#it also leaves the possibility for a third book open

[twitchmattenthusiast]

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄, matt sturniolo !

summary: in which matt sturniolo decides to tease his best best friend after finding out what books she actually likes to read

contains: smut obvs, teasing, praising, masturbation, dom!matt, degrading? FEM OC!

requested: no. this is my first smut

also i genuinely can’t do the y/n shit 😭😭 so the female will have a name for chris one shots and for matt ones.

matt knew that his best friend loved to read, and for as long as he can remember, his earliest memories included teasing his best friend as she sat on the school hill with some type of book in her hands as matt and his brothers played some sport during recess.

as stella got older, that didn’t change at all. whenever matt went over, her bookshelves were filled to the brim; some books had to be on the floor. the floor was covered in so many books that matt couldn’t even see the floor. not only that, she constantly left a supply of books literally everywhere; matt couldn’t even count on one hand how many times she'd left one of her books in his car or his room.

though matt knew stella loved to read, he didn’t quite know what she liked to read; he assumed since she was a sucker for rom-coms that she read corny shit like that, so he just always continued to tease her at the fact that when she came over to his, she’d sit on his bed reading under a blanket while he played some video game, the pair of them both sitting in a comfortable silence as one read and the other played video games for hours.

it was only a week ago, though, when matt found out what stella actually read about.

you see, last friday, chris and stella thought it would be a great idea to get absolutely wasted at a party a few towns over. matt wasn’t really feeling a party at all that night, so only stella, nick, and chris went. apparently, chris and stella got a little too wasted and started oversharing literally everything.

a drunk stella revealed to a sober nick that she read smut books.

to say that matt was shocked was an understatement. hearing that his best friend wasn't reading the fluffy corny shit he assumed she was reading shocked him enough, but then he learned that not only has his innocent best friend been reading smut since the age of 12; she’s been reading the most degrading, filthy smut on a daily basis.

you see, ever since nick told matt the type of books stella reads, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head—the idea that his innocent best friend, who literally gets grossed out the second chris starts going into detail about a girl he made out with or a girl he fucked in the last week, was reading smut? holy shit, it was driving him insane.

and that’s the exact reason why matt is seated on his gaming chair, a smirk on his face as his eyes follow the figure of his best friend looking around his room in a panic.

“looking for something, stell?” matt asked in confusion.

though matt knew exactly what she was looking for.

stella chewed at the bottom of her lip in frustration as she scanned another corner of matt’s room. she silently scolded herself. how could she be so fucking stupid and accidentally leave another one of her books lying around?

it was around two hours ago when stella had just gotten back from work. she showered quickly as soon as she stepped foot into the house, and she had planned to finish the book she was reading: twisted hate, the third book in the series her best friend had recommended, but when she opened up her bedside table, it was nowhere to be seen.

stella instantly panicked. she had always been careless with her books, forgetting where she had left them, but she really couldn’t believe she left a book like that somewhere.

she tried to remember where she could have left it when she remembered reading it at the triplets house a few days ago, and so she quickly called matt, telling him she was coming over in hopes of getting her book back as soon as possible.

only when she stepped into matt’s room her book was literally nowhere. which confused the fuck out of stella, to be honest, because she swore she left it in matt’s room unless she left it in nick’s? or even worse, chri-

matt chuckled as he watched her frustration grow. “what are you looking for?” he tried again. “maybe if you tell me, i can help you.” he suggested

stella hesitated; she wasn’t really sure if she wanted matt helping her; if he found the book before her, he might read the blurb or something, and the idea of matt knowing what she read . . . no thanks. but then again, she desperately needed her book back, so she sighed. "i’m looking for my book,” she told him, missing how matt smirked at her words. the plan he had set was starting to move its toggles.

"i think i might have left it in your room by accident. have you seen it? it’s kind of redish and it’s called twisted hate.”

matt’s eyes lit up at the mention of the title. "redish, huh?" he mused, pretending to act as if he’d never heard of the book before. after a minute of silence, his eyes lit up in some sort of remembrance.

“oh yeah, you left it here the other day.” He told her.

stella sighed in relief. thank god, she thought. “where is it?” she asked him. usually, when she left a book in his room, he left it on his gaming desk for her, but this time it wasn’t there.

with a sinister grin, matt stood up from his chair and started to walk around the room, searching for the book. "i’m sure i put it somewhere safe," he said nonchalantly, knowing damn well where exactly it was. after some pretend searching, he finally "found" it hidden under a stack of old comic books on top of his dresser.

he walked towards her, slowing down as he approached her. stella sighed in relief, reaching out to grab the book, but matt pulled it away at the last second and smirked at her. “oh, you can’t have it back yet.” he told her.

stella’s eyebrows furrowed. “what? why?” she asked in confusion.

“because i’m borrowing it.”

stella’s eyes widened slightly at his words, though she attempted to appear casual. “what do you mean you’re borrowing it?” she chuckled nervously. “you don’t even know how to read.” she joked.

matt chuckled at her words, "insane." he said, before shrugging, "i’m not really bothered about the words, though, when i can do the actions.”

“actions?"

"yeah, you know, the dirty stuff in the book." matt smirked.

stella’s face began to pale. matthew sturniolo, her best. friend. since. kindergarten, knows what’s in those books she reads. this was like her own personal hell. "what are you talking about?” stella asked as she attempted to still save herself.

"don't play dumb with me, stell." matt walked closer to her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "i know exactly what you like to read about; don't deny it."

her eyes widened, and her mouth froze, unable to get any words out. because what the actual fuck? “chapter 18 was hot, don’t you think?” he teased.

“you’ve read it?” stella squeaked.

matt ignored her. though his silence was enough, he'd totally read it, and she wanted to die. "tell me, stella,” matt said as he brushed a curl behind her ear. “when you’re in my bed reading these books, do you touch yourself?”

stella’s heart raced as he spoke so close to her ear, goosebumps forming on her exposed neck. she bit down hard on her bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze directly. "n-no," she managed to croak out.

matt titled his head to the side. “you lying to me, stell?”

stella’s heart pounded in her chest. she shook her head vigorously, trying to deny it, but the truth was there, hiding somewhere deep inside of her. "m-maybe once..." she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

“only once?”

stella nodded her head, and matt hummed, his hand caressing her cheek softly. “hm,” he said after a moment. "should i tell you how many times i’ve touched myself reading that book?” he asked.

stella’s breath hitched at his words, her cheeks flushing crimson red as she tried to think of something else, but now all she could think about was matt reading her book and touching himself to it.

matt smirked. “since you secretly touch yourself when we’re hanging out and when you read that book, why don’t you touch yourself for me so i can read it to you?"

stella’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. part of her was terrified, but another part was excited. the idea of matt reading out the books she reads in his very room under a thick blanket where she grew so wet she couldn’t take it anymore sounded too good; she didn’t know if she could pass that up. though she was scared of their friendship and what could happen, the heat grew unbearable, and suddenly she felt her pussy drip at matt’s words.

"yes," she croaked out.

matt’s eyes lit up, and he couldn't help but grin widely before sitting back down in his gaming chair. "good girl," he praised.

stella stood there nervously until matt told her to go and lie on his bed. she followed his instructions and quickly laid on his bed, watching as he opened up the book. he smirked at her. “let’s read 26 yeah? i haven’t read it yet.”

stella nodded too anxiously and excitedly to even say anything as she watched matt flicker through the pages before grinning widely as he stopped at chapter 26. he wasted no time at all and started reading the words of the page. stella felt herself grow wetter as matt read the dirty words, and her breath hitched suddenly as he looked over at her. “touch yourself, baby," he instructed.

she hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but ultimately she couldn't resist the urge anymore. slowly, tentatively, she reached down, feeling glad she decided to wear a skirt today, and brushed her hand against her pants, feeling the wetness spread across them.

"fuck.." she moaned softly, arching her hips into the touch. matt grinned and started reading again once he knew she had started touching herself.

“look at you,” matt cooed as she began rubbing circles around her clit, “touching yourself like a fucking slut while i read this dirty book to you.”

stella’s breath hitched as she continued to pleasure herself, her hips rocking against the bed in sync with matt’s words. her moans grew louder, and she couldn't help but close her eyes, lost in the sensation. “soo pathetic.” matt laughed, “bet you touch yourself and imagine it’s us fucking, huh?”

she nodded frantically. "yeah," she panted out between breaths.

matt chuckled, “look at you, not even trying to deny it anymore; you’re pathetic, stella.”

stella’s heart raced as he continued to read aloud. she moved the fingers that had made her way inside of her unknowingly even faster, rubbing harshly at her clit with her thumb. "i’m so close, matt," she moaned.

matt suddenly stopped talking. stella furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him in confusion as she stopped touching herself. “wh-“

“chapters over," matt sighed. “that was a short chapter.” he fake pouted

stella groaned, her body still tensing from the brink of orgasm. "more, please," she begged, unable to control herself anymore.

matt chuckled darkly, standing up from his chair and walking slowly towards her. he reached out a hand, helping her sit up before leaning down and capturing her lips in a hot, hungry kiss. stella kissed back hungrily. his tongue demanded entrance into her mouth, and she moaned into it, returning the favour eagerly. after a moment, he broke the kiss, his breath coming heavy. "i guess i could finish another chapter for you." he said, and stella nodded her head quickly. “of i could fuck you like those sluts you read about."

stella’s heart raced wildly as he spoke, her body trembling with anticipation. she bit down on her bottom lip, unsure of what she wanted. after a long moment of silence, she managed to whisper, "fuck me."

matt smirked. “take your clothes off.” he demanded.

stella hesitated for a moment, her hands shaking as she began to undress herself, first removing her top, revealing her lacy bra, then her skirt and pants. she stood naked before him, her breasts jiggling slightly as she stepped out of her underwear. "now you," she said breathlessly.

matt chuckled. he underessed himself slowly, revealing his muscular torso and a pair of black boxers that were tenting in an obvious fashion. finally, he kicked them off, exposing his thick, hardened cock, glistening with pre-cum.

"get on your knees and suck me," he ordered, and stella didn't hesitate. she fell to her knees before him, her lips brushing against the head of his cock as she wrapped one hand around the base, stroking him rhythmically. her tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, teasing it before she took him fully into her mouth, deep-throating him with ease.

matt groaned, his hand tangling in her hair. "that's a good girl," he praised. "now touch yourself while you suck me."

stella whimpered softly, her fingers finding their way back between her legs, rubbing circles around her clit again.

matt moaned, his hips thrusting upward into her mouth and his cock hitting the back of her throat. his free hand reached down to fondle one of her breasts roughly, pinching and tweaking her nipple hard enough to make her yell. she moaned around his cock, making him thrust even harder into her mouth. “fuck stell, feels so good, baby.” he moaned.

stella’s body trembled with pleasure as she continued to please him, her tongue working over his cock expertly while her hand rubbed her clitoral area faster. she moaned in response to his rough treatment of her nipple, her body reacting to the dual sensation. her moans turned into high-pitched whimpers as she felt her orgasm approaching once again.

 matt growled, his cock throbbing in her mouth as he felt her nearing climax. "come on, stell, cum for me." he commanded, and she did just that, her walls clenching tightly as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her body.

stella’s moans turned into high-pitched whimpers as she orgasmed again, her body shaking violently in ecstasy. meanwhile, matt didn't hold back either; his own release was imminent. with a loud groan, he pulled out of her mouth, his cum painting her face and neck while he jerked himself off, shooting his cum all over her chest and stomach.

stella breathed heavily, moaning as she looked down and saw matt’s cum all over her chest and tits. “please, matt,” she begged.

matt chuckled. "what do you want, stell?" he asked, reaching over to clean some of the mess off her body with his tongue.

"more," she replied, moaning as his mouth started to suck on her nipple after matt licked the cum on it. her hands flew straight to his hair, gripping it tight. "i need you inside me so badly, matt, please.” she begged.

"you’re so needy.” matt chuckled as he moved down her body. he pushed her onto the bed, kissing her all the way up to where she needed him most. instead of fucking her like she had begged him too, he inserted a finger inside of her. “you’re so wet," he smirked.

stella groaned, her body arching into his touch as he kissed and teased her sensitive areas. "matt, please..." she pleaded, her voice becoming more desperate.

"not yet," he taunted, his hand trailing to cup her wetness, rubbing her clitoral area in circles. "want you to beg more."

stella’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his back as she whined, "please, matt, i need you now, please." her body was trembling with desire, begging for release.

matt smirked. “turn around, baby," he told her, and before she even had the chance, matt pushed her head into a pillow, her ass hanging into the air as he spanked it. “you want me to fuck you like a whore so fucking badly, huh?"

stella’s heart skipped a beat as he spanked her ass, the stinging sensation only fueling her desire. "yes! please, matt!" she pleaded, her voice cracking with need.

matt chuckled, reaching between her legs to tease her sensitive spot once more. "so eager for me to take you, huh?" he taunted.

stella whimpered, her hips buckling back against his touch, desperately seeking more. "y-yes!" she managed to choke out between gasps.

matt lined up his cock with her tight entrance and pushed inside her slowly, filling her up completely. "oh god, matt..." her moans turned into high-pitched moans of pleasure as he began to thrust in and out of her, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her steady as he pounded into her from behind.

matt groaned, his hips moving in sync with hers, each powerful thrust sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. "you feel so fucking good, stell," he panted out between heavy breaths.

“fuck, matt, i-“

“hold it.”

stella’s nails scratched the bedsheet as she tried to comply, her orgasm crashing over her like waves. "i-i can't..." she whimpered.

"just hold on." he growled, continuing to thrust into her.

stella nodded, but her walls started to clench, driving matt to the edge. “cum for me, baby," he told her, and stella came instantly, her mouth hanging open as she screamed. matt watched. “oh god, stell," matt groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he finally released himself inside her, filling her up completely with his thick cum. he buried his face in her neck, panting heavily as their bodies slowly started to calm down from the intense high.

stella’s body trembled with exhaustion, her legs shaking as she came down from the powerful orgasm. "m-matt..." she managed to utter in between heavy pants.

“that was fucking amazing." he panted, pulling out of her slowly, his cock still coated in their shared fluids. gently, he helped her lie down beside him, their bodies sticky and sweaty.

matt wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. stella closed her eyes, feeling exhausted; usually, sex like that knocked her straight out.

matt watched her with a slight smile. “stell?”

“hm?” she mumbled tiredly.

"i think you should bring another smut book over next time.”

stella rolled her eyes, smacking him on his arm and smirking as he groaned, “shut the fuck up and go to sleep, you dork.” she laughed.

matt didn’t need to be told twice. “yes, ma'am.” he said, wrapping his arm tighter around her body and kissing her neck before the pair both fell asleep.

unfortunately, though, matt ended up forgetting to lock his door.

“WHAT THE FUCK? NEXT TIME LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR?”

  

｡°✩

this was so long holy fuck😭😭😭

this is like the first smut i’ve wrote that’s been seen by someone other than one of my ibfs so if this sucks i’m so sorry😭

umm let me know if y’all want more/ if u got requests?

- 𝓷. ᥫ᭡

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

[chaepink]

good girls are bad girls (that haven't been caught) | sub!kuroo tetsurou

wc: 2k+ words | masterlist

dom!fem!reader (however it can be read as gn!reader as no body parts are mentioned), begging, crying, teasing, mean!reader, degrading, insulting, slight hair pulling, marking, slight bondage, clothed touching, praising, mention of the reader fucking/marking other people, kuroo is kinda shitty at first, theres plot and smut isn't until later down

note : this is very loosely based off of 'good girls' by 5sos and oh my god i wrote a lot. also I literally wrote this in 4 different sections and had to write in between in order to get to all 4 parts...

"Kuroo, you're failing all your classes except gym. How's that even possible?!" Kuroo shrugs nonchalantly, not paying attention at all and instead opting to look outside the window.

The teacher sighs, taking off her glasses and rubbing her temples. 5 minutes in and she is already getting a headache dealing with him.

"You're a third year already, you should be focusing on studying to get good grades in order to graduate," she says, grabbing the nearby stack of paper on her desk and organizing it. "Lucky for you, however, someone agreed to help tutor you for your main subjects."

"Yeah sure, whatever. Can I go now?" He's had plenty of tutors already and all of them quit only a few days in due to him being uncooperative whenever they tried to help him. He rather enjoys watching them give up and leave him at the library. She sighs again.

"Her name is, [name]. I think you may know her. After all, she's a third-year like you and is at the top of her class."

Kuroo snaps his attention toward his teacher. Did he hear that right?

You're gonna be his tutor? The school's well-known good girl? The girl who gets nothing but straight A's for every piece of schoolwork? Shit. Sure you may be a good tutor and all but he's heard numerous rumors of how strict you are when you're tutoring and he doesn't feel like dealing with it anytime soon.

"Ah, so you know their name at least." She can't help but smile. Finally, he gives her his attention. "They've agreed to tutor you right after school a few days a week at the back of the library-" He scoffs.

"The back of the library? Obviously, she chooses that spot. She's there every single day!"

His teacher gives him a stern look for cutting her off.

"You should be grateful. Today will be the first day she tutors you. She said she would be there on time so don't be late, I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Yeah right," he mumbles under his breath.

"I heard that."

---

He's late by over 20 minutes, not that he really cares anyways.

As he strides into the library, he looks around and rolls his eyes. The library was practically empty with only a few students sitting at tables and the librarian quietly typing on her computer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some students staring at him though not very subtlety. They're either staring due to just clearly being attracted to him or just surprised that he, the school's infamous fuckboy, was at the library. He likes to think that it's the former.

While walking to the back of the library, he notices that the number of students start to decrease. Eventually, he makes it to the very back and sees you. He sneers in disgust at all the books on the table and the open notebook in front of an unoccupied chair.

As he sits down, the chair scraps against the floor which catches your attention. With a blank face, you acknowledge him with a nod.

"My name is [name]," you say. "It's nice to meet you."

He holds back from rolling his eyes from how formal you're being.

"Yeah whatever, I already knew that. Name's Kuroo." If you're taken aback by his forwardness, you don't show it. Instead, you go to open a book that he notices is a math one and he groans.

"From what I've been told, your math grade is the lowest." Though it's on the tip of your tongue, you hold yourself from mentioning that it was the lowest grade by only a few points.

"Well then, let's begin."

---

"That's incorrect. Here, I'll show you." You write down the problem and answer it so quickly and so effortlessly that it makes Kuroo groan in frustration.

You hold back from rolling your eyes. While you knew he would be a pain in the ass to tutor, you didn't expect him to be this annoying. Every question you've asked him so far, he's got wrong. Additionally, he's barely paying attention. By now, it's past the time that you expected the session to last. You keep checking your watch and you swear time is slowing down. You wish for the library to close already.

Your irritated mood almost makes you punch him in the face but you're keeping yourself from doing that. Unfortunately.

You have to keep a good reputation, [name]. How would everyone react if they found out you punched a dude out of pure annoyance?

However, your reputation is probably the last thing you care about right now.

Wrong question after wrong question makes you even more irritated and you swear you're about to break.

"Are we done?" You shake your head. He still has yet to answer a question right.

"What? We're not? Why?" He stares at you with a confused look that infuriates you even further and you're about to answer back until he cuts you off.

"Whatever, you're going to quit just like all the other stupid tutors anyways. Besides, even if you're the school's good girl, I bet you do all sorts of stuff back here if you know what I mean-"

You abruptly grab him by his tie and force him closer to you with only a few inches between you two.

"Shut the fuck up." You snarl at him. "Holy shit are you so stupid! You can't even answer these basic math questions that even an fucking elementary student can!"

You let go of his tie and watch him back up in shock and trip over his chair, making him fall down onto the floor.

Frustrated, you're about to pack up your stuff until you see something on his pants. A bulge.

You freeze as you gape at it. Holy shit.

Kuroo follows your stare and immediately covers it, face ablaze. "S-stop looking! It's n-not what it seems like!"

As you process the situation, a devilish grin slowly makes its way onto your face. As you make your way closer to him, he backs up into the bookshelf, watching your every step. Nervousness is painted on his face. It looks rather good on him.

"Oh really? From my perspective, however," you start, bending down so that you're face to face with him and his warm face. "It looks like you're hard from me yelling at you." He feels himself getting even harder and he squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to look at you.

"You know, you're actually right." Kuroo flitches, not expecting to hear your voice so close to his ear. "Unlike what people might think, I don't read books back here all the time."

Kuroo is bright red by now, not daring to open his eyes, and instead lowers his head. He swears that if he does, he'll cum right on the spot from seeing you above him looking down with those eyes of yours.

Your warm breath fans his ear and he can't suppress the shiver that runs through his body.

"W-what do you mean?" The question comes out as a cute whisper. You smirk. "Well, who do you think gave all your friends those hickeys, hm?"

You draw back, watching him slowly open his eyes as the cogs in his head turn as he thinks. Fuck. He looks so adorable when he's confused with his eyebrows furrowed and lips forming a small pout.

That's until he realizes and you can't help but grin when it shows upon his face.

"Your friends are all rather adorable, you know? Especially Kenma. They're such good listeners when I tutor that I can't help but give them a little reward. They were even in the same exact position that you're in right now! All teary-eyed as they oh so kindly begged me to touch them."

Tears prickle Kuroo's eyes.

"Aww, are you jealous?" You feign a pout. "Why? Is it because you only want me to do this to you?"

He immediately nods his head, not caring about his reputation anymore. He just wants you to focus on him and forget his friends.

"How cute." You carefully land on your knees in front of him and untie the tie from his neck and instead use it to tie his hands behind his back. You put one of your hands on the bookshelf behind him to stable yourself.

His breath quickens when he feels your hand ghost over his chest. His senses are heightened as he patiently waits for you to do something. Anything!

"You sure you want to continue?" He nods again.

A whimper escapes him as you immediately scrunch his vest and shirt up, exposing his nipples to the cold air. He feels you place your knee between his legs and a hand on his chest.

He can't quiet his noises as you begin stimulating his whole body. A part of him tries to focus on either you teasing and touching his nipples or the knee that keeps on rubbing against his clothed dick but he can't. Only minutes in and he's already hot all over. It's clear that he's enjoying it.

"Shh, be quiet Kuroo. Don't want everyone to know that you're such a whore for me, right?"

Sobs, mewls, and whimpers leave him as he gets used like a toy for you. He doesn't care that others may hear him, he just wants you to keep going. He's so hard that it hurts.

"Look at you," you say with a sneer, "I barely touched you and you're already so hard. Are you always like this with all the other girls you've fucked? A slut?"

"S-stop it," he sobs, "I'm not h-hard- ah ah!" He gasps as your knee drives against his hard-on and your hand tweaks one of his nipples, watching as he throws his head back slightly and bites his lip to keep his noises in.

"Oh really?" You raise an eyebrow at him. "Then what's this obvious tent in your pants then, hm?" You prove your point by sharply thrusting your knee against it again, forcing another muffled whimper to escape him.

He tries hiding his face by turning it to the side but you immediately grab his chin using your free hand and force him to look at you.

"Don't," you start to say, giving him a glare. "Try covering your face. Got it?" He nods obediently and you can't help but smile.

"Good boy," you say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He whimpers at that.

"Oh? Who knew the school's fuckboy would love being called a good boy so much? Maybe I should call you that in front of your friends." You shrug casually. "You know, to see their reaction as your face flushes up and dick hardens. Hell, I bet you'll even like that."

He widens his eyes.

"N-no! Pleas- fuck!" He's close and you know it. Another timed squeeze of his nipple and move of your knee against his dick has him crying. It feels too good.

A tug of his hair elicits a mewl from him as he feels you bite a spot on his neck that has his eyes rolling. You continue biting and licking that spot until you're sure that it'll stay purple for a few days.

Licking your lips, you move back slightly, not enough that you have to stop your movements but enough for you to check out your work.

With his legs spread open, head thrown back, neck marked, and face flushed, Kuroo looked absolutely breathtaking.

"I-Im close!" And it looks like Kuroo is about to cum too. You take a quick glance at the clock and grin. You lean towards his ear.

"Time's up, Kuroo."

Your whisper makes him jump but right when he's about to tell you that he's going to cum, a louder voice from far away shakes him out of his headspace.

"Library closes in 5 minutes!" You stop. No no no.

Quickly standing up, you give him a slight shrug. "Guess the tutoring session is over, Kuroo."

"No! Please! D-don't go!" Ignoring his pleas and sobs, you grab your stuff and right as he thinks you're heading back to him, you only just untie his hands and nothing more.

As you're about to walk out of his sight, he sees you aim your phone at him and click the screen. After, you blow him a kiss and a wink.

"Next session is tomorrow! Don't be late!" And then you're gone, leaving Kuroo all sweating and still hard. Fuck.

Let's just say that he got to next the session rather early.

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

#[𝖐𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖔 𝖙𝖊𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖚] #[ 🏐 ] haikyuu! #chaepink.nsfw #dom!reader #sub!character #dom reader #dom fem reader #sub!haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu smut #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #sub!kuroo #haikyuu #sub!hq #hq x reader #hq smut #sub haikyuu #kuroo tetsuro x reader #sub character #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou smut #haikyu smut #haikyu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x female reader #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x gn!reader

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!Reader

A/N: Writing Nesta post-acosf is so confusing so I apologise if she’s a little ooc!

Word Count: 5,552

-Part 7- -🌌🌠- -Part 9-

It’s been while since you last ate with all of them.

Even so, the atmosphere is familiar. Jovial. Pleasant enough you can allow yourself to slip into spectation, vanishing in your mind’s eyes, becoming an observer without presence. Shadows flicker at the corner of your vision, and you’re brought back down to reality.

The restaurant lights are warm and yellowy, a magic barrier constructed at the room’s border to keep the temperature pleasantly mild, inky darkness swirling just beyond the threshold. Candles flicker, almost in time with his shadows. It’s hard to tell when natural darkness ends and his begins. But he doesn’t really like it when people stare at them, so you avert your eyes. Scratch the backs of your hands beneath the table, softened a little by cream.

By what you can only assume was a stroke of bad luck—or good, depending how you want to feel for the rest of the night—everyone had already settled into the dinner by the time you arrived, leaving a single seat open. Yes, you could’ve pulled over a chair, or requested one to be magically summoned, but that would be drawing attention to the issue, which would undoubtedly make the ineffable off-ness of your relationship with him that much more blatant.

So there he is, a steady presence to your left, situated at one end of the table. Elain to your right. How unfortunate. Or lucky, depending on the angle.

Take a sip of your water, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Lean slightly over to your sister. “Have I missed anything?” Cocoa flick to you, warm and soft in the mellow light, a little tired. Half-circles beneath her eyes. “Nothing much. I was planning on visiting Lucien again—hopefully within the week.” She answers mildly, a faint smile in her eyes. “There’s also a possibility of Nesta going over to have a look at the libraries in the Day Court.”

“Woah,” you mumble. “Looking for anything in particular, or simply for recreation?”

Elain shrugs, eyes flicking across the table. “Ask her,” she says simply.

Spine stiffens.

With fae hearing, plus the close proximity, there’s a high chance everyone heard that exchange. Refusing to do so will only draw more attention. You shoot Elain a reproachful look for putting you in this situation but she smiles encouragingly.

You find the elegant shape of your eldest sister a little further down the table—across and two over. Opposite Cassian who is beside Elain. Sharp eyes flit to your own a second after you’ve sought her out—she definitely heard. At least you didn’t vocalise any dismay over the forced interaction.

“Day Court?” You inquire, raising your brows in interest. She nods, lips parting in a smile, “quite the trip, isn’t it.” You laugh—trying to remember where the Day Court is in conjunction with Night. Come up short. “Already read through all the books here?” You reply, trying to keep the conversation fluid. Gaze absently flicks over the various plates and trays of food, picking out the things you’d like to try. A waft of something delicious floats down the table—a covered bowl sits between Rhys and Feyre. Soup, most likely. It has your mouth watering from the scent alone. Would be divine with some buttered bread.

“Nowhere near,” she responds, still smiling. “But there’s a particular author we’re after, and I’d like to see if I can find more of his books in those libraries.” You hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. “Different from The Runaway?” She blinks, then nods, “you’ve read it already?”

“Yeah. Finished it last week,” you answer, peering at the dishes closer to you, wonder what you can pick. It’s mostly meat. Some roast potatoes, poultry next along covered in an orange-red sauce that smells spicy.

“What did you think?” She asks, carefully ladling gravy to the edge of her own plate. It’s your turn to blink, recalling the story to the forefront of your mind. Exhale heavily, leaning back into the chair. “I don’t know, really,” you admit honestly, “there was a lot in it, I suppose. I’m still digesting it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?” She nods, eyes softening at the edges—you’ve said the right thing. “I think there’s a lot in it; a lot happened to him, and I think it did a good job on highlighting how perspective can be manipulated. I also like how the creature was only alluded to in earlier chapters while the first part of the plot was unfolding so you end up overlooking it?”

She gracefully cuts through a potato, dipping it in the gravy before neatly depositing it in her mouth. Elegant and refined. “Yes, I thought that was an interesting way of telling his story. The complications between Yvette and Hans helped with the initial distraction, I think.” Lips twists into a slight frown. “The section—I think around chapter seventeen? Eighteen…?” You pause, picturing how far through the book it was, then shake your head. “Around there, anyway. The section about those lights in the sky?— I had to put the book down for a bit.” You admit, smiling as you recall the passage.

Nesta nods her head. “I couldn’t believe it, either. I think I actually had to stand up and get myself another cup of tea to calm down when he connected the dots.” A grin parts your lips wider, skin warming at the memory. “Anyway,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “a different author.”

She nods in confirmation, “a different author.”

“Romance?” You ask, remembering her appreciation for the genre.

Something passes through the room, hairs slowly raising at the back of your neck. Eyes slide to Elain, but she’s conversing with Cassian, attention shifted away from you. Gaze flicks back to Nesta who has a tight smile on her lips—it’s still odd to see her smiling so openly and frequently.

“No, actually,” she begins slowly, cutlery lowering to her plate. Her fingers remain pressed tight to the metal. “It’s a spell-book,” she says, silvery-blue eyes gleaming like moonlight despite the warm glow about the private space. Brow furrows a little as you peer at her across the table, “a spell-book?” You ask. “What do you need a spell-book for?” Her spine straightens, attention moving to her meal as she slices into some meat, mouth opening to continue.

“The baby warrior’s been having doubts about his wingspan, I’ll bet,” Amren croons from across the table, snatching your attention. Your brow dips further, eyes now shifting to find Cassian further down the table—the other side of Elain. He seems fine, laughing brightly. “Is there a problem with them?” You ask Nesta, remembering how torn up they’d been after the mess with Hybern and the cauldron.

She shakes her head, lips lifting into a grin as she meets Amren’s steel-coloured eyes. “She’s just jealous,” Nesta returns, “Varian not treating you well?” Sharp eyes flash with challenge. “Maybe they should compare notes. I’m sure your mate could learn a thing or two,” she taunts, effectively ending your conversation with Nesta. A part of you wants to learn more—your natural inclination—but Amren’s whisked her away into conversation, Mor stuck between them.

Attention again flits to Elain, but she’s still contained in conversation with Cassian, leaving only the keen pair of eyes on your left to entertain yourself with. Raise the glass to your lips, forcing down a mouthful of the alcohol, ignoring the light pulsing in the forefront of your head. Skin prickles beneath his attention, fingers shifting over your cutlery as you move to take food to your plate.

It seems rude to interrupt Elain’s conversation—you always go to her first. She speaks to people other than you, and probably enjoys doing so. You should leave her to enjoy the night. Take another drink of the clear liquid, shadows flickering in your peripherals as you set your sights on Nesta. Wait for an opening.

“What do you want the spell-book for?” You ask, feigning ignorance to their conversation. As if the question just appeared on your tongue, falling out before you could stop it. Two sets of sharp eyes cut to you, a single set of caramel flicking to steel warily. “A containment spell,” Nesta answers, slicing up some vegetables on her plate. “To bind.”

Amren’s lip curls into a distinctly predatory grin, almost warning. “Needing to spice things up so early in your relationship?” She croons. “I would have given it at least another few months before you two were in need of a bonding activity.” A fourth pair of eyes joins the discussion though he’s still wrapped in his own exchange. The hazel to your left has probably been observing for some time, too.

Nesta offers the petite female a tight smile, equally warning. Mor claps her hands, hastily breaking up the exchange. “Will you pass that down? Cass, be a dear and— no, next to it— the other side—yes! Thank you!” You watch slightly enviously as she ladles soup into a bowl, taking a slice of fluffy bread and slathering butter over its surface. Trace the soup as it’s returned to its place at the far end of the table, between Rhys and Feyre, one seat down from Nesta and Cassian.

And just like that, dialogue ebbs and flows around, leaving you with no way in. You’re quite glad for the reprieve. These dinners generally leave you in need of a weeks sleep to recover, by which point the next one is already scheduled. Exhausting. You don’t know how they manage it. Attention is still weighing on you as you raise your cutlery, poised to begin slicing into the meat upon your plate.

Elain is still preoccupied—to your steadily growing dismay. Nesta and Amren are locked in a verbal sparring match, while Mor chimes in here and there, occasionally attempting to rope Cassian in, too. Just to stir things up. Shadows flicker in the background.

His attention is becoming difficult to ignore. Clear your throat softly, focusing on cutting through the meat, slicing it into bitesized chunks. “Is something the matter, Azriel?” Shift the cutlery in your hands, easing up the pressure on your knuckles from the effort of cutting. He watches silently, his own plate clean and empty.

“Not at all,” he replies quietly, voice unliltling and void of inflection. Your brow twitches toward the centre, neatly spearing a chunk of flesh. Swallow in preparation. “Nothing?” You question, equally softly, biting down on the dead animal. It comes apart easily on your tongue, softened in a skillet somewhere, bathed in oils and rosemary, sprinkled with salts and spices. Force yourself to chew and swallow. “Nothing,” he repeats back, hazel eyes resting on your jaw, flicking to meet your gaze.

Finish your mouthful, move to the next sliver. Spike it on your fork. Half raise it from the plate then stop, lowering it quietly. “What are you watching?” You ask, eyes flicking down to your plate, skipping away from his. “Many things,” he answers vaguely. Shadows flicker at his back, wreathing his wings, tucking behind them. “I’d rather not be part of those things,” you murmur, finally biting down on the tender flesh. Chew enough so it’s digestible, then swallow. Think about nice things, like the books at the house, golden eyes, and dried flowers. “You’re in public,” he replies, tone still without inflection. “That’s an impossible request.”

Three pieces left, and it’ll be done.

“You can look elsewhere instead of staring a hole in my head,” you murmur. “Maybe,” you add hastily, softening the sharp suggestion. These situations always put you a little on edge. So many people.

He’s quiet for a bit, but his attention doesn’t shift, despite his gaze moving to be further down the table. You manage another chunk of meat, teeth dully masticating as you grind the flesh down, focusing on the herbs and spices in place of the ashen, earthy flavour of the animal carcass.

Azriel’s attention weighs into you, skin prickling, hairs raising at the back of your neck as you try to ignore it. It’s probably being exacerbated by your imagination. Raise the fifth and final piece to your mouth, thinking about rotating planets and cocoa, of whiskey and caramel as your teeth bite and chew absently. He’s still observing; you shift in your chair, swallowing the mouthful. Reach for your glass, gulp down the clear liquid.

Nearly choke, the alcohol burning your throat. Nose scrunches before you can help it, covering your mouth with the napkin while you cough as quietly as possible. Elain pats you on the back making you smile as you overcome the initial shock. “Something go down the wrong way?” She asks, lips curving in a grin she’s clearly attempting to suppress in favour of a more sympathetic expression. Puts those attempts to rest when you laugh quietly, nodding to the liquid. “Too eager,” you whisper, refolding the napkin. Elain covers her own mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled mirth; you shoot her a playful glare.

Mor, sitting opposite Elain; beside Nesta, breaks from her conversation with the two, attention flitting to you, as if she had been lying in wait for her chance. “So!” She says, golden hair shining resplendent beneath the glow, like a flame encased in honey. “When shall we go shopping?” Her hands clap together, red lips parting in a friendly smile.

Oh.

You’d blessedly forgotten that promise of hers.

Swallow uneasily. “It’s fine… The polish and lip tint were lovely,” you smile, hoping she’ll leave it be. “Nonsense,” she chirps, collecting a few more roast potatoes onto her plate, Amren gingerly taking a few after her, nose almost wrinkling with suspicion. “You love books, and I apparently need a reason to spend time with you, so a shopping trip is perfect!” You offer her what you hope is a steady smile, one that disguises the strain you’re feeling, “I don’t want to be a bother—it’s fine, really. There are plenty of books in the library, anyway, and I’ve barely made it through the first two levels.”

Brows shoot up to her hairline. “Every book? You’ve been reading all of them?” You blink at her surprise, then hesitantly dip your head. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, hands gripping one another as tension slices through your shoulders. “Are they— Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Read away!” She laughs, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “I hadn’t expected your interests to be so different, is all,” she smiles. “I tried to read a couple from the library when I was younger and nearly bored myself to tears.” You smile faintly, relaxing back into your chair. “I guess they’re not for everyone,” you reply, posture softening against the back of your seat.

Mor laughs, the sound like wind chimes caught on a stray breeze, golden hair glinting in the warm light. You have to look away. It feels wrong to even look at her—to try and place her individual beauties. Peer down at your empty plate, hunger gnawing at your stomach lining. You should have remembered to eat before coming along.

“So what about tomorrow?” She asks, dipping buttered bread into her bowl. Raise your head to look at her, confusion lining your brows. She smiles easily, “for a shopping trip, of course.”

“Not every creature enjoys being put through your endless chatter, Mor,” Amren snipes from her side. The blonde female pouts, throwing a glare to the petite Fae on her right.

Warm toffee eyes flick to cocoa, brightening with an idea, “Elain could come along too!” Spine goes rigid, every ounce of willpower straining to keep from glancing to your left, wondering what he’s thinking. Swallow heavily, stiffening as your older sister is brought into the discussion. Mor smiles eagerly, “what do you say, Elain? Fancy a shopping trip tomorrow?”

Nails slice into your palms, piercing small crescent shapes into your skin—you’ve been trying not to bite them. Press further back into your seat, muscles coiling with anxiety. Not both of them.

You can practically feel the moment steely silver eyes pick up on your reluctance, like she has a sixth sense for picking at scabs. But Elain sighs apologetically, “that would be lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” Relief washes over your skin, bathed in a cool breeze. “I told you so,” Amren snickers to the blonde female.

Mor’s brows dip together, “oh, piss off Amren. I know you like picking out clothes to wear for Varian with me.” The cunning female raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies smoothly, Mor’s lips twitching at the obvious denial.

Turn to Elain, taking in the natural glow of her features. “Have plans?” You ask quietly, hand absently resting over your stomach. Involuntarily glance at the soup further up the table, tongue flicking out over your lips. She shakes her head, softly curled silky hair cascading over her slim shoulders. In your peripherals, you can make out how shadows stretch across the table, reaching. “I’ve been dreadfully tired lately,” she admits, equally hushed.

Brow furrows in concern, about to ask further, but Mor’s on you again. “Guess it’ll just be us tomorrow!” She smiles genuinely, excited for the plans. When you glance sidelong at your sister, she’s already settled back into conversation with Cassian, your youngest sister and her mate joining in. You nod in surrender, accepting it’s something that has to happen. It would be overtly rude to decline her invitation now.

“Great! We can squeeze in a lunch, too,” she grins, washing down the soup with a glassful of wine. “Maybe you can direct me to some of the more interesting library books,” she suggests, eyes sparking with excitement. You nod again, fatigue beginning to weigh on your shoulders. It’s nice watching them, but you frequently forget how draining it is to be involved.

Lean back into your chair, pulling your stomach in as you feel pressure grow—you’d die of embarrassment if it started growling. Hastily drink some more in attempts to fill it up. Hungrily eye the plates of food. Maybe the poultry wouldn’t be too bad with the sauce—chicken was hard to come by all those years ago.

A delicious scent catches your attention, shadows skittering away as he silently ladles soup into his bowl. Nobody asks about the shuffling round of plates. Stomach rumbles and you flush, hands clamping over your stomach as humiliation burns along your skin. Mouth almost watering, but you force yourself to wait; appear only mildly interested in the food. An appropriate amount of attention for a dinner.

His hand knocks into the bowl, pushing it aside to make room for another dish, so it’s to his right. Almost subtle enough to appear accidental.

Still, you finally help yourself to the soup, equal parts affection and shame weighing in your gut.

————

The night air is crisp and cool, soothing the warmth of your skin as you follow quietly a way behind the group.

Feyre and Rhys have already made their way home, not liking to spend too long away from Nyx, despite knowing he’s well cared for. There seems to be discussion ahead of taking things further for the night, perhaps more drinking.

After having left the restaurant, Nesta had sought you out. You’d been surprised to say the least—a little on edge—but it had been nothing to worry about. She’d merely extended an invitation for you to join her on their trip to the Day Court. Perhaps to seek out some books you’d been interested in, she’d suggested.

You’d politely declined.

Now you turn to Elain, the darkness bringing out the slight dip below her eyes. “You okay?” You ask, the chatter of the streets soothing background noise. Fading to a constant hum in the back of your mind, falling into the empty recesses. She nods, sighing heavily. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” she replies quietly. “And, I’ve…” shakes her head. “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” she sighs again. “You always were more prone to sickness than the rest of us,” you reply, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She smiles gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Maybe I’ll come and cough on you so you get ill for once,” she grins.

Nose wrinkles as you smile, “gross.” She laughs at that, then the two of you fall quiet, walking together in companionable silence. Trudging your way back to the River House, keeping fairly close to the main group who are still deciding whether or not to turn in for the evening.

You know you’ll be heading back to the House of Wind for the night.

Curious to see if a response has been written.

————

The House is quiet. Halls empty and silent as you pad down the corridor to your room.

Maybe you should check with Nesta whether she wants you to move out of here—switch to the River House. Anxiety slices at your gut, fatigue weighing your eyelids at the thought. You’re sure she’ll say something if she wants you out. You aren’t keen to initiate conversation with her unless necessary.

When you enter your room, candles are already lit, courtesy of the House. A few clothes lay on the floor, but it’s mostly clear. Almost tidy.

Parchment rests across your desk, and you eagerly hurry over.

Nothing has been added.

Excitement dies away, scratching at the backs of your hands absently.

Wearily take a seat, playing with the pen between your fingers, chewing on your lower lip. Debating the merits of bothering him when he’s taken no interest in your last comment.

Toss the thoughts out your window, throwing all caution to the wind.

Long day?

Bite down on your tongue, pulling at the top most layer of skin until you bleed. Wait for the paper to disappear. Seconds tick by, counting as they drain away. Steadily turning into minutes. Lean your cheek on the table, slumping forward as boredom creeps in, the pendant clunking as it hits the wooden surface of the table.

Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?

You aren’t particularly sure where the question comes from. Maybe the still-boxed jigsaw puzzle sitting atop a dusty stack of books has something to do with it.

Paper vanishes, and you perk up, straightening in your chair, fingers flexing. Excitement stirring in your chest. Absently reach for a pot of cream, unscrewing the lid as you trace the desiccated skin of your knuckles. Slowly soothe it in, rub the dips between your fingers, pretending your hands are someone else’s.

Parchment reappears, having you eagerly lean forward.

No.

You scowl at the curt response, twiddling the pen in your hands.

Sour and miserable indeed. Were my earlier questions not interesting enough to deign a response?

Letter vanishes, your feet tapping against the floor, fidgeting with the writing instrument. Turn to the anthology as you usually end up doing while waiting for his reply. Flip to the page you’d bookmarked, removing the silver embossed fabric. Lips quirk when you spot the title: Explosions: Rapid Division.

Shift the book so it’s in the centre of your desk, reading the introductory passage, instinctively scanning the diagrams with intrigue. Paper reappears atop the pages.

You forget I am a high-ranking individual with a multitude of tasks to attend to. I don’t get to spend my days simply lying around to pester the only person who’ll give me a scrap of attention.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment, yet you find yourself smiling at the familiar sharpness of his tongue. Ease out a deep breath, relaxing into your chair, flicking the pen in your dry fingers before lowering it to the parchment.

I think if you truly felt pestered, you wouldn’t be responding at all. Feeling lonely over there, Eris?

The paper vanishes, and you treat yourself to an image of his brows narrowing, lip curling as ire blazes in caramel eyes. Mouth widens into a smile as your feet tip-tap on the floor-boards, absently dipping your finger tips into the pot of cream again, putting more over the roughness of your skin as you wait patiently.

Parchment reappears, heartbeat picking up with excitement.

And what about yourself? The hell-cat is leaving for quite a while, isn’t she?

Lips part on a sharp exhale, spine straightening as your eyes flick about the room anxiously. How does he know that? Should you tell someone? Brow narrows in concentration, mind scrambling to think up a response that won’t give anything away, without sounding so vague he knows you’re avoiding the question. Swallow heavily, rubbing in the last of the cream, reaching for your pen. Lower it to the desk, and falter. What do you say? Is feigning ignorance too obvious?

The letter vanishes before you’ve had a chance to even put a speck of ink upon it, and it dawns on you that the question was timed. Picture the way his lips part is a slow smile as he sees the blank paper.

Manipulative bastard.

I suppose she’ll be taking the brute with her, too?

Fingers tighten on the pen, teeth grinding. Is this why he warned you about Eris? Because of how quickly he can extract information through carefully assembling pieces? Jaw tenses, but more silence will be confirmation.

How do you know any of that?

Chew on your lower lip as you await his reply, heart pounding. Azriel would be furious. Swallow down the nausea, teeth sliding beneath your nails—toeing the line of biting down, but restraining yourself.

Really, how do you think Court politics works? Of course we keep tabs on one another. I’m sure your shadowsinger has plenty of spies littered throughout Prythian. Possibly further, too.

Blood ices, peering down at your necklace and the map contained within. Imagining how wide his net must be to thread throughout it all. How much work it must take to keep everything running. Ruthless discipline. How tiring it must be. The weight, the pressure to keep it all maintained.

Head beginnings swimming at the thought of it. Would you even be able to keep up with him?

Why are you telling me this?

The pen scratches over the parchment, struggling to keep lines clean through the slight tremor in your hands. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much work must regularly go into sustaining such a network.

It’s a little embarrassing that you don’t already know. What are they teaching you over there? How to be an emotional burden?

The words hit sharp in your chest, hooks latching into the soft, vascular muscle of your heart. Poised to shred in an instant. Awaiting for the split second of weakness to rip. Rupture the organ in a clean tear.

Fear spikes.

I understand why your brother wants nothing to do with you if that’s how you speak with people.

The words are stamped into the page before you have time to reason it out. Blood rushes round your ears, wincing as your fingertips burn with the faint embers of power that have begun sparking up every now and again. Preemptively reach for the hand cream, preparing to soothe the itch once it fully manifests.

He’ll read into that comment. You know he will. Read between the lines to figure out just how much that one stung.

Parchment reappears and you warily lean forward, eyes skimming the clean script.

I’d been wondering where you kept your lovely claws, cygnet.

I didn’t mean to write that.

Wipe hands on your skirts, anxiety kicking up in the pit of your stomach. Roiling with worry.

You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You simply despise the way you are.

Has anyone else commented on how similar you are to Nesta Archeron?

Heart sinks to your stomach, biting on your tongue until you taste copper. Dislike how deep he’s wormed his way already. How did things go from light-hearted sparring matches to full scale battle in so few conversations?

And what about you? You write, mimicking his earlier diversion. Do your brothers share your affinity for poisoned words?

The parchment vanishes for a while this time, though you don’t even try to distract yourself with the anthology. Leg taps anxiously, trying to rub cream into your hands, hoping if it’s done tonight, they won’t ache tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is another flare up. Try to focus on the scent—light and sweet. Like gardenias and sugar.

Your attempts to redirect are as graceful as the first steps of a freshly birthed hound. Perhaps once you settle into your skin you’ll become more skilled at deflecting uncomfortable topics.

Skin prickles, hairs standing on end as you again raise the pen in hand. Considering routes to return to earlier discussions that weren’t so intrusive.

Alternatively, you could choose lighter conversation starters. For example, why did you send the anthology?

Certainly not the most succinct switch in direction, but better than continuing down that path. Ease a breath into your lungs once the paper vanishes, reminding yourself you don’t have to reply to him. At any point, you’re free to leave. Lean back in your chair, stretching out your limbs, muscles spasming and aching in your shoulders, fingers trembling as bones click in your spine. Deflate into the seat, muscles relaxing all at once.

You haven’t noticed anything yet?

Brows furrow, peering at the volume. Close it and flip it over—nothing on the back. Reopen it to the contents page, peering at the compilation of titles, authors, and page numbers. Scan the introductory section again, searching for anything to give you a hint at what he’s talking about.

(Writing about.)

I’m mildly concerned to ask? You write, keeping the conversation light, steering away from the earlier topics. Hoping he’ll keep away from family-related chatter.

Then read away.

Heart spikes at the ominous reply. What the hell is he talking about?

Eris, are you serious?

Paper vanishes, reappearing moments later.

Nothing but.

Roll your eyes at the response, but again set pen to paper.

If you were a human, you’d be riddled in various worry-marks by now. Does that thought upset you?

Lips quirk faintly, hoping it irritates him sufficiently.

Is this how you cope with discomfort? Pretending it away? Making light of it?

Damn him.

Instead of…?

Instead of hiding like a coward. Your blithe little act is growing dreadfully monotonous.

Straighten in your chair, shifting uncomfortably. Are you boring? Is that it? Is that the whole reason he…

Do fae have milestone dates like humans do? You said you don’t remember your twenty-first.

Paper disappears, and you become aware of the tension coiling in your shoulders. Maybe you should turn in for the night. Writing to him is supposed to be fun, not make you feel so…

Squirm uncomfortably, slouching in the seat. Crick your neck, releasing built up pressure, stretching your toes. Move to blow out the candles, but the letter reappears.

You really are turning out to be quite dull.

Brows scrunch with hurt, then even out. It’s ridiculous to be upset over behaviour he’s made no effort to hide. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s not changing, yet you had hoped…

Swallow, then sigh, the pen feeling heavy in your hand.

And you’re unnecessarily barbed.

(Who taught you to be that way, Eris?)

(Am I going to grow up to be like you?)

Paper vanishes, but you find yourself awaiting a reply. Marinating in your room while your lids grow heavier, shoulders slumping with fatigue, the base of your spine beginning to ache.

Stand from your desk, eyes flicking unwillingly to your nightstand, a small, royal blue gift box sat neatly atop it. The tule bow as resplendent as ever—shifting between vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

(Sometimes, when it gets particularly bad, I like to look at it before I go to sleep. Fantasise about being the female he likes, instead of the one I am.)

(Sometimes, when I want to indulge in misery, I like to imagine dressing up for him. Imagine him telling me how pretty I am, imagine him sliding the golden hooks into pointed ears.)

(Sometimes I imagine.)

(Sometimes I imagine, because it’s the closest to reality I’ll ever get.)

Hear the distinct sound of paper on the table, and you still. End up turning anyway. Move over to your desk, reading the message.

You can do better.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Slump into the seat, head tipping back, staring up at the ceiling. Arms fall dully to your sides, too tired to feel anything.

Sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand in favour of pulling away your clothes. Rid yourself of every constraint, pendant clunking on the bedside table.

The same-old, off-white cotton night gown swallows you, falling to your ankles as you settle into the mattress.

And to think, you’d been considering asking what things were like in his court.

How nice it might have been to make a trip of your own.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel angst #azriel acotar #CBMTHY #azriel x reader angst #CBMTHY Chapter 8

[prince-kallisto]

Crowley’s Realm Dominance & Mirror Dimensions: “A Piece of My World”

I’ve had this theory in my sleeves for a while now, but an impromptu collab with @moonlightequin1 on Twitter truly opened my third eye!

It started out with Ray saying what if “Piece of my World,” aka TWSTs theme song, is the name of someone’s Unique Magic? It certainly does have a ring of a Unique Magic title haha. It sounded like a bit of a joke at first, but then our discussion suddenly became serious. Because what if it was the Signature Spell/Unique Magic for Crowley?

In Book 7, when STYX is learning about Malleus’ Overblot, STYX drops a huge lore drop about the dream barrier being Malleus’ “Realm Dominance,” an ancient and rare class type of Fae magic. A type of magic that can change the world into the visions of the caster. Malleus puts everyone to sleep and trapped in thorns because it’s the world he wants- where his loved ones can’t die nor leave. We don’t know the extent of Crowley’s magic yet, but we do know he’s a long-lived Fae who speaks of Imagination being the key to a mages magic. In Book 7, Silver also begins to speak of this world of imagination created by memories (side note, the ghost camera pictures full name in JP is “Memories: Fragments of Remembrance”) before getting cut off.

But what does this have to do with Crowley? After all, not even regular Fae has this sort of Realm Dominance magic- it needs extreme power and imagination for it come true. And it’s only possible on a world scale because Malleus is one of top 5 mages, despite not even being a matured Dragon Fae. But the thing is, this has EVERYTHING to do with Crowley. In fact, Ray and I are convinced that Crowley has already shown the “Pieces of his world” ever since the very beginning of the game.

Staring right in front of us is the mirror dimensions for each dorm. Outside of NRC, there has been NO CASE of a mirror having another stable realm inside. None whatsoever! The Lost in the Book with Stitch event does have the mirror on a storybook, but everyone loses their memories at the end. It’s clearly not a stable mirror realm. Side note, I will be talking about how sus that book is in a future post, Ray and I also had a lengthy discussion on that one haha.

I don’t believe that this is normal magic. Sure, mirrors are commonly used for teleportation in TWST, but an entire POCKET DIMENSION? We know for a fact that it is a pocket dimension because in Book 4, there is a limit to the dorm worlds inside the mirror. The dimension gets colder and darker the farther you try to travel, which we received proof on in Book 4 during Jamil’s Overblot. Jamil threw us to a cold, dark and grey area of the dorm, aka the literal boundaries to the dimension that can take hours if not days to trek through by foot.

And isn’t it interesting that each of these mirrors has a world individually crafted in the image of the Great Seven? An entire WORLD where students can live in and use magic in, while taking up no space in the real world of Twisted Wonderland. So Ray and I are thinking that this is one of Crowley’s display of “Realm Dominance,” that these mirror dimensions are his creations. Crowley even wears mirrors (5 in total) all over his body, perhaps as a hint to this

So if Crowley’s Unique Magic is “Piece of My World,” the dorm mirrors are quite literally, a piece of Crowley’s world that he has created! The opening animation even starts out with Crowley being surrounded by mirrors with the names of each dorm inside them, in flame. So in the terms of this theory, if Crowley’s Unique Magic is related to Realm Dominance itself, it’s likely how he can craft completely individual and stable dimensions within objects like mirrors that are his own pocket dimensions. And if he’s capable of that, it could be possible at a world scale.

Twisted Wonderland is, well, twisted. A world where the villains won or at least are viewed favorably…a world where these Overblots at NRC are suspected to be caused by someone on purpose. And from what we now know from Book 7, it is possible for Realm Dominance to take over the ENTIRE WORLD. In Malleus’ case, it’s because his magic supply could literally never run out because some Fae can absorb magic power from nature itself. And this, Malleus renews his magic and slowly expands his sleeping realm.

Edit: @camrastuff sent me a wonderful ask bringing this up! On the front of his body, Crowley having seven keys: three on his hat, and four at his belt with the mirrors. Perhaps these keys work similarly to Azul’s contracts, and are something that keeps the separate dimensions in check? Or if they are a necessary thing to his magic, and this is on a world scale…Crowley’s cane being in the shape of a giant key is 👀👀👀👀

It’s also interesting to note that the theme song of the game doesn’t have a full OP yet. A “full” performance on ABEMA TV was made, but an official release was never made, and it’s believed that it wasn’t the true full version due to potential spoilers to the late game of TWST. It’s just a possibility tho haha, we can’t say for sure.

Edit: I’d like to add that the ominous opening song when you physically open the game is literally called “Dire Crowley.” If “Piece is my World” is also Crowley’s song, his presence is lowkey everywhere in the background in the game??

There were many, many topics from Ray and I’s discussion that I’d like to cover, but I’ll be separating them out for coherency haha. On a final note, I’d like to add that the countdown art was connected to tarot cards according to their number. I made a whole deep dive on Crowley’s card, but to sum it up, Crowley’s countdown number was “1,” and the last one in the countdown. In this case, Dire Crowley has the number of the Magician, who has the potential of infinite creation capabilities as long as he can imagine it. It’s interesting to note how the Magician serves as a connection between worlds as well 👀 I think this theory has potential for Crowley gaining a more centric role in TWST soon…Book 8 specifically. The Magician also has a strong connection to the number 8, because of its theme of “infinity.” Just something to think about…

Edit: Part 2 to this theory is out!! This time, going further into the idea of Crowley’s magic being on a world-scale level, and his motives for his magic 👀

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst theory #twst analysis #twst dire Crowley #twst Crowley #dire Crowley #kallistopost

[thestitchywitchy]

Future Spouse: First Impressions Pt 1

Hello my dears! Here’s a little PAC I’ve been working on…. This is going to be a 2 part (possibly a third, 18+ post, depending on how well these do) series as this one became a lot longer than I intended it to lol. This one will be about your future spouse’s first impression of you. The next one will be your first impression of them. Please leave feedback 😁

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To book a reading with me, please DM or send an email to [email protected] with your inquiry 💌

My Links <- 🔮please support your witch💕 -> Masterlist

Please donate if you’re able to 🙏

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Here we go! Shake it out, take a breath, close your eyes, and choose one of my favorite movie couples that calls out most to you. This is a general reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you feel inclined to choose more than one group, please feel free to do so.

Pictures are from Pinterest, credit to the owners. Editing was done by me, Stitchy!

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Gomez & Morticia - Pile One

6 of cups reversed, Queen of Swords, Page of Pentacles

All right, pile one, welcome to your reading! You will strike your future spouse as a complex individual from the very first moment. You may have seemed a bit guarded and reserved, which made them immediately think “💡I need to see what’s past that guard”. Aw cute lol. Some of you have a femme fatale thing going on and some of you are incredibly private or reserved, so you give off this mysterious vibe to your FS. The energy is as if you were carrying a heavy emotional burden from your past experiences on your shoulder, which makes you seem hesitant to open up to someone new.

As you two start conversing, they notice that you may have an air of authority about you. You may even be a manger/boss. Could even own your business or attempting to at the point of meeting them. This is only for some of you, but I’m also seeing kids? So you may be a parent or work with kids often. Teenagers/middle school age, specifically. They will also notice that you are very clear and precise in the way you communicate, and you seemingly have a sharp mind and quick wit about you. You may talk with your hands a lot too. They can tell that you’re someone who values honesty and straightforwardness above all else, and you are not someone who would suffer fools gladly. Get it, boo! Show those suckers what you’re made of 😉 But there was also something very innocent and curious about you under the surface that they are going to be intrigued by. Despite your guarded nature and no-nonsense attitude…you still seemed eager to learn and grow. They like that you may be open to new experiences and perspectives. You may have even called them out playfully or wasn’t afraid to stand up to them when they said something out of pocket. They aren’t typically used to receiving that energy so you made them go a bit gaga (even turned on for some of you lol) with this display of power.

Im sensing that, for a lot of you at least, you guys may really gravitate towards each other when you first meet because it seems like they were able to get to know you better on a deeper level right off the bat. They see that your past experiences have indeed left a deep mark on you and that you may be struggling to move past them. You may even bring up an ex or family issues during your conversation? But They also see that you had the strength and resilience to face your pain head-on and work towards healing and growth. They have/had no doubt that you have the intelligence and determination to make progress. They were inspired by your willingness to learn and explore new ways of thinking. You inspire them to become a better version of themselves. They may be going through some personal issues of their own at the time and the way you tackle issues may differ from they way they would usually do it. But they prefer your outlook on life so they may get inspired to take a page out of your playbook.

By the end of your meeting, they were left with a deep respect for this complex and multifaceted individual standing before them. You may have had a guarded and stand offish first impression, but they could see that beneath the surface was a person with a strong will, an open mind, and the courage to face your past and move towards a brighter future….and they would do anything in their power to be apart of it. Aww I love that for you, pile one! I hope you enjoyed your reading.

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Adam & Barbara - Pile Two

4 of pentacles, Ace of swords reversed, 9 of cups

Hey pile two, thanks for joining! Upon first meeting, you left a deep impression on your future spouse. To them, you seem to have an air of wealth and luxury about you. You may be dressed in your finest clothes or rockin your most expensive jewelry. Lmaooo I just heard “they’re bangin!” Sooo they’re really going to like your body, pile 2! 😂 can't get enough of it, apparently! That night/day, you will just all around be dressed to the nines and that will catch your FS’s attention right away. They may have noticed you right away, but it’s going to take them a little time to approach you. So as they continue to examine you from afar, they could sense something underneath all of the pretty wrapping paper. They feel a sense of possessiveness emanating from you. Like you’re holding on too tightly to your material possessions. It’s like…though you’re dressed to kill, they catch on to your insecurities beneath the surface. They’re trying to get familiar with your poker tells, basically.

Oop. Ok….Your FS may think that you might be having an identity crisis. Not necessarily in a negative way (although it might be for some of you who chose this pile), but it is apparent to them. You may be the type of person that struggles with their decision-making abilities. You may even seem lost and unsure of yourself, even though you’re dressed confidently. Like you don’t really belong in that setting, but you’re trying to fake it until you make it for whatever reason. This lack of clarity may also hinder you from making better choices for yourself. What I’m getting is like a nightclub, bar, or busy restaurant setting (take what resonates). You may have a lot of suitors physically surrounding you before your FS gets to you, so they’re still watching you from afar. They may see someone flirting with you and you’re eating up the attention and they’re just thinking to themselves… “really? You’re impressed by *that*?” Lmao your future spouse cracks me up. They’re a cerebral person, that’s for sure. They take in their surroundings before doing anything.

To them, it seems as though you are trying to use your wealth or material possessions to fill a void within yourself. Your future spouse feels like you’re trying to find emotional fulfillment in all the wrong places. They may also think you may be hard to satisfy or please, but are still not entirely sure what you really want. They see that you are seeking happiness but are met with fleeting moments instead and may even have lost touch with your emotional well-being. But they’re thinking that you’re knock out gorgeous, so why are you so sad?

Overall, their first impression of you is that you are struggling to find true happiness and emotional fulfillment in your life. While you may have amassed great wealth, luxury, and success ( whatever that means to you), you still seem to be missing something important in your day to day. They may have a fleeting thought of “ could it be me that’s missing from this equation?” Aww cute 🥰 hope you enjoyed your reading, pile 2!

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Seymour & Audrey - Pile Three

4 of Pentacles, Queen of Cups, Knight of Pentacles reversed

Hello pile 3, ready for your reading? Your future spouse’s first impression of you would be one of complexity and depth. They would see in you someone who is highly guarded and may be struggling with a fear of financial insecurity. You may be going through some difficulty at the time of meeting your future spouse and you may wear your worry on your face. For some of you, they felt your energy before they laid eyes on you. You may have been in a whirlwind of panic or frustration, maybe even tripping over yourself a bit, and they picked up on it before you even entered the room. Fear not, they will think your dishevelment is rather adorable lol awww!

However, they would also sense a deep emotional intelligence and sensitivity in you, much like the Queen of Cups. They would think that you’re someone who is highly empathetic and in tune with your and other’s emotions, but you may also be very protective of your feelings and hesitant to fully open up to others. I see a lot of nervous chuckling happening when you’re around them. They may have approached you in a teasing manner and you reacted shyly and a bit embarrassed. That’s so adorable pile 3! But remember, you’re the prize…no need to be nervous 😉 oh, I’m getting that they really like your smile! They instantly see in you someone they can start a life/family with. There’s just something about you that tick off all their boxes.

Your FS will also feel that you may be resistant to change and may prefer to stick to a routine or maintain the status quo. They see you as the type of person who doesn’t want to step on any toes, even in detriment to yourself. They feel that you may be cautious when it comes to taking risks or trying new things, but this energy can also indicate a strong sense of dedication and a willingness to work hard and persevere. They see that you like things done a certain way so that’s how you’re going to do it.

Overall, their first impression of you would be that you’re a person with a complex and multi-layered personality. They would see someone who is both highly sensitive and guarded. They want to tear your walls down. Make you feel safe with them. Hmm…Your fear of financial security keeps coming up… like you fear financial instability, so you’ve married yourself to your work to never see your bank account dip lower than a certain amount. It may worry them a bit that you may not have room for a relationship (with them) in your life because of this. However, On the same note, they would also see someone who is dedicated and hard-working… Someone who has the potential to break through their blocks and achieve success and fulfillment in life. Your FS would be drawn to your emotional depth and dedication, and would be eager to help you navigate any challenges that may arise….they’re just hoping you’ll make a little bit of space for them in order to do that. Aw, congrats pile 3. That sounds sweet!!

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All rights reserved to @thestitchywitchy . Thank you for participating in this pick a card reading 😊 if you liked this reading and would like to dive in further, please DM me for a $7.77 extended reading 💞

#pac #pac reading #tarot pac #pick a card #pick an image #pick a pile #pick a pic #pick a picture #pick a number #tarot reading #free tarot #future spouse #future spouse pac #tarot #divination #pick a card readings #pick a deck #pick a photo #cartomancy

[queenendless]

📱Home Screen (Teen!Gojo x Fem!Reader x Teen!Geto)📱

A/N: So this is from my Curses Love (JJK x Reader) book on Wattpad under my other username on here; CosmicQueen10.

This is set in an AU where you're a student alongside these two at JJ High. Dating them both. And they're cool with it. Gonna write more with this AU in mind here and there. Also gonna write these shorts to ease my need for precious content with my two faves and put them out as much as possible.

All credit to the characters/show/pics goes to Gege sensei. Please don't steal or copy my work. Please like and reblog. I hope you enjoy.

Nodding off amidst the cool breeze and the warm skinny sunbeams trickling through the shade of the tree leaves covering you, the rustling of your hair stirred you slightly awake, followed by a familiar enriching laugh.

"Y/n-chan~?"

You softly whined as you rubbed your eyes, working yourself more alert, as you blinked until your vision cleared up to witness yourself sitting on a bench amidst the school grounds, right beside your beaming grinning boyfriend.

"Wakey wakey, sweetie~!"

The arm of one Gojo Satoru wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side, as his other hand opened up his flip phone.

"Wanna take a photo with me~?"

"Huh? Uhhhh .... okay."

The flash of the phone's camera snapped.

"Ooh~! Lookie lookie~!" Turning his phone around, you saw what made his face lit up.

His shades slid down to the tip of his nose, his vibrant blue eye opened giving a side view to the camera, his free hand squeezed your shoulder, and your closed eyed blushing face as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

"If you wanted a new home screen, you could have just said so." You couldn't stop smiling bashfully as he chuckled at the sight.

A weighted plop on the empty spot beside you on the bench grabbed both your attention.

"Sorry for making you both wait."

"About time, Suguru. Hey, take a look at this! Ain't Y/n-chan so cute~?!" Gojo literally smothered his phone screen all up in Geto's face. "You gotta get in on the action, buddy~!"

"Hmm," Geto hummed in thought; mirth already overtaking his black eyes as did his own sneaky grin. "Not a bad idea, Satoru." As he pulled out his own phone out of his pants pocket, his other hand brushed through your hair, cradling the back of your noggin as your cheek rested on his shoulder. "Care to take another, honey~?"

You had an inkling this would transpire. He is your other boyfriend, after all.

Besides, you like where this is going. You nodded shyly, earning a sly smile in return before he posed you two just right. The flashing of his phone's camera came next.

The snapshot of him kissing your forehead as you bashfully closed your eyes while also blushing vividly earned a hearty chuckle from Geto and a woo-hoo whistle from Gojo as you chose to keep your face buried on Geto's shoulder for the moment; adding to their amusement.

"Not bad, not bad Suguru~ However, if we make this a trio set, then we'll really hit the jackpot~!"

"Yeah yeah, I'm right here ya know!" You finally looked up, pulled out your own phone, readying to take your own selfie. "But I'm choosing the pose this time."

"And that would be~?" Their united voices; the delight evident on their expecting faces, made you duck your head in steamy sheepishness. Your finger beckoned them to draw closer to hear your whispered desire. Hearing what you asked made them exchange smirks.

"Deal. On 3. Ready?" Gojo asked.

Your shy nod confirmed it.

"Okay ... 1 ... 2 ... 3!"

And as you tapped to take the shot, in came a third flash.

Just as twice before, it all happened so fast.

Your giggle broke out through the air at the sight of what overtook your screen.

Gojo smooching your right cheek and Geto kissing your left cheek, a small but lovely smile on your face.

"Best. One. Yet~!" Gojo cheered.

"Agreed." Geto hummed in content.

That was your new home screen.

For now, at least.

No doubt newer ones would top them all along the way.

#jjk fanfiction #satosugu #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen au #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu geto #geto x reader #geto x you #gojo x you #sfw #jjk satoru #jjk fanfic #jjk au #jjk #jjk geto #geto suguru #gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru x you #gojo satoru x you #teen gojo #teen geto #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader x geto

[specialagentlokitty]

Hannibal x teen!reader - i would notice

Hi 👋, i absolutely loved your Hannibal lecter fic so I was wondering if you could do a Hannibal × teen reader with angst or where he maybe saves them from someone or from themselves? If not that's totally fine. - Anon💜

TW: mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts and neglectful parents

Therapy.

According to everybody that was the solution to everything, all your problems would be solved if you just sat in a room with a stranger supposedly telling them everything about you.

Things you didn’t want anybody else to know.

You didn’t want to attend your sessions, but your parents were paying a lot of money for you to see this therapist, so you went to your sessions.

Though you never really said much, which was something Hannibal picked up on.

“Sometimes I do have to wonder why it is you insist on coming to your sessions if you’re just going to sit here to do homework instead.”

You shrugged a little bit, looking up from where you were sat on the floor.

“I’ve gotta do it somewhere, plus my parents pay for these sessions, it’ll be a waste of money I guess.”

“Do you not think you need it?”

“Everybody has problems I just don’t see the point in talking about it, it won’t change anything.”

“It could make it easier for you.”

You shrugged again and stood up, bringing a work book over to his desk and set it down.

Hannibal took the book so he could look at it while you dragged a chair over to sit next to him while he read through your work.

“Have you finished everything else?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s just this. I don’t really get it so I thought I’d leave it until last.”

Hannibal nodded his head, taking one of his many notebooks, and he found one with your name on it and opened it.

Over the sessions he had become used to you using the time for your homework, asking him yo help you with whatever it was you didn’t understand.

It actually helped him learn a lot about you, about your possible home life since you didn’t seem interested in talking about whatever problems you were having.

Hannibal explained the problem to you, and he gave you a brief demonstration on how to solve it before giving you the notebook so you could try it for yourself.

“How is school going? Are you still having problems with some of the other students?”

“A little, but I think I solved most of them.”

He hummed a little bit, slowly nodding his head.

“How did you manage that? Did you take my advance and ignore them?”

“Nope.”

You grinned a little bit at your therapist and went back to your homework.

“Shoved a whole bunch of shaving cream and feathers into their lockers.”

“You do realise retaliation in such a way could could make this a lot more complicated for you. They could also possibly get you into trouble as well.”

“Maybe yeah I guess.”

“What did your parents have to say?”

“The usual nothing.”

Hannibal wrote that down in another notebook and he studied you for a moment.

Usually it was obvious why people were in therapy, usually he knew before they came to the sessions or they would have told him by now but you didn’t.

He was having to rely on everything he saw, everything you did and the very few things that you had said.

Your sessions were routine, going the same way nearly all of the of the time.

So he began to notice the change in your behaviour as time went on, it was slight, only tiny changes but he noticed.

You didn’t bring your homework anymore, you would just tell him about your day, the changes in your clothing, you seemed more withdrawn.

Then you began to miss sessions, the first he didn’t think about it, the second he was a little suspicious but when it came to the third and forth he knew there was something more.

So, when he opened his door to see that you weren’t sat in the waiting room he sighed, making his way to the phone to dial your number.

He waited as it rang, and eventually it rang off into voicemail.

Hannibal went through all his files until he found yours and he grabbed his keys and jacket as he left the office.

You were usually the last appointment of the day since you liked to hang around and just spend time with him, which he never added extra costs for.

Making his way to your listed address, Hannibal looked at the large house, very expensive looking and extremely well kept.

He parked in the drive and made his way to the door, knocking a few times, waiting.

The door was opened and you blinked a few times, stepping aside and gestured to the house so you could let him in.

“What brings you by doctor lector?” You asked.

You closed the door.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

Hannibal handed you his jacket so you could hang it up next to yours by the door, and you led him through to the kitchen where you were before he knocked.

He watched as you carried on cooking your dinner.

“I didn’t know you were coming but you can still have some of you want.”

“No, I’m alright. But thank you. I’m actually here because you haven’t attended your sessions for the past three weeks.”

You nodded your head, setting the spoon down, and you sat on a bar stool.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting to cancel them. I know you have a policy about cancelling and whatever the fee is for not cancelling my parents can cover it.”

“That’s not why I’m here (Y/N), I’m not here about fees for cancelling.”

You seemed a little confused.

“I’m here because it isn’t like you to not turn up to your sessions, I am also aware that you haven’t been attending school recently.”

“How’d you know?”

“I called them.”

“Are you even legally allowed to do that? Can they even tell you that information?”

You were defensive.

You weren’t happy that he had called your school and you were looking for a reason to pin something on him, anything.

“I work rather closely with the FBI, I asked for favour as this behaviour is concerning.”

You nodded your head, going back to whatever your were making and you set it all aside before sitting down on the stool again.

Hannibal was stood on the other side of the counter, flicking through the recipe pages that you had left laying around.

“Can I cancel my sessions?”

Hannibal glanced up at you.

“You can, but I’d still very much like to check up on you at least once or twice a week.”

“Why? I won’t be your patient anymore.”

“Because I know you’re harming yourself, I would like to understand why. What makes you think you need to do that to yourself?”

You froze, and you tugged at your sleeves a little bit, pulling them even further.

“I’ve know for a while, I was hoping you would bring up the subject but you seem to have no interest in talking about what you’re going through.”

Hannibal walked to your cooker, and he took over making your dinner for you while you just sat there staring at the counter.

“What’s the point, it won’t change anything.”

“It can help, but people can’t help you if you won’t let them (Y/N), in order to be helped you must be willing to accept the hand that is offered to you.”

“I can’t be helped.”

You pushed yourself away from the counter you were sat at and left the kitchen, making your way into the lounge instead where you just sat down.

You turned on the TV, putting on some random show and you kicked your feet up on the table.

Hannibal followed you, setting your plate on the dining table, and he walked over, tapping your feet away from the table.

“You can be helped, nobody is beyond help.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not, now come eat and we can discuss whatever it is you’re going through.”

You didn’t bother to argue, you went to eat your dinner while Hannibal left you to eat in peace.

He came back and he set a few tubs down on the table in front of you.

“All of these are prescribed to patients who suffer from depression. How long have you been taking your medication for?” He asked.

“About a year or two, I don’t know.”

He hummed, nodding his head.

“How long have you not been taking them?”

You glanced up.

“You have been filling out your scripts, but you have a whole collection of unopened bottles.”

“About half a year I guess… I don’t know…”

“Do you plan on doing anything with those bottles?”

“No.”

“So I can take them away from you and only leave the one you’re supposed to have?”

You nodded your head.

You didn’t have any use for the old ones that you never took, you just kept filling in the scripts to keep everybody happy.

That wasn’t how you wanted to go out.

No.

You had thought about this night after night after night, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Are you here alone often?”

“My parents work a lot, they’re usually away most of the year.”

He nodded his head, taking your mostly empty plate away when you pushed it away from you.

You followed the therapist to your kitchen, climbing back up on the bar stool as you looked at him.

“Can I take a look at your arm, I would like to ensue that you don’t need any further medical attention.”

You moved your arm closer to yourself.

“Alright, that’s okay. You don’t need to show me, but I do need to know if you’re taking care to prevent infection.”

“Yeah, I know about all that stuff.”

“Good, now since you refuse to come to our sessions I will come here. A few times a week to ensure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

He did.

He kept coming by, he would talk to you, try encourage you to open up to him.

The one thing he noticed is how lonely the house seemed to be, the lack of family photos, the lack of friends around to the lack calls from your parents.

Hannibal arrived at your house like always, the first thing he noticed this time was that there was two other cars in the driveway.

Making his way up to the door he knocked, and a man answered.

“Hello, is (Y/N) home.”

“Who are you?” The man asked.

“My apologies, I’m doctor lector, their therapist. (Y/N) didn’t want to come to the office anymore so we’ve been continuing sessions here, I assume you are their father?”

“Yes, and I don’t know where they are. Look, I’m busy, go check their room or something I have meeting.”

Your dad left the door open and Hannibal walked in, making his way up the stairs to your room and he knocked on the door.

When you didn’t respond he knocked again.

“I’m opening the door.” He announced.

He pushed your door open and looked around to see that you weren’t there either.

Sighing, he made his way back to his car and tried to call your phone once more, but you never picked up.

He decided to head back to the office, deciding that he’d try and find you again tomorrow.

Hannibal didn’t know about your hideouts, where you liked to go or even have a slight idea on where you would go.

And that’s where he found you, sitting in the waiting room, and he walked over, crouching down in the front of you.

“I’ve been trying to find you.” He said gently.

You looked up, and you sniffled a little bit.

“Why do my own parents hate me…?” You asked.

Your voice cracked, and you leant back, tilting your head back to try and fight the tears that were burning your eyes.

“Let’s talk inside.”

He stood up, opening his door and you walked inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Hannibal sat in the chair in front of you, offering you a few tissues which you took.

“What makes you think your parents hate you?”

“They’ve been home for two days… haven’t even spoken to me… haven’t even looked at me… it’s like I don’t exist…”

He nodded his head.

“I.. I.. it’s like if I died they wouldn’t even care… you know? They wouldn’t even notice…”

That was enough to catch his attention.

“Do you think about dying?”

“Sometimes… I know nobody would really notice.. life would carry on…”

“That’s not true.”

You looked up at him.

“I would certainly notice, life would be very different without you in it.”

You scoffed a little bit.

“You have to say that, it’s your job.”

“If you recall you left my services, it’s not my job to say that.”

Hannibal smiled slightly at you.

“I say it because I mean it, I do worry for you, I would notice your absence if you were to die, which is why I have to ask if you plan on acting upon this urge you have.”

“Sometimes but I.. I just can’t… you know?”

He nodded his head.

“I will admit this is rather concerning, I do have to wonder if for your own safety I have you placed in psychiatric care for a few days.”

“No! Please don���t…”

Hannibal thought for a moment, wondering what to do.

“If that’s the case then perhaps we can think of something else, in order to ensure your safety and a plan to help you through these feelings and urges that you are having.”

You nodded, agreeing with this.

The first step was for you to tell him everything you had been avoiding telling anybody this whole time, then he would come up with a care plan for you to help with your recovery and show you that you were important to this world

#Hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal imagine #Hannibal lector #hannibal lector x reader #Hannibal lector x you #Hannibal lector imagine

[cinnbar-bun]

The Heartless Giant Pt. 3

Pairing: Crocodile x GN! Royal! Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~3.9k

Summary: You try to get the cigar for the giant, and uncover a few tidbits from the past that leave you with more questions than answers....

Notes: Smoking. Uhhhhh don't smoke if you don't want to I know I made it sound cool here but do recognize they're not that cool and also that you don't need to smoke. Reader is kinda convinced to try it once.

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Taglist: @gingernut1314 @fanaticsnail @leafyturtle @pookiesnatcher @lolom

Procuring a cigar would not be difficult to achieve. Procuring a cigar that your father would enjoy, however,  was a different matter. You had heard your brothers discussing the outrageous costs of them before- they were so expensive and special that other royal or noble families had presented them as gifts or tributes to your father. He rarely ever smoked, but on the few occasions he did, it was always with those expensive cigars. 

You knew where he kept them, in a small, cedar humidor in his study on the third shelf. That was the easy part but taking them from the box would be difficult. The humidor was locked with a tiny key, a fact you knew after your brothers attempted to steal from his stash when they were young teenagers. Considering your father was almost always in his study, it would be hard to sneak in and look for the key.

For a moment, you thought about just giving the man in the cell a cheap cigar to stave him off. Surely, he wouldn’t know better, would he?  

You sighed and shook your head at your own foolishness. The man was in the lowest cells and could kill you without flinching. Why were you going to test his patience by giving him an obvious fraud? You walked past the door to the study, contemplating what to do next when your father stepped out of the office with a raised brow. 

“Ah, (Y/n), good afternoon,” he smiled as his eyes met yours. 

“Father, good afternoon,” you smile back, before the gears in your mind start spinning as an idea forms in your head. “What are you doing?” 

“Oh, I was just thinking of taking a stroll around the gardens. Care to join me?” He asked politely. 

“Sorry, I have to decline today. I was going to read,” you fib to throw him off. “May I see one of your diplomacy books?” 

Your father shrugged and motioned toward the door. “Feel free to, the books are always for you to enjoy.” 

You grin and thank him, waving him off as he begins to descend to the gardens. You close the door to his study and breathe a sigh in relief. What good fortune you had to have gotten the study clear so easily. You wait a brief moment to make sure your father doesn’t come back before you grab the humidor from the shelf and then rummage through his desk. On top is a bunch of files and reports talking about budgets and possible forecasts- rain should be expected soon as well as a bountiful harvest- and his “lucky” pen he adores so much. 

In the drawers is nothing but mementos of you and your brothers. Stationary. More pens. Clips, stamps, ink, folders, and old papers. No key. 

You sigh and get frustrated as you open the last drawer, gasping as you see only a flintlock pistol inside. The pistol is shiny, obviously well-kept and maintained. You’ve been into this office many times, yet you never knew such a weapon would be kept here. 

It made sense, you tried to assure yourself, but the fact your father always had this pistol and maintained it made a shiver run down your spine. You closed the drawer without a second thought, not wanting to think of the implications of such a thing being in there. 

Still, no key. You frantically looked at the shelves for any sign or hint of a key. Nothing. You glanced at the humidor and angrily tried to pry it open with force. Barbaric? Perhaps. It was similar to something your brothers would do, but you knew you didn’t have much time to waste if you wanted to get the answers your mind was screaming for. 

Damn that man and his need for expensive cigars!

As you were continuing to scuffle with a box, the door to the study opened wide as your father stood at the door. 

You gasped and flung yourself back, accidentally bumping into an armored statue that he had near his desk. You knew you had been caught, your hands were all over the crime scene and the guilty look on your face did nothing to give you even a semblance of plausible deniability. You nervously raised your eyes from the ground to look at your father, but instead of an angry or accusatory expression, he seems quite amused. 

“My, my, I didn’t expect you would be so bold as to snoop through my office like that,” he said with a low chuckle. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, knowing your cover has been blown. He hadn’t been gone long at all, barely even a few minutes, yet the way he snorted seemed to confirm everything he needed to know. 

“You were that desperate to smoke?” He asked. 

“No…” you begin. 

“Ah. Were you attempting to get them for your brothers?” Your father questions. Your eyes widen when you realize you couldn’t deny it, since he’d get more suspicious of your intentions. 

“Maybe,” you lie. 

“I didn’t take you for someone who wanted to smoke,” he rubbed his chin. “Then again, I guess it would be silly for me to assume you would remain the same as when you were a young child. Although, lying to me to sneak in did hurt me a bit.” 

“How did you know?” You ask. Your father chuckles again. 

“You and your brothers have been acting suspicious all day. I figured something must have been going on. I also know that you have plenty of books on diplomacy, many of which I already own here. You would not gain anything new, so I wanted to see what you were really planning.” 

You sigh, forgetting that your father- although a noble and gentle man- could be so observant and calculating in his plans. “Well, you weren’t called the ‘Hero King’ for nothing, I suppose.” 

“Now, now, I may be your father, but even when I was a young lad, I too liked to indulge in some bad behavior,” your father says, walking over to his shelf. “If you would have looked a bit closer…” 

He pulls out a red book titled A Key to Diplomacy and hands it to you. The book is rather light despite its size. 

“I don’t really need this-” 

“Just open it,” he sagely nods. You’re confused by what he’s trying to do before you open the book and find the inside of it is hollow. In the hollowed book, there is a small key. You pull it out and your father nudges his heads towards the humidor. 

“I had it hidden in there since I doubted your brothers would ever try to open a book like that.” 

You laugh at the absurdity of this situation as you open the humidor. Your father leans over to grab two cigars and a cigar cutter. 

“Two?” You comment, while your father begins to light one up. 

“I figured since you were so curious, I could allow you the chance to try one. Lord knows I need one.” 

He brings the cigar to his mouth while he hands you the other one. You watch as he inhales the tobacco and exhales a large puff of smoke. The smell is strong, wafting and covering the room in a short amount of time. It’s a bit intimidating, but you continue to watch. 

“Do you really feel better after smoking one?” You ask curiously. 

“I think I do. Maybe it’s the fact I’m doing something else besides paperwork that eases me. Or maybe I put it in my head that it does. I can’t be certain, but I can assure you that a nice cigar does relax me when times are tough,” your father admits, tapping the cigar against the ashtray. 

You look down at the cigar in your hands as your thoughts drift to the man in the cellar. Is that why he was desperate for a cigar of all things? Does it really ease his mind? 

“You’re off thinking again,” your father comments. 

“What?” You ask, focusing back on your father. 

“You’ve had a dazed look on you since the morning. Are you troubled by something?” He asked with a gentle and sympathetic look in his eyes. 

“Oh… no, I just was thinking of… things,” you try to say. 

“Do you wish to speak of these ‘things’?” “No, father. I’m sorry. I’ll get over it soon,” you reply. After all, once you get the man’s name then… perhaps you can rid him in your mind. Your father shrugs casually and smiles. 

“I understand. Do know that I’ll always be there to help you, dear. You are my precious child, a gifted one that I am lucky to have,” his face softens. The compliment makes your cheek flush and your lips curve upwards. 

“Thank you, father. I appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, my child. Now, since we have a few moments to spare, why not catch up with me?” 

The talk with your father lasts for a while, with you two discussing random topics of interest. He muses on his rebellious youth, admitting he was a troublemaker. He says he once enjoyed fighting anything and everything, a habit he was lucky to have grown from. 

“It might seem strange to admit, even whilst I charge headfirst to battle, but the best weapons one can wield… it is your mind and your heart.” 

“Mind and heart?” You say, unconvinced. You do value your mind, but something about the way he said that makes you curious. 

“Yes. If I had no conviction or love for my people and kingdom, there would be no kingdom left standing. If I was simply a violent tyrant who enjoyed blood for the sake of blood, there would be no happiness or joy in here. That is what separates humans from beasts. I love with all my heart, proudly and without fear.” 

You let his words sink in and mull over them. 

The giant below… does he count? Is he worthy of love? Can he love? 

“Do you think everyone is worthy of love?” 

“Now that’s a good question,” your father hums, looking less like the wise king and more like a regular man with every second of this conversation. “Perhaps they do. Perhaps they don’t. As the king, I make tough choices every day. I would love to be able to forgive and pardon everyone. I would love to have no enemies, no strife, no war- I would love for my position to simply cease from existence as we explore what the world has to offer.” 

Your eyes widen as you hear your father’s admission. “You don’t wish to be king?” 

“It is a heavy burden, my dear child. It weighs down on you constantly. And deep down, no matter how much I dream of being the ideal king, the best ruler, the kindest and noblest man in the world…” he stands up, pushing his cigar into the ashtray as he has his back face you while he looks out the large window behind his desk. The shadow of his figure covers you, shielding you from the bright light of the evening sun. He reaches his hand out to caress the suit of armor. 

“But you are that king, father. You are that- to the people, to me-,” 

“You do not understand, my child… once in a while, I think back to those battles, to those wars I’ve fought. I’ve slain and nearly been slain countless times,” he sighs. “I think of the way I was near death, near exhaustion, bleeding, bruised, broken. Sometimes…” 

He glances back to you, with a somber smile and blank eyes that sends a chill down your spine. “I miss it.” 

You gasp as your father’s eyes return to the warmth it once had as he sits back down. 

“I am not the perfect man. That has always been true. But I can do good, and as such, I choose to do so, no matter how the monster within me screams. I am a father, a king, and a leader- I no longer work for myself. I work for my people. And that means I must be stricter with myself.” 

Your hands tremble as you grip the cigar and look down at your lap. You don’t know what to think of what your father just said, admitting to the fact that deep down, he enjoyed battles and killing. The gun in his desk, was it for protection, or was it possibly for his desire to return to the days of his old glory? You try to exhale. Your father wasn’t so careless and bloodthirsty. Even though he admitted this, he had also said he restrained himself for his duty. 

And yet… why did the thought of his true nature repeat over and over in your mind? 

“(Y/n), are you alright?” Your father asks sweetly. 

“Y-yes. I am. I asked a question and you answered,” you try and force a smile on your face. “I never knew you thought that way.” 

“It does run through my mind on rare occasions. But I do not let it stop me from doing my duty. I truly do love what I do and my life. That is why I fight for it.” 

You nod along, eager to take a break from here. “Thank you, father. I think I’ll be leaving, now. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” 

“Oh, dear, you’ve made my day better. I enjoy talking with you and listening to you. It makes me feel I’ve done right as a father,” he grins. You feel guilt inside your heart as you glance at the cigar in your hand, knowing you only talked to your father in order to give this to his sworn enemy. 

“Father, here,” you give the cigar back to him, not feeling worthy of the smile he has given you. After what he discussed with you, perhaps it was best to drop the subject entirely. Your father, however, pushes your hand back to you and shakes his head. 

“I’ve no need for all of these cigars. Please, keep it, whether you intend to light it or not. At least as a memento of my trust for you.” 

Your heart clenches in your chest as you nod feebly. 

“Thank you. I’m happy you trust me.” 

Your father chuckles and hands you a cigar cutter and lighter. “For whenever and whatever you decide to do. I will always support you.” 

You grip the items in your hand and thank your father again before leaving to your room. 

Guilt, guilt, guilt- it eats away at your heart while your mind screams for you to not continue with your plan. There is no point, no worth, no use to seeing that man. Oh, but your heart… but what if he is different than what once was assumed? What if he was simply in need of love? What if all he ever needed was just one more chance? 

Do it. No, don’t. We don’t need to be in more trouble. 

But can’t we? Why would we? 

Oh, damn you! Don’t you see this is difficult? 

The two sides of you disagree and argue, until you huff in frustration and grab the items. 

Forget it, we’re going. 

You sneak back into the dungeons, not even noticing the chills due to your anger at your torn feelings. 

You’re an idiot, (Y/n). What good is this? Father said he trusted us, and now look what we’re doing!

“You think too loud,” a voice cuts through your inner thoughts as you look up to come face to face with the giant. He’s smiling, eyeing the things in your hands. 

“What do you mean?” You ask in an accusing tone. 

“You look as if you’re in a fight, dear. Are you always this lost in thought, your highness?” He mocks you. 

“Oh, quiet you, you’ve put me in a rather big bind. You should be thankful I’m even giving them to you,” you frown, holding the singular cigar and cigar cutter to him. He waves his hook dismissively while his one hand expertly cuts the cigar. 

“Yes, yes, thank you very much. My… your father really must have an eye for quality. These are perhaps the best cigars out there,” he says as he examines the cigar. He curls two fingers in a repeating motion. “Lighter,” he commands. 

You fumble with the lighter in your pocket and shakily try to ignite it. The man rolls his eyes at your incompetence and guides your hand with his hook to the cigar. The flame slowly roasts the cigar as he takes a deep inhale of it. He immediately throws his shoulders back and lets out a pleasured sigh. 

“Ah… oh how I missed this,” he mumbles, his body relaxing. 

“Well, are you going to keep your end of the bargain?” You fold your arms. 

“Patience. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were desperate to get to know me,” he teases, the smell of tobacco invading your nose. You grimace at the scent while the man revels in your disgust. His hook reaches through the bars again and tilts your chin up. He gazes down at you with half-lidded eyes and a wide smirk. “You look so stressed, your highness. Why don’t you relax?” “I’m not worried about that right now. Besides, I’m fine,” you huff. 

“Nonsense. Here, let me help,” he twirls the cigar around to you and holds it in front of you. You glance between it and him while he hums. “What? Never smoked before?” “No,” you admit to him. 

“What a shame,” he bemoans, going back to take a puff of his cigar. “And here I thought we were bonding something special. Although, perhaps it’s good you haven’t taken up such bad habits.” 

“Really?” “Yes,” he eyes you. “I wouldn’t want you of all people to end up like me.” 

“True. Why do you like to smoke so much? You could’ve asked me for anything, yet you chose a cigar of all things.” 

“It’s a hard vice to let go of. I once was free to do as I could. Forcefully being unable to pick up one whenever I chose drove me a bit… mad,” he laughs humourlessly. “I find it clears my mind. You look as if you desperately need that.” 

He faces the cigar to you once more. You feel your previous conviction falter when he gives you that eager look and nods his head for you to try it. 

“I guess once could not hurt…” you begin as you grab the cigar and put it to your mouth. You inhale a large amount of the smoke before you feel your lungs screaming. You remove the cigar quickly and cough out puffs of smoke, wheezing while the man pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You really are too much, sometimes. You don’t breathe it in to your lungs,” he chastizes you, grabbing the cigar from you. “You breathe it in, hold it in your mouth, let the taste settle on you for a few seconds, then exhale. This is expensive stuff, not a cheap joint.” 

He shows you the motions and hands it back to you. You cough once more before trying it again, just the way he did it. You exhale some smoke, thankfully not choking, but not enjoying the taste. 

“I don’t get it. It tastes like crap.” 

“It’s an acquired taste. Maybe you should bring me another, and we could try again.” 

“Absolutely not, I’m not going to do all that again to try and smoke some lousy cigar. You still haven’t told me your name.” 

“Crocodile,” he casually states. “Hah, hah, how funny. Be serious,” you frown. He shrugs and continues to smoke. 

“Oh well. You don’t believe me.” 

“There’s no way you are named Crocodile. That’s a ridiculous name. Not to mention, that was once from the hero of-” 

“Alabasta?” 

“Yes! Alabasta! And that…” your eyes widen as you see his shoulders bounce due to his laughter. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am. It’s not my fault you don’t take my word.” 

“Then why is a hero in this jail?” 

“Reasons. Reasons you will not know or understand,” his voice evens out, looking down at the floor. 

“What, am I supposed to give you something, then you’ll tell me?” “I’m afraid my motivations can’t be bought, my dear,” Crocodile admits. “Entice me with something, though, and I may change my mind.” 

“I don’t think I have anything ‘enticing’ to offer.” 

“Oh, that’s where you are wrong…” he leans in closer to you and eyes you up and down. “Perhaps another time.” 

“What? What are you-” 

“Mmm, nothing. It’s just a thought came to mind.” 

You roll your eyes at his vague words. “Never mind, I can see how someone as cruel as you ended up here.” “And yet you keep coming down to talk to me, dear. Why don’t you give me your name as well, since it’s obvious you are interested in me.” 

“I am not. I am just repaying the favor from before,” you quickly correct him. 

“My mistake, yes, that’s what’s going on.” 

“I don’t like your attitude!” Your face flushes as you fan yourself. “It’s (Y/n).” 

“(Y/n)...” Crocodile repeats, like a prayer. “I will admit, it is definitely a beautiful name. Far better than Crocodile, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“You think so?” 

“Mhm. (Y/n), it sounds like royalty. It fits you well, your highness.” 

“Thank you,” you mumble, unsure of why your heart is elated he was complimenting your name. 

“Would you look at the time, your highness,” Crocodile states after a few quiet moments. “You should be getting back upstairs. I’m sure your father would be wondering where you are. He wouldn’t want to find you messing around down here, now would he?” 

“Right,” you shake your head, pushing aside all the strange feelings inside you. However, despite him saying you should go, you find yourself reluctant to move from your spot in front of him. Crocodile chuckles and this time, reaches to you with his right hand. He strokes your cheek with his thumb and looks down at you. 

“You don’t need an excuse to visit me, your highness.” “Who said I wanted to?” you lie. 

“Perhaps I’ve mistaken your feelings again,” he plays along. “Although, you could always keep me company. It’s very lonely down here.” “No. You have nothing else you wish to share with me,” you retort. 

“I did say if you entice me, I might change my mind. And what is more enticing to a prisoner trapped here for life than a companion?” 

You shouldn’t do this. But then you see those dark eyes and you feel tempted to try and learn. 

“I can see that…” “You’re very kind, (Y/n),” Crocodile says as he removes his hand from your face. “Now run along. But don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece oneshots #reader insert #x reader #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #crocodile one piece #crocodile #the heartless giant #heartless giant

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (10) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

midnight rain

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, manipulation of someone's feelings, hypothermia which I did my best to research, near death experiences, reader has familial issues, mental illness, self-hate, terms of endearment, backstory heavy, no use of y/n, unedited, the love triangle that was never really a love triangle

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“What do you think would have happened if this never happened to us, if it was just you and me, at home?" Conway’s voice pierced through the night air, you could hear every breath as you laid on his shoulder. Desperate for some type of body heat.

A question that you could answer truthfully, “Eventually we would have gotten married and you'd have taken over your family business, your sisters and I would have absolutely made the most out of everyone in the marketplace.” As much as it hurt you to think about, you doubted Finnick would have come back to you if none of this had occurred. He'd leave you alone to “protect you" as he claimed without an obvious reason and your love would have faded into an unfinished fairytale of what could have been in the back of your mind. You hated to think about it, but Conway was the person you would settle to be with if you couldn't have the love you wanted.

“You really think so?" His fingers were tracing something on your sleeve that you weren't focused enough on to try and decipher. “My family, everyone at school always thought so, but you could have anyone you wanted." No you couldn't, the person you'd wanted most in the world had pushed you away, the only person your soul ached for.

“You could've had anyone to Conway."

“No, I couldn't have." He shook his head with a bitter smile.

“Yeah, who was that one girl?" You scrunched your eyes shut trying to recall her name, “Meena!” Your eyes snapped open,"You dated Meena, she was sweet.”

"Only to try and make you jealous.” He muttered, softly. Finnick had always remarked how Meena looked like you, how Conway was unbelievably entranced by you, for reasons you'd never understand. You didn't know what to say back, it hadn't worked, you'd actually been ecstatic for him to have found someone. "I wouldn't have picked Meena.” He wanted you to say you wouldn't have picked Finnick, you could tell, but you couldn't say that.

"Then, it would've been you and me, and I would have driven you mad.” You averted, giving a breathless laugh.

There was a glimmer in his sad eyes and he gave a slight smile,"No you wouldn't have.”

You smiled and nodded, "Oh I would have, I'd want to do this and that, when all you wanted was to stay home. Then you'd want to go crawfishing and I'd grumble to stay in bed.” It would have been good enough, satisfying enough, but it would never be what you and Finnick could've had. You were both creatures of extraversion, you'd go where he went and make do, if he wanted to fish you'd go along to read or let him convince you to join, if you absolutely refused he'd eventually yield to you. If you'd decided to rot away in your head Conway would desperately want to help, but Finnick would, he'd take care of you, but also force you out of it. If Finnick was everything you needed, everything you wanted, everything you yearned for, Conway was perfect for everybody else.

“That would've been okay with me." Okay. Not like puzzle pieces fitting together, just two books sitting by one another. “Kids?" There was the other thing, Conway would be a great father and needed to be in a sense, but it scared you. How could you raise a child if they were constantly close to being thrown into the predicament you were in now? You would have loved to have kids if the government was different, if none of these chains were locking that up, and Finnick was the same. Children would be perfect in another world, another time.

Yet you humored him, “How many?" No kids would be in danger since both of you wouldn't be able to come out of this alive.

“Four?" Conway leaned tilted his head to the sky, “Two boys, two girls."

“Five, three girls, two boys, take it or leave it." If you tried hard enough you could somewhat convince yourself it was just the two of you, back home, living the life everyone expected you to live. To imagine you'd just settled. He was handsome, so handsome any girl would have adored him, he was sweet and hardworking. His family cared so deeply and was basically your own. The universe stretched itself thin for you and Finnick, if it stayed still it would've been you and Conway.

He laughed and looked back at you, “I'll take it, any day, I would have taken it." He had to know, if you got out you would run right back to him, but the fantasy was better than thinking about that, at least it was easier at some points to tell yourself Conway knew. “Would you take care of my family?" He whispered, face settling into some type of seriousness.

“Of course I would." Even if you'd never be able to look at them again after what you were doing which they surely knew about, you would pour as much money into their pockets as you could.

He looked away from you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears as he stared into the dark. Like he was ashamed to say what he was going to, “It's just, it's always been all of us. They begged me to come home and I don't know, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. And you-" Conway choked on whatever he was going to say, “I'm sorry, I don't want to be an ass, I'm just trying to be honest." He wiped his face of the tears that weren't even falling, but you could see it all on his face. It made you absolutely ill with yourself, he was right, his family was so tight-knit it would be a major hit to all of them if he was gone. Yet here you were playing with him like some sort of toy to get you to the top. He was spilling all of his heart to you, saying what was hard to say and you pulled strings. You buried your face in your freezing hands.

“It's okay." Your voice was muffled, eventually pulling away as you looked at him. “You're right, you don't have to say it. But even if they aren't like yours it doesn't mean they don't need me, I'm the one in the markets, Conway. Mom’s too sick to do it, Dad has to go out and work, and Avonlea has to take care of Mom. No one else is going to do it and they wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.”

It was unsaid that even if that happened it didn't mean you'd break the seemingly impenetrable walls of their bond, a trio you weren't meant for. Maybe it wasn't worth it, if you got out you'd help them, but wouldn't be part of their team, you wouldn't be able to look at Conway’s family without being eaten by guilt on the spot, your best friend would be dead and it would be your fault, all you'd really have is Finnick. But maybe that was enough for how desperately your soul longed for him.

“I'm sorry."

“It's not your fault." You didn't blame the Games either, as far as you were concerned you were the only one to blame. You didn't know when you'd begun to cry, but the way the biting cold hit your wet face made you shiver.

Then his arms were pulling you closer, “No, that was wrong of me, I didn't want to make you cry. Your family is just as important as mine." That only made you cry more. If you weren't so unpleasable you could have been content with him, happy even, that wouldn't have stopped this from happening, but maybe you would have felt less guilty or let yourself die with him, the way you would die for Finnick.

“You're too good to me, Conway. Much too good, you deserve a Meena." You were trying to wipe away your tears, but they were coming much too quick.

" I don't want a Meena.” Then his lips were on yours and for a second it was comforting, which only fueled your nausea. It didn't matter that you were young and confused because you knew he wasn't the one, that this had been what you wanted from him just so you could be with someone else. That beautiful, kind Conway was a means to an end and this was all supposed to end one way.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It was hot, sweat was clinging to your skin, and your head still stung. You almost couldn't bear to be too close to Finnick and his unnatural heat that was usually so comforting, but he was hovering around you so much that it was nearly impossible to get a few steps away as you all ran through the jungle. Cannons began booming off one by one as everyone finally decided to sit down. There was more guilt this time, most of these people you knew pretty well and had spent time with in some capacity over the years. Even if you hadn't killed any of them, you were still alive when they were gone, how was that fair? Nothing was, nothing had been for so long, never in your lifetime.

“I guess we're not holding hands anymore." Finnick laughed and it caught you so off guard that you couldn't help it when your scoff turned into a laugh as well. Hitting your forehead on his shoulder. The irony of it all, how you'd held hands in solidarity against the Capitol only to tear each other's throats out down here.

“You think that's funny?" Katniss asked, you understood why she was so appalled by his comment, you truly did, but his comments had always evened out your thoughts before they became all consuming. His humor brought light to the dark.

"Just a little bit.” You demonstrated with your fingers, even though it was definitely more than that.

“Everytime that cannon goes off it's music to my ears. I don't care about any of them.” He pointed at the sky, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good to hear." Katniss pulled some weapon out of her quiver to point his way. You couldn't help yourself when you tossed one of your knives up to catch it, as badly as you needed Katniss out of the arena you wouldn't let her attack Finnick. Even if he could defend himself, which he demonstrated perfectly well as he held his trident right back at her. At the end of the day you two were still the team, you could only get her out if she'd cooperate and it would be very unlikely if she went for Finnick that she'd trust anybody after that.

“Wanna face the Career pack alone? What would Haymitch say?" Finnick’s brow quirked, you briefly made eye contact with Peeta. He looked so uncomfortable, looking for an opportunity to decrease the tension.

“Haymitch isn't here." Katniss replied, not backing down. Peeta began to stand.

"Let's keep moving.” His voice broke the tension when Katniss stood as well, maintaining her own eye contact with Finnick, she looked so untrusting, so angry. Finnick grabbed your free hand as you stood. Then he was behind you, slightly grabbing the back of your head.

“We should have cleaned it, you could get an infection." Finnick frowned.

“I'll be fine, Finnick." You smiled, it wasn't like the plan was supposed to take longer than a couple days. You doubted you would die of an infection in that time. Planting a light kiss on his cheek before you tugged his hand to keep walking.

“Let's not tempt the fates." He muttered, silently insisting to be the one who pulled you along instead. Peeta was cutting down the vines as you all walked forwards, making way to see ahead. You glanced at Finnick, how could he still be so breathtaking when he was dripping with sweat? Maybe you were too lovesick for disgust at this point, but it amazed how despite all the grime the bronze of his skin still shone and you would have bet people would still line up for a minute of his time.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer." He flashed those pearly whites at you and you rolled your eyes despite feeling your cheeks get somehow hotter.

“You're a real comedian, Odair, I'll give you that. I mean I'm basically dying of laughter." You deadpanned, rather unsuccessfully, when you stumbled over some branch. Finnick's hand helped you maintain balance, but he was laughing at you just as quick.

“Angel, you don't need to fall for me, I'm already your husband. There's really no need to be so desperate." You playfully hit him.

“And you're just so helpful, I could have died.” You shrugged, over exaggerating as much as you probably could.

"That would have been a rather pathetic way to go, don't you think?” He teased, "And after all that talk about how you could take care of yourself.” Finnick tutted and you shoved his shoulder again.

Katniss' scream instantly tore you out of the moment," Peeta, no!” The machete hit some sort of forcefield ahead and he flew back, roughly hitting the jungle floor. She was immediately scrambling for him, grabbing his face. “Peeta?" Her voice shook and it hit you that maybe it wasn't an act like you and Finnick had theorized, maybe the bare bones of it all showed there was a pure, raw love there even if it didn't always seem that convincing to people who weren't Capitol citizens desperate to eat up any act. “He's not breathing. He's not breathing, he's not breathing! Peeta!” Katniss cried out and Finnick immediately ran to him, pushing Katniss away.

She'd pulled out her bow when you ran up, “Katniss he's just trying to help." You put your hands up as you slowly approached her, she looked panicked, confused and Finnick's lips were on Peeta’s. It looked like her brain was running so fast it hadn't even registered that it was CPR. Finally it looked like it had clicked and she put the bow down, running back over Peeta. You followed, cautiously placing your hand on her shoulders. “It's okay, he's gonna be okay.” You couldn't know that, but it was all you could think to say.

“Peeta, Peeta." She was begging, voice trembling and you saw yourself in her. You'd be the same way if anything happened to Finnick, her desperation proved to you that beyond all else she truly was in love with the boy from the arena.

“Come on Peeta." Finnick said gruffly, doing rough compressions on his seemingly limp body.

“Peeta, please wake up." Katniss was cradling his head and you squeezed her shoulder trying to be as reassuring as you could.

“He will, Katniss, he will." You nodded mostly to yourself. Her body was shaking from her tears.

"Please wake up.” Her body rocked back and forth as Finnick muttered continuous "come on’s,” continuing his attempt to revive Peeta. Suddenly he was gasping for air and Finnick sighed in relief. “Peeta! Oh my god!”

“Be careful, there's a forcefield up there.” Peeta said softly and Katniss laughed through the tears before kissing him. By now you doubted anyone could think their love was all a performance, it made you want to cry as well. Finnick's hand slid back into yours, squeezing it. Telling you that you were in fact on the same page, it amazed you how with looks and touches it was as if nearly every thought the two of you shared could be communicated.

“Oh my god, you were dead. You were dead, your heart stopped.” She stroked his hair, like she was terrified she'd never get too again.

“It's okay, it's working now." Katniss hugged him before they worked to get him standing up again. She was so soft, so caring, which you knew from the act with Rue the year before, but it was so moving to see in real life. All the things that really made her such a good symbol of the rebellion, not the hate for the Capitol, the love for other people.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

By day 3 it was pouring down freezing rain, buckets of it. Only a few more cannons had gone off and you couldn't reason how this would make the games more interesting, watching people die of pneumonia or something of the like. You'd figured out the boots were made to be pretty resistant to water and prevent as much sliding in the mud as possible, but it was basically up to your ankles in muck. Trudging along was a chore within itself, you couldn't even start a fire to keep warm, even if you'd strung up the tarp to keep it from the rain the wood around was all soaked. Every once in a while the four of you would string a tarp in the bare trees, one on the ground, huddle together for some sort of heat, lay the small plastic covers on you and pass the match between your hands as quickly as you could. Before they could burn out and you were terrified you'd run out, that all sense of heat would be gone.

You'd been so cold and exhausted that it took everything in you not to groan as the four of you picked berries. Grateful that Conway had paid enough attention at that station to know which one's were poisonous. Your hands were so numb it was nearly impossible to grab them, nevermind the fact that you were being soaked in the frozen droplets since it was Marlowe and Birch's turn with the plastic covers.

“Your lips are blue." You were startled when Conway was suddenly in front of you, staring at you with concern. You tried to move your hand to touch your lips but it refused to do what you wanted. Then you mumbled something so incoherent you couldn't even tell what you'd been trying to say. His hand pressed to your face, which you only knew from being able to see it. “She's like ice." He looked at the other two anxiously.

“Me too." Birch muttered and Marlowe shot him a glare before approaching you. Fingers touching your neck, searching for a pulse.

“We should set up the tarps, get her out of the rain.” Marlowe advised, looking at the two boys. "I think she's hypothermic.” Everything was a rush to you, it was so confusing. Why were you out in the woods? Conway was here, but who were these other people? It was hard to walk when Conway had led you into the makeshift shelter. “Her jacket is soaked through, hopefully her shirt isn't as much, we should take it off."

“That'll make her more cold." You were pretty sure that was Conway's voice.

“Water makes it worse anyways." The female voice rang out in your ears. Before some other ringing sound came through, this time you were sure you weren't delusional when everyone else's heads looked around. Conway instantly stood up to search for whatever it was.

When he came back it wasn't him you were seeing, there was Finnick. Gorgeous, sunshine Finnick. Your lips tried to move to say something to him but it was too difficult. By the time you felt them move an inch he was gone and it was Conway once again.

“This is huge." He remarked, bringing in some sort of package. Were you ok the boat? None of your surroundings made sense.

“Must have incredible sponsors." Another male voice rang out, who was that?

“It's a blanket!" Your jacket was being torn from your stiff muscles as something surrounded you. Was wrapped around you and your head was laid down. “You're gonna be okay."

"There's a broth too.” The female voice said again, you were seeing Finnick again standing over you, wait no it was your father. Hovering over you as if you were your mother. You just wanted to rest, this was all so overwhelming. Whoever it was was urging you to open your mouth to put a spoonful of something inside. Which was extremely difficult but eventually you managed to, the swallowing was even harder, but it did fill your insides with a pleasant warmth. Everything was such a rush you didn't know when you'd slipped into sleep.

You knew eventually you'd woken up, feeling somewhat warmer, more conscious. You knew people's names at the very least. Conway had his arms wrapped around the blanket, providing even more heat. Marlowe was laying by your side, trying to exude more heat even though she cold herself and Birch was by her side.

“You're lucky to have a mentor who could get you something like that and the sponsors to support it, most people die of hypothermia in under an hour, at least back home." Marlowe said when you'd looked at her. She wasn't bitter or angry about it, at least not at you.

“Yeah." Your voice was so hoarse you almost didn't recognize it. “Thank you for not leaving me for dead. I wouldn't have blamed you, the probability of me dying and dragging the group down waiting for me was pretty high.”

Marlowe just shook her head, "No us four until the end, we'll talk about it more then.” She looked back at the top of the tarp, listening to the rain drops. " When you're done being on the brink of death you'll share the blanket though, right? It's freezing out here.”

You let yourself smile a little,"Yeah of course.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

I literally cried writing this guys, I thought it wouldn't get it out but happy new year!!! I'm so grateful for all you reading and interacting with this story, I'm ecstatic that so many of you love my brain rot ideas. if you enjoyed feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are all super appreciated and my ask box is always open even if I'm super slow about it. love you and thank you so much again 💋

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[astroboots]

Can we just think about somno/cock warming with Steven for a quick sec? Like imagine getting sweet doe eyed Steven semi hard to sink down onto him just to sleep. Waking up to the poor man whimpering and begging for you. Lord take my soul now.

Summary: Steven is preoccupied by a research task for Marc that keeps him away from bed with you. You decide to keep him warm until he's done in the most distracting way possible.

Word Count: 2,850

Content: somnophilia, cockwarming, overstimulation.

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

It's dark in his flat, the only light is coming from the small desk lamp in the corner and the blue aquarium lighting from the fish tank that bathes everything in a shade of pale neon blue.

The rain is pitter-pattering against the large windows. There is a faint scraping sound of pages being turned every so often.

You're lying in bed, head propped up against your pillow, as you try to keep your eyes open and observe Steven where he's hunched over his desk that's filled with piles and piles of books that he's completely consumed by. He's drowning in the books. Face practically pressing up against the ink that you're convinced will leave smudges on his soft cheeks. His outdated librarian glasses are slipping down the arch of his nose.

"Steven," you murmur sleepily, asking him for the third (or is it the fourth time tonight?) to come join you in bed.

But you get the same reply you got last time. A gentle hum, followed by, "in just a minute, almost finished love."

You give it another minute, then two-- until a good half hour must have passed before you call out for him again.

"Steven."

The only response you get from his is a distracted hum. He doesn't look up.

"Come to bed," you try again, but it's a lost cause.

Ordinarily, you barely have to finish the second syllable of his name before Steven's head pops up like a meerkat, with his alert and undivided attention focused all on you.

In the rare times he didn't, you'd certainly get his attention by the time you finished the first repetition of his name.

Tonight though?

This is probably the fourth or fifth time for the evening you've asked for him.

You're… annoyed to say the least.

With a heavy sigh, you raise yourself into a sitting position in the bed.

"What is so important it can't wait until morning?"

It comes out just a tad sharper than you had meant it to.

That seems to finally snap Steven out of his trance.

He looks up from his book, turning in your direction as his eyes flicker over to you with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Like someone's just stirred him from a spell.

"Oh! Sorry sorry," he closes the book in front of him and holds it up to you.

"Marc needed me to decode the location of some ancient map, and it's a bit more complicated than we thought. It's a bit like a treasure hunt, quite fun actually. We're trying to retrace the steps of Hargrave Marks, he's an archaeologist from the 60s, who had this detailed journal of his treks. But I also have to cross-reference it with several history books cause the accounts aren't exactly contemporaneous or accurate even for the time it was written. Hargrave had a tendency to opt for good storytelling instead of accuracy and--"

His excited ramble pewters out as you cross your arms across your chest. It's rather hostile, you realise when you see him bite his lip in worry at the sight and follow up with a much quieter: "Sorry, love.. am I being too loud? Am I keeping you up?"

There's an apologetic smile on his lip, and normally that would be enough to make any traces of irritation thaw and melt into dew. You're soft for Steven that way.

But this time, his cluelessness at the source of your irritation only serves to make you more irritated.

"No, that's hardly the issue. I want you to come to bed with me."

You can admit that you're acting spoiled.

Because you are spoiled. Used to being spoiled rotten by Steven's profuse adoration. The way he constantly showers you with his affection and full attention at all times. It's probably why it feels like something that is rightfully yours (him) has now been unfairly ripped from you by someone else (Marc), and you're not happy about it, childish and unreasonable as it may be.

And poor Steven, he looks genuinely torn, eyes flittering between you and the book pages. Hesitation etched over the line between his brows, his eyes lingering at the reflection of the TV screen for a few conspicuous seconds too long (Marc).

Whatever Marc is saying to Steven, has him sheepishly ducking his head back down towards the books.

"It might take a while longer," he murmurs, eyes not meeting yours. "Maybe half an hour? Or an hour? If you're sleepy you shouldn't stay awake for me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

You lie back down on the mattress with a huff as you turn away from him. Trying to shut out the white noise of his pen scribbling away as the pages continue to turn.

Mad as you may be. It's cosy and warm underneath the sheets. And you had a long day at work. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. The odds were against you. You don't know how long you are out for, but you wake to the weight of the bed shifting.

Blinking your bleary eyes open, you see Steven with one knee clambering into bed, books strewn all across the mattress, and another half dozen huddled up in his arms, and a pen tucked behind each ear.

"I'm sorry, love. This was taking longer than I thought, and I hate being away from you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

God, this sweet adorable man. All at once, guilt washes over you for having been so harsh to him earlier.

Stretching out your arms, you wrap them around his back and curl one hand around the back of his neck as you pull him down to you, relishing the small "oof" sound he makes as he plops down on top of you with a soft thud against the mattress, books landing somewhere besides you both.

"You finished?" you ask.

He shakes his head, apologetically. "Not quite yet, sorry. But I thought I could maybe do the rest in bed? That way I can at least be close to you. If you don't mind? I'll try to be very quiet."

You hum, pressing your face into the warm crook of his neck. He's so soft and warm. Comforting and steady. You draw in your breath and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but he has that familiarly pleasant smell that reminds you of a bookshop. Notes of coffee and a freshly turned page. Drawing up your lips, you mouth a small path along the line of his neck, and relish the keen little sound that he makes. A quiet little whine as his hips hitch up and press up against your legs.

"Lo-love that's-- oh god that feels--wait, I still--" he's babbling, the way he always does when your lips are on him.

You nip at the soft skin with your teeth, not enough to hurt, just with enough strength that you know will have his toes tingling as he tries to curl them against the sheets for reprieve.

"Wait," he murmurs, even though he's the one who's bearing down his weight down against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against the softness of your stomach, separated only by the comforter. "I--I need," he licks his lips, trying to find his words. Eyes glazed in a way that tells you the blood in his head has travelled south, and his capacity for speech is quickly going with it.

You hum softly, one hand travelling between your torsos as he hisses sharply at the touch of your hand when it brushes up against his clothes then underneath, your knuckles dragging against the bare skin of his soft belly. "Hmm? Need what Steven?"

Reaching for his waistband, you slip your hand into his boxers. He's already half-hard, and still rising as if to meet your fingers as you wrap them around the girth of his cock, and he gasps brokenly with a half-strangled noise.

"Tell me what you need," you remind him.

His pupils are blown wide as he swallows, Adam's apple constricting against that graceful throat. He's trying to find his words again.

"I need to finish my reading. I promised Marc."

"So finish, I'm not going to stop you."

Steven's gaze darts downwards between your body, to where your hand is still wrapped around him under his sleeping pants, with a pointed look in an unspoken accusation that you are in fact: stopping him.

His cock twitches in your grip. You can feel the slick wetness of precum leaking down from the blunt tip, trickling down your knuckles even as Steven is trying very hard not to react.

You can't help the smile that spreads on your lips as you tilt your head up, until they're brushing against his sensitive ear, letting your breath fan against the shell of it as you speak.

"Don't let me distract you, keep going, keep reading. Finish your work." You're still holding him in one hand, as the other moves to the waistband clinging to his backside and drag it down.

You let your nails gently graze along his spine, round hips and thick thighs as you do, enjoying the way he shivers defenselessly under your touch.

"Uhm, love-- you're--"

It doesn't take much encouragement or strength on your part. You grab hold of his hips as you roll him onto his back, and he lets you. No resistance on his part, as you straddle his hips, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

"I'm what Steven?"

The tip of his tongue, pink and glistening darts out in a nervous habit against his lower lip.

"No-nothing, nothing..." he manages. Words slurred and clumsy in his mouth as his hands grip onto your thigh as if he never wants to let you go.

It's all you can do, not to laugh. Whatever promises he had made Marc, it seems to have flown out of the cuckoo's nest.

You really should let him finish his work for Marc though, it won't do to make Mr. Grouchy even grouchier. Problem is you're not quite ready to let go of Steven or to relinquish his attention that you've finally earned from him this evening.

Dragging your hand, you let it caress the soft cotton of his shirt from his chest to his stomach then further down as you grip his cock again.

"Don't worry, let's make a compromise" you say as you stroke his cock up and down the fully hardened length as it twitches and jumps in your grip.

Steven is already nodding forcefully before he's even heard what he's agreeing to. You grip his cock angling it between your thighs and you can hear the soft gasp erupting from his mouth as the tip catches against your slick entrance.

"Keep reading, and when you finish--" you tilt your hips, sliding down in a slow and steady pace. The pleasure is sweet and heady as it skitters through your spine.

Steven's fingers grip the flesh of your thighs, trying to drag you down deeper onto his cock. But you refuse to let yourself be rushed, taking your time to prolong the sweet stretch of the thickness of his cock splitting you open as you sink down on him inch by slow, gorgeous inch, until he's buried to the hilt of you.

His eyes are on you, wild and frenzied, like you're the only thing he can see, his whole world: sky, ocean, and every atom in between are composed of you.

Leaning down, you lie flush down on his firm torso, until your breast are pressed up against his chest, you tilt your head up just enough to press a much too chaste kiss on his lips.

"Keep reading" you tell him again and he whines.

"Love, I can't--"

"Finish the work" you interrupt. "You've promised Marc and I'm not going to move an inch until you finish."

His eyes widen impossibly large at your words, as he starts to realize what he's signed himself up for. Then his bottom lip pushes forward. He's actually sulking, and god, he has no right to make pouty look so gorgeous.

Without any words, his right arm reaches out along the mattress, patting it down until he finds one of the books and brings it to his chest. He lets out a slight testy murmur, in a grouchy tone that is much more characteristic of Marc than it ever would be for Steven.

Once the book is settled in his hand and he starts to read, you nestle your face into his chest. It's the best solution to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter when you hear Steven mumble discontentedly about how: he's never going to do Marc any more favours again.

He still smells of books and coffee, of warmth and happiness that makes you feel weightless against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he reads, hypnotic, like being rocked to sleep, and before you know it you drift to sleep.

You wake to pitch blackness. A sweet syrupy pleasure that flutters somewhere deep in you, but you can't tell where it comes from, and you can't grasp it in your hold. It skitters to your stomach and down to your thighs, warm and soft that makes you clench down to chase the sensation.

A keen gasp fills the room. Too low to be your own voice.

You blink your eyes against the darkness, mind still fussy and drunk with sleep, as you shift your body and are rewarded with that sweet-honeyed pleasure swirling through your stomach, except brighter this time, sharper, and you can't help but clench down again, hoping you can catch it this time and make it stay.

The sound comes again, a sweet gorgeous gasp, except this time, it breaks off in the middle with a quiet whimper.

"Love, please..." the voice pleads with you.

It's such a pretty voice, soft-spoken and gentle, but it sounds almost pained.

Steven...

You dart up, elbow anchored against his firm and solid chest as you look down on him, the small patch of drool on his white shirt, shit...

Trying to raise yourself further, the warm pleasure drags against your insides, and you can't help the moan slipping past your lips. Thick and heavy, his cock is still inside of you jerking from the movement in protest.

You fell asleep on him.

"I finished all my work now." He says it like an announcement.

You look down until your eyes meet. They're sharp. Mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then his hands grip down on the outside of your thighs, hard enough that you think he might leave permanent dents.

Patient, sweet, polite Steven is at the end of his ropes it seems. He pushes you down flush against him until you're pressed down as far as you can take him. It's white and electric, no longer the slow and lazied pleasure you've dreamt of in your half-awake state.

"Been having a nice restful nap, you have," he says, and you don't miss the sarcastic tone in his voice even as he groans, low in his throat, while he continues to reprimand you.

"Did you know that you've been shifting and squeezing down on my cock the whole time? No, I don't imagine you did, love."

The firm weight underneath you shifts, and you barely have a second to breathe and regain your composure before Steven raises his hips, thrusting up and into you as far as he goes.

"Felt like I was going mad."

He lifts you up, hands beneath the underside of your thighs, as he drags his cock alongside you, slowly. Maddening.

It feels like payback. The sweetest lesson you've ever earned.

"Said you weren't going to move until I've finished," Steven reminds you, as he holds you still. "But I've been done for quite a while, and you've been moving quite a lot before then actually. Writhing, hot and wet around me. I can actually feel it dripping out of you."

He pulls out of you until only the fat tip is resting inside you, his hips flush back down against the mattress. One hand draws down between your legs, his thumb sliding wetly against your folds, infuriatingly slow, until he's reached your clit but doesn't press down. He holds it there, without any pressure as if he's waiting for something.

"You ready love?" he asks, holding you poised against him, his hips canting up in preparation

Steven searches for your eyes, and the look in his eyes, focused and honed, has your heart beat fast and excitedly with no logical rhythm against your ribs.

"Yes, Steven."

It's all he needs, he thrusts up as his hands pull you down on him in a devastating stroke that incinerates the air in your lungs.

You're in for a long night, and whatever shortlived sleep you managed to catch earlier won't be enough for what Steven has in mind for you two. Not when you've gotten him riled up like this.

But that's alright.

You look down at Steven, eyes glassy with a feverish sheen. All of his attention pinned on you.

It's not so bad is it? To get to have all of Steven's devoted attention for yourself like this.

Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who was indispensable as always, for the brainstorming, the coming up with the hottest Steven dialogue (jesus fucking christ her lines are fucking fire) and for the beta-ing and putting up with my atrocious run-on sentence, tenuous grasp of grammar and wilful typos. I love you.

Also to the secret nonny. You don't know what your ask did to me (and TWP) we went into a horny frenzy and I couldn't sleep haunted by the horny images that were flashing behind my eyes because of your ask. I adore you! thank you for sending this in.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #💌 asks

[blues824]

Imagine a pregnant mc getting kidnapped by sebek because she is his darling and the child can be mallius his next guard

Imagine if she died and he blamed the child making lilia raise it but later seeing I looked like his darlingHe would fose her to talk like darling dress like her her old name that's gone it's his daughter He whoud not see her in a romantic way he just missed his darling and makes his daughter pay for the death of her mother in that way.

or he goes to get the milk and leaves her with lilia you do you magic bestie you are the yandere sebek expert,

Warning: This is a yandere story. Sebek went to go get the milk. Also, Fem!Reader who is pregnant and dies after giving birth.

Sebek Zigvolt

“Grandpa Lilia, could you tell me the story again?” A little girl with her father’s hair color and her mother’s eyes was being tucked into bed by her grandfather… or a man she saw as her grandfather.

“The one about the knight and his love?” Lilia sat straight, a smile on his face at the small girl’s excitement.

“Yeah!”

“Alright,” He sighed, “Once upon a time…”

~~~~~~~~

No fairytale could describe your life with Sebek. It all felt like an enemies-to-lovers story, but the ‘enemies’ part was really one-sided. Even though he was often kept busy, he would always make sure that you felt cherished and loved, even if he didn’t want to admit that he loved you, a human, half of the time.

You were taken away from him too soon.

Everything was going wonderfully. His grandfather even accepted you as a new member of the Zigvolt family. Your wedding wasn’t anything too grand, as you wanted it to be smaller and more sentimental. It was a special moment between you two and your loved ones, and in your new shared home, some wedding photos hung on the wall.

The first meal you cooked in your house was salmon carpaccio. Dancing in the kitchen with one another was a rare moment of intimacy that you had to yourselves. There was no music, and while you were seasoning the salmon, he reached around you and you both started swaying back and forth. 

Because of his job as a knight, you often found yourself lonely at home. Sure, you got visitors from the village, but the house was quiet. So, one night, over dinner, you brought up having a child. He was definitely surprised, but he was alright with it. After all, there was a possibility that they could grow up and become a knight and serve the Draconia family.

The world was quiet without you… because you were the world to him.

Once you received the news that you were with child, you were super excited. You even set up a surprise for your husband so that you could reveal it to him. He was delighted to hear about it, but that’s when his mental state started deteriorating. You suddenly were prohibited from going outside, doing anything that he deemed ‘strenuous’, and you were put on bedrest. 

It wasn’t fair, you thought, as you weren’t even in your 8th week of pregnancy yet. Fortunately, you had books. When you were not allowed to traverse the world yourself, you could dive into a multitude of fictional worlds. As an apology gift to you, Sebek would often return with a new book for you to read, as you had read all the ones in the house already. This did not work, obviously, as you were still angry.

Eventually, in the beginning of your third trimester, you both got into a fight. He had caught you out of bed as you were absolutely done with being stuck in one place. You were actually painting the lower sections of the wall of the nursery. You were not able to get up quickly enough when you heard the front door open and close, so you just kept painting. You were going to stand your ground this time.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He shouted at you. Way to start off a conversation with the love of your life.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Or maybe you should go to bed and stay until your eyesight gets better.”

“Get back into bed, darling. You know that vigorous activities could affect the baby-”

“Vigorous?! For the Seven’s sake, tell me what is so vigorous about painting a wall!!! I am not on a ladder, I am merely moving my arm back and forth with the paintbrush!” You exclaimed, finally at your wit’s end.

He went silent, and his face darkened. You were worried that you had hurt his feelings when he stepped forward and scooped you up into a bridal carry. You tried to struggle, and you could feel your little one start to get stressed out because she could sense something wrong with her parents. You groaned as she started to kick, but Sebek didn’t stop walking to your bedroom.

“I am not going to argue with you, as stress is bad for your and her health. You, however, will stay here until you are ready to give birth. I cannot lose you or her, and it will not be because of you or your disobedience,” He stated as he set you back down in your bed. When he left the room, he locked the door behind him… you were now a prisoner.

~~~~~~~~~

“Is this where it gets sad?”

“Yes, dear child. It’s also the part where I leave because it’s time for you to go to bed. Uncle Silver will take you to school tomorrow.”

“Ok…” The little girl groaned, not wanting to go to sleep just yet. However, she allowed Lilia to walk out of the room before she looked at the portrait of her parents that resided on the wall. It was a picture from their wedding. She could almost hear their voices.

“You are so beautiful, my love,” Her mother would whisper as she brushed her hair.

“I am proud of you,” Her father would tell her as she progressed in her training as a knight under Lilia’s tutelage. 

However, she has never heard the voice of her mother, and she has never held a proper conversation with her father.

She continued to hold onto the hope, however, that she could meet her father properly, as she knew that she would never meet her mother…

Her mother was dead, after all.

~~~~~~~~

“Sebek,” A sense of urgency accompanied your voice as you felt a wet spot on the sheets beneath you. You knew that it wasn’t your baby pressing against your bladder… She was on her way.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He sat up, blinking the sleep away from his eyes. Looking you over, he saw that you had a panicked look on your face as you were clutching your stomach, and he quickly pieced two-and-two together.

Quickly rushing out of bed, he picked you up into his arms and placed you in the car, heading to the Briar Valley hospital. He was definitely speeding while allowing you to crush his hand in your grip as the contractions hit you like a truck. Even though the baby was only a quarter fae, she was still very large and you were lucky you had Sebek’s mom to help you prepare.

Unfortunately for your husband, he was not allowed in the hospital room because he was not able to calm down. He was panicking, and his older brother and father both had to restrain him as his mother went in his stead. Hearing your screams of pain made his heart tear itself apart. He actually elbowed his brother in the nose, making blood trickle down.

Baul Zigvolt took over the restraining, trying to talk him down and smack some sense into him, and he settled down a bit. Your screams also settled down, along with the cry of a baby. A doctor walked out of the room, and he walked up to Sebek.

“Mrs. Zigvolt is asleep right now, but you may come see the baby. You are the baby’s father, right?” The doctor asked the knight.

“Yes, I am. Is my wife going to be okay?” He asked, worry evident on his face as the woman held open the door for him.

“Her blood pressure is higher than we would like it to be, so I can’t say that she’s out of the woods yet. However, she is responding to treatment.” 

And that’s when he saw her: a little infant, the perfect mix of both you and him, wrapped in a pink blanket, crying. The sound made him tear up as the nurse carefully handed her to him. Making sure to support her head with his arm, the baby calmed down and stopped crying, instead falling asleep.

Everything was wonderful… until it wasn’t.

The monitor that was watching over your vitals started going haywire. Sebek was rushed back out of the room as doctors rushed in, but instead of behaving like a husband should when his wife is deteriorating quickly, he just gently rocked his baby to calm her down after being disturbed with all the commotion.

Grandma and Grandpa Zigvolt, as well as Great-Grandpa, were each worried about the man. Gently taking the infant from his arms in the case that he just went into shock, they watched as he walked away, exiting the hospital. Baul tried to stop him, but he just kept walking.

When the doctor came to collect a name for the birth certificate, the family had named her ‘Aurora’, a name you had told them that you were considering. It had been a while since they last saw him in-person.

~~~~~~~~

Little Aurora grew to be a rather determined and passionate young girl. Top of her class, training whenever she could, and reading extensively, she was definitely a young prodigy in the making. However, she was rather quiet, despite the loudness of the Zigvolt residence. 

Every day, people stop her and say that she looks so much like you, or that she had the personality (but not the volume) of her father. She hoped that she was making you proud in the stars, and she hoped that her achievements made their way to her father in the form of the letters she often sent.

No one wanted to tell her about the time he did reach out, only to say that he wanted nothing to do with her as she was the reason that you were dead. Yeah, they agreed to not contact one another ever again. What was really concerning was when he quit his job. King Malleus had even stopped by to ask about him, and that was the first time he met Aurora.

Lilia grew to adore the girl, as did Silver. She often, when the ‘feelings’ got to be too much at home, sought refuge in the Vanrouge cottage. Lilia, or Grandpa Lilia, as she called him, took her under his batwing and would often help her train. However, Silver, or Uncle Silver, would take over the cooking, because there did not need to be another generation with a bad relationship to food.

There, she felt like she got to learn more about her parents and how they met and the hot mess her dad was when he wanted to ask her mom out. The story always made Aurora giggle, as she often heard the story of a knight of great promise courting a lovely maiden. It was nice to hear about her father’s more human side.

To hear his struggles rather than his accomplishments. To hear her mother’s failures rather than her successes. It was what drove her forward.

~~~~~~~~

The one time where she had met her father, it was when she was a toddler. Great-Grandpa Baul took her to your grave, placing a single rose upon the cold stone. As much as the older man despised humans, you changed his mind, and you were the one human he actually accepted into the Zigvolt family tree. It was a travesty for the entire family when you passed on.

However, he did not blame his great-granddaughter. She had no control over anything. Instead, he blamed whatever cruel god was looking down at them from the heavens, as now the little girl would have to grow up without knowing the gentle caress of a mother.

Anyway, he was surprised to see his youngest grandson at the grave as well. He picked Aurora up into his arms, as he did not know Sebek’s next course of action.

“Hello, grandfather,” The young man’s tone was cold.

“Hello, grandson,” As much as Baul hated to admit it, he was glad to see that his grandson’s trance had been broken as he looked back at him. Then, his eyes fell to the little girl now shyly hiding her face in the crook of his grandfather’s neck. A look of grief fell upon his face.

A moment of silence passed between all three people present, until Sebek stood up and spoke.

“I do not blame her anymore, but I am unable to take care of her. Please see to it that she has the best chance you can provide for her. Her mother would have wanted that, even if we were unable to provide it ourselves,” He said as he passed the two.

“You have my vow as a former knight and as your grandfather. However, I will inquire about one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Do you love her?” Baul knew that this was a bit of a stretch, but he needed to know.

…

“Yes... As much as I loved Y/N.”

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst sebek zigvolt #sebek #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst

[scoobydoodean]

Made a similar post before but... I think people in their minds actually revise 2.03 Bloodlust to be this episode where Sam is on this "Monsters can be good" train before he ever gets kidnapped by Lenore and he then is burdened with the task of convincing poor stupid idiot Dean who isn't as open-minded and rational as he is to think for just one second and then at the end of the episode, pats him on the head and tells him not to feel guilty about it when he finally becomes enlightened like Sam has always been but that is not how that episode goes.

Sam's immediate reaction to the alleged existence of good vampires is not any different from Dean's. He immediately rejects the idea that the vampires aren't hurting anyone, and throughout his entire conversation with Lenore, refuses to believe her until she goes, "Fine. I'll let you go to prove it to you" which rocks his whole ass world.

Face of man having his whole worldview toppled sideways and having to figure out how to adapt:

So yeah after this Sam and Dean get into a 2 minute fight about it which turns into a completely different conversation because Sam decides for the third time in three episodes to try and pretend he's Dean's therapist then (badly) psychoanalyze him about how Gordon is a substitute for their dad and it (shocker) doesn't go well. But then Gordon steals the car and the moment Sam and Dean walk into the room where Gordon is torturing Lenore, Dean's feelings about the entire thing happening in front of him are "This is bad. This is very bad."

The SECOND he enters the room Dean picks a side, and it isn't Gordon's.

Just like Lenore "proved" her goodness to Sam by letting him go, she "proves" her goodness to Dean by resisting the temptation to consume Sam's blood... but Dean started defending Lenore and trying to get Gordon to back off the moment he entered the room.

Dean is also much more thoughtful about where this leaves him and Sam in terms of their past hunts while Sam doesn't consider the past at all?

Istg people rewrite this scene in their minds to be Sam approaching the whole thing from the perspective of someone who was already "enlightened"... but he wasn't. He was equally shocked by the revelation of good vampires possibly existing in this episode. He just doesn't bother to also consider the implications as far as any previous case they've ever been on. He doesn't feel any guilt about it he just lets it go with a shrug and Dean doesn't.

Add to this that in 1.12, Sam was the one with the hardline stance that they couldn't kill humans—ones who would get away with their crimes because they committed them by supernatural means—and that doing so would make them "just as bad" as the things they hunt. The only difference between a human using a reaper to murder people for clout, and a monster murdering people, is the physical characteristics of the monster versus the human. Dean sees a human using a reaper to murder people for clout and says, "they're a monster in my book". He argues they should take care of it because of the human's actions—otherwise there will be no repercussions for the human involved, while Sam draws a hard line that they can't kill a human simply because they're human and for no other reason. This is also crunchy in terms of how it might relate to Sam's eventual feelings about his inner nature making him evil, versus Dean's actions-based analysis.

Sam has a lot of compassion for Max in 1.14, but it's gone by 2.05 when his reaction to Andy is to immediately assume he's a murderer while Dean rightfully thinks there's something else possibly going on... and that's two episodes after 2.03 Bloodlust.

#2.03 #1.14 #2.05 #1.12 #sams moral compass #deans moral compass

[lunarianbeams]

Extensive protest gear/safety advice from a twitter thread. Additional images from thread will be in a reblog. Images described in read-more and in alt text.

link to full thread (link one)

link to free protest medical book "Riot Medicine" (link two) by Håkan Geijer (link three)

image id: Twitter thread from Gwen Snyder is uncivil @/ gwensnyderPHL

image one: Seeing people share that swim goggles are great against tear gas, which is something I used to believe and advise. Then I learned that blunt force to swim goggles can pop your eyes [out] of their sockets, so please don't wear swim goggles in situations where cops may assault you

image two: First tweet in image states "Plastic lab goggles are the way to go, ideally with ballistics protection so they don't shatter if you take a rubber bullet to the face. Contacts trap tear gas, and according to my ophthalmologist, polycarbonate glasses are your safest bet during protests." Second tweet in image states "A lot of plastic lab goggles are vented to prevent condensation, but you can use clear packing tape to seal them up. Conveniently, you can also leave the tape dangling a bit and then seal it back up when things get heated so condensation is less of a bother."

image three: first tweet in image states "Don't wear hanging jewelry or loose clothes, or anything fash/cops can hang grab and on to. It's best practice to cover your face (N95 it up to protect yourself/others), avoid wearing 'unique' or custom attire, and conceal tattoos. Wear your shoes that you can run in." second tweet in image states "You don't need a special solution to clean tear gas out of people's eyes. Water or saline in a cheap peri bottle is a godsend. Be careful not to touch the peri bottle to anyone's eyes directly if you're treating multiples, you don't want to be spreading infection inadvertently."

image four: first tweet in image states "Wet wipes are your friend. Clean any tear gas-exposed skin thoroughly and ASAP. I couldn't chop jalapenõs for at least a month after the 2020 gassings, my skin would burn just being around the oil in the air." second tweet in image states "Remove any tear gas-contaminated clothing ASAP. Keep it in a sealed plastic bag (ideally outside) until you can wash it (ideally multiple times). This is especially true if you have asthma or if you have pets - your clothes can give off chemicals that pets are very sensitive to."

image five: first tweet in image states "If you're thinking about a gas mask, do your research. The good ones are expensive, and there are a bunch of airsoft 'gas masks' that are just costume wear. Respirators and goggles together make a more affordable alternative." second tweet in image states "It's possible to reduce tear gas spread by covering a canister with a traffic cone, but the canisters are very hot and can explode, so be careful. DO NOT pick them up to toss them from the crowd unless you are wearing heat-protective gloves. They can burn you."

image six: first tweet in image states "Police will often fire smoke canisters along with tear gas to reduce visibility and increase confusion. There's not much you can do about that, but be aware." second tweet in image states "Tear gas is usually deployed not by a spraying mechanism, but by firing canisters into a crowd. These are heavy, metal projectiles. you do not want to take one to the head, and you should keep your eyes open and be ready to assist in case others do." third tweet states "Tear gas is an abortifacient. Not much you can do about that, but if you're pregnant or TTC [trying to carry] you should be very aware of that reality so you can make informed decisions on the ground."

image seven: first tweet in image states "'Rubber' bullets (also called baton rounds) are regular bullets covered in plastic. They are SUPPOSED to be fired at the ground so they hit people on a lower-impact rebound. In practice, cops will fire them directly at you. They are no joke." second tweet in image states "'Rubber' bullets can blind or maim you, especially when shot directly. Don't minimize the risk. If you take a body hit, ice packs help. When my partner got shot, we iced one site and not the other and the difference was MASSIVE. Consider carrying instant ice packs"

image eight: first tweet in image states "Know your local legal collective scene. If there's an arrest hotline, get that number on your arm in Sharpie. There's no guarantee you'll get a call, but if you do, use it to call them. Have quarters on your person for jail pay phones." second tweet in image states "Assume someone in your group chat is going to forget to lock their phone, and that cops will see what you've said in there. Be super-mindful about potentially incriminating speech." third tweet says "If you're white, mass arrests are really not the time to give police an earful. They'll often try and get their revenge by taking out their anger on the most vulnerable people in custody, especially nonwhite folks."

image nine: first tweet in image states "In my area, we generally recommend having an ID on you if you think you might get arrested (if you're engaging in jail-packing tactics, disregard). It's a personal choice, but it speeds up processing, which means you're less likely to get sent to county for the weekend." second tweet in image states "Don't thank cops at protests. Don't give them hugs and take cute photos with them. They aren't our friends, they use photos of that stuff for feel-good propaganda to counter accountability measures, and it makes the people they target feel like you don't have their back"

image ten: first tweet in image states "Prioritize your ability to run when it comes to footwear, but if you have steel toe shoes/boots that fit that need, that's a plus. Toes are vulnerable to police car trampling, and 'accidental' sideswiping by drivers who hate you and your cause." second tweet in image states "Photos are a complicated subject. Livestreaming is almost always a bad idea, since cops can use those streams to surveil, and since you may accidentally broadcast information that can be sued to identify or prosecute other protesters." third tweet says "Be very careful with night videography / photography at protests. I'm not going to say never do it, but be VERY mindful that folks tend to take more militant action at night and you don't want to accidentally incriminate anyone."

end id /

#protests #roe v wade #healthcare #activism #know your rights #protest tips #blm #reproductive rights #abortion #pro choice #resources #image described #image desc in alt text #resist #if anyone has suggestions/edits for image id lemme know!

[yuurei20]

Hello! It is common knowledge that Night Raven College is an all-boy schools, but what about Royal Sword Academy or Noble Bell College? Is there any confirmations about whether those two schools are also all-boy? Thank you in advance for your answer 💖

Oo, this is interesting!

There does not seem to be any specific line that says, "RSA/NBC is an all-boys school" like we repeatedly get for NRC, but from what I was able to find most people have decided that RSA is probably boys-only based on the students we have seen thus far and from this comment by Leona in Book 3:

He uses the words 優男 and おぼっちゃま, which describe men, and this was even carried over onto EN with the word "lordlings," with no mention of anyone but boys being at RSA anywhere in the game.

But (like many things in Twst) it has not technically been confirmed either way (as of this post).

NBC is even vaguer, with nothing said aloud and the unnamed students all being male being the only thing we have to base assumptions on.

If you prefer to go in the direction of RSA being co-ed for fanfic purposes, you could reference the fact that our strongest argument against it comes from Leona:

With Leona's "I respect ladies" line combined with Ruggie's line of Leona always being "extra nice to girls," an argument could be made that he was only insulting the men at the school and chose not to comment on its female students.

A conversation arose in this twstsoku thread about how odd it is that the two top schools in the world would be male-only, with someone suggesting that maybe the word being used to describe them is meant to reference men, while maybe all-girls and co-ed schools are called something else. This would make RSA and NRC the top boys schools, possibly outranked by others.

And this is certainly a possibility!

Epel calls his grandmother and great-grandmother "witches," for example, rather than mages, but according to Lilia this is an archaic form of expression, with witches and wizards now being referred to as "mages" across the board. (EN seems to use "mages" and "magicians" interchangeably, but in the original game the word 魔法士 is consistent.)

Since these schools have been around for a while, maybe it's not impossible that some are still using the traditional naming convention, with all-girls schools being for witches and co-ed schools being a thus far unconfirmed third option?

The specifics of schools like NBC and RSA seem to be one of many things that Twst is intentionally leaving open-ended so that users are free to enjoy the various possibilities depending on their own preferences :> We may never get a confirmation either way, but maybe we will!

#twstask #twisted wonderland #RSA

[em-dash-press]

The Biggest Differences Between Points of View

Sometimes stories flow from our minds. They jump onto paper when we channel our creativity, announcing themselves without plans or outlines. Other times, we have to make specific choices before putting pen to paper. Picking between the different points of view is one of them.

These are the biggest differences you should know about to choose the best POV for your next manuscript.

First-Person Point of View

First-person point of view happens when a protagonist tells the story from their perspective. It focuses on their experiences and understanding of things, while leaving out the direct input of other characters.

First-person POV uses “I” or “we”

It lets the reader in on the protagonist’s thoughts and feelings

It sticks with the protagonist’s understanding, opening the possibility for an unreliable narrator or plot twists as your protagonist learns new information later.

Second-Person Point of View

Second-person point of view happens when the author addresses the reader through their narrator. It brings the reader directly into the story and occurs less frequently in fiction manuscripts because readers generally want to experience stories, not feel involved.

Second-person POV uses “you” to address the reader.

It talks to the reader directly, like: “You sat in the room and listened to your brother talk.”

It doesn’t appear in fiction very often because readers don’t want to be actively involved in fiction novels. They also haven’t experienced the story.

You may only use this POV if you write fanfiction that purposefully involves the reader.

Third-Person Point of View

Third-person point of view happens when the narrator isn’t involved in the story. It includes pronouns like “he,” “she,” and “they” to describe characters. Writers use this to provide objective narration or an outside perspective so readers never fully understand what goes on in a character’s mind until the character or plot reveals it.

This POV also has three types:

Third-person omniscient: The narrator knows each character’s thoughts and feelings. People often relate this to the narrator being a god figure because they’re all-knowing.

Third-person objective: The narrator uses third-person pronouns, but doesn’t access the characters’ thoughts and feelings. The reader gets an objective view of the plot while the characters' outward words and actions further the emotional undertones.

Third-person limited omniscient: The narrator knows each character’s thoughts and feelings, but spends most of the time with the protagonist. The author has more choice over which character’s inner workings get revealed and at what time.

Point of View FAQs

What does point of view mean?

Point of view describes how a writer tells their story. All three offer different strengths and weaknesses, depending on the story you want to write.

What is an example of writing from an unusual point of view?

Writing from the second-person point of view would be most unusual in a traditional fiction story setting. Readers don’t pick up books to get themselves personally involved in the plot. It works better in fanfiction settings.

How do you pick a point of view?

You can pick a point of view for your story by going with your gut or reviewing the purpose of your plot. Sometimes stories have obvious perspectives, so we know how it’s going to translate on paper.

Other times, writers have to consider what they’re about to write. A manuscript that needs an unreliable narrator to deliver key plot twists might go with first-person POV or third-person limited-omniscient POV.

If you’re writing a story that jumps perspectives between more than one character, third-person POV could provide the omniscient tools you need to convey each different mindset clearly. You could also use a limited-omniscient point of view to jump mindsets while staying just within each narrator’s mind. The other characters around them would have minds that are off-limits to the narrator.

You don’t need to pick one point of view and never stray from it. If it feels wrong while you’re writing, edit what you’ve already written to morph it into another POV. Writers do this all the time. It’s one of the creative freedoms you have in your writing practice.

-----

Try not to stress too much about memorizing the different types of point-of-view or picking one for your next manuscript. You can always switch POVs by reworking your draft if you need to. They’re all great options. It just depends on what you’re writing, the plot elements that are most essential to your story, and what experience you want to create for the reader.

#point of view #writing point of view #pov #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing #writing community #writing help #writing resources

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, noncon to dubcon and back again lol, choking, fingering ( r!receiving ), all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day twenty-three [ shogo makishima + choking ]

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” his voice is low, and unnervingly soft, but damned if it isn’t effective. when he croons to you, his baritone like a siren song, you’re certain to do whatever he wishes. “You’re being very rude.” like now, when your hues flicker upwards. you wished you could find a spot on his forehead, or right between his eyes, to focus on so you wouldn’t be locked into those deadly, golden gems. it’s a hopeless feat, however, because you’re drawn to them, almost if his eyes are magnetized.

and he’s smug once you’re locked in, the heat of his breath on your bottom lip as his couplet hovers just an inch or so from yours, parted etched into a victorious grin. “There she is, the soft and obedient little lamb that I expected you to be.”

and his first two fingers push deeper into you, your thighs clamping around his wrist when they curl, as if beckoning the sensation out of you. you whimper, biting on your lip to repress the sound, loathing how completely unlike you it sounds. so weak. so needy. but his fingers fit so deliciously inside of you. your hips are shameless as they jut forwards, pushing your lower half off the wall to grind against his pumping digits.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, “How snug my fingers are in that cunt? You feel so euphoric, I can tell by the twinkle in your eyes, and you can’t possibly imagine how this feeling could get better.”

you hated that he was right, but his wrist flicked, as graceful as a cat, and his fingers massage your interior nerves until you’re all but melting butter in his palm. you didn’t have to answer, he can read you like an open book.

“But, I can give that to you.” he murmurs, his soft, addictive couplet ghosting over yours. it takes everything in your power not to angle your face upwards and capture the tiers in a fierce kiss that you know wouldn’t satiate your hunger for him. “I can show you a nirvana your minimal daydreams have never even breached.”

because your want for Shogo was not an ember that could be snuffed out— your desire for him was a raging wildfire that left naught but chaos and torment in its wake within you.

of course, you would never tell him that, but he already knew.

“Do you want me to make you come undone?”

you shake your head, but keep your tiers tightly sealed— fearful that your mouth would betray you and favor the skillful fingers delving inside you, and you would beg him for a release. your hue was already tainted— you knew it was wrong to want a man so carnally, especially a killer like Shogo Makishima, but you couldn’t stop the depravity before it sank deep within you. it also didn’t help that he enjoyed tempting you so.

his eyes are nearly blinding, coruscating as he searches yours, and you know he can see right through the lie, but he’s still smiling. his free hand flees to grip your face, the pad of his thumb dragging along your lower lip. “I was asking as a courtesy, not because I need your permission. You know that, don’t you?” when he squeezes his fingers into your face, hollowing your cheeks, the act forces your lips to purse outwards, and they’re met with his pair crashing into them, devouring them. Shogo’s kiss is so overwhelming that you’re almost swept away, lost at sea within the embrace, and you nearly don’t feel a third finger join the other two, until he twists them, stretching you, and you whine against his lips.

he only chuckles, his hand holding your face steady, “Mm, I know. I know it must be a lot for you to take, but it feels good, doesn’t it? Stretching around my fingers like you’re made of elastic?”

“No—“ but it’s a sultry moan and your eyes flutter. your hips stutter as your body defies your mouth and rubs into his palm, wanting— no, needing more.

he chortles, shaking his head. “Your mouth says one thing, but your body tells me another. You’re giving yourself away, darling.” whilst he speaks, he smears the remnants of his sloppy, forceful kiss over your quivering lips and you can feel his fingers tight on your jaw.

then, only for what had to be a fraction of a second, a thought overtakes your mind. it’s quick, the visage of his hand dropping to grasp your throat instead of your face, and how much you’d enjoy that, and then you force it away from the forefront. but it’s much too late. an expression all too telling paints itself against his flawless countenance— the visage of a god possessed by power and victorious in his conquest of your fragile mentality.

“You are quite the demented, little thing, aren’t you? How badly you yearn to feel my hand on your throat— you know I would crush it, no problem whatsoever, don’t you? And that only has you wetter.”

humiliated with your face on fire, you attempt to turn away, but his fingers dig too fiercely into the vulnerable flesh of your cheeks, and you whine. you want to say no, to shake your head until your neck is sore, but you knew that your body was the traitor. no matter how much you lied to him, told him you weren’t enjoying it, he could feel your desire from the inside.

“I could make you tell me the truth if I wanted, I could finger fuck the pleases and thank yous right out of you.” he chuckles, before the hand upon your face careens downwards to clench a fist around your throat— your breath catches just beneath his palm, and your pulse pounds like a drum under the pad of his thumb, “and it’s not hard to see through your pathetic excuse for a facade, but it is exhilarating to watch you try and fool yourself into thinking this isn’t what you want.” his lips ghost over yours when he whispers, soft and daunting, and you’re hyper aware of the subtle flick of a devious tongue at the seam of your tiers; they part obediently and you exhale a shaky breath on to his face, much to your own dismay. “So, you keep telling me that you don’t love this—“ the pressure on your neck increases, constricting the air flow, and the rhythm between your thighs follows the trend; deep, slow thrusts picking up speed, yet sparing no intensity, until your eyes are rolling back, “and I’ll keep fucking your soft, warm cunt until you’ve nothing left in your fragile, little body to lie. Not an inkling of power, only submission for me.”

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