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sleepynoons · 2 months ago

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Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown.

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face.

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage.

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of.

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred.

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep.

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

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sixosix · 6 months ago

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m m m m maybe blanket plus yuuta plus hurt/comfort maybe. maybe 🤞

in which rika likes you because yuuta definitely, definitely does.

warnings wc 800, mention of injuries and descriptions of blood !! careful when u read <3 also i took hurt comfort literally BWHAHSAH hope i did your expectations justice nyx ily

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

“Yuuta. Yuuuuta.”

Rika’s voice echoed in the quiet hall. Yuuta winced, wishing Rika would keep it down; it was 2 AM, and no one would appreciate being woken up around this hour. But he knew that if he said so, Rika would be sad, and he didn’t want to hurt Rika and cause a worse scene.

“I’m fine, Rika-chan, really,” Yuuta murmured.

Rika growled unhappily. Yuuta, too, knew that he was lying. Although his wounds weren't life-threatening, he still needed to get them treated before they got infected. But Yuuta had just come back to this room—he was so, so tired. Sleeping in wouldn’t hurt anyone but him, right?

“Yuuta!” Rika snapped. It reverberated and shook the walls.

“Shh, Rika-chan,” Yuuta whispered hastily. “Please, our friends are sleeping.”

“Yuuta?”

Both Yuuta and Rika fell silent, alarmed. That voice certainly wasn’t Rika’s, and it most definitely came from the door.

“Yuuta?” you asked again, followed by a knock. “Are you okay in there?”

“I—I’m—I’m fine!” Yuuta yelped.

“Didn’t you just come back from a mission? Why are you here instead at Ieiri-sensei’s?” Your voice was muffled by the barrier that separated you both, but it was still enough of your voice to have Yuuta’s ears reddening.

“I was! I’m resting now!” Yuuta lied straight through his teeth, embarrassed beyond belief. In truth, he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Yuuta’s a liar!” Rika chose not to stay silent at the worst time. “Liar!”

The door swung open. Yuuta didn’t have enough time to hide a steadily growing red shirt or his pretty much the same face. The air thickened as you drew closer, and Yuuta struggled to tell if it was because of Rika or his reaction to you.

“Okkotsu Yuuta,” you said, deceptively calm. Yuuta felt the hair on the back of his arms rise in alarm. “Yuuta, don’t tell me that the stain on your shirt isn’t from ketchup.”

It was his blood, so Yuuta obediently stayed silent.

You sighed and spun around to leave the room. Yuuta’s chest ached as he watched you leave. His lip trembled, and he looked over to Rika, who seemed to be giving him that same stare of disappointment.

Yuuta shrunk in on himself. “I think I made Y/N mad…”

“Stupid Yuuta,” Rika trilled. “Yuuta is an idiot!”

“I know, I know,” Yuuta cried. “I get it now.”

As he was preparing to wallow, Footsteps emerged once again. You burst into the room with a first aid kit and a stern glare that made the protests die on Yuuta’s tongue. Strangely, Rika was silent.

“Let me see,” you demanded.

Yuuta’s face flamed with embarrassment, but he obliged and tugged on his shirt. Most of the injuries were cuts on his torso that would surely hurt once he showered, but again, it wasn’t anything worth all of this. He braced himself for the stinging pain once the cotton grazed his open wound, but instead, he found himself too flustered by your proximity to even notice you were already working on his wounds.

The room was dead silent, save for Yuuta’s labored breathing. Rika had disappeared; Yuuta chalked it up to him not being in danger anymore.

“Yuuta, if this happens again, come to my room, okay?” you said softly.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’m asking you to.”

Yuuta deflated. “I can’t just disturb you.”

“I want you to disturb me.”

What a dangerous thing to say. Yuuta’s gaze went sharper. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Your touch was too gentle. You faced Yuuta’s gaze head-on, fearless. “And you would do the same for me. Aren’t you the one being unfair?”

Yuuta sighed. He could never win when it came to you, anyway.

“Thought so,” you mused, carefully pulling his shirt down again. “You should learn how to ask, Yuuta.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered.

You tugged on the blanket folded neatly by his side and draped it over his shoulders. The heat of your touch remained in the blanket's warmth. When you stepped back to grin proudly at your work on a flustered and helplessly endeared Yuuta, you then frowned.

“Hey, where’d Rika go? I thought she wanted to share the blanket.”

“I think she wanted you to share it with me,” Yuuta said before he could think about it.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Is that so? Well, I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

Liar, he could hear Rika’s voice. Well, he never denied it.

Yuuta laid down carefully and lifted an arm from under the blanket. You crawled inside and settled beside him, launching into a ramble about how you were worried sick when Yuuta didn’t return early. He still struggled to ask for what he wanted, so he would settle for this.

#606: 5K EVENT #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x you #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x you #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader

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quintessencewrites · 2 years ago

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Y-yes, Daddy pt. 3

college student!ShuRiri x college student!black!fem!reader

Her eyes sent the message that her lips didn’t; they couldn’t, too busy being bitten to the flesh between Riri’s perfect rows of teeth, the gold on her lower set mirroring the gold around her neck.

Warnings: (buckle up, there are a few) 18+!!!!! Smut HEAVY, dom! Shuri, switch! reader, switch! Riri, cuckold? voyeurism, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader/ Riri receiving). rough sex (reader/Riri receiving), public sex? explicit language (as always), double penetration (not saying who, it's a surprise), anal sex (not saying who), heavy praise kink, slight illicit drug use, strap slinging! all three of them... etc because I know I missed a few...

Word count: 8.4k+

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A/N: Y'ALL!!! I'M BACK <3 I don't know how to thank you guys enough for checking in on me while I was gone and giving me such grace while I got myself together a bit <3 I love you guys

Dedicated to my baby, @inmyheadimobsessed, Yes Daddy's biggest fan, president of the fan club, and one of my biggest supporters. She also gave me an idea for one of the scenes in this so co-writing status goes to her <3 Anyways ily, Lyric. As always, I hope I did you justice.

The cobalt waters glistened around your figure, swaying to and fro with a serenity unlike any you’d experienced. Eyes closed, face warm from the sun’s rays kissing your skin, Wakanda was a beauty to behold, with such vibrancy in its colors and its people.

Its marketplace was adorned with rich tapestries, the palace was picturesque. The rivers that flowed through the heart of the capital flowed the bluest blue you’d ever seen; the grass was too green, the sand too yellow.

“You grew up here? Shuri, it's fucking beautiful. Why would you ever leave?”

Riri’s hand never left yours, excitement traveling back and forth between your bodies. “I’d asked her the same thing, baby.”

“It’s unreal. It’s cartoon-like, like the trees and flowers, even the fucking sky, were painted that bright.”

Shuri couldn’t deny the pride that swelled within her at your awe of her home. She’d experienced it with Riri the first time she brought her over, and now, with you, her heart skipped a few beats just the same.

Your mouth dropped at every spectacle, arms wide, ready to engulf every new person. Merchants shared your contagious grin when you approached their displays, excitement beaming across every feature on your face.

“Princess, Miss Williams,” they greeted. They’d nod in return, dropping a wave or two every now and again.

Shuri fell into your forestep, presenting a beam just as wide. Her usually too-cool demeanor dissipated the moment her sandaled foot touched the Wakandan dirt. Even Riri couldn’t deny the peace that the country brought forth from her. Her shoulders fell, relaxed for the first time in weeks as the stress of midterms and exams and assignments finally evaporated.

The princess hadn’t anticipated taking you home to meet ma dukes so soon, but you were ready.

“Wakanda? Why?”

You rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh floating from your lips and through the air. Riri sat on the other side of your dorm room, man spread with a wrap between her fingers, preoccupied, but still tuning in. “I told you, y/n.”

“Hush, Ri. She ain’t even say no yet.”

“I’m waiting to hear why before I say no.”

Upon your face were the biggest, roundest, neediest eyes Shuri had ever seen. Your bottom lip protruded into a plump little pout that quickened the pace of her heart. In her mind, she’d already lost. Regardless of the reason, she wasn’t going to be able to deny that look.

“Because it's spring break, I’m tired of the same old beach trips, and I’ve never been,” you walked closer, until your bosom rested on her stomach, eyes batting up at her with sweetness. “What better tour guide than the Princess?”

“Give it up, baby. Ain’t no way she gon say yes that ea-”

“Shut up, shortie. What better tour guide than the Princess, right?”

Shuri made plans to take you to her home that very night.

You were ready to visit the fairytale-like land; the very place where the rumors of its grandeur couldn’t even do it justice. The place where vibranium ran through its streets and every shade of brown sparkled under the sun's rays like a spotlight on the deserving natives.

You were ready to meet their monarch, the powerful woman whose monologue at the State of the Union address those few years ago still gives you goosebumps. The awe-inspiring mother who raised such a capable daughter, so unlike herself and allowed her off to the States.

You were ready to put a face to the names Shuri and Riri spoke of, those who were oceans away and still held such a prominent place in their worlds, one which you wished to be a part of.

Thank Bast, or God, or fate, or whatever the hell it was for placing you at MIT at the same time as Shuri and Riri. Their pervertedly twisted minds complimented yours so beautifully, like the missing piece in a complex puzzle.

Nerves didn’t dare touch you when the Queen greeted you, slender, loving arms pulling you in, holding you tight, and giving you a motherly love you hadn’t felt in quite some time.

“Y/n,” the older royal’s voice was booming. “Shuri, umhle (she’s beautiful).”

“Ndiyazi (I know), mother.”

“Grinnin’ like a dummy” Riri’s voice was a barely-heard whisper, not risking her words to be heard by the well-respected monarch.

Shuri's eyes threw daggers at the small girl, an even smaller smile playing at her lips. She felt such serenity at your acceptance of her country that not even Riri’s words would get to her.

The young royal wanted so badly to praise you, to kiss you, to shower you in the melody of ‘good girls’ that you deserved.

Slender fingers snaked around your exposed waist, rippling the water around you and pulling your mind back to the present. Your lids lulled open, meeting a familiar gaze in the foreign place.

“Hey, ma.”

The scent of cocoa butter radiated off you in an aura. Riri inhaled deeply, taking it in, entangling her brain with your essence in a dizzying spell. You were so soft under her touch, your chocolate-colored skin melting in her hands.

Her head was heavy against your shoulder, pushing her weight against yours until your back was pressed into the damp marsh of the riverbank.

The lifting of your hand and caressing of her curls was instinctual and Riri softened even further underneath your fingertips. She’d been wanting this for hours; just to fall into your hold, to grab you and know that you were really there.

Barely an arm's length away stood your princess with Nakia, engulfed in a conversation of their own, paying you no mind. Okoye sat close by, only allowing her feet to be swallowed by the water’s gentle waves.

“I see the States are treating you well, Shuri?” Nakia’s light voice curved at the end of her sentence, a tease evident between her words.

“What makes you say that?”

“You haven’t returned home yet is what.”

“I haven’t graduated yet, Okoye.”

A string of mumbles leaves the general’s mouth, laced with curses. “You’ve gotten greedy, Princess.”

Shuri leans over the shore, elbows resting in the sand. “Greedy how?”

“You went to America for school, not to become a sister-wife.”

The poor young royal can’t hold back the laughter that erupts from her. “A sister-wife?! What the fuck are you talking about, Okoye?”

“You need two girlfriends, Shuri?”

“I do.”

“For what?”

Shuri’s wandering gaze over to you and Ri is full of desire that spills over her ducts like a tear. “They both got something different to offer.”

Riri caught Shuri’s gaze from the corner of her eye. Of course, her majesty was watching you. She was always aware of what her girls were up to, both on and off campus. She saw the way Ri’s nails grazed the small of your back and the way your body curved upward in response, pressing your two figures into one another even further.

She saw Riri’s hands travel further and further south, tickling your skin until they stiffened in the waistband of your bikini bottoms and came to a stop. Shuri’s breath caught in her throat, waiting and watching, wondering how far Riri would go considering the audience that surrounded them.

Riri knew Shuri was watching. She wanted her to; she wanted her to see the effect she had on your body, without Shuri’s presence. She knew the panther could smell the heat radiating from your frame, pressed tightly against hers.

So tight, so close that the chain that never left Ri’s neck was resting in your bosom. The chill of the metal contrasts with the humidity in the air and causes a shiver to travel down your spine.

It was such a slight movement, one that didn’t go unnoticed by either girl. Those mocha-colored eyes that you adored bore into yours, and baby, if only you could read the filthy thoughts behind them.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. Riri wanted you and she wasn’t being slick about it. Her slender fingers toyed with your bottoms, one hand gently tugging the drawstring that held the thin pieced fabric together. The other grazed the front of your dangerously low waistband, touching your sensitive skin, but barely.

“You’re so pretty, y/n, baby. I tell you that enough?”

“More than enough, Ri.”

Hmm, the distracted girl hums. “I like this swimsuit on you.” Her fingers don’t move from your waistline, playing and fiddling with the fabric there, tugging it away now and again.

You wanted more; you craved more, and Riri didn't need to be a mind-reader to come to that conclusion either. Her eyes sent the message that her lips didn’t; they couldn’t, too busy being bitten to the flesh between Riri’s perfect rows of teeth, the gold on her lower set mirroring the gold around her neck.

She cocked a thin brow and a devilish smirk played across her face. Her thin fingers continued to move, slowly and meticulously so that the water didn’t stir.

Shuri caught the exact moment Riri succeeded in untying the dainty strings of your swimsuit. Her gaze traced your startled features when the fabric floated away from your body.

“Riri, what the fuck?” It’s supposed to come out intimidating and intense, but the pitch of your voice and vibrato in your vocal cords melodizes a low moan from your lips instead.

Underneath the still waters, from the waist down, you are completely naked. Everyone is oblivious; except Riri, whose actions were intentional, and Shuri, who was using every bit of restraint held in her slim frame to remain stoic.

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Good and quiet?” Riri’s lips brush the sensitive skin where lobe meets neck. In the back of your throat is a low moan, one that you know can’t be expelled. It stays tucked away and you nod instead, head barely moving, bobbing curls that can be explained away by the breeze.

Shuri’s truly amused at the sight before her and the reaction it has on her body. She’s hypnotized by Riri’s fingers playing with you, gliding through your slit, brushing against your tender bud much too gently for your liking. The wetness in your folds can’t be deciphered from the wetness of the water, yet those bejeweled nipples that stood at attention, straining behind the padding of your top, exhibited the arousal that started in your toes and crept its way upward.

She’s amazed at how little the water moves around you, eyes darting back and forth between you struggling to remain quiet and the conversation she held a part in with lifelong friends. Her mouth waters at the thought of you, so exposed. Thoughts of how fucking wet you must have been, how slick your pussy was, calling out for her.

Your mind is muddled, completely ignorant of the extra set of eyes on you. Riri’s teasing you, never putting her long phalanges right where you want them. She’s taking her sweet time, mapping out every line, dip, and curve of your core. Her touch is too light for your liking as the neediness in the pit of your stomach expands.

She’s got a few moments left in this game of cat and mouse before you break and the moan you try to disguise as a cough tells her just that.

Shuri’s eyes wander back over at the sound she knows all too well. She couldn’t help but smirk at the noise. The heat she burns into the back of Riri’s head causes the distracted girl’s head to turn, resting her gaze on the princess’s watchful glare.

Ri’s brow raised once more in a silent question to Shuri, one that you weren’t able to decipher.

Too bad for you.

She doesn’t even look at you as her dark eyes drag slowly down Riri’s small frame and back up. Her chiseled face is unreadable to you and with a nod, a quick tilt of her chin towards the sky, Ri reaches for your bottoms, dragging them back between your two bodies.

“Lemme help you put these back on, baby,” Her whisper is so low, it’s almost nonexistent.

Your sigh in response is frustrated, so sexually frustrated, just oozing an attitude Riri wants no part of. “You fucking tease-”

Her hand leaves the water, snaking around your chin and drawing your faces together.

“I’m not done yet, baby. Just listen, damn.”

The chill behind her words shut you up immediately. Silence washes over you as your choppy movements ripple in the water, too quick for Nakia and Okoye to notice anything but your smiles, plastered across your face like a mask.

Shuri’s stifled laughter reeks of “I know.” The way she looks at you, so deep, so suggestive makes it clear she knows exactly what you two were up to. Her voice pulls her friend's attention back to her, those glistening coffee-bean-hued eyes dancing with knowing.

“Nakia, how is my little Toussaint?”

Riri’s body emerges from the river first, bottoms hanging so low on her waist, the indent where her abs meet her pelvis winks at you. Her hand reaches down, extending to you and the little effort it takes for her to lift you from the water is beyond impressive.

Your drenched swimsuit runs streaks of water down your body, glistening against your dark skin like glitter. Your steps falter, the quiver from your heat making its way down your legs and tripping you. Riri guides your walk back to the palace, a ‘goodbye’ to Shuri barely playing on your lips as she lingers. Squelching emits from your soaked steps, following Ri’s quick ones.

Goosebumps prickle your skin at the icy air in the palace, the large place still maze-like to you. Riri, however, is an expert guide. She makes every turn with precision, every array of large doors leading somewhere.

Her steps suddenly stop, in the nook of a long hallway. Yours skip a bit, not expecting her sudden standstill, and her cool hands, still damp and shriveled from the water, reach for your bicep, pulling you into her.

“Ri-what?”

Her lips crash into yours, kissing you the way she’s craved all day. They’re moving in sync, tasting every crook of her mouth, entangling your tongues, and swapping saliva. The moan that remained trapped in your throat finally releases, deep and breathy between her lips.

“Couldn’t wait til we got to the room. Need you, now.”

The way Riri’s hands travel your body, the way they hunger to hold you, squeeze you, anywhere, everywhere. It’s fucking intoxicating, coating your mind like a drug.

“W-wait, fuck, Ri,” her lips move from yours, trailing down your jaw, licking up your neck in such a way that you shudder. She’s famished now, having had a taste of you, and she needs more. Her lips attack your throat, nipping and biting. You’re close, so close to melting in her arms, right then and there.

“Come on baby, you know my name and it ain’t Ri. Say it.”

There was a part of you that hated the effect their vulgar words had on you. They were so lewd, so perverted, and they had such a fucking hold on you. The dampness in your bottoms couldn’t be explained away solely by your swim any longer and Riri knew it. She could feel your body temperature rise, your skin growing warmer under her touch.

“Ma-”

She tasted the word from your lips, growling at what they did to her. She couldn’t keep her hands off you, overwhelmed, not knowing where to grab. They rested on your right breast, squeezing, but she removed them quickly, afraid that your left one would grow envious at the lack of attention it was receiving. Caressing your back didn’t feel exact either; your front being so soft- there it was, begging for her fingertips to sink into it as well.

Riri’s mind was racing an unwinnable race. What if the Queen was around, or the Dora? What if her body broke, fucking fell apart, needing so much of your touch that it couldn’t be satisfied by the little bit you were offering up?

Your still-wet (now even wetter) bikini bottoms were glued to your skin. The effort it took for Riri to pull them away from you, to pull them to the side just enough to reveal your pussy to her left water dripping to the stone floor beneath you.

She wasted no time. Fuck all the teasing she did before, Riri fucking needed you. Her lips were on yours once more as she lined up two fingers at your entrance, preparing herself to swallow the moans that would spill from your lips.

And swallow them she did, keeping your lips connected until she was knuckles deep, only coming up for air once your moans had died down to whimpers.

“My good girl, baby. I know you can be quiet, right?”

You weren’t so sure. As soon as those digits got to moving, you knew that biting your tongue would be a near-impossible task.

“C’mon, baby. Gotta be quiet so I can fuck you good.”

How pathetic was it, the way obedience ran through your veins? Your nod was hard, curls bouncing back in forth. “I’ll be quiet, ma,” the words quickly followed before Ri could correct you for not using them.

You felt your knees buckle beneath you the moment her slender fingers slid out of your wet center, only to be thrust in once more. What a beautiful pattern, one that left a warmth spreading through your body, face hot, cheeks hot, cunt hot.

Ri knew your body better than no other, though she and Shuri were neck and neck. Her free hand had already slithered around your waist and her center of gravity shifted, preparing herself to catch you if your legs were to give out entirely.

Your bottom lip was rolled between your teeth, moans collecting behind it. You were a sight to be fucking seen, a pussy full of creamy fingers, and eyes that begged and pleaded for more.

“Look at you, baby. You doing such a good job, taking me like that.”

Riri was enjoying the sight before her, the tightness of your walls, clenching around her. She almost drooled when she looked down and saw the cum she was digging forth from you, collecting in the palm of her hand. Even she had to resist a moan as the need to taste you, to fuck you, to ruin you crossed her mind.

The fingers trapped within you would not speed up, nor slow down, much to your demise. Your hips rocked, pelvis crashing back against Riri’s hand as you rode her. Whispered moans were shared between you, lewd praises being thrown your way.

“Shit, baby, you doing so good. Look at you, fuck.”

Low moans were all you could respond with.

“You gon ride me like this in the room, pretty girl? Gon let me get strapped up and watch you bounce on my dick?”

Fuck, Riri’s words had opened the floodgates. She could feel you tightening and convulsing around her fingers. Your moans had grown at that point, but she couldn’t stop you, Your head was thrown back, so her lips couldn’t cover yours. She couldn’t use her hands either; one of them was holding up your limp figure, the other, still being ridden into the sunset.

You’d earned those moans, she decided, and as soon as you were done, the trek to your room would continue.

All Riri could do was watch as her fingers tipped you over the edge. Your chest strained against your top, rising and falling with every gasp; those lips, round and full and so fucking biteable, parted and poised as you came.

A sea of thoughts swam through Riri’s pretty mind, not a single one of them an intelligent one. There wasn’t a moment when she didn’t think you were stunning, but baby, when you came? Ugh, it fucking did things to her, bringing forth groans from her chest.

Your brows furrowed, your body stilling and Riri’s hand was drenched. “Ohh, shit-” Your voice shook, just as unsteady as your legs, but Ri had you.

“I know, baby, I know.”

You were a bit louder at this point, your voice echoing off the tall walls. Riri wasn’t religious, but she was truly praying to Bast that no one would wander upon you two.

Her thighs were pressed together, her body shaking a bit, still in the wet swimsuit. You didn’t even have to touch her for her body to react. Just watching you, so vulnerable, so needy, all over her-just for her.

Your head rocked back up slowly, eyes finally meeting Ri’s. A deep blush grew in your chest and rose to your face. Riri’s was adorned with a sexy smirk, one so delicious.

“Good girl, baby.”

You had made Riri soft and she hated to admit it. She’d never been so gentle to someone, so tender.

“You ready to keep walking?” She plants a sweet kiss on your cheek, pairing it with one on your neck, nuzzling her head into the sensitive space.

“How much further we got?”

She pulls her head from you and glances down the hall. “Um, not too far.”

Mm, you groan. “Do we have to? You could just take me right here.”

Riri’s chuckle is so deep and alluring. “Don’t tempt me, baby. C’mon, it’s not that far.”

“Carry me?”

She couldn’t tell you no. You knew she couldn’t. Neither of them could, especially Riri. You were spoiled in every sense of the word, and they’d stopped trying to deny you. Why should they?

“Bridal style or piggyback?”

Your dark eyes danced with joy as she trekked through the halls, you upon her back with a goofy ass grin.

She was right, it really wasn’t that far.

The bed bounced when Riri finally dropped you on it, legs spread wide, bosom bouncing with the fall.

Ri tapped your pussy through your bottoms, standing to retrieve her suitcase. “Off, baby.”

You were eager, the fabric still sticking to your skin, falling to the floor with the weight of the water drenching them. Your damp pussy came into view to the girl across the room, whose breath caught in her throat at the delicious sight.

She watched you sit up and untie the strings to your top, the barely-there piece falling from your body. You watched her visibly drool when your breasts come into view, full and round, nipples erect, begging to be touched in any way.

You had her, every bit of her attention was on you, waiting so patiently for her to touch you.

Patience had never been your virtue, however.

Your hands stuttered as they traced up your body, your nipples hardening at the sensation. With fingers you wanted so badly to be Riri’s, that you imagined were hers as she watched you from a small distance.

The piercings adorning your bosom were one of her favorite parts of you. If her pupils could form tiny hearts, they would have. The sight before her was mouthwatering. Your fingers flicked the jewelry, that perfect little “O” forming on your lips.

The heat in the air was palpable, the intimacy between you two undeniable.

Your left breast weighed heavy in your hand as you brought it up, further and further until your tongue flicked out, eyes never parting from hers while you tasted your hard nipple and the metal pierced into it.

Every bit of her demeanor cracked under the sexiness that was you. She stood frozen, in awe as you rose from the bed, strutting towards her on your toes, ass high, head even higher.

You bent into her suitcase, finishing the task she’d abandoned. The harness was tucked away into the bottom, hidden beneath weeks worth of clothes.

Still on your knees, you grab Riri behind hers, pulling her closer, until her clothes pussy sat in your face. “Here, lemme help you.”

The wet suit was already hanging so low on her waist that it only took a tug to drop them, her pretty, wet cunt coming to view in front of you.

Your mouth is on her before you can resist the urge. She accepts your hands on her ass, holding her in place against your tongue.

Riri’s hand rests on your head, trying so hard to keep her balance and not collapse. Your mouth goes to work, the taste of her satisfying your insatiable hunger. Her clit is so plump against your tongue, the sensitive bulb of nerves twitching, jumping away from the licks that won’t let up.

“You taste so good, mami,” the urge to please fueled a courage unfamiliar to you. Riri bucked at your words, eyes rolling into her head.

“Shit-“ the moans came from her in rapid succession, her lungs never fully expanding to take in a complete breath. They were music to your ears. Your pussy leaked, needing to be stuffed full of her.

You couldn’t part from her just yet. Her hands tangled in your hair, gripping and pulling. Your name was on her tongue, her abs flexed with the orgasm building within her.

“Shit, baby, you doing so good.”

The praises rang in your ear, satisfying something deep within you. You lapped faster, sucking and slurping. Riri’s pussy was wet, the vulgar sounds echoing in the room.

She was close-so fucking close. The juices that poured from her were streaming, dripping onto your tongue with a taste that you couldn’t get enough of. Her body burned, needing to feel you everywhere.

Ri’s thick thighs trapped your head between them, drowning you in the waters that she released, so warm and sweet. Your satisfied moans vibrated within her and though your jaw grew sore, you weren’t stopping.

Not until you’d planted a passionate kiss to her center, tonguing it as though those lips would kiss you back.

She watched you stand to your full height with a look full of lust. Oh, she was gonna fuck you up. Riri no longer cared who heard; she needed to hear you scream her name, she needed the bed to be soaked and she needed you to spill over for her time after time.

“Strap up, Ri.”

The harness had gone from your hand to hers as you backed away, returning to her suitcase to choose the dildo you so craved.

“Where’s mine?”

There were at least six toys, all stored away from any wavering eyes. They were different shapes and sizes, different lengths and girths, all ones that you’d used before.

“Which one, baby?”

Ri wasn’t looking at you, too preoccupied with the straps around her hips and thighs.

“The vibranium one-“

“They’re all vibranium, y/n.”

You made an audible sound when your teeth smacked your lips, one that Riri took note of.

“The one I like the most, Ri.”

“I don’t know which one you talking bout, baby,” she stepped towards you, reaching into the bag to pull a thick piece from it, securing the toy to her pelvis.

“Guess we gotta try them all, see if any of them are ‘yours’.”

She sat on the bed, resting on her forearms, arm held out and welcoming you over. Your steps were slow, and when you were finally close enough, Ri grabbed your waist, pulling your legs on either side of her hips.

“This how I like you most, pretty girl.”

You hovered over the thick cock awaiting you. Riri’s hands on your backside, eyes scanning you. She brought your hands to her chest and tilted her hips upwards.

“Sit on it, baby.”

Her whispered commands floated softly to your ears and you groaned at them as the heat burned within your chest. Your pretty lips parted over the tip of her dick, her hands guiding your body onto the extremity.

Ri was biting on her lip so hard, she was afraid it would bleed, but the sight of you would be worth it. Your body lowered, further and further and she could feel your pussy stretching over the thickness of her cock. She could feel your warmth as her tip kissed your cervix and your pelvis kissed hers. A deep groan rumbled in the back of her throat.

Your pussy felt so full. Beneath you, your legs quivered, the tightness of Riri in your cunt weakening you. “Ohh, fuck-”

Riri gave you a moment to get adjusted, lifting your hand to kiss the palm before resting it back above her chain, the metal cool compared to the heat emitting from your bodies. “Move, baby. Bounce on this shit.”

You weren’t one to be told twice. Knees planted, toes digging into the mattress, you gave her what she wanted. The faux dick slid in and out of you, slurping with your wetness. Ri’s head is thrown back, mouth wide open. “Fuck, baby-”

Riri was something to behold. Her brows furrowed, forehead pulled tight in concentration. Each time you landed back on her cock, your ass slapped her thighs and the sound vibrated through the room.

“S-so good, ma. D-dick so fucking good.” You were already stuttering between clenched teeth. It felt so good, so right. Riri fit into you like she was made for you. Your thighs started to burn, your speed picking up, throwing Riri’s small body into the bed each time your body slapped hers.

“Griot, soundproof the room.”

Her African accent was thick and low and it shocked you to stillness. You hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Ugh, baby-” Riri didn’t give a fuck who had entered. She already missed the feel of your pussy swallowing her cock.

Shuri sat on the loveseat adjacent to the bed. Her swimsuit had been swapped out for a black shirt and jean shorts, Her chains swung around her neck with each movement, her curls hanging lower in her face than usual, still weighed down by the water.

“Who told you to stop, intombi entle (pretty girl)?”

She rested her elbows on her knees, hands folded before her. Her tongue flicked over her lips, moistening them before her canines sunk into them.

“Ri, fuck her.”

Wakanda was doing a number on all of you because Riri did as she was told with no smartass comeback. Her hands grabbed your wrist, pulling them from her chest and restraining them behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head, but you ignored them, your body too excited for what was to come.

You could feel Shuri’s eyes on your ass, anticipating Ri’s next movements. She fiddled for a moment, her thick cock sitting stuffed between your walls, jerking into you just slightly. You were leaking around her, growing wetter at the watching panther.

Riri’s first thrust was anything but gentle. You bounced back down on her dick with the echoing sound of skin slapping skin. “Oh, my g-”

Your words are gagged in your throat, the next thrust coming quick and hard, cutting you off. Shuri’s eyes follow your body as Riri finds her rhythm.

“You fucking her good, Ri. Look at her, just taking that shit.”

You and Ri share a moan at Shuri’s praises. She can’t wait until she can step in and get a taste. She’s allured by your bouncing breasts, so heavy and needy, the way they jump with your gasps and Riri’s movements. Your cunt is spilling onto Riri’s thighs, causing a stickiness between you two that the princess can’t wait to get her mouth on.

Your movements sputter, cries growing louder, climbing higher. You feel Riri deep-its like she's in your stomach, the way she pounds into you. You’re clenching around her, squeezing your thighs, praying away your impending orgasm. You weren’t ready to cum yet. You didn’t want her to stop, Bast, you didn’t want this to stop. The lack of feeling in your legs was nothing compared to the feeling in between them.

“Ooh, pretty girl. You gon cum already?”

Words no longer exist in your mind so your head shakes in response. Shuri doesn’t move, fueling your flame from her front-row seat. “You not? That dick not good enough to cum on? My bed not good enough for you to flood?”

Riri is fucking drilling you. Her hips rotate into yours, her cock digging into parts of your cunt that you don’t think have ever been reached.

“C-cum on m-me, baby,” Riri is breathless, her own orgasm fighting to get past the dam she has in place. “F-flood my shit.”

Their words are too much-they’re always too much. You could be on the edge of a cliff and their words would be what pushed you over. It did, every time, and this time was no fucking different.

Your cunt rains down on the girl beneath you, a scream trapped in your chest as she continues amidst the mess you’re making.

“Fuck-” it drags from Riri’s mouth. She can’t hold it anymore. You’re just too warm, too wet, too tight. “I-shit, baby, c-can I cum in you?”

A nod is all she gets as confirmation and it's more than enough for her. Your eyes hit the back of your skull when you feel her warmth fill you, pushing around the cock that was still buried within your walls.

“Ooh, fuck, ma-” your words find you, still gasped and low.

You raise up on shaky legs that fail you. Riri releases from your pussy with a wet squelch and you fall beside her, body spent, legs sore. Both of you lay side by side for a moment, hoping for a few moments to recover, but Shuri is having none of that.

She stands from the chair, eyes stuck on your dripping cunt. It’s calling her and she saunters over, a “good fucking girl” falling from her parted lips. Her large hands hook beneath your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the bed with swift movements.

Her head dips to your sore center, blowing gentle, cool air over your soaked lips. They’re so pretty, so puffy. You quiver beneath her, “W-wait, Shuri, I need a second-”

“I don’t care,” Her tongue is flat and wide, licking your entire core. The moan she releases at your taste is primal. Both you and Riri’s juices dance on her tongue, and it's better than any chef-made meal she’s ever had.

The princess’s lips cup your clit and suck. Your back arches, throwing more of your wetness into her face and she accepts it graciously. You feel her everywhere down there-tongue stiffening and darting into your slit, nipping at your lips, kissing on your clit.

Her tongue picks up speed, developing a pattern. It goes from left to right, up and down, in circles and drawing shapes. A square, a triangle, an S-H-U-

“D-did you just spell out your name?”

A big, stupid grin stretches her cheeks when she parts with your pussy. “I did. Good girl, picking up on that.”

Her praises bring forth a slight chuckle from you. “Why?”

“It’s mine; you’re mine.” She shrugs and her lips are warm and wet when they return to yours.

Riri is mesmerized, stomach heaving. “Can I taste?”

Shuri’s eyes may leave you, but her mouth does not. She beckons Ri over with a quick nod, tongue on your clit while her finger toys with your entrance.

You thought Shuri would move then and make way for Riri, but you were so fucking wrong, it was laughable.

Two tongues, two wet mouths were on your pretty little cunt and it was heavenly. Shuri and Riri had your sensitive bulb trapped between their tongues as they tasted you, tasted each other.

“Fuck, fuck, please-”

“Please what, baby?” Riri’s voice was muffled, her head still between your thighs. She wasn’t talking to you, though. Her words were directed to the glistening pussy stuffed in their faces, begging for them to tear it apart.

Fingers enter you and again, you didn’t know whose they were, but they were fucking you, deep, hard, so damn fast. “You squeezing me so fucking tight, baby, damn. Squeeze on my fingers, just like that. Look at you, you doing such a good job.”

“I-shit, mm, I w-wanna cum, pleaseeee-” That last syllable dragged through the air. It was too much. Fingers and tongues and mouths, everywhere. You couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t even fucking matter. They were going to bring you to your release, orgasm after orgasm. They weren’t planning on stopping, there would be no breaks.

“Ooh, Shuri, she asked so nicely.”

Mhm, she moaned, too busy with your clit in her mouth. “Give her what she wants then.”

There was perfection in their movements. The two fingers curved into your cunt were rubbing your G-spot every time, the tongue on your clit further tangling the sensitive nerves behind it. Baby, you were so fucking close, you just needed one more thing-

The third finger in your pussy is what did it.

“F-f-uck, I, coming, da-shit-” You were drunkenly incoherent. The feeling was overwhelming, so much so that it hurt. Your body needed to get away, but it couldn’t move, frozen in place as pleasure mixed with pain.

Shuri and Riri were soaked, faces still deep between your thighs as you squirted before them. They devoured you, not letting a single drop go to waste. Your juices ran down their chins, glistened on their cheeks. It was so sloppy, so fucking messy, and it was delicious, the way they swallowed you.

Finally, your sap ran dry and your breathing evened out. Shuri flicked your bean with her tongue once more before she parted with it.

“Aye, Ri-”

Riri’s eyes departed your quivering cunt with a roll. “I swear to God, if you say I took that like a bitch, Imma-”

Shuri’s lips shut her up, pressing hard against Ri’s. It catches the small girl off-guard for a moment, and her mouth drops open.

The princess uses that as her in, tasting your essence from Riri’s tongue. The kiss is sloppy, strings of spit connecting them, your cum being swapped between their mouths. Riri moans into it, and you follow up with one of your own.

You can see their tongues caressing each other, twisting and tangling, and it's so damn sexy.

You’d never seen them like this, so tender with one another.

Shuri drops Ri onto the bed beside you, their mouths never detaching. An idea forms in your mind at the sight and you will yourself to get up. Your sore muscles scream as you turn towards them, reaching between their close bodies to unfasten the harness still strapped to Riri.

Her moans fill the room, coming out muffled underneath Shuri’s lips. Neither of them notices you leave the bed, moving through the room like a ghost. Riri’s suitcase is still open and at the very bottom, zipped behind a discarded pocket is exactly what you’re looking for.

You weren’t one to strap up often in this relationship, and you had no idea how the straps were supposed to go around your hips. “Shuri, c’mere.”

At the sound of your voice, Shuri pulls away from Ri, drool covering their faces and sparks behind their eyes. She turns and catches a glimpse of you, struggling with the harness, and cocks a sharp brow your way.

You can’t help the eye roll you let follow through. “C’mere, please?”

“That wasn’t the problem with that sentence, and you know it, baby girl.”

“I need help,” you whined, patience thinning.

“What are you trying to do baby?” Shuri reaches you in two steps, her long fingers taking the harness from you and securing it properly.

You ignore her, directing your next words at the girl still on the bed, watching, waiting for what was to come.

“Ri, can I fuck you?”

Her mouth fell agape, stunned by the thought. You took her dick so damn well, but she had never taken it from you. The thought was dizzying, excitement in her bones, slick in her cunt.“Y-yeah, baby.”

“You sure it’s not you who need to get fucked again?” Shuri grabs your face, index finger, and thumb sinking into your dimples. “You seem to have forgotten how to address us, baby.”

The smile that spreads on your lips is devious. “Whether or not I address you correctly won’t change the answer, now will it?”

You’ve rendered the princess speechless. Before she can open her mouth again, you throw a pair of boxers in her direction, the ones she used when she fucked you into oblivion.

“What you want me to do with these?”

“Wear em on your head,” your sarcastic tone cracked a smile on the young royal’s face. She reached up to catch the object you threw her way. It was one of your toys from home, a smaller cock compared to others you used, but still impressive.

“Safeword, ma?”

Riri sat on the bed, legs spread wide. Anxiety pooled through her veins at what was coming for her and she couldn’t wait. “Um, shit. Red?”

“You always choose red.”

Her shoulders rise and fall, “Then it should be easy to remember.”

You were too busy trying to secure a thicker piece to your body, the vibranium running through it connecting you to the fake cock like it was real. A soft moan lingered on your lips at the feeling radiating down your legs and through your center.

“You think you in charge now baby?” Shuri’s tone was teasing but her words were true. You’d taken a new lead in the new country and she kind of liked it.

“Nah, I like being taken care of too much,” your wink actually causes the princess to blush. “Can you go sit behind Ri? Put her on your lap?”

“Yes ma’am,” Shuri gave you a swift salute and made her way back across the room. She lifted Ri with no effort, placing her still-naked, still-wet body on her lap, back to front.

You made your way behind her, the bed dipping with your added weight. Riri was mesmerized by the sight of you, on all fours, making your way to her like a predator to its prey.

Her lips are parted so prettily, waiting for you. Her breathing hitches as your mouth approaches hers. When they connect, it’s with a moan and you can still taste yourself, still taste her on her own tongue.

The kiss is brief and wet. Your lips wrap around her tongue, sucking on your own flavor and when you pull away, you pull her bottom lip with you, teeth sunken into their softness.

“Remember the safe word?”

“I-yeah? I just said it like two minutes ago.”

You move past her, lips brushing her ear ever so slightly. “Just making sure.”

Shuri’s your target and you get close, your voice getting low so that only she can hear you.

“Has she ever taken you in her ass, daddy?”

She sputters, her nickname rolling off your tongue and straight to her core. “U-uh, y-yeah, baby. Why?”

“Because that’s where I want you.”

This fucking confidence, it looks so good on you. Shuri can only nod, mind foggy. She lifts Riri by the back of her thighs, planting slow, tender kisses on her neck. “You ready, Ri?”

Shuri’s cock is lined up, ready to enter and Riri’s caught on. “Baby wh-“

You’re running your hand down her front, over her golden chain, through the valley between her breasts, down the tattoo that sits at the top of her stomach, past her belly button, all the way down to her clit. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Riri fucking loved this, whatever this side of you was. “I-I want to.”

“Good,” your arms fall around her shoulders and you nod at Shuri to continue. “And we gon take real good care of you, I promise.” You seal your vow with a kiss, just as Shuri’s tip slides in, trapped in Riri’s tightness.

“Shit,” Ri hisses between clenched teeth. Shuri’s breath is gone, Riri’s squeezing around her just too well.

“R-Ri, I-“

“Go ahead,” Riri’s pussy glistens at you, awaiting Shuri’s next movements. “B-bottom out. I’m good, f-feels good.”

Riri’s ass swallowing Shuri’s cock was a fucking delicious sight. Excitement grew in your stomach, your clit beneath the strap jumping at the sight. Her legs were spread wide as Shuri’s dick disappeared completely into her.

“F-fuck Shuri-“

“Yeah, baby. It’s been a minute, you so fucking tight. C-can I move?”

“Not yet,” you butt in, crawling into the space between Riri’s thighs. Your own cock lined up at her entrance, tip tracing her slit. “Ri?”

“O-oh,” a dry chuckle escapes her. “Y-you’re gonna destroy me, baby.”

Your lips land against hers once more as you will your hips forward, just a bit. “Is that okay?”

Her nod is frantic, “F-fuck yes.”

You’d intended to give her all of you at once, but with Shuri in her as well, you’re met with resistance. Riri has to feel every inch of you penetrate her walls slowly, digging deep. She throws her head back against Shuri’s shoulder, mouth wide open, eyes lazy.

“Oh my god, baby, fuck!”

You stop before you’re fully in, halted by her curses. “Am I hurting you?”

Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop. Riri’s already gotten a taste of what you were about to give her, she wants it all. Her fingers grab your hips, pulling you closer until you’re hilt deep. “N-no, baby. F-feels good, please, fuck me, fuck me.”

Shuri’s index finger taps your chin, pulling your eyes from Ri and onto her. “You ain’t boss man yet, baby. Follow my rhythm.”

You agree, and pull out at the same time Shuri does. Riri whines, feeling too empty. She needs to be filled again and it doesn’t take long to fulfill her wishes.

Shuri thrusts so you do too. “Fuck!” It’s more growl than moan, but it sounds lovely coming from Ri’s mouth nonetheless.

You’re mimicking Shuri’s movements and Ri is a wet mess between you two. You can feel her, all of her. Her juices are trailing down your cock, her walls squeezing you, and god, they were so soft.

It was like you just melted into her, your moans meshing with hers as though you were the one being fucked.

“Babyyy, you’re doing s-so good, f-fucking me so good,” her words were fuel to your flame. Your fingers tightened around her waist. The pressure of her gripping you, the pressure of Shuri’s cock pressing against yours through the girl between you, my god, it was fucking delicious.

And she was fucking delirious, unable to control the sensation as it ran hot through her body or the incoherent words that ran from her mouth.

“S-so close, so close-“

When Shuri picked up speed, so did you. From the look on her face, full of focus and lust, she was also close.

“D-don’t cum yet, ma. N-not ready to stop.”

You wanted her to hold it? Fuck, fuck that was gonna be hard. Her orgasm was right there, you were grinding into it with your tip, her pussy splashing around your cock, dripping down to Shuri’s.

“O-oh baby, I-I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

Your lower stomach was covered in Riri, the wetness slicking your clit. She couldn’t though. She was already coming, your name on her lips, loud.

“Y/n, baby, oooh, my b-baby, I-I’m f-fucking coming.”

Shuri breaks your rhythm, bouncing Riri on her cock at inhumane speeds, panther-like speeds. You slip out at the swift movements and Ri is free to release, coming, fucking squirting on your torso, soaking you in her stickiness.

“Just y/n, Ri? You only coming for her?”

“N-no, Shuri, fuck, t-too deep-“

She lifts the girl slightly, but doesn’t stop. “Oh now you know my name? Didn’t know it when you were coming, so guess I gotta make you cum again, huh?”

Riri’s trying so hard to squeeze her legs shut, her body too sensitive from the orgasm that just wrecked her. “N-no, sorry, S-Shuri, fuck-“

The panther’s got her canines bared, eyes dark, voice low. “Nah, that’s n-not my fucking name no more, baby-“

Shit, what a fucking sight. Ri’s breasts bounce hard, her little body being thrown into the air, landing back on the entirety of Shuri’s cock.

“I-I’m n-not-“

Shuri showed no mercy, her hand reaching around Riri’s front to swipe at her clit. The overly sensitive bud was already worn out.

You watched, hypnotized, wondering when Riri would crack. Shuri’s eyes met yours and god, her smirk was so sexy. “Like what you see, baby?”

Your nod was slight, lip pulled between your teeth. “Good, cuz you next.”

She turned back to her task at hand, teeth sinking into Riri’s neck, licking away the pain she knew it caused.

“C’mon, baby. Give it to me.”

“F-fuck, Shuri, please-“

Shuri was relentless-her torture wasn’t letting up. “My name, Ri. Say my name baby.”

She had to. Riri knew she had to as her second orgasm tethered near. It was going to rip her apart, Shuri was going to rip her apart. Eyes squeezed shut, cunt leaking once more, she caved. Riri gave in, just as her pussy poured into Shuri’s sheets, her name roaring through the air.

“D-daddy, fuck!”

Shuri was fucking pleased and her cock twitched deep in Riri, spilling her seed into her ass and back all over her dick. “Was that so hard? Huh, baby?”

Riri was silent, body shaking, nut collecting beneath the three of you. She convulsed like she was possessed, mouth wide open, a beautiful contortion on her face.

Her body went limp afterward, falling into the wet comforter beneath her. “Shit-“

Shuri leaned over, a wet kiss falling from her lips and planting on Riri’s. “You called me da-“

“Nigga, no, okay? We don’t speak of it.”

You make your way between their two bodies, having enjoyed the tender moment, even if it was brief. “You did call her daddy, though.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, and then some. Riri’s eyes were slits, staring daggers into your head.

Shuri’s lips moved to yours next, “I didn’t know you had all that in you, baby.”

Your blush brought butterflies to the princess’ stomach. “Did I do good? Did you like it?”

Her arms wrap around your body, pulling you on top of hers while Riri scoots closer, kissing down your arm. “You did phenomenally. I fucking loved it, fucking love you.”

“I love y-“

A hard knock cuts your words short. Okoye’s voice rings through the heavy door, “Hey! Yeah, your soundproofing didn’t work, Princess!”

#riri x shuri #shuri udaku #shuri black panther #shuri fic #letitia wright shuri #princess shuri #riri smut #riri williams #riri williams x reader #shuriri x reader #shuriri #shuri smut #black panther smut #shuri x reader #18+ smut #quintessence writes #quintessencewrites #shuri x riri

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futurecorps3 · 2 years ago

Note

Hi!! I would like to request Kaz x f!reader

I’m so sorry that this is so long and if this isn’t making any sense I can’t explain things for the life of me😭 If you do write this, thank you so much, ily :)

Anyway picture this, a reader who is quite sneaky decides that it would be very funny if she snuck a little note with something like „I live for the way you smile so brightly” into Kaz’s coat when he’s not looking. She manages and when Kaz doesn’t bring it up at all, she sneaks another note in. This continues bcs the reader just thinks Kaz is ignoring it and automatically throwing out the notes without reading them or smth. Over the time the notes get a little bit more brave like „you looked very pretty today, Brekker” and become genuine copmliments. Now i have two ideas how could the ending go. Kaz just casually mentions in a conversations with reader the sweet notes which reader is completely shocked by Or reader finds themselfs curiosly looking around Kaz’s office and stumbles upon a little box on his table. Thinking it’s gonna be some kind of jewelry she opens it and sees ALL the notes she snuck into his coat. But uhoh Kaz steps into the office and his eyes widen when he sees reader standing over the box. Reader gets flustered trying to explain what the fuck was she even doing there but is greeted by Kaz’s silence. He’s embarrased about her now knowing that he has been keeping the little notes since the very beginning ijsksjdks istg I’m going insane

𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲

Masterlist<3

Summary: The one where Y/N thinks she's being sneaky. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: None I think!! Word Count: 2.3K Requested: Yes

A/N: YES YES YES YES I LOVE THIS!!!! I wanted to use the one where he mentions it casually in a conversation but it all led to reader finding out by accident. Tysm nonnie, enjoy, I'm sorry about the huge delay. Tough couple of months, hope u understand and that I did justice to this beautiful prompt, ily2 <3

˚ · • . ° .

It all started as some stupid game. One only Y/N knew about. Everything about it was very silly, the sneaking around, coming up with what the note would say and when to put it inside his coat's pocket. The first time, the girl snuck the neatly folded paper when he excused himself to go to the restroom and left his jacket behind. Easy.

It read 'Your smile lights up the room, Brekker'. Cheesy, untrue and quite simple. She'd bet all her kruge on it, though. That bastard had a wickedly expressive smirk, so his full smile must be as sentimental as his smirk, right? Maybe her note would make him giggle in the confines of his office, maybe Kaz would burn the paper or toss it in the trashcan he so neatly kept under his desk. Truth is, Y/N didn't have an explanation or reason as to why she started all this nonsense.

The prospect of making Kaz angry or laugh even when she wouldn't witness it was probably it. The girl happened to be a sucker for the adrenaline rush of delivering her teasingly sweet notes, too. She got bolder and more creative, even getting the chance to sneak one during a job where she and Kaz had to pair up.

None of the crows knew except for Jesper, and surprisingly, he didn't tease her about it. When he caught her tucking a little pink piece of paper into the inner pocket of his boss' coat, he scoffed with a little smile and downed his whiskey glass.

"What on earth does it say and... why?" Jes smirked as Y/N returned to her seat next to him. "Not relevant, my friend. Don't snitch," "I could never, love." He laughed at his friend's eccentricities and let it slide. Another little secret shared between them wouldn't hurt nobody. Plus, her favorite sharpshooter had plenty to say when he was there to see Kaz discover the notes.

"I'm telling you, he smiled!" "Jesper, I don't care if he did," the girl giggled. She did. She cared a lot. "Kaz Brekker doesn't smile" "He did that weird upside down frown, not quite a smile, but he wasn't exactly displeased." Y/N had to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks by turning around, downing her glass of scotch. Had she really made Kaz smile? Or, somewhat, change that angry expression he seemed to keep, like it was carved carefully and perpetually on the sharp features of his face? There has to be an award to that, she thinks.

That note she remembered; there was a playful banter happening like many times before at the slat between the crows. They were all sitting down at one of the tables after a long day of kicking out pigeons upset because they lost all their money, drinks and giggles shared in a tired, dazed stupor.

"There is no way we could've made it without him. I mean, imagine me trying to carry Nina's dead-weight down two flights of stairs and out of that house." Y/N laughed as they recalled how useful Matthias turned out to be. "He's my favorite" Nina smiled, kissing the Fjerdan's cheek as he smiled proudly with a light red tint on his face (could be from the alcohol but they all knew his girlfriend made him nervous).

"And Inej, dear, I know I'm yours" the grisha teased her friend, pulling her close as the Suli girl smiled, not confirming or denying the allegations. Then Wylan, a bit tipsy and, for some reason defensive, hugged his boyfriend and declared: "Well, Jesper's my favorite," downing his glass. Jesper pulled it aside, pecking his head lovingly. "Inej's mine".

Wylan perked up from his place in Jes' arms with his mouth agape, making everyone break in laughter as the couple argued, their demo-man leaving the table with his boyfriend chasing after him trying not to laugh "Wait, dear I-I'm joking!" "No you were not! Take the couch". After they all calmed down, Matthias finally spoke. "Demjin, tell us, who's your favorite?".

Theatrical silence fell over the group. Kaz's heart sped up a little and Nina could tell, but said nothing. Then, as he scanned the group with a light smirk and his eyes lingered on Y/N for a minute longer, it sped up even more to then recede. "Oh, I know," the heartrender laughed, grabbing her glass to pour more alcohol on it. "You don't, Nina. I don't have favorites. You're all pretty solid assets," he said, voice deep and Y/N wondered how it would sound whispered in her ear.

"That's the closest we're getting to an 'I love you', guys. Hate to break it to you" Inej joked as everyone agreed. After a few more minutes, too tired to keep going, they all went to bed. Kaz woke up the next day to a note on his doorstep that said 'you're my favorite'. It was a bit different from the others he kept in his office. The letter was cursive, written in a rush on a slightly yellow piece of paper. Black ink.

"You plan on ever telling her?" A voice came from his side. Jesper stood, still in his white sleep shirt and trousers. "No one makes you smile. You should tell her, you know, at least." He was greeted by his boss's silence and the sound of his door closing.

Now, of course he knew. In fact, he figured it out after the fourth note or so, but Y/N didn't need to know that. Selfishly, he had been keeping that weird aching in his chest the girl brought all to himself for almost a year and it was getting tiring. Until he figured it out. He just hoped, to anyone who was willing to listen, that the notes weren't some joke for her.

He hoped that all those nights they spent enjoying the silence, the conversations where he'd let the wounded boy talk instead of the bastard of the barrel and she would listen attentively, almost lovingly, meant something to her. And that the notes were her way of saying 'I'm here and I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon'.

Y/N knew the game she came up with ended up being a breath of fresh air for all the compressed feelings she had for the boy. She had no problem with it. In the end, she was telling him every single thought that crossed her mind when those icy blue eyes turned into warmth when they were alone and he let his guard down. The things she knew she'd never say to Kaz's face.

Or so she thought.

It was a big coincidence, like a butterfly effect. Y/N came back from one of her many investigations (a trip to the Geldstraat to gather some information) and was walking up the stairs to Kaz's office to tell him what he found out. "Turns out you were right, he has two kids" she began, entering to an empty room. She should've left, see if he was in his room or downstairs watching the tables. Yet she didn't leave. Instead, with a heavy sigh, she sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

It gave off more of the energy from a studio rather than an office. He seemed to appreciate neatness, from the bookshelves with books arranged alphabetically to the candles placed in the appropriate places so the room could be lit perfectly at night. So, of course, she was going to notice the rectangular red box sitting messily on top of a stack of papers right in front of her.

Again, would've, could've, should've stayed in the chair. She got up and peeked. A shock ran through her body, suddenly feeling so very cold she almost turned to see if the window was open. There sat all of her notes, some a bit more used, probably from him folding and unfolding them several times. At the top was the one she sneaked just that morning; "I sometimes wonder if you think about me just as much as I do. Probably not. Have a good day, though".

A million questions running through her head. Why was he keeping them? Did he know she sent them? And most importantly, why was she so stupid!? Y/N could've just... not! Just not write those stupid notes like she had some stupid teenage crush on stupid Kaz and keep her stupid feelings to her stupid self. But no. She always had to be too much, huh? Her words and emotions spilled out of her like a river. The thing was so big it showed over her wrist.

The creek of the door. She was so inside her head she didn't hear Kaz's steps. Shit. Shit. Shit. Hoping it was her imagination playing tricks on her, she turned around. Hope died and there stood Kaz Brekker, wide-eyed and pale as a corpse. She felt like she had to say something and saints she tried, but the knot on her throat only let a choked, unintelligible sound.

It could've been hours, really. Both of them just stared at each other. Kaz was so unbelievably embarrassed he wanted to ask Jesper to just shoot him in the head to end his suffering, begging on his knees for someone to come and help him. He was never this careless, not with things like the notes. He left them out, going through them for the fourth time that week, to get a drink downstairs. How did he miss Y/N walking through the door?

"Kaz I was just here t-to uhm tell you what I found out on G-Garson. I promise I didn't mean to snoop around l-like I wasn't looking through your stuff. A-anyway who a-are these from? They're very swe-" "You don't have to pretend, Y/N."

He knew. A new dread consumed her, and she dropped her eyes to the floor as quick as humanely possible. So stupid. So stupid. "So stupid" "What?" said Kaz, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was keeping in "I'm so stupid, I'm sorry, Kaz. I-I don't know why I wrote those". Was she truly apologising to him, her head bowed in shame? For what? He looked forward to discovering one of those sweet little notes every day, wondering what kind of message she had left him this time.

Hope. He remembered the hope. Maybe he was this upset because the notes would stop now that she knew he knew? His eyes widened even more when he realized Y/N was standing right in front of him, waiting for Kaz to step out of the way so she could escape this torture. "You're right. You shouldn't have. Y-you should've just told me"

"Tell you what, Kaz?" the girl asked, taking a step back and looking straight into his eyes like he was doing. Kaz Rietveld spoke before Brekker could. "Tell me I am your favorite, that I'm on your thoughts nonstop every single fucking day, and that you consider I look lovely even with my hair in my face. If it is true, tell me right up front. I don't think I could stomach it being some crazy game, so please tell me it is real." Perplexed, she stared.

Kaz wanted it to be real, and she knew damn well it was. "You know I don't like games, Brekker. I mean it. All of it. Every single word is just me trying to catch my name in a whisper in your reactions... counting on making you smile, or at least, to temporarily jolt your thoughts from the generally dreary state they seem to be in."

He led a leather hand to grab hers, tangling their fingers with his. The boy couldn't help but notice how beautiful her eyes looked under the candlelight, warm y/e/c welcoming him home. Making him feel at ease in that saint forsaken land, knowing that with her by his side, everything seemed to be just fine.

"Y/N, since you entered my life, I have been acquainted with a new kind of light. Your presence has brought a certain innocence and laughter that I have not known before. Your character is resilient, as if it has been shaped by the hardships of this city. In my eyes, you are the embodiment of light, and I cannot help but find you lovely at all times, too"

It was a love that defied all logic and reasoning, a love that transcended the boundaries of time and space. They had each found in the other a place of serenity, a sanctuary where they could be themselves and forget the chaos of the world outside. With every passing day, their bond grew stronger, until a little piece of heaven was crafted, right there in their midst.

It was their own personal heaven, a place where they could bask in the warmth of knowing glances and brief touches, and where the mere presence of the other was enough to soothe their souls. They had found a love that whispered "I'm here" in the moments when it was necessary, a love that made a home for a broken boy and a shelter for a scarred girl who would go to the ends of the earth for him.

And as they stood there, hand in hand, they knew that they had found something special. They had found a love that was strong enough to weather any storm, a love that would see them through the trials and tribulations of life.

Together with time, they had created a world that was perfect in its imperfection, a world that was full of love, laughter, and joy. And as they gazed into each other's eyes, they knew that they had found their own personal piece of heaven on earth.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:)

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #grishaverse x reader #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows fanfic #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fanfic

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lionhanie · 5 months ago

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han taesan ; back 2 u (prologue)

you can’t help but find yourself coming back to taesan everytime

this is the prologue of my series, back 2 u (series masterlist here)!

fuckboy!taesan x fem!reader, college au

...featuring! BFFS jaehyun + woonhak, fuckboy leehan (AND he's taesan's roommate), and lovely roomies sungho + riwoo <3

word count: ~460

warnings: cursing, she/her pronouns used for the reader, taesan is a well-known player >.>

a/n: no one freak out but i use proper capitalization... anywho! i'm actually very excited for what i have planned for this series so i hope i can do my ideas justice :,) enjoy!!

likes ♡ and reblogs ↺ always appreciated!

It was hard to hide the disappointment on your face every time you’d pick up your phone only to see “No New Notifications” taunting you for the tenth time tonight. ”Y/N, I’m going to make Woonhak take that damn phone if you check it one more time. If he hasn’t texted you back in three days, what makes you think he’s going to text you now?” Your friend, Jaehyun, who you were currently supposed to be studying with, looks at you in annoyance from across your shared table in the library.

“Oh, can you please leave me alone?” You complain, embarrassed to think that your desperation is as clear as day. “I’m not the one who’s on the verge of failing this class anyways.”

“Okay, but that’s the exact fucking reason I called you earlier! Why agree to tutor me if you weren’t going to help me in the first place?” The frustration in his voice is evident as he angrily flips through the textbook in front of him. Jaehyun was right. Three days… He’s obviously ignoring you. Nobody leaves their phone untouched for three whole days anymore. You put your phone face down on the table, internally promising yourself that you wouldn’t pick it up again for the rest of your study session.

Woonhak, another friend of yours in the year below, is using his hoodie as a makeshift pillow as he lays his head on the table beside you. The exchange seems to pique his interest, as he lifts his head up slightly to chime in. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about right now? Han Taesan?”

“...No, it’s not.” You quickly change the topic while rotating the textbook for you to read better from where you were seated. “Jaehyun, what did you need help with again?”

“Yes, Y/N’s talking about Taesan, Woonhak! Can you believe the person she’s hung up on is Han Taesan of all people?!” Jaehyun is quick to expose you, seemingly more interested in airing out his current irritation with your shared friend rather than his inherent need to study. "He's taking away my precious tutor!"

Woonhak chuckles as he sits up properly now, running his hands through his hair. In fact, he actually doesn’t stop laughing at the situation, until he notices the shameful look on your face as your gaze wanders around the library in a feeble attempt to avoid eye contact. His laughter soon dies down, looking to Jaehyun in disbelief. “Wait, you’re serious? I was just joking when I suggested him in the first place,” Your eyes are closed as you place your head in your hands, the humiliation properly washing over you now. “I’ve never seen him keep the same girl for longer than, what, five days?”

"Yeah, neither have I." You scoff at the realization of the predicament you're currently occupied with: messing around with Han Taesan.

tags: @minwrlds (my babybear beta reader ily) @luna2nite @taesancore @taesanmoon @helpsplease (feel free to send an ask / comment to be added!)

a/n: LOLLLLL future parts will be longer i swear ;D

#boynextdoor #bnd #bonedo #boynextdoor fic #boynextdoor x reader #x reader #bnd x reader #taesan #han taesan #boynextdoor taesan #boynextdoor taesan x reader #taesan x reader #han taesan x reader #✧.* back 2 u #woonhak #jaehyun

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rakkuntoast · 8 months ago

Note

Your talks about Missa's mischaracterization are exactly why I made a post specifically asking for Missa mains to give me their analyses for me to reference in Awake Me From My Nightmare.

I even went as far as to slap some parts of the post in Google Translate encouraging Spanish qsmp fans to reply to me and I'd just have someone translate their analysis for me. Which I did (thank u Kami ily). And I was so fucking happy when more of my responses came from Spanish speaking fans than English. Peak QSMP moment <3

But anyway yeah. Missa's characterization has been lowkey my biggest concern writing the fic tbh. I wanna do him justice. He definitely isn't written as a pathetic woobified uwu cinnamon roll, that's for sure.

I've been staring very hard at the paragraphs people gave me on his character and I THINK I've been doing a decent job at balancing the "gets overwhelmed by things" wet cat side Crows see AND the "um actually he could kick your ass and can be a bitchy little shit" reality?? Mans is getting lots of moments where he's like "fuck this" and gets ready to Literally Fight God. There's still lots of tears, but like, if YOUR husband was in front of you covered in his own blood and lookin like he's rapidly wasting away in real time, you'd be an emotional wreck too. So I'm decently confident in his characterization, but I still have that "AAAAA I HOPE I'M DOING THIS RIGHT" worry. 100% gonna be clinging to comments from readers about if I did him justice. So far I've characterized everyone (Phil, Fit, Etoiles) super well according to readers. 😭🙏🏻 Hoping I keep up the streak with Missa in Chapter 3.

The discussion you've been having is exactly why I'm doing my best to do him actual justice. And I might actually read back through your posts and translate the Spanish bits just to get even more insight. I don't see enough people talking about qMissa like this.

And on a semi-related note, GOD I wish there were more YouTube clip compilations of Missa moments. Like idec if they're not just qsmp, I want more of them in general!! Idk if I just wasn't searching well enough or what but when I went looking a while back, there were MAYBE 2 videos at all, let alone Eng subtitled so I could understand them. And rooting through Tumblr for clips is a pain. 💀

Tldr thanks for talking abt this Rakk, this is exactly why I've been busting my ass trying to not write Missa reduced to one trait or the other. Tbh I've been seeking out proper analysis/understanding of qMissa even before I was writing him in a fic. Bc I KNOW what we Crows see is a fraction of his character.

ISAAAA you're doing God's work honestly, the "fights God through tears" is peak qmissa characterization akfknsjx

I do think we need more translated Missa content, sadly like the best thing you can get is qsmp clips translated or someone on twt decided to translate this one bit from his videos (like him having a crush on a pineapple)

it's sad that it doesn't get talked about how clever the guy is and while the fix is pretty easy (just getting more missasaurios to talk about him) it's just a case of bothering to translate stuff cuz that shit takes time and effort

as well as missa's miscaracterization not being talked about as much cuz a lot of the ppl who talk abt him are English crows who think he's a sopping wet cat<- i am BEGGING for people to unlearn this word it's making me insane

#ask tag #Isa-ghost #hi Isa thanks for reading my posts I maybe care alot about characterization and Canon and I also want my guy to get justice #qsmp missa

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bqstqnbruin · 1 year ago

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See You Again

I'm actually posting a fic for the first time in seven months aka the first fic I've finished in seven months peace love teaching

anyway, I wrote this for the lovely @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange! I got to write for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten but I've never written for Nico before, so I hope you like this (I was fully inspired by my own mess of a life)

Edit since I’m a dumbass thank you to @kat-hearts for reading this first and being amazing ily 😭

One of the characters, Nat is nonbinary, and I did my best to make the reader gender netural, which I haven't done before on either account, so I hope I did it justice (if something is glaringly wrong, please let me know!)

Warnings: I was mean with the ending? A little? Also, some swearing, drinking, almost physical fighting

Word Count: almost 2.8k

_______________________________________

“When was the last time you saw him?”

You tried to shift through your memory to figure that out. In person, the last time was sometime in the first week of December about two years ago. Thinking about him, which thankfully didn’t count, would involve you giving a much more recent answer, way more recent than you would really like to admit. “I don’t remember.”

“Well,” your roommate Nat says, looking down at their phone. “I have bad news.”

“Fucking hell,” you moan, tilting your head to hit the back of the seat of the Uber. You knew what they were going to say before the words even started to come out of their mouth.

“Nico is going to be there tonight. With all the guys.” You let out another groan, the Uber driver giving you a scowl through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry! Jack didn’t know he was coming, or he would have told us way before we got ready.”

You stare out the window, trying to think of all the ways that you could get out of this situation. You already paid for the Uber and didn’t want to pay for another one. You weren’t about to go somewhere by yourself, especially since the bar you were heading towards wasn’t within a reasonable walking distance if you were to go somewhere by yourself, and no way was Nat going to leave with you without Jack, and Jack, of course, wasn't going to leave without his teammates.

“We can go back right now and I’ll tell Jack to have fun with his team instead,” Nat tells you as if they could read your mind. They put their hand over yours, trying to give you any sense of calm that was setting into your panic. “We do not have to be around Nico.”

“What kind of person tells someone they like them but not enough to date them?” you mutter, knowing you and Nat have had this conversation many times on your kitchen floor, drunk and crying together at 2 in the morning. They had introduced you to Nico one night after a game when the team went out to celebrate. They had been dating Jack for about a year at that point, meeting him through his brother at Michigan and reconnecting when they both realized they were going to be in New Jersey together. Quinn had used the reasoning of, “he won’t know anyone in the state,” only for everyone to realize later that he knew Jack had been smitten with Nat since they met. If only you had been so lucky.

You had known of Nico, obviously. How could you not? He was the captain of the Devils, the team you grew up surrounded by, the number one draft pick in the sport your roommate never shut up about. He covered your social media feeds without you really wanting them to and everyone you knew talked about what a great game he had the night before. You couldn’t escape the idea of him, no matter where you went.

When you met him that night a few years back, there was something about him in person that you were drawn to. He had been just an idea to you, not someone you could think about as being real. You spent that entire night with him, your friends either wandering off or you too enthralled with Nico to notice that they were there. Nat and Jack were heading back to your place before last call, and you were left knowing that you had to see Nico again.

He asked if he could kiss you, making you melt as his hand gently snaked its way to your cheek, pulling you close when you said yes and covering your mouth with his. You waited for his text the next day, anxiously checking your phone until he finally did after 3 pm. From then on, you told each other everything, texting each other whenever you could, him calling you and heading over to your apartment whenever he didn’t have an obligation to the team. You fell hard for him and you had believed that he felt the same about you.

“The kind of person who doesn’t know what they have until it’s gone,” Nat tells you, trying to pep you up. “Hey, we can find you a guy that is just as hot as Nico tonight.”

“I’m gonna move to Ireland and isolate myself with the spuds.”

“Act like you can be away from me for that long,” they tease, earning a laugh from you. “I’m serious, though. Tell me what you want to do, or who you want to do, and Jack and I will make it happen.”

You didn’t want someone just as hot as Nico, you wanted Nico. You hated the fact that there was more than one time that you had pulled up his messages on your phone, part of you unable to delete that conversation thread even though you knew it would be the healthy thing to do. But you weren’t known amongst your friends for doing what was best for your mental wellbeing, so you kept them, going back through the conversations you had in the four months you were seeing him. The last text was what haunted you the most, him telling you that he was going to be back in Switzerland for the summer and that he ‘didn’t want you tied down to one person’ while he was gone.

He said he would text you when he was back.

He never did.

There were multiple times when you wanted to text him, but you never did, either.

“Yeah,” you manage to choke out. “Let’s do it.”

You spend the rest of the ride in silence, trying to think of where in the bar you would be able to hide from Nico so that he wouldn’t see you. The guys were already inside, Jack telling Nat about 10 minutes ago that they went to start drinking as fast as they could.

The bar was somehow muggy inside, as if the beer itself hung in the air rather than the sweat of the nearly one hundred drunk people that were crowding every square inch of the floor. Jack was easy to spot for Nat, his five foot eleven frame not the largest of his teammates, but still distinct enough that your roommate had left your side within seconds of entering to be with their partner.

So much for finding you someone tonight.

You tried to stay away from him, closer to Nat and Jack as best as you could, but they kept wandering off from you. The last thing you wanted to do was go with them when they were both on their way to drunk and have a history of doing slightly illegal things in the bathrooms at bars.

You had to find someone to talk to. Any person who looked interesting. Any other guy on the team who you were friends with, but that was really only Jack, and that was really only because he’s dating Nat. Your phone was your only comfort, finding a table that had been pushed up against the wall and hoping that there was something you could doom scroll on that would distract you from looking towards Nico.

He had the right to do what he wanted at the bar with his teammates. You weren’t together.

“You ok?” you hear during a lull in the music, pulling you away from your phone for a moment. You didn’t know who was standing in front of you, one of the newer guys from the trade deadline that Nat definitely hadn’t introduced you to. He was waiting for you to respond, looking like he had wanted to sit down with you.

“Yeah, just, not a big ‘going out’ person.”

He lets out a nervous laugh, a smile that sends a jolt through your system that you hadn’t felt in a while. Since Nico, if you were really willing to be honest with yourself. “Me neither, honestly. I’m just here because I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“I got dragged here with my roommate so they can be with their boyfriend,” you tell him, gesturing to Nat and Jack trying their best to sneak out of the bathroom, Jack’s shirt buttoned wrong, both of their previously neatly styled hair in a mess that you only saw after hearing them the night before.

“So that’s the infamous Nat,” he says, taking the seat beside you. You nod as he continues, “Jack never shuts up about them. Not that Jack shuts up about anything or anyone, ever, but especially not Nat.”

“I always knew he was a good one,” you tell him, introducing yourself so he knew you as more than just, ‘his teammate's partner’s roommate.’

“I’m Timo.”

You spent the rest of the night bouncing between the table and the bar with Timo, him buying you every drink you wanted. There was something about him that was different, but you couldn’t focus all of your attention on him.

He was talking about his time in San Jose while you were waiting for your next round of drinks. You couldn’t focus on a word he was saying, Nico within your line of sight talking to a girl. A really attractive girl, you might add. You felt your heart drop, feeling a lump in your throat forming faster than you could lie to yourself about that scene having no effect on you. Naturally, Nico would talk to other people. You hadn’t talked to him in two years, let alone seen him in person. Just because you couldn’t get over him, no matter how hard you tried, that didn’t mean he didn’t get over you.

“And then I got traded here, and I love it, so far,” you tune back into Timo, who is suddenly much closer than you remember. It’s just because the bar is loud, people are starting to crowd for drinks, and, fuck, you have to admit, he’s pretty hot.

Nico was still watching.

Timo took your hand, leading you off to the table where you were before, the drinks in your hand probably not ones that you needed to begin with. His free hand snaked its way to your waist, pulling you close to him. You could feel your heart racing faster with every inch he got closer to you. You wanted him to kiss you.

You thought you did.

“I’m sorry,” you pull away right as his lips were about to meet yours, tears starting to form in your eyes, leaving the drink he bought you in his hands as you ran from him. Your breath catches in your throat while you try to find Nat and Jack, just praying that they weren’t back in the bathroom or too intoxicated in general to help out.

You heard Timo calling after you, somehow, through the volume of the music and your own drunkenness, breaking through and getting to you. You didn’t want Timo calling your name, you wanted it to be Nico.

You needed it to be Nico.

“Hey, hey,” you hear, feeling a familiar hand gently place itself on your arm. You turn around, Nico’s face a mixture of concern and fury. “What did he do?”

“He, he,” you stammer, the tears falling faster the more you looked at him, every memory you had with him suddenly rushing back into your mind. “He didn’t do anything. You did.”

You yank your arm from him, trying to find anywhere to be in the building that didn’t have one of Nico’s teammates looking at you causing a scene. You knew he was following you, calling your name again and again over the music. People were starting to stare, but no part of you cared, trying harder to not let the tears that were burning your eyes fall down your cheeks.

Nat and Jack were nowhere to be seen, the rest of Nico’s teammates trying to figure out what was going on when you burst through the front door of the bar, the cold fall air hitting your face as soon as you did. You let out a sob, trying to steady yourself against the wall of the building, sliding down to the ground while people waiting to get in tried to figure out if they should help you or if you were just another drunk person having some sort of meltdown that was none of their business.

“Hey,” you hear, a soft voice coming from above you. “I’m so sorry if I did something wrong.” Timo slid down next to you. “I read the situation wrong, I thought you were also into me.”

“I am, I just,” you start, trying to think of what to say.

“Hey, what the fuck did you do?” Nico yells, pulling Timo off the ground. “What did he do to make you cry?”

“Nico, stop,” you let out, Timo looking both confused and terrified by his new captain’s hand on his shirt collar. “He didn’t do anything.”

“What the fuck did I miss?” Timo asked, slowly trying to back away from Nico staring you down.

“Why can you talk to other people and I can’t?” you ask him, feeling your sadness turn into anger. “You had no issue not talking to me for the last two years.”

“I’m gonna go,” Timo lets out, barely loud enough for the two of you to hear and sneaking away before you could notice.

“You didn’t want to talk to me,” Nico counters, taking a step towards you. “But you wanted to talk to TImo instead?”

“Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“You never texted me. You’ve spent the entire night avoiding me. You think I didn’t see you when you were by yourself on your phone?”

“You were in Sweden. And you could have come up to me and talked to me, what was stopping you? Oh, that’s right, your new girlfriend.”

“Switzerland. And she’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t seen anyone in ages.”

“Wherever you were, you weren’t here,” you tell him, your back against the wall. How long had it been since he had last seen someone? There was no way you had been the last person he was with. “You told me you didn’t want to be tied down while you were back home. You didn’t even want to talk to me, because if you did, you would have.”

“You’re joking,” he scoffs. “You think I didn’t want to talk to you? Every fucking day I have thought about how our conversations would go when I saw you after you get home from work. I would think about you telling me about your day, about everything you would tell Nat, or whoever you were seeing at the time. Every single person I saw in the last two years, I wanted them to be you.”

You didn’t know what to say, letting Nico’s words sink in. “Then why didn’t you text me when you came back from Switzerland?”

Nico took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to the sky. “Because I thought there was no way someone else wouldn’t have realized how amazing you are. There was no way I could be someone who you thought was worth waiting for.”

Nico takes a step towards you, his hand gently taking yours. This was a moment you had been thinking about since he left for Switzerland two years ago. You knew he was going to kiss you, having you pinned against the wall of the building. His free hand cupped your cheek.

“There you guys are!” Nat interrupts, them and Jack clearly having just finished up doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Nico steps away from you, clearing his throat, the red in his cheeks so noticeable there was no way even your roommate wouldn’t comment on it later. “We’ve been looking for you, for um.”

“Long enough,” Jack finishes their sentence, a stupid smile covering his face. You knew he was lying, but no part of your brain was letting you focus on that. Nico leaned against the building, his arm up over your head. “The uber’s almost here. Are you ready to go?”

No. “Yes.”

The three of you leave Nico standing there by himself, Nat and Jack falling asleep in the Uber as soon as it gets on the highway.

You check your phone for the first time in a while, a lone notification popping up on your phone that hadn’t been there in almost two years.

‘Nico, iMessage.’

#nico hischier #nico hischier fic #new jersey devils #devils #new jersey devils fic #devils ic #summer fic exchange 2023

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thecreativecorner33 · 5 months ago

Note

Would you mind writing gorrister x reader whos very compassionate and comforts him when he has guilts about his past if not I understand <3

At The End of Everything, Hold Onto Anything

TWs: Canon-typical violence, Mentions of abuse, Mentions of mental illness

A/N: Hi friend!!! I'm sorry this is so late, but I really hope you enjoy! Getting the chance to write for Gorrister literally made my day; I had to keep myself from freaking out when I got this! There's not enough content of him, yk? Apologies if he's OOC though :') Oh! And if you get the reference I'm making here, ily! /p Enjoy!

At the center of everything, there is hope.

It’s a hard thing to believe, really. 109 years spent underground, tortured endlessly, no way of escape; not even through death. How could one believe that there is hope after all this time? Ellen might have, but it was a foolish kind; this suffocating, toxic-positivity kind. That’s how Gorrister saw it all, anyway.

But with you?

God, how could he not believe in hope around you?

The relationship you two had was all sorts of complicated. Fast friends in the very beginning, which was oh-so long ago: It’s how all of you were. Six humans, trapped underground, no clue how or why? It made sense you would all band together. Rebelled against the machine. What a stupid idea that was; it blew up in your faces, and that spark of friendship was snuffed out. Now all that was left between you was anger and hostility; you were nothing more than strangers forced to help each other survive. At least, to him. You kept trying to reach out. Even when all he did was shove you away and curse you, you tried. He wished you wouldn’t.

Gorrister was… an awful man. A horrible man. Not a day went by where he wasn’t reminded of this. His moral code, his sense of justice, his desire to help others all stripped away from him, layer after layer, leaving him bare and lifeless. Physical torture didn’t even bring that about; it was the memories.

His time as a peace activist, doing right to the world by protesting against the injustice that plagued them all; homelessness, poverty, rights for all humans. He felt on top of the world, knowing he was doing his part to help those in need. To save at least one more person. If he could save them all, he’d do it in a heartbeat, but saving one person at a time would have to do. Rioting in the streets, soup kitchens, lending a helping hand to his community. It saved someone in the end.

Didn’t it?

…

He couldn’t really be sure anymore.

Did it even matter? When he couldn’t save anyone?

When he couldn’t save her?

Her. His wife. His Glynis. He knew she came from a bad home life; she told him that. Told him all her insecurities and worries of being with him. He could remember her saying, in that soft, hesitant voice of hers, “I think I’m too broken to be loved.” And it took everything in his being not to cry for her. But he managed, instead hugging her and whispering her praises, words of encouragement; anything to soothe her worries. Anything to tell her that things would be okay between them. That if she was broken, he could fix her. He could save her.

But mental illness wasn’t a strong suit of his, nor was trauma. He had a very surface-level understanding of it all. It was one thing to read a story to cheer up a crying child, it was another to be woken up again in the middle of the night by wails so loud it shook the whole house, and needing to be up early the next morning.

There were fights. Every couple fights, don’t they? That was normal.

But oh, if only he knew how damaging those fights were.

The fight before it all went to shit; he could still remember the wailing and sobbing, shaking the whole house like an Earthquake. And he brought the storm; yelled and screamed, things that were so vivid in his mind and yet he couldn’t remember a single word. It all just got too much, and his temper was rising, and this all seemed so fucking pointless to fight over- to cry over-

“SHUT UP ALREADY!”

…

He brought his hand down on her. Yelled at her more while she sat frozen in place. It did shut her up, but it didn’t help him think clearly. So he just left her there, and went out to get a drink.

Maybe if he hadn’t, he could have saved her.

But he couldn’t. And now she’s gone. And so is everyone else.

And so is himself.

This once great, proud, caring man- now turned into an apathetic, emotionless husk of what might have been a person long ago. How could he face it all? How could he go on living like this? His own personal hell of regret, sorrow, grief; his heart had been ripped out and replaced with bones he could not bury.

Before he knew it, he was crying. Wailing, even; shaking so hard it felt like an Earthquake. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried, and he damn well knew the computer was mocking him at this very moment for it. Here he was, the soulless monster, crying like a child! Crying because all his efforts to save people were in vain! His wife was dead, the people he helped were dead; hell, maybe had he done more to protest against AM’s creation, they would be here! In a way, was this not his fault? How could he cry over this? Over the mistakes he made, when he chose to make them?

It was so much. It was too much-!

… And then came a voice.

“Gorrister?”

Your voice.

He had froze at the sound of you. Your voice was a moment of clarity for him; it helped the tremors in the Earth stop and let him think, but all he could think of was more memories, more regrets, more guilt; now involving you.

You were nothing short of a good person. Compassionate, caring, gentle when you needed to be. It was no wonder you and Ellen got along so well. Between you two, you were the group’s only reason for continuing on (Even if he didn’t-… Why didn’t he like Ellen? God, what’s wrong with him?).

It was scary, to say the least. To have you be so kind to him. Even after all he did; even when you knew what kind of shit person he was, you still smiled at him and lended a listening ear; hell, more than that, actually. You offered soft words of reassurance and a hand to hold to keep him steady. It was terrifying. Because the more often you did it, the more he let his walls down around you; only around you. And with those walls down, he started to feel again. Emotions pricked at his nerves, snuck their way into his skin, and now he was left to figure out how to manage them when he couldn’t afford to have emotions. Not under AM’s iron boot.

He hadn’t noticed you move over to him until you were sitting beside him, close enough that your thighs were touching and he could feel heat radiating from his skin. Peeking out at you from in-between his fingers, he immediately tried wiping the tears away. He couldn’t afford emotions; he couldn’t afford to cry. Not after everything he had done. Not after all he had gone through. AM had taken the ability to be emotional from him.

“Why are you crying?” Your voice broke his thoughts again,

Why are you so kind to him?

“It’s nothing- Just-” He wiped at his eyes faster, “Just forget it. Go back to the others, leave me alone.”

He tried waving you away, hand in your face, but you didn’t budge. He could feel your eyes on him. Were you pitying him? God- If there is even a God out there- help you if you are. He would do something he’d regret again if you were pitying him.

“I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re crying.” Was your reply, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. We can just sit here, too.”

“Why-? Fuck, just leave me alone, dammit-”

“No, I won’t.”

Stubborn bitch. (whydidhethinkthatwhydidhethinkthatwhydidhe-) “I’m tellin’ ya for the last time, leave.”

“No.”

“Why. Not?”

“No one should be alone when they’re crying. Really, we don’t have to talk about it. I just… Don’t want you to feel alone.”

… You were so, so kind to him.

It was so, so terrifying.

Because… Because it felt good. Because he wanted you to be kind to him. Because he admired you, but what could admiration do in a place like this? For a person like him? He could never go back to who he used to be. He would always be the piece of shit who hit his wife and sent her to a mental hospital; all because he couldn’t handle her problems anymore. Any goodness and kindness he had left him the moment he raised his hand to Glynis. How could he ask you to handle his problems when he couldn’t do the same for her? For others?

He was awful. Terrible. The worst. AM knew, you knew; everyone knew. And unlike Ted, he wouldn’t cry about it every 5 fucking seconds. He was a man; he would take it and keep walking, like he always did nowadays.

But he didn’t want to. Not when you were reaching out, so genuinely.

“It’s nothing you can fix.” He sniveled. He was so fucking pathetic, god dammit.

“Maybe we don’t have to fix it. Maybe I can just hear you out, and that can be enough.”

He pulled his hands away from his face for a moment when he felt your hand on his shoulders. He looked over to you, seeing your soft smile and reassurance in your eyes. You looked so tired; he was burdening you. Just by being here. Just by being around you.

And yet…

“Gorrister,” you said before he could speak, “It’s okay.”

It’s okay.

It’s okay?

All these years of endless suffering- All this grief and guilt and regret piling up inside him, turning him into something he couldn’t imagine ever becoming; breaking him beyond repair, and leaving him to rot. And yet, here you were, offering a small bit of solace. A light at the end of the tunnel. How could he accept that? When his whole reason for suffering like he did was due to knowing it would never be okay- how could you say it would be? How could he want to accept that?

He couldn’t move on. Not from all he had done.

Could he?

You must have noticed he was rendered speechless. His expression was probably that of a fish out of water, gawking at you while the tremors of an Earthquake started again. Instead of facing it alone, though, you were there. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into an embrace, making him shake harder.

“I…” He sucked in a breath of air, “I… I’m too broken to be okay.”

… His voice was so soft. Hesitant.

“And?” you whispered, “I’ll still care for you even if you’re broken. You’re worth it.”

… God must have really existed. Because you were nothing short of an angel.

Hugging you tightly to his chest, smushing your face into his vest, he cried. He cried, and cried, and cried while you held him, telling him that this didn’t make him any less worthy of your love; that you cared for him, and all the worst parts of himself, no matter what. And he believed you, just the tiniest bit.

At the very least, he could hope to one day believe you fully. And love you back all the same.

#ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #gorrister ihnmaims #gorrister x reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #tw abuse mention #creativity writes #cross-posted on ao3

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