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fuckyeahdindjarin · 6 months ago

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Prima Nocta

Marcus Acacius x Virgin!F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

Notes: I'm a bit rusty for sure, but I had the absolute best time writing this oneshot. It's a departure from my usual themes to say the least, but once this idea took hold of me it never let go. I know prima nocta is meant to be invoked on the wedding night, but I like the idea of it being the night before so I made it so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics as always.

He thought he had gotten away with it. Having lived more than fifty winters in the capital and outlasting eight emperors, he regrets to confess that he is still none the wiser.

It would have been such a clever manoeuvre. Palming off a generous but very much unwanted gift from the emperors, and marrying off his son in one fell swoop.

He should have been suspicious of their swift assent to his proposal. In his eagerness to bow out of their audience, it had been convenient to dismiss the flash of malice in their eyes.

And in the snake pits of Roman court, no misstep goes unexploited.

He is not proud that he is caught off guard by the emperor’s closest advisor who intercepts his walk home from the armoury, even less so of his ineloquent response to the missive handed to him.

‘What is this?’

‘Urgent word from the emperors, sir.’

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck as he stares unseeingly at what is scrawled on the parchment.

‘I cannot,’ he blurts out, indignance rising fast and hot in his chest. ‘I will not.’

‘You think it wise to twice refuse the emperors’ generosity, general?’

General. To him, the culmination of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. To them, an instrument of bloodshed in war, a plaything in peacetime.

Desperate, he tries a different tact. ‘The right of the first night belongs to the emperors. I dare not commit sacrilege.’

‘It is not sacrilege if it is freely bequeathed upon you, general.’

There is no mistaking the warning lilt in the last word, and he has no answer.

‘The hour grows late. You had better not keep the bride waiting,’ says the advisor with an air of finality before retreating into the shadows.

Marcus shudders at the cold that settles into the empty space, fingers stained with ink from the now crumpled dispatch.

He remembers nothing of the remainder of his short journey to his quarters. As the front door swings open, he realises there is something in the night air that is out of place.

Sea salt.

You are here.

Would you be demure? Frightened? You are of royal lineage, a lady of the small but proud coastal kingdom strong-armed by Rome into an unequal treaty for its profitable trading posts, in return for the mercy of not being razed to its fertile grounds.

And now, you are lowered to marry a general’s son.

Worse, lowered to have your virginity taken by his father.

Candlelight spills from the crack underneath the door to his bedchamber. Marcus takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

You hear him. The swish of fabric, the slide of leather soles on marble.

The general is here.

Your hand in marriage is part of the terms of the treaty, and the missive that sent for you announced your match as the widowed hero general. You had him cast on the wretched journey from your home as one of the domineering, brutish soldiers now garrisoned at your family’s kingdom - only to be told on your arrival that you will be marrying his son instead.

Relief at the news that your future husband would not be decades older than you is instantly snatched away by furtive whispers of prima nocta.

Your future father-in-law will take you first.

The humiliation is bitter on your tongue. You are Rome’s to marry off, hers to give to whomever she pleases -

But she won’t break you.

The door creaks. You stand tall and hold your ground.

He sweeps into the room with an air of well-worn authority, the cloak on his back dark as the shadows that nip at his heels.

The candles flicker when he sheds the heavy robes with a smooth sweep of his arm.

You stare, in a manner that would have had your lady-in-waiting tutting. But you are alone, very much so, with this man not ten paces from you.

General Marcus Acacius.

He is older, certainly old enough to have a son your age. But you had not imagined him so - strong, for the lack of a more imaginative word. His shoulders are broad under his wine red tunic, and you can see the muscles in his arms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. From where you stand, you can hardly see any silver in his dark curls.

Marcus unflinchingly assesses you right back.

No, you are decidedly not demure. Or frightened. Far from it.

You are defiant, even as you observe him with evident curiosity. Your head held high, a telltale sign of your noble breeding, mouth set in a stern line while your eyes burn bright with a proud fire.

Judging the silence has gone on long enough, he breaks it with a formal, ‘My lady.’

‘General,’ you answer steadily.

The door slams shut belatedly behind him, and you flinch - the first glimpse of weakness you concede.

Marcus breathes in, delivering his next sentence with as much composure as he can muster. ‘I expect you have been informed of the - formalities that we are to perform tonight.’

You grind your teeth so hard you are astonished that your jaw doesn’t crack.

Your virtue is just a formality.

Refusing to dignify his question with an answer, you nod once.

He watches you wordlessly, and you meet his gaze. You thought you would find something else there, not the regret that you see.

Turning away from you, he reaches for the amphora on the table.

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

The wine is drunk in silence and moderation. Him at his desk, you perched on the end of the bed.

As you sip, pacing yourself, you observe the general discreetly from across the small distance between you.

To say that you are disconcerted by his behaviour would be an understatement.

You assumed that he asked for this - for the perverse pursuit of deflowering his son’s bride-to-be while eschewing the unwanted responsibility of a wife.

Yet, watching him stare pensively into his goblet, lips pursed in a pout that is almost sullen, you are not so certain anymore.

When you bring your drink to your mouth to find it empty, you clear your throat. ‘I have to wake up early tomorrow morning - for the wedding.’

The general starts before collecting himself, drawing himself up to his full height as he sets down his cup with a heavy clunk. ‘Understandably, my lady.’

Then he moves, charting a course across the room, licking his thumb and index finger to douse the candles dotted around the space.

The thought comes to you unbidden - he has thick fingers. And big hands.

Your cheeks tingle with heat.

Soon the chamber is cloaked in darkness, save for the candles next to the bed, the warm light pooling in the most inviting manner on the soft surface despite your trepidation. You long to rest your aching feet.

He comes to a standstill on the other side of the bed, as if waiting for you to take the lead. You cannot decide whether you are thankful for him not imposing on you, or frustrated at him for not taking the lead in what is very much unfamiliar territory.

In the end, the desire to get off your feet wins out, and you gesture at the bed. ‘Shall we…?’

‘Certainly.’ He bends down, you assume to take off his sandals. You do the same, toeing off the soft leather slides the maids had you change into when they dressed you.

Once barefoot, you climb in with as much grace as you can summon, acutely aware that you have an audience. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you’re relieved that it is stuffed with feathers, luxuriously giving under your weight. Shifting primly, you find your back against the headboard, cushioned by equally soft pillows.

The general follows suit, the frame creaking as he eases onto the suddenly too small bed, strong shoulders brushing yours as he settles next to you.

You stare hard at the back of your hands, the only way to stop your gaze from wandering to the span of his fingers splayed wide on sturdy thighs, or lower to the bony ridge of his knees - gods, you must be unwell, since when have you been drawn to knees?

You are still questioning the state of your sanity when the general, who has been nothing but unperturbed and composed since he stepped into the room, stumbles over his words in a manner that is neither, as if he had held the question behind his teeth for too long.

‘Are you - are you absolutely certain - in no doubt - that you are… untouched?’

His question stings like salt in a festering wound. Indignant doesn’t even begin to describe the retort you spit at him. ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

Peering at you sideways, his eyes widen at your outburst, and fear briefly flits across your heart that you have overstepped.

But then, he surprises you with a smile. ‘You bite, don’t you?’

You let your shoulders sag, too far gone to hold onto your facade.

‘It’s been a long day, sir,’ you admit. ‘To be frank, I just want to get this over with and forget it ever happened.’

He pauses at your confession, as if weighing his options. Then he shifts, and says, ‘The reason I ask if you were untouched is because, if you were not - we could have just pretended we did this.’

You frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not invoke prima nocta, it was imposed upon me. The emperors are displeased that I turned down the betrothal, this is their way of punishing me for my ungratefulness.’

Oh.

As much as you didn’t want this either, your pride suffers to hear him describe it as a punishment.

‘I know…’ you stumble, halting to steel yourself. ‘I know I am nothing like the women here in Rome. I spend too much time in the sun, and my hands are rough from working with horses -’

‘Why do you say that?’ he interrupts you.

You look away. ‘That is why you do not wish to marry me, is it not? And why you do not want this - why you do not want me.’

The general sits up, palms on the mattress to support his weight, the lines on his forehead deepening with a frown. ‘No, that is not the reason. You are young, you deserve a husband who can build a life with you in the years to come. Not a washed-up widower.’

The bitterness in his voice turns your head.

‘You’re not washed up, from what I hear.’ Somehow, you find the courage to add boldly, ‘Or from what I see.’

Letting your eyes trail unabashedly over his broad frame, a thrill chases through your blood when you notice his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. He’s so close that you know you’re not imagining the heat seeping into your bones.

Silence stretches between you, charged with a consciousness that creeps in and spreads. Two souls from different worlds and stations put in a situation in which neither of you had a hand. This may not be how you imagined giving away your virtue - far from it - yet your stomach twists in anticipation.

You glance upwards, only to find him already watching you.

Something has shifted when you so bravely reached out and tipped the balance with your words. He can tell that you are not one for flippant flattery, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, harder said than done with the blood roaring in his ears.

When he speaks, it comes out in a much lower register than he intends, so much so it sounds like a secret.

‘You say you just want to get this over with. But I can - I can make it good for you. It doesn’t have to be something you want to forget.’

Your eyes widen and your lips part, and heat blooms almost uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will serve you in whatever way you ask of me tonight, my lady.’

Never have mere words, albeit delivered in such a delicious baritone, moved you so. You came in expecting to have your virtue stripped from you, the same way Rome callously stole you away. Where you thought humiliation and dishonour awaited, this man is offering deliverance and devotion - if only for one night.

Your throat tight with emotion, you nod in lieu of a spoken answer.

Marcus is deliberately slow in his movements, wanting you to feel safe in his presence. ‘How much do you know? So I know what I need to teach you.’

Despite yourself, shyness rears its head and you mumble, ‘I’ve - I’ve heard stories. I know what… happens… between a man and a woman in the bed chamber.’

He nods reassuringly, making you feel less of a fool for the juvenile answer you gave. ‘And has anyone touched you before?’

There’s no mistaking the lurch in your stomach as your heart hammers violently. ‘No. No one. Never.’

The protector in him stirs, summoned to duty, warring with the desire that seethes under his skin like the unholy flames of Vesuvius. He fears it is a quickly losing battle.

Reading the desire in your endearingly open face, Marcus reaches over you to settle one hand on your hip as he leans close, his breath warm on your cheek.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ he rasps.

You shake your head, eyes fixated on his mouth, framed by a tidy moustache. He is so close that you can see his beard is flecked with silver.

You swear the general is leaning into you, and every inch of you is on tenterhooks, enraptured by his proximity -

‘You should save it for your husband.’

You barely forestall the whine of protest that teeters on the tip of your tongue, pinching your lips together, but his lopsided smile tells you that he knows.

‘I can kiss you elsewhere though.’

‘Oh,’ you inhale shakily when he dips to mouth at the side of your neck, landing on your pulse point in a suckle. Your whole body arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets, head spinning at all the sensations that are new to you - the burn of his stubble, the cool trail his lips leave behind -

Then the palm on your hip pulls you into him, sprawling you against the wide cage of his body, your breasts pressed against his broad chest. The dress they put you in is thin, and the fabric rubs against your pebbling nipples as his kisses travel daringly low.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he pauses, voice strained.

Breathlessly, you shake your head.

‘If you want me to stop, or wait, you say the word. Understood?’

‘Yes, general.’

Two words he hears daily from his men, and yet from your lips, they unleash a dangerously feral side of him.

More. Is the only coherent thought that remains.

Impatient hands reposition you so that you are astride him, and he groans when you slot flush in his lap. He watches your eyes widen at what you feel between your legs. Your dress rides up, and his blood rushes south at the bare expanse of your inner thighs on his skin.

‘I want to see you,’ he speaks plainly, palms squeezing the dip of your waist. ‘May I undress you? Please?’

All decorum flees you, and you might have chanted yes, yes, yes to his question.

Dropping your chin, you watch his thick fingers nimbly undo the knot holding the front of your dress together. The silk capitulates like water, tumbling down in delicate drapes around your waist, baring you to his heated gaze.

‘You are beautiful,’ he declares with a solemnity that steals your breath.

And it is easy to believe him, the way his dazed eyes trail over your breasts, before his hands follow. Calloused palms, which you are sure have held many a sword in triumph, now cup your tender flesh in reverence.

Your head lolls to the side as he teases you, but when he rolls his hips upwards, your eyes snap to the pained expression on his face. You’ve heard ladies in court whispering over wine about length and girth, but nothing could prepare you for the thrill of feeling a man’s undeniable desire for you.

Instinct guides you, moving your hips so that you are grinding against his length, seeking relief from what is building deep within you.

‘Do what feels good,’ the general murmurs encouragingly, palms on the small of your back to let you take control.

And just like that, you are thrown back to one summer’s day in your youth. You were bathing in a rock pool, under the spray of a waterfall in perfect solitude when you accidentally slipped forwards on the smooth stone surface. The unexpected sensation between your legs ripped through you like lightning on a clear day. And you chased that feeling, hips undulating until you shuddered and cried out. Knees trembling in the aftermath, you never dared to seek it out again, but neither did you forget.

And now, years later, you finally know what had transpired. Pleasure. And this time, under the general’s hooded gaze, you pursue it with single-minded determination.

Marcus wishes you knew how beautiful you are in this very moment. Breasts swaying in tandem while you rock back and forth on his clothed length, eyes glazed, every whimper from your swollen lips making him throb harder for you.

‘Good girl,’ he rasps, throat tight. ‘Take your pleasure. Take what you need.’

And when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail, tipping forward at an angle that unexpectedly takes you apart.

The waves that wash over you are more intense than you remember, and you are sure that has to do with the man holding your hips to his as you buck, and the warm swirl of his tongue against your breasts, sucking and nipping as you come down from your high.

‘That was not your first time,’ he states as a matter of fact when the white noise in your ears finally fades.

‘It happened once, a long time ago, and I didn’t understand then -’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes, general.’

This time, he lets loose a moan at your words. ‘I can feel your wetness through your dress.’

Confused, you look down, and your cheeks burn when you spot the dark patch on the delicate fabric. ‘Oh, I -’

‘It’s natural,’ he assures you. ‘The wetness makes it easier for -’

It dawns on you when you feel his hardness twitch under you. Oh.

‘It - you feel -’ you stutter, struggling to comprehend how the girth of what you are sitting on could possibly fit inside you.

Taking your hand, Marcus presses a chaste kiss to your palm, eyes warm and open.

‘We will take it slow. I will use my fingers first, to prepare you for me,’ he explains patiently. ‘I promised I would make it good for you, did I not?’

‘You did.’

And you have complete faith in him.

Your knees knock into each other hopelessly when he slides you off his lap, and he has to bodily prop you up against the pillows. Sinking into the soft feathers, you watch him kneel between your parted legs, and you feel so safe even as he towers over you.

‘May I disrobe you?’

You bite your bottom lip, and nod.

Except it’s not a disrobing, it’s nothing near as civil as that. The general rips the rest of your dress clean down the middle, rendering you completely bare beneath him.

Marcus knows should be ashamed of his brash behaviour. But how could he when you react so viscerally, jaw slack as your chest heaves in unmitigated desire?

His gaze shamelessly trail over every curve and dimple, from the breasts he has tasted to where your knees are demurely closed, and knowing that he is the first - the only - to have laid eyes on you makes him impossibly hard.

It matters not that you are not his to keep. This will always be his.

‘You are exquisite,’ he professes, voice tight.

You duck your head, more shy of his compliments than being nude before him. ‘You don’t have to.’

Sliding a finger under your chin and tilting your head until you meet his gaze, he assures you, ‘I mean every word.’

Then he moves down the bed until he can rest his weight on his elbows, and you startle when rough palms glide over the outside of your thighs, stopping at your knees.

He pauses to give you time. ‘Are you certain you wish to continue?’

Your answer is a confident yes.

Then, as if opening the shell of Venus, he delicately pries your knees apart, and his breath hitches as you are revealed to him.

He is aware that he’s staring like an imbecile, words failing him. As the silence stretches on, you become self-conscious.

‘General,’ you demur, moving to cover yourself.

Shaking his head, he finally says, ‘Forgive me, but you are perfect.’

Then he looks up at you with such intensity that has you struggling to catch your breath, and without breaking eye contact, he bows his head -

And closes his lips over you there.

You are wholly unprepared - no one has ever gossiped about this in court. Your hips buck violently off the bed, but Marcus holds you down with reassuring hands, suckling on the pearl between your thighs with gentle laps of his tongue.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ you stuttter, torn between watching the man wreak the most devastating pleasure on you and averting your gaze.

You’ve only ever known worship to be pious, and yet, this most vulgar adulation is the closest you’ve been to the gods.

His beautiful curls brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, catching the candle light as he moves, and the crook of his nose - so proud even with the scar on its bridge - draws patterns on your skin as he stakes his claim where no one has ever touched you.

You quickly realise that what you felt just now in the general’s lap was insignificant and thin in comparison. This pleasure is all-consuming, something divine that has you weak and trembling all over. All you hear are slick, wet sounds of tongues and lips, and your own whimpers between garbled groans.

Marcus feasts on you, unapologetically. Flattening his tongue, he tastes you in broad sweeps, moaning into your sweet cunt as you writhe above him, your needy mewls driving him to the edge of madness. You taste like fig - the earthiness of the purple peel, ripe sweetness of the pink flesh.

Then your hands wind into his hair, pulling him closer, ankles hooking over his shoulders. He groans harder, the sound rattling in his ribs as you soak his beard. Surrendering any last vestiges of shyness, you rock against his tongue, nails scratching his scalp as you whine louder into the night air.

Moans that will echo long after you’re gone.

The thought alone hardens his resolve to mark you unequivocally. You’re close, your pliant body quivering and breaths coming in shallow gasps now. He peers up at you, but your eyes are sealed shut and upturned at the gods, your breasts heaving.

Gently, he eases one finger inside you, and he grunts at how easily he slides in. You barely react, and so he pushes back in with two, coaxing a cry from you. Your cunt clenches as he gently thrusts his digits in and out, stretching your tight walls.

‘Oh gods. Oh gods,’ you pant violently.

You’re close, so close. He wants to warn you of what is to come, but it feels like sacrilege to tarnish the moment with words. When he feels you begin to quiver, he laves at your clit harder, burying his fingers inside you to the knuckle, until he feels you crest and break.

‘Gods, oh gods - Marcus!’

The cry of his name catches him off guard. He nearly loses control right there and then, as you ride out your high on his fingers, but by some miracle he holds out through gritted teeth. He devotes his attention to kissing his way up your body, from the slick inside of your thighs, to the side of your hip, making you jump when he sucks on your sensitive breasts.

You stare at his mouth with wild, dark eyes, and him at yours, but he vowed to leave your first kiss to your husband. Girding his self-restraint, he asks, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, Marcus.’

His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He wants to hear you say it in all manners of ways - whisper it, gasp it, scream it. And by the cheekiness in your smile, it’s clear that you know what he’s thinking.

Your eyes drop to where his hardness is pressed against you. ‘Will you teach me how to please you, general?’

He swallows a groan, the animal in him rattling the bars of its cage. He replies diplomatically, ‘I will teach you how to teach your husband.’

In one smooth tug, he shucks off his tunic, then his loincloth, and he tries not to be self-conscious under your watchful gaze. Pulling you against him, skin on naked skin, he smears kisses along the side of your neck, smiling at your answering shudder. In return, you run your lips and scrape your teeth over his collarbone.

Taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, he slides it all the way down his chest and wraps your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock, his pained moan in your ear.

Eyes wide, you marvel at the size of him in your grip. ‘You are so big.’

Marcus curses through clenched teeth. ‘You are an insolent girl.’

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you correct yourself, ‘You are so big, general.’

If he wasn’t so aroused, he would have chuckled at your cheek. Instead, he growls, ‘Such insubordination.’

Tilting your head to one side, you grin. ‘And how would you discipline me, sir?’

He lets the silence linger for a beat, allowing anticipation to build as one big hand splays over your ass, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. ‘I would deny you my cock, my lady. Let your sweet cunt weep for me, empty, not knowing how good it would feel to have me deep inside you.’

You are unsure if you are more shocked at the explicitness of his words, or at the gush of wetness that has you pressing your thighs together. If you had to wager a guess, he is just as affected as you by the way his length pulses in your grasp.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the way your body reacts to him. ‘But how can I deny such a lovely, desperate creature such as yourself?’

A sob escapes you. ‘Please, Marcus - I’m yours to take.’

With that, all self-restraint abandons him, and his lips crash into yours. At the back of his mind, he knows you deserve a better first kiss, something gentle and sweet. But to your credit, you seem to take it in stride, winding your arms around his neck with a deep groan as he deepens the kiss. Opening up your mouth, he sweeps his tongue against yours, making sure you taste yourself and the pleasure that he had wrung from you.

When he reluctantly pulls back for air, you hum, ‘I thought you said I should save that for my husband.’

He all but snarls, ‘Damn your husband.’

The possessiveness in his tone sends you reeling, and his resolve wears even thinner when your cunt brushes against him, so wet and soft, begging for him.

‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he declares.

You bite your lip beseechingly. ‘Please, Marcus, I cannot either.’

He braces himself above you on strong arms, until all you can see is him, backlit by the soft candlelight. Beholding his beauty - the wisps of gray at his temples, the scar lining his cheekbone - your breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes as he stares down at you.

Holding the base of his cock, Marcus notches himself at the entrance of your cunt, trembling as he holds himself back.

‘I will go slow,’ he assures you. ‘If it hurts, you tell me to stop. Understood?’

Your mouth dry, you can only nod.

Holding your gaze, Marcus rolls his hips ever so slowly, jaw slack when he breaches you, inch by tortuous inch.

He is barely inside you and you already feel so unfathomably full.

‘Marcus,’ you gasp when it gets impossibly tight, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stops, and whispers encouragingly, ‘You are doing so well for me, taking me so beautifully. Just breathe.’

In between his patient, languid kisses, you unfurl, and Marcus gently pulls back, before pushing into you, deeper this time.

When you cry out, he shushes you, brushing the wet corners of your eyes with his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’

You shake your head. ‘No, it’s just - so much.’

‘I know, I can feel how tight you are gripping me,’ he mumbles into your neck, throbbing inside you while he holds himself still as you adjust. ‘Brave, sweet girl.’

When you find your voice again, you give him cheek. ‘I am a woman now, general.’

He smiles at you - a warm curl that crinkles the corners of his eyes endearingly - and claims your lips again. Feeling the tension seep out of your body, he thrusts shallowly so you can learn the movement of his hips. When he hits a spot that makes your jaw drop and your hips buck, he pulls all the way back, and drives himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

And with that, you become a part of his soul, and his yours. His chest swells with the fiercest possessiveness and the greatest honour all at once, despite knowing that the circumstances that brought you together will inevitably tear you asunder at the break of dawn.

‘Marcus!’ you choke on a sob, throwing your head back, your walls clutching his cock in a merciless grip.

‘There she is,’ he grunts, mouth scraping the shell of your ear. ‘Say my name like that.’

And you do, over and over again, as he fucks into you. His pants land harshly in the crook of your neck with every thrust, hands greedily squeezing all the skin he can find - the curve of your ass, the dimple in your waist, your thigh to hitch it over his hip.

Looking down at you, eyes drunk and unfocused as you stare back at him, each squeeze of your wet cunt around him, every breath from your lips feels sacred.

He is seized by a sudden need to know. ‘How does it feel?’

Your eyes soften, and he shudders when you cup the side of his face to bring his nose to yours. ‘Divine.’

Marcus loses himself in you, in the wet squelch of your cunt around his length, the way your tightness takes every thrust. Words of praise that he doesn’t even hear tumble from his lips and onto every inch of skin he can reach as you cling to him, scraping your nails down his back and digging into the meat of his ass.

Pitching forward to press a hard kiss to you, he says, ‘I want you to fall apart for me again.’

‘Please, Marcus, please.’

Pushing himself up to his knees, still buried deep inside you, he spreads your thighs obscenely wide over his hips, and he moans at the sight of your cunt so full of him. With hooded eyes, he sucks on two of his thick fingers and brings them between your legs, carefully drawing circles on your clit, knowing that you are already sensitive from cumming twice for him before.

Your face twists in agony as he builds you towards another climax, patiently weaving the web of pleasure that wounds you tighter and tighter until your spine feels like it will snap in two. ‘Marcus, oh - don’t stop, don’t stop, oh gods -’

He bares his teeth as he feels you start to clench around him. ‘That’s it, that’s it. Cum on my cock, let me feel you, give it to me.’

Your peak crashes into you relentlessly, and as you are swept away, you can only wail and thrash, while Marcus curses and stutters unintelligibly above you as he spins out of control.

He had every intention to pull out, but it is as if some higher power is determined to foil his plans. With a guttural roar, his hips snap flush against yours, big palms grasp you so hard by the waist that you squeal, and he spills into you in hot gushes, once - twice - and again until he is spent.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He doesn’t know if he said that aloud or if it was a trick of the mind. All he knows is that he eventually collapses bonelessly onto you, skin fused together with sweat and cum as your breaths become one in the crisp night air.

It is him who breaks the stillness, his old bones creaking when he stirs to relieve an ache in his back. His softened cock slides out of you, prompting you to whine in protest. He grunts when he looks down to see his cum dribble out of your cunt, leaving a pearly trail on the inside of your thighs.

When he meets your eyes, there is no awkwardness in the silence. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you. That was reckless.’

Your heart skips a beat at his admission, and you can’t hide the pride in your voice. ‘Do I make you reckless, general?’

He tries and fails to be stern in his answer, the tenderness with which he brushes his nose on your cheek giving him away. ‘I know better than to encourage your insolence with an answer.’

You are far from discouraged though, quite the opposite. Knowing you have this man - who commands armies of thousands - at your mercy is a siren’s call.

Peering at him from under your eyelashes, you curl one leg around his waist. ‘Do you want to be reckless again?’

He huffs, but a smile breaks through. ‘Have you ever been told that you are a cocktease?’

You hum teasingly. ‘I have never heard that word before, but I like it.’

‘You do?’ he breathes against your lips. ‘You like being my cocktease?’

‘Yours, general.’

Marcus is astounded when he feels himself harden again, and he moans as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck. ‘What spell have you cast on this old man, my little cocktease?’

You grin, letting him ease you onto your back so he can settle between your thighs again. ‘The kind that lasts until dawn.’

Eventually, morning must break, sure as the moon turns and the sun rises. In the golden rays of day, you will wed his son in ironic, virginal white, showered in rose petals. He will look on from the side in his finest ceremonial robes of red, as you walk away from him and into your new life as someone else’s wife.

But in the velvety folds of this night and many more to come, safely ensconced in the deepest corners of his memories, in lands far away, in war and in peace, there he keeps you - where you are not.

More notes: Thank you for reading! As usual, comments/reblogs/asks would be very much appreciated 🥰 I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I loved writing it!

#prima nocta #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x fem!reader #marcus acacius oneshot #marcus acacius smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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sonrium · 8 months ago

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DP X DC: A Minor Drinking Problem

Phantom is a relatively new member of the JLA, but it's been a few months, and things are settling in well. He's shy and polite but is a master of the snark with villains.

Before a big mission, the all hands on deck kind, everyone is talking about scars and the crazy stories behind them to distract from the coming fight. Danny, finally feeling like he can join in the conversation with all these adult heroes, pulls off his right glove to show a pretty gnarly scar on the back of his wrist. “I got this one when I fought a guy from the Revolutionary War a few weeks ago! Didn't think he'd charge me with a bayonet.” He shares a couple more stories and scars, but only the ones that he can easily show off.

Because of stories like that and some historical depictions of Phantom from different time periods, they think he's this ancient and powerful immortal that just looks like a teenager, it wouldnt be the first time. He's powerful enough to go toe to toe with Superman, so there's no way he's actually a kid. He even sometimes has the haunted, world weary eyes that their most hardened members only get after experiencing too much. Danny, being our lovable, obliviously dense idiot, has not realized that they think he's an ancient being.

After the mission concludes -it was a rough one-, the JLA celebrate their victory with a couple drinks back at the watch tower. Danny is understandably uncomfortable with this whole situation and keeps asking, “Are you sure I should be here?” They reassure him it's fine as they pass around beers, which Danny politely declines several times. Danny eventually sees this as the perfect chance to pad his blackmail folders on his inebriated coworkers.

Anyway, as the night goes on, they have a good time, but Phantom still hasn't gotten a drink like the rest of them, and Green Lantern (or hero of your choice) really wants their shy friend to come out of his shell. So, he slams an open beer bottle on the coffee table in front of Phantom. “Come on Phantom! Let loose a little. Celebrate!”

“Dude! What the hell?! I'm 16! That's illegal!” Phantom squeaks in shock.

“We don't care how old you were when you died. It's how long you've been a ghost that counts.” Flash slings an arm around Danny's shoulders from where he’s sat next to him on the couch. Flash can't get drunk, but he also thinks it would be fun to see their uptight new member drunk.

“That's even worse! You'd be giving alcohol to a two year old!” Phantom is horrified that his coworkers are so casually breaking the law.

“But you said you fought in the Revolutionary War this morning!” Green Lantern said with his eyebrows knit in confusion.

“No, I said I fought someone from the Revolutionary War. As in, the ghost of someone from the revolutionary war!”

“You can't pull that on us. There's murals and stuff of you from thousands of years ago.” The Flash waves off with a laugh.

Phantom’s finger presses painfully hard into Flash’s chest. “I do not need to explain time travel to you of all people. My mentor hates you, and I'm STILL sent on missions constantly to clean up your messes.” Phantom's clear and low. Flash liked it better when he was shouting and not staring him down like a predator with narrowed eyes.

(This random idea popped into my head. It made me laugh, so I thought you might, too. Here you go!)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #plot bunny #the flash #green lantern #time travel

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nanaslutt · 1 month ago

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always the hero

ʚ pairing: nanami kento x reader

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (nanami!r), deep throating, established relationship, kinda sub nanami??

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Once the door clicks shut, the silence that falls is deafening. Nanami is backed up against the door, with you standing too close to him, but neither of you move, neither of you breathes. Ever since the argument earlier, things have been tense. That tension that radiates between you is now filling up the room and making breathing nearly impossible. Unbearable.

After a few moments pass, Nanami clears his throat and steals your eyes to his, but before his parted lips can make words, you raise a finger to them and shake your head, all in silence. His brows furrow, but you don't feel like talking. Not right now. Not like this.

Dragging your finger down his nape, he lifts his chin as you trace down his chest, staying for a second longer on the warm skin that peaks out from his unbuttoned collar. Your touches are painfully slow and torturous, meant to drag this out until he's clenching his fists and breathing ragged.

You stop at his belt line and pull his tucked shirt up, dragging it out of the confines from where it's tucked into his pants. Through it, Nanami is quiet, but his breath hitches when you pull the shirt free. Lifting the fabric, you toy a single finger between his belt and lower abdomen.

Nanami lifts a hand and grips your wrist--not to tell you to stop, but his eyes are full of questions, unspoken thoughts, and... Lust. He's exactly where you want him. "What are you doing?" His deep whispered voice seems to echo off the walls of your shared home.

Holding eye contact, you pull your finger out and use both hands to undo his belt, his hand still cautiously on your wrist. "I thought I told you not to speak right now?" You said, the clinking of metal filling up the space around you. His breath hitches when you bump into the proof of his arousal while undoing his belt, and his throat bobs as he looks down at your hands that make slow, precise work of him.

"We should talk." He says, his grip on your wrist turning firm.

Earlier, Nanami put himself in danger to eliminate a curse--something you had told him before not to do. The last time he did it, you weren't with him, so your fright wasn't as potent, but seeing how close he got to...

Seeing it so close made you feel helpless. It was a feeling you never wanted to replicate again.

"I don't want to talk." You said, slowly dropping to your knees while looking up at him through your lashes.

Nanami pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a groan at the sight, warring with himself internally. You look so beautiful, but he knows you're still upset with him.

You run your hand up his thighs and stop at the top before sliding your fingers into the band of his boxers and sliding them down inch by inch. His breath seems to stop completely as you rid him of his clothes, slowly barring him and giving him no choice but to repent in the way you want him to. By letting you take him.

"Sweetheart..." He whispers through a groan when his cock bounces free of its confines, wet at the tip and so hard he's fucking twitching.

"Kento." You chastise. What about not talking doesn't he understand?

His hand threads into your hair gently, and his eyes look so tortured and pained. You love it. "I don't deserve this." He says so softly, almost insecurely. And you nod. "No, you don't"

"Then why-"

Your hand wraps around his impossibly stiff cock, and he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply through his teeth while the back of his head knocks into the door. Such a simple touch and Nanami Kento is debased to his most basic animalistic urges. You rub the head of his cock, massaging your thumb into that sensitive spot on the underside of his head, and are rewarded with his abs clenching and a drop of precum.

"Speak again, and I'll stop." With those parting words, you suck him between your lips and he fucking melts.

Kento grunts, his free hand slamming into the wall behind him in a balled fist when you effortlessly slide him to the back of your throat. This isn't about his pleasure, much as it seems. You aren't going to take it easy or spare his pride, this is to torture him, to make him feel as helpless as he did you.

His hand in your hair tightens, but he makes no move to thrust into your mouth or shove you onto his cock. His body jerks and his back arches when you take him too deep, but he catches himself before he thrusts into your warm mouth as much as he wants to.

A long grunt that turns into a groan is torn free from his throat when you start bobbing your head up and down at a merciless pace, using a hand to stroke the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth, while you slide your other hand up his shirt to caress his abdomen and feel what you do to him.

His abs flex under your touch and your ministrations. His breathing is ragged and ruined, and sounds that would usually be hidden back from your ears, are being forced free. He's not hiding a thing. You didn't even know he could be this loud while receiving head even after being together for a year. The sounds are mostly pants and grunts, but they're sounds all the same, and they're making you feel insane.

Pre-cum floods your tongue when you swallow around him and time your thrusts with your hand, determined to jerk his soul out of his cock when he cums. And he feels fucking close. He keeps twitching inside your mouth, his abs are flexing his body is bowing, and his breaths are turning choppy and debauched.

"Sweetheart... A-ah." You know you said you would stop if he spoke again, but when he sounded so fucking good, it was hard to want to stop. "I'm going to cum, stop." The last word is grunted with a surprising amount of restraint and control, but you continue regardless as if you didn't hear it.

This time, his hips do jerk, and the precum that floods your mouth makes it feel like he's already cum. "My love, you need to-" You look up in time to watch his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back in his head before he bites down on his teeth and groans through them. "You need to stop or I'm going to cum."

Always so considerate, even when he's getting blown an inch from his life. Popping off from his cock only long enough to talk, you rake your nails down his abdomen and jerk him off as quickly as you were sucking him, not wanting him to lose that buildup. "Cum in my mouth."

He looks like he wants to retort, but it dies on his tongue when you take him back into your mouth and double your efforts, massaging your tongue on that one spot that makes him see fucking stars.

It only takes a second before his grunts turn to pants and his pitch raises in volume. You hold eye contact with him while he watches you take him to the near base, then he explodes, and you taste the specific taste of him on your tongue.

His face screws into pleasure and his body goes rigid as his balls empty into your mouth. It's a fucking pleasure seeing him come undone. His cheeks and ears are flushed, even in the dark they look like bright red tomatoes, and his throat that bobs as he struggles to do so much as swallow is beautiful.

When you pull his cock free, he twitches and his hand balls in your hair before he's dropping to his knees and slamminghis mouth to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grunts and groans into the kiss, licking inside like he's greedy to share some of the burden. And you love it.

He parts your lips and cradles your face in his hands, wiping away the saliva on your cheeks and lips. "I don't deserve you, but please let me return the favor." He whispers, a misbehaving hand sliding down your body to rub you over your panties.

Your eyes roll back, and his lips part in awe as he decides between watching you as he rubs your clit, or watching your face screw into pleasure. "Please, my love." He begs in that sinfully deep voice.

He's so damn polite.

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tokoyamisstuff · 2 months ago

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omg I definetly need more about the Invincible variants if you may!!

Second Chance At Love Pt. 2

After -> this <- silly lil' adorable idea by @rainydaygotham (but I made Reader a civilian instead).

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: stockholm-syndrome, mentions of death, angst, (fabricated) tragic backstory, canon divergence, not proofread

A/N: whew, I never imagined you people would enjoy it this much. thanks for all the feedback, it really means the world to me! 💌🐞

"Our satellites found the missing variant, Sir."

"And what?" Cecil unintentionally stared daggers towards Donald, probably due to the stress and the fact that both of them had given their everything those past 32 hours. "Spit it out, damn it!"

Even through the reflection of his glasses Donald's mannerism were an open book for the head of the GDA, and right now he acted like he always did when he was unsure how to deliver troublesome information to his boss.

But this time it wasn't particulary bad news that made him hesistant, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"He-he is...with an old friend of our Mark, and...currently not attacking anyone."

The elder man rubbed his temples, lack of sleep being a steady companion in this profession but damn his advancing age sure made it harder to function properly.

"I want him on screen immediately!" he commanded harshly, voice not even slightly hinting the extent of his exhaustion.

This one apparently is more clever than the original Mark if he was able to slip past their organization's surveilance, Cecil concluded as the spitting image of his involuntary ally popped up on the monitor.

The young Viltrumite perfectly blended in with the crowd, sitting in a tiny suburban cafè far away from all the chaos. On the opposite end of the coffee table were you - not an unknown face to the GDA solely because of your affiliation with the world's strongest hero.

Cecil worked his jaw in irritation at the unfitting piece to this mess of a puzzle he was expected to solve. No way one of them came here merely to catch up with an old acquaintace...

...and yet for now, there were more urgent matters that he was needed to tend to first.

"Keep an eye on them and report shall he do anything out of the ordinary." As if this right now wasn't enough. "As long as he's preoccupied we have one less monster to worry about...for now."

Meanwhile you were sitting in front of your still untouched drink, watching your reflection on the liquid surface.

There was a radio running in the background, almost constantly updating you about how the other variants were still wreaking havoc everywhere, laying waste to the world as you knew it while you were trapped here acting as if it's a normal fucking tuesday.

You really shouldnt't be playing all domestic with a man that's just as much of a villain as his alternate selves currently on the run, and yet you keep reminding yourself that the only reason you're still alive is the uncertain benevolence of that very same person.

Trying to convince him to see the error of his ways or maybe even switch sides was out of the question - this Mark, just as the other sociopaths you saw in the news, has totally lost it a long time ago. You should be glad that he currently entertains himself with this little obsession of his, but that's no guarantee he couldn't snap and reduce you to a bloodied pulp any time.

And still, even though you have no other choice, it felt so terribly wrong to have a date - that felt more like a hostage situation - during an international emergency of apocalyptic scale.

Starting to feel sick as reality of your predicament dawned on you once again, you shoved the cup to aside, bracing yourself to interact with your kidnapper that hasn't initiated anything by himself until now.

Invincible on the other hand had destroyed Levi's orb long before finding you, never having disclosed his true intentions of joining this war. Also, with all the damage he's done the other 19 versions of himself would be sufficient, surely their 'boss' wouldn't care if one went astray from the plan. Not that he ever trusted Angstrom to not stab him in the back at some point, so who cares.

Back in the day you always had some spare clothes for this world's Mark in your room, in case he needed them - which was frankly quite often as they tend to get either torn or bloody from spontaneous fights. Maybe it was the sentimental value that made you keep them long after your friendship had ended, but right now they came in handy.

The other Mark nervously picks and tugs on the fabric, not used to wear civilian clothing after what felt like an eternity. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable to present himself this way. For years his costume had served as a barrier between himself and humanity, a symbol that the person he once was had long since ceased to exist so his Viltrumite side could rise.

Still, those familiar clothes, especially since given to him by you of all people, offered a strange comfort all the same.

At least he looked remotely normal like this, but god this man can be awkward at times. Some things really never change, even across different dimensions. Right now he was a perfect picture of misery, looking at you expectantly like a lost puppy that had just been kicked. Almost adorable, if you shun out the circumstances.

An uninvolved stranger would never believe that this is the villain who reduced entire cities to ashes just a few hours ago.

"So" you finally dare speaking up, casually leaning back in your seat as you take a sip of your already ice cold drink."I take it you're not a Seance Dog fan anymore?"

Noticing the bright logo on his shirt, Invincible actually managed to crack a smile - that trademark lopsided smirk of his that seemed more like a snarl now that you saw it after all this time. "Oh, you'd be shocked: The author is actually one of the few people I deliberately kept alive."

He's right, you are shocked not only with the answer, but the delivery as well. Suddenly you regret having pried in the first place. "Just a joke" he adds as soon as he sees the slightest shift of your expression, clutching the edge of the tabletop in frustration until it left a dent of his handprint.

You don't want to laugh. This isn't even remotely funny, and his reaction was awfully concerning as well. And yet you force yourself to snort, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to keep up the facade. "Glad to know you're as much of a weirdo as the original one."

It amazed yourself how calm and collected you could act, despite being as terrified of him as in the very beginning. Maybe you got used to the feeling already, or you had discovered a hidden talent of working well under pressure. May apply for a job at the GDA if you're ever alive and free again.

For the remaining duration of this afternoon, the two of you exchanged trivial stories about the past with your respective counterparts, many of whom were shared experiences. And as much as you tried to deny it, deep down you were aware you enjoyed this conversation more than you should.

There were only mild differences between your two dimensions as it seemed - at least when it came to your friendship, that was.

Invincible was pretty secretive about anything else really, but judging from the bits he threw in between you deduced he got his abilities way earlier than your Mark, which caused his father to never lose track of his original goal.

Occasionally Mark would state contradictionary opinions and you were sure most of it was just him mindlessly repeating the indoctrination his father had hammered into his head through inhumane methods.

You can only imagine what it meant for a gentle, sensitive soul like Mark to be subjected to a Viltrumite upbringing.

The sun was already starting to set when you were scooped up once again, however this time around you weren't afraid of the height in the slightest. You felt his chin resting atop of your head as he carried you through the sky, holding you firmly but carefully like you were a precious porcellain doll - and compared to his strenght you might as well be.

Yet all you could think of was the beauty of the twilight sky, and how oddly content you felt at that very moment.

Your date had promised to bring you to a secret location with a breathtaking view, and he really did not disappoint. It was in the midst of nature, absent of any human intervention. Just the two of you, surrounded by the sounds of the earth and the sight of the most horrible day in history of mankind slowly coming to an end.

Invincible spread his jacket out for you to sit on, and you secretly appreciated the gesture. A murderer, but also a gentleman, you mentally noted. Ironic. He slumped down on the damp grass an appropriate distance away from you, subconsciously starting to rip out some leaves.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he freezes in his tracks at the unexpected display of affection - or at least he hopes it's the absence of fear. For a long while you remain like this, admiring the view and each other's closeness, until you disturb the comfortable silence.

"How did you..." You hesitated for a moment, but then you met his eyes, so completely and utterly filled with genuine affection that caused something to blossom beneath your ribcage which you didn't want to acknowledge.

Even though you were still wary of him, it was hard to stay objective in the proximity of a literal carbon copy of the love of your life in nearly every single way.

"...how did you become like this?"

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

"I got my powers shortly before my 13th birthday..." In hindsight, after having met the other variants who got them even earlier, it could've been worse. At least he was granted a few good years. "...and from then on, everything suddenly changed. My mom had an 'accident', so my dad was left to raise me on his own. It was-"

Mark's voice cracked, eyes glossed with unshed tears he was long since taught to repress as they were a sign of weakness. "The only times I felt truly happy was when I sneaked out to see you...I think for a long time those visits were what kept me sane. But nothing went past him..."

He balled a fist in the fabric over his sternum, and there was so much agony in his tone that it made your own heart clench painfully. "Dad- no, he's not a father. Never was. Anyways, Nolan tolerated it for a while, thinking I'd outgrow this sentiment and understand humans are beneath us. But when I turned 18..."

A tidal wave of shame and guilt washed over him, making him unable to bear looking at you as he continued his story. "He made me watch...I should've done something, I should've defended you, but...I was so scared of him. I just stood there when he snapped your neck."

The disclosure of the other's fate ultimately caused the panic attack that was seething inside of you ever since your first encounter with this variant to finally unravel. You frantically tug on your collar as you began to hyperventillate, feeling as if it was actually your neck that was being assaulted.

"Don't worry, I took care of it..." Invincible still had his face buried in his hands, and there was an eerie coldness in the following statement. "It took me a while, but I got stronger just to avenge you...ripped his sorry excuse of a heart right out of his fucking chest."

That's hardly a solace for either of you, isn't it.

Mark looks down at his palms as vivid images of his past crimes creep up on his mind, accompanied by a neurotic laughter that could only be described as absolutely broken...

...until you cup his hands with yours, the gesture conveying emotions you would never be able to put into words.

"Everything felt so pointless after you were gone..." he snivels, not resisting as you couldn't help but tug his head towards your lap. "You have no idea what emptiness you left behind...at some point I started doing unspeakable things just in order to feel something, anything to distract myself from the grief..."

You hum in between choked sobs, weeping for this lost soul as you rake your fingers through his hair, listening to him repeat countless apologies. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I should've just flown into the sun...I should've been stronger, better...I didn't want to become cruel...I wanted to be good...for you..."

What were you even doing here? Have you lost your mind?! Snap out of it, this is insane!

"Shh...it's enough. Stop tormenting yourself." No. He deserves far worse. Victim of circumstance or not, this man is beyond saving.

"Accompany me to my homeworld. Let me indulge you the way you deserve. Never leave me again" was what he desperately wanted to say, but instead he gulped harshly around the lump forming in his throat before announcing "I'll take you back home soon...phase one of Angstrom's plan is over, the variants will leave and you're safe again."

"Huh? I thought-"

"Drop the performance" he ordered as he fought to regain his composure. "You can speak freely. I meant what I said, I won't hurt you. Even if you hate me, even if you hurl all kinds of insults and accusations at me...I can take it. I'm just grateful for today. I'll cherish this memory forever."

Yes. This was more than he could possibly ask for. He already destroyed the life of your counterpart in his world, it's not fair of him to do the same to someone so precious twice.

Mark doesn't care what happens to him from now on, because thanks to you he was able to make peace with what happened.

"Come." He jolts up as he wipes his tear-stained cheeks clean, not biding you another look as he fears that otherwise he won't be able to pull through with his good intentions. "It's getting cold, we should-"

"No!"

Out of a whim you tackle hug the Viltrumite, who is caught off guard enough to stagger and fall. You softly punch against his chest and he allows you to let it all out, though he has no idea what you're on about.

"You-you're not like those other variants of Mark...please..." Your bottom lip is trembling as you speak, voice wavering with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher yourself. "Don't leave. If you have nothing to live for in your timeline, then...just stay in this one."

"And then what? Go to the Pentagon and say 'hi, I'm one of the Invincibles that ruined simply everything, but now I'd like to stay here'? They'll never believe that I don't have an ulterior motive!"

"So what? It's not like they can contain or even scratch you. And even if they could, I-I'll make sure to visit you every day!" You giggle like an infatuated teenager as you add that last sentence, and even a maniac like him realizes you must've lost your mind.

God, this is all his fault...

"What are you even talking about?" he almost yells, now on top of you and softly grabbing your shoulders to shake you ever so slightly. "Why are you trying to convince me? That can't seriously be what you want!"

"I-I...don't know." You're staring straight at him now, a stubborn determination in your eyes that almost frightens this unstoppable man. Wrapping your arms around his neck to make your foreheads touch, you whisper "All I'm sure of is that you didn't deserve any of this, and maybe...shit, just give us some time to figure it out, would you?"

Mark's hands were hovering over your body, giving it his best to hold back yet it was a lost battle before it even started. He utters vile curses under his breath before finally crushing you flush against his body, lips brushing against yours as if to ask for permission. You're quick to take the initiative, tossing all reason overboard as you give in to this all-consuming madness some might call hope...

...but just when you were about to pull him in for a long overdue kiss, the man that was straddling your waist mere seconds ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The soundwave reached your ears much later than the actual impact, and much to your shock, when you saw not one but two Invincibles - yours having been knocked into a nearby rock formation - you immediately understood what it meant.

"Mark, wait!" you screamed, but your plea went on deaf ears.

After everything your world's Invincible had to endure those past few days, he wasn't even slightly in an amenable constitution. The only thing he was able to feel at this moment was rage, and he needed to direct it to something or otherwise he'd burst.

Sadly the next best target of his fury was the variant right in front of him - a man who not only attacked his homeplanet, but tried to violate someone he once held dear.

Mark will make him pay for trying to harm you.

"C'mon, stand up. Right now all I want to do is hit something...as hard as I can."

[Next Part]

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible s3 #invincible spoiler #writing #fanfiction #series #reader insert #nondescriptive reader #no use of y/m

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bokunoheros · 7 months ago

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TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab (keigo does talk ab making you a mommy tho, and you refer to yourself as his girlfriend once), reader is a civilian, this is pre-war, reader and keigo are dating, no lube no protection (all night all day), baby trapping lowk????, idk he nonconsensually cums in you and then proposes (you accept tho), creampies, cockwarming, kinda lazy ending?? idgaf GENRE: smut SUMMARY: it’s the start of mating season and keigo had just saved a mother and her child at work today, so it’s only natural for him to come home with the overwhelming need to knock you up. WORD COUNT: 2.6K 🦊’s A/N: keigo they could Never make me hate you…. anyway hope yall enjoy this fr

not only was today the first day of his rut, meaning his last day of hero work until the spring was over, but he had also gone out of his way to save a mother and her crying child while off-duty. he’d been heading home after an eventful and tiring patrol when he ran into them being threatened by a petty mugger—nothing he couldn’t handle, especially after the day he’d had, but he can imagine having a gun pointed to your face must be scary to an untrained civilian. now, he was brimming over with emotions, barely keeping his cool as he walks through the threshold of your shared home, slamming the door loudly behind him, wings all puffed up and ruffled.

“keigo? honey, what’s wron—” you’re suddenly cut off by a small flurry of his feathers sweeping you off your feet and carrying you from the kitchen towards where he stood in the living room, in the process of stepping out of his boots and shrugging his jacket off. you’re immediately taken aback by his serious demeanor and you open your mouth to say something, except that no words come out. what should you say?

“how was your day..?” you ask tentatively after a brief moment of silence.

rather than verbally answering you, he lets out a long, drawn out sigh and shakes his head — a response you’re unfamiliar with. usually, he isn’t afraid to yap for at least fifteen minutes about how his day went, what happened, and sometimes even the people or fellow pros he talked to! so for him to remain silent…. well, it’s safe to say you’re starting to get worried.

had you done something wrong? was today exceptionally challenging? your heart rate increases as your anxious thoughts swirl around in your foggy mind, and you don’t know where to go from here.

keigo knew what to do, though; he knew exactly how to relieve this stress.

taking a step in your direction, he narrows his eyes, intense, predatory gaze locked onto yours, and suddenly, he’s leaning in for a kiss as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

the way he kisses you is controlled and barely put together, and you can tell he’s on edge, like he’s about to snap, so you say what you think he needs to hear.

“you can rough me up a bit, kei, i promise i won’t break.”

his eyes fly open at your words before narrowing as he nods before leaning back in with much more passion and any restraint right out the window. but he himself has said it before, he’s awful—he has no self-control; something that rang especially true when it came to you.

he’s spent whole evenings with his head buried between your thighs, eating you out until you’re crying and begging him to stop, saying it hurts, it hurts!, to which he always asks you for just one more. “one more” never meant one more, of course—keigo was greedy in this sense. he could never seem to get enough of you, always wanting more, more, more. if he could, he’d devour you whole, make you his entirely, and—that’s exactly what he was going to do tonight. he had been planning to propose for a while now, anyway. he had a ring and everything! he’d.. just been working up the courage to ask. so, then what better way than by deciding to knock you up on a whim.

well, …was it really a whim if he had fantasized about it before? the two of you had been dating since the summer of last year, meaning you haven’t seen him during his ruts yet, and, while he’s mentioned it briefly in the past, he didn’t actually expect to last this long with you so he never divulged the details of it—not because he wasn’t in love with you, but because he gave up on the dating scene because he’s always the one being dumped for being so. so. !!!! outwardly nonchalant about most things! or being married to his work, whatever they meant by that; he only worked so hard so he could have a future to relax in! no one ever seemed to understand that…. until he met you.

something just clicked between the two of you upon your first meeting—you were probably the most interesting person hawks had ever saved, be it your quirk, your personality and mannerisms, or even something as simple as a remark you had made in the five something minutes it took to save you; he found himself unable to get you out of his head for days afterwards, eventually causing him to seek you out to ask a bewildered you on a date—just one, he had originally said.

you said yes immediately for a multitude of reasons—he was fine as fuck, he’d literally saved your life the other day, not to mention he was witty, and spoke his mind, too—something keigo hadn’t been expecting. he knew all of the above things, and yet, found himself somewhat nervous as he handed you a bouquet of pale red carnations, red camellias, and baby’s breath. he’d stayed up all night researching flower language and symbolism, deciding on the perfect ones to give to you, as he knew it was rude to show up to somebody’s house empty-handed, and, also, because… he’d never really felt this way about anyone before. there was something so magnetic between the two of you….

but that’s enough reminiscing—he needs to be in the present moment, needs to focus on fucking you so good you go braindead on his dick, focus on cumming so deep in you, there’s no way you couldn’t not be pregnant with his child. keigo understood that having children as the number two pro hero would be no easy feat, but he thinks with you by his side, he can do anything.

sliding his tongue over the seam of your lips, one gloved hand comes up to squish your cheeks enough to force your lips to part for him and he easily slips the wet muscle into your mouth, taking his time sliding it along the insides of your cheeks, the grooves of your teeth, and the roof of your mouth, carefully exploring every inch and committing it to memory (as if he hadn’t already).

meanwhile, his other hand settles on your hip, massaging it lightly for a moment before his grip quickly tightens and he’s coaxing your tongue out of your mouth and into his as he begins to suck on it.

“mmh,” you hum pleasantly, starting to drool as you let keigo decide how to use you in order to relieve his stress.

“missed ya t’day, dove,” he murmurs against your lips before nipping at your tongue and you feel your heart flutter. what had gotten into him? you weren’t necessarily complaining, but you still felt a little worried about him if you were being totally honest.

keigo, sensing your unease, slowly pulls away from the kiss to ask if something was wrong, just for you to deflect the question back onto him.

“‘m fine, it was just a long day is all,” he tells you in earnest, leaving out the part about the beginning of his rut. “need’a feel you s’bad, though,” he breathes out, moving to kiss you again; tilting his head, he slots his lips back over yours, and it feels like he’s going to eat you alive. and, truthfully, he just might.

before you even realize what he’s doing, he’s picking you up, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist, and carrying you into the bedroom where he’s pinning you to the mattress, wings spread wide for you to admire as you look up at him. you’re sure his words held a bit of truth to them, but he was behaving a little oddly for reasons you couldn’t put together yet.

him being a horny little shit wasn’t the unusual bit, but rather, his upbeat demeanor was nowhere to be found—even if it was an act almost all the time, it still felt weird to see him so serious looking.

“kei…”

“shh, stop worrying, sweets,” he shushes you, leaning in for another hungry kiss. you oblige him of course, parting your lips and poking your tongue out to meet his as you close your eyes

his large wings create an almost dome around the two of you, shutting out the world, only leaving room for the two of you, and not another soul.

perhaps it would be best to sit back, relax, and let your boyfriend play with you… so that’s exactly what you do, settling fully onto the soft bed and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in closer—something that had him smirking against your soft lips.

it’s not long before you’re both naked, having grown too hot for the unnecessary layers separating your bare bodies, and soon, you suddenly have a pillow tucked under your hips, keeping them at an angle—something that confuses you.

“keigo?”

“just relax, dove.”

he leans in closer, bringing his lips to yours as his one hand grasps at your hip, blunt nails (that he has to trim daily, mind you, lest they grow into talons) digging into the tender flesh there while his other grabs at his leaky cock, tapping it against your clit a couple times before lining it up with your slit and slowly pushing in, doing his best to show restraint and not bottom out in one fluid motion. you both groan at the feeling, the stretch so deep you almost feel nauseous.

bringing two fingers down to your pulsing clit, he rubs semi-rough circles against the little bud, trying his hardest not to overwhelm you, but needing to hurry up and get you off so he can stuff you full of his cum.

“mmmh,” you moan quietly as he focuses on working you up to your first orgasm out of many for the long night he had planned for you.

it’s not long before you’re cumming with a cry and suddenly, keigo’s got his dick lined up with your slick little hole, easing himself in as he bites his bottom lip, trying not to whimper.

“fuuuck, you’re so tight, sweets,” he groans, rocking his hips into your, unkempt pubes brushing against your neatly trimmed ones.

your hands come up to wrap around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer, before you’re tugging at his wings, and you feel his dick twitch inside you.

“don’t,” is all he’s able to get out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where he begins sucking and biting at the skin there.

“why not?” you grin like an idiot, already knowing the answer. you knew damn well just how sensitive keigo’s wings were—already having had this discussion when you first started having sex and you went to grab at them for the first time.

“don’t ask stupid questions when you know the answer, dove,” he warns.

you, ever the brat, decide to start stroking on his wings, and you feel his hips stutter and teeth sink into the column of your throat.

“nngh–!” you whine, tugging on the bright red feathers. keigo moans loudly at this, and quickly grabs the backs of your thighs to fold you in half and start fuckin’ pounding into you—his thrusts are fast and sloppy, and the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin turns you on even more, pussy drooling around his dick.

it doesn’t take long before keigo’s cumming deep inside you without warning, something that has your eyes flying open.

“k–keigo–! y– you just— you..!” the words aren’t there as panic begins to settle in. something you had both agreed on before you started fucking was that even if you did it raw, he had to pull out—kids were a big no for the both of you.

but here was your boyfriend, fucking you throughout his orgasm and working his way up to a second as he looks down at you with a gaze so intense, you feel small beneath him.

tugging at his wings again, you cry out his name as he fucks his cum into you, just for him to ignore your pathetic mewls and pleas.

“k– kei—!”

“gonna knock y’up so good—g’nna— fuck— g’nna make you a mommy—”

your face flushes deeply at his words—is this what had gotten into him? the urge to breed you? knock you up?

“f–fuck!” you pull at his wings, rolling your hips upwards as best you can as he desperately ruts into you. this triggers keigo’s second orgasm, his pelvis pressing flush against yours as he cums hard.

“nngh—! hnnmg—fuck,” keigo moans as his hips still while he spills another load deep within you. “shit— y’feel so fuckin’ good, baby—”

this continues for what seems like ever, but in reality is maybe fifteen minutes of your boyfriend fucking into you until he physically can’t cum anymore, until tears are running down his cheeks from how overstimulated he is, and he’s collapsing on top of you with a tired sigh.

“k–keigo— we— we can’t—” can’t what? “‘m gonna get pregnant— y’gotta let me get up,” you try to say, shoving at his chest; but it was no use, he was dead weight.

“good,” he says breathlessly, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“n–no! not good! i— we’re only dating! what would the media think if they found out the number two pro hero went and knocked his girlfriend up?!” your concern is genuine, but also stems from selfish reasons. you’re sure the reporters would hound you the moment they caught a whiff of something fishy, and—

“then marry me.” his words are so serious sounding that they immediately break you out of your own mind and your eyes go wide with shock and awe. had he seriously just. proposed?! while still being balls deep in you!?

“huh!?” you sound just as caught off guard as you look, and keigo cranes his neck up to look at you, expression the most serious you’d ever seen it. …okay, so he obviously wasn’t joking around, but, but–!

“you heard me. …i’d been meaning to get you a ring for a little while now, but couldn’t find one i thought you might like, so…..” his cheeks are flushed and face sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead as he gazes at you so tenderly, your heart can’t help but feel full.

“i— keigo, i…” he waits patiently as you fumble with your words. “yes,” finally falls from your lips, a grin tugging at the corners of them.

unable to say anything else, you cup his cheeks with both hands and press kisses all over his handsome face before you slot your lips over his and lean in slowly, almost teasingly.

keigo, ever impatient, leans in to close the gap, one large hand coming to cradle the back of your head as his hips twitch and he pushes further into you, causing the disgusting amount of cum stuffed in your cunt to form a creamy ring around the base of his cock, and drip down to your puckered asshole. after that, it doesn’t take much longer for keigo to fuck you both to sleep.

and that’s how you found yourself in the exact same position one year later, having put your first child to bed no less than an hour ago, with your now husband pinning you to your shared mattress, talking about how he wants a second kid—how beautiful you looked pregnant the first time, and how he’d love to see you like that again. so, he makes it happen. and then one more time after that.

return to KINKTOBER | PRO HERO M.LIST

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gilverrwrites · 7 months ago

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You want my groupie love

Ft. Dick, Jason, Roy, and Wally 400-500 words each Request: Anon requested any of the above finding out you have a crush on their hero alter-ego. I did all of em cause I've been looking for an excuse to sink my teeth into some fluffy rambling! Warnings: Swearing | Alcohol | Secrets | Non-graphic mentions of violence

Dick: Hey Neighbour

Dick could easily see how the new mailman switching up your post so often could get annoying, especially considering his busy schedule. However, he just couldn't bring himself to be upset over anything that gives him an excuse to see you. Admittedly, he's pushing it today, ringing your buzzer so early in the morning but the moment you open the door, revealing the most adorable bedhead and an oversized Nightwing shirt, he can't bring himself to care.

“Nice shirt.” He offers, but he's not certain you understand as you stare at him with squinted eyes and pouty lips.

“You want something?” Your voice is low and slow, thick with sleep but still hot as hell.

He wants you. “Yeah, um, my parcel says delivered but it's not! I just wondered if maybe they left it with you again?”

You continue to stare at him blankly for a moment longer before recognition seems to click in those pretty eyes.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you murmur as you grab his mail from somewhere behind the door and hand it to him. Together you go through the polite thanks and no problem motions, but when you're done, he can't bring himself to leave. Maybe this is the day he finally asks you out.

“Do you- “

“Are you- “

You talk over each other, and then you dance around it until you finally win out the no you go argument.

“Do…” He’s about to ask when a thought pops into his head. That oversized tee is very oversized. “Is that your boyfriend's top?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” You confirm, nervously playing with the hem and accidentally revealing a hint of your Nightwing sleep shorts.

“Just a big Nightwing fan, huh?” He's not sure why he's pushing it, something about the notion makes him feel good.

“You could say that.” You reply hesitantly. Your eyes flicker from him, back into your apartment a few times before you open your door. Nothing could have prepared Dick for the sight before him. Your living room was chockful of Nightwing merch; pillowcases, replica wing-dings, figurines, Blüd postcards with his likeness on them to name a few. Some are licensed, but most are not. There's a very real moment in which the blood drains from him, and he's concerned that he should be worried about you and your intention before you explain. “I kind of went on a big dumb rant about how Nightwing was snubbed for The Sexiest Hero Alive award a few years ago, and my friends have never let me forget about it. Now everyone and their dog buys me his merch for my Birthday and whatnot. I just can't bring myself to throw any of it out.”

“Ohhh.” That's a relief. His unease is replaced with twice as much giddiness. Sexiest Hero Alive, huh? He hadn’t cared that much about the award, but he cares that you care. “I’d love to hear more if by any chance you wanna grab breakfast together?

Jason: On the news

Jason is already sat in your usual spot when you arrive at the café, he even went ahead and got your usual order. The $12 was worth it for the look of gratitude and reprieve on your face as you collapse into the chair across from him.

“Thank you for ordering for me! I’ll send you the money.” Once you catch your breath you dive into your drink, moaning aloud at the flavour in a way that has him averting his gaze and shifting in his seat. He prays you don’t notice the heat in his face as he tells you not to worry about it, Bruce can afford it anyway.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” You continue. “Apparently Red Hood and some of Two-Face’s guys got into some kind of turf war near the bank last night, and police have shut the whole block down.”

“Oh, that sucks.” He grunts, pretending like he doesn’t already know.

“Right! So annoying. Red Hood gets a pass though, 'cause he’s hot.”

Jason actually chokes on his coffee, narrowly missing you with his spray as you lean away from him. Before you can even ask if he’s okay, he’s grilling you.

“He’s hot? How do you know he’s hot? You’ve never met the guy!” It’s an instinctive response, maybe a little paranoid, and though he doesn’t mean to, he’s definitely selling some kind of jealousy angle right now.

“No, but I’ve seen him on the news, and in the papers.” You explain. “He’s got that kind of, cool, mysterious, badass thing going on, you know? With the helmet, and leather, oh and the motorbike! And the voice!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. If he wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. Some badass. “B-but you don’t know what he looks like.”

“I know he’s good-looking. ‘An I bet he’s a nice person, under all that tough guy exterior.” You state decidedly. “I feel it in my bones, and my… I’m not gonna finish that sentence.”

You both laugh, yours is more light-hearted. Like music to his heated ears. Jason feels like you reached into his chest and started tweaking at his heartstrings. He might not seem it externally, but he’s thrilled. This is a step in the right direction for your more-than-friends-not-quite-lovers-relationship, he thinks.

“I’m just saying, if the opportunity ever arose; Red Hood could get it.”

He just has to figure out what the next move is.

Roy: Prince Charming

When he’d gotten done saving your life from some back-alley thief a few nights prior, you’d thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Roy had seriously considered never washing that cheek again. But, he’d figured you wouldn’t want to kiss him ever again, hero or no if he stank. So, he’d scrubbed up and trimmed before picking up the pizza and heading to your place for your bi-weekly movie night.

When you open the door there’s a far-off look in your eye and a dreamy smile on your lips that he could certainly get used to.

“You okay?” He asks, making no attempt to hide his amusement as he stands in your kitchen, smothering his fries with ketchup and watching you stare off into space, swaying your hips like a puppy dog who can't control their tail.

“Yeah.” You answer, only half snapping back into the present moment, a sheepish, excited look on your face as you grab your share of the food and head for the couch. “I got mugged.” You call back, like it’s nothing. Playfully baiting a reaction from him that he’ll have to fake because he already knows.

“No- oh shit! Are you okay?” He leans in close as he sits beside you on the couch, pretending to examine you for injuries, but actually using it as an excuse to savour your scent.

“Yeah.” You turn to him so that your noses brush together, and he has to will himself not to blush at the proximity. You’d always had a bit of a flirtationship going, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still get under his skin when you had that tenacious look on your face. “I met the love of my life.”

“The love of your life mugged you?” He teases and you shake your head all cute and determined before leaning away to bite into your dinner.

“C’mon, who’s the lucky guy?” He goads, he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he's trying not to get his hopes up.

You look at him like you’re thinking it over before confessing around a mouthful of food; “Arsenal.”

That’s fucking hilarious. He bites his lip to keep from laughing in your face.

“Arsenal.” He repeats. Is it hot in here? He feels exceedingly flush. “Huh, crazy.”

“Arsenal.” You say it again, this time like some Disney character swooning over their Prince Charming as you lean into his chest. It makes eating significantly harder, but he doesn’t care, lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, urging you closer. He’d starve it meant getting to hold you till he died. “He saved me.”

“No kidding.” You ghost a hand up and down his arm, and he enjoys the sensation too much to notice how your fingertips trace his exposed tattoos. This conversation might be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages. Second best. No, third best. Behind Lian being born and you kissing him. “But, ah, I thought I was the love of your life?”

You chew on his comeback for a minute, and he enjoys immensely how you try not to grin as your eyes dart around while you think up a response. “Guess you’ll have to share me.”

Roy Harper, share you with Arsenal? He could definitely live with that.

Wally: Fuck, marry, kill

“Okayokayokay. Fuck, marry, kill.” His words all string together in an excited jumble. He’s totally buzzing, and not from the booze. It’s never the booze, he metabolises it too fast. No, his excitement is entirely caused by you. You and your proximity, your smiling face, and your hypnotic laugh. “Nightwing, Tempest, and The Flash? Go!”

“Oh, well that entirely depends.” You reply matter-of-factly, and Wally watches admiringly as you take a sip of your drink, licking the rim when a drop spills over. Damn, he wishes you’d put your lips on him like that.

“Depends on what?” He finally asks when he remembers it’s his turn to speak, and you bite your lip for a second as if considering whether you should say what you’re about to say.

Eventually, you commit. “Are we talking Central City Flash, or Keystone?”

You watch him expectantly while he sips his own drink, waiting for his clarification. He’s glad that the difference matters to you but he can’t help challenging you, partly to keep up the clueless civilian shtick, but mostly because he wants to prolong the conversation. He wants to hear you say ‘The Flash’ a million more times. “You’re so sure they’re not the same guy? Could be running back and forth really fast. That’s his whole thing, right?”

“Nah.” You shake your head, a self-assured smile on your face. You don’t even entertain the idea, and he wonders what has you so confident but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. “Central Flash is cool and all, but I’m in loooooove with Keystone Flash.” You giggle as you declare it.

This is brand new information to Wally, and it takes him a moment to process it. His cheeks must be as red as his suit as he watches you melt into your seat, thinking about him The Flash.

“Have you ever met the guy?” He’s pretty certain he knows the answer already.

“No.” You confess shyly, but it doesn’t stop your next, very bold statement. “He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re gonna get married one day.”

“Really?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, like the cat whose canary landed right in his bowl and started chirping ‘EAT ME! EAT ME!’

The feet of his chair scrape on the floor as he shuffles closer, and even though he’s not ‘your future husband’, you let him close the distance, happily voicing your answer to his original question and his most recent. “Yep. If it’s Keystone, can I say fuck and marry The Flash?”

“Yeah, totally, I’ll accept that answer.” Wally blurts, making no effort to hide his elation as he places his hand atop yours. “You know, I’ve been told that I’m a lot like The Flash.”

Please remember, do things that make you happy!

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dreamsteddie · 5 months ago

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Nancy knows what people think when they see her and Steve together these days. People mostly include Robin Buckley who, despite what they both say, Nancy doesn't completely believe isn't carrying some kind of torch for the man.

They aren't dating, but it's obvious to anyone who knows them that's what Nancy is angling for. She's not subtle, and she's not trying to be. Doesn't see any reason why she should be. But she knows what it looks like. Nancy Wheeler, fresh off an amicable but heartbreaking end to her relationship with Johnathan Byers has turned tail for a rebound with former boyfriend Steve Harrington. She's using him. She's leading him on. She's going to break his heart, again.

The truth is that Nancy has always liked Steve, was in love with Steve for a fleeting moment when they were both young and stupid and full of mistakes waiting to be made and in the end they had hurt each other, misunderstood each other, too many times to last through their tumultuous teenage years.

The Nancy and Steve of 1984 couldn't have loved each other right, but Nancy knows in her heart that the Nancy and Steve of 1987 could make something beautiful.

Steve is so different from who he used to be. There's a steadiness in him that he always tried to emulate but never fully embodied until the summer of 1985. He always knew how to make her laugh, how to get her to tap into that adventurous spirit within her and live life, but now he also makes her feel safe.

She wants to hold him the way he used to hold her. Wants to whisk him away to New York and build a life perfectly balanced between her ambition and his steadfastness. So she's putting everything she has into rekindling those embers that have always smoldered between them into a steady fire.

She just has to convince Robin that she's in it for the long haul this time.

------

Robin thinks that before she met Steve Harrington her life was never so much like a soap opera.

Her best friend seems to attract danger, betrayal, and romance to him like the world is full of moths and he's the only flame for miles. It would be funnier if it wasn't so god damn annoying sometimes.

Steve doesn't know it, despite how much he insists on being some kind of love expert, but he's got two very eligible bachelors vying for his hand at the moment. She's pretty sure they both see themselves as tragic heroes in this tale of romance, but from her vantage point, it's more like two ornery cats fighting for the prized spot of their owner's lap.

Nancy and Eddie have made themselves both near-permanent fixtures at the Family Video. Ostensibly, they come in because Hawkins is still in the process of rebuilding and there isn't much to do at the moment outside of wandering the woods, loitering at the convenience store, and watching movies at home. In actuality they're both trying to monopolize as much of Steve's time as possible, each trying to lock down his weekend plans before the other.

The first couple of weeks it was funny just to watch, now the only enjoyment she gets out of the whole circus is ruining their plans. She relishes the pissed-off-priss look she gets from Nancy when she asks Steve to go to the drive-in the next town over and Robin turns it into a group outing instead. It's equally funny to watch Eddie's puffed-up shoulders droop when he can't figure out a way to say no to Robin enthusiastically asking if she can join them at the trailer to smoke up on a Saturday night.

In truth, as much as she enjoys messing with them, Robin knows who she wants to win this war. She knows too much about Steve and Nancy's past and all the ways they weren't good for each other to trust her deceptively fragile best friend in Nancy's capable hands.

Eddie, on the other hand...well she's still going to make him work for it before she throws him a bone.

------

Eddie's never been one to fall in love.

He's had crushes, shared a few kisses with girls and boys alike, and lost his virginity in the same fumbling but meaningful way most teens do.

But love? He's never had that before, wasn't sure what it would even feel like.

It turns out that for Eddie, being in love feels a lot like being an overgrown house plant that's finally been moved into suitably a larger pot.

You see, Eddie knows a lot about growing up on his own. Raising himself and finding ways to survive, if not thrive, with a distinct lack of nurturing. He knows how to grow under someone, to grow under the clumsy guidance of his uncle Wayne who never intended to become a parent. And most of all he knows a hell of a lot about growing despite. Growing under the harsh boot forever trying to push him back into the hard dirt he came from.

It's something else entirely to grow with someone in the way he's been growing with Steve.

Steve who was there when he woke up, almost equally as injured as Eddie himself after a second, world saving round with Vecna. Steve who let Eddie lean on him in the difficult month of physical and emotional recovery that came next. Who helped Eddie come to terms with the new reality he was living under the way Steve wished someone had been there for him after his first encounter with the Upsidedown. Steve, who on paper should have been one of the people pushing him down, always gave Eddie the space to be himself and never tried to force either of them into a box they didn't fit.

Eddie knows he's not The Girl. He's not the one who got away, he's not the stalwart princess in one of his campaigns who saves the day herself but still gets the guy. He's not Nancy Wheeler.

But he's also not a quitter, and even if everything about the world and the narrative arc of their lives says that Steve will never end up with him, Eddie knows he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't put his hat in the ring for the hand of the fair Sir Steve.

------

Steve's not stupid.

He knows that there's something happening between Nancy, Eddie, and himself. Knows that if he chooses to look a little closer, to examine why exactly all his weekends are suddenly booked up and Robin has taken to stealing the Recese's Pieces off the shelf whenever either one of them comes into the store like she's settling in for a show, he would come to the conclusion that two of his best friends are essentially courting him in competition with each other.

But Steve isn't looking closer.

His mom always said that he was just like his father, too stubborn for his own good.

Robin says he's a control freak, pushing non-life-threatening problems off until he knows how to deal with them on his own terms.

The truth is Steve already knows how this will end, and he knows how this should end.

Because in the eyes of society, in the arc of the narrative, Steve and Nancy should already be making plans to move out to New York and start a life together. Steve should be looking at apartments while Nancy finalizes her class schedule. He should be looking into getting a job at his dad's New York office to support his future wife through her college education where they both know she'll breeze through her classes and move onto the world-changing career she was always meant to have, while Steve stays home with their children like a perfect little modern family.

And the thing is, if the story had gone like it was supposed to, if the world had been saved the fourth time around and Eddie Munson had died on the cold, hard ground of the Upsidown, that's probably exactly the future that would have happened and Steve would have never known to not be content with it. But Eddie did make it, and while Steve mourns the future he could have had, he knows it's not the one he's going to choose in the end.

Even though Steve knows exactly what will happen when he allows himself to face the ever-mounting tension between the three of them, it's scary to take that plunge.

Everything about Steve's world up until Robin has told him that what he's going to choose will damn him forever, and even if he's never put much stock into God and the church, he knows that the future in front of them will never be easy. There's a part of him that wants to take the easy way out. He's never been attracted to a man before Eddie, never had to imagine himself loving someone discreetly, and the thought of it makes his heart hurt prematurely. It would be simpler, he knows, to choose the path most taken.

But Steve has always thought more with his heart than his brain, and he knows that after everything they've been through, after all the time they've spent healing together and growing as one that he could never choose anyone but Eddie.

The time is coming for him to make his final decision, he can feel it, but for now he'll let them sit in this liminal space a little longer.

#steddie #stranger things #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckly #this one is a little different #but it's been floating around my head for a while #lmk what you think!#Edit: 12/22 for spelling and gramatical errors

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rulerofstars · 17 days ago

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autumn whispers

oneshot: in the space between being a public hero and a private man, between the chaos of saving the world and the peace of your shared sanctuary, lies the most profound truth—that even after facing the darkness of the void, bucky barnes still finds his way home to you.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

tags: fluff, fluff... more fluff. thunderbolts. bucky barnes. 1.9k words.

The warm studio lights beamed down on the polished hardwood floor of the talk show set. Outside, autumn leaves danced in the crisp October air, but inside, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the audience quieted down. A montage of explosive battle footage played on the large screen behind the host's desk: scenes of the Thunderbolts fighting side by side against the latest world-ending threat.

"And we're back with our very special guest tonight," the host, Marissa, announced with practiced enthusiasm as the camera panned to her and her guest. "The man who went from war hero, to villain, to hero again, to congressman, and now back to saving the world—Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes!"

The audience erupted into applause as the camera focused on Bucky. You couldn't help but lean closer to your television screen, heart fluttering despite yourself. There he was, Bucky Barnes, looking almost unfairly handsome in a navy blue button-down that brought out the steel blue of his eyes. His brown hair, now grown out to just below his chin, was tucked behind his ears with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

He smiled politely, the expression warm but reserved in that way only Bucky could manage. The past decade had smoothed some of the harder edges from his face, but the slight furrow between his brows, the one that appeared whenever he was in the spotlight, remained.

"Thank you for having me, Marissa," he replied, his voice carrying that gentle gravel that always sent shivers down your spine.

"So, Congressman Barnes, or should I call you Sergeant Barnes again?" Marissa asked with a flirtatious edge to her voice, leaning slightly toward him.

"James is fine," he answered with a small, practiced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"James," she echoed, clearly delighted. "After three years representing New York's 14th district in Congress, many were surprised when you answered the call to rejoin the Avengers for this latest crisis. Tell us about that decision."

Bucky shifted in his seat, his vibranium hand, now sleekly designed with Wakandan tech that allowed it to appear almost indistinguishable from his right except for a subtle metallic sheen, rested comfortably on his knee.

"Well, when you've been fighting as long as I have, you learn that duty comes in many forms," he started, his voice thoughtful. "For the past few years, I thought my duty was best served in Congress, fighting for veterans' rights and rehabilitation programs for enhanced individuals. But when the call came that the Thunderbolts needed backup..." He paused, a shadow of something deeper crossing his features. "Some battles need to be fought on different fronts."

You smiled at the television, remembering the late-night conversations that had preceded his decision. The worry in his eyes, the way he'd held you close as if trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms before leaving.

"And what a battle it was!" Marissa exclaimed. "The footage we've seen is just incredible. Working alongside the Thunderbolts again after your own time on the team—how did that feel?"

Bucky's expression softened slightly. "Like coming home, in some ways. That team—we've been through a lot together. There's a trust that develops when you've fought side by side with people who've also known what it's like to seek redemption."

"Speaking of coming home," Marissa segued smoothly, her tone shifting to something more personal as she leaned even closer, "one thing our viewers are dying to know, is there someone special waiting for you when you return from saving the world? The Internet has been abuzz with speculation about Congressman Barnes' love life."

The camera zoomed in slightly on Bucky's face, catching the nearly imperceptible tightening around his eyes. You held your breath, knowing what was coming.

"No comment on that front," he replied diplomatically. "I prefer to keep my personal life private."

Marissa wasn't deterred. "So you're saying you're single and available?" she pressed, her smile widening.

A flash of amusement crossed Bucky's face, there and gone in an instant that most viewers would miss. But you knew that look, he was thinking of you.

"I'm saying that some parts of life are sacred enough to keep away from the spotlight," he countered gently but firmly. "I learned that lesson the hard way over many decades."

"Fair enough," Marissa conceded, though she looked slightly disappointed. "Well, I'm sure there are plenty of viewers who'll be happy to hear there might still be a chance with the heroic congressman."

Bucky gave a noncommittal smile as the conversation shifted to policies he had championed in Congress and how his perspective as both a veteran and an enhanced individual had shaped his legislative priorities.

You switched off the television with a fond shake of your head. He'd handled that perfectly, as always. The agreement you'd both come to early in your relationship, to keep your love life completely separate from his public persona had served you well. No reporters camped outside your door, no intrusive questions about your past, no scrutiny of every aspect of your relationship.

Just the two of you, living your quiet life together between his more public responsibilities.

You glanced at the clock, he'd be home soon. The interview had been pre-recorded three days ago, before he'd returned from Washington. With a smile, you headed to the kitchen to finish preparing his favorite autumn meal.

The door clicked open quietly just as you were pulling the apple cider from the stove. The familiar sound of Bucky's footsteps—always lighter than you'd expect from a man his size—made your heart leap.

"Something smells amazing," his voice called from the entryway.

You turned to see him standing in the doorway of your small but cozy kitchen, jacket already hung by the door, boots removed. His hair was slightly tousled from the autumn wind, cheeks tinged pink from the cold. The sight of him, not Congressman Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, not even Avenger Bucky, but just your Bucky—made warmth spread through your chest.

"Welcome home," you said, setting down the pot and crossing the room to him. "Just in time. I saw your interview."

His arms encircled your waist as he pulled you against his chest, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply as if drawing strength from your scent. "Yeah? How'd I do?"

"Mmm, very diplomatic," you murmured as his lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. "Marissa was really trying her best, wasn't she?"

Bucky chuckled against your skin, the sound reverberating through you. "Didn't even notice," he mumbled. "Was too busy thinking about coming home to you."

You pulled back slightly to look at his face, reaching up to tuck a strand of that soft brown hair behind his ear. His eyes, those incredible blue-gray eyes that had seen nearly a century of history—looked at you with such tenderness it made your breath catch.

"Missed you," he whispered, his voice dropping to that intimate tone reserved only for you.

"It was only three days this time," you reminded him with a smile, though you'd felt every hour of his absence.

"Three days too many," he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "Congress, Avengers, interviews... none of it compares to this. To you. To us."

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, still amazed after all this time that this man—this complicated, beautiful, heroic man—had chosen a quiet life with you when he could have had anything or anyone.

"I made something special for you," you said, gesturing toward the kitchen where delicious aromas wafted through the apartment.

His eyes lit up with simple pleasure. "You spoil me, doll."

"You deserve to be spoiled," you replied easily. "Now go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

He stole a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, and you returned to the stove with a smile playing on your lips. The routine was familiar, comforting, a pocket of normalcy carved out of extraordinary circumstances.

The small dining table in your apartment was already set, candles waiting to be lit. Outside your window, the trees on your quiet Brooklyn street displayed their autumn finery, reds, golds, and oranges creating a fiery tapestry against the darkening evening sky. You'd chosen this apartment together three years ago, when Bucky had first run for Congress, close enough to his district office but far enough from the heart of the city to give you both room to breathe.

Bucky returned, changed into a soft henley and comfortable pants, his hair damp and combed back from his face. The scent of his cologne, subtle notes of cedar and bergamot—filled your senses as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, helping you bring the food to the table, lighting the candles, pouring the cider into the ceramic mugs you'd bought together at a craft fair last autumn. As he passed behind you, his hand brushed against the small of your back, a gentle touch that sent pleasant shivers up your spine.

"So," you began as you settled into your seats, Bucky choosing to sit close beside you rather than across the table. He casually rested his hand on your thigh, thumb making small, gentle circles against the fabric of your pants. The warmth of his touch radiated through you as you leaned slightly into him. "How did the debriefing go? The real one, not the TV-friendly version."

Bucky took a bite of the food, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation before answering. His face was so close to yours that you could feel the gentle warmth of his breath, inhale the intoxicating blend of his natural musk and subtle cologne. "Better than expected. Bob says hi, by the way. Wants to know when we're coming over for dinner."

"Tell him anytime he's willing to cook," you teased.

Bucky smiled, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Will do." He took another bite, then added more softly, "It felt good, being back in the field. Different than Congress. More immediate. In Congress, you fight for change that might take years to see. Out there, you know right away if you've made a difference."

You nodded, understanding the complex relationship he had with his dual roles. "You make a difference either way, Buck. Different battles, like you said in the interview."

"Speaking of the interview," he said, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, "sorry about the 'single' implication. You know how it goes."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Please. I knew what I was signing up for." You took a sip of cider, the warm spices dancing on your tongue. "Besides, I kind of enjoy being your best-kept secret, Congressman Barnes."

His expression softened as he turned to face you, his hand sliding up from your thigh to cup your cheek. The candlelight caught the subtle gleam of his vibranium fingers against your skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He tasted of cider and something uniquely him, a taste that never failed to make your heart race. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Not a secret," he corrected gently. "Just private. There's a difference."

"I know," you assured him. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

The decision to keep your relationship out of the public eye had been mutual from the beginning. After everything Bucky had been through, decades of having his choices taken away, years of fighting to reclaim his identity—privacy had become sacred to him. And you, having seen the media circus that surrounded other Avengers' relationships, had readily agreed.

It wasn't hiding; it was preserving something precious.

After dinner, you moved to the small living room, settling onto the worn but comfortable couch that faced the electric fireplace. Outside, rain had begun to fall, pattering gently against the windows. Bucky pulled the handmade quilt, a gift from Wanda, over both of you as you curled against his side.

"Want to watch something?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Bucky shook his head, his arm tightening around you. "Just want to be here. With you. No screens, no cameras, no reporters. Just us."

You nestled closer, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. His vibranium arm, always slightly cooler than his flesh one, curved protectively around your waist.

"Tell me something good that happened while I was gone," he murmured into your hair.

This was another ritual, finding moments of simple joy to share with each other, a practice that had helped Bucky learn to recognize the good in his life after decades of darkness.

"Mrs. Kapoor from downstairs brought up some homemade samosas yesterday," you told him. "Said they were a thank you for helping her grandson with his history project. I saved you some—they're in the fridge."

"She makes the best samosas in Brooklyn," Bucky said appreciatively. "What else?"

"The maple tree in the park has turned completely red now. It happened almost overnight. And I finished that book you recommended, the one about the lighthouse keeper. You were right, the ending was worth the slow middle."

He smiled against your temple. "I've been reading books long enough to know a good payoff when I see one coming."

"Your turn," you prompted, looking up at him. "Something good from your trip."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm. "There was this kid at the hospital we visited after the battle. Couldn't have been more than eight. Lost his arm in an accident last year." His voice softened. "He showed me his prosthetic—nothing fancy, but he'd decorated it with Avengers stickers. Had Steve's Captain America mask right at the top."

Your heart squeezed. "Bucky..."

"I showed him some of the basic maintenance I do on mine," he continued. "Simple stuff, things his parents could help with. But the way he looked at me, doll..." Bucky shook his head slightly. "Like having one arm didn't make him less. Like it made him special. Connected to something bigger."

You reached for his metal hand, bringing it to your lips and kissing the palm gently. "You changed how he sees himself."

"Maybe," Bucky acknowledged. "That's worth all the congressional hearings and PR interviews combined."

The rain grew heavier outside, drumming a soothing rhythm on the roof. The warm glow from the fireplace cast dancing shadows across Bucky's face, highlighting the contours you'd memorized with your fingertips on countless nights like this one.

"You know," you said thoughtfully, "if Marissa knew what she was missing: quiet nights, pot roast, and rainstorms—she might have tried even harder to get that dating confirmation."

Bucky laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Not a chance. This isn't for sharing." His expression grew more serious as he gazed down at you. "Sometimes I think about how different my life could have been. All those years as the Winter Soldier, then the fighting, the pardons, the political career... None of it prepared me for this."

"For what?" you asked softly.

"For how it would feel to come home to someone who knows all of me—every part, every history, every name I've ever had—and loves me anyway." His voice dropped to a whisper. "For how simple and yet impossible it seemed that I could have this kind of peace."

You shifted to face him fully, cupping his face between your hands. "James Buchanan Barnes, are you getting sentimental on me?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Might be. Happens every autumn. Something about the changing leaves makes a century-old man reflective."

"Well, this century-old man better save some of that reflection for tomorrow," you teased. "We promised to help Yori rake his yard, remember?"

Bucky groaned dramatically. "Why did I agree to that? I was just in a battle to save the world."

"Because he promised to make us sushi afterward," you reminded him. "And because you're a good friend, even when you pretend to be grumpy about it."

He sighed in mock resignation, then suddenly moved, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion that reminded you of the superhuman strength he usually kept carefully controlled. "Fine. But that means we should make the most of tonight."

Your breath caught as his hands settled on your waist, warm and secure. "Any specific ideas, Congressman?"

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned closer. "Several. None of which I'll be sharing on national television."

As his lips found yours, gentle at first and then with growing intensity, you smiled against his mouth. Outside, the autumn storm continued, leaves swirling in the wind, the world rushing by with all its complexities and dangers. It was an ordinary moment. And yet, as you padded across the room to join him underneath the sheets, accepting every kiss, every touch, every bit of his being— you knew this was everything neither of you had dared to dream possible.

Congressman, Avenger, Thunderbolt, Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, the world knew him by many names. But in the gentle warmth of a Brooklyn sunset, he was simply yours, and you were his, and that was the greatest truth of all.

#rulerofstars #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #thunderbolts #marvel thunderbolts #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic

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joemama-2 · 1 month ago

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𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 & 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚

・❥・ pairing: veteran! levi x fem reader

╰┈➤ synopsis: known as ‘marley’s darling’, your father, a high-ranking marleyan diplomat, introduced you as his pride and joy since you were out the womb. dazzling smiles, coy and subtly flirtatious remarks, an innocent but seductive allure that keeps you in the eyes of the public. with concerns for your safety, your father hires levi ackerman as your personal bodyguard, a war hero to some, a warm criminal to others. the same man who fought against your people.

・❥・ wc: 9k

・❥・ tags/warnings: age gap, levi is in his late thirties, reader is 26, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol, drugs, war veteran! levi, reader takes inspo from marilyn monroe, mentions of ptsd, depression, death, post! war, prejudice, guns, knives, violence, reader is marleyan, slow burn, sorta opposites attract?, dark themes, cussing, gross men, no titans! modern au, may have some canon divergent elements (e.g. levi has both legs still lol)

・❥・ series masterlist < next chapter

The sound of gravel cracks underneath Levi’s shoes, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. It’s a sunny day in Eldia, he’s almost begun to miss this place. It’s much more different than Marley, not that he’s complaining. He’s only been here for three days, yesterday was his last. For some reason, he’s dreading the plane back. A sigh escapes his lips, shaking his head at the melancholic intrusions. He stops in his tracks when he hears a tiny hurdle of giggles and whispers. Looking over his shoulder is a small group of children around the age of five or six, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes. He can see the way their gaze flickers across his features, going from the long scar across his face to the ghostly, white eyeball of his. Some hold their smiles back, while others gasp in child-like delight.

He turns to face them fully, crouching down to the children’s height.

“H-Hi…” a timid girl greets. “Are you—”

“You’re Mr. Levi!” a much more brave young boy blurts out, his toothy grin widening. “You look cooler than the books!”

Levi’s lips twitch into the smallest of smiles at the boy’s enthusiasm, his usual stoic expression faltering for a moment. He straightens up, towering over them once again, though his gaze softens as he studies the children.

"Mr. Levi, right?" the timid girl asks again, her voice barely a whisper.

Levi’s heart skips a beat, a strange, unfamiliar warmth flooding him as he nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The children seem to surge forward as if they’ve all had the same unspoken idea, their eyes practically glowing with excitement. The boy in front pulls out a little notebook and a small pen from his pocket. “Can you sign it? Can you sign it for us?!” His voice is filled with such an innocent eagerness that for a moment, Levi just stares at the child, a little taken aback.

“You want my autograph?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s not sure what to make of this situation.

The children nod eagerly, the timid girl now clutching a scrap of paper between her tiny hands. Levi takes the paper from her, glancing over it for a brief moment before scribbling his name, his signature jagged and rough, just like everything else about him. “Here,” he hands it back to her, the girl’s eyes lighting up like she’s just been handed the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mr. Levi!” she squeaks, bouncing on her heels. “You're our hero!”

Levi straightens up again, his hand returning to his coat pocket as he glances over the group. They stare at him for a while, their eyes filled with admiration, something he hasn't seen in a long time. But it’s not the kind of admiration he’s used to—it's pure, innocent, almost reverent. He can feel the weight of their gaze, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother him. “Well, I’m not really a hero,” Levi mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But thanks.” He turns his gaze away from them, feeling that odd discomfort creeping in. “You kids should get back to playing, yeah?”

The children nod excitedly, and as the last few gremlins get their signature, they scurry away.

He shakes his head in a slight fondness, turning back around to continue his trek back to the private plane waiting for him. Seems being a veteran has pretty good perks, if he does say so himself. The hangar isn’t too far away, luckily. He’s already had his morning cup of tea from the shop he used to always frequent before moving, same owners, same tacky furniture—nothing could get better than that.

He can see a few men in the distance, seemingly getting his plane ready.

Levi continues to walk toward the hangar, his mind begins to wander. The children’s bright smiles and excited whispers echo in his head, their innocent admiration stirring something within him. He hadn’t been called a hero in years. Most people only saw the scarred, battle-worn soldier who had fought for survival. The idea of being a symbol of hope to anyone was something he'd long abandoned. But there they were—those little faces full of wonder, looking at him like he was more than just a man who’d lived through hell. His lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head. Maybe it was just the way they were raised, seeing heroes in simple things, not yet tainted by the harshness of reality.

As he gets closer to the plane, one of the men spots him and waves. “Mr. Ackerman!” the man calls out. “Everything’s ready for your departure. We’ve got a clear flight ahead.”

Levi nods, not in the mood for small talk but acknowledging the man’s efforts. He’s almost there—almost back to the place he’s tried to forget sometimes. Marley. He tenses at the thought. There’s nothing left for him here in Eldia—not really. The place is a relic of the past, and he's nothing more than a passing memory of a world that no longer exists. Besides, he has two other little rascals waiting for him back in Marley.

He stops just short of the plane, eyes narrowing as the men finish their preparations. The sound of metal clanging and the hum of engines fill the air, but his thoughts are elsewhere. It feels like a strange kind of irony, returning to Marley, where the tension between Eldia and Marley still simmers just beneath the surface, a conflict that’s far from over. But it’s not his fight anymore. Of course, things probably will never be the same, considering just how many lives were taken in the war. A war spanning over nine years that only ended five years ago.

As the men begin to board the plane, Levi lingers, staring out at the horizon. He can almost see the faint outline of the place he left behind. His throat tightens. He’d been a different man then, a soldier with a cause. Now, he was just trying to survive, trying to forget. Humanity’s strongest.

He pushes the thoughts aside, stepping onto the plane as the door closes behind him. The world outside becomes a blur as the engines roar to life. His seat is cold and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about comfort. He’d long ago learned how to endure, how to keep moving forward. He settles back in the comfy chair the plane has to offer, opening the glass of whiskey that’s already been placed out on the table for him.

Giving himself a pour, he brings the rim to his lips and sips. A small hum of satisfaction sounds from him.

“Drinkin’ already?”

Levi stiffens, lips contorting into a hard-set frown. Kenny, uncaring of his niece’s animosity towards him, sits leisurely across from him. He takes his hat off and leans back with a relaxed sigh, lifting his legs onto the table between them and crossing his arms over his chest. “The hell are you doing here?”

Kenny scoffs. “Spending time with you, obviously.”

“I’d rather eat shit than be in your presence,” Levi gruffs back, eyes narrowing at his uncle. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a solo trip.”

“Was,” Kenny corrects. “Besides, got some business on the other side. Figured I’d hop a ride with you.”

Levi’s fingers tighten around his glass, the amber liquid swirling inside as his gaze locks onto Kenny, who seems entirely unfazed by the hostility radiating off Levi. The man across from him is annoyingly at ease, as always. A smirk dances across his uncle’s lips, a little too self-assured for Levi’s liking.

“Business?” Levi repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. “What kind of business? Last I checked, you didn’t exactly have a legitimate operation.”

Kenny’s eyes twinkle as if he’s relishing in the tension between them. He leans forward, and the casualness of the movement only serves to irritate Levi more. “You’re not the only one who can make deals, kid,” he drawls, the condescending tone sharp enough to cut through the stale air between them. “We’ve got some... mutual interests. Thought I’d tag along, see if you might actually get your hands dirty for once.”

Levi scowls but doesn’t respond immediately. He takes another sip of his drink, trying to swallow down the wave of frustration building in his chest. The last thing he wants is to be involved in any scheme that Kenny’s tangled up in. But, as always, Kenny knows exactly how to push his buttons, and Levi knew better than to think he’d be able to escape this.

“Not interested,” Levi mutters, leaning back in his seat, eyes flicking toward the window, though his mind is far from the view outside. “I’m not here for a job, nothing else. Keep your shady dealings to yourself.”

Kenny chuckles, the sound a low rumble that seems to settle uneasily in Levi’s stomach. “Right, forgot you’re Mr. High ‘n Mighty now. Forgive me, Your Highness.”

“You’re a fool. An old fool.” He scoots the whiskey bottle closer when he sees Kenny reaching for it.

“Oh, give me a break,” Kenny rolls his eyes, reaching forward and taking the bottle from his niece’s grip. He uncaps it and nonchalantly sips straight from the bottle. Levi doesn’t bother holding back the disgusted noise that leaves his throat, but says nothing and focuses his attention on the window as the plane begins to take off.

For a second, there’s silence.

Until Kenny opens his big mouth again.

“So…really not interested, huh?”

“No.”

“How come? Ain’t that compensated money the government lends ‘ya not that much? How the hell you even survivin’?”

Levi’s gaze sharpens at Kenny’s words, his grip tightening on the armrest. He didn’t need to explain himself, especially not to someone like Kenny. The audacity of the man still gets under his skin, even after all these years. But Levi knows better than to take the bait. “I'm surviving fine,” Levi mutters, his voice cold and clipped. He turns his head slightly, eyeing his uncle with a glare that would freeze most men in place, but Kenny only grins wider, clearly enjoying the discomfort Levi tries so hard to hide. “I have my shop, I don’t want blood money.”

“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I mean, the way I see it, you ain’t exactly living large," Kenny says, tapping the neck of the bottle against his leg like a rhythm he’s got memorized. "Could use a little extra padding, if you catch my drift."

Levi huffs under his breath, a dry laugh escaping him. "I'm fine," he repeats, louder this time, not bothering to explain any further. The question, though, lingers in the back of his mind: how much longer can he keep doing this? How much longer can he stay out of the kind of deals Kenny’s offering?

Kenny’s eyes narrow, sizing him up, and for a moment, Levi feels the weight of his uncle’s scrutiny. The man knows Levi better than he lets on—knows his breaking points, knows what makes him tick. And that only makes Levi more defensive. The older man lets up a bit, sighing to himself and grumbling something Levi can’t quite make out. He removes his legs from the table, facing Levi head-on. “Listen, it’s not…that bloody, alright?”

“Sure,” Levi simply says, checking his watch. Two more hours to go. Dammit.

“It ain’t,” Kenny reaffirms, scooting toward the edge of his seat. He subtly looks around, as if afraid the small crew of the plane might be listening. “Just a tiny gig. Could help you out.”

“How many more times do I have to tell you no, old man?”

“As if you’re not gettin’ there your damn self, you little brat,” Kenny spits out. He huffs, taking out a crumpled-up sheet of newspaper from his back pocket and flattening it out onto the table.

Levi peers down, face indifferent. A few moments of silence pass with Levi expecting some sort of explanation. When none comes, he unfortunately takes the bait. “What?”

“See here,” Kenny taps a long finger onto the paper. “A…client of mine, you could say. Mr. Makoto Suzuki. Topshot back over there, heard of ‘im?”

Levi’s eyes flicker down to the paper, his stomach sinking at the mention of the name. He doesn’t want to show any sign of recognition, but he can feel the subtle tension rising in his chest. Makoto Suzuki. The name isn’t foreign to him, but it’s a name that brings too many memories—too many connections to things he’s tried to forget. Levi’s lips tighten into a thin line, but he says nothing, his gaze flickering back to the newspaper. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Levi mutters. He’s been around long enough to know that the big players in the game—men like Makoto—always find their way into the darker corners of the world. “Anyone with a brain has.”

“Correct,” Kenny grins, his gold canine on display. “Well, Mr. Suzuki here has a very special package he holds oh so dear to his heart.” Kenny’s finger moves slightly over to the right, and Levi’s eyes follow. A young girl, maybe in her twenties. Smiling at the camera, displaying her pearly whites. Levi can make out the group that must’ve been hurdled around you and your father while the picture was taken. Makoto’s arm is around your waist in what appears to be a protective way. “His fine piece of a daughter.”

“Makoto’s daughter,” Levi says, the words coming out gruffly, like he’s testing the air. Of course, he knows who you and your father are. “Why are you showing me this?”

Kenny leans back, eyes gleaming with something Levi can’t decipher. He takes a moment, savoring the tension in the air before answering, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “Because her father’s paying a pretty penny to keep her pretty. Been buggin’ me about it for a while now, but I ain’t no babysitter.”

“Neither am I,” Levi scoffs, setting his glass down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not taking anything, especially from people like them.”

Kenny’s eyes flicker with an almost predatory gleam as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near hiss. “You know how things work, Levi. Money talks. And Mr. Suzuki's got plenty of it. He's desperate. His daughter’s a political asset, no different than a pawn on a chessboard. But she’s got a problem—she’s too... distracting, if you catch my drift. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll see the opportunity here.”

Levi shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he stares at the picture, your smiling face glaring back at him. The thought of being involved in any situation with Makoto Suzuki’s daughter—especially in the way Kenny’s implying—turns his stomach. He’s fought his entire life to distance himself from this kind of world, from men like Makoto, who wield their power like a weapon and treat their own flesh and blood like assets. He snorts, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not a damn babysitter, Kenny. And I sure as hell don’t get mixed up in that kind of business. I’m a civilian now, it’s staying that way.”

Kenny’s grin widens, as if he’s been waiting for this exact response. He leans back in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of the table. “That’s the problem, Levi,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “You think you can just walk away from all of this. You think you’re done. But the world doesn’t work that way, not for people like you. You don’t just get to put your hands up and say, ‘I’m done,’ because someone like Suzuki? He doesn’t give a damn about your past. He sees what you can do, and he’ll make sure you know it.”

Levi’s eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line. He’s heard it before, the way people try to pull him back into the chaos. He’s been fighting it for years, but it’s always lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to strike. “I don’t give a damn what Suzuki thinks,” Levi mutters, his voice cold as steel. “You know what kind of man I am. I’m not some hired weapon anymore. I’m happy where I’m at now.”

Kenny laughs, a low, rasping sound that seems to crawl under Levi’s skin. “And yet, here we are, aren’t we? You’re still the same guy, Levi. You’re just pretending not to be. When the world’s out to get you, you can’t just sit on your hands and pray it’ll go away. You’ll need allies, whether you want ‘em or not.”

Levi clenches his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He wants to reach across the table and throttle Kenny, but he knows that wouldn’t change a damn thing. The man’s words ring too true. The world doesn’t let people like him go so easily. It’s a cold, unforgiving reality. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze still locked on the picture of you and your father. The idea of getting involved with Makoto Suzuki’s business makes his skin crawl. He’s been there and done that—used as a tool in someone else’s game. He refuses to go back.

“I’m not your guy for this,” Levi says, his voice unwavering, but the unease in his chest grows. “Find someone else to play your damn games.”

Kenny groans and rolls his eyes. “Stubborn lil’ thing, huh? It’s extra cash, Levi.”

“Does it look like I care?” Levi cooly replies. “I’m not doing it. He can get a clean Marleyan to do it.”

“What? Ya think that’s it? He won’t let you watch his daughter ‘cause you ain’t Marleyan?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? What smart man would employ someone who fought against his country to be up close and personal with his daughter? We’re still a devil to some, remember?”

Kenny leans forward again, his eyes gleaming with something Levi can’t quite place. The older man seems almost amused by Levi’s firm resistance, as if he’s testing a limit he already knows well. He taps the table once more, the sound cutting through the tension like a ticking clock. “You’re a real piece of work, Levi,” Kenny mutters with a smirk. “But you’re forgetting something. Mr. Suzuki’s desperate. And desperation… well, it makes people do things they wouldn’t usually consider. And in this case, what he’s offerin’ isn’t just money—it’s leverage.”

Levi freezes at the word "leverage." The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as his gaze snaps up to meet his uncle’s, suspicion and anxiety coiling tightly in his chest. “Leverage?” Levi repeats, voice low, barely above a whisper. He knows too well what that means—Kenny’s not talking about a job offer anymore. This is something bigger, darker.

Kenny’s grin widens, but it’s not a pleasant smile. It’s the grin of someone who knows exactly how to pull the strings. He leans in, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You ain’t gotta choose the game, Levi. You’re already in it. Suzuki’s got dirt. Big dirt. And if you don’t play nice, that dirt’s gonna find its way to your doorstep, sooner or later.”

Levi’s heart races as he absorbs the weight of Kenny’s words. He can feel the familiar weight of the past creeping back in, like a shadow he can’t shake. He’s fought so hard to stay out of this world—this world of manipulation, of dangerous men who make deals and break lives without a second thought. But it’s all starting to feel inescapable. “You’re saying if I don’t help him, he’ll use whatever he’s got on me against me?” Levi’s voice is steady, but there’s a tightness in his chest that betrays his growing unease. He feels like he’s already caught in the web—he’s just waiting for the final tug.

Kenny nods slowly, that sinister glint in his eye never leaving. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s already been planting the chip in my damn ear about you. And you know better than anyone—someone like Suzuki? He don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. You’re useful to him, Levi. You’ve always been useful. And now, you’re gonna be useful to his daughter.”

Levi’s fingers twitch involuntarily, a dark, suffocating feeling building in the pit of his stomach. He wants to scream, to smash the table between them, but he stays silent. His mind races, searching for any escape, any way out of this mess. “You can’t make me do this,” Levi says, his words low but firm. “I’m not going back. I’m not going to be anyone’s pawn.”

Kenny leans back in his seat, clicking his tongue. “You’re already a pawn, Levi. You just haven’t realized it yet. You’re surrounded by players who know how to move the pieces. You just happen to be the one they’re comin’ for.”

Levi feels his throat tighten, the cold reality of Kenny’s words hitting harder than he wants to admit. He’s trapped. No matter how far he tries to run, no matter how much he wants to be out of it, the world he’s left behind has a way of finding him. And now, it’s threatening to drag him back in. He scrubs a hand down his face.

“Think about it,” Kenny continues, his voice almost soothing, as if he’s offering advice. “You ain’t have to do much. Just keep an eye on Suzuki’s little girl. Protect her. Get a few hands dirty, but nothing that’ll land ‘ya in trouble. Think about the money. Think about what you can do with that money. Think about the doors it could open.”

Levi looks down at the picture again, at your smile, at the image of a life he knows he doesn’t belong in. But he knows his uncle is right about one thing—the world doesn’t let people like him go that easily. And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as simple as walking away. The weight of the decision presses down on him like a lead weight. He wants to punch something, to refuse, to get off this plane, never look back and stay his sorry ass in Eldia. But the words get stuck in his throat.

“So what’s it gonna be?” Kenny asks, voice heavy with expectation.

Levi doesn’t respond right away. He stares out the window, the soft hum of the plane filling his ears, as the choice looms over him like a storm waiting to break.

The second the plane has landed and the door opens, he’s striding down the ramp. Mood soured and the whiskey does nothing but make him more adept to just how much of a damn headache his forsaken uncle. Two figures in the distance momentarily ease his grumpiness. They familiarly approach him.

“Levi! How was it?” Gabi asks first, striding forward to give him a tight hug around his waist.

“Careful,” he murmurs, though his hand pats lightly at her back. “Nothing interesting. What about you two? Held up well?”

“Sure did,” Falco responds, smiling. “Shop’s doing fine, no hiccups.”

Levi nods and hums in approval. Gabi removes her arms from him, just about to ask another question when Kenny’s scratchy voice breaks the atmosphere. “Oh, look at that. Forgot about these two monsters.” He approaches with a crooked smile, head tilting and leaning against Levi. “Huh, you both are smaller than I re—”

“Shut up,” Levi cuts him off, shrugging him off. “And don’t talk to them.”

Kenny lets out a bark of laughter, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to get your panties in a twist,” he says, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. “Just makin’ conversation.”

Levi ignores him, glancing back at Gabi and Falco, who exchange wary looks before Gabi’s nose wrinkles in annoyance. “Who’s this old man?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“Just an annoying bastard,” Levi mutters.

Kenny smirks. “You wound me, shorty.”

Levi clicks his tongue, already regretting letting Kenny tag along. “You’re not staying long, are you?”

Kenny grins, all teeth and trouble. “Nah, just for a drink or two. Maybe I’ll even stop by the shop, see what kinda scam you’re runnin’.”

Levi’s eye twitches, but Falco steps in before the argument escalates. “We should head back. You look tired, Levi.”

He is tired—tired of this, of the headache that is Kenny, of the weight pressing on his shoulders. He casts one last glance at the man before exhaling sharply. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Kenny just chuckles, watching as the trio walks ahead, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He follows at a distance, whistling a tune that grates on Levi’s ears. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Did you bring us anything back, Levi?” Gabi asks, looking up at him.

Levi exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Tch. What do I look like, Santa?”

Gabi pouts, nudging his side. “Come on, not even a little souvenir?”

Falco chuckles. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

Levi rolls his eyes, but after a brief pause, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package. He tosses it to Gabi, who catches it with a surprised blink.

Her face lights up. “Wait—you actually got me something?”

“Just open it,” Levi grumbles, ignoring the way Kenny is still whistling behind them.

Gabi rips the paper off, revealing a sleek pocketknife with an intricate engraving on the handle. She whistles, running her fingers over it. “This is so cool!”

Falco’s eyes widen. “A-A knife, Levi? Really?”

“She’s gotta learn how to defend herself,” Levi mutters. “Can’t have her relying on you all the time.”

Gabi grins, flipping the blade open and inspecting it. “I love it. Thanks, Levi.”

Levi shrugs, glancing at Falco. “And for you.” He reaches into his coat again and hands over a small box.

Falco hesitates before taking it, opening it carefully. Inside is a simple but finely crafted wristwatch. He blinks, then looks up at Levi, eyes wide. “This is… really nice.”

“Better than being late all the damn time,” Levi says, side-eyeing him.

Falco rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. “I guess I deserve that.”

Kenny lets out an exaggerated sigh behind them. “Damn, no gift for your dear ol’ uncle? That hurts, Levi.”

Levi doesn’t even turn around. “Your gift is me not punching you in the face.”

Kenny cackles, and Gabi snorts as she tucks her knife into her pocket. Falco just shakes his head, slipping the watch onto his wrist. Despite his exhaustion, Levi feels the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. The walk to the tea shop only takes about ten minutes. Falco takes the keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, allowing the group to step in. Kenny looks around, nodding slowly with a small whistle. “Cozy in here.”

Levi glances around, already feeling a sense of peace settle in the small, warmly lit space. The gentle scent of freshly brewed tea fills the air, mixing with the earthy tones of wood and herbs. The walls are lined with shelves of tea jars, some familiar, others he hasn’t seen before. A few potted plants sit near the windows, softening the atmosphere.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Falco says, setting his bag down behind the counter and turning to face the group. “We’ve been getting a lot more regulars lately. Gabi’s been keeping things running smoothly.”

Gabi grins proudly, twirling a strand of her hair. “What can I say? I’ve got skills.” She gestures to the chairs by the window. “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I’ll brew some fresh tea for you.”

“Not a tea kinda man,” Kenny waves her off.

“I meant Levi,” she raises a brow, looking Kenny up and down before going back around the counter. Falco follows her. His eye twitches, huffing to himself and turning to see Levi sitting in one of the open chairs with a small grunt. “Damn kid’s a smart-ass.”

“Good thing she is.”

Kenny sits beside Levi, tapping his foot against the floor. “Alright, about the—”

“Not here,” Levi is quick to shut him down, sending the older man a certain look. “Hold on.” Gabi comes back with Levi’s desired tea, along with Falco setting down a small report of how things have been since he’s been gone. Levi nods and thanks them quietly, sipping the tea. “You two, head outside for a second.”

Gabi and Falco simultaneously tilt their heads in confusion. But Falco speaks up first. “What? But we haven’t even had time to—”

“Outside.”

Gabi opens her mouth to protest, but Falco quickly cuts in with a muttered, “We’ll be outside,” before she can say anything more. The two exchange a glance, clearly confused, but they gather their things without further questioning. Gabi gives Levi an uncertain look before following Falco out the door.

Levi waits until the door shuts behind them before turning his attention back to Kenny. The air between them tightens instantly, the tension thickening as Levi sets his tea down on the table with a soft clink. He hesitates for a few seconds, unsure if he should entertain his idiotic uncle. But he has a feeling that no matter what, he’ll be a thorn in his side. “How much?”

Kenny grins. “Confidential, of course. Until you accept the job.”

Levi’s gaze hardens. “I’m not a fucking bodyguard, Kenny. I’m not some hired muscle, and I’m definitely not interested in babysitting some spoiled brat—no offense to her, but that’s not my scene.”

Kenny’s eyes gleam with amusement, the kind that makes Levi this much closer to punching him in the face. “That’s exactly why they need you. You’re not the kind of guy who takes orders, and that’s what she needs. Someone who can think for himself, who won’t just bow to her family’s whims. You know how it is in that world, Levi. People like her, they’re walking targets.”

Levi’s eyes flicker briefly to the door, as though expecting the others to walk back in, but the room is still empty. He rubs his temple, trying to keep his frustration in check. “And what makes you think I’d give a damn about protecting some rich girl? I’m not in the business of charity, especially not for people like her.”

Kenny leans forward, his voice lowering, almost coaxing. “You’re in the business of keeping your head above water, right? Getting by. This job? It’s a chance for you to cash in. You’re good at what you do, and I think you’ll find this… lucrative. Plus, you know it’s not asking for much. Just a little loyalty to the Suzuki family.”

Levi’s fingers twitch, the temptation gnawing at him. He’s always been a pragmatist, and this… this could solve a lot of problems, not just for him but for the people he cares about. But Kenny knows that too. “You’re asking for too much.” Levi finally meets his uncle’s gaze, his voice sharp, but controlled. “And you know I don’t work on other people’s terms.”

Kenny’s smile falters for a split second, but then he leans back again, his expression returning to that smug, confident air. “You’re still thinking like the old Levi. You’ve got a chance here to step up and make a real name for yourself besides ‘the strongest.’ You don’t have to play by their rules, you just need to keep her alive and out of trouble. It’s not that hard.”

However, Levi is still finding it hard to just give in so easily. He’s never been a bodyguard, but is being a soldier that much different? Just protect, right? However, he remembers your father; how couldn’t he? The little meeting that was held after the bomb Eldia dropped on Marley that led to a cease fire not too long after. He remembers the way he regarded him and his peers with concealed mirth in his eyes, clenched hands that made it known how much he despised losing and coming to terms with ‘the devils’. He hadn’t trusted him then, and he doesn’t trust him now. So why the hell is this same man trying to employ him?

He’s never met you, of course. Levi isn’t much to delve into media or the higher-ups. Just simple bits of you here and there is what Levi is accustomed to. All he knows about you is what he’s seen in passing—brief news clips, vague mentions, a face in the crowd of the powerful, the kind of people he’d rather ignore. He doesn’t pay attention to the higher-ups or the media, and certainly not to the rich and pampered. That’s always been a world Levi keeps his distance from.

Kenny, sensing his niece’s hesitance, softens up just a tiny bit. “Listen, why don’t you come with me tonight? Supposed to be meetin’ up with the man himself at some club; maybe you can get a feel of him there?”

Levi’s expression hardens, and he mutters under his breath, “I’ve never trusted him.”

Kenny, watching him carefully, seems to understand the unspoken question. “I get it. You’ve got a history with that man, and I can’t blame you for that. But this isn’t about him, kid. It’s about you—your future. You could save up for yourself and find a better place than some shitty, one bed apartment. If you stick to what you know, you’ll always be stuck in the past.”

Levi looks up, meeting Kenny’s eyes. There’s no warmth in his stare, only cold calculation. “What’s the catch, Kenny? You want me to babysit a rich girl to what? To get closer to him?”

Kenny holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing like that, Levi. I told you, this is about keeping her alive. That’s all. The rest will follow. But you’ve gotta see it for yourself. You think you can read people? Come with me tonight. We’re meeting with your old friend at a club, and you can get a feel for the man.”

Levi’s gaze flickers toward the window, the streets outside bustling with life, and the idea of stepping into that world, even for a moment, gnaws at him. He’s been out of that circle for a long time—he doesn’t want to dive back into it. He enjoys his civilian life. But Kenny’s offer is tempting. Too tempting. He could get a sense of what was really going on and see if it was worth his time or if it was just another trap. Levi stands up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He doesn’t say anything at first, his back to Kenny as he pulls his coat tighter around his frame. The weight of the decision is pressing down on him, but he knows that if he turns Kenny down now, the man won’t stop. He’s relentless.

“Fine,” Levi says, his voice steady. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to walk away from this thinking it’s anything more than a job. And I’m not playing nice.”

Kenny’s grin returns, more satisfied now as he stands. “That’s all I’m asking, Levi. Just keep your head straight. We’re in for a long game here, and you’ve got a front-row seat.”

Levi doesn’t respond. He understands he’s walking into unknown territory, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But one thing is for sure—he’s going to find out what kind of man your father really is. And if he’s going to protect you, he’ll need to know exactly what—or who he’s up against.

A high-end gentlemen’s club was not what he was expecting. Tucked behind an unsuspecting bar, the neon blue cursive letters that spell out “The Silk Rose”. They flicker softly in the darkness of the not-so-early night, casting an almost dreamy-like glow onto the concrete below. The street outside is quiet, unassuming—nothing to hint at the kind of opulence that lies within. Levi eyes the sign, then glances at Kenny with mild irritation.

“This your idea of a professional meeting?” he mutters.

Kenny just smirks, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. “You’d be surprised how much business gets done between overpriced scotch and soft lighting. Besides,” he adds with a wink, “Suzuki likes a certain… ambiance.”

Levi scoffs, and the scowl on his face deepens. Still, he follows Kenny inside, the brute bouncer at the door giving them a once-over before stepping aside wordlessly.

Inside, the contrast is immediate. Velvet-draped walls, soft jazz humming low over the speakers, and golden chandeliers that twinkle like stars overhead. It smells like expensive perfume and power. The kind of place meant to impress men who’ve forgotten what it’s like to hear the word no.

Women in silk dresses that barely pass for clothing drift across the room like ghosts, each movement precise, curated. But the staff aren’t the only ones dressed to kill. Men in tailored suits lounge in leather booths, cigars in hand, speaking in hushed tones. This is a playground for the elite, the dangerous, and the untouchable. Hushed conversations, soft laughs, teasing touches shared between those around aren’t what makes Levi’s nose crinkle with distaste. It’s the look in the men’s eyes that does. The way they eye every woman as if they are a toy to be played with—as if they’re the prey. No doubt the women here have caught on to the predatory nature the men wordlessly exude, yet they’re still here. In a sense, it almost begins to remind him of his mother.

Though he’d like to think she had at least a little more self-respect.

Kenny leads him toward a private room upstars and in the back, past thick velvet curtains. “Suzuki’s already here. Try not to look like you’re gonna kill someone.”

Levi’s jaw ticks. “No promises.”

Two tall men are standing, dressed in all black suits, on either side of the velvet red curtains that separate the wolves from their leader. The one on the right steps up, chest puffed out. He eyes both Kenny and Levi before speaking. “This area’s blocked off. Head back down.”

Kenny doesn’t break stride. He simply reaches into his coat, flashing something—an emblem, a card, maybe even just the weight of his name. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make the guard hesitate.

“He’s expecting us,” Kenny says, voice smooth but with an edge that suggests he’s not in the mood to repeat himself. “Now step aside.”

The guard’s jaw tightens, and he glances toward the other man, who gives a small nod. With a reluctant sigh, the first one steps back, tugging the curtain aside.

Kenny winks at him on the way in. “Atta boy.”

Levi follows his uncle, his boots nearly silent against the plush carpet. His eyes flicker over the details of the room like a sniper zeroing in. He can feel it—every inch of this place is designed to disarm, to distract. And yet, his guard is higher than ever. The private room is dimly lit, the atmosphere intimate, suffocating. A low table sits in the center, encircled by deep sapphire couches that seem to swallow anyone who sits in them. The scent of aged whiskey, cigar smoke, and some cloying cologne hits his nose instantly.

And there he is.

Makoto Suzuki sits like a man who’s owned the room since birth, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. His suit is dark navy, custom, his tie just loose enough to suggest control disguised as ease. His grey hair is styled neatly back, and his auburn eyes are trained on the swirling dark liquid in his glass. There's a woman perched next to him, draped across the couch more like decoration than companion. She doesn't even look up. There’s four more of his henchmen standing beside the couch, two more seated at the tiny table in the corner engaged in a small game of cards.

At their arrival, they all look up.

Makoto’s gaze lifts slowly, and when it lands on Levi, something in it shifts. Calculating. Amused. Maybe even mildly impressed. He doesn’t stand, of course. Men like him don’t need to.

“Kenny,” he greets smoothly, lifting his glass in a faux toast. “And the infamous Levi Ackerman.” His voice is like smoke—polished, poisonous. Makoto gestures toward the open couch across from him, entirely unfazed by the cold stare he's receiving. “You’re taller than I remember.”

Levi doesn’t blink or sit. “You’re exactly how I remember.”

Kenny stifles a chuckle, plopping himself down on the couch and pouring himself a drink. “Let’s keep it civil, boys.”

Makoto lets the jab roll off him like mist off marble. He leans forward slightly, that same damned calm expression etched across his face. “So, Kenny, how’ve you been?”

Kenny exhales like he’s just settled into his favorite recliner, legs spread, glass already swirling in his hand. “Busy. Making deals. Babysitting this one,” he jerks a thumb toward Levi without looking at him. “Same old.”

Makoto’s smile twitches—just enough to acknowledge the remark without really responding to it. His attention, however, doesn’t drift far from Levi. The kind of look a lion gives a stray dog: amused, but watchful. “And yet, you dragged him here. Which means he knows he’s not just here for the ambiance.”

Levi still hasn’t sat. He doesn’t intend to—not yet. The air in this room is thick with the kind of arrogance that turns his stomach. This man, this entire place, reeks of money and power layered like cologne over something rotting beneath.

Kenny, unbothered, tops off his glass and throws back a sip before answering. “Told you I’d find you someone. Someone you could trust to keep your girl safe.”

Makoto’s brow lifts, gaze sharpening. “My daughter is not some damsel in distress.”

Levi’s voice cut in, low and steady, “Then why does she need a bodyguard?”

Makoto’s eyes narrow just slightly. Not insulted—curious. Testing him. “Not many people speak to me like that, Mr. Ackerman.”

Levi doesn’t flinch. “Not many people interest me enough to bother speaking to at all.”

There’s a long pause, heavy but not quite tense—just enough to let the power dynamics settle. The woman beside Makoto finally shifts after he makes a subtle shrug of his shoulder, and she quietly excuses herself as she rises and disappears through a side door, unnoticed by anyone but Levi.

Kenny raises a brow and shoots Levi a warning glance that reads behave, but he doesn’t say a word.

Makoto finally leans back, the lazy smile returning to his lips. “I don’t trust easily. You know this. But your name,” he gestures vaguely in the air, “it still carries weight. Especially with them.” His eyes flicker with meaning—whether it’s to the press, politicians, or war-hardened enemies, it’s unclear. Probably all of the above. “My daughter is… unique. She’s sweet, but not stupid. Pretty, but not a pushover. She doesn’t know what’s circling her yet, and that’s exactly why she needs protection. She knows her role, and I intend to have her keep playing that.”

Levi folds his arms. “Then hire a soldier.”

“I did,” Makoto replies simply. “I hired you.”

Something sharp passes between them. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.

Kenny sighs, slumping further into the couch. “You gonna stand all night like a coat rack, or you gonna sit and listen?”

Levi eyes the couch like it might bite, then slowly moves to perch on the edge—not relaxed, not open. Always ready. His stare stays locked on Makoto.

Makoto studies him in turn, then finally gives a small, tight smile. “You’ve killed a lot of people, haven’t you?”

“So have you.”

The smile lingers, but it doesn’t quite reach Makoto’s eyes. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

A silence settles again. Somewhere outside the door, the jazz track shifts to something slower, more sultry. Time continues as if the world doesn’t realize two predators just agreed to circle each other, for now. Then Makoto raises his glass again, eyes gleaming. “To the devil you know.”

Kenny chuckles, clinks his glass. Levi doesn't move. He just stares. Because to him, the devils have always worn suits like this one.

“How much?” He finally asks.

Makoto leisurely sips his drink, setting the glass onto the table between them.

He leans back, fingers steepling loosely in front of him, head tilted slightly like he’s just been waiting for Levi to ask. “How much is her life worth to me?” he muses aloud, as if the question is more philosophical than transactional. “More than any sum I could ever offer. But you, Mr. Ackerman—you’re not a man who wastes time with sentiment.”

Levi’s silence confirms it.

Makoto chortles. “Ten thousand a week. A private penthouse suite. Round-the-clock access to every resource you’d need—transport, intel, weapons, contacts. And no leash. You work how you want, answer to no one but me.”

Kenny whistles low beside him. “That’s one hell of a package, even for you.”

Levi doesn’t look impressed. “Sounds like you expect a war.”

The atmosphere is a live wire—thrumming between them, sparking with old blood and new stakes. It’s broken by Makoto rising from his seat, his men following. He straightens out his suit jacket and makes a motion with his fingers. “Come, I’ll show you the prize right now.”

And Levi finds himself reluctantly following along like a dog, and Kenny too. The group of men exit from the curtains, heading back down the spiraling staircase. The music softens as they descend the staircase, like the club itself is aware something heavier just entered the room. Without a word, the other guests make way for the group, some women sending flirtatious waves or doe-eyed smiles towards Makoto. Levi’s eyes flicker across the patrons who glance up, some pretending not to stare, others openly gawking. Power like Makoto’s always draws attention, and the entourage trailing behind only confirms it. Levi hates this part—the theatrics, the display, the illusion of untouchable grandeur. But he plays along, stoic as ever, even as they cut through the low hum of conversation like a blade through silk.

Makoto slides into the center seat at the lavish round table like a king returning to his throne. The plush leather molds around him effortlessly, his posture regal but relaxed. Levi takes the seat to his right, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics. Kenny flops down on the left like he’s done this a thousand times—which, knowing him, he probably has.

The men behind them form a wall of polished muscle and sharp gazes, stationed with silent obedience.

Makoto signals to a woman behind the bar with a simple glance, and almost instantly, she nods and disappears into the back. Levi’s gaze tracks the interaction, narrowing slightly.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Only moments later, the crowd parts—slow and smooth—as you step out from behind the deep red curtain, flanked by two club hostesses who clearly pale in comparison. You're wearing a purple satin number, delicate and barely-there, its shimmer catching the warm light in all the wrong—and right—ways. Your hair is styled with effortless elegance, and you walk like you’ve never tripped a day in your life. Or like someone taught you never to look like you did.

Levi doesn’t breathe for a second. Not out of awe, but surprise.

He wasn’t expecting this. Well, you surely look…different.

You don’t look at the men who part like waves for you. You don’t even glance toward Makoto until you’re at the table, offering only a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Father,” you say smoothly, voice soft but clear.

Makoto gives a pleased nod. “Darling,” he murmurs, like the word itself is another performance.

You look to the man beside him—Kenny—and offer a subtle tilt of your head, polite, reserved. Then your eyes slide over to Levi. Your gaze lingers.

And Levi… feels it.

Not just the scrutiny. But the weight of expectation. Of curiosity. Maybe even challenge.

“Having a good time?” Your father asks as you lean down, turning your head slightly so he can plant a reverent kiss on your cheek. “Mingling and all that, yes?”

You chuckle, red-stained lips curling upwards in a soft way. “Oh, yes, father. Of course I’ve been. I’ve made friends with some of those you've asked me to.”

There’s a silent look in your eyes—like you and your father are telepathically communicating. Levi’s eyes barely stray from you, forcing himself to get familiar with his charge’s expressions. Your father hums in approval, nodding. “Good girl.”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, head tilting. “Though…maybe some of my friends are having a bit…too much fun.”

Makoto follows your line of sight toward a semi-rowdy group of older men. Drained glasses littering their table as one they laugh boisterously at their own jokes. Your father’s jaw ticks slightly, giving three of his men a tiny nod in the group’s direction.

The command is silent but understood. The three guards move swiftly—like shadows trained in courtesy and intimidation—drifting toward the group of men without needing to speak. Their presence alone sobers the laughter, draining it from the air like a sudden draft of cold wind. The drunkest among them nearly chokes on his drink, sputtering apologies before anyone even lays a hand on him. Levi doesn’t miss the shift. The way your lips press together just slightly. Like you're both amused and weary of what your father’s influence can do.

Makoto turns back to you, eyes glittering with a sharp kind of pride. “You’ve always had a good eye.”

You shrug lightly, folding your hands in front of you like you're nothing more than an accessory at the table. “I just like keeping things...elegant.”

It’s then that Makoto gestures toward Levi with the casual air of someone introducing a pet he’s particularly fond of. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’ll be looking after you from now on.”

You finally turn to face him fully.

Levi meets your gaze, this time with intention. The color in your eyes is sharp, observant—more calculating than your painted smile suggests. It’s a quick scan, top to bottom, and Levi feels it again. The test. Like you're waiting to see what kind of man your father’s put in front of you this time. “I see,” you murmur, tone unreadable. Then, with graceful attachment, you sit at the table—choosing the empty lap of Levi himself. He stiffens in surprise, his initial instinct urging him to push you off. Your sweet scent invades his nostrils instantly. However, he withstands it, deciding he wouldn’t like to deal with the consequences as of now. “You like wine, Mr. Ackerman?” you ask lightly, pouring yourself a glass from the bottle that was already waiting.

Levi doesn’t answer right away. His eyes study you, more than the wine, more than your dress. Trying to read between your lines. Trying to decide if you’re amused by all this. “I don’t drink,” he replies flatly.

“Oh, what a shame. This is the finest liquor in all of Marley.” You pout, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. Your eyes don’t stray from his as you indulge, licking your lips clean when you bring it away. “My father must’ve really hired such a resolute man.” You chuckle, leaning forward slightly and sending your father a subtle glance.

“As resolute as there is.” Makoto huffs in amusement.

Makoto’s pride crackles in the air like a cigar ember burning low—hot, glowing, dangerous.

Levi doesn’t respond to the praise. He just sits there, solid and unsmiling, posture stiff beneath the soft weight of you in his lap. He can feel the way you effortlessly carry yourself. You wear your charm like a silk veil—delicate and graceful.

You swirl the wine in your glass, voice lilting as you speak again. “Will he be sleeping in my room too?”

Makoto chuckles low, slow. “Only if you give him reason to.”

Now it’s Levi’s turn to give your father a look. He almost wants to blurt out the obvious question of why he’s allowing you to act like this in front of him. Why he seems completely okay with a hypothetical situation of some man you just met sleeping in his daughter’s room. But instead, he’s joking about it—going along with it, enabling it.

Do you usually act like this with men?

Kenny lets out a bark of laughter at that. You glance back at Levi, brows lifting. “Do you take orders well, Mr. Ackerman?”

He stares back at you, unflinching. “Only from the ones I respect.”

You hum, intrigued but unshaken. “I suppose we’ll see if I earn that.”

The moment hangs there—heavy, stretched taut like wire. Then you slide off him in one smooth motion, as if the whole thing was just a test. A show of dominance in velvet gloves. You cross your legs and lean back in your seat beside him, your posture still elegant. The toe of your heel nonchalantly brushes against his calf, up and down.

Makoto raises his glass in a lazy toast, gaze moving between you and Levi. “To new arrangements,” he declares.

You and Kenny echo the sentiment, a sweet giggle falling from your lips. Glasses clink. Wine swirls. The club resumes its slow, seductive pulse around them—but Levi knows something in the air has shifted.

This wasn’t just a job anymore.

This was theater. A powder keg. And he was now sitting in the front row, watching it smolder.

And the woman sitting beside him—who had moments ago treated his lap like a throne—now looks like a statue carved from something more fragile than stone. Still, poised, but not entirely present.

Levi glances at you from the corner of his eye.

You're watching the club floor now, eyes half-lidded, fingers idly tracing the rim of your wine glass. You laugh at something Makoto says, soft and sweet, but Levi hears how hollow it is. Like you’ve told that laugh to show up on cue too many times. And as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, Levi’s thoughts crawl.

Makoto didn’t hire a bodyguard for your safety. Not really.

He hired a leash.

But Levi Ackerman doesn’t do leashes—not for long.

(open) taglist: @myahfig4 @miss-dior @kouyoumarryme @chericheriladeee

@deniixlovezelda @whitenightdreams @yoriichitsugikunii @wittyjasontodd @toj1swh0re

@antiv3nus @gojowifefrfr @alt--er--love @beabamboo @jeonwiixard

@bottomlesschaps @luna-v-roiya @lovingstudenthumancookie @toji-dabi-wife @naomikozura

@kimvmarvel @elmaa127 @frrxnyw @aldebrana @koji-akeme

@bouquetoflove @reivelmin @teal-anchor @wakasaishot @silveritydreams

@starrynights23x @cherlouu @littlebabyrae

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oystermark · 2 months ago

Note

No goggles, Mohawk, and Viltrumite mark with a poison ivy like reader? I’ve been OBSESSED with this idea for a while. Like during the war Cecil tried to deploy reader even tho he’s a villain (kinda) and reader is on his plant throne surrounded by poison kiss/mind controlled servants like “why should I help? Let the boys have their fun, I want humanity to be wiped out too.” Basically he wants to part in ‘helping save humanity’ and just wants to sit in his greenhouse and be fawned over.

Poison Ivy M!Reader x Mark variants (no goggles & viltrumite mark)

a/n: loved this idea, just changed the reader a bit. i think them having plants that act like pets, ones that purr and have responses to their affection (petting, feeding etc.) made it a little bit more interesting (no offense to your request at all! 🫂 i genuinely loved the idea i just want to make the reader a naked, isolated plant mess that hates humanity and heroes especially because they destroy the planet faster than anyone else) also the intro got wayyy too long im sorry about that. sorry if this is dumb in general and sorry i couldnt do mohawk aghhhhhhh i had a migraine while writing this :(((

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a small smile blossomed on your face as the jasmine's you were petting gently started to purr, like a cat. adorable. a sigh leaves your lips as you let yourself get a little comfortable, the tree you're on straining itself to give you more coverage from the sun as the heat was getting to you.

you need some water, which means you have to leave your home, deep in the forest. for a little bit, but, you'll still, have to leave.

you hate that. you don't want to ve away from the only sentient beings that actually understand you, your purpose and you as a whole. you sigh, pouting like a child as the tree puts you down and long, tentacle like tree branches along with ivy trailing along your arms to soothe your nerves.

running into a human or one of those 'heroes' was slim but not zero and that made you more uneasy and angry then you'd like to admit to yourself.

as soon as you step outside of your cave -made up of trees and beautiful plants, bees buzzing and- okay stop, focus- you stop dead in your tracks.

the forest, it's heaving. and the pain slowly crawls up from your feet to your head, the sharp tinge of burning wood, desperate sounds of flowers dying, your eyes sting with tears and your hand flies to your forehead, clutching it with dear life.

"oh, good. you're already out of your man cave,"

your head snaps down as you hear cecil's voice, being a...plant person, you're well over 6 ft tall, "cecil, what is the meaning of this!? this is why i never worked for you, whatever you do whenever you do you hurt us," he interrupts you with a sharp sigh, looks at you with the most grim expression you've seen from him.

"i know, which is why i've never asked for your help before, our relationship isn't the best, i know, but (y/n)," his voice tinged with desperation, he takes a step forward, you can feel your branches and ivy stiffen with alarm. "we need your help, people, homes, animals, trees, flowers anything and everything is being destroyed at a rapid pace which we've never seen before it's a goddamn massacre out there," he then pulls up his phone and shows you an image of a boy wearing a spandex suit, "this is invincible, and there are versions of him from multiple dimensions destroying your plant life,"

he sighs and pulls the phone back as you stay silent, looking up at you with a grim expression, "every one of them except the one i showed you, is a hostile, having them alive for us to contain would be preferable but you have the order to eliminate them as well," he looks at your eyes, trying to read you as best as he can. you've always been a recluse, stating that clothes and this stupid standard of living would never go over well with you, you've killed some of his heroes and some villains for ravaging forests. right now though, you're the best shot he has. you're goddamn strong.

his shoulders drop subtly with relief as you nod sharply, "fine, but i am not doing this for you, i am doing this for us," he nods, "and that's more than enough for me, you can find-" you shush him, "i can already smell them, old man. i know where they are, the forest has eyes everywhere, now go."

he takes his leave and you growl as the pain in your head grows stronger,

you're going to kill these bastards.

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no goggles mark

he hears you shouting before he's able to have his monologue after murdering the new guardians, he doesn't even dodge, interested in your... familiar scent.

your body slams into him, blood spills from his mouth and nose from the impact of the contact with your body alone as he's slammed down onto the floor. your branches trapping him under your body and your ivy finding his throat, no mercy, no talking, and as he opens his eyes, as the fog clears his vision, he sees...

you.

"holy fuck..."

he breathes out as he coughs up blood, some of it landing on your face but no muscles twitch. "leave this planet, surrender yourself, or witness the wrath of the forest," your voice rough and low, most likely from unuse, so you did have the same powers but now...you were less mister seductive and more mister... recluse. he could work with that, he could work with whatever you give him and more. it always has been like that. the ivy around his neck gripping his neck tighter pulled him back from his thoughts with a whine leaving his bloody lips,

"fuckin' hell babe, you still look... you still... look so hot..." he feels the ivy go still, your thighs tense above him, he bites his bottom lip in satisfaction, oh he's got you huh?

he only notices that you're like, fully naked when you press your body harder against him, your hand replacing the ivy on his throat, you pull his head up a little bit and smash his head through the concrete, "seems all that brain damage has got to you, who do you think you're talking to, boy?" he groans in pleasure from both the head smash on the concrete and your nails digging into his throat and your voice just right by his ear and-

"you're fucking intoxicating,"

he links his legs around you, caging you by your hips as he grinds your body closer to his, a small gasp of offense mixed with sudden weird sensation leaving your mouth as you look at him with as much a glare you can muster,

"come on, again. do it again, show me how much i've pissed you off, make me choke on my own blood,"

his voice gets louder with every word, his eyes never leaving yours,

"make me pay for what i've done, you want to hurt me, don't you? come on! go ahead, fuck-" he gasped out as your other hand pulled on his hair, pulling his hair to the side to break the eye contact.

he's getting to you, fuck he's actually...

this is what you get when you neglect the 'person' part of a plant person for so long, it seems.

you get up, untangling his legs from you by pulling him away from your body by his neck, his eyes sparkling with unmistakable glee as his body shakes from the pain, "show me you mean it then," you whisper as you get close to his face, you feel the ghost of his lips almost touching yours and you send him flying through the wall,

he lays there for a few seconds, his dick and whole body throbbing,

"god i fucking love you,"

you growl and leap at him as he giggles and does the same,

he can't wait to take you apart.

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

viltrum mark

looking at the carnage before him, he wills himself to feel something, anything for these people. anything to prove hes got some amount of humanity in him even after your death, the death that was his fault. he brought you to viltrum, he built you a room full of plants, he did his best, he really thought he did, but you couldn't take a month away from your own and you... passed away, because of the lack of, everything, you needed.

he won't make the same mistake twice, as soon as angstorm reached out to him, he had your room remade from as many plants he extracted and as many the scientists could make. he adorned your room with plants, flowers and bees and everything needed to keep you alive. because he needs you, needs you back with him, no one can stop that.

not even you.

he sighs and grabs the branch you shot at him, slamming you to the dirt. his heart pangs as he hears your struggle for breath, but he cannot relent, he has to have you under control, even for a viltrumite like him, you're strong. he pins you down by your chest, pressing his foot down, looking into your eyes, he-

fuck.

fuck. fuck. why did he do that, why did he look at those eyes that he knows disarm anything and everything he ever built up over the years, the eyes that hold the only key to his heart, he feels himself falter and you don't fail to take advantage of this, pushing him off of you with the combination of your branches and ivy, slamming him to the trees in your desperation and wincing when you feel the impact od his weight through the trees on your own body.

panting as you clutch your chest, you shake your head and look at him, he didn't even break a sweat! not even a scratch, a bloody nose, nothing.

your eyes widened as you took a wobbly step back, "what... what the hell are you?" his heart shattered and his brain rattled in his skull because of the scared but defiant look you gave him. thats not how you're supposed to look at him, you and this world's mark should be dating, you should be looking at him with all the love in the world, like you used to, not like-

like he's an abomination.

he walks closer to you and shoot your branches on him, he blocks them with ease before they even have a chance to wrap around any part of his body, "come with me," he finally spoke. your body reacted by setting off all the alarms in your head, "we'll get married, on our home planet, we'll be together again, you'll be happy i wont- i wont let you die again. never again,"

the implication that he had some part of the murder fo a version of you was more than enough for you to take a few steps back and try your luck with your own arms instead. if there is one thing about you thats never changing, its your stubborness, he notes to himself as both of you clash, hands tangled in each others as one tries to push the other over the non existent edge.

with a grunt, you root your legs down with the help of the surrounding trees, making yourself an immovable object, you feel a smirk growing on your face as he grunts, oh you're getting to him.

this was stupid, maybe, but its one less mark, less destruction for now.

or so you thought.

you feel him go weightless, your eyes widen in panic as your brain registers what he's about to do, "wait you fucking idio-" your words are cut off by your own screams of the excrutiating pain he's causing as he's ripping you apart from the dirt, from the roots that planted you there in the first place.

it feels like he's snapping your own legs, stretching them, like the branches are your own bones, you scream and tears flow from your eyes, his face is pained as your own, your screams making his head throb with guilt.

he has to do this, for your own good and his, he can't stand this pointless crusade anymore.

with a final scream from you that turns into a sob as you're finally fully snatched from the floor and up into the air, going limp in his arms as his grip tightens around your waist, your long height making it a bit awkward to hold you but he's never let things like that stop him before.

he places a kiss on your temple, cupping your face with one hand as the other is holding you up from your waist,

"you're coming with me, i dont care about anyone or anything else, not anymore."

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i do not like this.... ghahhahj im so sorry anon

#invincible #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible variants #invincible variants x reader #mark grayson x male reader #no goggles mark x reader #no goggles invincible #viltrum mark #viltrum mark x reader

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coldilikeit · 2 months ago

Text

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 14

____________________________

"She wasn't yours to send on that quest, does her mother even know about this!? You can't just send kids on missions without MY permission! They're in my supervision, they're MY kids!" Mr D Yells at Hermes

He was expecting that supreme lord of the bathroom to go because of that damned hero complex and that Blondie likes adventures, but you? He thought you'd stay put, Mr D made it very clear that once you step outside the border, everything will kill you, so why would you go there?

And truth be told, you don't know why you went either, you were skilled yes. But this is your first quest oh right. This quest is undocumented and you three could die

Mr D was fine when they were just names.

Long ago when he was one of the gods above, just watching and listening to what happened, he would send his children on missions, some would succeed some won't

Some would die.

But it was fine.

He grieved for a while, he could drown is sorrows into wine, he could numb himself, but then the punishment came

100 years at camp half-blood.

He thought it'd be fine, a hundred years would pass like a blur

But it didn't.

Because now, he wouldn't just hear about the heroes who lived and died, he couldn't ignore them now. They were right in front of him, They were in his care!

At first he tried to ignore them, then he made the mistake of accidentally stumbling upon one of their camp nights, the children would tell their grievances through song, they laughed and danced, they didn't act like heroes that night, it was very disgraceful...

They acted like children.

There he made a mental note.

No more dead kids.

The morning after that he waltzed into the training grounds and looked after the children himself, he taught them how to fight, how to trick, and lastly he joined their camp nights on the head of the circle

It worked for a while, after every quest, his kids would come back, then the monsters started multiplying, the mist got so strong it even confused the demigods until it was too late and the monster got to them

A few more quests here and there, his kids stopped returning.

Five children would leave on a mission, two would come back.

And he didn't have alcohol to drown himself in, he had to face that they're gone sober.

So he had a new tactic

Just hate the bastards.

He had so many reasons to hate them, they were needy, weak and fragile, they were constantly immature needing guidance, he left the parenting work on Chiron

Then the quests stopped, one kid. Luke. Messed up so badly that quests stopped coming, the gods were too horrified and they didn't want their children to go on the same path as Lark did, Duke went blind on one eye.

And not dying while fighting an enemy was considered to be humiliating. It meant that the enemy went easy on you, and thought you weren't even worth the trouble killing

Can't they just be glad their kid isn't dead?

It was going well...

No quests equal No dead kids

Then Peter Johnson came along, started the quests again, fuck that kid, so what if he didn't even know about his origins as a hero? So what if he just wanted to see his mother? So what if he was being used as a pawn to start a war and he just wanted to live a normal life?

Percy Jackson was the brother of the man who abandoned his wife in a remote island

He hated Michael Jackson

Last but not the least you.

He hated you.

How could you!?

He walked you through everything! He even let Athena influence you by letting her bring the books on monsters so you'd be too scared to go out

But you just had to help Annabelle and Peter huh?

(Name)...

Fuck this.

You were going to be like one of them. A corpse, there's no point in remembering your name

(Wrong Name)... He was going to call you that from now on

Mr D would sometimes reminisce back on the times where he wouldn't care, back when the children were just names, now he knew they had a life, had dreams, had-

He should stop

He wants to drown his sorrows

He would like to be Dionysius again.

______________________________

Dionysius: oh the demigods? Not my problem!

Mr D: my babies death are inevitable so I have to act like I don't care enough to the point I don't remember their name so when they eventually pass away I wouldn't be hurt

_____________________________

@princesscosmo @kiarst @awawage @proffesorbunny @yuyuzi-ling @twentysomethingwereyote @scarletdfox @colorfulgardenerduck @kagatinkita @ryuushou @gwyneveire @nervousalpacalady @obsessedwithfanfiction @dsaar2000 @ithoughtthinks @fortunatelydifferentqueen @the-dumber-scaramouche @time-shardz @crazycaoticsimp @yunloyal @sirenetheblogger @00hellohello00 @spqce-bun @casspen-starlight @eyeless-kun @ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar @sheep-from-rad

#dc universe #dcu #yandere batfam #yandere #yandere platonic #warmyanderepjoxdc #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo

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suhkusa · 10 months ago

Text

HELL OF A WOMAN.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

CW. slight enemies-to-lovers, some angst but not heavy, fluff, you're both snarky (romantic), ~4k words, slice of life, reader has a healing quirk

A/N. i'd say slowburn but it's only slowburn because i barely ever write fics this long lol

Throughout your time in the nurse’s office as Recovery Girl’s student apprentice, you’ve met many different students. They all varied– whether it be their quirk, their grade, or even the injury they had come in for.

Students from the general education, support and management departments rarely ever made their rounds to the nurse’s office, only coming in for a simple cut or bruise.

That left you with those in the hero department.

You got along well with nearly all of them, even going as far as becoming friends with a few. And while that was true, of course there were gonna be some who you couldn’t get along with. But, there was specifically one student you could not stand. And he’d probably say the same thing for you as well.

It was none other than Bakugou Katsuki.

———

The first time you really interacted with Bakugou Katsuki was within the first month of your apprenticeship. It was in your 3rd year, and you had already been managing well.

Your day had started off fantastic. Recovery Girl had left you to run the office by yourself, thoroughly trusting your working and communication skills, so that she could run errands out of town.

The office hadn’t been too busy, allowing you time to finish a bit of your homework at your own little desk next to hers. A few people came and left, just needing a simple healing of their arm or leg.

You had been lost in thought when he slammed the door open, practically huffing as he walked in. Putting your pencil down, your wide eyes looked up and met his own. It felt as though he was burning a hole straight through your skull with the way he stared you down.

You didn’t even have to ask to know who he was. In your first and second year, his face was plastered nearly everywhere throughout the media. Bakugou Katsuki. But you’d never talked to him. Well, until now.

Assuming he’d be like every other person who walked through that door, stating their business then quietly leaving, you broke the deafening silence.

“Uh, yes?” you let out, cringing internally at the way the words came out.

Bakugou looked around the room before back at you, “Where the hell is the old woman at?” he spat.

You were seemingly surprised at his not-so-subtle entrance and dirty language.

“If you meant Recovery Lady by “old woman”, then she’s out of town for some errands. I can help you if–”

“And who the hell are you?” he snapped before you finished, impatience laced in the way he spoke and stood before you.

You could practically feel how your jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed at his blunt question. If he didn’t hold back, then why should you?

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m Recovery Lady’s helper. Now,” you put on the most calm and collected voice you could manage, “what the hell do you want?”

The day was going well, before now at least, and you were not going to let some egoistic, cocky guy ruin it for you. Tug of war is a game with two different sides, and you weren’t gonna let him win victoriously.

Bakugou’s face scrunched up at the words you spat right back at him, opening his mouth to retort something– probably an insult– before letting it fall shut with a grunt.

“What the– Just put a bandage on this shit,” he held his arm out for you to see a scrape wound running up the length of it.

You raised an eyebrow as you glanced between the injury and his eyes that looked down at you expectantly. And waited.

“The fuck you staring at?” he spoke– yelled, really– before stepping a bit closer.

A smirk tugged up at the corner of your lips before you sat back in your spinning chair, crossing a leg over the other. Like you were the one expecting something.

“You–”

“Please.” you cut him off, lifting a hand to inspect your nails nonchalantly. Hm, maybe you should get them done.

“Like hell I’m saying that, do something about–”

“Please.” you repeated, emphasizing the word in a louder tone. You looked at him from behind your lifted hand, the smirk that once teased at your mouth now sitting there fully– mocking him.

“Fine! Fuckin’ fine!” Bakugou snarled, his pearly whites peeking from under his lips. “Will you please do something about this?”

Satisfied, you responded, “‘Kay,”

———

Perhaps you should’ve bit your tongue before you spoke to the oh so great Bakugou Katsuki. In your defense, you didn’t know he’d hold it against you. You were joking, obviously. It was obvious. Right?

And so, everytime he walked into the nurse’s office, he’d send you the same nasty glare, practically seething through his teeth as he made eye contact with you. You knew exactly why he did the gesture every time he came in, but how long did this guy hold grudges for? It wasn’t like you publicly humiliated him or anything.

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” you asked him one day as the Recovery Lady escorted him to one of the vacant cots, leg stretched out as you leaned back in your chair.

“Hah? Like what?” he grunted in your direction as he took a seat, an eyebrow raised in curiosity? Irritation? Probably both.

“Mm,” you looked up to the roof as if you were thinking, “Like you like me or something, I mean it’s really flattering but you don’t have to sta—”

“As if. I’d rather watch an elephant take a dump than stare at your face any day,” Bakugou inputted as he lifted his arm to allow Recovery Lady to heal the injury along his bicep.

“Oh really? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, Bakugou,”

You fidgeted with the pen in your hand as you watched his face scrunch up.

“You know what—”

Just as he was about to rise and stand from his spot, Recovery Lady quickly and gently pushed him to sit back down.

“Y/N,” she emphasized your name with a familiar tone, “I think we’re running low on bandages, could you go get some from the storage room?”

Even though her words were anything but hostile, you and Bakugou could tell she was scolding you. You let out a sigh.

“Yeah, I can,”

Getting up from your seat, you set your things down before making your way to the door. Not before stealing one more glance at Bakugou. He was also staring back at you, but this time there was a bit of cockiness in his eyes. Getting the last word never hurt anybody.

You slid the door open, eyes still locked with his, “You know, you’d probably look cute as well if you didn’t look like you were constipated 24/7,”

“The fuck—”

Quickly sticking your tongue out at him, you shut the door before he was able to finish his sentence.

———

The nurse’s office had been particularly quiet today. The slow day in the office gave you more free time to yourself, which allowed you to catch up on a couple past assignments. Only two or three people came in before the lunch bell rang. After packing your bag, you waved off Recovery Lady as you excused yourself to the cafeteria.

And when you returned, it was still quiet. You quickly noticed that it was also void of Recovery Lady, the short woman nowhere to be seen. As you slid the door shut behind you, you heard a hushed groan come from one of the beds. Your head snapped to the source of the noise, quietly stepping closer to the person.

Almost naturally, you recognized the disheveled blonde hair. Bakugou.

But this was different. New. He was quiet for once, and the eyes that almost always were glaring at you were closed shut. Your body relaxed at the unusual sight of him. And maybe if you were crazy, you would’ve thought he was cute.

As you got closer, you noticed the slight crease in his eyebrows, as well as the bandage that was wrapped around his torso.

Perhaps you got too caught up in the moment, though. Too caught up in the way his chest slowly rose with each breath, the way his skin seemed to glow under the sun’s filtered light. So caught up that you didn’t realize those familiar crimson eyes were staring back up at you.

“You a pervert now?” his voice cut through silence, causing you to tense and step back. “The hell are you looking at?”

For a moment, it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. You caught yourself trying to find something to look at. Something other than him.

“Looks like you’re in quite a predicament,” you commented with a breathy laugh, not really knowing what else to say. Stupid joke.

“No, really?” sarcasm was laced in his tone, but you could hear the struggle as he grunted quietly afterwards.

Maybe you’d spare him for the day.

“Recovery Lady hasn’t gotten to you, yet?” you asked as you slowly made your way to your desk, setting down your bag.

“Nah,” he let out a huff as he sat up, “Shit— she wasn’t here when I got here,”

Letting out a hum in response, “Do… Do you want me to help you then?” you asked, even though you already knew the likely answer.

“What the hell do you think—”

“You know, on second thought I have some homework—”

He let out an exasperated sigh before surrendering once again, “Yes. Yes, please. Help me,”

Biting back a small smile, you turned back around to make your way back to the injured man. You pulled up a chair next to the bed, sliding in closer. After gesturing him to lay back down, your hands carefully peeled back the bandages that covered the wound. You’d never get used to the sight of blood.

You could feel the way his body tensed every time your hand neared his injury, though you tried your best not to touch it at all.

“Sorry if it hurts a little,” you said, lifting your hands over the gash, “Just do your best to relax,”

“Whatever,” Bakugou responded as he turned his head away from you.

It happened in a flash. From his peripheral view, he saw your hands glow, and the next thing he knew: he was fine again. Not a scar, scratch, or wound in sight. Like it wasn’t even there.

Though you enjoyed the perplexed look in his eyes, you could feel yourself becoming rather light-headed. You took a deep breath before standing up and going back to your desk to get your water bottle.

As you took a sip of your water, you watched as he sat up in the cot, lifting up his shirt to examine the skin.

“Never seen a quirk before?” you laughed at his amusement.

His face quickly snapped back to his normal grouchy look, “No, just didn’t know you had a quirk at all, you usually just bandage my injuries up. Plus healing quirks are rare,”

“Mm, I get that a lot,” you mused, twisting the cap back onto your water, “It’s just a normal healing quirk though. I’ve been working with Recovery Lady to train it’s capabilities,”

Bakugou grunted in response. Silence filled the room for a moment before he decided to speak up.

“Gonna head back to class,” he stated curtly, swiftly putting his blazer back on before stepping towards the door, “Thanks, I guess,”

With one last glance back at you, he was gone. Leaving you and the rapid thumping of your heart alone in the room once again.

———

“Is anyone sitting here?” a gruff voice came from above.

With the rest of the noise in the cafeteria, you nearly didn’t hear him. Your eyes gazed up from your food toward him, eyebrow shooting up in question.

“Uhm,” you swallowed the food in your mouth before responding, “what does it look like to you?”

You gestured to the empty seats around you before going back to poking at your lunch.

“Tch, just asking,” Bakugou murmured under his breath as he tugged a chair out from under the table and took a seat.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but sneak a couple of glances his way. Just why was he sitting with you? Was this his own silent way of tormenting you?

“So,” you started before clearing your throat, “what do you want?”

You could see him freeze mid-bite, eyes shooting up to you.

“To eat? What else?” he grunted nonchalantly.

Well no shit.

“Oh really? Didn’t know that,” you rolled your eyes, “why not eat with your friends?”

“Don’t wanna,”

Your lips pulled into a thin line before you gave up. You dismissed him as you continued to finish your lunch. After this you’d probably have enough time to take a nap in the nurse’s office. In an attempt to finish your food without starting some random argument with the blonde next to you, you kept the interactions to a minimum.

After you finished, you debated your options. Did you say goodbye or just… leave? Just leaving would be rude, wouldn’t it? Well who cares, you sure don’t–

“Hold on,” he called out, catching your attention.

You watched as he quickly finished the rest of his lunch, gathering his stuff before standing up.

“What–”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said as he walked past you towards the garbage can.

“Uh,” you followed shortly after him with your trash, “go where?”

Stacking his tray with the others, he sent you a glare with a rough, “Where else?”

When you didn’t respond with a word but instead with a confused look, Bakugou sighed and continued.

“The nurse’s office,”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent “Ohh”. You tugged your bag over your shoulder as you walked up next to him.

The walk through the halls was rather silent other than the couple of students that walked past the two of you. But not a word was said between the two of you. At least until he opened his mouth.

“So, what are your plans after graduating?” he asked, hands in his pocket as he continued to walk by you.

You let your eyes scan the exterior through the wide UA windows when you responded, “Hm, I think I’ll find a job in a hospital? I think I wanna work in some field with heroes, but I’m not quite sure yet… And you?”

“Obviously I’m gonna a hero,” Bakugou scoffed with a smirk, “Gonna be the best one, at that,”

“I see,” you let a light laugh slip out at his confidence.

“What’s funny, huh?” he asked, voice suddenly scarily serious.

Your eyes widened, “Nothing, nothing– It’s just we barely have normal conversations like this. I guess,” you quickly added.

Bakugou hummed in response, coming to a quick stop as the two of you reached the nurse’s office’s door.

“Well,” you step closer to the door, “Thank you for walking me here, Bakugou,” you smiled.

“Katsuki,”

“Hm?”

He rolled his eyes, “Just call me Katsuki,” he turned the other way quickly before waving you off, “Later, nerd,”

A laugh escaped you as you watched him walk away, waiting a couple of more moments before walking into the office.

Maybe if you stared for a little longer you would’ve seen the way his ears reddened at your smile.

———

“Oh! Good afternoon Bakugou and Kirishima!” the voice of the elderly woman snapped you awake, causing you to jump in your seat.

You could hear a snicker come from a certain person as you turned to see the two who entered the room.

Your eyes were met with a seemingly beaten up Kirishima and Bakugou, the two having scruffs, scratches and bruises on their skin.

“What were you guys doing this time?” Recovery Lady escorted the two to their own beds, tending to Bakugou’s injuries and gesturing to you to help Kirishima.

“Ah, just training, same as always,” the red head responded with a smile, “Oh, hey Y/N,”

You could feel the ends of your mouth tug upwards at his greeting, “Hey,”

“How’s everything been?”

As you continued your chatter with Kirishima and helped him with his injuries, you didn’t seem to see or feel the daggers of stares that Bakugou sent in your direction.

On the other hand, Bakugou didn’t even know why he felt like this.

What was he pissed about? It’s not like the two of you are friends. Did you consider him a friend? Yet why did it feel so utterly annoying to watch you interact with some other guy?

That was beyond Bakugou.

Maybe he already knew the answer. And maybe he didn’t want to come to terms with what that answer held.

Either way he couldn’t take another second of this.

“Bakugou? Where are you going—”

The sound of Recovery Lady’s frantic voice caught the attention of you and Kirishima. Your eyebrow raised in confusion as the blonde made his way to the door with the little lady following him.

“You’re not fully healed yet,” the old woman claimed.

“It’s fine,”

“Let him,” Kirishima said after Bakugou slammed the door shut. “He’s been a little off lately,”

You wrapped a bandage around Kirishima’s elbow, “Off? How?”

Kirishima’s eyes looked up in thought, “He’s been kinda closed off lately; barely comes to our hangouts,”

“Ooh,” you sighed as you continued helping the guy in front of you.

There was a seedling of worry planted in your stomach, and you barely had any clue why. It’s not like you guys were close. He was just some guy who came to the nurse’s office like every other student. Maybe those late nights staying up were finally catching up to you.

After cleaning up and sending Kirishima off, you were finally left alone. Recovery Lady had left a while ago to fetch some supplies from the storage room. And so that left you and your thoughts alone in the office.

———

A week had gone by.

A week had gone by, and there had been radio silence from Bakugou.

Either training had slowed down or he was completely avoiding you. And either way, it still made you a bit sad. Only a bit.

Days in the nurse’s office were slow and lonely. You never made a real connection with anyone. People came and people left. They come to get healed and leave. No side talk, albeit a few exceptions. Bakugou being one of those.

There were times where you thought you saw him entering the nurse’s office when you were leaving, but the glimpses were so small that you chalked it up to your imagination.

It felt like he was consuming your every thought, so you had no choice but to accept the fact that maybe you had a crush on Bakugou. Maybe.

But so what? That was normal, everyone had a crush on him at one point. Too bad you fell victim along with the rest of them, though.

Admitting to yourself that you liked Bakugou was hard, but having to actually deal with the feelings you had was harder. One, because you’ve never really had a serious crush. And two, he was nowhere to be seen. Having a crush on him made your heart beat so quick that you’d use your quirk on yourself to make sure you weren’t having heart problems.

Soon, one week turned into two.

And it seemed like the office was only getting busier as the third years prepared for their finals. Everyone was in and out as they practiced their hand to hand combat more vigorously and more often.

The first couple of days, it was easy. But towards the end of the week, you began to fatigue. Having to balance your own finals and running around the office having to use your quirk over and over was doing a number on you.

The injuries were becoming worse, the amount was increasing. At times, you were dizzy with how many times you’d have to keep turning around from bed to bed to help someone new.

Then there was a calm. You barely noticed a full week of finals had swung by, leaving the clinic empty and quiet.

“Is it alright if I nap during the passing period?” you turn in your chair to Recovery Lady, who is stocking up the medicine cabinets.

“Of course, you should be fine, if anything I can handle anyone who comes in,” she tells you.

You sigh in relief as you walk to the nearest bed on weak legs, basically melting into it as soon as your body hits the cushion. You knock out on the spot, letting your well-deserved slumber overcome you.

———

Your slumber is interrupted by a slight jolt to the bed frame you’re lying on. You groan as you flip onto your other side. The light escapes through your lashes, creating a blurred light illusion with a silhouette. Your eyes shot open, a silhouette?

You become conscious of yourself as soon as you realize the one before you is none other than Bakugou Katsuki. There’s a stupid grin on his face which makes you want to slap it right off of him. You sneakily nudge at the drool on the side of your mouth and adjust your clothing and appearance.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” he says from the seat beside you, and it feels like forever since you’ve last heard that voice of his.

“Yeah, because of someone,” you grumbled, eyebrows scrunching up. He laughs, laughs, as his eyes focus on you.

“It’s getting late,” is all he says.

You have half a mind to respond, until you remember that he’s been avoiding you. Your eyebrows tighten together impossibly closer, as you flip to face away from him.

“You’re a dick,” you say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been avoiding me, I’m not stupid,”

Your eyes are jittery as they look everywhere. Trying to focus on something in the room to distract yourself from all of the possibilities of what might come out of his mouth.

“Why do you care?”

His words cause you to sit up, facing him once more. “What do you even mean, why? I used to see you everyday, then suddenly you just walked out and I never saw you again,”

Bakugou’s eyes slightly roll at your words, and it kind of hurts.

“I just thought maybe we were…” your words trail off causing Bakugou to stare at you more intently.

“Were what?”

“I don’t know, friends, or some shit,” you bury your head in your hands out of embarrassment.

“Did I say we weren’t?”

“Well, you never said we were,”

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says, “Thought you were smarter than that, doc,”

You smile at the nickname. “You can leave now, I’m awake, I just have to close up the clinic. Why were you here in the first place?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t dead or something,”

Laughing, you get up to fix the bed sheets. The words that fly out of your mouth come out on their own.

“What, do you like me or something?”

“Probably,”

His careless response didn’t register in your mind at first, but when it did, you could feel the heat rush from the back of your neck up to the tips of your ears.

“W-What? You can’t just say that… weirdo,” your eyes flick up at him then back down to the sheets, fluffing up the already neat pillows.

Silence filters through the room, the only noise filling your ears being the noise of cotton and linen being moved around. Along with the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. It felt so loud, that you swear he could probably hear it as well. You didn’t know what to do, was this real life?

Did those words really just come out of his mouth?

His head tilted and you could feel his gaze on you. It was nerve-wracking, and you were just hoping and praying he’d say something that’d clear your mind. A small, “just kidding,” would be nice right about now. The hurt you’d feel from that would be better than the anxiety you felt at this instant.

“Say what?” he mocks, and it causes your eye to twitch.

You decide you’re not playing these games with Katsuki Bakugou today, “Oh nothing, must’ve been the wind,” you flutter your eyes before turning the other direction to fix up another bed that looks like it’d been used.

A hand on your wrist puts a stop to your motions, and it immediately makes your head turn back to meet his eyes.

“B- Katsuki–”

You’d usually be able to come up with something snarky, but right now all your words were caught in your throat. You were actually scared to say the wrong thing for once.

“You were joking right?” you ask him, nervous for what his answer might be.

Bakugou is quick to retort, “Depends, were you?”

You gulp down your anxiety before giving him a response, “N-No,”

“Then? Use that smart little brain of yours, doc,”

“Say it,” you demand, “I’m not playing this little game with you, so say it,”

His ruby eyes roll before connecting gazes with yours once again, “I like you, or something,” he mimics your words from earlier.

You can feel yourself fluster. The dizziness in your head almost made you convince yourself that you were dreaming. If this was a dream, you wanted All Might himself to pop out and punch you across the face.

“Why don’t you say something now, hm?” his grip around your wrist loosens to a more gentle grasp.

His face closens to yours, the distance between the two of you is only breaths-length.

“Since you’re so smart, you tell me,” you sass, “Take a guess, smartass,”

A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, “You’re such a dick,” he whispers under his breath before closing the distance completely, his lips locking with yours.

Your eyes widen at the pure shock, but you ultimately melt into the kiss. It’s sweet and you can feel the two of you smiling into it.

When the two of you part, you can feel slight embarrassment wash over you. “You’re an ass, you didn’t even let me confess, my high school sweetheart experience is ruined forever,

Bakugou lets out a breathy laugh at your words, “Thought you wanted me to take a guess,”

“And if you were wrong?”

“Hah, as if,”

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