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lizzaneia-elizalde · 7 months

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Hi I was thinking what about yan!mafia boss who kidnaps and baby traps(no need for smut scene) reader and how life would be for reader while pregnant

Yandere! Ex-patient! Mafia Boss x AFAB! Nurse!Reader

Hmm baby trapping.

Well I can say for sure y'all like the pregnant fics LMAO

I hope you don't mind me putting more details to yandere! This is like the much more twisted version of a greek myth story, so be warned!

Also, Rowan cameo? (Since Rowan is also a mafia boss)

Yandere! Mafia boss name: Hades

"Sir! Rowan's men are closing in!"

Hades clenched his teeth and looked at his right hand man. He was injured and not able to use his left arm right now.

"Fuck. Do we really need to retreat?" Hades pondered, clutching the empty Thompson in his hands and not minding his broken leg.

"Sir, please, let's just retreat!"

Hades bit his tongue and messed up his hair in frustration before opening up the intercom. "Retreat! Get out of there and retreat!"

It was hard extracting his men from that warehouse lot. But in the end, they were left with only 75% of the number of men that went to this mission, much to Hades' disappointment.

Hades.

He doesn't have a surname, nor a family.

All he has is his mafia and his men.

He remembered when he desperately clawed at the feet of the old mafia boss, asking him to take him in.

He remembers the rigorous training he had to go through in order to be accepted inside their famiglia, and just to be recognized by his boss.

After years of being the underdog, he won a do or die tournament inside the famiglia. And he became the new boss once the old one retired.

As somebody who didn't have anything, he knew how hard it is to have nothing at all. Nothing to eat, nothing to sleep on, nothing to drink.

So he made sure to claw as much as he can to his territory.

He is relentless in his pursuit. With his cold eyes and violent tendencies, it's no wonder his wealth and circle expanded exponentially.

His temper always flare up whenever he saw something he wants.

Envious even.

Filled with envy, he would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

He's temperamental, vicious, cold, and jealous.

He's always jealous. Envious.

He wants everything.

So, when he saw the opportunity to extend his territory once more with the Silas famiglia's territory, he had to.

But it landed him in the hospital.

It was a close fight, but in the end, Rowan won due to an error with Hades' group.

Hades sighed and brushed back his hair to his scalp, not even flinching when the nurse accidentally bumped into his broken leg.

"I-i'm so sorry sir! Forgive me!" The nurse panicked, their breathing fast and short.

Hades frowned, his eyes glowering in anger as he stared daggers at the nurse.

The nurse gulped and ran away, scared for their life.

Hades leaned back to the pristine, luxury hospital bed. The ache in his leg didn't faze him as he looked outside of the window, annoyed at the lost oppurtunity.

For now, he's going to let the Silas' go.

The door opened and in came a new nurse, you.

"Hello sir. I'm your new nurse! My name is y/n." You said, gently holding the clipboard in your hand. Your light blue scrub was clean and spotless.

"Hmph." Hades mused. "Did the crybaby ran to you and tattled on me? Telling i'm a big bad man?" He cooed, like talking to a child.

But rather than getting angry or scared, you only laughed and shook your head.

"You could say that." You told him straightforward, and this amused Hades.

"Well, whatever. Just do your best to take care of me." Hades said before he allowed you to come close to him.

You were an amazing nurse.

Nothing short of caring, you made sure to attend to Hades to the best you can do.

It was like you were a family member, taking care of him with such tenderness that even touched Hades.

Your hands, like the work of an angel, had the touch of a skilled healer and caregiver as you even tended to the most mundane tasks that he could do, like eat.

He didn't mind though. The pretty nurse was taking care of him. Who is he to refuse?

At first, he thought you were only after his money, which understandably made him upset. But you never crossed the line to flirt with him. You acted like an old friend, bantering and joking with him.

He liked this. You were not tense around him. You're not intimidated by the man in front of you, only annoyed whenever he refused to do something you needed him to do.

You both become friends, and Hades always looked forward to your care.

Just pure, adulterated caring hands of a mother-like figure.

Mother, huh?

If you took care of Hades like this, how would you take care of your own children?

He innocently pondered. Imagining you pregnant, he daydreamed of you give birth and having children.

But he flinched, suddenly feeling his body hot.

Seeing you pregnant aroused him.

No, seeing you get pregnant due to him aroused him to no end.

It was just supposed to be an innocent thought. Since he wanted to imagine what would it be like for you to have a family of your own and taking care of them.

But he imagined that the husband is him, the children are his, and you are his wife.

He imagined you moaning under him, clutching his back and screaming his name as he blew his load into you, pumping you full.

He imagined you with a round belly, filled with his baby or two, waddling around his mansion as he took care of your every need.

God.

He licked his teeth, suddenly, suddenly liking the prospect of you with him.

Ever since then, he saw you in a different light.

He had to have you.

Hades moved his leg and smiled.

It doesn't hurt anymore, and he knew it was fully healed.

"Thanks for this, doll." Hades said, his husky deep voice breaking the silence inside the hospital room. His sharp, dark eyes bored into your giddy form that was clapping for him.

"That's great then!" You grinned, looking at the clipboard and nodding. "You're good for discharge then! Can't believe you abused your stay here in the hospital until your broken leg actually healed."

Hades howled in laughter, feeling light.

"Hey, I had to. It's much more peaceful here." He lazily grinned. "And, I had my pretty little doll take care of me. That's two birds in one stone."

You flushed pink and gave a small chuckle.

"Haha. So funny." You rolled your eyes.

"What can I say? I'm a clown." Hades joked "Honk honk." He squeezed his nose, pretending it's the red, squeezy clown nose that clowns have.

"The whole circus, you mean." You teased.

The both of you got quiet once more as you helped his men who just got inside the room to move Hades' things out.

He watched you interact with his men and frowned, jealousy bubbling inside of him. And his eyes narrowed when he saw one brush his hand with yours.

In his eyes, it wasn't an accident, it was a deliberate act of flirting with you.

"Okay, I got to report to your physician first. Be right back!" You said, waving to Hades before jogging out.

"Oi, you."

All of his men stopped, heart rate suddenly picking up as Hades pointed at the man who brushed his hands with yours.

"Yes sir?" The man approached him and Hades immediately grabbed his hand, twisting it.

The man was about to scream in agony but only got to whimper in pain when Hades bore holes in him.

"Those hands you touched? I am the only one who's able to do that." Hades seethed, jealousy and envy bubbling inside of him again, threatening to boil over. "So don't you dare do that again."

He let go of the man as he nodded, scrambling away from him. His other men only bowed and continued to do their work.

They knew not to touch the boss' future wife, as what Hades told them.

But they don't know the scope of 'touch', and it seems that even accidental touches aren't out of the question.

They were glad that their boss found a woman to be his partner, and was happy that the boss seemed like he found something to be happy with.

Especially with how hard his life was before, he needed somebody who will love him unconditionally.

But they forgot that Hades was the epitome of envy and jealousy.

They prayed for your soul. May it be to escape Hades' clutches, or for you to tolerate his behavior and his overly possessive nature.

But, six months later, their hair stood on their ends when they saw you inside the boss' mansion, confined, and kidnapped. You had a defeated look on your face as you glared at their boss, who only smirked.

You were kidnapped by Hades.

six months before the kidnapping

Hades visited you in the hospital, bringing a bouquet of flowers in hand. It was an assortment of different floras, most of them of your favorite flower that you mused to him one day.

He sighed, suddenly feeling nervous. It was the first time he felt like this, but he shook his head and clicked his tongue before walking inside.

His long legs strode towards your floor. The other hospital personnel, who once cowered in fear, looked at him curiously and started to gush amongst themselves.

They knew who he was here for.

And once he got to the 4th floor, he saw you, working on your computer.

"Hey little doll." He drawled out, smirking as you looked up to him.

"Hades! How are you?!" You excitedly jumped up, eyes sparkling. Hades felt warm inside, knowing you were smiling like that because of him.

"Oh, you know. Doing the same. Your care is spectacular. I got healed in such a short time. You're an angel, you know that?" Hades winked and you giggled.

"Oh shut you. What are you here for?" You asked.

You gasped, seeing the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Grant me the pleasure of being with you, doll?" Hades said, his voice low and quiet, but his resolve was strong.

You grinned and accepted the bouquet, smelling the amazing aroma and smiling.

"Of course!"

At first, dating Hades was fun.

He spoiled you rotten. Giving you jewelry, clothing, food... Anything you looked at, he would buy.

He was a gentleman. A clear and distinct difference from how he's always been.

It was supposed to be a fairytale love story. Well, as much as a fairytale it is being with a mafia boss.

But he was so possessive and overly jealous.

"Why are you looking at him?"

"You don't have male patients, right? No, scratch that. Even women can see how amazing you are."

"Why did he talk to you? Is he asking you out?"

"What did she say? Did she flirt with you?"

"I'll rip their skulls out if you even try to glance their direction."

You groaned, annoyed by his jealousy. You tried to reassure him, that nothing was wrong, that he was the only one for you, but he won't listen.

He was draining to be with. He's always watching other people like a hawk, threatening them if they tried to interact with you, then getting so manipulative with you.

And while you made sweet, sweet love with him one night, with your body filled with his marks and bites, you knew you had to let go of the man.

You can't even work in the hospital right because of his jealousy.

So you have to.

But when you woke up, were kidnapped by him.

"What the fuck?! Hades!" You screamed, looking at the windows. It was grilled. The doors, all unlocked except for the exits.

Nobody was allowed inside the mansion, only you and Hades were residing there.

Hades smirked, looking at you pacing around the mansion. His eyes, dark, obsessed, and possessive, swept your form up and down.

"Doll, you're in the right place." Hades stalked towards you. His long legs, which you once helped heal, was now transporting your twisted boyfriend in front of you. "You think I don't know you want to leave me?"

You seethed, eyes boring betrayal and hatred.

"Why did you kidnap me?"

Hades smirked.

"Like I said, I know you want to leave me. And I can't have that." Hades licked his lips and gently clutched your hips. His thumbs, dangerously close to your core. You shivered, your body responding to his touch. "I did well training your body to like my touch." Hades mused.

You looked away, defiant arousal filling you inside as his hips fit with yours.

You could feel his excitement prodding at your stomach.

"I know you want me, doll." He whispered, leaning down to your ear and licking it. "Doesn't this feel forbidden? If you really hated me, hated my touch, and want to go out, you should have ran away from me. But hey, look at this. You're letting me touch you."

He chuckled darkly as he saw your red face.

"Come on doll." He whispered, kissing your neck. "They said hate sex feels phenomenal. Want to try it?"

Accepting it was the dumbest decision of your life.

He pumped you full, not even bothering to put protection.

And you, swept away by his divine touch, didn't care also.

You only regret this decision once you got pregnant.

Hades gave a triumphant, evil lopsided grin as he called his men to introduce you.

His men's eyes widened in fear at him.

Nobody can even get inside his mansion, let alone his men.

But now, he's openly letting people go inside his mansion. They knew you were inside the mansion, kidnapped. But why is he letting them go inside now?

Hades scoffed and shielded your form from the inquisitive eyes of his men, jealousy filling him.

"Welcome my fiancée, everyone. Treat her well, will you? She's pregnant with my child."

They all froze, before they felt like they were showered with cold ice water.

Baby trapped.

You were baby trapped.

That's why Hades opened the doors to them.

You can't leave no matter what.

And as Hades smirked at your glaring form, they prayed once more.

You're never going out of his clutches.

You were now forever confined in Hades' world.

His Persephone.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

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selfishdoll · 8 months

Text

NOW PLAYING…. SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

You're the queen of the superficial, And how long before you tell the truth?

sum: being a physical therapist assistant wasn’t easy work at all, and it didn’t help that one of your patients was beginning to plague your thoughts, in more ways than one.

PURE COINCIDENCE . camboy & martial artist! kashimo hajime x physical therapist assistant! reader

cw: strangers to lovers (lowkey), kashimo & reader are 19-21, kashimo is ooc of course, modern au (no cursed techniques but he’s still strong asf), sex work, pet names, teasing, degradation & praise, shy!reader, curvy reader, kashimo is an ass man, lowkey corruption kink, slightly public sex, kashimo is reckless & dumb, dumbification, manhandling, rough sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, choking, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, etc.

i spent so much time on this & was winging it fr so it didn’t come out how i liked 😭😭. & it got much longer then i wanted it to be. also please excuse any typos or errors, it’s late 🙏🏾

You always thought boxing, wrestling, and martial arts were such violent sports. You didn’t see the appeal of beating someone black and blue— or forcing them into submission. You weren’t a pacifist by any means but fighting was just something you didn’t get it. Especially, when it came to making money off it.

Truthfully, however— you didn’t need to see the point. Your only concern was massaging your patients and assuring they didn’t overextend themselves.

Which happened often.

Today would be a good day for you, a starting point actually. After two years of grueling work, several months of training, and being placed in a hospital you hated; you were finally sought out by a private practice— a gym for martial artists. From what you’ve heard they were good; winning tournaments back to back and putting on quite a show for the audience.

A name that frequently showed up was Kashimo Hajime, the proclaimed God of Lightning. A title earned given how fast he was, no one able to keep up with the amount of punches that he landed on his opponent. You were sure that was impressive in its own right, but you simply couldn’t get past the name.

It made you giggle each time you heard it.

Your eyes trailed away from the building infront of you and over to your phone hooked up to the stand in your car. You pressed your lips together, “Looks like I’m here..” You mumbled to yourself, feeling anxiety gather at the pit of your stomach. A new job always did that to you, imagining just about everything going wrong. From possibly falling or messing up a chart.

First day jitters always killed your motivation.

But, you took a small breath; eyes closed briefly as you sinked into your seat for a moment. It would be fine, this would be fine. You’re gonna do great. Such affirmations swarmed in your mind, pushing you away from delving down a deep hole of anxiety and insecurity. Once you felt your heart relax just a bit you grabbed your phone and tote bag, turning the car off and soon exiting it. Shutting the door behind you, you assured the doors were locked before approaching the large metal doors of the building. Pulling them open, your eyes scanned the large area. It looked like a relatively regular gym; punching bags hanging from the ceiling in a few places, weights, and treadmills. The most interesting thing was the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

“Hello, miss? Can I help you?” You jumped a little as the voice interrupted your train of thought, turning to face a woman who was seated behind the front desk. You flashed a false confident smile, approaching her while shifting through your bag. “H—hi, I’m [Full Name]. I’m here to start as a PTA.” Your hand finally clasped around what you needed, lifting a packet of papers from the confinements of your bag and passing them over to her awaiting hand.

Her eyes scanned the pages rather quickly, “Oh, you’ll be working with Ms. Makoto.” She mused, flashing you a small smile as she passed the papers back. “She always comes late, so for now; I’d suggest walking around to get a feel for your surroundings. Maybe even talk to your future patients.” She shrugged to which you nodded, a small thank you, escaping you.

You wish she hadn’t suggested the thing at all, given how nerve-racking it felt to you. However, you now felt obligated to do it, especially with the way she was smiling at you so sweetly. Damn her.

Situating the strap of your bag onto your shoulder correctly, you headed over towards the actual gym area; eyes on the swivel to assure you didn’t end up in anyone’s way. Like you hoped, however, the martial artists were far too focused on their training, paying you no mind as their fists slammed against some punch bag or they pumped their legs on the treadmill.

The atmosphere itself was nice, really. You didn’t mind it, maybe you would get used to it.

Once you were finished walking around the people lifting weights, your eyes traveled over to the boxing ring in the middle, noticing two forms entering it and several people surrounding it. Interest quickly invaded your mind, moving towards the crowd to get a better look. You luckily found your way to the front, staring up at the two men that were currently stretching.

One was unimpressionable; hair shaved short with tanned skin. He was shirtless showcasing his simple build. He wasn’t small but wasn’t big either, sculpted but not bulky? It was clear he wasn’t a seasoned fighter. But, as your eyes turned over to his opponent; the difference was all too clear.

Standing at an impressive six feet, cloaked in a tight black shirt and baggy white pants, bandages wrapped around his forearms. You watched as he cupped his hands together behind his back, stretching his arms and fuck, were they big. Or rather the man was big in general, enough so you pitied his opponent.

You watched as he rose his arms above his head this time, eyes zoning in on the way his shirt followed— revealing his toned stomach and the pretty blue trail that traveled down. Oh, how you wanted to see where it lead to.

“[Name]?”

“Huh!?” You gasped out of your daze, head snapping over to a woman that stood beside you. She had short black hair that illuminated her pale features perfectly, sharp dark eyes already staring at you. Her gloss stained lips curled once she had your attention, “I’m Makoto. I’m sorry for being late.”

You gave a nervous smile, “I—I don’t mind. I was just uh.. getting to know my surroundings.” The physical therapist nodded at you with a smile, eyes turning over to the ring as a small sigh escaped her.

“I’ve told Kashimo to stop entertaining these rookies.”

“Entertaining?”

Makoto nodded with a soft hum, crossing her arms over her chest. “They always want to fight him for some reason, riling him up until he finally agrees to a spar. It’s ridiculous,” She mused, tapping a finger against her skin. “It’s clear whose going to win.”

You pressed your lips together, eyes turning back to the ring. To your surprise, Kashimo was standing upright while his opponent was in a fighting stance. Cocky.. Was what ran through your mind, eyes darting between the two men.

The man with a shaved head blew air from his mouth, springing towards Kashimo in a single step. Your eyes widened as you watched the cyan-haired man step out of the other’s way, bawling his fists. The sound of skin to skin contact was the only thing you could register, astonished by the pure speed of his fists, opponent trapped under the flurry of his hits. Makoto was right, he didn’t stand a chance; falling to the ring the moment the god of lightning was finished with him. The match couldn’t have been longer than five seconds.

“Kashimo, It was only supposed to be a spar— not a knockout!” Makoto called, softly complaining about unnecessary concussions. You watched as Kashimo’s bored expression fixed onto the physical therapist, a small snarl on his face. Makoto hissed at this, fussing at him not to glare at her.

He didn’t entertain her yelling long, eyes traveling away from her and fixing onto you. You didn’t hold his gaze long, or rather— you couldn’t, given its intensity. You simply turned to face Makoto waiting for her to get over her yelling so you could get started.

. . .

A few hours of work passed, the only major concern being Kashimo’s opponent and assuring he had no fractures or concussions from the match. Much to Makoto’s relief, he didn’t. Other than that you were observing and looking over charts, noticing the inconsistencies in Kashimo’s. Makoto then explained to you the man ignored injuries and she quite literally has to corner him to get him into her office. The mental image made you laugh softly.

Soon enough your shift was over, being informed you did well and to come at the same time tomorrow. It delighted you to hear such a thing. Exiting the building, you approached your car while searching for your keys in your bag, humming softly to yourself. Finally finding them, you pull them out; attention however, shifting over to the gym doors when they opened.

To your surprise Kashimo stepped out, holding a large duffel bag in his left hand while his right? Reached for the end of his shirt, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face. All under your gaze.

You felt ashamed staring at him in such a way, especially since he was technically your patient.

“You need somethin’, Miss [Name]?” His voice was muffled against the damp fabric, pulling his shirt down to reveal his sharp eyes starting at you. You jumped in surprise, nearly dropping your keys. “Oh, oh, no! No..” You breathed out, shakily pressing the button on them to unlock your car. To your horror the man gave you a small smirk;

“Safe travels then.”

“Mhm! You too!” The words escaped you meekly and far louder then you wished. Snatching the driver’s side door open, you entered the vehicle, barely even slamming the door closed before you turned the engine over. You quickly pulled out of that parking lot, attempting to forget the scene that just happened.

. . .

A soft sigh escaped you as you sat on your bed, leaning back to lay down, arms laying across your stomach. The sky was painted black, stars twinkling overhead with the moon rested aimlessly. It was getting late and you needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. You weren’t sure how work would be but you wanted to mentally prepare for the worst. However, you just.. didn’t want to sleep yet?

It was weird, really. You didn’t feel tired despite how nervous you were today. You almost felt proud of yourself.

“Still need to get some sleep though..” You mumbled to yourself, rolling over to your stomach. Pressing your face into your plush blankets for a moment, you mulled over how to force yourself to sleep. Milk, melatonin maybe? You don’t know if you had either. You spared two more minutes of thought before an idea entered your mind.

Masturbation. You were a genius.

You reached blindly for your phone while turning onto your back again, scooting up farther onto your bed as you opened the dreaded X app. Ignoring tweets from friends and celebrities you went straight to the search bar typing in something random. You just needed to get off once, it normally worked for you.

Using one hand to scroll, the other went down to your lower half, happy you previously discarded your pants as your fingers brushed across your thinly covered pussy. Warming yourself up, your fingers pressed against your covered clit, slowly rubbing it; feeling the gentle pleasure travel up your spine.

Fifteen minutes passed of this and your agitated scrolling, frustration building as nothing in particular caught your eye. Each video was either too short or too boring for something to use, or even some too much. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult anyhow. Just a quick session and then sleep. Yet, here you were; boredly scrolling.

You nearly settled for your imagination rather then a video until something caught your eye. Your thumb hovered over the video, eyes zoning in on it. It was simple, a male by himself, showcasing his lower half but nothing else. You saw the imprint of his dick through his sweats, strong hand gliding across it; teasing himself.

Pursing your lips, you clicked on the video, getting into a comfortable position. You watched as he delicately pulled the strings on his pants, watching the band loosen. His hips rose, hooking a thumb under the waistband to slowly tug down— not far, but far enough his length slowly came into view; popping out when his sweats rested on his thighs.

You sucked in a breath, watching his veined hand clasp around his pretty cock. He was pale, tip a soft red with precum spilling from the slit. He was also.. well, big; lengthy and thick— particularly around the base. You attempted to imagine it inside you, pussy pulsing at the thought of it splitting you open.

His thumb rolled on the crown of his length, collecting some precum before smoothing it down his shaft. To your surprise you heard a soft groan, feeling your stomach tighten from the sound. Most men on this annoying app were quiet in their videos, something you couldn’t stand. And while he wasn’t loud, it was loud enough your hand went straight under your panties, beginning to roll tight circles on your clit.

You moved in sync to how he fisted himself, his soft sighs and grunts escaping your phone’s speaker; envious you couldn’t hear such things right into your ear. You bit your lip as your legs shook, two fingers traveling down your slick slit to plunge inside you. Your hips rose, grinding your clit into your palm as your eyes focused on the man. You gasped out, watching as his pace quickened, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his hands.

His voice became ragged, pants desperate as he chased his release. And you, your own. You were so close, watching this stranger fuck himself. A pretty sight you couldn’t look away from.

“Oh, fuck..” Was what he hissed, nearly making your eyes roll back. You were there, right there, so close, until— you noticed something. Your eyes had unfortunately wandered from his cock to his stomach peeking out under his shirt, spotting something.

A soft tuft of cyan colored hair.

Your eyes widened for a moment, feeling your pleasure come crashing down as flashes of Kashimo in the ring and outside the building entered your mound. The way it lined below his navel so perfectly, it was all too familiar. “There’s no way..” You thought to yourself, attempting to rationalize it in your head. Kashimo Hajime, martial artist known as the god of lightning just didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing.

But then again, you knew nothing about him, so who were you to declare it wasn’t like him?

Such thoughts killed your lust filled high, pulling your hand out of your panties and quickly clicking out of the app. You turned on your side, phone rested face down on your blankets. Your eyes pinched close, attempting to calm your racing thoughts and think of solutions to this.

It was all pure coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe dying happy trails that particular color was some trend you didn’t hear about?

You seriously hoped it was.

. . .

Despite your many thoughts last night, you fell asleep shortly after that event. Though you did wake up and feel miserable, just imagining how nervous you’ll be facing Kashimo.

It’s probably not him.. right? You continued to try and convince yourself, closing your car door shut and beginning your trek over to the gym. Opening the doors and entering, you gave a brief smile to the receptionist that greeted you and made a beeline to Makoto’s office, reaching for the door.

Only for it to open, right in your face.

“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there!” The physical therapist hissed softly, watching as you soothed the pain on your forehead. You only gave a small smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.” The brief pain knocked Kashimo right from your thoughts, something you deeply appreciated and nearly thanked the reckless older woman for.

Makoto looked you over for a moment before sighing softly, nodding. “Alright, well. Set your things down. It’s not a lot to do today, but that could change.”

You gave a brief smile and nodded, entering her office. It was simple, resembling a hospital room with shelves lining the walls and a long black bed off against the wall. You placed your bag beside her own, turning around to spot Makoto at the door, talking to someone.

Moving closer you quickly realized it was Kashimo. His expression just like yesterday, bored with a snarl pointed towards the older woman— who was currently nagging, just like yesterday. You swallowed a breath, flashes of the previous night entering your mind, far too quick and vivid to ignore. It didn’t help that in the midst of her words his eyes traveled to you, causing you to still; wishing to fall through the floor right then and there.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Don’t you have someone to mentor instead of wasting your time, naggin’?” Hajime questioned, finally releasing you from his gaze to stare back at Makoto. The physical therapist’s voice rose in pitch, Hajime turning on his heel and walking off much to her annoyance..

And your relief. You hoped he was too busy training to acknowledge you today.

Two hours passed with you following Makoto around, writing down a few notes on people’s charts and even tapping some people. They were nice and encouraged you even when your hands shook a little or you stumbled over your words. You really did like this job so far.

It was the afternoon now, Makoto letting you go on a thirty minute break. You entered the lounge room of the gym, hand clasped around the black container of food you had grabbed from your bag. Approaching the microwave, you opened it open and slid the container inside— shutting the door and pressing a random time. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone for a moment before an idea creeped into your mind.

Assuring no one else was in the room, you clicked onto the app you used last night, going to your previous search and beginning to scroll. It took about five minutes before you finally reached where you wanted; the video you watched last night. Taking your food from the microwave, you clicked onto the account of the video, waltzing over to a chair and sitting down.

You attempted to rationalize looking at porn — or rather a porn account at work. It’s not like you were actively watching the videos, or touching yourself; you were simply searching for something, anything that signified this wasn’t Kashimo’s account.

But, you weren’t given much. Firstly, the account’s icon and header was blank while the bio was empty too. Despite this, it had quite a few tweets and followers, highlighting this account was quite popular. You bit the inside of your cheek once again, looking around you for a moment before clicking on the media section of the page. You scrolled, leaning your cheek into your palm. Most of it was solo stuff, showcasing his lower half and never his face. Your heart thumped however; when you noticed the spiky, cyan colored hair that rested behind him in a certain video. You bit the inside of your cheek, jumping when the lounge room door opened.

To your horror, Kashimo entered— giving you a brief glance before walking over to the fridge in the room. His hand reached for something, snatching it from the fridge and rising to shut the door, moving over to the microwave. While opening the door and placing his food inside, you watched his other hand fish his phone from his sweats.

And that’s when a idea popped into your head. A very, very stupid one. Your face turned back to your phone screen, biting your lip. You were still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t him, this was just some random man you’ve never met before.

And so, if you were to like a tweet of his where— your name was completely visible, you were sure he wouldn’t react at all. Your plan seemed solid, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Taking a shaky breath, your thumb pressed against the hollow heart of a random tweet, slowly placing your phone back onto the table. Maybe.. maybe you were imagining it but, you could have sworn you heard the soft buzz of a phone.

One that wasn’t yours.

Fear shot up your spine, head moving slowly to the side, eyes traveling to the only other person in the room.

Who was already staring at you, cradling his black cased phone.

Your eyes locked, watching as a grin pulled his features. It was him, oh it was definitely him. Your eyes widened as the realization set in, quickly turning forward to snatch your phone and food from the table, getting up on shaky legs and heading towards the door.

“Not hungry, [Name]?” His tone was mocking, far too teasing for you to ignore. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you quickly shook your head, snatching the door open and exiting the lounge.

The realization of the situation finally dawned on you as you sped over to Makoto’s office, nearly crushing your container of food in your hand.

You had found Kashimo Hajime’s twitter, his.. special twitter. And he knew, you knew it was him.

. . .

About three weeks had passed since that fateful day. You were, surprisingly— okay. The day after it happened Kashimo seemed normal, not ignoring you but focused on his training. You remained on edge for the rest of the week expecting something. Maybe a big blow out or a private conversation, but you got neither.

And if you weren’t sure if you were happy, or upset by that. Either way, three weeks went by with radio silence and you growing accustomed to your job.

It was about forty minutes until you would clock out, seated at Makoto’s desk and flipping through papers. Your eyes scanned the page, assuring each chart was up to date and nothing was out of order. Luckily no one has gotten injured majorly these last few weeks, but the necessary procedures had to be done.

You heard movement beside you, eyes drifting away from the stack for a moment to spot your boss grabbing her things and placing them into her bag. Noticing your stare, she turned with an apologetic smile— “Sorry, [Name]! My daughter needs to get picked up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded at her with a smile, glancing at the clock. You would have been nervous to be left alone, but it was only thirty minutes. And once you clocked out anyone that stayed back for training were on their own.

The door closed behind Makoto as she exited the office, your head turning to focus back on the papers. You hummed softly to yourself, pressing your cheek into your palm as you scribbled something on a page, flipping to the next.

Several minutes passed with this continuous routine, eyes finally shifting away from the work over to your phone. Five minutes until your shift was over. With that, you stood, collecting the papers into a neat stack before placing it back into its manila folder; placing that into your tote bag. You glanced around the area, assuring you weren’t leaving anything behind before grabbing your bag, pulling it onto your shoulder. Turning on your heel, you approached the door and opened it; letting out a soft startled noise.

“Oh, I was expecting Makoto..” Kashimo spoke, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his usual attire; a black tight shirt with white sweatpants. His dark eyes traced over your form, tilting his head at you. You attempted to ignore the way his lips twitched a bit, as if holding something back.

You quickly cleared your throat, “Did you.. uh— need her for something? She left early is all.”

Kashimo hummed softly, “No..I think you’ll do.”

“What?”

“Think you could get the kink out my arm? I must have.. punched the bag wrong.” Kashimo claimed, smiling down at you. You withtook a breath, clenching the strap of your bag tightly. He was lying, and he knew he was lying too. Kashimo Hajime, punching the bag wrong? You could almost laugh at the thought.

And that smile? Oh— it was far from genuine, far from pure. Every alarm in your head rung, warning you to refuse and leave. Yet, you didn’t listen to a single one. Your body instead turned, waltzing over to the desk and setting your things down. “You can sit on the bed. I’ll take a look at your arm.”

The words barely escaped you before the deafening sound of the door closed behind him, a soft thanks, escaping him as he sat down. You felt his eyes on your every move, watching as you approached the sink and began to wash your hands— shakily, you might add. You spent extra time there, afraid to face the man.

Soon enough, however, you grabbed a paper towel from beside you; drying your hands and turning the faucet off. Tossing the soiled towel in the trash, you turned and walked over to him. “Wh—which arm?” You questioned softly, watching as he lifted his right one. You nibbled on your cheek, gently grabbing his bicep, thumbs pressing against the muscle carefully.

“If it starts to hurt, tell me..” You murmured softly, room back to being silent. This was stupid really; you making such a show of things. You knew he wasn’t hurt, shown in the way he reacted little with each squeeze you gave him; even pressing harder to see if he would react.

Like you suspected, Kashimo didn’t react at all.

“I wonder..” You blinked as his words interrupted your jumbled thoughts, blinking over to him. He was already staring at you, a small smirk pulling his lips. One that caused your stomach to drop. One that he wore in the lounge room that day. “—when you connected the dots, when you found out it was me.. did still watch me?”

You breathed softly, releasing his arm. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” You played at acting dumb, a useless facade he didn’t fall for at all. Instead, Kashimo chuckled softly, turning to glance away from you.

“Oh, don’t play dumb sweetheart. You know I’m asking if you fucked yourself to my videos.” His tone was harsh, eyes turning back to you; gaze intense. You swallowed heavily, watching him slowly lift himself off the bed. You stepped back, murmuring as he met your step, backing you against the cabinets. “Bet you wished it was my cock instead of your fingers; splitting you open, fucking you until your nothing but a crying mess.”

“Kashimo..” You spoke softly, rising your hands and placing them at his waist. You needed space, air— you felt like you would suffocate with his large form covering; with his smell swarming your senses. You gasped softly as his lips moved to your ear, cool breath tickling your skin. “Please..”

“Haven’t even touched you and you’re already beggin’ for me.” His words were mocking, a breathy chuckle escaping him shortly after. “Go on.. tell me what you want, [Name].”

You could nearly moan at the way your name fell from his lips, eyes pinched closed as your hands crumbled his shirt in a tight grip. You struggled for a moment to form words, eyes pinned to the floor to avoid his gaze. Unfortunately for you, this was one of the few times Kashimo was ever patient; hands seated perfectly on the porcelain cabinets, refusing to touch you until you answer his question.

Finally, after what seemed like moments you glanced up at him, rising to lock your lips with his own. You, please. Was what you whimpered into his mouth, feeling him react immediately. A hand rose to wrap around your neck, the other coming to the underside of your thigh. Kashimo’s clenched around your throat a little, driving his tongue into your mouth and marking it as his own. You whined softly at this, gripping his shirt so much the fear of ripping it entered your mind briefly. The heavy makeout continued only his hand dropped from your neck, grasping your either thigh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him walk backwards until he sat on the bed.

Your pussy rested just above his crotch, feeling his hardening length through the fabric of your stockings and his sweats. Your arms wrapped around his neck, murmuring against his lips as you slowly ground against him. To your dismay; the man rose his hand, slamming his palm against your ass— the sting causing you to jump, pulling back as a whine escaped your throat. “Kashimo—!” You hissed softly, glaring at the man who grinned back at you.

His fingers soothed the path, rubbing slowly circles into your covered skin, gripping every once in a while. “I suggest you fix your face or you won’t be coming at all tonight.” Kashimo breathed, slapping the same cheek once again. You lurched forward, gripping him so harshly as a soft cry escaped you. “Gonna take my time with you.. explore every inch of you under these clothes,” He hummed softly, hand reaching under your black dress, running his fingers across your thinly covered ass.

“— and i’m not gonna rush just cause your slutty pussy is desperate for my attention.”

“Kashimo…” You whined softly, pleading with your eyes. The man only smiled at you, a sinister smile; highlighting how much he enjoyed toying with you.

“It’s Hajime, princess.” The martial artist corrected, leaning to place wet kisses against your cheeks and neck. You moaned softly, feeling his fingers curl under your dress, slowly pulling it up your body. You moved uncomfortably as the cool air hit your bare skin, feeling him reach behind you; fiddling with your bra for a moment. Once he had unclipped the undergarment he tossed it aside with your dress, pulling back to glance at your exposed chest. You grew nervous under his gaze, having half a mind to cover yourself. Only, he didn’t give you enough time to do so before his large hands grabbed the soft mounds, leaning down to suck a kiss on your collarbone.

His thumbs pressed against your slowly hardening nipple, nicking your skin with his canines. You breathed softly at this, hands rising to curl your fingers into his hair, gasping as you felt his kisses lower; soft lips grazing your areola before he opened his mouth— wrapping his lips around your nipple. The unfamiliar feeling caused you to gasp, eyes pinched closed as you felt him began to suck; gently grazing his teeth across your heated skin while his tongue slid across your pretty bud. Hajime’s other hand was busy playing with your unattended breast, groping and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your moans grew, rising your chest into his face more; chasing after the pleasure he was giving, searching for more. All he was doing was sucking your breasts and yet, your pussy was clenching around nothing— feeling as if you were an inch away from release. You gasped out as he gently clamped down on your nipple, rolling the tender bud to hear you squeal. The ministrations continued as a hand traveled down your body, tracing the stretch marks that lined your skin— rubbing across your rolls before his fingers collected your stockings; pulling them down your body with such force they began to rip.

“Ha—hajime, they’re ripping.” You whimpered softly, words ignored as he snatched the rest of the ruined fabric from your body, tossing it to the forming pile. Your breath hitched as his hand traveled between your legs, two fingers gliding across your covered slit, feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. A soft swear escaped you as he pushed down, pressing against your clit, slowing rolling circles against it.

The added pleasure caused you to lean your head back, eyes pinched close as the feeling consumed your body. This was wrong, more than wrong actually. He was a patient and this was your boss’s office, the bed used by several others when being checked on. Yet here the two of you were, dirtying it with your own selfish desires. You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed.

Maybe you would feel so after he was done with you.

A soft pop escaped him as he rose away from your chest, the pretty mounds now tainted with his saliva. His eyes carried down your form, enjoying the sight; your hips moving at an attempt to find more friction in his hand, biting your bottom lip to cover the soft, pretty breaths threatening to escape your throat. Hajime hated himself for waiting to touch you like this.. to make you his. His eyelids lowered as he leaned close, pressing hot kisses against your skin again. “Using my hand to get off, huh? How pathetic..”

In any other situation you would have been offended by his choice of words, but now? It only caused you to moan softly, hips moving fast against his hand— feeling Hajime’s lips move over to your throat. You gripped him as you felt yourself grow more and more aroused, a band forming that was ready to break. Your moans grew louder as you got closer, digging your fingers into his shoulders before your eyes widened; feeling him move his hand away from between your legs.

The band slowly faded, high slipping through your fingers. You nearly sobbed— his name exiting you in a soft whine as the man did nothing but grin down at you. Hajime’s hands traveled up your form, soon tenderly wrapping his fingers around your neck, leaning close.

“Quit whinin’..” He cooed, stamping a kiss against your skin. You gasped as you felt his hood tighten a bit, hand drifting right back between your legs, breaching your panties. Without much warning he curled two fingers inside you, feeling your wet walls clench his thick digits. You swore softly, feeling his fingers reach much deeper then your own could; stretching you out and working you open.

Your pussy began to squelch with each thrust of the digits inside you, thumb rising to push against your engorged clit; hand continuing to hold you steady by the throat. Hajime enjoyed the way your pretty broken moans escaped your throat, voice vibrating against his palm. He curled his fingers once more, watching the way you jumped, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you dumb just from my fingers..” The words came out in an astonished coo, cock twitching under the confinements of his sweats and pants. Oh he couldn’t wait.. wait to see the way you fell apart as he split you open with his length.

But he needed to be patient. Needed to warm you up properly before completely ruining you.

So the pace of his fingers quickened, sounds of your messy pussy surrounding the room; acting as background noise for the high-pitched moans that escaped you. Your hips met each thrust, gripping his wrist to ground yourself. Your thighs squeezed his forearm, head knocking back as you came all over his hand. The man’s fingers soon slowed to a complete stop, withdrawing them from your wetness.

You barely registered him sticking his fingers into his mouth, sucking your mess off them. Once they were clean he leaned forward, kissing you softly— allowing you to taste yourself. So dirty..

Your lips moved slow, his thumb tracing your throat as a soft praise pushed from his lips. Soon enough you felt his hips rise, pressing his clothed cock against your wetness, grinding slowly. Even if you were still sensitive from just a few moments ago, you wanted, no, needed him desperately. So much so it nearly physically hurt.

Hajime rose, switching your positions to slowly lay you out on the bed, pushing you up higher. You whined as he body left you for a second, the sound quickly dying down when you noticed him unclothing. First was his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso and that damned happy trail. The man smirked at you as he tossed his shirt to the side, reaching for his bottoms next. Pushing them down, you watched as his length was revealed. To have it right infront of you rather then on a screen, well.. your phone didn’t do him justice at all.

“‘S not gonna fit.” You mused softly, eyes snapping back to his face, nervous. Hajime almost felt prideful from your words if it wasn’t for your tone of voice. He leaned close, pressing a kiss to your chin. “I’ll make it fit.” He mumbled, pushing close against you, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other grasped your thigh. Rubbing the tip across your slit, he smoothed your juices down his shaft, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he pushed inside you, watching the way your eyebrows twitched, how your legs began to close.

A pained sigh escaped you, Hajime smoothing his hand up and down your heated skin. “Taking me so well, baby.. Just relax.” He spoke softly, hissing when he felt your walls clench from the praise. Soon enough his hips stilled the moment he pushed all the way inside, grasping the underside of your thighs— eyes closed. It took everything not to fuck you into the bed right then and there, feeling the way you carefully moved to adjust yourself; but each clench caused his resolve to wither away more and more.

Moments passed before Hajime opened his eyes, glancing down at you and searching for any sign of pain. When he realized there was none, he experimentally pulled his hips back so only his tip was inside, pushing back in— watching in delight at the way your mouth fell open in a ring O.

Nothing else held the martial artist, soft ruts quickly changing into slams. His cock bullied it’s way inside you, filling you completely. Your legs shook in his hold, gripping the fabric underneath you as broken moans escaped you. Hajime was knocking the wind out of you; pushing your legs up higher so that your knees were touching your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, something you would surely feel in the morning— but you didn’t care. The pleasure this man was giving you overshadowed it all.

Your walls clenched him with each drag of his hips, his dark eyes captivated by the way you hugged him so tightly. “Wanted me so fucking bad, didn’t you, princess?“ Hajime hissed, grinning as he watched your eyes attempt to focus on him. The man chuckled softly to himself, leaning over you, trapping you under his body. “Oh, you don’t have to answer sweetheart— I already know the truth.”

The man was drilling into you at this point, tip kissing your g-spot as shameless cries escaped you. Tears treaded down your warm cheeks, grasping his arms for stability. Your breaths were hurried, stomach clenching as you felt yourself get closer and closer. “H—haji.. Fuck, I’m so close!”

He relished under the nickname, slamming you into the bed as he planted hot kisses against your skin. “Go on, then. Make a mess on my cock, sweet girl.” With his permission you came, gushing around him; arousal dripping down his length to the floor. You trembled from the feeling, gasping once you realized he hadn’t stopped moving. So sensitive you were, crying out to him as you reached to grip his arm.

“I—I cant, Haji—!”

“You can..“ The man corrected, angling his hips to push deeper inside you. “Waited so long to fuck you like this, to watch you go dumb on my cock— ‘M not stopping until I repay you for those three weeks.”

And he wasn’t lying either. It was almost felt like hours passed with him putting you into different positions, driving you deeper and deeper into the bed to the point it began to creak. By now you could barely speak, could barely form a sound other then a jumbled babble of his name and a soft gasp.

In the midst of it all you were suddenly pushed against the wall, thighs wrapped around his form as he shoved himself into you; a spark of pain washing over you each time he brushed your cervix— pain that melted away rather quickly.

From the way his hips stuttered you knew he was close, his face pushed into your neck as he gripped your skin harshly. Skin on skin contact filled the room, desperate sounds of pleasure following until Hajime swore; spilling into you. The warmth alone pushed you over the edge, cumming for the upteenth time that night— walls milking his cock.

The man’s hips finally came to a halt, breathing heavily as he simply held you there up against the wall. After a few moments he walked backwards, sitting on the bed; the two of you groaning in sensitivity. He pulled your hot body against his own, cradling your lower back with his fingers tracing the dimples there.

The room was silent as the two of you caught your breath, simply enjoying holding the other.

Soon enough the man pulled back, continuing to smooth his hands across your skin. “You’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.” Hajime murmured, grinning at the soft chuckle that escaped you.

“Yeah.. you’re probably right.”

#mdni #mechahrt #black!reader #hajime kashimo x reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x poc!reader #jjk x plus size reader #hajime kashimo x black!reader

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signedeclipse · 1 year

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Signed with Love - Upper Moons

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely fem!readers! Its valentines/love letters cards from your favourites <3

Series Parts Kamaboko Squad - HERE The Hashira - HERE

Akaza

To the girl of my dreams, Happy valentines! I'm sure you thought i'd forget sorry about last year, but I've got plans and everything. Theres a light show in the city, if you want to come I'm sure we can stop for some snacks and i'll get you the best view of them. If that sounds like a plan, i'll be by your house the moment the sun goes down. Can't wait to see you dolled up, Akaza.

Daki

Dove, Free your schedule on the 14th, I won't let plans get in the way of us spending this year together after so many times of it falling through! Oiron duties always take precedent, but I'm sure I can pull some strings to spend the night with you, the "new" girl, to do some "training". Dress for the part, I know you can lie your way in. Good luck, even if I know you won't need it, 'Warabihime'

Douma

Hello, lovely! I am over the moon knowing i'll get to spend valentines with you again! I miss you more and more every day you are away... How about this year we sneak away from the cult and I show you someplace you might really enjoy, and we can pick up some treats you like to keep at the estate! Don't leave me waiting too long. You know who ♡

Gyokko

To my precious muse, This velentines marks a decade together, and I figure its about time I let you closer than ive let any other. I know I can be more conservative in sharing my art, but this year i'd like to take you into my studio and teach you some of my craft. You know where to find me. Wear something you don't mind having ruined. Gყσƙƙσ

Gyutaro

Angel, I promised i'd always ask, so I expect you to say yes when I ask you to be my valentine again. It's too risky to go out with being on the radar, so when you come back home keep low and we'll do something simple. I can't risk getting you in trouble. Don't stray too far, GT.

Hantengu

Dearest, If possible, I would really appreciate if maybe you might consider being my valentine Whatever you'd like is yours Please H/S/K/A/Uro/Z/Ura

Kaigaku

Princess, I know you'll say yes anyways, so instead ill congradulate you for keeping me intrigued for so long. Long enough to call you my valentine. I'll be home to see you the moment the sun drops, and we can spend all night hanging out. I like you better where no one else can chew on you like eye candy, so I'll bring some snacks you like if it keeps you inside, Don't get too flattered, Yours, Inadama

Kokushibo

To the most beautiful woman I know, I would be honoured if you would decide to be my valentine once again. If you are inclined to accept my invintation, know that not a drop of the night would be wasted on anything you wouldn't like. You know you can trust me. I anticipate your responce, 黒死牟

Muzan

To the only sunshine I require; With this letter is a box of clothing. It's all custom to your fit and yours now, pick whatever you like and wait outside the gates of tokyo by sundown tonight. We'll be visitng some places I know you've wanted to see, and I'll make sure it's not on an empty stomach. Don't leave me waiting, M. Kibutsuji

Nakime

My dearest lullaby I am not one to partake in holidays, however, I cannot help myself when it comes to you. I was hoping you would be my valentine; not just today, but in life as well. There is a concert hall I used to perform at, and I would like to bring you there to hear the music I was so very fond of. It is very formal, so if you need any help getting ready you have my assistance. I miss your sweet song, Nakime Otokawa

Authors Note - This took me so long ahhhh thank you for your patience darlings <3 The tags took me longer than writing this entire thing /j

Disclaimer - All characters within have been aged up to at least 18 or older, and have been altered to reflect such change as needed.

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rippersz · 9 months

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𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘

Medusa!Larissa Weems x Blind!Reader (wlw/fluffy/mythological)

"You and only you, can make the rest of my life peaceful," ~ Madeleine Smith

~~~~~~~~

A gentle ebb and flow threaded through the leaves and water. The small waves in the river went forward, the green strands of the grass went back, and so in tune they were when the other changed direction. Forward and back and back and forward. They paid no mind to the birds - those of which flitted from one nest to the other. Nor did the rabbits or deer, grazing and passing through, interrupt their little dance. Forward and back and back and forward. The fish swam with no place in mind and the wolves were silent in their daily musings - tasked to do with whatever it was that wolves were tasked to do on such a sweet day.

The snow of the previous season had been shed; soaked into the ground over the past two weeks while the sun stretched her arms over her head and yawned with a big hello. She carried Spring along with her and spread her over the ground, making love until evening so that the fruits of their desire fell into seeds. Figs, apples, berries, nuts, and foliage dotted the bushes, the nettle, and the trees. All slowly growing ripe in their waiting, blooming in large families to match the quick growth of the flowers. White flowers, pink flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers; lilacs and lavenders and daisies and on the far side of the traveled grounds, even roses.

It was picturesque. Undisturbed. Serene in a way that many places weren’t. The breeze was constant and fresh and the sun peeked from behind big fluffy clouds, announcing her presence with a soft whisper.

And so beautiful it was that she was perfectly content with leaning beside the stone wall of the cave’s entrance; eyes trained on nothing but the journal in her hands. It was worn and old, made from leather with a latch clasp that was slowly rusting, but it was thick and good - full of notes and ideas and places and numbers. 1546 years of being alive as she was, tallying each day until the bitterness overwhelmed the distinct pride of prolonged survival and the tallies became a thing of the past. After all, there was no need to count when the days weren’t numbered.

Sure, there was a bounty on her head, but that didn’t matter. Not in the glory of a new Spring. There was no room for bloodshed on such a beautiful afternoon - and so she was not worried about a bumbling blistering fool with a great ego and dull blade. And so she was not worried about a feral creature with no regard for predator and prey dynamics. And so she was not worried about a-

“AGH!”

-woman?

Her head snapped up, rousing small hisses from the slumbering children.

The woman, she quickly confirmed, had fallen into the river. On her hands and knees, she wavered in the current and let out little sounds- huffs and grunts and even a small curse of ‘Gods, honestly!’- while she scrunched up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hair, scraggly and unclean, hung over her face, wet at the ends and dry at the top.

A part of her felt the need to offer assistance, but common sense told her to stay put - and only to watch. Eventually, as time would say, the strange woman managed to trip her way over to the river’s bank and press her hands into the mud and rock. Then she scrambled up, her sandaled feet working in earnest to help lug her body over the edge and finally- finally- leave her belly up in the grass, heaving great breaths of air. Up and down her chest fell while she faced the sky. Her skirt, patterned and brown, hung below her knees and stuck to her legs; and the shirt, white and flowing and clearly a bit too big for her frame, turned see-through with the water-lined hem that rested against her sides. Her feet were bare in her simple sandals and aside from a blue worn shoulder bag- one that strapped sideways along her front- there was nothing particularly distinct about the stranger. She was just a woman returning home. Or a woman searching for something. Or a woman on a mission to provide for her family.

But whichever she was, woman with a purpose or not, she was no friend. And so she made no move to leave her cave and instead, sat, and returned to her journal.

So the breeze passed.

And the clouds strolled.

The river went forward. And the grass went back.

And for a good long while, nothing happened.

Then there was a shuffling, and a noise of effort, and a soft simmer of hisses began to rise. Feeling the slow slipping of movement on top of her head, she looked up.

The woman had gotten to her feet, apparently done with her momentary bask in the sun, and began ringing out the water at the bottom of her skirt. The bag she had was on the ground, and everything in it was spread out on the grass. From her point by the cave, a good distance away, she could see a few bits of light clothing, a comb, a small stone knife (which needed a good sharpening), and two wrapped bits of woven leaves and twine. There was no scent of meat in the air, aside from the flesh of the fauna within the forest, so she figured the woman most likely carried berries and nuts for nutrition. Which was, judging by the contents on her person, certainly not enough in an effort to run away.

The woman looked up. Her body jumped - like a spooked young doe, and her own body tensed. Silently, she told her children to hush. Then she thought, wished,-

‘Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t-’

Apparently deciding that there was nothing to worry about, the stranger kept her back turned to the cave and went back to wringing out her clothing. The hisses and movement had ceased, but the children were still vigilant - watching with perceptive sapphire eyes as the stranger then began to- oh!

She looked away, turning her head so quickly that the children jerked with her. One of the younglings instantly took the opportunity to slide along the shell of her ear and give a mean rumbling clicky-hiss. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to flick the child back into place; paying more attention to her own behavior than anything else.

The woman had reached to take off her shirt- to draw it above her midriff and throw it onto the grass. The river, mixed with the Springtime air, was a good place to stop and bathe, she supposed. It was her plan later anyway to go for a dip herself, if not to feel clean then to at least wash the little companions she carried with her. But the woman beat her to it. And in the silence as she averted her gaze, ignoring the blush of heat on her pale cheeks, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the ground some feet away filled the air. And when that was said and done, a few splashes and small shrieks - drawn from the chill of the river.

When it was quiet, and she was comfortable enough to sneak a look, she found the woman’s back turned to her still. Her hair was wet and slicked, sticking slightly to her neck as she turned this way and that and- oh. She had soap too. So that must have been in one of the two woven bundles.

‘Hm. Smart.’ But not entirely. It wasn’t good to stay long bathing out in the open. Hunters and gatherers and silly stupid mortals had a habit of coming around at the most inopportune times.

She knew that very well.

Though… since the woman was washing up near her cave… there was no harm in observing the scenery. No harm in taking interest in the sun. No, not at all. They would each have their privacy, and as long as the woman didn’t turn around, everything would be fine. And she could keep an eye out… for birds, of course. Not hunters. No no.

So that’s how it went.

The woman bathed, humming to herself, keeping her back to the cave and turning only to lather soap on another part of her body. Completely unaware of the forest creatures watching her. And one creature in particular made it her mission to watch the land, observing and peering; hearing the crackles of branches and chirping of baby birds, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came. And soon enough, the woman was rising from the river, putting on her sandals, and going to sit on the laid out skirt from earlier. She had no cloth to dry off… and so would use the sun.

‘Hm. Not so smart.’ A hiss or two from her children told her they agreed.

It was not right for a woman to be so vulnerable like that. And out in the open. If she weren’t there, the stranger could be hurt. Or worse - killed. But it was good then that she wasn’t alone, wasn’t it? That she had a guardian of sorts… who would kill her too if only she looked her way.

Did- had she fallen asleep?

Like that?

In the middle of the grass with her belongings spread around her and her body, soft and nude, bared to the sun?

‘Is she mad?’

Maybe she was. Or maybe she was just young. Maybe life hasn’t hurt her too severely just yet. And maybe Larissa was being harsh.

Hm.

Well.

It didn’t really matter either way. There was nothing else to do, and though the stranger wasn’t really ‘company’, she was still action. So there was no desire to chase her off and there was no desire to see her maimed - thus, Larissa sat. She tucked long pale legs beneath her, shifted the white chiton to fall on her shoulders just so, and kept her journal close at hand. Night was due to fall soon enough, as it always did in early Spring, so the tools for a fire were already prepared behind her - waiting to be utilized and set later. Hopefully the woman would be gone by then.

But she wasn’t.

At some point, she’d gotten up to change into different clothing; a dress hand-stitched from red dyed fabric. It was pretty, yes, but not very practical for running away.

‘But good clothing was probably the only thing she had.’

Which was most likely true, Larissa mused. Many young women, richer than most, took it upon themselves to run away. Their reason for doing so depended on who they were. The stranger in the red dress, who decided to lay on the grass and fall asleep again, was a woman of status but not to the point of being a royal. If that were the case, there’d be men on horses trailing close behind. Unless they hadn’t found her yet… and were using dogs to track her scent…

The children stirred, hissing with disdain and fear.

She watched the young woman with anxious eyes.

Such a naive thing could lead to her death, once and for all…. and how ironic would that be. A scorned woman with a passion for soft things… destroyed by a soft woman with a passion for a free life. Had they both wanted that at one point? Or was it still something they desired?

The children settled. She continued to watch the land.

But eventually, as Spring would have it, the peacefulness of the quiet had her lulling off to sleep as well. And she only awoke to the feeling of soft kitten licks at her cheekbones. The repeated lap at her skin had her groaning and flicking the offender away - only to have two more slide up and continue twice as hard.

“Ugh, what is it?” She groaned, scrunching her eyes together before pushing herself upright.

The licks turned to urgent hisses- and her darlings started writhing with anxiety- telling her to get up! And if possessed, she stood quickly and looked out into the sudden dark of night. The sun had disappeared. There was not a single light out there in the black. But there was movement. Breath.

The woman. She was still asleep. Dreaming about whatever it was that women liked her dream about.

Larissa frowned.

Well she couldn’t just leave her out there, could she? No! That was- that was… inhumane. Terrible. A fate worse than anything. And if she woke up to the screams of the stranger- if she woke up to her pain… she could risk killing everyone in sight. Literally.

A young king nipped at her ear.

She huffed. Well. It just wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.

And so she collected the fabric of her chiton in her clawed hands and marched forward to the sleeping beauty. The creatures were stiff with observation, keeping their reptilian eyes sharp and alert as she moved - quiet as a snake and dangerous as… well. Herself.

When she was finally standing over the stranger, she let the cloth fall from her hands. The woman, in comparison to her, was short. And vulnerable. And maybe she’d just take her to the edge of the nearest village… or something like that. Something far from her cave and her life. But as she finished slipping the woman’s belongings into her bag (which had since dried from her fall in the river), a whisper rumble of thunder from the clouds above had her sighing. Well. A Spring storm was usually a good sign of the incoming year, but to have one so early was… less than favorable. Her plans, too, were foiled. The children quite disliked the rain, and getting her own clothing wet was something she desperately wanted to avoid (the heavier material took much longer to dry than what the strange woman wore - so she’d have to resort to at least another change of clothes for a day. Which she seldomly tried to wear.)

‘Well. We can’t leave her out here. So as long as she keeps her back turned, we won’t have any trouble now will we?’

No, probably not. Hell for all she knew, the woman could sleep through the whole night and then she could put her back outside in the morning and she could tottle off on her way as though nothing ever happened. Or she could wake up in the middle of the night and take Larissa’s head. Yes. Or that could happen. Which would really be quite terrible. Most likely painless, but still terrible.

The thought of that had Larissa pausing. The woman’s sling bag fell limp in her hand.

Was she taking too big of a risk? Never before had she helped a stranger like that, but she was not unfamiliar with such kindness. It was hard to find in her years, but she’d witnessed the sweetest acts of tenderness amongst strangers. Usually between two women.

She frowned. Some of her children turned, peering over to look down at the sleeping stranger.

Her hair covered her eyes and her limbs were spread out like she was sleeping on the comfiest bit of cloud that ever existed. Like she had no cares at all. It was both endearing and confusing. How could a woman sleep so soundly in the wilderness? How could a woman sleep so soundly in the open? Did her lack of awareness make her an omen of danger? Or was she a passing soul Larissa could provide help for? Someone to make her feel like she was human again… Like she was capable of being good instead of being what she… was.

A flash of lightning in the distance, above the forest before her, told her it was time to hurry up. Spring held no qualms about trapping the world in a downpour, and she didn’t feel like trekking through mud before bed.

So making up her mind quickly, Larissa slung the stranger’s bag over her shoulder and bent down to pick her up. She tried to be mindful of her sharp fingers when sliding her hands beneath the woman’s back and thighs; though surprisingly, for all of her mortal weight, she was easy to carry. Strength, Larissa had figured early on into her ‘new life’, was one of the very few advantages she’d gained after her transformation. But never before had she picked up a human. And never would she do it again as she realized how difficult it was to keep from jostling them. She was just so… limp. Her head lolled a little bit and her arms ragdolled and she looked more like a young woman than an adult stranger. But nonetheless, Larissa carried her back to the cave. The children were silent, understanding somehow that they were not to wake the mortal with their clicks and hisses and little rattling sounds. As endearing as their mother found it, the human would not take too kindly to their existence - before she turned into nothing but a statue, of course.

‘Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up,’ Larissa thought desperately to herself as she padded into the cave and placed the woman onto her bed. There was nowhere else for her to rest, and it wasn’t like Larissa was planning on getting much sleep in her company anyway, so onto the little nest of stolen blankets, wool, and pillows she went. Slipped so easily from Larissa’s pale arms - and then cared for even more when she went about gently turning her around onto her side, belly facing the cave wall, before pulling the mismatched bed coverings up to her shoulders.

The thunder and lightning from the world beyond was growing more intense by the second, striking a worried chord in her heart that had her quickly placing the woman’s bag beside her body and flitting around to get her home comfortable for the evening. The routine followed as it did every night. Gently unwind the twine that holds back the bramble, vine, and leaf-woven curtains to each side of the cave wall; being careful of the sap-gum that held everything in place. Then gently arrange the curtains, as thick and prickly as they were, to cover the entirety of the cave’s entrance. Once that is finished, move around in the dark for the corner in which the fires are conducted - then go about striking the rock and the wood and adding the sticks and gathering a flame and letting out a sigh of relief when the warm glow fills the grey emptiness of the space.

She had planned on going hunting that evening, before sundown, but the stranger stole all of her attention away; and searching for meat during a storm was a fruitless mission. They were both lucky then that Larissa had enough forethought to search for various nuts, grains, and fruits the day previous. They were stored away behind the fabric of her pillow… which was preoccupied by the woman’s sleeping head.

The world rumbled as Larissa propped herself up against the cave wall. There was never much to do besides ponder, write, sleep, and hunt… so she turned back to her journal, deciding to spend some time detailing the woman she came across. Her hand moved with sharp twirls and scritches, writing of how strange the mortal was; how innocent; how peaceful she looked sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of the monster that lurked behind her. Like a daisy in a pretty green field… soon to be trampled beneath the hungry paw of a bastard wolf; left without the gift of seeing so she couldn’t even anticipate her untimely death. It was rather sad. It was rather brutal. No woman deserved a fate such as that - for she was only running away and did not think she would be dragged into the cave of a beast.

As the embers of the flame died, the woman continued to sleep. There reached a point where Larissa thought she was dead. Despite being able to hear the warm thump of her heart, she still stood and loomed over the stranger - only to find that yes, she was still alive. Just resting.

‘Must have been quite a long journey if she’s been asleep for that long,’ she mused to herself, turning away to tend to the puttering glows of their fire.

Though as soon as the rain started, coming down in thick pats upon the mud outside of the cave, the huddle of blankets in her bed stirred, and her children stood - turning to glare at the sound. A soft swishing fell into the thunderstorm’s undercurrent as the woman moved her legs, kicked them out to stretch, groaned softly beneath her breath, and turned onto her back. She pawed at her hair, eyes still closed, and Larissa reached up to wrap her index finger and thumb around the snout of her eldest child.

‘Don’t speak,’ she quietly commanded the bunch, ‘I do not want to be the last thing she sees.’

But the crackling of the fire, paired with its warmth and light, had the woman releasing a confused hum as she shuffled onto her hands and pushed herself up to sit. Larissa watched, silent, while the stranger slowly came back to her senses and regained consciousness.

“Is there- what-” she spoke, soft voice trailing off into a myriad of inaudible questions.

The child in her grasp wriggled, having had enough of its mother’s scolding, eager to rejoin the others in their free scrutiny. She finally let it go, tapping its pale head with the tip of one finger, and then slid the journal from her lap and placed it onto the cave’s floor as quietly as she could. Spooking the woman was the last thing she wanted to do, but as she stood to her full height and gently pulled some of the loose fabric of her chiton closer to her body, the stranger jumped anyway - and instantly got to her feet.

Larissa’s heart stopped, tripping over itself as she jerked her head down.

“Wh-Who’s there?! What do you want with me?! I have a knife!!” The stranger’s voice, scared and loud, full of false bravery, was quieted by the rain and thunder.

‘You don’t have a knife. You don’t know where it is,’ was Larissa’s inner thoughts- right as the woman began murmuring to herself.

“Wait. Where is the knife…” and only when there was the dull sound of knees dropping onto fabric, did Larissa finally bring her blue eyes up.

The woman, in her absence of the knife… went looking for it. On her hands and knees… patting the ground… searching through the fabrics of the bed and slapping her soft palms against the stone of the cave’s floor… frantic and confused…

Larissa frowned.

“It’s in your bag.”

—

You jumped, letting out a harsh breath while your heart skipped up into your throat.

“Who goes there?! Who are you?!” Your voice was shrill, loud and scared as you forgot about the knife and went pushing yourself back up into your feet. “I-I know how to fight!” You yelled into the darkness, putting up your fists.

It was a lie of course- you had no idea how to fight- but that didn’t matter. As long as the person- woman?- thought you were tough enough to hold your own.

But when you huffed and puffed and bared your teeth, keeping your fists up, nothing happened. Complete silence filled the air, interrupted only by the rain and the flicker of a fire nearby. You could feel its warmth on you even in your panic - even as you stepped back and back and back until your shoulders hit something hard behind you. It was a wall; a curved imperfect wall that told you you weren’t in a cabin or home with extremely open windows, somewhere in the woods, but were instead in… in… well. You didn’t actually know. It’s not like you could see and just find out. Though despite that, you still looked around wildly - keeping your ears open for movement.

There was none.

You frowned.

“…How… are… you…?” It was a woman! The voice, spoken in front of you, across whatever space you were in, was smooth and deep. Accented. She sounded strange. Foreign. And also incredibly confused. Almost… astounded? Like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Don’t make me ask again,” you warned, reminding yourself that some women could be just as dangerous as men, “what do you want with me?”

“Blind…” came the soft response; so quick- it was in the air before you finished speaking; so quiet you had to strain to hear. “You’re… blind.”

Well. Yes. It was a rather defining feature; one that many noticed and took advantage of. One that people thought they could ‘work with’ and use to trick you - but you were clever. And strong. And personable in a way that many didn’t expect. The stranger across from you though… she was still just another potential danger. Still just a thing to be aware of. And so you cleared your throat and nodded, putting your hands at your sides and curling them into fists.

“Yes. I am. And what about it?” You sniffed, tilting your head up, trying to seem braver than you were.

No amount of cleverness, after all, could save a blind woman from a tricky death. If the river you had fallen into earlier was a cavern or a very deep pit, you would have been finished. Thank goodness you took advantage of it at the time.

“…Nothing. I apologize. I have- never met a blind person before,” the woman spoke, stilted and cautious. Still with an undercurrent of awe in her voice. It was peculiar, the way she was acting, but you shrugged it off. The apology was unexpected but not unwelcome. It had you squinting into the nothingness of your vision.

“Well. Now you have.” You nodded, suddenly feeling rather awkward.

—

Yes. She had. You were right.

Right and blind.

Blind. Unable to see.

The children froze, and she felt the way they looked at each other, unsure and confused. No doubt wondering ‘What issss happening?’ They were too familiar with mortal skin turning grey and hard at the smallest glimpse in their direction to understand what was happening. All they knew was their mother and solitude. And she, likewise, had no concept of how to deal with a stranger that did not want to- or simply couldn’t- kill her.

The milky color of the stranger’s eyes, although rare and odd, was beautiful. Like the wispy white of the clouds when they blanketed the moon at midnight. Light and dark at the same time… grey under a matter of circumstance. The cherry on top of the woman’s strange existence. Shocking to a new face but glorious to a trained eye. Her children observed the mortal with unending curiosity; casting violence aside as they slithered to their tallest heights and curled down, swaying their small pale heads. The situation was lost on them, but that didn’t matter. They’d understand eventually. Perhaps when the woman was gone the previous morning and she could muse over the mortal out loud to herself.

But until then,

“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask.

—

You felt your stomach rumble- speaking to you as though the mention of eating had woken it up from its slumber.

“Um yes… you’re not going to poison me though, are you?”

There was a short gasp.

“Goodness, no. Why would I do that?”

She sounded so outraged- so shocked by your question- that you almost smiled. You couldn’t see her expression, but there was sincerity in her velvet voice. Like she was genuinely surprised, if not offended, that you’d ask her of all people that. It didn’t matter if you’d asked in slight jest or not; she didn’t seem to understand the consequences that came with literal blind trust.

“Some people like to take advantage,” you murmured, shrugging at the same time. Most women understood what you meant. People during that time, men in particular, saw the weak souls of the world and let their eyes light up with the chance to exert power. It was common. It was difficult. The woman opposite you, you were nearly certain, understood the sentiment as well.

“I–… yes. I realize that,” she stated, her voice growing firm. “But I’m not going to poison you. I’m not a m-” There was a soft hissing hush that filled the air, cutting into her words with a sharp strength you couldn’t ignore

What on Earth…

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” was the quick response. “I have nuts and berries I found not too long ago. Will that be enough?”

Your brow furrowed. What was she hiding?

“Um yes- yes that would be lovely… thank you.”

And with that, the stranger let out a hum and went walking around, shuffling along to grab a few things while you stood there on (what you assumed was) her bed. It was soft; pillowed with linens and fabrics and blankets that felt as though they’d come from all over the world when you shifted from one foot to the other. You frowned at the odd feeling and stepped off of the coverings- not wanting to flatten or dirty her sleeping area. It was kind of her to even put you there in the first place; though you wondered if she’d carried you herself or dragged you along. Not many women in your time, or the village where you were from, had the strength or initiative to pick up another woman and carry her anywhere, let alone their own bed. But if you were dragged along the grassy terrain outside, you surely would have felt the bumps and stops, no?

Either way, as soon as you stepped onto the hard ground of- well- wherever- you were at, you turned to the sound of movement and cleared your throat.

“And um… thank you for taking me here. Keeping me safe. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. So- I appreciate it.” You fidgeted; keeping your hands at your waist and picking at the soft skin around your nails.

The shuffling paused.

“…You’re welcome.” The stranger replied softly.

It was almost like she wasn’t sure what to say. Like she didn’t hear the words ‘thank you’ very often. Like maybe she didn’t come into contact with people very often. And perhaps she didn’t. How else could she have found you if she didn’t live away from civilization? It wasn’t unheard of; it was just not very common. But, as you always said, to each their own. There was no room for judgment, after all - the woman probably ran away in a similar fashion as you did. In the very beginnings of morning, before the sun even rose, with everything you could think to carry in a satchel slung across your shoulders, heading out into the world as though it wouldn’t prove to be as dangerous as the life you left had been. The only difference being that nothing could make you want to return to that - not even the scary sounds that came out of the forest at night. The woman, even if only for one evening, was a saving grace.

And still a stranger.

She puttered around some more, dragging soft things across the ground- leaf bowls you assumed- and poured water into clay cups.

“I never got your name, you know. So I can remember you.” It was a hesitant thing to say, but you figured that if you somehow made friends with the woman, you could come back to her one day if you ever needed the shelter. Or the company. The world was tough, after all; and not always did a woman succeed on her own.

That woman had, though.

That woman, who stopped her actions again and allowed the combined ambience of the rain and fire to melt into the space.

That woman, who inhaled sharply before exhaling into one spoken breath:

“Larissa.”

(Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you'd prefer the other layout/way of editing with the text dividers and character gifs. This Medusa thing may become a little series like Cannibal Larissa. Let me know what you think? Until next time, darlings - Rip x)

~~~~~~~~

(Tags [please know that Tumblr will not let me properly @ some accounts] : @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet )

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #larissa weems #fanfiction #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x y/n #principal larissa weems #principal weems #larissa x reader #principal weems x reader #medusa au #medusalarissaweems #blindreader

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folkloresthings · 9 months

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PRIDE AND PREJUDICE — send a muse + a song and i’ll write a little drabble for it.

lance stroll and lover pls darling 🫶🏻

LOVER. ❨ lance stroll x reader ❩

“one, two, three — cheese!”

photo after photo, you cheeks were beginning to hurt from the amount of posing you had to do for chloe’s wedding photographer. they wanted pictures of every possible combination, and with you as bridemaid there was few you weren’t in. quickly do you fix the bride’s train before hopping off to the side, letting her and scotty get their own photos finally.

the day had been absolutely perfect. venice was beautiful, even more so on a day when two of your dearest friends were committing themselves to each other. from when you’d woken that morning, pulling yourself out of lance’s arms and hurrying to help chloe get ready, to trying you very hardest not to cry during the ceremony’s vows. you couldn’t fault a single thing.

“hello,” that familiar canadian drole whispers from behind you, ducking to press a kiss to your cheek. turning, you find lance and his boyish grin, his hands finding their rightful place on your hips. “have i told you how beautiful you look today?”

“only twenty times,” you hum, reaching up to kiss him quickly. your hands smooth over his tuxedo, adjusting his tie when you hear the snap of a shutter to your left. you head turns, finding chloe with her phone in her hand, smiling dotingly at you.

“hey — we’re supposed to be taking the pictures of you,” you chuckle, reaching aimlessly for the device. she shakes her head, glowing with excitement and post—marriage bliss.

“no!” she giggled, gesturing for you to pose. “it’s a day for celebrating love, and look at the two of you!”

you cheeks turn pink, easily allowing lance to pull you flush to his side. you smile up at him, letting chloe take as many pictures as she’d like, drowning in the sea of love in his big brown eyes.

when the sun falls in the italian sky and the music pumps through the speakers, the party grows even wilder. you try to take it easy on the champagne, wanting to remember every little part of the night — but you still end up with your shoes discarded and spinning chloe around the dance floor.

“y/n!” chloe called, hurrying over to you and dragging scotty behind her. her eyes were glazed, drunk on moet chandon and love for her new husband. “i know i’m supposed to throw this but i don’t want anyone else to have it.”

your brows furrow, glancing curiously at claire and lawrence’s knowing smirks. before you know it, chloe’s gorgeous wedding bouquet is being pushed into your hands with a giggle. your eyes widen towards the bride, your heart fluttering in your chest. behind you, lawrence squeezes at your shoulder.

“chloe…” you murmur, hoping your emotions don’t spill over too much. the whole stroll family had taken you in from the second they met you and you’d never been happier to find them all. “you’re not supposed to just give this to someone. it’s all about luck.”

“lance has all the luck he needs with you,” chloe gushes. “i’ve never seen him happier than in the time he’s been with you, and i’ve seen him with a few girls. he never shuts up about you, his races have gotten so much better, he’s gotten so much better. he’s a fool if he doesn’t put a ring on your finger soon.”

lunging forward, you gather her up in a hug, soon to be stolen away by scotty’s own arms. “thank you,” you sniffle, gripping the bouquet. the song changes above you, the gentle melody of taylor swift beginning to play.

chloe and scotty head back to the dance floor, along with some other couples, and your heart turns you to search for lance amongst the party. you spot him just returning from the bar, your favourite drink in his hand, grinning manically at you. only when his eyes flicker to the flowers in your hand does he send you a quizzical look.

“what’s this?” he muses, glancing between you and the roses.

“chloe’s bouquet. it seems your family are rather eager to have another stroll wedding very soon.” you chuckle, setting the bouquet down on the nearby table. lance’s hands follow, your drinks set aside, before he leads you straight to the middle of the dancefloor.

“can i go where you go? can we always be this close?”

lance rests his hand on your waist, the other cupping your own palm, swaying softly to the song. everyone else around you fading away to insignificance. “i am too, you know.”

you look up to him, searching for what he means. “hm?”

“eager for another stroll wedding, very soon,” his echoing of your own words moments ago wind your breath, feet accidentally halting under you mid—dance. if it weren’t for lance’s guidance you were sure you’d never move again.

“you are?” your voice chokes in your throat, seized up by your heart filling with love by the minute.

“mhm. are you?” lance’s tone is teasing, because he knows your answer. you would both follow each other to the ends of the earth, for the rest of your days. that was something you’d decided on a long time ago.

“i’m yours, lance. married or not,” you smile, a hand coming to brush at his clean shaven cheek. “but another excuse to dress up would be nice.”

you grin and he mirrors it, spinning you to the music. your feet lifted from the ground, a squeal of laughter leaving you, until it’s swallowed up by his kiss. careful not to lose himself in it, considering his family are present, but enough to spill every ounce of adoration he feels for you past plump lips.

“i love you,” he mumbles into your mouth, noses nudging. “but let’s not spoil chloe and scotty’s day. i’ll do it properly, soon, i promise.”

you shake your head, unable to wipe the silly smile from your face. “you don’t have to. i don’t even need a ring, just you.”

“don’t be silly,” lance laughs, pulling you impossibly closer. “i never turn down a chance to spoil you.”

he silences you with another kiss, your head eventually resting on his chest while you move against the soft music. beside you, chloe mirrors your position, sending you a soft wink. and you know everything will be fine: a perfect night, a perfect family, a perfect love.

“darling you’re my, my, my, my lover.”

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll drabble #lance stroll instagram au #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll

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unicyclehippo · 1 year

Note

Hmmm...how about a one word prompt of...Skin?

for @possibilistfanfiction i hope it makes u laugh

two

every week, superion talks to beatrice late tuesday night. at the end of every call, she asks to speak to you and you let her.

are you struggling with anything? she’ll ask, or what has your week been like? or, how are you, ava? she doesn’t ask that one often because it makes you hang up on her fast. like. what the fuck are you supposed to do? she says your name nicely, makes it sound like she wants to know about you, not the halo, and yeah. it’s a bit much to deal with.

‘we went to the thrift shop,’ you tell her week two, ‘and spent half the money you sent us on clothes. beatrice got new pyjamas.’ from the kitchen, beatrice sends you a betrayed look. you wave at her. you’re not going to tell superion that you picked out boxers for her—black, comfortable—and that you think you’re going to have a heart attack every night because beatrice has surprisingly buff legs, toned, and the first time she came out of the bathroom in boxers you had to put your hands under your head, pin them down with your heavy fucking skull so you didn’t touch her legs, her knees. how knees could be sweet, you have no fucking clue, but beatrice’s knees are sweet, soft in repose and then sharp and strong when she moves and. yeah. anyway.

‘i’ve never bought clothes before,’ you tell superion, and beatrice looks startled and a little sad and you laugh because it’s funny, actually, not sad. ‘i stole the hottest dress from this rich lady’s house—um, borrowed, i mean. they don’t really have high fashion here but i picked up some cute stuff. right, bea?’ beatrice ducks her head. ‘she says yes and also wants to know if spending this money means i’m your sugar baby now. or the pope’s. ow! okay, she didn’t say that but she did throw a pen at me. i’m your halobearer, that’s so rude!’

‘phase through it next time,’ beatrice suggests, and almost smiles when you flip her off.

‘hello, ava. is there anything you wish to talk about tonight?’

you have been thinking of things to say all week that’ll make superion hang up on you and so, when you pluck the phone out of beatrice’s hand, you’re grinning. she picks up on your energy and excuses herself to the bathroom.

‘so much. where to start? bea has been kicking my ass in training. i think she’s enjoying it. is that allowed? i thought nuns were supposed to not enjoy things.’

‘i’m sure any and all enjoyment pertains to the pleasure all instructors feel when their student shows improvement.’

‘no,’ you muse. beatrice is for sure eavesdropping so you raise your voice a little and say, ‘i think she’s a sadist.’

the bathroom door slides open half an inch, just enough for beatrice to shoot a forbidding look out at you. it’s undermined by the way some of her hair hangs free of her bun and the toothpaste smeared at the corner of her mouth and she’s brushing neatly and you want so badly to squash up next to her and clean your teeth there with her, in your stupidly small bathroom, so you forget all your nun jokes you’ve prepared and say,

‘all good here, supes. catch you next week,’ and hang up on her.

beatrice is in boxers that show off her knees. her sleep shirt is tucked into the waistband of her boxers, which is so endearing you think you might explode. you press your fingers to her hip and nudge her away from the sink so you can get in there and wet your brush. you do the same thing every night. she ought to know by now. she does know by now. you think she wants you to touch her, to lay your hand gently on her hip and make her space into your space. the toothpaste is minty and froths up as you brush enthusiastically. beatrice swishes her mouthwash. puts her hand on your wrist. you obediently shuffle away from the sink so she can spit neatly into it.

‘short conversation with mother superion tonight.’

you shrug. ‘tired, i guess.’ it’s half true. you would have happily made a nuisance of yourself but tonight, you just want to brush your teeth next to beatrice and go to bed.

‘am i pushing you too hard?’

you consider the question. tuck your hair behind your ears so it doesn’t get in the way when you bend, spit into the sink too, like beatrice did. rinse. wash your brush, strick it into the polka dot toothbrush holder on the counter.

‘i want to learn. i’ll do whatever i have to do.’ beatrice eyes you like you’ve said something really interesting, which is worrisome because you don’t know what about that was interesting. ‘bedtime. wanna be little spoon tonight?’

beatrice goes pink at the offer and you can’t resist lifting a hand to her cheek, to touch it. she doesn’t pull away, but her eyes go wide.

‘sorry.’

‘no, sorry,’ you say almost immediately. ‘um. i’ll check the front door is locked.’ you run out of the bathroom, through to the kitchen and the front door. thunk your head hard against the wood and swear under your breath. blindly reach for the door handle. turn it gently. it hits the lock and you release it. you stand there for a few long minutes, hearing the sounds of the bedsheets and beatrice shuffling and the click of the lamp turning off and then the apartment is dark and still and there’s a longing right on the centre of your tongue, dry and empty like a wafer sucking the moisture from your mouth, and you want to pick up the phone and tell superion, i want to live. i don’t want beatrice to teach me how to fight, i don’t want you to know my name, i want this to be real. a home in the mountains and a girl who wants me to touch her.

beatrice pretends to be asleep when you finally join her, crawling into bed and pulling the sheets up to your shoulders. you’re always careful about touching her, when and where you do it, and tonight is no exception.

‘bea?’ you whisper.

‘yes, ava?’

‘can i –‘ you reach over. hover your hand over her forearm.

beatrice shuffles in the bed. the lamps in the street outside are dim and they have covers that keep the light shining down to the street instead of filling the sky. it’s not enough to see beatrice by. you light the halo—the tiniest bit—and her expression goes awed and nervous all at once.

‘you shouldn’t.’

touch her? use the halo?

‘i want to. feels good.’ beatrice breaths out. she won’t say it, and won’t ask you, but when you move your hand to hover over her wrist, sidle close enough to hold her, she doesn’t stop you. ‘g’dnight, bea.’

‘goodnight, ava. sleep well.’

‘good evening, ava. i trust you are well?’

‘we got jobs!’

‘beatrice informed me.’

‘of course she did,’ you roll your eyes. catch sight of the brim of the pink cowboy hat still squashed onto your head you had been given tonight as a prize, the only thing you had wanted. it's a little small, maybe made for a kid, but whatever. ‘did she tell you it’s at a bar? she doesn’t drink but she’s killing it at the books. i don’t have the same hang ups – hans is teaching me everything about being a great bartender and it involves a lot of alcohol. i can – he’s german and i drunk him under the table. i think the halo helped. do you – can the halo heal being drunk, do you think? did i cheat? maybe i should give him this hat back.’

‘i will ask you not to test the limits of the halo in this manner.’

‘i know, i know, control the halo, don’t draw attention, blah blah blah—bea already gave me the speech. i’m being safe. it was just some fun, mother,’ you tease, feeling loose and good and happy. ‘the hat suits me, though. it’s pink.’

superion’s smile bleeds into her voice. you grin, imagining it. a smile on that stern face. that’s the best, that’s one of the things you love the most, making people smile, making people laugh, especially when you have to find the right way to come at it. this feels almost too easy? you’re just…telling her about your day and your job and the hat you won but you know that she’s smiling and you’re a little drunk so you decide not to think about whether she likes you or is showing some softer side of herself for your benefit and just enjoy it.

‘you are entitled to some fun, ava.’

‘tell bea that. and her too. she can have fun too. she doesn’t have to drink, just relax a tiny bit. right?’

‘sister beatrice will attend her duty as she sees fit, you know that. and,’ she adds dryly, ‘i believe she is more likely to listen to you when it comes to relaxation.’

‘what you’re saying is i need to convince her. i need to tempt her.’

superion sighs. ‘drink some water, please, ava. look after yourself. and beatrice.’

‘yeah, always.’

there’s a girl who comes to your bar to flirt with you specifically. you know that because she told you, because she pressed her teeth to the pink of her lip and pressed against the hardwood bar, leaning over it to give you a good—really good—view of her chest and for a second you’d forgotten that there was anyone else in the bar when she looked at you so intently. and she told you.

‘you know i’ve been flirting with you, right?’

‘you? no way, this is a huge surprise,’ you’d teased, because she’s been super unsubtle.

the other night, she’d let the condensation from her beer bottle drip onto her chest and asked so sweetly for a napkin and laughed when you went tongue-tied and clumsy, dropping the cocktail shaker. which was fine because it was empty but it had clanged on the stone floor and hans had looked over with this stupidly knowing grin and only laughed when you flipped him off.

‘sometimes girls don’t know,’ she’d shrugged. ‘and i don’t like to waste my time. you like girls?’

you spin the beer bottle in your hand, because it’s a fun trick and because it makes girls look at your hands. dani is no exception. you haven’t said it out loud before but you want to. should you wait for a special moment? or does the moment become special when you say it?

‘girls are incredible,’ is what you end up saying. it’s not that you’re scared, it’s just that beatrice isn’t here and some part of you kind of expected to say it to her first, the way she’d shared that with you.

dani doesn’t take it as a cop out, thank god. she grins, big and bold, and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. ‘yeah. incredible. let me take you out, ava—dinner, dancing, drinks. what do you say?’

you should say no. for multiple reasons, but chief among them the fact that when dani used her water on her tits trick, you’d thought about beatrice and what her reaction would be if you tried it on her. probably, it’s a dick move to think about another girl when one is being so kind as to show you her tits. but. beatrice is a nun and dani is not. super not. she’s portuguese and taller than you—most people are, to be fair—and you like that the bar is lifted over where the customers sit so she has to look up at you, but you also like looking up at her and the way she crowds you a little, smirks down at you when you sit a little sluttily on the barstool next to her, hand on her knee. she wears, like, a dozen silver rings and her earrings dangle and glitter when she shakes her head, which she does when you make her laugh really hard, and when you think about kissing her it’s, yeah. good. it makes you a little tongue-tied and you stumble over your words and dani looks at you like she knows what you were thinking about which is. yeah. good.

you say yes.

'—compromising our mission here, compromising the halo, compromising herself—'

'whoa! where does the halo come into this? i'm not whipping my top off for her, it's a date.'

beatrice glares at you. she's standing tall and straight—well, rigid—and with the dark clouds gathering outside the window you're a little worried god will mistake her for a lightning rod, but mostly you're worried that you've actually hurt her by agreeing to go on this date. but then she goes and says,

'this is a stupid risk, you can't just - just--'

and you hate being called stupid so instead of trying to calm her down, you rise up to meet her. 'just what? say yes when a girl asks me out?'

'yes!'

'why not?' beatrice glares over your head, unable to meet your eyes. 'give me the phone.'

'what? no!'

'yes, give me the phone.'

'i'm still debriefing mother s—'

'give me the phone or i'll debrief on my date,' you tell her, and you can feel the anger and spite spitting on your tongue and sparking in your eyes. now she does meet your eyes; hers are black with fury, her jaw tense, and you're doubly pissed because you'd said yes to the date because dani is hot and has this quick flirty humour and because she looked at you like she could eat you up and it's a hell of a feeling to be on the receiving end of a look like that, but beatrice... beatrice is pissed and you're nearly positive it isn't because of the mission, and god, whatever your rules are about thinking nuns are hot, she looks hot with her jaw clenched and the muscles of her neck and shoulders tense like she's thinking about keeping you from the door by whatever means necessary. but she is a nun and you're not an asshole, or entirely selfish, so you said yes to dani because if you can't kiss the girl you like, you should be able to kiss a girl you like. right?

beatrice flicks a look over your outfit—high-waisted jeans, a shirt that shrunk in the one laundry load you did so now it shows off a decent strip of belly, and a blue sweater tied around your waist that you'd found over the back of the couch, in case it ends up raining—and she scowls.

'fine. fine.'

she grabs your wrist. your skin sears where she touches you—god, is this allowed? is this allowed? i'm gonna be thinking about this tonight in my alone time, is this allowed, dude?—and you open your hand, you'll take whatever she'll give you. you're so startled by her hand on you that you forget to be angry. if she weren't a nun, if she were a little more open, if she liked you the way you like her...

she drops the phone into your hand. it’s heavy and you nearly drop it, focused on—god forgive you, or better yet, mind your own fucking business dude—her. ask me out. ask me on a date. look at me like you want to push me against the brick wall outside where we work together and kiss me. she must see some of that in your eyes because she drags in a shaky breath and all the anger leaves her. she doesn’t move away. you look at her lips.

‘ava…’

your thumb flickers to mute the phone. ‘tell me not to go.’

beatrice huffs. ‘you want to.’

‘i’ll stay. i won’t go. if you ask.’

her hand goes to your hip. you want to know how much of her hand can fit there, on your skin where your top rides up. but she doesn’t touch you, even though you’re aching for it, even though she can see that you’re aching for it. it’s like there’s an invisible barrier that blocks her from moving those last few centimetres.

‘i’m taking a shift tonight,’ she says. ‘hans is sick.’

‘oh.’

‘i won’t be home. after. i’ll be back tomorrow,’ she says hurriedly, before your heart can totally break. ‘but not tonight.’

‘i’m not bringing her home. you know that, right?’

‘it would be fine if you did,’ beatrice lies, and pushes past you into the kitchen to collect her things.

you let her go. lift the phone to your ear.

‘hey. what’s the company policy on halobearers going out with girls? also, like, your personal policy. not that it fucking matters, i’m gonna do it anyway, but i suppose i’m curious. lesbians…thoughts?’

beatrice slams the front door behind her.

superion doesn't talk straight away—ha. you hear a chair dragging on stone and then a creak as she sits.

'well,' she says, and you forget about beatrice as much as you can because superion doesn't sound angry or disgusted. only considering. and this question isn’t totally about beatrice, it’s about you too, and you don’t care what superion thinks of you, you don’t. but. 'there is nothing written to specifically bar halobearers from dating girls.' nuns, on the other hand, she doesn't say but you hear it loud and clear. 'as for my personal policies... they revolve around, and are cemented in, caring for and protecting my order and my girls.’

‘what kind of protection?’

‘physical and emotional strength is paramount, as you know. if you are being safe, and if it is something that will make you happy, then i have no reason to forbid it.’

you think on that for a minute. then, in a small voice you don’t recognise, you ask her, ‘are you excited for me? can you be excited for me?’ tears sting your eyes and the back of your throat prickles with heat like you’ve drunk hot sauce again, or whiskey, and before superion can say anything, you break in again with, ‘i’m going to be late,’ kind of brusquely. ‘bye.’

after dinner and dancing and drinks, all the things she had promised, dani offers to walk you home.

you lean back against a lamppost and wind your fingers into the lapels of her lilac blazer and tug her forward, kiss her eagerly. the streetlight is almost the same warm gold as the halo, which is snug and silent between your shoulders. dani tastes like coffee, from her espresso martini. she kisses you, bold and unafraid. you’ve thought a couple times tonight about going home with her and you think about it again now, about letting her walk you home, about holding her hand as you let her into the apartment and pushing the same hand down the front of your jeans, into the underwear you bought new for precisely this reason, to where you’re slick between your legs and wanting but–

‘this was fun,’ you tell her, panting just a little.

she groans. kisses your jaw, your neck. fuck. ‘why does it sound like you’re saying goodnight?’

‘i - well - you’re making it fucking hard -’ you say, and laugh, and your stomach twists a little because if you had said that to bea she would press her lips together and shake her head and the way her laugh escapes as a huff makes you feel like you could walk over oceans, shoot up into the fucking sky. you make that joke in front of dani and she laughs, sure, but then half a second later her teeth are on your skin over your pulse and neither of you are thinking about the joke. which is fair. but while you want dani to touch you, she doesn’t make you feel like you can take on the world. she kiss you again. puts her hands on your waist, thumbs sliding up to brush over your belly. hands sliding up until her thumbs are dipping beneath your shirt, fingers wrapping around your hips, and you feel fucking incredible, delicate and wanted and hot. but.

‘dani, fuck -’

‘yeah, i know, saying goodnight.’ she sounds pretty wrecked too, which is a huge boost to your self-esteem because all you’re doing is clinging to her but apparently that’s fine. ‘you’re sure i can’t walk you to your door?’

‘if you walked me back, i’d take you upstairs,’ you tell her, and put a hand to her chest, push her gently away. ‘which - i had a lot of fun, but i can’t.’

dani nods. ‘text me when you get home though.’

‘of course, yeah.’

she takes a step back. out of the halo of the streetlight. you rake your eyes over her—she turned up in matching lilac blazer and slacks with this tiny white crop under the blazer and perfectly white sneakers, a few silver necklaces—and it reminds you a little of seeing doctor salvius for the first time, honestly, in her full pantsuit moment, and maybe you have a thing for women who look like they know what the fuck they want and how to get it.

‘fuck.’

‘baby, i’m trying.’

you flip her off and push away from the lamppost. ‘thanks for tonight. i had a really good time.’

she smiles and watches you leave. you look back when you reach the end of the road and she’s still there, waves.

by the time you get into the apartment, you’re considerably more drunk than you’d felt when you left the bar. you get the door unlocked, kick it closed behind you, and text dani as you struggle out of your jeans, kicking them vaguely in the direction of the wardrobe.

made it home thx for tonight

she doesn’t answer immediately. which is fair, she was drunk too and maybe she went back into the bar or whatever and you don’t really care but beatrice isn’t home and the apartment is quiet and cold and you’re standing pantless in the middle of the room and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut when you realise that you’re sad. it’s not fair. it’s not fair.

the phone is hidden away under a loose floorboard, because of course it is. you hear the wood snap as you peel it up. you’re alive and super strong and drunk and it's fine, the phone shouldn't be hidden away anyway, you shouldn't be hidden away. you pull it out, call the only number programmed into this stupid, bulky phone.

‘beatrice?’

‘no, it’s me.’

‘ah, ava. hello.’

you climb to your knees, push onto your feet. she sounds fine that you’ve called, totally unbothered. ‘i’m not struggling,’ you tell her.

‘i’m glad to hear it.’

‘i’m fine.’

she’s quiet. you think about her towering over you. i know you killed yourself. you are a coward. you think about her standing in front of you, putting herself between you and harm. you are worthy. you are.

‘i’m fine,’ you say again, anger hot on your tongue, hot down your spine. ‘i’ve been fine this whole fucking time but you keep asking so, so if you don’t believe me, let me tell you and maybe you’ll listen this time. i am fine. i’m not struggling. we’re hiding away from the fight and camila is in danger all the time and mary is gone and you - you talk to me but you don’t know me! you don’t know anything about me, and i know you don’t because you still think i’m going to run, or kill myself, but i never did, i never did and i won’t so stop asking me about my fucking life.’

‘ava,’

‘and stop saying my name! scolding me? poor crippled girl out on the streets—i have a job! i have friends! i’m really not fucking interested in what you think of me! fuck. you’re all the same. you nuns…you think b-because i’m not on my knees, crying and praying that i’m not grateful? i died! i’m alive! i’m grateful. you want me to thank you? you w-want me to learn how to be perfect from bea so that i’m worthy of the halo? so you don’t decide you’ve had enough of me? lighten the fucking burden of me? fuck perfection, fuck worthiness, fuck your god, and fuck your halo!’ you yell into the phone. anger stings your lungs; there’s not enough space around it for all the air you need.

‘breathe, ava.’ superion’s voice is muffled by distance and the crackling of the phone line and the dizzy swirl of your head. ‘ava,’ she says more sharply. ‘breathe.’

you breathe in.

‘good. again.’

you breathe in again, til your chest hurts with it. stumble over to the couch and curl into the arm of it, hand on your chest, feeling the trembling of your muscles, the desperation of your body to breathe, to live.

superion can hear when you settle a little. ‘i am sorry. my questions have never been about doubt.’ you scoff. ‘if you had come to the OCS another way, i would have asked you these things. i would have taken the time to know you. it is not doubt, ava.’

‘then what the fuck is it?’

‘it is care.’

‘fuck you.’

‘ava,’

‘no! fuck you. you’re not my mother.’ you want to cry. you want your scars back. you want anything that tells you you’ve been wanted even once, even if it’s that—a sick, dreamy, drowning memory of a twisting road by the ocean, and scars where a parade of people worked to save your life. your skin is blemish free. ‘i had a mother.’ you pick yourself up from the couch. slam through the kitchen cupboards until you find the vodka hans gifted you. you pour a shot into a stripey mug, clear liquid sloshing onto the tabletop. ‘i had a mother and she died and you’re not her. and the nun who cared for me killed me twice, you know. so. fuck.’ you throw back the shot. it stings. ‘you’re not my mother and i hate your stupid god and you don’t get to care about me. i don’t care. i don’t care. it’s not fair. my mum would—i could’ve told her, i could’ve come home to her. hey mum, i went on a date with a girl tonight and it was really nice. but i can’t tell her because she’s dead and you’re a shitty substitute.’

you drink again. and then—because the anger doesn’t feel as good as you hoped it would and doesn’t do anything about the sadness unspooling in your stomach, glossy and tangled like the tape out of a cassette—you twist the cap back onto the vodka and set it back into the cupboard.

superion says, ‘i’m not your mother. that’s true. but i am here to listen to you, and guide you. and i was unduly harsh on you but there is no doubt in my mind or my heart that you are worthy, not only of the halo but of the extraordinary life you will lead. and i am sorry that you cannot kiss someone and go home and call your mother.’

you’re standing, still pantless, in the kitchen and superion is being nice to you when you’ve just yelled at her more than you’ve yelled at anyone, ever. you sniffle. ‘a girl. kiss a girl and call my mother.’

‘yes. a girl.’

‘that’s important.’

‘i understand.’

‘it’s scary,’ you admit. ‘but it’s really awesome. and - and i don’t want to give any time to people and the church who think it’s a sin, i really don’t. because there are people who think - who have been made to think that it is a sin, that they’re bad and they’re not. they’re really wonderful, they’re beautiful and incredible and good. and i know you have faith in something, i don’t want - i don’t want to disrespect that - you love god and that’s cool or whatever. but if god has a plan for me, it’s shitty and it hurt and it’s not fair and i don’t want - i don’t believe in anything that cruel, i’m not going to and you can’t make me.’ you’re really tired all of a sudden. and very drunk. ‘i want my mum. do you have - you can talk to the pope, right? can he talk to god for me? can he make sure my mum is happy? i don’t believe but i think she did. can you - can you tell me if she’s happy? do you think she’d be proud of me?’

superion’s voice is thick with something you are too drunk to decipher. ‘yes, ava. she would.’ you feel turned inside out. like she’s touching raw, exposed nerves when she says, ‘thank you for talking to me.’

‘had to get drunk ‘n’ sad to do it. hooray.’

‘please drink some water and ensure the door is locked.’

‘’kay.’ you shuffle around to lock the door. pour a glass of water. it spills a little down your front but, whatever, it’s just water. ‘okay,’ you say again when you’re done. ‘sorry. for yelling.’

‘you are forgiven. and ava… you are fine. you are good. you do not believe, but i do, that God has made you in His image.’

‘wow. god’s really hot, huh? that’s cool.’

you sleep. beatrice is home when you wake up, sitting at the kitchen table with a book, a bowl of cut-up fruit, and a croissant. you don’t have a headache—thanks, halo—but your mouth is dry like you’ve eaten a mouthful of fucking sand and when you stumble out of bed to dunk your head in the kitchen sink, drinking straight from the table, she watches you, hawk-eyed.

it’s only when you stand, wipe your chin with your wrist, and flop into the chair opposite beatrice, stealing a piece of her fruit, that you realise you are pantless. without pants.

the tips of beatrice’s ears are red. her jaw is tight. ‘please put your pants away when you take them off,’ she says, and turns the page of her book even though you’re pretty sure she wasn’t done reading the last one.

‘uh. yeah. i will.’

her finger taps against the spine of the book. ‘did you - was it fun?’

‘yeah.’

‘good. i’m glad.’ beatrice pushes the croissant over to you. ‘pain au chocolat,’ she says, and you realise that the croissant isn’t hers, it’s yours, she bought it for you because she never buys herself chocolate croissants. you think of her standing in the beautiful, warm bakery after a stupid long shift and buying you a pastry to eat after you went on a date with another woman and she watches your hands for a while as you split the croissant, which flakes between your fingers, smears buttery goodness everywhere. you break off a tiny bit and hold it out to her. ‘it’s for you,’ she says, shakes her head.

‘try it.’

she gives in. she gives in, beautiful when she does it. hungry. takes the little piece and pops it between her lips, which curl upwards, pastry melting, chocolate melting on her tongue. there’s a bit of pastry on her lip and the whole room is full of light.

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #avatrice #warrior nun #i would kill n die for ava i hope u know that #mother superion

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adoringsuga · 1 year

Text

— ruin our friendship.

⭑ featuring. chigiri hyoma

⭑ content. fem!reader, chigiri gets jelly lol, kissing that gets a little heated so be warned, several isagi mentions (& cameo!) bc i love him, & cursing

⭑ word count. 2.3k

⭑ summary. chigiri hyoma, plain and simple, is your best friend in the whole wide world. your relationship is as uncomplicated as can be; yet, after you ask a presumably innocent question about a friend of his, something comes to light that changes everything...

⭑ notes. omg this is like my first post ever so…hello (≧∀≦)!! this is also like?!??! my first fanfic ever so... lollll... it's honestly so short so i didn't even know what to even write for the summary... anywho! hope u enjoy!! hopefully there will be more to come b/c super obsessed w blue lock rn ngl

“Your hair is so soft,” you murmur mostly to yourself, fingers combing through soft, cherry-red strands, gently untangling any knots you come across with a care reserved solely for the boy currently resting his head in your lap.

Hyoma only hums appreciatively, hyper-focused on the TV in front of you two, sporadically tapping his fingers on your thigh when something of note occurs on the screen. He had turned on some old football game of his when he had invaded your apartment—unannounced, you may add,—around an hour ago. And, before you could utter a single word of complaint about his choice of entertainment, he quickly began haughtily sprouting some bullshit about having to study his old match so he could be aware of what to improve on to better his techniques and what a shame it would be if his team were to lose because someone was to interfere with his review.

Personally, you think he only said that so you wouldn’t change it to this new movie—or, ‘the overly sweet and annoying chick flick’ as Chigiri has lovingly dubbed it—you’ve been dying to watch for weeks now.

Asshole Hyoma, you think a little bitterly, It’s your apartment, you should be able to choose what you can watch or not.

(But, as your eyes flicker to the intense concentration alit on his face, the way he scrutinizes every move, every pass, every shot with an acute focus you find weirdly endearing [and oddly attractive, to your growing horror], you can’t help but think maybe this is fine for now. Maybe.

Maybe football isn’t too bad, you muse, actively ignoring the infinitesimal flush that rises to your cheeks.)

Bored of simply threading your fingers through his strands, you begin to separate his hair into chunks, intertwining the strands once you’ve deemed you’ve parted the hair neatly enough for a loose braid.

You’ve always thought that Hyoma’s hair was inexplicably beautiful, much like the rest of him. Delicate features combined with a lithe yet toned body made him increasingly popular with the female and male demographic of soccer fans (and non-fans as well), especially as his popularity grew and grew with each match he was featured in.

You, simply, admired his beauty for what it was: graceful and elegant, never perceiving him in the lustful light most fans of his had taken to since his debut, (although you would be lying if you said a part of hadn’t slowly begun to see him in a light less than platonic since the start of the year or so).

(These feelings, truthfully, make you want to crawl into a hole and die).

Shaken from your train of thought when a loud cheer erupts from the speakers, your eyes flit up at the TV briefly, blinking in surprise when someone of note catches your eye. You can’t help but gape, fingers stilling from your steadfast braiding as you let out a low whistle, gaze fixed upon the TV.

Even though it makes your heart pang painfully in your chest, you know Hyoma will never see you the way you see him, so, you might as well try and get over him now.

And, without a doubt, you think that the forward on your TV can definitely help with that.

“Whoa,” you mutter, in genuine awe at the gorgeous boy on screen. “Hey, hey, Chigirin,” your words are coupled with a few pokes to his cheek, and he turns his head slightly to look up at you once you’ve finished your ministrations, letting out an inquisitive hum with a raised eyebrow.

“Who’s that?” you question as soon as he peers up at you, pointing at the midnight-haired boy with glimmering deep blue eyes on the TV, eyes gleaming with interest.

“… Why.” Is all he simply says once he sees who it is, voice carefully level and gaze clouded with something you can’t quite place.

“Because he’s cute,” you answer, immediate and truthful, with an almost ariose cadence to your words. You pause for a moment, intently studying the midnight-haired boy, who, at the moment, is currently celebrating a vivacious goal when it all suddenly clicks. “Hey, wait, isn’t that Isagi-san? And aren’t you playing his team next week? Do you think you can get me his number?”

(Embarrassingly, a part you blindly hopes that Hyoma will say say no, so you can overanalyze the meaning behind such an act and further fuel your delusions that Hyoma was definitely into you just as you were to him.

And, hey, who can blame you? Getting over a guy like Hyoma is an agonizing endeavor, so sue you for trying to enjoy your delusions for a bit more before it all comes crashing down and you’re once again stuck in the role of his supportive best friend.

Forced to be something you wished you weren’t. His best friend. Only his best friend.)

Hyoma abruptly sits up from your lap, and you let out a little yelp at the suddenness of it, eyebrows furrowed. His curtain of hair hides his face from your puzzled gaze, and you tilt your head a millimeter to the right, curious.

(The strands of hair you had been braiding loosen at the movement, and eventually unravel unceremoniously after a second passes.

You’re slightly dismayed at the fact.)

Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine, and, for some inane reason, you feel as though you’ve fucked up.

“U-uhm, Chigirin,” you begin awkwardly, suddenly frantic to fill the uneasy, growing hush because truthfully, Hyoma’s unexplainable silence is really starting to weird you out. You’re about to sprout some bullshit about something your statistics professor said the other day, when, all of sudden, you’re on your back, the air knocked out of your lungs and mouth agape in shock.

Pink eyes simply stare down at you, unblinking and almost bored.

“H-Hyoma…?” you manage to stutter out after a long moment, face impossibly red as the boy in question leans over you, the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips. You lay limp, hyper-aware of the fact that even if you did want to move, you wouldn’t be able to as your wrists are being held securely in place by one of Hyoma’s hands. You vaguely wonder if it’s bad that this mere fact gives you butterflies.

(You never use his given name, and Hyoma feels a sick sense of satisfaction curl in his belly at the melodic chime of it.)

You’re warm all over, yet Hyoma seems entirely unphased; even though if he were to only move a mere inch or two, your lips would surely touch.

The thought causes something to thrum in your stomach, makes it tighten in apt anticipation and your breath catch in your throat. I can’t do this, you think, nearly hysteric. It’s all too much, and you turn your face to the side, unable to meet his piercing gaze any longer lest you confess to something you know you’ll regret immediately. Though, with the movement, your gaze somehow catches the TV once more, and there, in all his spectacular glory, is Isagi Yoichi, grinning handsomely with navy blue eyes burning with unabashed determination, calculating and undeniably resolute.

His focused gaze is locked right onto the camera, and his eyes bore intensely into yours as if you’re right there in front of him, as if he could plainly reach out and touch you.

(Oh goodness. Your delusions are growing worse and worse by the day.)

Hyoma growls, seemingly aware of what has currently captured your attention, and purses his lips as though he has just eaten something rotten.

“Don’t look at him.” He demands suddenly, using his thumb and forefinger to gently yet firmly hold your chin, tilting it in a way that ensures your gaze is set on him and only him. “Don’t look at Isagi. Don’t look at anyone else. Look at me.”

“I… what? Hyoma… What do you… ?”

“Can’t you see?” he snaps, almost furious. “I’m in love with you. I have been since I met you. I was fine not saying anything before, but I refuse to lose you to Isagi too.”

Your heart stops. Everything simply stops. Have you been in an accident? And is this simply your unconscious mind attempting to soothe you with what you’ve always dreamed of most? But it can’t be, because you can feel the searing warmth that permeates from his skin, can count every eyelash and every light, scattered freckle, can smell the addicting cologne you mentioned liking to him offhandedly months ago because a guy in your class was wearing it, and so many other things that disproves your accident theory fully.

This is real. This is happening.

Chigiri Hyoma is in love with you?

“You’re in love with me?” you echo in disbelief and rose buds bloom on the crests of Hyoma’s cheeks as he nods adamantly, the hand grasping your chin drifting up to cup your cheek instead.

Somehow, it’s that second, silent confirmation that truly affirms it for you.

Chigiri Hyoma, the perpetual thorn in your side and your best friend in the whole wide world, is in love with you.

Your heart leaps, before it swells. Chigiri Hyoma is in love with you, and he says it as though it is an undeniable fact.

Chigiri Hyoma is in love with you. He’s in love with you.

You feel dizzy at the news, everything fuzzy and muddled except for Hyoma himself, who looks to be growing increasingly nervous and tense with each passing second of silence from yourself.

I should probably say something, you think in a haze.

But, you can’t think of anything that could adequately describe the emotions you’re feeling at the moment, so you simply lift your head and softly graze your lips with his, taking in shocked, pink eyes before crashing your lips together fully. Hyoma makes a small noise of surprise, before melting into it, letting go of your wrists and instead taking your face tenderly with calloused hands, rough against petal-soft skin.

He’s practically on top of you now, but you can’t find it in yourself to care- using your newly freed hands to run your fingers through his hair, to grasp at his face, his waist, and anywhere else you can reach.

It’s not the best kiss, per se- your teeth knock together more than once in a way that causes a dull ache, and mortifying sounds keep escaping your mouth at the most inopportune moments, but God, you don’t think you’ll ever get a kiss like this again.

Regrettably, you pull away after a few more glorious moments, Hyoma chasing after your lips before settling to simply press chaste kisses at the corners of your mouth instead. He trails down after a moment, beginning to nip lightly at the soft skin of your neck, insistent yet gentle as his teeth graze your pulse ever so slightly. You whine at the feeling, almost panting as you weakly push his head away as warmth blossoms under your ribs, settling in your stomach and wisping through your limbs in a hum.

He nips once, twice, before lifting his head, albeit begrudgingly, finally allowing you the chance to suck in a breath of sweet oxygen through parted lips.

As you catch your breath, you hazily gaze up at a red-faced Hyoma, his lips rosy and swollen from pressure and eyes blown and glassy. Embarrassingly, the sight causes your chest to clench with something akin to desire, and you nibble at your kiss-bitten lips in an attempt to keep those feelings at bay, if for the time being.

A beat passes.

“I love you too,” you admit airly as soon as the heat in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart calms down to a somewhat manageable level, and Hyoma simply laughs, eyes glimmering with adoration.

“I think I garnered that,” he grins, before capturing your lips once more, cradling your face as though you’re the most important thing to him in the entire world.

(“Hey. Isagi.” Yoichi turns at the call of his name, perking up slightly at the sight of familiar cherry-red hair tied loosely in a bun and long lashes. Putting down the small trinket he had been toying with, he opens his mouth, eager to greet Chigiri back when the other is suddenly right in front of him. Yoichi blinks, grinning openly before Chigiri abruptly takes and wrenches a large chunk of his hair harshly between thin fingers.

“Ow!” he hisses immediately, scalp throbbing hotly and already aching like a motherfucker. He’s surely going to have a headache later, and that realization, alongside the whole, you know, hair-yanking thing, puts a damper on his mood. “What was that for?” he exclaims, incredulous, angrily rubbing at the spot Chigiri had pulled with an ire Yoichi prays he’ll never experience again.

“For my girlfriend,” Chigiri states matter-of-factly, patting Yoichi on the head lightly and demeaningly as though he didn’t just violently violate his poor scalp. He gives no time for the older to respond, already swiftly turning from Yoichi and beginning to walk away, but not before brazenly declaring, “Oh. And we’re beating you too, so be ready for that.”

“Girlfriend? What the hell did I do to your girlfriend?” Yoichi sputters, blatantly ignoring Chigiri’s last statement and decidedly shelving it for a later discussion because what the fuck? What did he do to deserve to have his hair pulled again?

[What is with him and getting his hair pulled, genuinely? Do people just see him and instantly think, ‘Oh yes, he looks like he likes to get his hair pulled’?

For the record, he does not. He really does not, from the bottom of his heart.]

Chigiri simply laughs, the honeyed glow of the sun catching in his hair and making it burn a fiery red, and Isagi can only watch the other boy strolls away, left cluelessly standing with a stinging scalp and widened eyes.

“... Wait. Chigiri-san has a girlfriend?”)

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri hyoma x you #chigiri x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #chigiri hyoma #blue lock #.* ੈ♡‧₊˚ writing

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thebibutterflyao3 · 5 months

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Day 1 - Prompt: Day @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 499 words

**Series 2/5 in a continuous multi-ship story**

<<<Previous Series OR Beginning

Sirius traipsed along the pavement idly following Padfoot’s bushy tail as the dog drifted from ice-crested grass on one side to scrubby plants on the other. His massive head bobbed as he attempted to sniff every rock, plant, or insect that appeared in front of his nose. Padfoot’s shaggy black fur naturally fell over his eyes, despite Sirius’s attempts to train it with clips. More often than not, Padfoot aimlessly wandered through the day unconcerned about anything further than a metre in front of his face.

“Let me know if you find anything interesting, mate,” he said, grinning when the dog sneezed. “Or just snot all over it. That’s fine too.”

Padfoot’s tail wagged at the sound of his voice, but he was far too enthralled in his olfactory exploration to acknowledge him. That was fair, really. Wales was new to him and filled with interesting scents.

Sirius appreciated his interest. With a coastline seemingly carved by a giant spoon, brine-filled sea air, and crisp, citrusy fir trees, southern Wales had a magical quality to it. Each time he returned, the freshness of it wrenched the urban mustiness from his lungs.

He studied the rocky cliffs that jutted into the sea. Every one of them wore a grassy toupee atop their jagged limestone heads. Perhaps Wales needed a trim too, he mused.

“Hello there, Padfoot.”

Sirius’s head snapped up, surprised to find a stranger crouching down a few metres ahead with his hand outstretched. The man wore a brown beanie that crushed honey-tipped curls against his face. He hadn’t noticed him approaching from the other side of the path’s curve.

A stranger to him, but clearly not to Padfoot. The dog woofed excitedly as he dragged Sirius forward. Given the bloke’s relaxed demeanour, he wasn’t at all bothered by the sight of a ten stone ball of fur rushing at him. That was his first mistake.

A metre away, Padfoot ripped the leash free and leapt at the man with his tongue lolling and his paws outstretched. Sirius gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth as time slowed to allow an unstoppable force to meet an unsteady object. The impact rippled through the air as the dog knocked the flailing man onto his back.

“Fuck!”

Sirius lunged forward and grabbed Padfoot’s collar. He struggled to pull the dog back while Padfoot determinedly slobbered all over the man’s face. “Pads! Heel, you twat!”

Padfoot did. He planted his bottom on the man’s middle, trapping him beneath his bulk. A sharp grunt escaped the beanie-clad fellow before becoming a breathy laugh.

“Nice to see you too,” he said.

Staring down at the man’s lopsided grin, Sirius shook his head incredulously. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine.”

Sirius glanced between them, frowning. “How do you know my dog?”

“James.”

Of course. I should have known.

“Sorry about…this,” Sirius said, gesturing helplessly.

He chewed his lip as his gaze flicked over Sirius. Then, he held out his hand. “I’m not. Name’s Remus. Remus Lupin.”

Next Part>>>

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #wolfstar microfic

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peach-and-bugs · 11 months

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💚Bean Sprout - Lottie Matthews x fem!Reader💚

ch 1 - chapter 2 - ch 3

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: You've been happily married to Charlotte Matthews for some odd years now, but it feels like it's time to take a step in a new direction together... aka mama!Lottie

Warnings: suggestive conversation & implication, insecurity

Word Count: 1,346

A/N: Hello Loves, we're back with more Mama!Lottie! I kept this one on the shorter side compared to most chapters I write, but this one kinda ended pretty naturally and I didn't feel like forcing more into it. As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! 💚

Lottie Matthews Tag List: (open) @elliesjoints

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

"Bean Sprout" Tag List: @mistysswampmud @emilynissangtr

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

Of course, a much longer conversation was had, and after a few weeks of intense organization, you both moved on to talking with doctors about your options. You agreed together that you’d carry, seeing as you were younger. You’d argued that 34 wasn’t all that much younger compared to 38, but Lottie had only laughed, shaking her head. It had been some time now, and you'd had begun taking a wide variety of supplements as you started tracking your cycle to get the IVF going.

On this evening, you were lying flat on your back on the couch, flipping through a binder of potential male donors that the clinic had given you to look through held over your head. Lottie moved into the living room from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea with her. She set one down on the coffee table in front of you before she tapped at your feet, silently asking you to scoot. You lifted your feet but didn’t look up from the binder.

“This is so weird,” You grumbled. Lottie sat at the other end of the couch with her feet up on the coffee table as she moved your feet across her lap.

“What’s weird, love,” she hummed, taking a sip of her still-steaming tea. She’d been brewing raspberry tea all week partly because of its boost for fertility but also just because she loved the flavor with honey. You sighed, turning through to another page of the binder, your eyes scanning over strange men’s faces and credentials for why you should pick them.

“Flipping through this book just to choose who we’ll use to make our baby,” you scrunched your nose at the wording with a scowl that made Lottie chuckle into her cup. “I wish you could just get me pregnant,” You mused under your breath as you flicked through the binder again, only to look away once more when you heard Lottie hum.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t think about that,” you perked up at the admission, dropping the binder to your stomach as you looked up at her with an arched brow.

“Oh, have you now?” you mused with a wicked grin. Lottie realized her mistake and refused to look up from her cup, now taking another long sip in an attempt to shield her eyes. The binder was forgotten and slipped onto the coffee table as you moved from you’re lying position. You readjusted, sitting up on your knees beside your wife, the proximity being enough for her to feel your breath fanning over the skin of her neck. Still, she didn't look up, her eyes trained on the cup in her hands as she stirred it with the tiny metal spoon she’d brought with her.

“Charlotte,” you murmured her full first name in that sing-song tone you so often use. She both loved and hated when you'd do that because, on the one hand, she adored the sound of her voice leaving your lips, but on the other, she knew what game you were playing. You grinned and took the cup out of her hands, moving to the coffee table beside your own because it had become quite offensive the amount of attention it was getting as opposed to you. You could hear Lottie swallow as you moved to straddle your thighs over her lap, arms looping ever naturally around her neck as you tilted your head with an innocent look.

“Tell me about it,” you mused, batting your eyelashes as she looked up at you as though she’d been caught in your headlights. You ran your fingertips over her forehead, brushing away loose hair that obstructed your view of her, your ever-beautiful wife who’d grown shy at her admission. You knew Lottie had a lot of thoughts when it came to this pregnancy, not all of them being the most innocent.

She rarely ever talked about it, but it had come up long before. Before you were married, even when she had been very drunk one night, her loose lips had let it slip that the thought of her partner carrying a baby, well, specifically your baby, together, was quite exciting, but not only because of the anticipation. She’d felt horrible the next morning, having realized what she’d said, which led you both down a long rabbit hole of conversation to normalize and help her feel better, that thinking that way about your partner was completely normal, and you found the idea quite flattering.

You knew that given the current conversation buzzing around the house, some of those thoughts and feelings could potentially be found fronting in her mind, though she hadn’t said anything about it till now. And though you now questioned her in a way that made it clear you also found her thought arousing, she held her tongue, keeping her fantasy to herself, much to your disappointment, but you weren't going to push.

“Well, if you aren't going to tell me, at least help me pick a baby daddy, won’t you?” that phrasing caught her attention now, and you felt her arms snake around your hips, tugging you into her ever so slightly as her eyes found yours with a scrunch in her brow.

“We aren’t calling him that,” there was a hushed harshness to her insistence that you relished in, biting your lip as you laughed. Without another word, you leaned in and kissed her lips but retreated before any heat could be added. “What was that,” Lottie asked, finally smiling with a curious crook in her brow.

“I like it when you get jealous,” you murmured, pecking at her cheek as you leaned away to reach for the binder again.

“I wasn’t jealous-” she began to argue as you readjusted yourself over her lap, now letting your legs stretch over the couch as you’re back rested against the arm of the couch. Lottie’s right arm curled around your side while her other hand found its place comfortably over your thigh as you presented her with the binder.

“Anyways, how do we even choose a doner when we haven't picked an egg yet,” Lottie asked, changing the subject. You pressed your lips in a frown. Neither of you had considered that portion yet.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. The doctor said we could use either of our eggs,” you recalled. You looked up at your wife to notice a fleeting unsureness in her gaze. “Does that worry you?” you blinked up at her. She faltered as she began to speak, her hand aimlessly starting to rub at your back as she considered her words.

“I do worry about using my eggs, yes,” she eventually managed. You wanted to urge her to elaborate till it dawned on you.

“Lot, are you worried about passing your mental illness to the baby?” She didn’t have to answer to verify your suspicion. “Well, we can always use my eggs and find someone similar to you as our donor. That way, it feels more like an even mix, you know?” you brushed your thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Plus, that’ll shrink our pool of candidates and make picking a donor easier,” She seemed relieved by how seamlessly you could solve her worries, though she still had concerns.

“But I worry it’ll feel more like you’re having a baby,” she murmured, her eyes fleeting from yours once more. You turned her chin with your hand, giving her a scowled look.

“Lottie. Regardless of who’s carrying or who’s dna is being used, this is our baby. Yours and mine because we’re the ones going through this pregnancy together, and we’ll be the ones raising this child when it’s done, ok?” She sighed, and you could feel her relax under your touch, taking your hand in hers to kiss your fingertips, silently giving you her thanks for understanding. You smiled, letting go of a satisfied breath through your nose before turning back to the binder.

“Now help me pick a sperm donor so we can get this show on the road,”

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #mama!lottie yj

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wheretheharekissesthefox · 8 months

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Why do you make me feel this way? - Chapter 4: Gift

Astarion knew why everyone had fallen head over heels for Tav. She was sweet and caring, and he'd been a fool to believe that she'd fall for his shameless attempts of seduction.

Gale made goo-goo eyes at her and stumbled over his grandiose words whenever he talked to her.

Halsin looked at her like a cleric at a statue of their deity and told her the sweetest things in the most genuine way.

Karlach was just her joyful self and wrapped Tav into a hug anytime she could since her mechanical heart was stabilised.

Lae'zel showed her affection by making less biting comments and by stopping to look down on Tav.

Shadowheart teased Tav flirtatiously and told her repeatedly how much she values her support and trust.

Wyll acted like an old-fashioned gentleman and thought that shielding Tav from danger was the right way to win her heart.

And Astarion? Astarion had held a dagger against her throat when they'd first met, fed from her every night to be even strong enough to fight at her side, and still struggled with nightmares about Cazador.

Astarion was broken and nobody wanted broken things. Tav would never choose to be his lover, everyone else was much better suited, and Astarion knew it.

Wistfully, the vampire spawn observed how the human bard praised Gale's stew, cooed at Halsin's carved wooden duck, gave Karlach a quick but heartfelt smacking kiss on the cheek, complimented Lae'zel's weapon-sharpening technique, encouraged Shadowheart regarding Shar's trials, commented on Wyll's footwork as he went through his daily training routine, and petted Scratch and the owlbear cup. Astarion's heart ached. Now, Tav walked over to him. The vampire spawn put on a cheerful smile and lilted: "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I think I can do something for you for once," Tav replied, looking sincere. "While wandering through the ruins of Shar's temple, I found a couple of interesting books."

"Mh, yes, darling. We all know you love collecting souvenirs."

"You got me there," she chuckled, "but this is for you."

Tav thrusted a dusty tome into his hands.

"The book's about dealing with trauma and pain. I've read the first couple of chapters to see if it could be helpful to you and I think it could be. There are detailed instructions on how to work through unpleasant memories and how to 'digest' them instead of shoving them into the far back of your mind to try to forget them. You should read it and try out the techniques."

Astarion blinked at her dumbly.

"You want me to read a self-help book to 'get over' the torture that I endured for two hundred years?"

"Uhm, if you put it that way, it sounds tactless," Tav muttered and averted her gaze.

Astarion felt like a jerk, thus, he spoke his next words more softly: "I understand that you're trying to help, so, thank you. I can use a new, stimulating bedtime reading."

His undead heart skipped a beat when Tav beamed at him.

"Good. That's good."

Her hand lingered on his forearm for a bit longer than necessary before she turned around with flushed cheek. Astarion watched the bard go, holding her gift close to his chest. He desperately wished for the book to work like magic.

"Hm, your presence makes her blush like a peach that turns pink in the sunlight," mused Halsin.

Astarion jumped when the druid suddenly stood behind him and could barely hold back a startled squeak. The wood elf chuckled amused.

"No need to be alarmed, Astarion. It wasn't my intention to sneak up on you."

"But you did," replied the addressed huffily.

Halsin chuckled again, a rich, warm rumble from deep in his broad chest. Astarion imagined how cosy Tav would look spread out on that hairy torso. Next to the druid, she almost seemed dainty. The polar opposite of how she looked next to Astarion. The latter found the thought of being picked up by her alluring though – and rather hot.

Halsin cleared his throat und Astarion realised his mind had drifted away while his eyes were still staring at the druid's chest. Why was the wood elf so much taller, broader, and bigger than him? Astarion pursed his lips, slightly peeved.

"I do feel flattered by your attention, but it's a bit unnerving that you're so quiet," Halsin told him. His tone was warm, his eyes soft, and his smile genuine.

"Apologies, I was in thoughts," Astarion replied, truthfully. "Now, excuse me, druid, I have a book to read."

When he made his way past Halsin, the latter murmured: "Tav likes you."

"Obviously. Everyone likes me," the vampire spawn spoke with a wink.

The other man sighed.

"That's not what I meant. She... She has a big heart and you take up a lot of space in it. Cherish such a gift, Astarion."

The vampire spawn gaped after Halsin who walked deeper into the temple ruins to collect flammable objects to fuel their campfire.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #halsin #karlach #karlach cliffgate #lae'zel #shadowheart #tav #wyll #wyll ravengard #scratch #owlbear cup

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rippersz · 1 year

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𝒯𝑜 𝒫𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃:

(A Larissa Weems x fem!reader fanfic) (Part 7)

(Part 6) (Part 5) (Part 4) (Part 3) (Part 2) (Part 1)

★☆★﹒☆★☆﹒★☆★﹒☆★☆

Larissa.

Larissa…

It was Greek.

Larissa.

Originating from the nymph daughter of Pelasgus. Or the city in Greece - meaning ‘citadel’.

Larissa.

She was kind of like a citadel, wasn’t she?

Larissa…

As tall as a tower spire… unyielding and fierce… glowing in honorable brilliance. Noticeable from so far away - like a glimmering star caught in midnight’s grasp, suspended within the sky and beckoning attention like a moth to flame.

And since she was the flame, you were the moth. The mindless devoted little creature that sought her warmth for no more than a moment before falling prey to her heat. Finding yourself endlessly mesmerized by all things her- by all things Larissa.

—

And of course, right after getting the chance to properly meet her, the universe decided to punt you out of a window and stomp on your pathetic little broken body.

‘Hah! Suffer, bitch!’ The heavens cackled before keeping you away from your new muse and making life at work far busier than it usually was.

There were times in the past where that happened- when work became ‘too much’ and you’d return home with paint stains on your clothing and designer bags under your eyes. Unfortunately, being the assistant to a very important modern-day artist could do that to a person - but you didn’t expect everyone to know that. You certainly didn’t expect Larissa to know that - Which is one of the reasons why you were panicking. Did she visit the station while you were gone? Did she sit there and wait for you as you had done in the past and assumed that you were no longer interested? Did she think you were crazy and only watched her until she introduced herself and then decided to run off somewhere else? Did she hold a grudge? Was she waiting for you at that exact moment? When the train doors opened, would you see her there? Sitting on the bench and minding her own business until her own train arrived? Would she say hello to you? Would she glare, thinking you had started avoiding her? Oh god what if she started avoiding you? What if she decided that your hot and cold way of acting (even though your absence wasn’t planned) was just too annoying to interact with? What if she started sitting on the other side of the platform again? What if she didn’t want to talk to you anymore? What if she just wanted to return to being strangers?

That last thought weighed heavily on your shoulders as you felt the train slow down.

Only a week - a week! - without seeing her and you felt as though you were going mad. Yes, you had spent time apart in the past but when that happened, she was the one who had disappeared. And you had been left to look at the spot across from you, forlorn and silly and desperate for her return. Now, she was the one waiting - if she even bothered to do so at all. Hell, you wouldn't blame her if she had walked off and tried to erase you from her memory forever. After all, you had only one conversation, and she spoke 90% of the time, and the rest of the time you spent staring and trying to act normal, so really it wouldn’t be shocking if you never saw her again.

Ping!

Such thinking saw you leaving the train with a frown on your face and a slump to your shoulders. The more you thought about it, the more your heart ached; because technically you and Larissa were still strangers. Just because you knew her name didn’t mean anything. And just because you had never ever seen anyone so angelic- (and just because you didn’t think anyone more angelic than her even existed out there)- didn’t mean anything. Because at the end of the day, like every other day, she was still just Larissa and you were still just you. And that’s why she’d never wait for you on that bench, holding her purse, watching the crowd with searching eyes.

…

Or…

Or perhaps…

Maybe… she would?

Once you finally stepped onto the platform and chanced a glance up so you didn’t trip and fall over yourself like an idiot, a flash of white to your left caught your attention. It was so quick, so rapid, flitting in and out of the bustle of people, that you thought for a good moment that it wasn’t anything at all. But the second everything cleared and you walked closer to ‘your’ bench, intent on catching your breath and sitting for a moment, the sweetest of plot twists struck like lightning.

There was Larissa, your own darling stranger, scanning the crowd and sitting so politely with her purse in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. Never in your life had you reacted to seeing a person in the same way you did in that moment. It was like you were an empty bottle and that brilliant star of a woman came over and poured sunlight into your plastic emptiness and gave you a renewed sense of existence. It was like the world had finally turned around and gifted you something strong and hopeful and worth keeping. Like it was saying ‘Here. It’s tentative and strange and hesitant right now, but we both know you have nothing left to lose so just take the opportunity and go with it.’ And you, who couldn’t pass up a chance to finally feel a connection with someone again, picked up the pace and started waving to get Larissa’s attention. As you did, a small smile began to tug at your lips so suddenly- so unconsciously- that it took you a moment to register why your face felt so strange.

It was because you were smiling- no, grinning- at the mere sight of her.

And once she finally met your gaze and registered that your waving was for her, she grinned back in reply.

To anyone else, the exchange would seem quite heart-warming. ‘Awww old friends,’ they’d think, ‘Reuniting after some time apart.’ Or maybe they’d assume, ‘A family friend picking up a relative. How cute.’ Or- or- ‘Girlfriends. Definitely. Girlfriends that are clearly very excited to go home and live their combined romantic lives together.’ As you approached Larissa with a bounce in your step and flush to your cheeks, that last thought had your heart racing.

If only…

“Hi,” you breathed, a bit out of breath, as you came to a stop at her side.

Instantly, Larissa shuffled over for you to take a seat. The small action was full of such familiarity that it nearly overwhelmed you.

“Hello. Long time, no see,” she turned to you, raising an eyebrow.

Clearly she had questions- but you were much too focused on something greater, like seeing her again. Goodness it was like every time you had the immense earthly pleasure of setting your eyes on her once more, the life was knocked out of your body. How could someone be so glorious? How could the blue of her eyes be so deep? So never-ending? So lovely that all you wanted to do for the rest of your life was become lost in them? Had anyone ever even informed her of how enchanting her eyes were? Or how dangerous? Or how unspeakably beautiful? You felt compelled to do so in the moment- it was really balancing on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be blurted out and cause embarrassment- but Larissa beat you to the metaphorical punch.

“I figured it was my time to wait, since you did the same for me so patiently last time.” Ah. There was that teasing tone you had missed so desperately. It didn’t fail to bring a giggle to your throat that made you feel like a high schooler again as you nodded and shrugged sheepishly.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. Work got super busy out of nowhere and I was coming home at crazy hours. It wasn’t intentional, I promise.” There was an urgency to your voice that you simply couldn’t get rid of; like you needed her to know as soon as possible that you would never not want to see her; that you would rather cut your own arm off than miss a day of getting to know her. After all, similar to fruit flies, once you got a taste you couldn’t stop.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Larissa soothed. “I understand the pressures of work quite well. I only hope you weren’t too stressed?”

Her worry was like a balm on your raw soul.

“Well… I mean it sucked but I think everything’s calmed down now. I’m sorry to leave you so long,” you gave her a small smile and tried desperately to hide the shine in your eyes.

“What have I said about apologizing? You have nothing to worry about- it’s only right that I return the favor of waiting,” she replied with a smirk painting her red lips.

The sight of it brought a strong flush to your cheeks.

The favor of waiting… of course. She knew you had been sitting there like an idiot for however long, watching her from across the way, yearning stupidly. Well the yearning part you had yet to confirm, but the glimmer in her eye whispered things she knew about you that even you didn’t know. It was exhilarating - it was terrifying.

“Right, well thank you. For- waiting. Very sweet of you,” you inclined your head in thanks and fiddled with the strap of your purse.

“Mmm, I only wish I knew who I was waiting for,” the lilt in her tone had you looking up.

She rose an eyebrow as a smile painted her fair skin; showing off the cutest bits of crows feet as she teased you.

Right. You never told her your name. Ugh. Stupid. You’d been rolling her beautiful name around in your head for days and she had absolutely no clue who you were. The thought of her sitting there, unsure of the person she was waiting for, made you frown. But of course, like many awkward encounters, it could be remedied. So you held out your hand, straightened in your spot, and smiled.

“My name is Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The humor in her expression made a fresh burst of smug excitement explode within you. You had a feeling she would like that little display. And when the slide of a leather glove kissed the soft skin of your paint-stained palm, you cheered internally. Such boldness wasn’t something you exuded very often- your racing heart could attest- but it felt worth it around Larissa. After all, your moments together were fleeting. You had to take whatever chance you could while you were still privy to her sweet existence.

“Likewise. Thank you for keeping me company, Y/N,” Larissa’s grip was perfect - not too tight and not too loose and just right in a way that made you want to hold her hand for forever.

“Of course.” It was the only thing you thought to say.

There was more on your mind, sure, but everything else was so hard to phrase. How could you tell the new strange object of your affections that, although you barely knew her, meeting her had changed your monotonous routine and thus, made you want to live again? How could you tell her that her existence had opened up a locked room in your heart and introduced you to the prospect of love once more? How could you say anything of substance, or admit anything at all, when the only thing you knew about her was her first name and what you saw on the outside? For gods’ sake, she could be a serial killer! A very well-dressed serial killer with amazing manners and lovely hair, but a serial killer nonetheless. Or, she could have intense anger issues - to the point where she was dangerous. There was nothing inherently wrong with that, as long as one recognized their behavior and worked to fix it, but still. More often than not, The Devil showed up draped in white silk. And you knew for a fact that Larissa totally wore pearl colored silk. Or eggshell colored silk. Or ivory colored silk. Or vanilla colored silk. Or even-

“Do you paint?”

Her lyrical accent blinked you out of your stupor. Glancing around, you saw instantly what had caught her attention. There were smears of pinks and greens along your knuckles and fingertips – creating a little landscape on your skin that you watched Larissa’s sapphire eyes trace with curiosity. It brought a bashful smile to your lips.

“Yes- well- no? Yes. It’s complicated,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes when Larissa let out a small twinkling giggle.

“Care to explain?”

You were sure the surprise in your gaze caught her off guard just as much as her interest did you.

See there was one thing that not many people mentioned when regarding loneliness. When your heart finally decided to leap back into humanity’s pool of fish, adjusting was terribly difficult. You floundered for a bit and lost your ability to swim and your gills had closed up and your webbed fingers were stiff. It was as though you had to never known how to speak in the first place, and interacting with others suddenly became the most challenging thing to do in the history of ever. So when someone came along and showed interest and asked you questions and looked at you as if you were truly noticed, the brain sort of… paused. Like the programming was so old and so covered in dust and isolation that you had to go through quite a bit of time searching for the file that said ‘Accepting Positive Interest’ before you could even hope to respond. And by that point, when you had finally caught up, the other person was worried that they had said something out of turn and honestly- really- it all became a big mess of bubbles and fish and grass and stumbling minds and outdated source codes.

And because you had spent so long by yourself, trying hard to ignore the fact that your heart was slowly cracking within your chest as you laid asleep alone at night, the same damned thing happened to you. Larissa’s eyes, flickering with light worry, looked between your own until you finally shook your head and cleared your throat.

“S-sorry, I just don’t- I don’t really get out much so um- anyway, yeah I used to paint but not anymore. I prefer drawing. This is just from my job, I’m an artist’s assistant so stuff like this happens all the time,” the words poured out of you like a backed up waterfall finally reaching full capacity - spilling out of your mouth and bringing an embarrassing hunch to your shoulders as you turned your left hand over and showed her the paint on your palm. You couldn’t meet her eyes.

It was silent for a moment before Larissa let out a thoughtful hum and reached forward, dragging the tip of her right index over a particular swirl of colors. Baby blue, forest green, and a white blotch. You tilted your head, curious as to why she pointed out that spot when there were so many more interesting ones - like the magenta on your ring finger, caked beneath your nail - and the black from a messy paint tube that you accidentally pressed the side of your hand against - and the twitch in your fingers as she drew a sweet little circle over and over in the same spot.

“This bit here looks like a flower,” she mused beneath her breath, making you instantly stomp down a shiver that tried to worm its way into your body.

You glanced at her for a moment, once again committing the shape of her face to memory, before looking back to where she was focusing and coming to the conclusion that she was right: it did look like a flower. A very strange abstract flower that could possibly make for a killer design if one used the right medium to portray it. You couldn’t help but nod and agree with a small hum.

“I get paint all over myself constantly - which is surprising because I’m not even that clumsy. It just happens,” you shrugged.

Larissa pulled back after a second and made eye contact with you. Goodness that glimmer in her eyes… it was dangerous to anyone who had a heart.

“Are you certain you’re not clumsy?” And she glanced down at your hand for a split second before looking up again.

And the sheer comedic timing of her expression, and the judging lilt in her voice, made you giggle quite loudly - to the point where you put a hand over your mouth and forced your laughter to die down. She had joined in too, chuckling softly beneath her breath. It was such a pretty noise… you wanted to bottle it and keep it with you forever. Like a siren’s call, hypnotizing and entrancing. You were sure that that very second marked the moment you’d forever try to make her burst out into cackles. Everyone had it in them, you knew she did too. And you were nothing if not determined to hear such unrestrained joy one day. But until then, you’d settle for a small shared chuckle and a bright white-toothed smile.

“Are you always this sassy to your train station companions?” You rose an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “though it’s not often I meet one so indiscreet.”

And cue the flush that was bound to return at some point. It flooded your skin, making your cheeks warm, and forcing your head into your palms.

“God I’m sorry for being a creep,” your voice was muffled, “You were just an interesting subject.”

“Were or are?”

You blinked, looking up through the cracks in your fingers to see her tilted head and relaxed humorous expression. Dragging your hands down your face, you sighed.

“Both, I guess.”

She hummed, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“Interesting… and it’s just like an artist to call someone a ‘subject’, isn’t it? I suppose you fit the bill quite well.”

“Oh did the paint not give it away?”

“No no, the paint said a lot - but it sounded more like a preschooler trying to hold a conversation rather than a seasoned artist engaging in their hobby.”

Her sass pulled a surprised guffaw from you.

“Jeez! Ripping me to shreds so quickly. I’m starting to think that’s the only reason you waited.” But that wasn’t true of course. You could see from her expression, and from the way she leaned into you naturally - like two close friends - that she was there for a reason. It was hard to believe said reason was you, but you were sure time would reveal all.

“I jest, I jest,” she sighed happily, holding up a hand like a white flag.

It was such a sweet little moment that you could barely believe it was happening. Only some weeks ago you weren’t aware that someone like Larissa ever existed – and then she popped up in your life like a plant blooming in Spring. Just trekking through the lavender fields of your mind before picking a spot to settle in and spread out her picnic blanket and have a cup of tea as she allowed herself to ruminate there. And in return, you were sure, you offered a break from her normal life as well. After all, it wasn’t every day that you willingly engaged in conversation with a stranger - and it had been a long time since you’d laughed like that. Safe to say, your heartbeat was off the charts and your mind was, for once, at ease; not as focused on the pressures of life. It was terribly interesting how someone you didn’t know could change you around like that.

But that was just it. You wanted to know her. You wanted to know her very badly. You had admitted that to yourself quite early on. You wanted to know her so desperately and so eagerly that before her train came and whisked her off into the ether once again, you knew you had to try and make headway. So you did. Straightening your shoulders and letting your eyes wander over the crowd, you tried hard to seem relaxed.

“So, you said you know about the pressures of work. May I ask what you do, Larissa?”

You turned your head to let her know she had your attention - but was instantly stopped by the look in her eyes. There was a quick flicker of hesitation on her face, showing in the brief crease of her eyebrows and frown of her lips, before she was nodding and answering your question.

“Yes; I’m a school principal.” She sounded quite serious, doing a complete 180 from her earlier demeanor as you sat at her side and let out an interested ‘hm’.

“Which school?” You smiled, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

She seemed quite serious about her career, and probably the privacy of her job, but you tried to seem warm and open. You were even going to say that she didn’t have to answer, but the words fell dead on your tongue as you watched a deep conflict played out behind the scenes of her mind; dancing like a candle within a jack-o-lantern, allowing bits of it to flit across her features before she schooled them once more and stared deep into your eyes. Keeping you there. Capturing you. Grasping all of your attention in her gloved hands and making you listen.

You held your breath.

“Nevermore Academy.”

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The Ao3 link is in the title. Thank you for the continued support! It means the world. I hope you enjoyed this one - more to come at some point lol. - Ripley x

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