#at the cost of his own dignity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

louebel · 8 months

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Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub...

"... phew ..."

scrub... poof!

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..."

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious.

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it.

If only you weren't sick.

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn."

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you.

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary.

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off.

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed.

Or not.

"Ow, ow..."

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid.

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why.

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you?

Those sweet memories...

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you.

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..."

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously...

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood.

Now? If he saw one inch of your form?

Sigh. His face always went red.

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer?

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting.

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought.

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy.

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough...

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it.

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it.

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you.

Ugh...

You wished it could all go back to normal.

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe.

"... Okay, I'm done."

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to.

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later.

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in.

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and —

knock knock.

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm.

You waited.

... knock knock.

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work.

Okay.

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now.

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light.

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them...

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight.

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him.

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes.

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.)

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone.

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself..

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you.

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?—

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?"

"Huh?"

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all.

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention.

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you.

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry."

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape.

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now.

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it.

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct.

"Well? I'm waiting."

"..."

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage.

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and—

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three.

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis.

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name.

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed.

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy.

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next.

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything.

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—"

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?"

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream.

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it.

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long.

"You're cold... Off."

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued.

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager.

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep.

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him.

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions.

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him.

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think.

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.”

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary.

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?"

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly.

"Law …'m sorry if I smell."

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point.

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh."

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form.

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful."

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines.

"U- uuh... W- where..?"

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here."

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water.

The second tasted awful.

"E—eugh..."

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good."

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot...

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases.

“Do you feel better now..?”

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you.

Your question puzzled him.

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side.

"What?"

“I … I missed you."

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest.

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I’m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...”

Shit.

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...”

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability.

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..?

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…”

"Aargh..."

Warm.

"Mmh..."

It was very warm. Pleasant.

"Hn..."

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm.

The pillow was so nice, though...

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament.

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours.

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch.

He looked peaceful.

"... Law?"

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you.

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening."

You were mad at him. You were mad at him.

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention.

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit.

"I'm in my pajamas?"

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it."

"..."

Pause number two.

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant."

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening.

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed.

"You inhaled it, didn't you?"

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all."

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks.

"Y—Yeah."

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed."

"O—oh... That bad?"

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.”

“Hey—”

“You're fine."

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well.

"Well?"

"... You ignored me. You made it clear."

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out.

"I—I didn't."

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—"

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress.

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you."

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance.

You just... didn't know.

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not!"

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours.

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours.

If he explained, it would've been easier.

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—"

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest."

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not.

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—"

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss."

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep.

"I... You did nothing that bothers me."

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part.

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding.

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach.

He couldn't be serious.

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

"What?"

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth.

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose.

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry.

"Hey... I—"

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!"

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you.

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him.

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..."

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious.

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't.

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him.

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight.

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings.

"... You what, Law?"

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed.

His hands craved yours.

"I like—I like you!"

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed.

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you."

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—"

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances.

"... Law."

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—"

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about...

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self.

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize.

"Law."

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—"

Your heartbeats matched.

"Law!"

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him.

"It's... the same."

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises.

"Huh? Wh — what?"

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too."

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were.

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer.

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone.

All is back to normal.

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder.

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer...

Closer...

"Closer?"

"Alright."

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short.

How you missed holding it.

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face.

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change.

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait.

He felt lighter.

“… Truly?”

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I’m fine with waiting longer.”

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit.

His eyes glistened.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return.

He can take all the time he needs.

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them.

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning.

"Tired?"

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it.

"Mm, there were a lot of them."

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks."

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it."

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?"

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it.

"... Meet me at my office once you're done."

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

#law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x you

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blankwashed · 2 months

Text

"Thought you were going to wait?"

"B-Babe! Stop! Ji—" (your cute little name for him)

You were trying to stop your fiancé, who was getting too handsy with you at that moment. You knew you couldn’t blame him, as you were the one who invited him over to your home for your anniversary. He didn't reply, of course. His mind was already taken over by the drug that people would call lust. Your cries were left unheard, and at that point, you didn't know who you were getting married to. Flashbacks of your friends telling you that it was a bad decision to date a dropout from Jujutsu High flooded your mind.

Toji's mind had only one goal, and it was to take your body right then and there. He didn't care that you were still a virgin; that was the least of his worries at that moment. Your wails and cries fell on deaf ears. Clawing at anything within reach to strike your assailant was futile, as his overpowering strength dwarfed yours.

"What's the problem, mama? Don't you want to please me? It's been so long, and I haven't been able to use you the way I wanted to when we first met, and it's making me upset." As Toji's grip tightened, panic surged through you like a torrential wave. The realization hit hard — the person you thought loved you was now a stranger, consumed by desires that disregarded your well-being. Memories of tender moments together faded into the background as the harsh reality of the present took hold.

Struggling to find your voice amidst the chaos in your mind, you searched desperately for a way to break free from his grasp. Every attempt to reason with him seemed futile, his eyes glazed over with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment, you faced a stark choice: succumb to his desires and sacrifice your dignity, or fight back with every ounce of strength you possessed. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air, as the echoes of your unanswered questions reverberated in the silence between you.

"I thought you were going to wait…"

The words escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible amidst the chaos of emotions swirling inside you. It was a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the person you once knew, hoping to reignite the flicker of affection buried beneath layers of lust and aggression.

But Toji's expression remained cold and indifferent, his grip unyielding as he continued to advance. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of your racing heartbeat, each thud a painful reminder of the betrayal unfolding before you.

In that moment of vulnerability, you realized that the love you had believed in was nothing more than a fragile illusion, shattered by the harsh reality of Toji's actions. And as you braced yourself for what was to come, a newfound resolve ignited within you — a determination to claim your autonomy, no matter the cost.

Toji's hands ventured inside your dress, fumbling as if searching for anything to touch. He grabbed at any plush of your flesh, gripping it forcefully, causing you to yelp out of discomfort.

"Mm, my sweet girl is moaning for me, I see? Want more of me, baby?" He bit his lip and stared right at you through his dark, lust-filled eyes.

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and revulsion as his words pierced the air, each syllable carrying the weight of his intentions. The once familiar gaze that had once held warmth and affection now bore into you with an unsettling intensity, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.

Struggling against his hold, you fought to reclaim control over your own body, desperate to break free from his grasp and escape the suffocating grip of his desires. But with each passing moment, the realization sank in — you were trapped, at the mercy of a man whose love had turned into something far more sinister.

With your energy depleted and the will to fight back drained from your body, you surrendered to Toji's overpowering presence. A sense of defeat washed over you as you realized the futility of resisting his advances. Toji's satisfaction was evident as he reveled in your submission, his skillful hands sneaking up to your breasts, squeezing and playing with your nipples.

A mixture of pleasure and pain surged through you as his touch alternated between ecstasy and discomfort. Each sensation elicited a conflicting response, leaving you torn between the overwhelming desire to escape and the intoxicating allure of his touch.

As your screams echoed in the room, a sense of resignation settled in, the realization sinking in that you were at the mercy of Toji's insatiable desires. In that moment of vulnerability, you found yourself teetering on the edge of despair, longing for a glimmer of hope to break through the darkness that threatened to consume you.

"Try it dear, I'm sure it won’t hurt. Daddy's not going to hurt you.." Toji's big hands brought your head towards his cock. Red, angry and leaking. You knew what he wanted you to do but you were still unsure about what to do. Still afraid, you licked it with the tip of your tongue. Ah, he tasted like salt. Almost immediately Toji held your hair into a ponytail.

"Mmmm but daddy wants more, its going to take more than that to make daddy come all over you, slut. You’d like that, don’t you?"

You tried your best to please with whatever your fiancé asked of you. You kept telling yourself that sooner or later, he'll be your husband and this won't really matter, right?

"Fuck this, you're too slow. Let daddy show you how he likes it, in your tight moist pussy,"

You were brought to the edge of the bed, trapping you, making it impossible for you to escape from his clutch. You were one to always be over-aware of what people say about you, having grown up with strict parents, so if you were to scream, you worried that your neighbors might gossip about you and the word might spread to your parents.

But at the same time, tears kept pouring, your lips getting bitten by your own teeth. Toji probably thought that this was your own way of telling him how ready you were.

He aligned his cock to your pussy. Despite the way your hands were pushing him away, he was definitely stronger. His arms were tracing all over your body; arms, legs making you shiver.

"Look at you, already wanting this hard cock deep in you. Don't worry, little one. What a fucking slut you are for me,"

Slowly, he guided his cock into your wet seeping cunt. He knew you were a virgin, thus not ramming into you that soon.

Even with how loving Toji was, you were in lots of pain, biting down on his shoulder with more tears flowing from your face.

"Toj—!" You weren't even able to form words to finish your sentence. It was as if you were a baby who had fallen down. Toji understood the pain you were going through, though; having taken multiple virginities in the past, he’s familiar with why you’re acting in this manner.

"Shhh...mama...the pain is only for a while..." He softens his voice and strokes your hair. You still didn't understand why Toji would go against his promise, the promise that he made when you started going out with him.

Your slick folds started to be accustomed to the feeling of having a thick long girthy cock as you stopped sobbing hard. He understood what this meant and placed your body on the soft bed.

"Mama, you know how much I love you. If you didn't, I'm going to show it to you now. I will take you to cloud nine, precious," He whispered to your nape.

Slowly, you got accustomed to his size and were finally able to say, "Ji...you're too big..."

He smirked and grabbed your ass with his large hands, causing you to squeal. "Daddy knows...that's why I'm not plowing into you yet," making you feel more sure about how caring he is, even in situations like these.

He's using all of his strength refraining from plowing into you. You won't have to tell anyone about this, it would just be your little secret. When you were ready, you dragged your finger tips on his broad shoulders.

“Mama’s ready?” You could feel his hips start to buck, getting ready to move. “I’ll go slow and when you feel like you’ve adjusted j’tell me okay?” He gave you another sloppy kiss on your hardening nipples.

You gave him a slow nod, not bothering about anything except the pleasure of you both. As he said, he went slow order for you to feel pleased first. He was a beast for sure, with the speed that will hit all your tender spots with his cock. But he was being kind and eager to show you how enjoyable having his cock in you felt.

Your g-spot was consistently being hit which made you yell out on every deity’s name that you knew. Toji just knew how you grateful you felt, knowing how well he was able to blow your mind.

“How you feel, sweet cheeks? Ya feeling better now? Tell daddy how ya’feel,” He teases you while giving your asscheeks grabs and spanks. You weren’t able to foster words with how empty and dependent when his cock was not in you.

Toji changed the position where he was hovering over your body, making you squirm abit.

“Mmm mama, this way you get to feel more of my cock and I can look at you while I’m at it. Isn’t that the best of both worlds, my little one?” You were subconsciously drooling while looking at him.

His cock grew harder inside of you, from the start. He would keep his eyes opened throughout the entire thing, taking in your beauty and making sure you were fine knowing that you might not be able to walk properly the next day. His mind only had one thing on it, and it was you, his soon-to-be wife. The thought only made him pick up his pace, pushing you to over the edge. Your limbs were numb at this time.

Your hands tried to tangle themselves in his hair for support. He made this experience for so kind and gentle, you knew that he loved you by the way he treated you in bed.

“Ji-Ji..I’m going to orgasm. Please go faster,”

That’s what he wanted to hear. He could finally speed up which would also mean he could chase his high. Grinning seductively and picking up his pace, he made your body to be like a shrimp as you saw stars. Your grip onto his body was tight, to the point of being painful as your fingernails dug into his flesh.

“Love, I’m going to cum soon. Would you want me to aim for the sheets or do you want a little Fushiguro?” Toji asked you, eager for your reply. He looked disgruntled, with his mouth ajar. You had to make a quick decision to bare a child now facing judgemental looks from your family when they notice your big belly or waste his sperm.

“D-daddy, in me. Please!”

As he heard your request, his white spooge was released in your pussy. It felt warm and the surplus leaked onto the bed.

Toji smiled and caressed your head, reaching over to the box of tissues beside the bed to clean his cock and more to clean a little of the excess from the bed. You were breathing heavily, as if you just ran miles on the treadmill.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to go to work tomorrow, babe..” You managed to squeak out with your eyes still closed, throat dry and lips chapped. Toji chuckled, “You can take your time babe. If they don’t let you take a leave, I’d show up and they’ll probably let you have a month off,”

You shook your head at how ridiculous that would sound. Was it so wrong to date one of Tokyo’s scariest thugs?

(TQ cafekitsune for the banner! Adorbs!)

The closer I get to the end of my university semester the lazier I become lol help I’m just so tired,

#Toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk smut #Toji x reader #fics

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yestrnight · 9 months

Note

hiiiii!! if you do sub readers, can you do a sub ditzy/dumb slime reader who gets fucked by kaveh and alhaitham? if you don’t wanna you don’t have to, but thanks for reading this!! nd i really loved the other slime reader fics!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACTIN' LIKE A DAMN HYPOCRITE !

FROM: kaveh / gn! slime! reader / haitham

SUBJECT: you did something wrong and now you're fucked. literally. except i did not do the request and it became kaveh and haitham fighting over you while you get plowed and haitham's a hypocrite the entire time.

( gn reader but they have a CÙNT, seeex, idk this is pretty tame bois )

no matter how endearing you are— all of your gurgly-voiced, innocent-eyed adorableness— one cannot just let you roam free without some sort of discipline. after all, who knows what you're capable of? you're a humanoid slime that kaveh picked out of nowhere, that alone should raise some bells, and plus the fact that you were sucking the living soul out of their dicks every day should warrant you a damn collar.

alhaitham raises his brow at his roommate, who coddles and coos at you in your slime form. "this is why the pesky thing keeps thrashing our room. you spoil them too much."

kaveh stops babbling to you in baby-talk just to shoot his roommate a glare. "oh, shush you. even if they look like a human, they're still a slime through and through. it can't be helped that they'll be a little rowdy every now and then. it's part of their nature!"

"if their nature is going to cost me 10,000 mora for renovation, then it becomes quite the inconvenience for me, i'm afraid," haitham deadpans, shutting his book and leveling his senior with a stern stare. "as the one who found them, do you even have the means to get that money right now?"

kaveh winces. "well, i... i'll manage somehow. somehow." his tone becomes pitiful at the end. finally realizing that he has to teach his little pet some manners so that they won't keep bankrupting him, he turns you around and tries to muster the harshest glare that he can. you notice that the situation has become serious, and in his hands you slowly morph into your humanoid form as you tilt your head innocently.

"kav... eh?" you gurgle in questioning, wide innocent eyes looking up at him. "did i do something wrong?"

"yes, dear," he starts, and he reddens when he notices haitham's amused expression from the corner of his eye. "that was very naughty of you, to destroy haitham's study while we were away. we... i..." he heaves a breath, wincing as he continues to speak. "we need to punish you. you've been a very bad slime."

"we?" haitham cocks a brow.

"oh come on!" kaveh groans. "i know you want in too!"

he's not wrong about that. not when haitham's deep groans sound throughout the room as he's fucking your wet pussy like his life depended on it. it was nice, to be the one fucking instead of being fucked. he still had his pride after all, even if you had stripped him of it countless of times before.

he pinches your clit as he grinds his cock deep into your cunt. you let out a squeal, a cross between surprise and pleasure as you start leaking more and more slime around his cock. he's always been a petty jerk, and it's become more obvious when he relishes in the cloudy expression on your usually clueless face. the face of his dreams and nightmares, staring down at him as he drowns in his own shameless pleasure as if they haven't stripped him of all his dignity.

he swipes a thumb across your lip— relishes it when you shiver in pleasure from his touch— and dips it into your mouth. "this is how you ought to look like everyday," he says, serious eyes studying your face as you whimper and suck on his thumb. "brainless monsters like you should just sit still and submit like a good pet."

"don't be so mean!" kaveh admonishes his roommate, giving him the side eye as if he's not sat behind you and torturing your chest with those delicate fingers. "we're just disciplining them. you don't have to demean them like that!"

haitham shoots him a glare and kaveh, not one to back down from haitham, glares right back. "you don't have the right to talk, " he spits, glaring moodily down at your fucked expression. "you brought this one into our home and allowed it to destroy both of our lives."

"oh please," kaveh sneers. in his aggravation, he pinches your perky nipples so hard that you let out a small sob as he abuses them. "destroy? more like destroying your ass." his smirk widens when haitham blushes angrily. "we both know that after your done plowing my cute lil [y. name] you're going back to taking their dick in your ass."

haitham clicks his tongue, venting his frustration by rutting too deep into you. he's close, kaveh can see it, if the white liquid leaking from his head and floating in your slme torso was any indication. "as if you don't do that either," haitham snaps.

"well, i'm not a bitch about it," kaveh scoffs.

"you act like damn slut when it comes to [y. name]."

you rock up and down against kaveh while you whine and moan from haitham's rough handling. kaveh pecks a loving kiss on your cheek, snuggling into your neck, and you whine back as you try to find his lips again. kaveh grins at haitham.

"better than acting like you don't get bitched everyday."

haitham growls, but says nothing more. once he's done turning your body into his creamy white, he's coming after kaveh.

#uh whoops #i think i did not do the request at all #i went into my own tangent whoops whoops #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #alhaitham smut #kaveh smut #nite.writes #this does not focus much on y/n :'(( more on kaveh and haitham #i just wanted to post smth already hehe

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yandere-sins · 1 year

Text

The Enemy’s Embrace

a/n: This doesn’t really has any big background. I saw a book quote on TikTok and thought that the scene would fit so well in a yandere scenario. So I wrote it! Hope you guys enjoy it :3

Warnings: Yandere, Mention of Stalking, Mention of unconsenting actions, Mention of Killing, Soft Yandere

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A shuddering sigh escaped your shivering lips as your gaze fell from the lattice above your head to the cell bars keeping you locked inside the cell.

There were so many things wrong with you being thrown in the dungeon. You didn't commit the crimes you were accused of and never fought the guards to deserve the resentment they've harbored. They had been downright glad to deliver you into the outdoor cell despite the early-winter cold setting in already, telling you you 'deserved' it.

Why did this happen?

Even after days, you lamented the questions of why and how, but the realization—a realization that made you angry beyond measure, furious and wild—had long set in. No matter how much you tried to ignore it for the sake of your own sanity, it wouldn't let you forget the reason you were here.

Not least because the reason kept talking to you with an awfully smug grin on his face as he waited for you to break.

"I don't mind sharing, you know?"

"I know," you mumbled, turning your back towards your cellmate and hitting your head against the cold stone to remain composed. You knew. You knew so well. The man wouldn't stop talking, belittling you with every word he uttered. And you knew he didn't mind sharing at the cost of you giving in to him.

It was driving you mad.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you watched your arch nemesis, the man you hated most in the entire world, flap his beautiful fur coat into the air, exposing the free space he had underneath to spare for you. That was if you could lose your dignity and sit between his legs, allowing this awful man to envelop you in a warm embrace.

He was grinning, as always, when he caught your eyes. Smugly. Challenging. Aware. Aware that you were slowly freezing to death in just your clothes while he had cozily bundled up in luxury unbefitting of a prisoner. He had been here longer than you, thrown into this dungeon for his crimes before they even came to get you. Someone took pity on the man who presented himself oh-so-dramatic and charming when he wasn't an insane villain. He just had to wail to and flirt with some of the noble ladies passing by the lattice until one of them decided to drop the poor man such a fine fur coat to survive the cold.

It wasn't like he could come near you or hurt you again from his position, bound by chains around his wrists that weren't short enough to immobilize him but not long enough to walk away from his spot. But even after all this time, he still enjoyed the torment of your suffering; every breath you blew against your icy fingers sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Sadly, no one thought of gagging him as would be appropriate for a notorious liar. Though the court believed you initially when you told them about his misbehavior—the following, the touches, the murders all in your name—somehow, he convinced them that you weren't an innocent part in all of this. There was nothing you could have done to convince them of your innocence after he charmed his way into the hearts of the jury with fake reasoning and pleading for justice. He opened his mouth, and everyone played his game—except you.

For these reasons, you hated him. And for your rejection, he loved you.

He could have had anyone, even a noble knight or the princess of the kingdom. But he wanted you, specifically, and preferably on your knees, begging for him. His taunting invitation to a warm huddling under the fur was just another way to torment you. He simply wanted to have you just because he decided you belonged to him, and crush your mind to fill it with the same insanity as his.

You had fought him for years. You barely escaped him on so many occasions. But while it had felt like victory to see him being dragged off by guards to his new home, the outdoor cell you hope he'd never escape from, in the end, it had all been in vain. And as you stood in the cell, facing the grey stone wall, this realization was the hardest to accept in all your life.

Because you were really fucking cold.

Even if you had thought about the possibility of yourself dying while getting rid of this lunatic, the thought still pained you. Things had gone wrong many times, but you always made it. You wanted to live. You fought so hard for your freedom and to survive. How could you possibly just throw it out now and allow him to lure you into his grasp?

"What must I do to make you come here and stop being so wary of me? When have I ever done something for you to hate me so?"

Even when he let out a defeated sigh before he spoke, his voice was nothing but mockery. He once again played the role of a savior. A gentleman, a soft-hearted soul in a cruel world. He was right that the world was a cruel place, especially for a genuine and kind person like you. But if you needed saving, you didn't want it to be from an actor who played the role of the selfless hero while grinning at the blood on his own hands.

"I'm good," you replied coldly, much like you were feeling. Hugging your body, you sunk to the ground, rocking yourself back and forth while trying to ignore the annoying villain on the other side of the cell. Closing your eyes, you tried to imagine the summer sun shining down, warming your skin instead of the cold winter breeze ramming into you. Things would have been much easier if he had stopped talking.

"Not to unnerve you, but despite always being stunningly beautiful, the color of your lips is slowly making me nervous, too. We both know you are freezing."

He just wouldn't shut up.

"I. Don't. Want. You. Near. Me," you repeated the same phrase you've been telling him from day one. A phrase he usually liked to ignore and keep sputtering. However, not this time, and suspicion forced you to open one eye to see what he was doing as he didn't reply.

He was simply staring at you. Blankly, unnervingly. You had to look away because his unblinking eyes were unsettling to look into, wide like those of cats staring at an object of desire but void of the empathy of a human.

"Frankly, I don't care what you want," he muttered quietly, barely audible over the howling of the wind. "But if I beg you to come here and let me warm you, will that help? Would you stop torturing me with that pitiful sight of you if I pleaded and said 'please' and 'pretty please'? If I could, I would already be by your side regardless of if you'd let me, but don't you have pity on me, too? Pity on the man who has to watch the love of his life slowly freeze to death while he can't do anything to save you?"

You were so tired of his tirades. The endless amount of garbage he spoke as easily and freely as a bard sang of overdramatized adventures of heros without flinching about their lies. "Please," he breathed. "Please let me warm you."

Another shiver ran through you—from the cold or the desperation in his voice, you weren't sure—but you didn't move from your seat. Didn't give him the gratification of acknowledging him even if your body began to burn from the cold. You heard the rustling of chains, and when you finally looked up, you could see him twist and turn his wrists in the cuffs, trying to loosen them somehow. Only when he noticed your gaze on him did he change from fighting the restraint to giving in.

Letting his hands sink to the ground as far as the chains allowed, he kneeled on all fours before reaching up one hand, ignoring how the cuff cut off the blood flow to his hand. He could never reach you, but he was still trying. No matter what, he never ceased to pursue you, even in the most impossible situations. It made you shiver even more to know the person that selfishly claimed you as his, had the determination of a starving lion to get what he wanted even when he was chained and immobilized.

"I'm begging you," your enemy emphasized. "I'm begging you to let me help you. Let me hold you, so we can survive this together—or die trying. Together. Don't die so far away from me where I can't reach you. Can't even follow you... I can't even hold your hand. Please don't leave me like this. Please just... forgive me. Have mercy on my unworthy, oppressed heart."

Your eyelids were growing weary from the cold, and your mind even more so from his words. But as your movements slowly stilled, conflicting, old thoughts came to mind. Thoughts that you had chugged into the deepest drawer of your mind after he had been imprisoned. Thoughts you hoped never to have to resurface.

I'll survive this. I can escape him no matter what happens. This is not the end.

Slowly, weakly, your arm stretched out. The realization turned your enemy's expression into a surprised one, then he lept forward, ignoring any restraint and the impact on his body as he reached for your hand. His fingers barely grazed yours, but as you collapsed forward, he managed to snatch your wrist, keeping your face from hitting the dirty ground you two were seated on.

And before you knew it, you were enveloped in warmth.

He shifted all around you for a while until your feet were tugged in and under his legs, body covered by the fur and his—probably hurting—arms, one hand holding the coat closed around you so no draft could touch you, while the other one pressed your head into his chest, his chin resting on top of your hair. Completely absorbing you into the little warm orb that was the world he lived in.

"Finally," he sighed, turning his face downwards to nuzzle it into your hair, ignoring the grime that must have built for days. As if nothing about you could scare him off. He didn't seem bothered by anything as long as it concerned you, but you ignored anything he did for once, letting out a long sigh as the warmth slowly thawed you.

"You're not getting out of this one," he mumbled, planting a reverent kiss on your head, filled with the fulfillment of his longing for you, drawing it out as long as possible. Hand reaching up, he cupped your face and warmed your cold cheek with his palm while his thumb caressed you as if you were the most precious object he ever held in his grasp. "I finally have you," he muttered, and you couldn't help a weak huff as the words ever so softly reached you.

"You can't escape me now. You're all mine. Finally. I waited so long for the day you'd finally give in to me. I'll get us out of here, and you'll never have to want for anything, I promise. I'd do anything for you. You know that."

You simply let him keep brabbling while he kept you warm. Fearing that if you refused him now, he too would reject you. That this really would be the end despite all the hardships you had overcome up to this point. You felt nothing of the worship he felt for you, for him, but if this was the only way to stay alive, you'd bite your tongue and let him confess a million more of his crimes to your ears only. You'd overcome this all the same.

You'd survive this, too.

But for now, you'd be warm, cradled in your enemy's embrace.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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f1fnatic · 10 months

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SCRUTINY ⤿ f1 grid

→ ( in which. . . ) you are a woman on the f1 grid. you face criticism and digs almost every day from toxic fans, specifically the men. but, you shut them up after a rewarding race.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) 2023 f1 grid x female!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cyberbullying, misogyny, sexism/sexist comments, overall a shitty environment. not based on this year's monaco grand prix or the season so far just has the drivers of this year's grid at this moment except alonso he is a reserve for aston martin, jumps around a little, not a completely solid plot, other pilots make subtle mentions, but mainly reader focused.

→ ( author's note. . . ) i enjoyed writing this one a lot. with being a woman myself and seeing how we are perceived in sports, especially a male-dominated field like motorsport, it was not very difficult to keep writing. anyways, i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

sunday, pre-race interview ↴

scrutiny. a word that you are familiar with. a word that has so much meaning but so little at the same time. you had recently joined your dream team, aston martin. after a challenging run in f3 and f2, you finally got recognized for your talent. you knew the comments would only get worse as you moved up the ranks, but you didn't expect them to be this bad.

it was the monaco grand prix. your least favorite track to race. the tight corners haunted you. without fail, you always almost crashed and cost your team everything. but it mainly cost you your dignity.

you were sat along a crisp white sofa that sat your teammate lance stroll, along with charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, lando norris, daniel ricciardo, and lastly max verstappen. you had all become acquainted when you first got to f1. lance and you got along swell and were close to inseparable. the rest were like brothers to you. these types of conferences were your personal least favorite. you enjoyed being with your friends, but the questions that were asked were downright embarrassing.

"y/n, coming over to you." the interviewer voiced, all attention was shifted onto you. "monaco in the past years has not treated you well, do you think you will have another devastating grand prix? and do you think your difference has to do with your performance?" you felt the scoff bubble in your throat. was he serious? you knew what he was playing at. your difference being your gender.

"well, first of all, i do not think my quote en quote 'difference' has anything to do with my performance." you start, putting finger quotes to emphasize the word difference. "if anything, it would be a difference in the car. in past monaco grand prix's the aston martin car has struggled. there are no real straights for the car to get its usual speed from. the differences in the care have nothing to do with me as a driver." this was unbelievable. were they really questioning whether you could hold your own as a woman in motorsport?

"you are starting p7 in today's race. do you think you performed well enough in qualifying? what could you have done differently?" finally. a normal question. you were excited to answer.

"uh, yeah. i think considering the conditions in qualifying and the nature of the track i did well. i am happy with how i performed but there is always room for improvement. and i am open to that." you answered, smiling. you looked over to lewis and saw him smiling at you. he knew how the media worked. he himself was getting pushed under the bus with racist remarks and 'concern' around his piercings. he was always supportive of you, and you were supportive of him. there were often times when you would text or call him ranting about how unfair it was that you were being treated the way you were. he would join in with his own stories and you would listen.

"y/n, i am sure you have seen the scrutiny online about being a woman competing in the pinnacle of motorsport. do you believe you should be here competing with men?" another reporter asks.

you are stunned. you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"are you serious?" lance scoffs beside you. "what is with these questions?"

"why do we get questions about normal things like our literal jobs and y/n's questions are always about her gender?" daniel adds. the couch breaks out in murmurs. the reporters visibly get uncomfortable with what has happened and end the interview.

standing up you walk out of the office and to your drivers room, ignorning the voices calling after you. these interviews were always bullshit. daniel was right, why were you always getting questioned about your gender and how that effects your performance? what does gender have to do with racing?

this was only the beginning.

sunday, day of monaco grand prix ↴

you were exhausted. exhausted by the comments, the bullshit interviews, and the stupid prick men that felt the need to voice their opinion about a woman in f1.

you could this year's grand prix was going to be a tough one. mentally and physically. you wanted to be done. done with the bullying, the sexism, the misogyny, everything. you knew you worked hard to get where you are, and you will continue to. you dreaded the after-race interviews. no matter your result, you would always get at least 4 sexist remarks.

you didn't know what else you needed to do to be able to prove yourself worthy of your seat. you shouldn't have to prove yourself anymore than you have. you are in f1, and all of these assholes are not.

your pr manager, bless his soul, had to listen to your rants after interviews. lewis always got brunt end of it as well. he had experience with degradating comments. he always knew what to say and when to say it. fernando has been a huge help as well. he was like a father to you, always there when you needed someone. he would defend you when you needed defending. he always knew what to say and when to say it.

race start, p7 ↴

p7 was not a bad place to start, at all. but the internet and crowd thought differently. you were sat in your car, ready for the formation lap when someone yelled at you, "c'mon pretty lady! get back to cleaning! this is a man's sport!" you resisted the urge to quip back at him, instead you raised your left hand and flipped him off. your pr manager would have your head later but you couldn't care less. you needed to do something to voice your annoyance.

concentration is what you needed, but you couldn't seem to gain it with more comments being shouted your way. "hot momma!" followed by a cat call whistle, "sweetheart take off that suit! let's see what's underneath!", "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS JOB!" were only some of the handfuls thrown at you. they also seemed to be the ones that bothered you the most. your grip on your steering wheel tightened, anger bubbling in your gut. these people knew nothing. they don't know how hard you work. they don't know how much blood, sweat, and tears you poured into achieving your dream. and they never would.

before you knew it, the formation lap started. it went quickly. you got back into your respective starting positions and stared down the lights. you took a deep breath to attempt to ground yourself. it is just a race, you have done this before y/n.

the lights lit up red, until they didn't. you flew forward in your aston martin, pushing it for a decent start. you ended up gaining two positions, going from p7 to p5. the rest of the race was uneventful, until it wasn't.

"y/n, caution on the chicane. hamilton, perez, and leclerc crashed. yellow flag, safety car." your race engineer voiced over the radio. "that moves you into a fortunate p2."

"okay, copy." you were ecstatic. this was your chance to prove yourself to everyone. to those men who scrutinized you before the formation lap, to the trolls online, and to those misogynistic pricks known as reporters. this was your moment.

"gap to verstappen 1.6 seconds, push." you did as you were told. you pushed, and you pushed hard. this was for all of the girls that wanted to be you. "oh my days y/n! p1! p1! you just won the monaco grand prix!"

"yes! oh my god! fuck me! we did it!" you had done it.

you did your victory lap and parked behind the p1 tower. when you got out of your seat tears stung at your eyes. you ran over to where the aston martin team was and hugged them over the barrier. team members were banging on your helmet. lance had managed p2 and came up behind you and hugged you, along with the team.

the podium was a blur. you could not describe the emotions you were feeling. pride, excitement, and most of all, happiness were swirling within you. you stood tall as aston martin's anthem played and even taller when yours sounded shortly after. the champagne spray was the best part. carelessly spraying lance as giggles sounded on the podium. you also sprayed your team below, this would not have been possible without them. you would never forget this moment. it is forever engraved into your mind.

this was it, this was what you needed to prove them all wrong.

not feeling super happy w this one. i like the beginning but i feel it gets away from me in the middle and end. feedback and requests are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well, only if u want to tho! lmk if you like it :)

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cabinetduo · 3 months

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ouuu do u guys ever think abt how often schlatt pitted the Manberg cabinet against each other like encouraging bullying and dog piling during meetings, singling out whoever he decided deserved the brunt of his anger that day. and in order to protect themselves from schlatt (and maybe also because they all wanted his approval) they'd go along with it like super fucked up daily crucifixions. Like they were all desperate for him to respect and maybe also love them and the cost of that was all of their dignities and relationships right

but like, in private like away from him or one on one it was a little chiller, and I'm talking abt tubbo and quackity specifically obviously. like they don't trust each other even a little, one social mistep in private conversation is enough for it to be used as political ammunition to gain schlatts favor later right? but when they're not with him it's way less intense. guard goes down a little, you can be open about how much you fucking hate the guy or how annoying it is that he refuses to do his own paper work or how there's no way in hell the entire country is going to make it through the fall on spider's eyes alone

but like one more thing also. schlatts crazy paranoid and his paranoia is wildfire contagious

so like, with all that in mind, when cquackity spills to schlatt that tubbos a spy, he was feeling a little betrayed too. that's how I imagine he'd justify it. I mean he'd seen tubbo sneak down to those tubbos and covered it up, yknow solidarity and all that but for him to be a spy? after all they'd been through? for him to have an easy way out of hell after quackity sacrificed his dignity his pride and his morals just to get a fragile grip onto a country he can't even call his own?

whatever WHATEVERTRRR I just, on the podium when schlatt reveals that tubbo is not going to just be imprisoned but executed fo u think it hit cq that this was not just another game of hot potating being schlatts target. like he'd won obviously, schlatts love was his to claim after a move that big but he'd won a shitty fucking prize

#how does that crane wives song go #beneath the table you would offer up my bones and all the dogs would lick your fingers #IM CRAZY IM OFF THE WALLS IM OFF MY ROCKER #dsmp #cabinetduo #GRAEWHHHH HHHH HELLLPPP HELP #mind u q ans tubbos relationship continues like this forever they never leave that podium they both stay bitter and guilty over ever decisio #n theyve ever made that effected the other #they never move past it they never get over it they never stop betraying each other they never stop trusting eaxh other cuz ykno #solidarity

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pedriscroquettes · 8 months

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𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐄 – GAVI

summary. fighting for the top spot of your class is hard when the boy next door is set on beating you at everything.

warnings. academic rival!gavi,f!oral, academic exhaustion, & various mentions of golf.

a/n. finally getting to my follower bash lol golf vocabulary

you sighed in frustration as you failed to solve the equation, again. the work on your notebook staring back at you as if to make fun of you. you stand up from your desk immediately wincing at the pain of having your foot asleep for hours. you’d think you’d be used to it by now due to how many hours you spent seated daily.

a faint knock is heard from outside your door. you limp as you walk towards the door to open it. your dad awaits you on the other side — the other side of the door separating you from society — with an awkward smile. he hated seeing you like this, overworked that is, he always offered to hire a tutor but you always refused. you were privileged, always having the money to advance your studies but you insisted on doing everything yourself after all you wouldn’t have tutors with you at your future job.

“you know i could always ask mr. páez?” he suggests hoping to finally have you rest.

your eyes go wide at his suggestion. your father had surely gone insane. you couldn’t believe he was suggesting having gavi help you. the one thing standing between you and the first rank of your class was the sevillian. the two of you being tied for the last two years, you couldn’t let him know you were struggling with such a simple problem.

“and lose my dignity? no. i probably did something wrong when solving i’ll figure it out.” you paced around the room.

“alright. don’t stress yourself out. you can always ask your professor for help.” he sighs as he heads to his room.

except you couldn’t. you had something to prove and you would do it yourself even if it cost you your friends and social life. most especially you couldn’t lose your number one spot to gavi of all people. growing up with him had been a nightmare to your dad and his parents. the two of you constantly tried to one up each other in every subject, including sports. his parents spending endless amounts of money making sure he’d get a spot on the spanish team like he wished all his life and your father despite being a single one always made sure you were up to lessons in golf.

gavi would score a hat trick one day and the next you’d score an eagle. the day he made the real betis academy he didn’t even celebrate knowing you’d somehow find a way to surpass his achievement. and you did scoring private lessons with annika sörenstam. it also didn’t help that your parents were close friends always spending time with each other — analyzing each others weaknesses and strengths — it was an exhausting predicament. you didn’t even understand why he wanted the number one spot he already had his dream as professional football player secured.

you spent the next two hours revising your notes trying to remember how to solve a simple equation. reviewing your own work you realized you had forgotten to square root a number and instead of feeling accomplished when you turned in your assignment all you felt was embarrassment. specifically when you noticed gavi had turned in the assignment hours earlier. you could’ve cried in that moment but instead you changed into your workout clothes and grabbed yours clubs immediately heading towards the neighborhood’s driving range.

it was usually closed during this time of day but you were one of the few allowed to use it whenever you wanted. the owner of the country club along with the rest of the neighborhood expected you to make your LPGA tour debut sometime this year and thus let you use the range at any time of the day. the driving range was the only time you found peace these days. your father had expected you to outgrow the sport that eventually the pressure would get to you but it was the opposite. the sport brought you peace.

the sound of your iron hitting the ball over and over again was music to your ears. you stared as the pathway of each ball was straighter than the previous one. the faint light that illuminated the end of the driving range allowing you to see how far the balls landed. you were about to switch to your driver when the sound of leaves rustling interrupts your nightly routine. you ignore it at first thinking it’s probably just squirrels but then the faint noise turns into footsteps.

you clutch your driver scared as to what is hiding amongst the darkness. a figure emerges from the other end of the driving range and you’re about to yell for help when you recognize the gray nike tech they’re wearing. of course he was awake as well and that’s when you remember the football field is on the other side of the range. you thought it was funny how the two of you would always find time for your sports.

“do you ever sleep?” he’s the first one to break the awkward silence between the two of you.

“if i did you’d be ranked first.” you reply curtly before swinging your driver aiming your ball even further than before.

“you know some of your balls end up on my field.” he changes the subject.

“how do you know they’re mine?” you place your driver into your bag and take off your glove. you could relax for a few minutes. at least while the brunette bothered you.

“you’re the only one capable of swinging them that far.” he shrugs.

it was true. your competitiveness had allowed you to find motivation every time you swung any of your clubs. it also didn’t help that your dad would take you to the PGA Tour Championship every year and you always wanted to swing the ball like tiger woods or rory mcilroy. you were truly a nightmare for your trainers and your father never wanting to leave the course before seven pm.

“why are you here gavi?” you turn around to face him. he looked like you, tired and stressed. his eye bags almost as dark as yours. his hair messy but it fit him in a way. you realized he was probably running drills since he had an away game with the academy this weekend.

“how do you do it?” he steps closer analyzing you. he takes his hoodie off in the practice allowing for the dimly lit street light to shine on his hair. “how do you deal with all the pressure?”

there had only been one previous conversation between the two of you where you forgot about your stupid rivalry and helped each other out. it had unfortunately led to a very awkward kiss between the two of you. a kiss that hadn’t been brought up sense and placed into the back of your mind.

“i don’t. it’s literally two in the morning and i’m practicing my swing.” you let out a deep breath. “you?”

“used to have been able to calm myself down with gummies but they don’t work for me anymore.” he places his hands into his pockets suddenly embarrassed at his oversharing. “been trying to find another way to ground myself but even football can’t do that for me right now.”

there’s a loud silence between the two of you. his suddenly burst of oversharing breaking boundaries that had been pre-established between you and him. you barely notice the way he gets closer to you almost as if you let him get near you.

“gavi no offense but why are you telling me all this?” you say with valid points as the brunette had never once tried to make an effort to talk to you before.

there’s a long pause between your question and his answer. he debates on whether he should he completely honest with you or to compress his feelings for even no longer.

“because i hate the way everyone just likes you and the way you sailed through school and can work for hours on end without getting tired and the fact that you just did work for two days straight and still look perfect, because you always do-“ his eyes go wide at how much he’s confessed already. “it’s not fair that you can just be relaxed after all th-”

“sailed? sailed?!” you simply stared at him with disbelief. “gavi i worked my ass off to get to where i am today. my dad didn’t pay for me to have advantages, i didn’t get everything handed to me on a silver platter, i did it on my own. do you realize how many hours i spend daily on my work? on making sure you don’t take away my spot?” your voice roars through the empty driving range.

“i didn’t-”

“no. let me finish gavi.” you continue your rant. “also it’s not fair that i can be relaxed? you think this is relaxing? swinging golf balls at two in the morning? you’re an unbelievable conceited prick. you don’t even need the number one spot anyways you have a guaranteed spot for club and country. you’re set for life?!” you stare at him with utter disgust.

“you’re set for life too? your dad literally owns the biggest food provider in sevilla you’re guaranteed a job at his company.” he fights back. “you’re nothing but a brat.”

he drives you against the hard cold wall of the concessions stand with each harsh word he says. his insults grow harsher but you hardly pay attention the veins in his neck gaining your attention with every hateful word he says. maybe it’s the lack of sleep or vitamins in your body but you suddenly forget he’s the guy separating you from achieving your lifelong dream of disassociating yourself from your dad’s company.

he notices your thoughtful glare as he continues on and on with his rant without any interruption from you. your eyes digging into his in a way they never have. his hand creeping too close to your face and not to harm you but rather to just feel your warm cheeks against his palm. the two of you get lost in each other’s stress and pain. his lips finding their way to yours in a dominant kiss.

it’s embarrassing for the two of you just how quickly you forget about your hatred for each other. maybe you’d go back to despising each other for pursuing each others dreams after the kiss but right now you could only find a stress reliever in each other. his lips are soft but harsh on yours. you’re not looking for a sweet moment but rather a quick and dominant one to forget about your current problems. many groans leave your lips as he makes his way from your lips to your neck.

he’s careful not to leave any marks but he attacks your neck in a pleasuring way. his hands digging into your hips as you adjust your neck to give him more access. he carefully unzips your jacket careful to not damage it. he’s not sure if it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in months but as soon as he sees your laced bra something shifts in his mind. his kisses trail down from your neck to the valley of your breasts. this time he sucks above your right breast intentionally leaving a mark.

he looks up to your pleading eyes. he knows your look. so he gets to the point, kneeling down, and with your leg on his shoulder. he drags his hand up teasingly until his fingers are practically teasing your core. your panties ruined from your wetness he quickly pulls them down immediately stuffing them into his pocket.

“can i?” he asks one more time to confirm.

“mhm.” is all you can afford to moan.

“i need words princess.”

“fuck. yes gavi.” you groan.

he starts slowly kissing your thighs up to your aching core. his fingers digging into your thighs to spread them apart more to give him full access. you audibly moan as his tongue makes contact with your folds. your hands digging into his hair pulling on it the more he licks. his tongue moving from your folds to your hole causing you to lose balance at the pleasure. but luckily he’s there to keep your balance. you can’t help yourself from grinding into his face his nose beginning to come in contact with your core.

he continues licking you for a little before bringing his finger to your core teasing you with it. he drags it up and down your thigh and above your core just to tease you.

“do you want my fingers?” he asks with a sly smirk.

“yes. fuck.” you lean your head backwards.

he slides his finger through your folds lubricating it with your wetness before bringing it to your hole slowly inserting it. he groans at sight of you clenching around his finger. he pumps his finger in and out before adding his tongue again. the two of them providing a mind blowing experience for you. he manages to hit the spot with his finger curling his finger to reach an unexplainable amount of pleasure.

“c’mon baby. let all that stress out.” he moans as he puts in a second finger. it’s almost embarrassing the way you melt into his touch.

you don’t realize that gavi finds this intimate moment just as pleasurable as you do. the way your leg wraps around his shoulder, the way your fingers grip his hair, and your high pitched moans all sent shockwaves down his body. he wasn’t going to admit but all his previous sexual experiences consisted of jerking himself off to some random chick on the internet. this didn’t even compare to the real thing. having you tremble under his touch was intoxicating.

he starts feeling you shake under him realizing you’re close to achieving your high. all you need is one final push. he adds a third finger and sucks at your folds like a mad man. the knot that had formed in your stomach breaking loose as you cum all over his face. your hand holding his tightly as you reach your orgasm. he licks you slowly as you come down from your high. eventually finding the willpower to step away from you.

you bring him towards you kissing him. his lips tender and full of your juices you can practically taste yourself. his hand wrapping around the back of your head to bring you closer to him to deepen the kiss. the two of you briefly forgetting that tomorrow you’ll be back at each others throat. his brown eyes bore into yours and somehow you think you’ve found a comfort zone where you can relieve your stress.

#uhm idk spent all night on this 😍#pablo gavi smut #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi x reader #gavi smut #gavi x reader #gavi imagine #football imagine #football smut #gabri’s 800 bash

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zoropookie · 2 months

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HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-one — oh no, he’s hot! (💋)

You can’t believe you agreed to this.

Oh wait, actually you can. Your mind keeps deciding what’s good for you, but was your mind even in the right place anyway? It’s really hard to come to terms with this right now while you’re sitting in Scaramouche’s passenger seat.

Was the Inazuma party that great for him to offer on his own to pick you up? If it weren’t for your absolute mastermind of a plan, you’d definitely say no. Hopefully?

But the both of you nestling in the straw bed of silence wasn’t on your bucket list for said plan. “How much longer?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between you two like a thick fog.

“Thirty minutes.” Scaramouche’s dull tone was a true testament to the silence that encompassed them moments ago. It was kind of sad.

“And…how long was it when you started..?” You hesitantly drawled.

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Oh my god,” You muttered, sinking into your seat. You should have never agreed for him to give you a ride, it’s like his brooding broodiness was plaguing your lungs.

But for some reason! You kept trying. “So! Uh…what made you want to pick me up anyway? We’ve got…some interesting history for you to be making this kind of effort right now!”

“I don’t do small talk.”

“Look, you gotta give me something. I’m dying here.” You pleaded with your eyes, probably the only sort of manipulation tactic you could try and use on him.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh. His violet eyes briefly flickering to meet yours before returning to the road. “It was either that, or bartend.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow, cheeks puffed from your fight to keep a laugh in. “You didn’t just want to be a good Samaritan, or what?”

“Do I look like I’d do something out of the goodness of my heart?” Scaramouche’s expression turned sour.

“I don’t know! You’re alright, I guess.” You caught yourself staring for a lot longer than expected, “Uhh, in the way that a clown at kids birthday parties has an extensive knife paraphernalia…kind of…alright?”

You cringed. This is a horrible conversation, even more so now that Scaramouche was willing to ignore what you said.

But the quieter it got, the better it was to hear a small laugh come out of his mouth. Even if you could barely hear the humor he got out of it. You looked at him, catching a glimpse of his mouth turned upwards.

There it was. The butterflies roaming in your stomach, vicariously reminding you of your own carefree mind. A faint glimmer of his amusement was enough to make you nervous, even when he barely made an effort to keep the small smile.

The crack in his demeanor returned to normal, once again unreadable. "Is that all you got?"

You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of response, shoulder slumping. The awkward feeling was pretty much gone, but at what cost to your dignity? "Yeah, I guess so."

“You’re alright too, (Y/N).”

“Huh? I am..?" Oh no, he’s hot!

“Yeah. It’s unfortunate.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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leclsrc · 1 year

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blurred lines ✴︎ cl16

genre: pwp, like really just pwp, fem!reader who is also max’s best friend (I needed a forbidden element my apologies), canon compliant

word count: 2.5k

Things with Charles finally come to a head. In a cramped room. In the Red Bull garage. Of all places, really.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… penetrative sex, public sex, dirty talk (degradation & praise), crying, oral (m receiving), cum eating, minor choking, rough sex, size kink and descriptions of size lol

SHE IS BACK... hope you like it everyone (again)

Charles is better than this.

He’s better than letting this happen, than leaning against the wall, skin hot and flustered from something other than the humid Singapore air. He should be stopping you, because the part of his brain that isn’t totally clouded over is aware of the amount of people who could open the door, jiggle the lock at any moment and what the hell is going to happen then? There’s an entire garage outside, a garage not even his, preparing for a race and it’s extremely likely that someone’s going to need to piss in the next several minutes.

He’s calculated the odds, like a mathematician, like the way he does when he races, reviewing all possible methods to somehow get the both of you scot-free. But this isn’t a circuit, it’s a bathroom; this isn’t a race, it’s your hands at the button of his jeans. He’s better than this, than being so compromised in public spaces with—with anybody. Especially you.

You: Max Verstappen’s best friend, a minx and total menace in your own right, but also Max’s. Your otherwise quiet and composed nature always goes on pause when it comes to Charles—your history’s always been complicated. From both your adolescents you’d always been on the edge of flirty with him, but Max has never failed to let Charles know the minimal amount of hesitation he’d have in the off chance he has to punch Charles in the face for sleeping with you.

So. Well. This isn’t sleeping with you, Charles tries to reason with himself. It’s waiting until the garage was empty of Max and Horner and every last strategist for a pre-race briefing. It’s dipping down to initiate a kiss first, to grab a handful of ass from where the hem of your embarrassingly short skirt sits. It’s temptation. But there’s no bed. There’s no undressing. This is not sleeping with you. This is not sleeping with Max’s best friend.

But it’s still wrong, he can still close his eyes and realize this, it’s still wrong. And still he’s letting you back him up against the wall, your voice light and giggly when it breaks the thick silence. Hearing it lets him hear the noise outside again, the entire Red Bull horde having walked back in a few minutes after your rendezvous started. His voice is throaty when he says, “What the hell are you doing,” and it tapers off when you unbutton his polo.

“Just having some fun,” you laugh lightly. You move so gracefully, but now you’re rushed, like you’re never going to have this chance again. Your dress strap is thin and slips off your shoulder. “Don’t you want t’have fun?”

It’s not fun. It’s a move that’s clinically insane and that could cost Charles his dignity at the hands of Max Verstappen. It’s insane because it’s taken this long for it to happen, for you two to finally go past stolen glances and drunk kisses that go unspoken the morning after. It’s also insane because it had to happen here? In a restroom? In a Red Bull garage? But still he heaves a shaky, shaky sigh, weighing the pros and cons on a scale so totally unfair—and then he bends down to kiss you again, growling in the process.

He shudders when you lick into his mouth, feels you smile like the menace you are, and his hand, which had been resting idly by his side, comes to cup your jaw. His thumb sneaks onto the other side of your face so he’s almost choking you, and the power trip gives him a thrill. This is oh, so fucking insane. It’s so insane. You murmur a have fun with me, Charles, rubbing a hand against the hard-on in his denim jeans, and yes.

“Ah,” he heaves out, his voice thin. “Ah, putain. They’re—do you even realize who could—”

You gasp in faux surprise, looking up at him, blinking slowly, lips formed into a pout. He wants his cock in between them. “Who could what, Charles?” He tries to muster composure, a semblance of composure he possessed when you pulled him in here and he was still trying to halt the both of you. But, by his own accord, he’s beginning to realize he doesn’t want you to stop. He watches, his eyes lidded and dark, as you sink to your knees, a dopey smile on your face.

You lean forward, press your half-open lips to his hard-on, mouthing at his cock through the thick material. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, trying not to buck up into your face. For leverage, a hand comes and tangles in your hair, pulls you back roughly and you giggle at the force of it, meeting Charles’ eyes again. “Hmm?”

“I should—we should really—you should—” He stutters his way through an incomplete sentence, his lack of composure getting the best of him and causing him to curse and mumble incoherently.

“I should,” you agree, cutting his already half-assed spiel off. You pull his zipper down, the sound almost damning. “I should get you off. You deserve it, Charles. It’s been a while.”

He will try to say something, because he knows none of this is safe for either of you, that Max will not beat you up if he sees you both like this, or the media outburst that might come of this, or the fact that even a random Red Bull engineer could knock and neither of you would have a place to hide. He’ll say something, Charles is composed that way; but right now, all he wants is to fuck your pretty little throat until it’s spent.

You tug his cock out, pretty and thick, heavy in your hand when you stroke over it. Already there’s precum smeared messily all over your fingers, and you can’t help but moan at the depravity of it. Your eyes flit upward again, just so you know he’s watching when you swirl your tongue around his tip, letting spit get everywhere.

His mind is gone—gone like the thoughts, the ideas of the people outside, of being caught. Your mouth feels too good around him, taking him all the way, choking a little, like you know it gets him off when you do. You go all the way, until he’s balls-deep in your throat, the tip of your nose against his pelvis. Your eyes look smug even when they’re tearing up from how much the stretch of your lips burn, how deep he is in your throat.

You lean upwards imperceptibly, but he gets the message, fists your hair again and rattles out a hesitant Are you sure? The way you swallow around his cock is enough of an answer for him to nod once, still lost in how good your mouth feels, and then he’s fucking into it.

He goes slowly first, because there’s still a layer of concern, and uses this as a brief window to catch his breath. But it foils immediately, because he’s building a steady pace now, and the sound of his dick hitting the back of your throat is incentive enough for him to keep going. Every time he bottoms out you gag, spit around his dick growing, until it’s slippery and debauched and messy. He bottoms out hard once, twice, and then pushes you off, his cock swelling with the need to release. You mouth against the slip of your spit and his precum, the scent of his dick heady, and move downwards to suck his balls into your mouth.

Jesus, you’re filthy. He pants, his grip knotted so tight in your hair it sends a dull ache all throughout, his hips lifting off the wall from the pleasure of it. His other hand comes up to palm his face; he finds it’s the only other thing he can grip to try and paw at the last bits of his sanity. You return to his cock, and then you swallow around him, moaning, the vibrations coming like hymns, like mantras to let go, for you, on you, all over you.

“You like this?” He grits out. His accent is so much heavier when he’s barely thinking.

You don’t need to nod. He knows you do. So he keeps going, like this is his leverage, his grip, his vice. “You do. You like when I fuck this pretty mouth. You like when I’m shutting you up. Do not look away from me. Shit.”

He pulls you back and your scalp stings, but this way he gets a full view of your flushed face, tear streaks half dry and mouth shiny with spit. He jerks himself off just twice before he’s spurting his release all over your lips and cheek. You lick it all off because of course you do, your middle finger collecting the splashes on your face so you can suck them off yourself.

“Putain,” he says. “What a fucking…” He trails off, language obsolete. You emerge, on your feet now, and dazedly pull the strap of your dress back up.

“Aren’t you gonna fuck me?” He hears you say, and even the idea gets his cock stirring again, even after he fucked it into your throat within an inch of its life. Your hand wraps around it again, pumping once, and he’s hard. You giggle.

“I—fuck. Maybe we can focus first on…” He tries to grasp at his objectives. “On escaping.”

“Escaping?” You pout, feigning disappointment. You let go of his cock and cross your arms, and suddenly your tits are visible, pressing against him through the thin material of your dress. “But Charles… I wanna get fucked.”

“Really?” He tests. He knows he’s only getting himself in hot water here, by asking you to elaborate. But you do it so well.

You nod sympathetically. Despite himself, he finds his lips latched onto your neck, inhaling you in, sucking a faint bruise. He can’t get enough of you. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“I do,” he says, it’s almost a whine with how desperate he sounds. “You’re gonna have to be good, be quiet, because if we get caught—”

“—it’s over, okay, I get it,” you drone. “You’re so boring.”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his hands hot and heavy as he feels his way up the bottom of your dress. He doesn’t do much work—it’s cut out for him already—but he walks you to the opposite wall, to the vacant spot just beside the door.

You whimper for more, already losing grip on the confidence you’d had just minutes ago. He’s growing impatient, antsy, spinning you around and shoving you up against the wall. Your cheek smushes against the cool concrete and you shiver when he tugs your panties down, rubs his cock over your pussy lips. He slides back and forth and you let out an ah ah ah.

He pauses. His breath is damp against your ear. You have no time for pausing. You don’t want him to pause. Your movement is quick and sly, your ass coming backwards to rub against him, as if you’re telling him to do it, now, quickly, fuck me.

“Patience,” he says, and then he’s budging himself in. Your years of flirting, of kissing, of teasing, could never have prepared you for how big he is; he felt big in your mouth, and even bigger now, stretching you out like it’s a chore. He’s barely in before you begin to feel an onslaught of pressure, like a freight train, and your eyes shut from the dull burn, the overwhelming pleasure.

You both moan at the same time, a long, quiet fuck leaving your mouths. He’s big, filling you up and knocking you dizzy. Okay, you hear in the fog. Okay, ange. Okay?

You nod so he knows you are, pushing back to feel the burn. He shudders and you heave out a moan, so overwhelmed with his size it’s driving you crazy. “Deeper,” you say with a tremor in your voice. Your mind is so cloudy his dialogue comes late. Yes, you hear. Yeah, I know.

“P—fuck, please,” you beg, “I want all of it, Charles. Want you t’fuck me full of your cum.”

“Can’t do that,” he says, but he wants to—he knows as well as you.

“Mmmmf,” you say. “But I want you to.” And then he’s sheathed fully in you, pulling out and then slamming back in so you can really feel him. And you feel him, everywhere, filling you up and drawing you out, stretching you so hard it burns. You feel his lips against your neck, his five o’clock shadow rubbing the skin raw. One hand is on your ass, guiding you, the other plays with your necklace, also guiding you.

He fucks hard and slow, deep dirty grinds that have you seeing stars. But you don’t have time for the slow—there’s a host of Red Bull engineers outside who probably wouldn’t want to see this, or have to investigate the locked restroom. “Faster, Charles,” you say, and then, “please.”

He does go faster, until the slapping of your skin is loud, until your moans are knocked out of you involuntarily, breathy and windy and eventually muffled by Charles’ palm. He finds himself dwindling into that—that state of limbo where he’s grappling for release, for control. He presses his lips right by your ear.

“Like this?” And you nod, yes. Yes, you want to say, but it’s stuck in your throat. “Love the way this pussy feels around my dick. So tight,” he continues. “So fucking tight.”

“For you,” you mumble, and your voice cracks from how intense he pounds into you. “All for you, Charles.”

“I know.” He goes faster, “This pretty cunt’s all mine. And it’s all wet, so easy for me to stretch this hole out. Yeah?”

You shut your eyes. The hand over your mouth comes to press against your neck and you squeeze around him. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you muster. “Yes, fuck yes.”

“You like being railed like a whore in some garage”—he grunts, losing resolve—“public fucking restroom that’s not even mine?”

You nod. It’s true. You do. “Please, please I want to cum,” you plead. He’s staving you off an orgasm, slowing down and speeding up exactly when you don’t need him to. You cant your hips back but he’s fucking into you too fast it’s impossible. He’s set the pace, you’ve realized, you just need to submit.

“Feels so good, ange, fuck,” he says, teeth gritted. He fucks you harder, faster, grip tighter, because he’s getting closer. You can hear it and feel it, the sensation of his dick getting wetter, more of your slick getting on it from how he’s deprived you of release since he got you up against the wall.

You inhale and push back. “Gimme,” you try, and your words are lost on you. “Gimme more.”

“You want this cock?”

“Yea,” you say, “deeper, more of it, all of it, make it hurt.”

He buries his face fully into the side of your neck, inhaling as he goes, bottoming fully into you once, twice, thrice, and then your whines taper off into silence. You spasm around him, your release hot and wet and slippery inside, the feeling too much for Charles. He thrusts again and asks, stupidly—Where, ange, where?

The answer is as evident as he is clueless, and, in the throes of your orgasm, legs shaking in between Charles’, you pull him close and slur, “Inside, Charles, fill me up.”

Fuck, you hear him say, weighing his options for only a second, then. “Yeah, baby, okay. Ah, putain—fuck—” he snaps then, like an elastic band, and with a shiver that vibrates through him and you, he pumps you full of his release, warm around your walls.

You both pause, quiet when he pulls out. A shudder of arousal goes through you (and no doubt him) when you feel his cum dribble out of your cunt, trickling through the curve of your inner thigh. You laugh, sweaty, fixing your panties first then your dress. Charles is first to wipe you clean—thank fuck we’re in a bathroom, no? he asks, and then you tie your hair up to avoid the appearance of rough sex in a public restroom.

There’s a brief few moments of peace before you both crash back to reality, and the door that dooms you both. You stare at each other, a faint giggle escaping your lips.

“I could exit first, then give you the green light when nobody’s looking,” you offer.

“I don’t want to gamble on time,” he reasons. “I don’t know when they’re going to need me.”

You debate back and forth before you finally decide the only plausible solution is to face the music and hope nobody notices the two of you sneaking out. As a foolproof safety net, you come up with a fib about a broken zipper and Charles’ inexplicable handyman seamstress skills.

You place a hand on the knob and turn to him. “Fuck.” You pause. “Ready?”

“More than ready. And next time this happens,” he says, sending your face into warmth at the proposition of next time, “can we maybe do it somewhere else?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Come on, let’s hurry. All we have to do is make sure that the one person who doesn’t see us is—”

“—Maaaax here!” The door shakes with the force of three loud knocks. Your face pales and you turn to find that, naturally, Charles’ looks even more panicked. “I can hear you, man,” Max hollers, addressing you. “I gotta piss so bad, open the fuckin’ door.”

Well.

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