Matt asked, raising his eyebrows, thinking he already knew the answer. "Oh, you know, trying to save a few bucks on my water bill this month," I giggled and bit my lip.
"Bullshit. I think you were gonna prance around my house, wearing this little white tank top with no bra and these little shorts," Matt said, pointing at my clothes on the bed, "and I think you were gonna tease me all fucking night, and I'm sure you were gonna plan for me to catch you using this on yourself, huh?" He held my vibrator in front of my face. "Anything for me to fuck you silly again, huh? Are you that desperate for my cock?" Matt replied in a condescending tone. God, he was turning me on.
"Stand fucking still, you cheap little whore," Matt ordered me while he pulled down my bottoms, including my underwear. He stood behind me, his hot breath hitting the side of my neck. With one hand, he held my arms behind my back, restraining my wrists and with the other, he turned on my vibrator. Having been stripped down to nothing but my t-shirt and having Matt hindering any movement of my arms while he studied my favorite sex toy brought me to a whole new level of humiliation, and I couldn't get enough of it.
He rested my buzzing toy on my cunt, and I immediately felt my knees grow weak. He leaned in and whispered, "You're such a naughty girl. Lying to Nick. Telling me to go fuck myself. Running around my house being a little tease." I looked up at him lingering over my shoulder and let out a few soft whimpers. "You like making me angry, don't you? You love being punished when you misbehave, huh?" He cooed, and I bit my lip and nodded. "What would Nick say, knowing you lied to him so you could have another chance to get dicked down by me, huh? What do you think he'd think of you, hmm?" He teased me.
I felt the vibrations torturing my clit, reverberating throughout my being, and inching me closer to the edge with every word Matt gruffly whispered in my ear. My moans became more fervent and more desperate. "Please, Matt. I'm so close," I softly responded.
"Well, isn't that a damn shame?" He said, letting go of my wrists and turning off my vibrator, ruining my orgasm. "Put your clothes back on, whore. We should get back before Nick wonders what's taking so long," Matt smirked at me and handed me back my toy.
taglist: @sturniolo-girl @st9niolos @theyluvme-2315 @luvs4matt @mattsbrowser @ribread03 @slutforsturnioloss @inlovewcock
part four posted here 💖
#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo x you#ariestrxsh#hatef k
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Emmrich finds a series of novels based on Johanna’s favorite tabletop game and does five laps around the bookstore trying to decide if he should buy it for her or not.
On one hand, he probably shouldn’t be buying little treats for his arch-nemesis who is currently under a kind of house arrest in his room. The rest of the Mourn Watch would definitely frown on that.
On the other hand, despite her crimes, he feels very firmly that Johanna should be treated humanely. And being trapped somewhere for ages with nothing interesting to read would be torture for Emmrich, and it’s probably the same for Johanna. So it would be inhumane to deny her books, right?
On the other hand, we have books at home. Johanna has already gotten into them, by way of bribing Manfred to bring her books off Emmrich’s shelf and holding them up for her to read in exchange for reading story books out loud to him, with character voices at Manfred’s insistence. They both think Emmrich hasn’t noticed what they’re up to. It’s equal parts heartwarming and hilarious.
In the end, he buys the book, waits until Johanna seems to be dormant for a bit, and leaves the book somewhere conspicuous, so when she notices he can say, ‘oh, that? Manfred bought it on our last outing. I think he liked the dragon on the cover. You’re welcome to borrow it, with his permission of course.’ Because that’s easier than saying, ‘I debated buying this book for nearly an hour because I still haven’t sorted out how I feel about you, but I decided to buy it anyway because you’re right, I am a sentimental old fool and I can’t help but care about you even now and remember our old days fondly. I hope perhaps there’s a tiny part of you that might still carry some fondness for me too.’
Johanna clocks that he’s lying immediately, but she also hasn’t sorted out her feelings about him, so she says, ‘well, at least your ward has better taste in books than you. I suppose I shouldn’t let it go to waste.’ Which means, ‘I know what you’re doing, you old fool. You’re still soft and kind to a fault. How you’ve survived this long with that bleeding heart of yours, I’ll never know. I won’t ever tell you how much I’ve missed you.’
And wouldn’t you know it, a couple weeks later, Manfred just so happens to buy the next novel in the series! What a complete coincidence that he keeps buying the next book every time Johanna finishes with the last one! (Manfred has his allowance increased on the agreement that he doesn’t say anything about who’s actually buying the books.)
#datv#johanna hezenkoss#emmrich volkarin#the series is basically dragonlance and her favorite character is the evil wizard who’s a giant bitch to everyone (it’s raistlin)
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title: end of my world
pairing: jameson x reader (love) & nash x reader (platonic)
synopsis: everything goes wrong in an instant. and just like that your entire life is flipped upside down
warnings: blood, hospitals, car crash
a/n: thank you for reading 🤍🤍
taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee e @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket t @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream
It was all a game. Just a harmless game.
Engines revved and wheels spun. The lights were bright and the smash was deafening.
It wasn’t meant to end like that.
I felt the impact of the crash. Heard his bones crunch. Saw the blood rolling down his face.
It was all a laugh. Being impulsive was for more entertaining than being responsible. I needed to stop thinking about the real world, I needed to be with him, I needed to feel free. I didn’t want to weight of a responsibility or the heaviness of my problems. I wanted to be stressless for once.
The ambulance sirens whirred and everything blurred around me. The people, their faces, their questions, everything but Jameson. All that I could see clearly was Jameson.
We were young and in love. Two idiots craving a buzz of adrenaline, something tingling through their bones. I’m not a reckless girl. Jameson is the reckless one in our relationship, he’s the cliff diver, the car crasher, the paraglider. Me? I’m the girl that sits at home and reads, cries at cheesy romcoms and plaits her hair just to redo it again later. I’m not dangerous, I’m not impulsive, I don’t do things I shouldn’t. Not until I did.
They wheeled him in on a hospital bed like he was in some medical drama, yelling commands, pressing emergency buttons. My legs were compelled to follow, magnetically attracted to him. He couldn’t die. Not here, not now, not like this.
It was all a mess of flashing lights and screams. I needed at least break. I wanted to be reckless knowing he would follow, but he didn’t immediately. He warned me, tried to stop me even. But I manipulated him with glossy doe eyes and a crack in my voice.
Arms interlocked around me, yanking me backwards as I yelled and screamed. Only his name. Jameson. Jameson. Jameson. I tried to get through but what was one injured girl against three doctors. Tears pummelled down my cheeks and I sobbed until my throat was so raw and numb that it didn’t work anymore.
I stare. He’s in a hospital bed and it’s all my fault. His lips are parted only just breathing. His eyes are shut, long eyelashes brushing against his upper cheek. His skin looks like porcelain, a sickening still, pale, perfect white.
He looks like he’s dead. I feel weak at the thought. He’s just lying there, unmoving, cold and I can’t do anything about it. Hopelessness digs sticky fingers through my chest to squeeze what’s left of its nemesis out of my heart.
They checked my reflexes, if my pupils still dilated, stitched together my few open wounds, x-rayed parts of me but everything was fine. Every test, every result, everything was fine. Jameson was anything but. The whole time I just felt nothing inside, my chest was empty, my body was hollow.
If I could trade myself for him I would in an instant. If I could reverse this fates out come. If I could change this. If, if, if… ‘if’ isn’t real. This is real. My love, my heart, my other half dying in a hospital bed, his Hawthorne smirk robbed from his sweet lips. The sweet lips that I’d tasted just hours ago. The sugary aftertaste still lingers but now it burns. Like a corrosive acid attacking my mouth.
He held me by the waist, his fingers so tentatively that it felt like I was delicate. He held my tear stained face in his hands, ignoring as more tears ran down my face dampening his gentle touch. He didn’t care that I was crying, he just kept kissing me. He could taste my thick, hot, salty tears on his tongue. Then we started the drive, that long and fateful drive. He didn’t know how much comfort that brought me, his lips on mine. He didn’t know that it might’ve been the last time out lips touched.
They’ve tried to rip me from his side since too many times, the doctors I mean, but I never budge. Since I was allowed back to see him they won’t dare come close. I don’t know what day it is, I don’t know how long I’ve been here and even though I’ve been told to eat or shower, I can’t will myself to move. I’m not hungry, I don’t care that be I’m dirty, because I feel numb. The world is a void of emptiness, a sea of nothingness.
Until the voices start. They begin as a quiet hum, a distorted melody in my brain. They’re ignorable, easy to get rid of. That’s before they get loud. With each dynamic louder they become harder and harder to control. The voices scream in my ears making my head pound.
You did this
It’s all your fault
How could you
You killed him
You’re worthless
Why didn’t you die
If he dies it’s your fault
Look what he sacrificed for you and what did you give him in return
You’ve never deserved him
You’re a murderer
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
In a torrent of dark voice swarm around me. I feel dizzy with it all, some weight growing deep in my chest, heavy like lead. I try to breathe, I try to gain control, I try to look at Jameson but it’s all getting too much. I can’t hear, I can’t see, I can’t speak.
Someone’s hand in on my shoulder. I look up, my vision slowly unbluring. Nash.
“Hey kid,” his voice is soft. He’s being careful around me like he’s treading on eggshells.
“Hey,” I manage to croak through my aching throat.
“Come on,” he sighs offering an arm, “you need to take a break.”
“No,” the word is sharp and hard and it silently echoes off of all of the surrounding walls of white. I am not going anywhere. My mind is set.
“Sorry kid,” he says calmly, “but this isn’t a request.”
He lightly puts a hand on my shoulder and I almost get emotional. I am craving human touch but need to deprive myself of it, because if I let it in I’ll fall apart.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap venom in my voice.
Nash looks at me, I can feel his gaze on my face, even though my eyes are pinned to Jameson’s sickly pale figure, “he’s going to be okay.”
“We don’t know that,” I hiss.
“The best doctors in the country have said so,” he reminds me, a gentleness in his voice I don’t deserve.
“Oh and they’re devoid of human error?” I scoff.
His eyes soften, “this isn’t healthy.”
“I don’t care,” I respond, still not meeting his eyes worried the spirals of hazel would send me into a state of dizzy tears.
“It’s not your fault.”
My lips part and I look up at him, “what?”
“It’s not your fault, kid,” Nash tells me, the tenderness in my voice making my bones throb.
I bite my lip to try and stop the tears as I shake my head, “it is,” I say, “I nearly killed him Nash.”
“You didn’t,” he soothes, “it’s not your fault.”
“I told him we should go,” I choke out, ugly fat tears running down my face, “I suggested it and-“
“Look at me,” he says firmly, gripping my shoulders with a familiar touch, “it’s not your fault.”
“It is, you don’t understand-“
“No, look into my eyes kid, okay,” he says, “this is not your fault.”
The words take a second to seep in. But once they do I lose it. I collapse into Nash in sobbing heap. The heaviness on my chest is too much, the air is suffocating me, the guilt is eating me alive, the worry is poisoning my body, the sadness is wracking my brain. I sob louder and harder the more I think about it.
Nash holds me tightly, he’s arms are strong and steady. He’s not letting go until I need him to, he makes as much clear. Somehow I feel like I’m a child again, curled up in his arms, only this time the nightmare is a reality.
He repeats a sentence over and over, whispering it comfortingly into my ear, “it’s not your fault. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s not your fault.”
I pull away snivelling, wiping my damp face with the back of my hand.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Nash says slowly, when I am calmer, “we’re going to go to the cafeteria-“
I begin to object.
“I’m not taking no for an answer, sorry kid,” he replies with an older brother sort of look that tells me to not mess with him, “I don’t put my foot down often but now is one of those times where I have to. Jamie wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself.”
“I know.”
My voice is so small and vulnerable I don’t think I even recognise it.
“So we’re getting something to eat and then we’ll come straight back,” he explains, “I promise.”
“Yeah okay,” I nod slowly.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Nash tells me, a warmth spreading across my heart, “everything will be okay.”
I nod shakily as he takes his hand and wipes the last of my tears away.
“Come on, let’s go,” he offers a hand to hold but I don’t take it straight away.
“Okay,” I agree slowly, “just one minute,”
He nods. He knows what I need, he understands. He silently leaves the room but I know he’s stood outside waiting for me.
I look back a Jameson, my eyes grazing over every inch of him. I wish he would open his eyes, I’d kill to see that vibrant green again. I push the hair out of his face gently and readjust his covers. When I sit back down I take his hand into mine and trace it, he used to love it when I did this. I kiss his split knuckles, each and every one then stand up to leave.
As I turn back one last time, what feels like a miracle occurs. I watch as Jameson’s eyes flutter open. My heart leaps in my chest and I feel so many things all at once. I want to scream and laugh and cry and break down but I stay calm, carefully approaching him.
“Hi Jamie,” I whisper, my eyes rimmed thick with joyous tears.
He stares at me blankly, his eyebrows pinching together in a soft confusion.
“Who are you?”
My whole life comes to a crashing halt before my eyes and my heart stops beating.
#bella writes 🤍#the inheritance games#tig#i love jameson hawthorne#jameson hawthorne x reader#jameson winchester hawthorne#jameson x reader#jameson hawthorne#nash tgg#nash tig#nash hawthorne x reader#nash hawthorne x you#nash hawthorne#the brothers hawthorne#the grandest game#the final gambit#the hawthorne legacy#the hawthorne brothers#jennifer lynn barnes
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Hi can I request rottmnt x femreader villain
But y/n is just silly and just takes things like a jock and she just steals stuff and returns after a week or soothing and she steals from the world's most potential save on a daily basis and just spray paint ‘LoL This is way too easy’ and she works with Offer villain but just jock around lack one time when the boys are sneaking in the foot clang base and going around y/n, just frow a knife next to their face and just said ‘ If you give me 20 dollars I won't tell anyone ‘ and is just soo smug about it as well
Sorry if it's long just I really love your writing and all of it just makes me smile when I read it
Hello, hello! Owwn, thank you for liking my writing. That makes me really happy! Hope you like it ~ ♡♡♡♡
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Steal My Heart, Why Don’t You? *.✧
The Turtles were knee-deep in another mission, sneaking through the Foot’s latest hideout to retrieve a crucial artifact Shredder had been hoarding. The lights flickered above, the tension thick.
“Alright, everyone stick to the plan,” Raph whispered, his tone authoritative.
“Yeah, yeah...” Leo muttered, rolling his eyes.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the silence, just as a knife lodged itself into the wall near Leo’s head.
“Hey, Blue, nice reflexes,” Y/N said with a smug grin, stepping out of the shadows like she’d been there the whole time. She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall like she owned the place.
Leo scowled, pulling the knife free. “Y/N.”
“Miss me?” she asked, her grin widening.
Mikey snickered. “Oooooh, Leo’s got a nemesis crush.”
Leo shot him a look. “Why are you here, Y/N?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, twirling another knife between her fingers. “But I’ll make you a deal. Give me twenty bucks, and I won’t rat you out.”
Raph groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Y/N shrugged. “Your call, boys.”
Leo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She always had a way of turning the situation into a joke. And worse? She was good at it. Begrudgingly, he fished out a crumpled twenty from his belt pouch and handed it to her.
“Pleasure doing business,” she said, tucking the cash into her pocket. “By the way, you’re going the wrong way. The artifact’s in the east wing.”
Leo blinked. “How do you—”
“Later, Blue,” Y/N said, tossing a lazy salute as she disappeared down the corridor.
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Y/N wasn’t just a wild card; she was an entire deck shuffled out of order. She didn’t fight for Shredder’s cause. She fought for the sheer fun of it, making a game out of everything she did.
Just last week, she’d stolen a highly classified device from the Foot Clan’s own vault, only to return it a week later with a sticky note attached: “Too easy. Try harder next time :)”.
Shredder wasn’t pleased.
The next time the Turtles encountered her, she was lounging on top of the artifact they were supposed to retrieve, eating a granola bar.
“Hey, guys,” she said, waving nonchalantly.
“Y/N, move,” Leo said, his patience thinning.
“Relax, Blue,” she replied, taking another bite. “You’ll give yourself a wrinkle.”
“You’re gonna get caught one day,” Leo warned, stepping closer.
Y/N smirked. “Then what? You gonna come rescue me?”
Leo sighed. “Why are you even with the Foot Clan? You don’t take any of this seriously.”
“That’s the point, Leo,” she said, hopping down from the artifact. “Life’s too short to be all serious like you. Gotta have some fun.”
“Fun’s gonna get you in trouble,” he said.
Deep down, Leo knew he was saying similar things that Raph would say too, but Y/N could get on his nerves on that level. Even though he would never admit it out loud.
Y/N leaned in closer, her eyes locked on his. “Maybe I like a little trouble.”
Leo’s face heated. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable,” she shot back with a wink.
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The Turtles were on a mission, sneaking through the Foot Clan’s latest hideout to retrieve a stolen weapon. As usual, Raph took point, leading the way.
“Let’s make this quick,” he said. “The sooner we’re outta here, the better.”
The team moved like shadows, avoiding patrols, until they reached a dimly lit corridor. Just as Raph was about to signal for Donnie to disable the next set of lasers, a knife whizzed past his head, embedding itself in the wall with a solid thunk.
“Geez, Raph, you flinch like a rookie,” a familiar voice drawled.
Raph’s eyes narrowed as Y/N stepped out from the shadows, her signature smug grin plastered across her face.
“Y/N,” Raph grunted, gripping his sais. “What do you want?”
She crossed her arms, leaning casually against the wall. “Relax, big guy. I’m not here to fight.” She tossed a second knife in the air, catching it effortlessly. “But if you want to make this interesting, how about a deal? Twenty bucks, and I pretend I didn’t see you.”
Mikey burst out laughing. “Bro, she’s hustling you!”
Raph clenched his teeth. “Why do you always gotta show up when we’re workin’?”
“Because it’s fun,” Y/N said with a shrug. “And you’re all so serious. Lighten up, Raph.”
“I ain’t paying you a dime,” he shot back.
Y/N sighed dramatically, as if truly disappointed. “Suit yourself. But if I yell ‘Intruder!’ right now, you’ll have to explain yourself to about twenty Foot Soldiers.”
Raph stepped closer, towering over her. “You’re really pushin’ it, Y/N.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. Instead, she smirked wider. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
Raph’s face turned red—whether from anger or something else, he couldn’t say.
Leo laugh. “Just give her the twenty so we can move on.”
Grumbling under his breath, Raph handed her the money.
Y/N grinned, tucking it into her pocket. “Pleasure doing business, boys.” She winked at Raph before slipping back into the shadows.
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For weeks, Raph couldn’t get her out of his head. Every time the Turtles ran into her, she made it her mission to get under his skin. Whether it was sneaking up on him during missions or cracking jokes mid-fight, Y/N always found a way to mess with him.
And the worst part? She was good at it.
One night, the Turtles were patrolling the city when they spotted her perched on a rooftop, casually tossing a priceless artifact between her hands.
“Y/N!” Raph barked, leaping onto the roof.
“Hey, Red,” she said, unbothered by his sudden appearance. “Miss me?”
“Give it back,” Raph demanded, pointing to the artifact.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What, this old thing?” She tossed it to him without hesitation. “I was gonna return it tomorrow. Thought I’d give the museum a little excitement first.”
Raph caught the artifact, glaring at her. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, hangin’ around the Foot.”
She shrugged. “Danger’s part of the fun.”
“You know it's not worth it,” Raph shot back, his voice softer.
Y/N smirked, stepping closer. “Aww, you care about me, don’t you, Raphie?”
Raph’s eyes widened. “What? No! I—”
She poked his chest with her finger. “Relax, tough guy. I can handle myself.”
Raph looked away, feeling a little shy. “You irritate me!”
“And you like it,” she teased, giving him a kiss on the cheek before walking away.
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The Turtles were in the middle of infiltrating a high-tech Foot Clan facility. Donnie had spent weeks preparing for this mission, hacking into security systems and designing gadgets specifically for the job.
“Alright,” he whispered, tapping furiously on his tablet. “Lasers deactivated, cameras looped. We’re in the clear.”
“Nice work, Donnie,” Leo said, giving him a nod.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s move,” Raph said, looking around.
Just as they were about to advance, the facility’s alarm system blared to life.
“What the—” Donnie frantically checked his tablet. “That’s impossible! I disabled the system!”
“Not impossible,” a familiar voice chimed in.
The Turtles turned to see Y/N lounging on a control panel, her legs swinging casually as she twirled a USB drive between her fingers.
“Miss me, Donnie?” she teased, her grin as smug as ever.
Donnie’s eye twitched. “Y/N. What did you do?”
“Just a little override,” she said, holding up the USB. “You’re good, Don, but you’re not me good.”
Donnie’s hands clenched around his bo staff. “Do you have any idea how much work went into this operation?”
“Oh, I do,” Y/N said, hopping down from the panel. “That’s why I couldn’t resist messing with you.” She tossed the USB to him. “Here. I turned off the backup alarms. You’re welcome.”
Donnie caught the drive, glaring at her. “Why? Why help us?”
“Because it’s fun,” she said with a shrug. “And I like seeing you all flustered. It’s cute.”
Donnie groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you, love!” Y/N shot back with a wink.
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After that night, Y/N seemed to pop up at the most inconvenient times, always one step ahead of Donnie’s carefully laid plans. She’d sabotage Foot Clan operations, only to help the Turtles in her own chaotic way.
It drove Donnie crazy.
One night, he decided to confront her. He tracked her signal to a rooftop where she was tinkering with a stolen piece of tech.
“Y/N,” Donnie called out, his voice sharp.
She looked up, unfazed. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite genius.”
Donnie crossed his arms. “Why do you keep interfering? What’s your angle?”
Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm... because it’s fun? Because I’m bored? Or maybe...” She stepped closer, smirking. “I just like getting under your shell.”
Donnie’s cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re adorable,” she countered, poking his chest. “All serious and focused. Lighten up, Don.”
Donnie huffed, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat. “You’re going to get yourself killed, messing around like this.”
“Then maybe you should keep an eye on me,” Y/N teased.
Mikey brought up the rear, humming quietly to himself, when he suddenly froze.
A flash of movement caught his eye, followed by a familiar voice.
“Hey, Orange, you look lost,” Y/N said, stepping out from behind a stack of crates.
Mikey’s face lit up. “Y/N! What’s up, dudette?”
“Not much,” she said with a shrug. “Just thought I’d see how my favorite turtle was doing.”
“Favorite? For real?” Mikey grinned, leaning on his nunchucks. “You’ve got good taste.”
Y/N smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mikey.”
Just then, Raph’s voice came through Mikey’s earpiece. “Mikey, focus. We’ve got a mission.”
“Uh, yeah, about that,” Mikey said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N’s here.”
“Great,” Donnie groaned. “She’s going to blow our cover.”
Y/N held up her hands in mock innocence. “Relax, I’m not here to snitch. In fact...” She pulled out a small gadget. “I already disabled the cameras for you. You’re welcome.”
Mikey’s eyes widened. “Whoa, you’re like, our guardian angel!”
Y/N laughed. “More like your mischievous fairy godmother.”
* * * *
After that encounter, Y/N started showing up more often. Whether it was mid-mission or during a random patrol, she always seemed to find Mikey.
One night, the two of them crossed paths on a rooftop. Y/N was balancing on the edge, juggling stolen jewels like they were tennis balls.
“Nice moves!” Mikey called out, joining her.
“Thanks,” Y/N said, tossing him one of the jewels. “Catch!”
Mikey caught it easily, tossing it back. “You know, you’re pretty awesome for a ‘villain.’”
Y/N chuckled. “And you’re pretty chill for a ‘hero.’”
Mikey was fascinated by her carefree attitude, and Y/N couldn’t help but be charmed by him.
“You ever think about leaving the Foot Clan?” Mikey asked, leaning back on his hands.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And do what? Join you guys?”
“Why not?” Mikey grinned. “You’d fit right in. Plus, we’ve got pizza.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Tempting, but I’m not exactly the team-player type.”
Mikey shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t change.”
Y/N gave him a thoughtful look. “Maybe. But for now, I like keeping you on your toes.”
#reader#x reader#y/n#tmnt#tmnt x reader#f!reader#rottmnt raph#rottmnt mikey#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt leo#rottmnt#rottmnt x reader
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GUILTY AS SIN?
GLUTTONY — part vi of we'll write sins not tragedies
pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 3k summary: after a mission gone wrong, you unknowingly take the fall for a friend; you get drunk with the enemy; and you start to think that, if they’re going to crucify you anyway, you might as well indulge in a few fatal fantasies. warnings: set during the last olympian so spoilers for the entire pjo book series; luke + reader get drunk; mention of death + war + reader has some survivor's guilt; smut (unprotected p in v, oral f receiving, kinda sub!luke, brief allusion to knife kink — 18 + MDNI) + angst author's note: not sure how i feel ab this one but i've been workshopping it for weeks so i think her time has come !! also maybe got a bit too deep into book lore oops. also also ive been listening to this song an outrageous amount and i hope i did it justice ANYWAYS lmk what y'all think, thanks sm for reading ♥
♪ "guilty as sin?" by taylor swift
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you’re well aware of how suspicious this looks, rendezvousing with the enemy at a sleazy dive bar in the heart of the city.
he walks in, and your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation. his familiar deep brown eyes are now striking gold, and a streak of gray is woven through his signature dark curls — evidence of the battles you've fought, on opposite sides, and an ominous reminder of a war that has yet to be over.
as he casually orders himself a drink and one for you, you keep a hand on your concealed dagger. it’s become an instinct of yours, whenever he’s around.
“i didn’t come here to fight.” he assures, catching the glint of your blade.
“and what about…..” you gesture broadly at him.
“we’re not entirely synched yet, so it gives him a break whenever i’m in full control,” he explains as though reciting from a textbook (something like how to betray your loved ones and overthrow the olympians 101). “it’s only me tonight. i swear on the river styx.”
a shiver passes through you.
about a year ago, luke tracked you down in new york. apparently, kronos was pushing him to do something extreme, and luke felt conflicted.
you thought it had to be some sort of cruel joke, because you could not think of anything more extreme than what luke had already done in facilitating a war between gods and titans. you had no patience for his crocodile tears, not after he played you so well the first time.
you told him as much, then told him to fuck off.
to be fair, you didn’t know that would lead to him bathing in the river styx and becoming a vessel for the titan lord himself.
luke wears the curse of achilles well: all strong muscles and sharp angles, his tan skin glowing ever-so slightly, and his body devoid of any fresh cuts or bruises despite surviving an explosion just a few days prior.
“so….what? you’re the pilot whenever kronos needs to take a really long nap?”
“i’d say timeshare is the closest way to describe it.”
“50/50 ownership?”
“more like 90/10.”
you scoff. “sounds like a scam.”
the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. it reminds you so much of old times, his boyish charm peeking through whenever a camper would try to pull a prank on him, and then complain when he’d beat them to the punch.
“it’s just me,” he repeats, but you didn’t need any more confirmation.
you know deep in your gut, from that mischievous smirk alone: it’s not the lord of time, but luke castellan next to you.
the bar is surprisingly busy for a weeknight. there’s a game being shown on TV, and people wearing sports jerseys occasionally groan or cheer or come to the counter to order another pint for their table while keeping their eyes glued to the screen. the jukebox in the corner plays music from the 70s and 80s as a group of friends starts to dance, tipsy after a deadly combination of jello shots and sangria.
for the first few drinks, you and luke are silent, letting these sounds of regular human existence fill the space between you. you half-expect him to ask about law school admissions, or the new tattoo you got on your upper thigh, or your band’s latest show — all fragments of your own mundane mortal life used to distract yourself from demigod realities.
he doesn’t, though. luke just stares at the hockey game, one you know for a fact he doesn’t care about because the rangers aren’t playing, as he sips his old-fashioned like he has all the time in the world.
“did you wanna meet so we could just sit here in silence or….”
when you had agreed to this meeting, you had a clear goal in mind: find out who the spy is and clear your name.
it might be too much rum or the crushing weight of recent events, but you no longer have the energy nor the drive to be strategic or even cautious around luke. now, you’re looking for a cure to your bone deep boredom and heartache.
"no. i’m here because….” he falters and runs a hand through his hair. “look, i heard about what happened at camp. and, with beck —”
“dying?” you finish, taking one last gulp of your drink. all the rage, resentment and grief you’ve been feeling has been lodged in your throat. you’d hope each sip of your dark and stormy would burn through it, but instead it comes tumbling from your lips.
“honestly, beck would probably still be alive if you didn’t join the dark side. i guess you’re kinda leading the dark side now, aren’t you luke? what’s that like?”
luke polishes off his drink, too, his cheeks flushed. he gestures at the bartender for a third round of drinks. or is it fourth?
“don’t be a dick,” luke sighs once a replenished glass is placed in front of him. “i obviously never wanted to hurt you — any of you.”
if you were of sober mind, maybe you’d point out that it’s too late; that luke already hurt all of you the minute he decided to side with kronos.
“i know i did, though,” he adds after swallowing a mouthful of his drink.
you know that if luke was of sober mind, he would never have admitted that. he seems to know better than to apologize though, hopefully recognizing that the damage has already been done.
it’s not like your hands aren’t bloody, too.
“it was supposed to be me, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “i was supposed to go with percy on the mission, but beck offered to go instead because he thought — he knew — that it would….it would be hard for me to see…. you.”
luke pauses and turns away from you. “you couldn’t have known what would happen.” his voice wavers, too. “beckendorf was looking out for you — it’s what he does. did.”
“i couldn’t even go to the funeral,” you continue. “i feel like i didn’t really get to say goodbye, you know?”
“yeah,” luke hums sorrowfully. “mourning someone who fought for the gods isn’t really allowed where i am.”
again, you could point out the irony in what he’s saying. given everything he’s done, luke dug his own grave and clearly some for his friends, too.
tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. the reality is that one of your best friends died because you couldn’t handle an encounter with your ex-boyfriend, the one you’re currently sitting beside.
you might not have done what they accused you of, but you’re nowhere near innocent. who were you to give yourself permission to cry?
in the dim neon light, you notice a tear slide down luke’s cheek before he wipes it away just as fast.
he clears his throat. “to charles beckendorf: a hero by any other name.”
you tap your glass against luke’s, and you both drink in honor of your lost friend. you drink to everyone and everything you’ve lost, too.
beckendorf is dead; chris has lost his mind; clarisse might start her own war with the apollo cabin over a flying chariot; and ever since the princess andromeda mission went terribly wrong, silena can’t go one minute without bursting into tears.
it was too easy for everything to fall apart, as though this was always what the fates had in store for you — the next generation of greek tragedies.
thankfully, there always comes a break in the tragedy, and it seems to be now: you and luke, getting drunk off whiskey and rum and old memories.
you remember countless times sneaking out to the beach after curfew, mixing store-brand soda with cheap alcohol smuggled into camp by luke’s half-brothers; hot summer nights spent fantasizing about existence outside of camp and returning to your head counselor duties in the morning with chiron and mr. d none the wiser. once you started dating, it became routine for the two of you to wander away from the group for some privacy, somewhere far enough away so that no one could hear you scream luke’s name.
those memories still make your skin flush, even as you’re here drinking cocktails at a bar in the city, with one friend gone to elysium and everyone else calling you a traitor.
“i can’t believe you don’t remember that night! mr. d caught a few senior campers getting drunk in his office? they stole a super expensive bottle of wine, threw up all over the carpet, and had to spend the rest of the night cleaning it?”
you continue shaking your head. you tip your glass back to capture the last drops of amber liquid before confessing:
“what i remember is spending the whole night jealous of malcolm pace because he got to slow dance with you.”
luke lets out something between a scoff and a laugh, then he’s silent for a few moments.
“i love this song,” luke muses, words blurring together. “i haven’t heard it in a while.” he finishes his drink and sets the glass down, holding his hand out to you.
your brain is a bit foggy from all the alcohol, so it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking.
“you wanna dance?”
“yeah,” he answers. “make up for lost time.”
it’s not until you feel luke’s chest pressed against yours, his hands firmly on your waist, that you register what song is currently playing.
“downtown lights” by the blue nile — luke had spent so long trying to find the right song for your first time together.
you told him not to worry, teased him a bit for planning every detail so meticulously, but deep down, your heart swelled with how much he cared.
the empty hermes cabin during capture-the-flag, both of you pretending to be too injured from sparring practice to play. luke’s sweaty hands fumbling with the condom, you having to step in and rip the wrapper with your teeth. clothes being haphazardly thrown on so you could run back to the infirmary before anyone noticed. silent vows to do it again, and again, and again.
the more time spent exploring and experimenting, the more you got the rhythm of each other’s bodies, knew how to make the other squirm and throw their head back in pleasure — and that didn’t just go away when luke joined kronos’ army.
even when your loyalties were more clear, your consciousness was plagued with visions of you and luke together, ones that left your sheets burning, more than the blazing summer heat. you confided in silena about these once, and she assured you that there is no such thing as bad thoughts.
she did warn you, though: it’s when you indulge in these fantasies that they risk becoming fatal.
now, thinking back and forth between memories with luke and the events of this past very shitty week, you realize that maybe that’s why you’re here.
despite everything you’ve done, you supposedly betrayed people you consistently fight beside, fight for; you were thrown out of a place you once considered home and told never to come back.
you were doomed from the start — a daughter of nemesis, assumed to be wicked and revenge-seeking since birth.
well, if they’re going to crucify you anyway…..
once the song ends, you ask:
“you wanna go outside for a smoke?”
your hands start playing with the curls at the base of luke’s neck, hinting at what you were hoping comes next.
luke licks his lips, gold eyes darker than before.
“guess you’re itching to put that celestial bronze to good use,” he says lowly.
“only if you ask nicely,” you drawl.
luke blushes.
you pull away from him, start walking towards the back exit, and pray that he follows you.
—
this is why meeting with you was dangerous: there’s no one else in the world – god, titan, or otherwise – luke castellan would get on his knees for, let alone in the filthy alley behind a bar.
technically, kronos sent luke here to recruit you.
the scythe charm — the one used to communicate with silena — sits heavy in his pocket. it’s part of the reason why you were exiled from camp, why your friends don’t look at you the same way. why you can’t ever go back home, not really.
luke imagines you might resent those who threw you out of camp, but you would never betray them. he knew that you weren’t likely to join kronos’ army.
he’s thankful that, at the very least, you still have a penchant for breaking some rules.
the two of you are a tangled mess of teeth and tongue. luke tastes the spiciness of ginger beer and rum, mixed with sweetness from the clove cigarette you just smoked. you lock one leg around luke’s hip, and the brief glimpse of your lacy black underwear has him throbbing. one of your hands slips underneath his shirt to trace the contours of his abdomen. luke’s breath hitches when your hand reaches down even further.
“wait –” you pause your actions to let luke finish his sentence, and already he regrets voicing his hollow concern. “i….i probably should not be doing this.”
“me neither,” you concede, breathing steadily.“but, they already think i’m guilty.” with your other hand, your thumb dances over his kiss-swollen lips and luke feels something ignite in the pit of his stomach. “maybe i am, with how much i think about you.”
luke knows what’s at stake for him, if anyone finds out, but in a booze-soaked haze and with you looking at him like that, he can’t seem to care.
it’s coming back to him now: that endless cycle of waking up sticky and drenched in sweat over dreams of screaming your name and going about his day like it wasn’t a paradox to be leading kronos’ army and still wanting someone aligned with the enemy to devour him.
when he agreed, however reluctantly, to be a vessel for kronos, luke had to lock those desires inside a vault deep inside his mind.
this might very well be luke’s last chance to satisfy his cravings, once and for all. tonight, he’s in full control of his body and mind.
he’ll happily yield his power to you.
soon enough, your teeth gnaw on his top lip as luke messily thrusts into you, your underwear hastily pushed to the side. he tries to savor every part of this, of you — the heel of your combat boot digging into his back; the sting of your nails where you grip him; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet cherries and burnt vanilla; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging him to go faster, harder. following your orders, luke wraps both of your legs around his waist and digs his fingers further into your hips to keep them secure.
it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the brick wall as your orgasm crashes through you. luke follows a few seconds later, pulling out just in time to paint the inside of your thighs with his cum.
luke grins as he watches you come down from your high, eyes closed, chest heaving, neck engraved with the outline of his teeth.
“sorry, didn’t mean to give you a concussion.”
you open your eyes just to roll them at luke, who’s tucking himself back into his jeans.
“you’re such an asshole,” you jest through labored breaths, registering his shit-eating grin. you fix the hem of your leather skirt and pout dramatically. “and you had to leave a mess behind, didn’t you?”
without another word, luke kneels in front of you.
he leans his head back to admire how your lips curl into a bemused smile at his antics. your fingers press into his pulse point, no doubt feeling how reckless his heartbeat becomes underneath you. once more, your thumb prods at his lips; this time luke grants access, the cold metal of your ring burning on his tongue.
“is this how you pledged loyalty to your titan king?” you taunt.
luke shakes his head, still sucking your digit.
he did have to bow, but not like this. the only entity he’d worship this desperately is you.
“i’m honored,” you coo. luke bites back a whimper when you remove your thumb from his mouth, instead tracing the scar on his face, up his cheekbone. “i have to say though: i miss your brown eyes, pretty boy.”
his whole body is on fire with how you touch him, but your passing observation feels like a knife to the gut. wanting to be good for you, to prove he’s still your pretty boy, luke pushes up the bottom of your skirt so it bunches around your waist.
“luke!” you attempt to scold, concealing a moan when his teeth graze your clit through the damp fabric of your underwear. “someone might see.”
“it’ll be fine, baby,” he assures. “is this new?” luke is mesmerized by the fresh ink on your thigh, fingers trailing over swirling black lines.
you hum, a goddess gazing down on her disciple. “do you like it?”
luke nods. he replaces his fingers with his tongue, journeying across your skin, tasting salty sweat mixed with his cum drying between your legs. he hears your whimpers for more. he complies and plunges two fingers beneath the lace until you reach your peak. luke places one last kiss to your core, before getting up again.
you crash your lips onto his, and you’re kissing him the way you did back when you really loved him, chaotic and feverish. your fingers snake through his curls, and you tug on them just enough to make luke’s head spin.
you’re somehow more intoxicating than however many drinks he downed earlier.
he sees something simmering behind your eyes, when you ask if he wants to come back to your apartment. you both know you shouldn’t, but honestly — in the grand scheme of things, what’s one more sin?as the two of you are tangled beneath your bedsheets, you decide to frame it differently, as a mutual vow: maybe just one more time will satisfy this hunger.
#we've only got two sins left idk how this happened....#thank y'all sm for reading!!#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan#luke castellan x you#luke castellan smut#luke castellan series#luke castellan x nemesis!reader#pjo fanfic#saf writes
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I've continued playing Fallen London on and off and I've been wanting to make a new ref for Mel for AAAGES, not just to update old art but also show some of the character development Mel's experienced after a handful of years in the Neath! The ES 'Adornment' especially was a major turning point for Philomel and sparked Mel's revolutionary leanings, and is when Mel began to realize Mel's formed meaningful ties just as important as Mel's quest for vengeance. This year's estival (the Coilheart Games) brought out another evolution of this, and Mel's settled into an investigative role in the adamant belief that such worldshattering secrets and threats that encompass the entire city should NOT be purposefully withheld from the people living in it.
Image text is probably hard to read, and there's a transcript below this readmore
Text Transcripts:
In the top right are some quick details. Mel's full name is Philomel Pelayo Muros. In the style of other Fallen London characters, Mel's epithet is 'the Steely-Eyed Gun-for-Hire'. Mel uses no pronouns, Mel's 38 years old and 5 feet 2 inches tall. Mel resides in the Flit, and Mel's profession is as a mercenary and freelance investigator. The faction Mel is closest to is the Revolutionaries, with which Mel has 15 Renown. Mel is an Ambition: Nemesis character.
Below this are some notable player character attributes. Of the main attributes, Philomel has high Dangerous and Watchful but low Persuasive. Mel also has high Dreaded. Of the quirks, Mel has high Steadfast, Melancholy, Ruthless, Forceful, and Magnanimous, but low Subtle and Heartless. Mel also has the quality 'Tragedy: Death of a Spouse'.
Paired with the portrait in the top left are these notes, pointing to several parts of the illustration: "Permanent dark circles from years of stress, poor sleep and frequent nightmares. Mel always looks exhausted and more than a little haunted."
"Mel has acne scars, and a lot of other scars. Mel accumulates wounds almost as quickly as Mel does nightmares."
"A skull fracture obtained during 'Adornment' resulted in some long-term afflictions. These include vision and hearing loss (both on Mel's left) as well as vertigo spells. Mel also fractured a wrist and dislocated a shoulder, now prone to re-injury."
"Mel originally shaved just for ease in tending to the fresh wound. But Mel ended up vibing with the style and is still sporting it a few years later."
The next notes point to the raven (named Sarangerel) perched on Mel's arm in another illustration: "A black raven from the Surface - very rare in the Neath. She spent a good many years with the Tomb-Colonist who first found and nursed her to health, and who gave her her name. Sadly, that chapter has come to an end. She's befriended Philomel, and is glad for Mel's companionship. She doesn't speak much these days, but she sings beautifully her wistful, plaintive melodies."
With the drawing of Mel's hand are these notes: "Finally bothered to ditch the New Newgate cuffs, but Mel got used to the weight and replaced them with heavy bracelets. The 'jewels' are coloured glass."
Each of Mel's possessions are accompanied by a note:
"Rose-Shaded Lenses. Prescription, for light sensitivity and migraine. They've seen better days."
"Revolutionary's Red Feather Pin. Kept close at hand, seldom displayed."
"Horseshoe Lapel Pin. Always part of Mel's ensemble. Worn in reference to a departed friend."
"Ring with a Rose Motif. Of significant sentimental importance. It was an anniversary gift."
"Simple Derringer. Typically hidden somewhere on Mel's person, though Mel now favours a knife. Mel's aim isn't what it used to be."
Text transcripts end here.
#fallen london#fallen london oc#image#alt text#described#my art#my characters#char: philomel#yayyyyy Mel :]#Mel's still kicking. always Melancholy... but more contented these days. Mel's found more cause to persist and new family to lean on#I had an idea for a little comic w what my guys were up to around the Coilheart Games to reintroduce them but#only time will tell if i do ever get around to that#Mel was my first Flondon PC and the one I usually use to interact w the game :]#which is part of the reason why Mel's the only one who an Ambition story is relevant to.#also bc Nemesis is so peak and the one im most interested in character-wise. the others are cool too but dont inspire me to build on as muc#btw Mel actually has more Renown: Revolutionaries by the time of posting but i didn’t get around to updating the ref#i’m very close to getting a language of laces
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Hi how are you?
Maybe this request of mine can be complicated so if you want not to do it, I understand...
Well, what if the reader is the new survivor in the entity's Realm and catches the attention of the yanderes, making them obsessed and in love with the reader, and of course the reader doesn't realize that... What would happen?
The Yanderes would be: Nemesis, Michael Myres, Pyramid Head, Pinhead, Trapper, Leon, Dwight, Felix, Jack.
I only wrote for Michael, Pyramid Head, and Pinhead for this one. I'm spliting this up so this part will have the killers and another post will have the survivors. I have the killers done but not the survivors so instead of waiting to finish them to post this, why not split it up? Thanks to my sister for helping me out with this one as well!! Happy reading
Michael Myers:
Of course, like most killers, he first saw you in a trial.
He saw you working on a generator with Claudette. Her face went pale as she pulled you away from the generator.
You, being new, didn’t know what she was doing and just followed her not questioning anything that she was doing.
Michael took a great interest as a way to play with his new prey.
Even though Claudette seemed to have dragged you away, she didn’t go far enough since Michael appeared out of nowhere.
You had heard him tier up once already, and this was now the second time.
He grabbed Claudette and stabbed her, leaving you too scared to move. You didn’t know he was there, how had he snuck up on you guys so fast?
He dropped Claudette’s lifeless body on the group, looking back towards you.
The fear on your face was amusing to him.
He wanted to see more of it.
He walked towards you, trying to make you move.
Which worked amazingly, since you turned and sprinted in the other direction.
He trailed behind you a ways away, making sure that his heartbeat would fade away, making you think you were safe.
You wandered towards your last two teammates, Dwight and Meg, working on a generator together.
You tried to help them work on the gen, but of course, Michael had to make sure to implement more fear into you.
His heartbeat got closer and closer, but none of you guys knew where he was
That was until he grabbed Meg off the generator and stabbed her.
Dwight ran away, also causing the generator to blow up.
Then it was just you and him.
You froze in fear, expecting him to hook you or just straight up stab you. But he didn't
Michael was confused. He couldn't kill you. This was nothing like how he normally feels. He feels satisfied when killing. But now, he was frustrated.
What about you makes him like this? He had to find out. So he didn't kill you. Just downed you and placed you in the shack.
Right on top of the hatch.
Pyramid Head:
Pyramid Head is a bipolar yandere. He is also obsessive and possessive.
So he is definitely not gonna share.
He is usually a ‘kind’ (by yandere standards in dbd) yandere, but on some days he can be cruel. Not as cruel as others though.
When he learned about your presence, he knew he didn’t want to leave you.
It did not take long for you to get put into a trial with him.
Like Michael, he tried his best to kill all of your teammates before you could save them.
Forcing them into his trails and putting them in the Cage of Atonement when you got too close.
But, if you got too close to the Cage, he would just walk closer towards it, making it teleport away from where you both were.
It was basically a game seeing who would get to the survivor first.
If someone else tried to save them, he would force them to go down and trade with the person in the cage.
He repeated this until you were the last one left.
You were all his now.
You scurried like a mouse, trying to find the hatch, before hearing its winding presence of freedom.
As you ran towards the noise, you saw him standing over the hatch, his terror radius was completely gone. Behind him, a broken generator, that was nearly done, was left sparking.
He had Trail of Torment.
But he didn’t close it even though he could see you.
He just stood there.
You turned to run away, but you could hear the swing of his metal sword going through the air.
You turned back around to see him still standing on the hatch, but he was gesturing towards it with his head.
He wanted you to have it.
On days/trials where he has been pissed off, he is not so nice, even to you. Will he torment you as much as the other survivors in the trial? No. But he is gonna give you the hatch like usual? Hell no
Pinhead:
Pinhead is a Possessive yandere, but he is also very narcissistic and sadistic.
So he won’t share, but he will also talk about himself and himself only.
If you ever heard him while he was talking to anyone, he would literally only talk about himself.
But, you had only heard him talking to someone else once.
Needless to say, that was the last time you ever wanted to hear him talk.
He is sadistic, so he is mean. He’ll purposely tunnel you in trails just to hear you cry.
It's one of his favorite noises.
When you first met him in a trial, he wasn’t nice to you once so ever. He learned that he loves to hear your cry in agony. He repeatedly knocked you down, picked you up, and let you wiggle off, then knocked you down again.
He was playing with you.
Of course, it didn’t feel like he was just playing with you, it felt like suffering.
He did this the whole course of the trial. Only stopping when one of the other survivors runs past him. He’d drop you then go after said survivor for a bit, making you think he’s done torturing you.
Boy were you dead wrong.
As soon as you are about to reach one of your friends to help get you off of the ground he snatches you up and starts the cycle all over again.
Until the other survivors (those who aren’t dead) fix up all the gens and open the gates.
They’ll try to save you but can’t without being hooked or moried. So they’ll have to leave you
What a great introduction to this guy right?
Anytime you had a trial with him you felt so much agony, after the first couple trials with him your friends gave up on trying to help you. Anytime they did they’d get downed, hooked, or moried. It seemed pointless to them.
Pinhead doesn’t understand his feelings towards you, nor does he care to understand them. He’ll just keep doing whatever it takes to get these feelings to either lessen or will do anything for his feelings if they please him.
So you can either expect a sadistic Pinhead or a creepily nice/stalkery Pinhead during a trial with him.
Good Luck
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere headcanon#yandere monster#yandere dbd x reader#yandere dbd#dbd#dbd killer#dead by daylight#yandere dead by daylight#dbd michael myers#dbd pyramid head#dbd pinhead#miss blue writing#ask lyssa
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Get in losers were making a fic rec masterlist
Hi y’all it’s me, your local multishipper, and I’m about to be the change I wish to see in the world by putting all the best f1 fics in one place.
Maxiel
cool things to say to your soulmate by @powerful-owl (E, 14k)
A collection of shorter soulmate stories by the great em powerfulowl. Essentially the maxiel thesis as far as I’m concerned. If you ever catch me talking about the goose fic, this is what I’m talking about. Fun story: this was actually the first F1 rpf I ever read and I blame it for why my standards are so fantastically high.
Thursday girl by @boxboxlewis (M, 3k)
Max is outed by the press. Shocking emotional impact to word ratio and off the charts tenderness. Short and sweet and low key a comfort read to me.
the being unknown by anonymous (E, 12k)
Body swap with really unique and emotional vibes. Ngl this one hurt me (in the best way). A fantastic and heart-wrenching take on the horrors of 2022.
Charlos
win or lose (it’s how you play the game) by @f1-stuff (E, 18k)
Hickey bet between charles and carlos. Cannot get over this fic for as long as I live: the silliness is off the charts, the vibes are literally the most perfectly balanced tenderhorny I’ve ever read and the writing is just really that good. I think about this fic minimum once a day.
last night by venerat (E, 24k)
College au. Ngl this one is just especially spicy, but also very very funny and fully captivating top to bottom (see what I did there? haha). Also a great ensemble cast here, which I always love.
Once more (before we die) by @f1-stuff (M, 6k)
Fantasy AU where charlos are princes of warring kingdoms. I love this AU and I love the tenderness between Charles and Carlos that we get out of it. I’m usually not really an AU type of gal but this one really did change my mind.
Playing games by @vegasgrandprix (T, 4K)
Gay chicken. WIP, but I can already tell so clearly exactly where this is going and that is delightful to me. Honestly this really is how they act like 90% of the time already.
Yukierre
match made in heaven by venerat (T, 4K)
Pierre is yuki’s matchmaker. this one is just so sweet and sooooo silly. Comfort read 100%
Loscar
Are they gay or European? (the answer is both) by periwinkle_bumper_cars (T, 30k)
Logan keeps walking in on other drivers in compromising positions. 100% balls to the wall silliness from beginning to end and just completely delightful the whole time. Background carlando, kmag/hulkenberg, brocedes, maxiel, and honestly the ensemble cast is what takes this one from great to top tier.
Landoscar
By a thread by @mctwinkdom (E, 32k)
The classic Australian thongs misunderstanding (gone sexual). Incredibly silly, amazingly hot and honestly a top-tier character study of both Oscar and Lando. A great study in unreliable narration as well (probably part of what accounts for my previous point).
carried away by orphan account (E, 22k)
Fake dating. Honestly this one got me in my feels so much more than I expected from the premise. Sweet and a little bit angsty and just a delightful read all the way down.
Strollonso
green light, red wine (and I don’t feel fine) by @vicsy (E, 19k)
Mafia AU where lance is the son of Fernando’s arch nemesis. THEE strollonso fic of all time I tell you. Unparalleled characterization on the part of both nando and lance, fantastic ensemble cast, FANTASTIC writing, and off the charts unreal spiciness. If you haven’t read this yet then what are you doing
El dick plan by @waddlingpenguin (E, 800)
Lance says ‘daddy,’ both Fernando and Lawrence answer. Short, sweet and SILLY.
camera roll by @penaltyboxboxbox (E, 5k)
Sexting/sex tapes. Overall nice and spicy and just fantastic characterization. Also absolutely crucial is the companion art also by dave penaltyboxboxbox which is literally like the ice cream on top of the cake for such a wonderful fic
silver platter by @wewentcarracing (E, 10k)
getting together fic featuring long suffering estie bestie. Honestly the fic is amazing and spicy and just so well written but Esteban’s ever growing dismay is lowkey my favorite part. Works as a pretty great lance character study as well.
Brocedes
Roseberg’s vs haminkton by @jean----ralphio (E, 16k)
Tattoo artist versus flower shop, except they’re rivals. This is like…just how they are honestly. Absolutely stunning ensemble cast and absolutely hilarious buildup to lewis and Nico finally getting together. Side order of seb just being a massive shit stirrer which honestly I think is the role he belongs in
The real reason nico rosberg retired by periwinkle_bumper_cars (G, 3k)
Secret Santa (gone horribly wrong). This is…..also just how they are unfortunately. The rancidest of vibes but also screeching-out-loud funny.
will be updating this on the reg so stay tuned for more good fics. also maybe if I am very lucky someday I will have my own fics to add to the list. definitely I need to become slightly more insane before I can start writing for this fandom but believe you me I’m well on my way.
#fic rec#f1 fic rec#maxiel#charlos#yukierre#loscar#landoscar#twinklaren#strollonso#brocedes#hope you all enjoy :P
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omg i got a good idea for an ateez song imagine: like i can -sam smith.
idk who but alive you feel like could match the vibes best. im kinda thinking yunho or seonghwa but they could be so different like shsbvsjsnd ily
a/n: this is SO SO VERY LATE I APOLOGIZE. THIS HAS BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR TOO LONG. I HOPE YOU'LL STILL ENJOY IT THO. AGAIN, FORGIVE ME FOR POSTING THIS AFTER SO LONG 😭
also, let's make this a seonghwa x reader x yunho cuz y not
suggestive (kinda smutty) & angst, no fluff here. love triangle, and mentions of other sins are in here so read at your own risk. also mdni!
LIKE I CAN - SAM SMITH
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Seonghwa's piercing gaze cuts through the plethora of people in the dance floor of the smoky club, straight onto your figure latched onto his nemesis.
Jeong fucking Yunho.
Out of all the other guys you can mess around with, you really had to go to the person he least expected.
Seems like you know how to play a game of terror.
He scoffs when he sees you giggle at the other man's whispered words, biting your lower lip when his hand drops on your exposed thighs, crawling higher until it had you closing your legs in a failed protest.
Oh, how he hates seeing you like this. Like you weren't chanting his name like a mantra a few days ago. Like you weren't panting for more in his sheets. Like he didn't carved your body to accommodate him and only him.
He smirked when he saw an opportunity to lock you in, watching you saunter towards the restroom, and he stood up himself, boldly following you in there.
You were minding your own business, not until someone rudely barged in, pinning you on the wall with their face dangerously close to yours.
"What the f-"
"Watch your words, babe."
You almost shrieked when the person that you don't wanna have an encounter with shows himself without any warning.
"Seonghwa?" you muttered his name, and the way you called him sent the blood rushing down in his member. He loved it whenever you sounded meek in his presence.
"Let me go. I don't have time for this shit." you said, voice firm and he was shocked at how confident you are.
Is this what that Yunho has been teaching you? After all his hard work in shaping you into his submissive baby girl. Oh, he has to remind you where you stand in here.
"I don't have time for your attitude, princess."
Seonghwa's hands went into your waist, pushing your lower half into his own while he sticks his leg in between your thighs, causing you to let out a small squeak when your clothed pussy rubbed against his jeans.
It sent you down the rabbit hole, back to zero when he's intoxicating you like this again.
How do you even escape from him?
Park Seonghwa, the guy that every girl wanted yet you had him as your trophy after a one night stand during a drunken stupor of his frat's party.
He was once a stranger that you glanced at, maybe once or twice, you couldn't remember but you do know that he made you laugh. He made you happy for a short while before giving you an entirely different kind of serotonin. One that you could acquire when the waves crash you into euphoria.
He showed you a world of situations that sailed on ships made of sands. Thus, it crumbles easily, making you seek a home made out of bricks, a shelter that winds cannot destroy.
Yet here he is, in all his glory, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.
"I thought you were better than this. Care to explain yourself princess, hm?" he mumbles against your bruised lips as he nibbles on it, his hands going over your breast to grope it rather harshly.
"I don't need to explain myself to you." you panted, clenched fists weakly punching his chest, but you both know that no matter what you do, his temptation would be difficult to resist.
You moaned when his mouth slid down to your neck, biting your sweet spot while his hand wandered onto your damp panties, circling your garment-clad clit, it had you thrashing around in his arms.
Seonghwa chuckled darkly, murmuring the exact words that had your knees buckling for him, "Oh my sweet, little princess. I think I have to remind you that no one can show you passion like I do."
---------------------------------------------------
You were quietly sitting on the bed, the television's volume nothing but white noises to you.
Then you slightly jumped on your spot when a splash of cold water dripped on your cheeks, "Ah!"
You glared at the perpetrator, fresh out of the shower.
"Yunho! You scared me!" you whined, making him chuckle at your adorable countenance.
"You are the one scaring me, actually. You're too silent. Is something bothering you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice as he sits beside you, landing a palm on your leg and tenderly massaging it, giving you a sense of solace.
Yunho really is something, you think.
With him, it feels like all your sins will be forgiven. A gentleman that could cleanse your soul, a once in a lifetime chance and you'd be a damn fool if you let him go.
But it does plague your mind, the way you let yourself be consumed by the demon when you already have yourself an honest man.
"It's nothing, it's just-" you began to speak, but you were astounded when he cut you off with a groundbreaking fact that's been eating you inside and out.
"Is it what happened in the party?"
You and that Park shithead Seonghwa, he thinks.
You looked at him, wide eyed and anxious but he only waved you off. Still, there's a mayhem of vibes that surrounds him, and you have no idea of what will happen next.
"Y/N, my love, you must take for an idiot no?" he sniggers, then halts to tilt your chin up and he leans onto you, the tip of his nose brushing yours.
He's another kind of poison, and a pattern seemed to click in your mind on what kind of men you are drawn to.
"Yunho, it's not like that." you tried defending yourself but he shushed you with a peck on the lips, his hands brushing your arms lightly until he reached your shoulders.
Goosebumps trailed on where he touched you, then he abruptly pushed you down the bed, eliciting a surprised gasp from you.
"Darling, it's okay." he reassures, positioning himself on top of you and discarding the towel around his waist. Droplets of water fell on you, soaking your shirt that he hoisted up, revealing your breasts to him, your nipples perking up at being exposed in cold air.
His warm hands explored your smooth skin while he inhaled your scent, smooching on the crook of your neck and his eyes squinted when he saw the remnants of Seonghwa's disgusting mark.
His fingers tickled your stomach, reaching for your tits and playing with your nipples, tugging on it and you felt yourself getting wet with his ministrations.
"Y-Yunho.." you mewled, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
He merely hummed before biting the same spot where Seonghwa soiled you, mumbling curses at the thought of that shitty fuck boy.
"It's okay," he repeats what he said a while ago, "because at the end of the day, you'll still come back to me. No one can show you heaven like I can."
He already has you, and in Yunho's perception, you are his. You belong to him, you belong with him.
Dwindling roads and outreached hands are presented to you, so, which one do you choose?
#ateez imagines#ateez#ateez smut#ateez scenarios#ateez fluff#ateez x reader#ateez angst#ateez fanfic#ateez hard hours#ateez hard thoughts#ateez reactions#jeong yunho#yunho#yunho imagines#jeong yunho imagines#yunho smut#jeong yunho smut#yunho fluff#yunho angst#yunho scenarios#yunho x reader#yunho hard thoughts#park seonghwa#seonghwa#seonghwa imagines#seonghwa smut#seonghwa fluff#park seonghwa smut#seonghwa hard thoughts#park seonghwa imagines
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Every glance | Jamal Musiala x Reader
pairing . . . jamal musiala x dortmund!academy!player!reader
summary . . . Ever since you met each other, you and Jamal become rivals. It was bound to be; Dortmund's golden girl and Bayern's star boy. But as the weeks pass, you rivalry blurs into something more, the tension increasing more than ever. And before you knew it, you two were confessing to each other in the bleachers
request . . . yes!! based on this request!
word count . . . 4.7k+
warnings . . . shit ton of tension, slowburn and rivalry but romance too!
faceclaim . . . N/A
alexavia yaps . . . didnt proof read this but who cares!!!!! i hope this mad sense bc ilike idk i wasnt entirely paying attention when writing this. I HOPE YOU LIKE I EVE!!!!! as you can asee i YAPPED. my longest fic ever omg anyhow yeah the smau grind will be here soon!!
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. . . The annual interschool sports tournament wasn’t just a competition; it was a battlefield. A week long war of football, academics, and extracurriculars that tested every student’s strength.
For your high school, it meant putting their trust in you, their star midfielder. Your name was associated with victory; the pride of your school, the one who never cracked under pressure, Dortmund Academy's golden girl.
This year, though, was different. Bayern Academy, Dortmund’s biggest rival, had brought their star boy, Jamal Musiala, into the pitch.
Jamal Musiala, the name everyone seemed to drool about. He wasn’t just good; he was annoyingly perfect. Flawless footwork, an effortless smile, and that annoyingly calm composure.
It was as if the universe had handcrafted him to be your nemesis. You’d only seen clips of him online, but even through a screen, he made your nerves crawl. Now he was here, in the flesh, and he was already stealing the spotlight.
The opening ceremony was full with energy as schools from all over the country gathered in the massive sports complex. You stood with your team, donning Dortmund’s signature yellow and black, as the Bayern squad entered.
They moved as a unit, their red jackets gleaming under the lights. At the center of their group was Jamal, his gaze scanning the room like he owned it.
And then, as if the universe demanded it, his eyes locked on yours.
His lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your blood boil.
"Is that Musiala?" Ida, your teammate, whispered beside you.
"Yeah," you muttered, forcing yourself to look away before your irritation became too obvious. "Doesn’t look like much."
"He’s supposed to be amazing," she said, clearly impressed.
"We’ll see about that," you replied, though your words felt more like a promise to yourself.
The first day of matches solidified what you’d feared; Jamal was as good as everyone said. Bayern’s game was a masterclass, and he was its centerpiece.
Every touch of the ball exuded cheers, every pass seemed calculated, and his goa, a curling shot from outside the box, was met with loud applause. You hated how your chest tightened watching him, not with admiration but with the burning desire to prove you could do better.
When it was your team’s turn to play, you poured every ounce of frustration into the game. You commanded the midfield, intercepting passes and setting up plays with precision.
When you scored, a long range strike that shook the net, you allowed yourself a flicker of satisfaction, knowing Jamal was watching from the sidelines.
But as the match ended, you glanced toward Bayern’s bench. Jamal’s eyes were on you, and when he caught you looking, he gave a slow, deliberate clap. It wasn’t the sarcastic kind, it was worse. Genuine. The kind that almost felt like a challenge.
Later that evening, during a skills challenge, your rivalry came to life.
Players from all schools were testing their dribbling, shooting, and agility. You signed up without hesitation, eager to show your worth. As you approached the dribbling course, you caught sight of Jamal standing nearby, arms crossed and smirking.
"Good luck," he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm.
"I don’t need it," you shot back. "Watch and learn."
You tackled the course with striking precision, weaving through cones and finishing with a shot that hit the top corner of the net. The crowd’s cheers echoed in your ears as you walked off, head held high.
But Jamal was next, and his performance was… flawless. Effortless. Annoying. When he broke your time record, he walked past you, grinning.
"Anything you can do, I can do better," he said.
"Keep dreaming," you snapped, glaring at him.
From that moment, the rivalry consumed you. Every match, every skill test, every interaction became a battle. You pushed yourself harder, determined to outshine him, and he matched you step for step.
The sight of him alone was enough to ruin your day. He didn’t even have to say anything; his presence carried this unbearable arrogance, like he owned the air you breathed.
Every time he walked into a room, that stupid smirk of his plastered across his face, you could feel your patience thinning. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he went out of his way to find you, just so he could look at you like you were beneath him.
It wasn’t just the way he spoke, all smug and self assured, but the way he looked at you; like you were a puzzle he’d already solved and thrown away. The kind of look that made your skin crawl and your hands clench into fists.
You didn’t need his pity, his judgment, or whatever game he thought he was playing. He was your rival, nothing more. And yet, there was something about him, about the way he lingered just long enough to get under your skin, that made it impossible to ignore him.
There was a storm in every conversation you had with him, a brewing tornado in every exchange of words. No matter how civil you tried to be, it always ended with raised voices and sharp stares, each of you unwilling to back down.
If you called him insufferable, he called you predictable. If you accused him of being self absorbed, he’d laugh and say you were obsessed with him. It was infuriating. It was exhausting. And yet, some part of you almost welcomed it, the way sparring with him made you feel so alive.
It wasn’t enough for him to win; he had to rub it in, too. Every goal he scored, every point he earned, he made sure you knew it. He didn’t gloat outright, no, that would’ve been too obvious.
Instead, he’d give you this infuriating little glance, like you were in on some private joke. As if to say, See? You’re no match for me. It made your blood boil every single time.
You’d thought you could avoid him outside of matches, but somehow, he was everywhere.
At the library, leaning against a shelf with that annoying air of ease. At the cafeteria, stealing your favorite spot by the window. Even in the hallway, you could feel his gaze on you, like a weight you couldn’t shake.
It was like the universe was conspiring to throw you together, just to see which one of you would snap first.
But the tension between you wasn’t just competitive, it was electric.
You hated to admit it, but there were moments, brief and unwelcome, where you couldn’t help but notice things about him.
The way his brows furrowed in concentration, how his shoulders relaxed after a perfect play, or the rare laugh that escaped when one of his teammates made a joke.
And then there were the stolen glances, quick, almost unnoticeable moments when you’d catch his eye and immediately look away, heat rising to your cheeks.
It didn’t help that he seemed to notice.
"What is going on with you and Musiala?" Ida asked after a game. "You’re like magnets… but an angry bad kind."
"He’s just… infuriating," you muttered. "Thinks he’s better than everyone."
"Maybe he is better," she teased, grinning when you scowled. "Relax, I’m kidding. But honestly? I’ve never seen you this fired up."
"He brings out the worst in me," you said, though deep down, you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Yes, he infuriated you, but he also pushed you to be better. The rivalry was exhausting, but it was also exhilarating.
One afternoon, during a rare break, you sat alone in the cafeteria, replaying the week’s events in your mind. You didn’t notice Jamal until he sat across from you, sliding his tray onto the table.
"Do you mind?" he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer.
You raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
"Eating," he said, biting into an apple. "Relax, I’m not here to fight you. Yet."
"Gee, thanks," you replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Coming from you, that means so much."
He laughed, unbothered. "You’re not bad, you know," he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Don’t talk down to me, Musiala," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "I don’t need your validation."
He smirked, his eyes holding yours longer than you expected. "I’m just saying, it’s fun having someone who can keep up."
The words lingered longer than they should have, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.
The week continued, each interaction only adding to the storm brewing between you. During a trivia night, you were forced onto the same team by random selection. Every whispered argument, every accidental brush of hands as you reached for the answer sheet, set your nerves on edge.
When your team won, Jamal leaned close, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "We make a good team, don’t we?"
"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, though your heart raced at the closeness.
By the time the tournament neared its end, the tension between you and Jamal had reached a heated point. Every interaction was lit with unspoken words, every glance lingered just a second too long.
It wasn’t just about winning anymore. It was about proving something to each other, though you weren’t sure what. it was no longer about school pride or trophies.
It was personal. And neither of you was ready to admit how deep it ran.
After a particularly heated game, where both your teams had narrowly secured victories, Jamal caught up with you as you headed off the field.
"You’re really something, you know that?" he said, falling into step beside you.
"Don’t tell me you’re just figuring that out," you replied, though your voice lacked its usual bite.
"No," he said, his tone unusually serious. "I’ve known it from the start."
You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, the rivalry fell away, leaving only two people who understood each other in a way no one else could. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Jamal’s smirk returned, and he nodded toward the exit.
"See you in the finals," he said, his voice light again.
"You’d better bring your A game," you called after him, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to examine.
The finals were looming, and with them, the promise of one last battle. But somewhere amidst the rivalry, something deeper was starting to take place.
Neither of you was ready to admit it, but the lines between competition and connection were beginning to blur.
The finals came faster than you anticipated. One moment, you were preparing, training with everything you had, and the next, you were standing at the threshold of the biggest match of your life.
The weight of the competition, the constant back and forth with Jamal, the pressure to perform; it all sat heavy on your shoulders. But in the chaos, in the swirl of anticipation and adrenaline, what lingered in your mind wasn’t the game, the plays, or even the cheers of the crowd.
It was Jamal.
Every interaction, every glance, every smirk, every perfectly timed subtle teasing left its mark on you. It wasn’t even the words themselves, no, it was the way his presence seemed to stir something in you that you couldn’t put a name to.
The rivalry, intense and sharp, had gradually started to feel like something else. Something more.
And yet, you didn’t want to admit it. How could you? Jamal had always been your rival. The one person you couldn't beat, the one you always wanted to outdo.
But now, when you really thought about it, the competition felt…different. You had stopped seeing him as merely an opponent. Somewhere, between the victories and defeats, he had become something else entirely, someone else.
The finals arrived, and the game was everything you expected it to be. Intense, fast paced, each team clawing for every inch of ground, every goal, every point. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you as the final seconds ticked down.
Your team pulled through, victorious, the trophy now gleaming in your hands as your teammates crowded around, lifting you up in celebration. Cheers and excitement filled the air, but your eyes instinctively sought him out.
And there he was, standing off to the side, his figure sharp against the blur of victory. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade.
His face was unreadable, a blank canvas, but his eyes; there was something in them. Something dark and intense, something you couldn’t quite decipher. The air between you crackled with a tension you hadn’t expected to feel.
You wanted to look away, to return to the celebration, but you couldn’t. And when he broke the gaze, turning away without a word, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest sting of disappointment.
Later, when the stadium emptied out and the noise faded into quiet, you found yourself walking the halls alone. The adrenaline from the win still pulsed in your veins, but so did something else.
It gnawed at you, lingering in the back of your mind. Without meaning to, your feet carried you toward the bleachers, where you found him sitting alone, his head tilted back as he stared up at the sky.
"You know, you’re supposed to sulk after a loss," you said, the words almost automatic as you approached.
He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was that smirk. The one that made everything inside you tighten. "And you’re supposed to celebrate after a win," he replied, his voice smooth, teasing.
You climbed the steps and sat beside him, your heart hammering in your chest. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, not exactly. But it wasn’t comfortable either.
It was loaded, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, everything that neither of you was brave enough to voice. The space between you felt like an abyss, but you didn’t know whether you wanted to close it or leave it as it was.
After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. "You played well today," he said quietly.
"I know," you replied, your voice lacking its usual sharpness. You didn’t have the energy for the usual banter, not now. Not with him.
His gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’re a tough, you know that?”
You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you both. "Coming from you? I’ll take that as a compliment."
He smiled, the cocky edge in his expression blunted, replaced by something far more… uncertain. Hesitant, almost. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you wondered, for the briefest of seconds, if he was seeing something you hadn’t noticed before.
"You really are something," he added, his tone softer now, less mocking. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t far from one.
The conversation rambled after that, going onto topics without really settling on any one thing. The tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling at both of you, never quite severed.
There was something magnetic about him, something about the way he looked at you, the way he saw you; not just as a rival but as an equal. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.
The weeks that followed were a blur of practices, interviews, and games, each day blending into the next. But Jamal was never far from your thoughts.
You couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.
The rivalry, at first so intense, had grown into something far deeper. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the words you didn’t say.
Every time you crossed paths, the air between you seemed to thrum with energy. Every interaction, no matter how small, felt charged, as if the tension was simmering just below the surface, ready to explode.
Then one day, it happened. You found him waiting for you outside the locker room after a particularly tough game. His back was pressed against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was studying you, as if waiting for something.
"You just can’t stay away, can you?" you teased, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the small shift in his expression, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction.
"I could say the same about you," he shot back, his voice low and deliberate.
There it was again. That crackling energy between you, pulling you in. You swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to take a step back, but your feet were rooted to the ground. His gaze never wavered, and you felt a heat creep up your neck.
"Why do you always have to make everything a competition?" you asked, though you knew the answer before he even spoke.
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The distance between you closed, leaving you acutely aware of every detail; the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes glinted in the dim light.
His words were low, almost intimate. "Because you make me want to be better. And I think I do the same for you."
You hated that he was right. Hated how easily he saw through you. You hated that you couldn’t look away, couldn’t even bring yourself to fight back.
"You’re insufferable," you muttered, but your words lacked the bite they usually had. It felt more like a feeble attempt to cover up something else, something deeper.
He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "And you love it."
You should have argued, should have pushed him away. But instead, you stood there, frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was changing. Slowly. Relentlessly.
The realization hit you in a moment of silence, one that caught you completely off guard. You had gone to watch one of his games, just to pass the time, to distract yourself from the constant pull between you. But as you watched him on the field, it hit you like a train.
It wasn’t just the way he played, it was the way you felt when you watched him. There was admiration there, sure. But it was more than that. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge.
When he scored the winning goal and looked up, his eyes scanning the stands before landing on you, everything inside you froze. The crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was the rush of your own blood in your ears. He knew you were there.
And when his eyes locked with yours, it wasn’t just a brief glance. It was something intentional, something deliberate. It made your heart race, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were proud or…something else.
That night, as you lay awake in your bed, the weight of everything pressed in on you. The rivalry, the competition, the slow, inevitable shift that had taken place between you and Jamal. You didn’t know what it was or where it was heading, but one thing was clear; it was no longer just a game.
It was something much more dangerous.
The next time you saw him, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. Neither of you could pretend anymore. Every glance, every word, every touch seemed to linger just a little longer than it should. The line between competition and connection had blurred, leaving you both on the edge of something you couldn’t name. Something neither of you was brave enough to confront.
And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to win… or lose.
The tension between you and Jamal had grown unbearable. Every glance, every word, every charged moment felt like a string being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. And when it did, it was bound to be explosive.
It happened on a rainy Friday evening. You’d just wrapped up a practice session, the field slippery with mud and your teammates’ laughter echoing in the distance. You thought you were alone until you heard footsteps behind you.
"Can’t stay away, can you?" Jamal’s voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
You turned to find him standing there, his hair damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, though you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer.
"Watching and learning," he said, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes held something deeper, something that made your breath catch.
"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes. "You could use the practice."
He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm despite the cold rain. "You’re impossible, you know that?"
"And yet, here you are," you shot back, crossing your arms.
He stepped closer, and suddenly the air felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could ignore. The teasing, the rivalry, the constant push and pull; it all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the rain.
"Why do we do this?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
"Do what?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.
"This," he said, gesturing between you. "The arguing, the competition, the… pretending."
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe it’s easier that way."
"Easier," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he shook his head. "It’s not easier. It’s torture."
The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn’t the confident, cocky Jamal you were used to. This was someone raw, someone honest.
"Jamal…" you started, but he cut you off.
"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care, like you don’t drive me absolutely insane in the best and worst ways."
You stared at him, your mind racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back into the safety of your rivalry and banter. But another part, the part that had been growing bigger with each passing day, wanted to stay.
"You’re not the only one," you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the drops of rain clinging to his lashes. "Then stop fighting it," he said, his voice almost pleading.
You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then he reached out, his hand brushing yours, and all the walls you’d built came crashing down.
The kiss was unavoidable, as much a peak as it was a beginning. His lips were warm despite the cold rain, his touch firm but gentle. It was everything you’d both been denying, all the tension and frustration melting away into something softer, something real.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, a small, disbelieving smile on his lips.
"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted.
"Probably as long as I have," you replied, your voice shaky but light.
The rain continued to fall, but neither of you moved. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the newfound understanding between you.
From that moment on, everything changed. The rivalry didn’t disappear, but it softened, became something playful rather than competitive. You still challenged each other, still pushed each other to be better.
But now, there was something more. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you; it all added up to something you couldn’t ignore.
You found yourself craving his presence, his voice, his laugh. And he felt the same. The time you spent apart felt like an eternity, and when you were together, it was never enough.
The rivalry that had once defined your relationship had become the foundation of something much deeper, something that neither of you could deny.
One night, as you lay together under the stars, he turned to you, his expression serious.
"You know this isn’t going to be easy," he said.
"I know," you replied.
"But it’s worth it," he said, his voice firm.
You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "It’s always been worth it."
And for the first time, you both let yourselves believe it.
The connection between you and Jamal had become an unstoppable force. No matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime, and the longing grew unbearable. It wasn’t just desire; it was a need, an aching pull that neither of you could resist.
It started small, a text here, a call there. But soon, it spiraled into something neither of you could control. Late night phone calls that stretched until dawn, whispered confessions that left you both breathless.
Even when you were apart, you were never really alone; your thoughts were consumed by him, and you knew it was the same for him.
One evening, after an exhausting match, you collapsed onto your bed, exhausted but restless. Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t even need to check the screen to know who it was.
Are you awake?
You smiled, your fingers gliding across the screen.
Always for you.
A moment later, his name lit up your screen. You answered without hesitation.
"I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice low and filled with longing. "It’s driving me crazy."
Your heart skipped a beat. "Join the club," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re all I think about, Jamal."
There was a pause, and you could hear his breathing, steady but heavy. "I hate this," he said finally. "I hate being away from you."
"Then don’t be," you whispered, your words bold but honest. "Come over."
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Less than an hour later, he was at your door, his hair tousled and his eyes filled with an intensity that took your breath away.
You barely had time to step aside before he was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate.
"I can’t do this anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I need you. All the time. Every second of every day."
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face. "I need you too," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I don’t know how to be without you anymore."
He smiled then, a soft, disbelieving smile that made your heart ache. "Good," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not letting you go."
From that moment on, the walls between you crumbled completely. There was no more acting, no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing else mattered. You spent every possible moment together, your lives intertwined in ways you’d never thought possible.
He started showing up at your matches, cheering louder than anyone else. You did the same for him, your voice hoarse and non existent by the end of his games.
When you weren’t on the pitch, you were together, whether it was curled up on the couch, wandering the city hand in hand, or simply lying in bed, talking about everything and nothing.
The rivalry that had once defined your relationship was still there, but it had transformed into something playful, something that pushed you both to be better. You still challenged each other, still teased and competed, but now it was with a smile and a kiss waiting at the end.
One night, as you lay tangled together under a blanket of stars, Jamal turned to you, his expression serious.
"You know this is it, right?" he said, his voice soft but steady. "You and me. There’s no going back."
You nodded, your heart swelling. "I wouldn’t want to," you said.
He smiled, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "Good," he said. "Because I’m not going anywhere."
And neither were you. For the first time, you both let yourselves believe in forever, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.
taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)
#alexavia writes 🍒#alexavia yaps 🍒#x reader#fic#fanfic#oneshot#x reader oneshot#football#bundesliga#bayern munich fc#jamal musiala#jamal musiala oneshot#jamal musiala x you#jamal musiala x y/n#jamal musiala fic#jamal musiala fanfic#x y/n#x you#x reader fic#tension#football x reader#jamal musiala x reader#bayern munich#bayern#bayern munich x reader#borussia dortmund#slowburn#dortmund
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devilspawn!
alhaitham x gn!reader
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/977ea6b8f8b5f192ec442c45d39393ee/3db5d84edbd0415b-0d/s540x810/ec1904fc157a97dad7b986192a7525f4806f0f1d.jpg)
wherein Alhaitham, despite being deeply and irrevocably in love with you, thinks it's rather immature to be picking fights with a child whose age hasn't even reached double digits yet. until he meets said child himself. notes: gn!reader, written in lowercase, reader is implied to be the traveler but can be read otherwise, alhaitham is whipped for reader, reader hates timmie so if you adore the kid i'm very sorry, two curse words (reader says ass and alhaitham mentally says little shit)
alhaitham loves you a lot. he really does. he rarely ever says the three magic words, and for the most part, it's fine on your end because he expresses his deep affection for you through his actions.
sometimes, he'll say 'i love you' through quiet but powerful hugs after he comes home from a long, grueling day in the Akademiya. other times, he'll whisper 'i love you' as he hands you a small trinket or even a book you've mentioned in passing, one he bought just earlier when he saw said item in a stall while on an assignment. he'll call you 'beloved' through massaging your shoulders after training, and he'll tell you how much he adores you through the many times you spent basking in each other's presence in comfortable silence.
he'll walk with you to the ends of the Teyvat if it means staying by your side, however…
"love," alhaitham shakes his head, "you're a… fully grown adult. the one you want to 'crush under the heavy hand that is loss', is a child. my love, a child."
now, alhaitham is no stranger to the game that is TCG, Genius Invocation, the Card Game. the only times he, kaveh, tighnari, and cyno will meet up are when they're all free, fancying a drink, and cyno wants to try out another new card he has recently obtained.
in all honesty, your partner couldn't for the life of him understand the hype about this card game. he was by no means an amateur - he has won enough games to be considered an official TCG player, despite only borrowing decks from kaveh, and he is the only one able to actually last more than 5 rounds against cyno in a single session at lambad's.
he knows how to play, he just does not see the need to play so obsessively, nor blow off money for special cards he'll only use in a few given instances of his life (if he even utters this line of thought out loud around cyno, he'll have a spear stuck on his back for the rest of the day).
however, you - his lover, his partner, the only person reserved for the ring in his pocket - love TCG, and as the loving boyfriend he is, he tries to keep his opinion of the game to himself; he'd rather have a giant spear in his back than see you sad and pouting as you shuffle through your beloved deck of cards. he should know, he's made the mistake once and it took him a couple of padisarah pudding servings to cheer you up.
alhaitham loves you, and if you like this card game, he will certainly make sure you're happy every duel or match you do. he just can't wrap his head around why you're setting off to the bridge that leads to the entrance of mondstadt city, deadset on making a something years old child cry from defeat.
"alhaitham, baby, you don't understand," you argued, "that child is my mortal enemy, my lifetime arch-nemesis, and a pain in my ass."
"yes, darling, but consider: you have many more potential TCG friends who would make better rivals than some random kid." alhaitham rubs his forehead, completely exasperated if it weren't for the adorable way you're marching ahead in front of him like a goofy soldier going into war.
you only spin around just at the mouth of the bridge, your hands on your hips as you stare up at alhaitham with a pout on your face and a raised eyebrow. "you think i'm being irrational, aren't you?"
alhaitham raises an eyebrow back as he continues walking. "not necessarily, my love, however - "
there's something about being hit in the face with multiple fluttering wings and feathers unexpectedly, that can render even the most stoic of men like alhaitham utterly lost and speechless. is it the pure shock? the pain of not really fluffy appendages hitting their face? well, it's when the haze of birds - pigeons? - finally clear, alhaitham is greeted by the displeased and outright sour expression of the one he can only assume to be timmie, your 'sworn enemy'.
"what are you doing?!" said boy screeched. "you scared my pigeons away!"
alhaitham could only blink owlishly at the dirty blond haired boy, looking around to see a bunch of pigeons flying away, leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. granted, despite all the horror stories you told him about timmie, alhaitham's rational enough to be patient with timmie.
"i'm sorry, but I don't think I have control over that, kid." alhaitham tilts his head down to look at timmie. "if you feed your pigeons in the middle of the road, especially a bridge with exactly two exit and entry points, your pigeons will surely—"
"no, my mama always said that if you're a person with a pure heart, the animals won't be afraid of you." timmie turned his nose up and stuck his tongue out at alhaitham. "that's why my pigeons like me, and not you, you meanie!"
alhaitham had to reel himself back to take in the ridiculous logic, the gears in his head turning to come up with an explanation. "no," he shakes his head as if it's hurting, "birds and all animals for that matter don't know the concept of morality, thus they have no sense of right and wrong as humans do. the only reason the pigeons run away from others and stay with you is because you're feeding them, creating a dependent relationshi—"
"blah blah, why should i listen to an old man with graying hair?"
said (old) man with gray(ing) hair visibly reels back, flabbergasted. he's not so much offended as he is shocked at timmie's attitude. he wanted to say 'no, he's not old', 'his gray hair is a natural phenomenon because of genetics', and, 'listen here you little shit'.
"see?" you commented from the sideline, arms crossed. "devilspawn."
"ARGH!" timmie shouts, pointing an accusing finger at you. "you again?! stop scaring my pigeons away!"
"i keep telling you, there's nothing i can do about that!" you shout back, bickering with the small child as if you were about to lunge at him.
alhaitham looks back and forth between the two of you, mentally wondering if he was dating and courting someone of the immature type (doesn't mind it solely, because it's you). when he moves to calm you down so the both of you can finally head into mondstadt city to look for marjorie, timmie says:
"maybe my pigeons don't like you because you look like an ugly cow!"
oh boy. no good. no, no good, alhaitham won't tolerate that.
alhaitham loves you a lot. he really does. he rarely ever says the three magic words, and for the most part, it's fine on your end because he expresses his deep affection for you through his actions.
and if it means making a little boy cry at a simple card game to protect your dignity, then so be it.
"beloved. if you would so kindly let me borrow your cards."
"wha—?"
"beloved."
this is just a silly drabble i thought of a lot of days ago and no, it's not proofread AHAHA. i have been so inactive lately and i apologize for that, school has been hectic and i was busy with college applications to boot. but now, i'm about to graduate so i should have some free time before i finally taste the college life ಥ‿ಥ if y'all saw this post but with no tags you did not
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#al haitham x reader#alhaitham x reader#al haitham imagines#alhaitham imagins#shu writes
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