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downbad4sylus · 26 days ago

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“Sylus, something’s wrong.”

(inspired by this post)

synopsis: After an impromptu mission with Sylus, you have a sudden flare up of your Protocore Syndrome.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; angst. so much angst; zayne cameo; happy ending; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: been cooking this up for a while, then was inspired by the post referenced above. hope everyone enjoys like two thousand words of pure angst :D

Sylus always enjoyed tagging along on your missions. He enjoyed all the time he spent with you of course, but fighting beside you was like seeing a physical manifestation of how far you’d come in your relationship. You moved in perfect synchronicity, supporting and anticipating the other’s moves without so much as a word passed between you. And when you resonated, when your powers combined and your light filled his darkness, Sylus felt like he was floating on air. Oh how far you’d come with him, and now you were his and only his.

Working in tandem, you and Sylus finished off the last of the Wanderers that had interrupted your walk through the park, the protofield dissipating.

Breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed, you checked your Hunter’s Watch. “The area’s all clear,” you announced.

“That was fun, sweetie,” Sylus drawled with a grin. “We should fight Wanderers on our walks more often.”

You chucked. “They do spice things up, don’t they?”

“They do,” he agreed. He held out his hand for yours. “Come, let’s go sit and catch our breaths.”

Smiling, you reached for his hand—

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over you. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Sweetie?”

Instinctively, the hand that reached for his retreated, curling against your chest.

You looked up into Sylus’s red, gem-like eyes and took a staggering step toward him. “Sylus, something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

Sylus’s face twisted with concern, and he closed what little distance lay between you, gently gripping your upper arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

“My…heart...”

You went limp.

Sylus caught you before you could fall, tilting your head up. “Y/N?”

No answer, you were unconscious.

Sylus was well aware of your heart condition, however for as long as he’d known you, you’d never had a flare up.

A fear he hadn’t felt before—so visceral in the way it stole the air from his lungs—washed over him.

He didn’t know what to do.

You never told him what he was supposed to do if this happened.

What was he supposed to do?

Sylus moved on instinct alone, sweeping you into his arms as he strode for his car. He pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease, and scrolled through your contacts until he found who he was looking for.

It rang only once before the caller picked up.

“Y/N, should I be worried you’re calling me out of the blue like this?” asked the cool, slightly amused voice.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus questioned, trying very hard to keep the panic from his voice.

He felt the shift in demeanor through the phone.

“Who is this?”

He might have appreciated Dr. Zayne’s suspicion were these different circumstances, but right now, Sylus didn’t have the patience for it.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus snapped. “Are you at the hospital?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I’m at the hospital. Is Y/N all right?”

Sylus swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and choked out, “It’s her heart.”

Zayne swore softly. “How far away are you?” His tone was more frantic now, mirroring Sylus’s own inner turmoil.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Sylus said, finally reaching his car. He didn’t bother to put you in the passenger seat, he simply held your limp body in his lap as he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Come to the emergency room, I’ll have a stretcher and team ready by the time you arrive.”

The line went dead, so Sylus tossed your phone onto the empty passenger seat and focused on the road ahead of him.

He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring a myriad of laws to do so. He didn’t care about the others cars on the road, or the pedestrians trying to cross the street, all that mattered to him was you.

Sylus kissed the top of your head, willing and praying for you to be okay. “Come on,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the steering wheel, “just hold on a little longer for me, kitten.”

—

Pulling up to the curb in front of Akso Hospital’s emergency room, Sylus had barely put the car in park before barreling out, leaving the door wide open as he ran for the entrance with you cradled in his arms.

Zayne was waiting inside, just as he’d said, with a team of doctors and a stretcher. Sylus carefully laid you out on the stretcher, keeping your hand in his.

“What happened?” Zayne asked, leading the team out of the lobby and into the emergency ward.

“We were fighting Wanderers,” Sylus explained, “Y/N wasn’t injured but she said something was wrong all of sudden, and before she collapsed, she said it was her heart.”

Zayne, with a clinical precision, began barking orders at his team of which Sylus paid no attention. He was laser focused on you, on your unconscious form on the stretcher, on the hand he gripped tightly with his own.

He couldn’t lose you, not so soon after he’d finally been able to call you his.

Only moments later, Zayne stopped at another set of double doors, marked for hospital staff only.

“I need to evaluate Y/N’s condition and from there I’ll determine the best course of treatment,” he explained as the team rolled you through the doors, your hand slipping from Sylus’s grasp. “I’ll update you when I can. You can wait in my office, just ask one of the nurses at the front for directions.”

Zayne didn’t wait for Sylus’s reply and strode through the doors after you.

Sylus stood frozen for a moment, still in shock that this was even happening. That you were no longer by his side and he now had to wait for updates on your condition.

He felt so useless, and Sylus hated feeling useless.

Sylus wrestled with his emotions as he finally moved from the doors and headed toward Zayne’s office. He knew the way, he’d memorized the location of where your doctor conducted your check ups long ago.

He was furious with himself as he stalked through the halls. He was supposed to take care of you but now had to rely on others to do it for him. Sylus could heal your physical wounds with his Evol, but he wouldn’t dare touch your heart with it for fear he would do much more harm than good. He did not have the wealth of knowledge and experience of Protocore Syndrome like Zayne. He could do nothing but pass you off to those more equipped to help you. He could do nothing but wait and pray that you’d be okay.

—

Sylus waited in Zayne’s office for hours.

Naturally, he’d searched through its entirety. It was mostly out of the need to do something more than just sit around and wait.

There wasn’t much of note, but Sylus did notice a few odds and ends on Zayne’s desk that he knew had come from you. Again, were the circumstances different, Sylus would’ve been more upset seeing your touches on your doctor’s desk, touches that should be reserved solely for him and no one else. But rather than be upset, seeing these things only produced a hollow ache in Sylus’s chest.

Would he lose the touches you made in his life? Would the growing collection of odds and ends on his desk back at the base stop in its tracks, never to be added to again? Would the slow plushy takeover of his bed, his couches, cease as well? What would he do with your things? He couldn’t get rid of them, but would he be able to bear looking at them, day in and day out, knowing you were no longer there alongside them? Alongside him?

The pain of losing you quite literally knocked Sylus off his feet. He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Sylus wondered if this was how you felt after you’d lost him, in another lifetime amongst a field of flowers. He prayed that fate be kind to him, that fate spare you, so he could make it up to you, for leaving you as he did. He would shower you in love, to make up for a lifetime lost but also to promise a lifetime anew. He never took you for granted, not for one second, but if you survived this, he would make damn sure you knew how much he loved and appreciated you.

The office door opening tore Sylus from his thoughts, his head snapping up to find Zayne striding toward him. The doctor sat on the couch beside Sylus, staring at his hands. Sylus noticed the scars on his arms, peeking out from his slightly rolled up sleeves.

“Y/N is stable,” Zayne said, prompting a tidal wave of relief to crash over Sylus. “Her flare up was nothing too serious this time, but she’ll need to rest for a few weeks before returning to work.” Zayne met Sylus’s gaze, hazel tinged with green locked on striking, ruby-red. “Can I trust you’ll make her follow my treatment plan?”

Despite himself, Sylus huffed a laugh. “She is a stubborn one, isn’t she?”

“To a fault,” replied Zayne.

“Yeah, I’ll make her,” said Sylus. “I have no intention of having her repeat this anytime soon. Once was more than enough for me.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Zayne rose from the couch. “Would you like to see her?”

—

Seeing you laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, your steady pulse beeping from the heart monitor, was a sight that almost brought Sylus to his knees.

At first glance, he thought you were dead, despite knowing that Zayne had said you were stable. But even as his emotions caught up with his logic, it was still a hard pill from him to swallow.

As Zayne stayed near the door to give you both a semblance of privacy, Sylus swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair beside the bed, taking your hand without the IV needle in it between both of his.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he murmured, running his thumb along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your brow furrowed as your nose scrunched. Your eyes opened slowly, as if hearing Sylus’s voice had roused you into consciousness.

You blinked slowly, taking in the strange space in front of you. It took a few moments before it became clear, before you realized you were in the hospital, when the last thing you remembered was being in the park with Sylus.

Sylus.

Your gaze drifted to where he sat at your bedside, cradling your hand in both of his. “Sy?” you croaked. “Why are we at the hospital? I thought we were at the park.”

His face was nothing but tender as he looked at you, providing you with an innate sense of safety and comfort. “We were,” he said softly. “What do you remember?”

“We fought some Wanderers…and we were going to sit on a bench to catch our breaths…and then nothing,” you said.

“Before we could sit, you told me that you didn’t feel right,” Sylus explained. “You said something was wrong with your heart, and then you fainted. I brought you straight to the hospital.”

Your brows knitted. “Is Zayne here?”

“I am, Y/N,” Zayne said, moving from his spot near the door to the end of your bed.

“Doctor Zayne.” You managed a small smile. “What’s the prognosis?”

The exasperation was clear in your doctor’s expression as he grabbed your chart and looked it over. “You’ll live,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled. “Isn’t that a relief.”

Sylus squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He was frowning and did not seem remotely amused at your attempt at levity. Knowing you had probably scared the poor man half to death, you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Zayne continued, either unaware or uncaring of yours and Sylus’s silent conversation. “As long as your vitals are normal come the morning, you’ll be able to go home, under a strict treatment regiment of course.”

You rolled your eyes, earning another disapproving squeeze from Sylus.

Zayne glanced up from your chart, meeting your gaze.

“Thank you, doctor,” you said to him, genuinely meaning it.

“It’s my job,” was his simple reply. He glanced between you and Sylus. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sylus said, surprising you.

Zayne gave a curt nod before making a swift exit.

You opened your mouth to speak to Sylus but was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you asked when he made no move to retrieve it.

He shook his head. “It’s just the twins looking for an update.” He reached up with one of his hands, gently cupping your cheek. “How do you feel?”

You leaned into his touch. “I feel okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” There was a rare vulnerability in Sylus’s voice as he said those words, one that told you all you needed to know about the time he spent while Zayne was treating you.

But you couldn’t make him that promise. You knew that, and you knew he knew that.

Still, this didn’t stop you from saying, “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Sylus rose from the chair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?” he whispered against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered back. “And I love you too.”

—

Bonus:

“No rigorous activity of any kind for at least a week,” Zayne instructed harshly as he wrapped up your strict treatment plan before you were to be discharged. A positively smug glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “That includes sexual activity.”

Your face went beet red. “Zayne!” you exclaimed, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Why would you say that?! I understood what you meant!”

“It’s a doctor’s duty to be as detailed as possible when giving a patient’s treatment plan,” he responded with a slight smirk.

“I’m seeing Greyson from now on.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Zayne! Just let me go home already!”

As Sylus silently observed the back and forth, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might actually like your doctor.

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #l&ds angst

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seijorhi · 2 months ago

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All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.”

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway.

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things.

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night.

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly.

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets.

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this.

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate.

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest.

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?”

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle.

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs.

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already.

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick.

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing.

“He’s very, uh…”

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful.

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone.

The two alphas before you aren’t that.

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?”

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes.

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t.

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes.

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you.

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead.

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over.

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes.

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so.

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this.

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe.

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it.

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta.

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage.

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm.

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact.

“Oh.”

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?”

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked.

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one.

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were.

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type.

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised.

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg.

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that.

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost.

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators.

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days.

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach.

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her.

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone.

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains.

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are.

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading.

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta.

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone.

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt.

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer.

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her.

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you.

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you.

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs.

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response.

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less.

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?”

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?”

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over.

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers.

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.”

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces.

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down.

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent.

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension.

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above.

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease.

Fuck.

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter.

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay.

Okay.

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her.

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you.

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more.

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako.

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run.

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned.

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss.

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits.

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence.

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither.

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you.

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed.

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two.

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time.

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch.

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin.

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem.

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.”

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck.

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did.

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you.

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung.

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing.

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach.

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss.

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her.

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does.

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade.

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one.

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all.

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion.

“Aya?”

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya.

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold.

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb.

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking.

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer.

There’s nowhere for you to go.

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip.

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway.

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.”

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard.

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire.

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound.

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction.

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way.

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way.

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough.

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck.

A split second too late, you realise his intentions.

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere ushijima #yandere semi #yandere tendou #yandere ushijima wakatoshi x reader #yandere semi eita x reader #yandere tendou satori x reader #tw: noncon #i feel like i'm missing a tag or two but it's late i'm tired i just wanna post #but yaaaaay beta fic's here #if one (1) person hits me with the 'she's secretly an omega'#i will commit acts of violence #okay?#okay :))

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the two-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that spring of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

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clockwayswrites · 4 months ago

Text

Cozytober Day 3: Hot Chocolate

masterpost

“You just had to make a mess on your way, didn’t you?” Jason asked as he stepped over Danny’s shed clothing.

“Yes,” Danny said, just to be cheeky.

He could be cheeky with Jason. Jason might huff and puff or snark back, but it was always in good fun with each other. Somethings were off limits, but they’d both made a deal to be honest about what those were. So far it had worked out.

Jason sighed. “Leave me to clean up your mess after you, carry you around, make you hot chocolate…”

“Hot chocolate?” Danny asked, sitting up in Jason’s arms. Jason’s hot chocolate was a thing of the divine.

“Mhum,” Jason agreed with a hum as he dropped Danny carefully onto the couch.

Danny let himself lay there like a dead fish as he tried to give Jason his best puppy dog eyes.

“Put those eyes away,” Jason said with a chuckle. He leaned down and pressed a kiss right between Danny’s eyes. “I already said I’d make it. Do you want the works?”

“Yes,” Danny said. He shifted a little on the couch so that he could still watch Jason as he moved over to the kitchen area of the open plan space. “Your day?”

“Oh. It was okay,” Jason said as he gathered what he needed and put a pot on the stove. “I think that we’re finally making some real progress on the plans for the affordable housing. There’s a place in German that does a lot of what we want and need in their prefab walls. Obviously shipping that far would make it cost prohibitive, but they seem interested in maybe setting up a workshop here as long as Gotham helps with the initial costs. It might be a good deal in the end for both them and the city.”

“That’s great!” Danny knew how hard Jason had been working at this project, and how many times there had been insurmountable seeming roadblocks.

“It really is. And a new industry means new jobs. We might be able to tie it in with the workforce alternative we’ve got started with the court system too. I might also be counting my chickens before they hatch but…”

“Hope.”

“Yeah, but hope,” Jason agreed softly.

“Proud of you,” Danny said.

He could see Jason’s ears flush all he way from the couch. Danny tried to tell Jason he was as proud of him as often a he could, both because of the cute response but because Danny didn’t think Jason knew how good he was.

“Nothings don’t yet,” Jason said.

“Proud. Of. You,” Danny said with pointed enunciation.

Jason muttered an adorable grumble as he fussed with breaking up the real chocolate bar that he used in the hot chocolate. Danny closed his eyes and just listened to Jason moving around, out of words the moment. One of the reasons he liked being at Jason’s more than his tiny shoe box was the noise of someone else moving around him.

“Up we go, boo,” Jason urged softly some time later.

Danny cracked a wide yawn and used the moment of swinging his legs off the couch to get himself somewhat sitting up. Jason slotted into place beside Danny and helped prop him up before he tipped back over again. Danny happily burrowed in against Jason’s broad shoulder.

“Eyes open,” Jason said.

Resisting a grumble, Danny opened his eyes and took the large mug in front of his face. He cradled it for a moment, just enjoying the warmth, before he took a long, slow sip. The richness of chocolate and warmth of spice bloomed over his tongue. Danny let out a happy sigh.

“The best.”

Jason chuckled. “You just like me for my hot chocolate.”

“Lies. Also have a very nice co—”

“Danny!” Jason admonished between a bout of startled laughter.

Danny grinned to himself, proud as always to make Jason laugh like that, free and bright. He rewarded himself with another sip of his drink.

#dp x dc #dead on main #danny/jason #I am indeed ill #but that's not a bad place to be for cozytober at least!#cozydead

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heartkaji · 6 months ago

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SNEAKY LINK ★ k. bakugo

bakugo should’ve been here thirty minutes ago.

it’s thirty minutes later & you’ve got snowflakes crawling up your throat. you exhale warm breaths through chapped lips & watch smoky condensate disappear into thick air. your nose is peach dappled & your cheeks are freezing.

bakugo should’ve been here an hour ago.

it’s one hour later & your tongue is frozen & your cheeks are blood drenched & drugstore lip balm feels dry against your lip. you wipe your nose & pretend the night isn’t freezing & hope to god you won’t wait forever.

“you’re still here ?”

bakugo comes in like a thief in the night. his baritone has your bones shivering, (or perhaps it’s the cold) & you look up at him with bleary eyes. katsuki bakugo looks warm. you can smell spiced latte in his breath & dark chocolate pricks at your nose. you sniffle a little & hope he doesn’t notice.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” he breathes. “had to help priscilla sort out the kids.”

it’s easy to forget pro-hero bakugo katsuki is a taken man with wife & kids. his ten fingers are always bare & calloused so it’s easy to pretend katsuki is yours. tonight however there’s snow sticking to your boot heels & you wish katsuki would stick his mouth shut too. you don’t want to hear her name. not tonight.

not any other night.

“right. when are you getting that divorce again ?”

the sound bakugo lets out is close to guttural. his eyes are everywhere but yours so you have to remind yourself that body language isn’t all it seems. he’s scratching at his nape & his adam’s apple drags up his throat but body language isn’t always as it seems. he never answers so you let the question die.

“are you ready to skate ?”

katsuki nods. for the first time tonight his eyes meet your own & all of a sudden the night’s a little warmer. he presses gloved fingers to your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. the burn of the leather is grueling.

“you’re freezing,”

“i wonder whose fault that is,” you mutter, but katsuki has a hearing sharper than icicles. he cups your cheeks in burning leather & worn out goat fabric. your cheeks are blood drenched & your lips are teeth bitten & even like this katsuki thinks you’re beautiful.

“don’t wait for me next time, okay ?”

“okay.”

katsuki leads you with an iron grip. his thumb brushes over your knuckles occasionally so you don’t have the heart to tell him his hold is bruising. your wrist is aching but the night is quiet so you choose to focus on other things : a meow in an alleyway. groans of dying trees. the feel of a ring wedged between gloved fingers.

oh.

you don’t dare to comment. katsuki never wears his wedding ring—at least, not around you. you tread through winter with gloveless hands so the promise ring on your right index gleams brighter than ever. katsuki brushes over it occasionally & you squeeze at your chest & try not to vomit. your vocal chords slosh against your throat like blood.

“we don’t have to go skating today.”

“too late, we’re already here.”

you rest on the bench with wobbling knees. oak wood splinters dig at your thighs but you suppose the pain is neccessary. katsuki’s eyes are trained on the lake. it’s frozen & a shade similar to blue bells but it only serves to remind you of katsuki’s wife. you’ve seen her once before & she had eyes as blue as starlight. you hope one day she’ll crash & burn like dead comets.

you wonder what katsuki is thinking about.

you’re about to call his name when he gets on one knee. your heart skips for a minute until he begins tugging off your shoe. he ties the ice skates with a firm knot & you resist the urge to thread a hand through his hair. heaven knows his honey-gold locks will sting your skin & bite you back.

he presses his lips to your knee, “you ready ?”

“i’m ready.”

pro hero bakugo katsuki is a professional at things beyond heroism. you’re a wobbling, stumbling mess & you haven’t even made it to the rink yet. your cheeks are cherry bruised. katsuki doesn’t comment & you’re not sure if you should be happy or sad because you don’t want to be called a fool but the silence is deafening. you grip his shoulders to stead yourself & katsuki hoists you up like a sack of fresh peaches.

“damn you, making me come out here when y’can’t even skate yourself.”

you smile. his mouth is sharp but his touch is gentle. his thumb glides against your lower back. “will you teach me, kats’ ?”

katsuki eyes you. he lets out a sound akin to a scoff but it might be more of a grumble. “too much of a hassle, i’d rather just carry you.”

you nod. he sighs.

bakugo is strong. he glides along the ice with your figure in his arms but he never stops to break a sweat. you want to ask him if his muscles are aching but the ice on your tongue hasn’t thawed off yet. bakugo is beautiful—occasionally he does a little spin on the rink just so you’ll giggle & clutch him a little tighter. you swear you saw him smile the third time you laughed out his name.

bakugo should’ve left thirty minutes ago.

thirty minutes later he’s still here by your side. the white chocolate mocha between your palms is burning but the cold stings at your fingertips the moment you let it go. you take two sips & offer katsuki the rest—he scoffs at you because aren’t you the one who said you needed a drink ? but takes the cup between his lips anyway. he takes two sips & presses his lips to your face. your nose is pink & your cheeks are burning.

bakugo should’ve left an hour ago.

it’s an hour later & he draws shapes on your palm through goat glove fingers. you’re back on oak-thorn bench but this time your thighs are over katsuki’s so the wood can’t pierce your skin. ‘you should’ve worn some leggings,’ he grumbles, but his thumb grazes your thighs in the shape of a starfish. you hope his touch will burn you forever.

bakugo is leaving now.

all good things must come to an end, you suppose, but tears stream down your face like new waters. katsuki rolls his eyes. he hates it when you get like this & he hates that he makes you get like this & he hates that—

“fucking hell, just get over here.”

you dive into his arms & for the third time tonight bakugo rolls his eyes. you’re shaking & hes not sure if it’s a shiver due to cold or a quaking due to tears. your knees are wobbly so he tightens his hold on your hips & prays your legs won’t give out. heaven knows his arms are already aching.

“hey, look at me.”

there’s mascara smeared across your cheeks & your lips are swollen purple. your nose is runny & crystal frozen & bakugo thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

“what are you crying for ?”

you’re crying even harder now so bakugo mentally slaps himself. “y/n, look at me.”

& you do. he cups your cheeks with gloved palms & kisses your nose, cheek, forehead. his mouth traces everywhere but your lips.

it’s always everywhere but your lips.

but you don’t complain, you never do. you don’t complain because in your head katsuki’s lips meet your own & your mouths bleed into each other’s forever. in your head, katsuki hugs you tight & shields you from the evening snow. in your head, katsuki is yours & you are his undoubtedly.

“same time next week ?”

not all dreams come true but with enough belief you know that yours will manifest. your chest is tight & you hope your heart won’t bleed forever.

“always. and next time, katsuki ?”

“what is it ?”

“don’t be an hour late.”

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straightouttherosebush · 25 days ago

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King's Dead

Character: Leona Kingscholar

Synopsis: Fluff alphabet for my favorite catboy (template from @snk-warriors), because it's a good format for a romantic/fluffy headcanon post (this might become my niche pookies I'm ngl.)

Content Warning: Fem/AFAB Reader, a teensy bit of spice if you squint, sorry if there is anything I missed ;-;;

(This song is so him so I named the post after it :D)

Activities (What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free-time with them?)

On his own, he is usually lazing around or occupied with Spelldrive training and Housewarden duties. He usually doesn't give others the time of day, either. He makes an exception for you and will go out of his way to ask if you'd like to play Spelldrive with the team. He'll also invite you to his room to just be in each other's presence, talk, and sometimes the both of you end up wrestling/play-fighting. I feel like he'd do that with a partner and it's something he does when he really opens up to someone.

Beauty (What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?)

I headcanon that he likes thick people, but he doesn't care too much about how people look. He admires determination, diligence, ruggedness and intelligence. He loves being challenged and watching you attempt to run him ragged in any way, shape, or form intrigues him. It keeps him on his feet and relieves his boredom. A little bit of spice here but he is 100% an ass man, the jiggle scratches his cat brain the right way =3

Comfort (How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack, etc.?)

Leona would genuinely panic when you're upset. He isn't really the best at soothing people, so he'll just give you a big tight hug and let you cry into his chest, patting/scratching your head. Otherwise, if you're stressed over something or panicking, he'd basically ask "Do you want my advice, or do you just want me to listen?" He leaves it up to you, and it's his attempt to be considerate of your feelings.

Dreams (How do they picture a future with their s/o?)

He could only hope that either he somehow takes the throne of his homeland and you are there to join him, or you two live a peaceful life in the Afterglow Savannah. On the inside, he craves nothing but a domestic life, and an easy one for his s/o. You make him feel important for once, so he wants to return the favor, his idea of that being ease and comfort for the rest of your days.

Equal (Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

100% dominant. While his general demeanor is passive, you'd be surprised how quickly that changes around you.

Fight (Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

He is not one to forgive easily, so he holds grudges. If it's his s/o, he tends to be a bit more lenient, but if he feels like he isn't being listened to or heard out, he'll just say "whatever" or something of the like and distance himself. He doesn't like wasting breath and energy, but he's still mad. You two make up eventually, but he's not the one going out of his way to apologize or kiss ass unless he actually feels he did something wrong.

Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o does for them?)

He is very perceptive, so he knows what you do for him and, while he doesn't tell you outright or necessarily thank you, he does something subtle for you in return. He is grateful, so much as to make himself useful if necessary.

Honesty (Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

He opens up more and more as the relationship progresses, though he isn't super forthcoming in general. He especially isn't really open about his family or secret feelings of inadequacy. Pre and post overblot.

Inspiration (Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

He might be moved to slightly broaden his diet, and he might try harder to work on keeping tidier on his own (definitely not because Ruggie regularly gripes about cleaning up after him, he couldn't give less of a shit tbh.) You're one of the only people outside his family whose opinion of him even remotely matters. He's gunna try to uphold the image of him that you have in your mind, against his better judgement.

Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Yes, he does get extremely jealous. As I said before, he is very perceptive (as are all beastmen, especially felines) so he can tell when someone is hitting on you from facial expressions and body language alone. He mainly gets upset because of his inferiority complex so he feels the need to make sure everyone knows that you're with him. He is usually able to scare off anyone either talking to you or flirting with you regardless, so it isn't a problem for him unless you seem to reciprocate. Even then, he doesn't necessarily blame you because he knows you're being nice to keep your skin.

Kiss (Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

He is surprisingly good at kissing and his kisses are hungry and passionate. You kissed him on the cheek after pausing and staring at him for a while. You turned to walk off, and he chuckled at you while you were still close enough to hear. He thought it was really cute and was so taken aback, it was on his mind throughout the day. So, when you meet up after classes at his dorm, the first thing he does is literally make out with you. He has to try hard not to let it turn into anything else, as much as he wants it to. He gladly respects your wishes. "Thereee ya go, got what you wanted. Just ask me next time. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Love Confession (How would they confess to their s/o?)

"Hey herbivore, you're cute. No, really. I mean it. Wanna make somethin' happen?" He'd just nonchalantly spit it out at some point. You two could have been literally anywhere and he would have still been this casual about it. He isn't really one for huge gestures or drawn-out confessions. Just plain and simple. He would be a little nervous but that's something he can easily shove down.

Marriage (Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Leona has the thought of marriage in the back of his mind. His family badgers him about it, and would even more if they found out that you were in the picture. Out of spite, he has sworn that he doesn't wanna get married. However, sometimes he sees the actions you take and the way you act and he thinks about you as his wife and the domesticity together, it awakens something within him. He gets a little mushy about it, but overall, he isn't getting married for a WHILE. A proposal from him would sound something like "I've been thinking on this for a bit and they will NOT get off my ass back home so... wanna get hitched?" He'll have the ring and everything, but isn't taking a knee or any of the typical stuff. He brings it up just as casually as the way he asked you out. "Mrs. Kingscholar... has a ring to it yeah? Ohhh come 'ere, stop bawlin' yer eyes out." he chuckled as he pulls your face into his chest while you cry tears of joy, his eyes clenched shut with the biggest smile he can muster.

Nickname (What do they call their s/o?)

Herbivore, Omnivore (if he's feeling nice), Hon will rarely slip out, mainly those because he isn't a pet-name person.

On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

When this beastman is in love, he becomes slightly more enthusiastic and generous and seems a little bit less tired whenever the object of his affection enters a room or interacts with him. Ruggie takes notice, teases him, Leona scoffs and rolls his eyes, the world keeps turning. It is only obvious to Ruggie because he's close to Leona, but nobody else can really tell that he's in love (he totally holds the crush over Leona's head btw, I also headcanon that bro can actually be a killer wingman.) He pretty much looks and acts normal, aside from the energy bursts. This shows in dorm Spelldrive practice, and the Savanaclaw students will remark on it, not really knowing why he's like this and sore because their asses are getting kicked. Nothing new, but worse than usual.

PDA (Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

He isn't upfront per se, but he's definitely not scared for people to know that you two are a thing. He doesn't brag but he has subtle ways of being affectionate. Whether it's his hand casually holding your waist or his tail brushing against you whenever he passes by, he's always subtly staking his claim. He will kiss you in front of someone and stare that someone dead in the eye with this threatening glare if he's jealous enough. (This should have been in the jealousy category technically BUT it's also PDA so... idk bro you be the judge.)

Quirk (Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship)

I can name a few One thing that makes him an absolute catch is the fact that he actually respects women/AFAB people. Respect really shouldn't be a lot to ask, but you would be hard-pressed to find it. Leona is actually a gentleman at heart. It was how he was raised and he is actually pretty morally upstanding, all things considered. Even moreso post-overblot. Second thing- the lion ears. I have been WAITING for my chance to talk about them. They're so cute and so soft to the touch, it makes him even more attractive, having them. That and he uses his enhanced hearing to sometimes find you and sneak up on you for fun. Though he does let you touch them, never in public. He turns into a cub when you pet him like that. He is very particular about when he wants to be touched period, and can get annoyed/overstimulated quickly, so just be careful. That and he can sometimes seem lazy, but this makes for some pretty great off-days/nights where you guys stay in and cuddle/nap together. He has Ruggie pick up some food (you end up helping Ruggie out a bit and secretly Leona adores seeing this,) and you guys are just set for the time being.

Support (Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?)

Honestly? Purely circumstantial. If he isn't interested, then he won't involve himself too much aside from baseline mental/physical support and advice (if you ask for it.) However, he sees a spark in his s/o and tries to motivate them to keep pushing. Sometimes it can seem harsh, but he's pretty good at tough love. Everyone needs a little "Hey, tell that doubt to shut the fuck up and try your damnedest. I know you can do it, that's gotta count for something."

Thrill (Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?)

Perfect question for this character because yes, he absolutely needs to keep things interesting. He gets bored easily, and started dating a spunky person for a reason. He enjoys being tested, teased, and surprised, despite how he appears to dislike it. Whether it's making bets on things or physically play-fighting over things (he never initiates that btw, he leaves it up to you,) he will try anything to keep things refreshing and fun. The way he sees it is that it keeps the relationship alive.

Understanding (How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

He pays attention to things you say and do more often than you think he does, so it comes as a shock to you when he can remember things you said months ago, verbatim, so easily. Usually he's a huge listener, but that just means he has more time to store info away in his cat noggin. He knows you really well, as he notices and takes in everything. He is very observational. Sometimes he'll even cave and get you things because you looked like you wanted something because you were too broke and/or too scared to ask. "Use your words next time, herbivore. You're in luck today." As for empathy...? 50/50. He is generally sympathetic, but he tends to block out empathy to get things done or go through with certain plans. He feels everyone but can't always care about what they think/feel. It'll weigh too much on him and it's not his job to fix people. For his partner, however? He can make exceptions.

Value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

He didn't expect your relationship to last as long as it has, so it colored him impressed. Once he realized how long it has been, he was willing to take it more seriously and thus it held more worth to him. As for the worth of the relationship generally, on the scale of priorities you're top 3-5 unless you're in immediate danger or have something special going on (whether good or bad)(in any of those circumstances, you'd be #1 at those moment.) He loves you, but he has his own priorities and responsibilities. Doesn't mean he doesn't think about you though. <3

Wild Card (A random Fluff Headcanon)

Okokok soooo I'm a little chunky and I was thinking (like any normal person does, surely,) "what would my fav twst character (this bastard lmao) think about that?" That said, my headcanon is that Leona actually likes a little chunk on the bones. He sees that as you being "well-fed," if anything. He would offer to help his partner work out and diet if they so desired, but reassures them that they look fine regardless. He, of course, does this bluntly. Same ol' Leona, yeah, but he means it. Suuuuper personal headcanon but I hope you guys like this one :3

XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

He likes to cuddle, and he will also sometimes bite/nibble on you (neck, ear, even arms sometimes.) He has to be in a mood to be affectionate, but when he is it's absolutely adorable to see his catlike mannerisms

Yearning (How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?)

He just goes about this normal life and distracts himself with it or sleeps it off. BONUS: Angst/sadness, if you left the Twisted Wonderland- (I feel like this lowkey fits so just hear me out-) He would never be the same after you left, and he would be more angsty, exhausted, and upset. He would sulk around for months upon months until he realized there was no point. The resignation hit him and he just one day realized that there was nothing he could do. He eventually moved on with a different outlook on life... all... because of you. He put no effort into finding love again.

Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

He is fiercely loyal, so once the relationship is serious and you guys are locked in, he would do anything short of murder if justified, and even that's debatable under the right circumstances. Do not try to take this for granted, though. He's loyal, not stupid.

This took me FOUR hoursss! I hope you guys like this as much as I do because oH MY LORDD I am eepy :0

So long omnivores, Rosey <3

Masterlist is HERE!

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marril96 · 2 months ago

Text

La Petite Mort

Chapter 1: Control

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Sex with Agatha goes wrong when you accidentally blast her.

Warnings: 18+, dark subject matter. Read at your own risk.

Editor: @cabinetofquriosities

One moment you were having the best night of your life, and the next you were on Death's door. God, you really didn't feel like meeting Agatha's ex like this.

It was just sex. It was no different from the countless times the two of you had had it over the centuries.

Or rather, it wasn't supposed to be.

You didn't know where it had gone wrong. Didn't know what had prompted you to do the stupid, reckless, careless thing that you did.

You could say it was the lack of control, but that would be a cop out — wouldn't it?

It had almost happened once before, two centuries ago, at the very start of your relationship. You had put work into making sure it wouldn't be a problem again, which was as much for your sake as it was for Agatha's.

It took two to tango, after all.

This relationship wouldn't work if one of you was dead and the other was left traumatized.

Agatha was the perfect lover. She knew all of the right buttons to push, all of the best places to touch, and all of the words to make you come undone and give yourself over to her on a silver platter.

She didn't have to utter a single spell; a simple "Pet" from her mouth was enough for you to submit, to resign yourself to her as if you were nothing but a doll. It made you into a plaything for her to do whatever she wanted.

Two centuries in and you were still as weak for her as you were during the very first time.

"That's it," you moaned as she worked on you. Her mouth was fire on your pussy, a burn that felt like heaven, that brought you closer to it each time her tongue flicked over your clit.

Somehow, she managed to make every high, every buildup, feel like the first one.

"You like that?" Agatha said, licking her lips, slurping up your juices. Teasing you. Tasting you. Devouring you.

She knew you did. She knew you loved it, craved it like an addict chasing their next hit.

She just wanted — needed — to hear it from you.

"Mmhmm."

You wondered if she felt the same way. If your flavor was still fresh, or if it had gone stale and she was just indulging you.

No.

That didn't sound like her.

As much as you knew she loved you, if it was spice that she was missing — passion, adventure — she would let you know.

She would bring it up for your pleasure as much as her own.

"Say it," she ordered in that voice that terrified people and sent them running.

It ruined you in the best ways.

"I like it."

You could feel your orgasm building, the heat rising, blooming, swelling. You were so close. God, you were so close.

Agatha smirked, high on her own ecstasy. She crawled up to you. For a brief moment, your lips met just long enough for you to get a taste of yourself.

You tasted so much sweeter on her lips.

Everything did, but especially you.

"Say you love it," she whispered directly into your ear.

A shiver slid down your neck, down the entire length of your spine.

"I-I love it."

I love you.

It was moments like this that only made you adore her even more.

Agatha's eyes fell closed, savoring the moment. Praise was what did her in and you were saving the best of it for later when it was her turn.

This was just a little taste, a preview of things to come.

With a satisfied moan, she slid her hand between your legs. Her fingers were keen on finishing what her tongue started.

"God, Agatha."

The words barely left your mouth, your throat tight from the pressure, the buildup, the anticipation.

"P-Please."

"Oh, is this what you want?" she said, flicking your clit.

She was teasing like she always did, like she knew you enjoyed.

"Y-Yes. I want it.”

You gasped for breath and rubbed your thighs together for friction. Your legs trapped her hand exactly where you wanted it.

"I want you. Please."

She pretended to consider it. "Well, since you've been such a good girl…"

Her fingers massaged your clit, kneading and pressing them exactly where you needed. The heat grew hotter and burned brighter. You were on edge. Agatha was keeping you there, giving and then pulling back.

The more you wanted it, the better it would feel when she gave it to you.

She kept on teasing you, kept on playing her sadistic little game. As frustrated as it made you, you enjoyed it as much as she did.

She knew what she was doing.

She knew what made you tick.

You let her have this power over you, and she'd be damned if she didn't have fun with it.

Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of cruelty, she shoved you over the edge.

All it took was a few strokes. You became a whimpering, writhing mess. It would be embarrassing if it weren't exhilarating. It was like an explosion; heat, passion, and desire all spilling out of you, erupting like a volcano and bursting out like a geyser.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

You were lost in the bliss without a single care in the world, overcome by pleasure you'd come to know and crave. This was your moment. Your little piece of heaven where you and Agatha were just two women deeply in love. There was no magic, no Darkhold, no running from enemies, or taunting a random group of witches into attacking.

It was just the two of you. Drunk on each other. Euphoric. Safe like you'd never been before.

The restraint you had built into your instinct slipped away in one awful, careless moment. Just as you were on your highest high, a burst of magic, bright and colorful, shot out of your palms.

…Right into Agatha's chest.

The realization of what just happened — what you'd just done — instantaneously brought you back down to earth. All of the joy you were feeling, all of the delight and ecstasy, faded like colors in an old photograph. Your heart skipped a beat, then two, then five. A shiver spilled over your body; you were cold, deathly so. It was a premonition of what was to come.

What Agatha was about to do to you was no fault of her own.

You'd seen her do it countless times to other witches. Had seen her suck and drain until their bodies fell down, empty, dried out husks of their former selves. You'd always found it exciting, how she could take and take and take without having a say in it. It was as if her magic had a mind of its own. It wanted to shield her, to feed her, and it made damn sure it was done.

A part of you was curious how it would feel. You'd never brought it up; the one time you'd almost blasted her had scared her to the point where she'd refused to have sex with you until you'd sworn that you had it under control, that her bringing you pleasure wouldn't send you to her ex's door.

It was the first time you'd seen fear, pure and unadulterated, on her face. That was the moment you knew she'd truly cared about you. That it wasn't just a game, a fling. She'd developed feelings for the first time after — what you'd been told at the time was — a horrible breakup.

You swore to never put her in that position again, only to put your guard down two hundred years later and ruin everything the two of you had built together.

Agatha's eyes met yours — wide, terrified to the bone. She looked down at her chest where your magic, still tethered to your hand, had hit her. Her eyes followed the stream to your left palm, then the right one, before her gaze returned to your face, as devoid of color as her own.

"No," you whimpered, mouth trembling, teeth clattering. Your voice was small, barely above a whisper; you didn't have it in you to scream, to shout, your vocal cords all but paralyzed. "Don't."

Please, don't. Please.

The look on her face told you that she didn't want to. That it was the last thing she wanted.

However, when it came to her power, her wishes didn't matter. It did what it wanted. Right now, it wanted your magic. Your lifeline. It wanted it all.

So, it took it.

It was like being punched in the gut. All the air left your lungs; you were gasping for air, struggling to breathe as the energy drained from your body in bright, colorful bursts. The electricity-like static that used to fill you with excitement now left you feeling empty, hollow.

"A-Agatha…"

Please, hear me. Please, stop this.

But you knew she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, she could never put a stop to it. You'd convinced her to try a few times, each having only brought torment to the witches she was draining. There was never any progress.

She was destined to be the witch killer, whether she wanted to or not.

You just never thought you'd find yourself becoming one of her victims.

A part of you resented her for it. You were well aware that it wasn't her fault, but a small and bitter part of you wished that she'd tried harder.

It was childish, really. Irrational.

Her power was as much of a curse to her as it was a blessing.

It was the ultimate tool of self defense.

The problem was, not every offense was malicious. Not every offense required a defense.

The choice in that matter had been taken from her.

She'd never even had it.

"Please…"

Agatha closed her eyes. If you didn't know her, you would think she was enjoying it. Maybe she was; she wasn't herself when she was like this. She'd once described it as akin to possession. Hunger unlike any other would take over her and she couldn't do anything but observe as it devoured all the magic in its path. She would be a passenger in her own body. Helpless to do anything. Powerless despite the immense power she held.

You could see it now, clearly for the very first time. It had her face and bore her smile, but it wasn't her.

The woman you loved would never relish in causing you pain.

Please, you thought, as if she would read your mind. As if, in this state, she cared to. Please.

Was this what death felt like? Cold? Lonely?

Would you meet Agathat's first love any moment now, and be greeted by a snarky remark about how you should've known that this would happen? That this was what being loved by Agatha Harkness was like?

Would she be as cruel and callous as Agatha had described her?

Would she be as icy cold as your body was as Agatha was sucking the life out of it?

It would be so easy to hate her. But, even as she was in the process of killing you, you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything but love. Your heart yearned for her, for one last caress, for one last kiss and embrace before you faded to black.

How could you hate her when you knew she hated herself for being the way she was?

Her mother had made sure of it, having done her best to instill in her as much self deprecation as possible. She'd been denied love from the moment she was born, barred from even an ounce of affection. For a long, long time she'd thought herself unlovable. A part of her still did; that kind of damage tended to imprint on the soul like a permanent tattoo, there to stay for all eternity.

Why would you add to that?

What would hating her accomplish?

"Agatha," you tried, desperate, barely clinging on to consciousness. Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, raw, as if you'd just screamed your heart out. As if breathing itself wasn't a struggle. "S-Sweetheart."

If you could just get her to listen. If you could just reach that small part of her that you knew was in there, the part of her that would die before putting you in harm's way. The part of her that loved you more than life itself.

"I…"

I forgive you.

If only the words would leave your mouth. If only you had the strength to shout them out.

Someone had to forgive her for this. You knew she never would. She'd never admit it out loud, but it would haunt her for the rest of her existence.

Her son's death haunted her to this day, and she didn’t even have a hand in it. The fact that she couldn't prevent it, that she'd wasted years of his life using him to lure unsuspecting witches instead of finding him a safe home to grow in was killing her.

This would finish the job.

It would, in her mind, prove her mother right. That she was unlovable. That she ruined everything she touched. That her mere existence was a curse upon all witchkind.

This isn't your fault.

If anything, it was yours. How could you allow yourself such a slip up? You knew what was at stake.

You should have been more careful.

You should have been in control.

Of the two of you, you were the one who had that option.

I'm so sorry.

Mustering the last remnants of your strength, the very few you had left, you pushed out, "I… I love… you…"

You would love her for you both, all the way from the afterlife, wherever it was that you happened to end up. From the depths of Hell itself, if need be.

Agatha's eyes flicked open, connecting with yours.

And, suddenly, like a flip of a switch, everything stopped.

The buzzing in your ears quieted. The pressure on your chest lifted; after what felt like torturous hours, you could breathe without pain, without the rest of your body screaming in protest. The emptiness inside you filled back up, the cold replaced by the familiar, safe warmth.

Your magic crackled at the tips of your fingers. Your hackles rose as if by static. Power, buzzing like electricity, flooded your veins. It was yours to keep, to treasure, never to part from you again.

You were alive.

The realization hit you like a punch straight to the face.

You could move. You could breathe.

You didn't die.

Agatha had stopped.

You had stopped her.

Tears spilled from your eyes, and sobs that hurt your throat overtook you. It was over. You were safe. You laid a hand over your heart and a fresh wave of relief washed over you as the hurried vibrations murmured against your palm. It was another proof of life, an undeniable one.

This wasn't a hallucination or a daydream you'd trapped your mind in to escape the horrifying reality of the woman you loved stealing your life from you, sucking you dry like a spider devouring its prey.

This was real.

You survived.

"Y/N!" Agatha yelled.

It felt so good to hear her say your name. To know she recognized you. To know that she was your Agatha again, the one who would never hurt you, who would do anything for you just as you would for her.

"Agatha," you breathed, reaching for her hand.

You needed to touch her, to feel her; the real her, not the insatiable succubus who had almost taken your life.

As if on instinct, Agatha pulled away.

The rejection was a knife to the heart.

"Agatha? Sweetheart?"

Why didn't she want to hold your hand?

Why did she avert her eyes?

"Are you okay?" she asked, cold and detached.

It was as if letting the emotion show would cause her to fall apart. .

Couldn't she see that you needed her? That you were the one falling apart?

"I… I'm not dead."

Despite the worst having passed, you were still scared. Your heart was running marathons in your chest, smashing against your ribcage like a hammer beating through a wall. Your stomach was a knot. Your head a mess.

You weren't dead, but you sure felt like it.

"Agatha, I…"

You reached for her hand again, and, for a moment, as your fingers brushed against hers, everything was right in the world again.

Only for it all to crumble down as she slapped your hand away and pushed back off of the bed.

A fresh batch of tears welled up in your eyes, burning and searing.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I can't do this."

"Please," you begged.

Just one touch. Just one teeny, tiny piece of comfort. That was all you wanted. You needed her to tell you everything would be all right, that it would all work out like she always did when you were at your lowest.

For her to hold you and make all the bad thoughts and feelings go away.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

And, with that, she left the room.

Left you all alone to cry.

"Agatha!" you screamed. Pleaded. Wished with all your heart that she would walk back through the door and wrap her arms around you tighter than she ever had and promise that she would never let you go.

You screamed for her over and over again, until your throat was raw and it hurt to swallow. Until the mere act of breathing felt like swallowing blades.

"Please. I need you. Please."

But she never came.

She never even acknowledged that she'd heard you.

And, just like that, you were cold all over again. Dying for the second time in less than an hour.

Somehow, it hurt more than before. More than your very life force being slowly being sucked away, one little bit at a time.

You could replenish; you had plenty more life left to live. Plenty more power to gain.

There were no such commodities for shattered hearts.

Those stayed in pieces forever.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #aaa #agatha all along #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #fanfic #my fics #edit

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mydadleft471 · 7 months ago

Text

An Ailing Heart, A Shimmering Soul

Summary: Another Tarnished invades the Shadow Keep and Messmer takes care of them. But something seems off this time. You comfort him when he is most vulnerable.

Spoilers, per usual, for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Warnings for descriptions of violence and a slight amount of spice wink wonk ;D (I've never wrote anything spicy please go easy on my ass, I'm so down bad)

I had two requests, one from the lovely @asianbutnotjapanese and the other from anonymous, and I thought they'd go so well together! I'll link the posts here and here! Thank you both for the requests! I love writing comfort for this lanky man.

As always, thank you for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting! It makes my day every single time!

Another Tarnished had invaded the Shadow Keep today. This one made it to Messmer himself. Many others found themselves terribly outmatched by his many knights and guards.

You waited patiently in Messmer’s chamber for him to return victorious, just as he had done a multitude of times before. Fiddling with your hands, you tried to drown out the screams and thudding from the room adjacent to Messmer’s, but your thoughts did little to distract you. Your mind wandered, as it always did in these moments: would he come back from this fight?

You shook your head. Of course he would. He was a mighty demigod with more than his mother’s wishes to fight for now. He had you. It was something he whispered into your hair when you lay huddled against his massive form in his bed. You were drifting on the very edge of sleep when his voice, silky and smooth, cut through the silence.

“I will return to thee, beloved consort. This I shall promise.”

Your heart had flipped in your chest. You knew he meant it and he never went back on his word.

The large door creaking open interrupted the sweet memory. Pushing yourself off the bed, you stepped timidly until Messmer came into view.

Blood adorned his chest like rubies and his eye was glued to the floor. He had left his spear in the previous room.

You hurry towards him. “Are you hurt?” You grab his hands and clutch them tightly.

“Merely scratched and covered in blood that is not my own.” He sounds tired.

Carefully, you lead him over to his ornate washroom. He doesn’t say anything as you pull him behind you like dead weight. Even his serpents stay still as they’re perched on his shoulders. Dropping his hands, you hurry to grab some bath salts he likes and a fluffy towel. You turn the faucet and the tub begins to fill with warm water. Pouring some of the salts in and swirling them around, the room begins to smell sweetly of jasmine and vanilla.

Looking back at your lover, you notice that he watches you tiredly. His eye droops and he doesn’t stand as tall as usual.

“Do you need help taking your armor off?” He merely nods in response, so you get to work.

You stretch your arms up to take off his helmet and he bows his head. You set it on the table behind you and comb your fingers through some of the rebellious strands of red. Carefully raising the cloak he wears, you allow the serpents to wiggle out of it before undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the floor behind him. Moving around him, you work on the various buckles on his armor and before long, it joins his cloak in a bloody, crumpled heap.

“Come, my love,” you call out to him and his eye shimmers in response. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You take his hand and gently guide him into the bath, letting him go as slowly as he needs to. Once he settles into the warm water, he lets out a sigh of relief. You tilt his head back and pour water over his hair, just as you have done many times before. It’s become a daily thing to wash his hair and body. He loves the tenderness in every touch you lay upon him.

You begin to massage some of his favorite shampoo into his fiery locks. You take your time ensuring his scalp has been thoroughly washed and thread your fingers through the tips of his hair. He shudders and shivers in pleasure.

You want to ask what’s wrong. He’s come back from fights exhausted and worried, but he’s never looked so dejected. Perhaps the fight was too close for his liking? When you took off his armor minutes earlier, you hadn’t seen any new bruises or wounds on his body, so that couldn’t be it. The Tarnished that came to his Keep enraged him, sure, especially if they had hurt any of his men, but they had never made him like this.

“Messmer?” His eye opens slightly. “What’s bothering you?”

“Whatever dost thou mean?” His voice is dejected and quiet.

“Did something happen during your fight?” You tilt his head back and wash the shampoo from his hair.

“‘Tis nothing. Thou needn’t worry.”

You sigh. “I thought we talked about this, about being open with each other. If something is bothering you, I want to help.”

He reaches for your hand and you gladly give it to him. He turns it over in his hand, seemingly marveling at how small yours is compared to his. He kisses your knuckles and moves your hand so you cup his cheek.

“That Tarnished held the belief that I was keeping thee prisoner here.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Prisoner? My love, no! I’m happy here.”

“They did not thinkest so. Perhaps they imagined themself a protector, like I.”

“Messmer,” you make him look at you. “I stay here because I want to. I stay here because I love you. Okay?”

“I had never felt rage such as that. I lost myself.” He admits.

“I’d be angry too. It’s okay.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and a golden tear streaks its way down his pale cheek. You reach out to brush it away.

“I do not deserve thee, beloved. I am naught but a cursed monster.”

“You are so much more than that. I don’t care if you’re cursed.” You pull away from him and pour a generous amount of conditioner into your hands. You gently apply it to his hair.

“You make me truly happy. I hope you know that.” You whisper those words into his ear.

“I shall try to remember that.”

You wash away the conditioner and wrap your arms around his shoulders, not caring about how the water soaks through your clothes. He grabs one of your hands and holds it. You lay a light kiss on his neck and he shudders again.

“Do you want me to wash your body, my love?” You ask into his hair.

“Please.”

“Okay.” You smile and unwind yourself from him.

You gather some soap and begin to lather it on his shoulders. You take your time and even knead out some of the knots in his back as you go. He lets out small gasps and you can see that his ears are a bright red almost rivaling his hair. You raise his arms from the water and squeeze his arms, feeling his muscles. He shoots you a look and you quickly look away, continuing to wash him as he requested. You tilt his head back, sweetly sweeping your hands across his neck and travel down to his collarbones, giving them the same treatment as the rest of his body.

“I ask thee stop this teasing.” His eye is screwed shut.

“Oh shush. You like this.”

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

Continuing down his body, you lather his chest in soap and delicately make your way to his stomach. He visibly tenses at this and you shoot him a puzzled look.

“Thou’rt cruel indeed. Continuing may force my hand.” He warns you, his eye shimmering a bright gold.

Oh. Oh.

As much as you would love to indulge in him, right now he needs comfort. You nod, face blushing as red as his, and you begin to wash away any remaining bubbles kissing his skin. Grabbing a fluffy towel, you wordlessly hand it to him and he stands. You tear your gaze away from him as he dries off and try to keep your thoughts decent. You go fetch his favorite robe from his chambers and grab his brush from where it sits on his bedside table.

When you return, he’s sitting on the plush chair in front of the large vanity he had made for you. You offer him his robe and turn around, waiting for him to dress himself. He clears his throat and you turn around.

“Would you let me do your hair tonight?”

“If it would make thee happy.”

“Always. I love taking care of you.” That earns you a loving smile.

You begin to brush away any tangles he has, but since you’ve been giving his hair regular maintenance, it’s become easier to manage. The bristles gently scratch against his scalp and he lets out a pleased hum. You have such a lovable demigod.

Once you’ve ensured his hair is soft and smooth, you part his hair down the middle. You can see him watching you in the mirror.

“I think you would look stunning in braids.”

He shakes his head. “Braids are intended for nobility and those with honor.”

“You’re a demigod, my love.”

He opens his mouth to say something but he stops when he sees you standing behind him with your hands on your hips, daring him to refuse you. “There is no sense in arguing with thee, it seems.”

“You are correct.” He rolls his eye. You were so stubborn.

Staring on the left side, you take three small strands and delicately weave them together. His hair is easy to work with and within a few minutes, you have a tiny braid.

You hold out your finished work. “Hold this, please.” He does as you ask, and you almost chuckle at the sight of him concentrating on keeping it pinched between his fingers.

Moving to the right side, you do the exact same thing. Strands of red dance in and out and soon, you have another braid. You admire your work.

You take the first braid from him with a small thank you and carefully lay them down on his head, making them join at the ends. It creates an oval-like shape and emits an air of importance. You grab a small hand-held mirror from the table in front of him and give it to him. He stands and faces away from the vanity, repositioning the tiny mirror so he could see the beautiful, yet simple, job you did. He eye crinkles and he seems to like it.

“Thou hast done a wonderful job. I thank thee, beloved.”

You take the small mirror from him and return it to the vanity table. You gesture for him to sit, which he does without protest.

“Your serpents deserve braids too.” He chuckles and his companions look at you with wide eyes.

You open the drawer of the vanity and pull out two tiny braids made from some fabric. You had been practicing with these so your braids would look perfect.

The serpents come closer and you gently lay the strand of fabric on them. They shake a little at first, then flick their tongues excitedly.

“I think they look handsome, don’t you think, Messmer?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “They look quite ridiculous.” The serpents hiss.

You gently pat them both and they nuzzle into your touch. “Don’t listen to him. You both look wonderful.”

In truth, they did look a little silly, but they seemed proud to wear braids like their master.

“Thou always tends to my ailing soul, beloved.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Proud to serve, my Lord.” He rolls his eye at the use of his title.

He scoops your hands up in his and gazes into your eyes tenderly. “I shall say it now for fear that thou dost not realize: thou art free. Wherever thy soul wishes to roam, thou mayest go. I only request that thou returnest to me safe.”

You shake your head. This man. You lean up on your tiptoes and he bridges the gap, placing a loving kiss on your lips. There is no rush, no fight for dominance, just the both of you existing in the same space. Your hearts swell in admiration for one another.

There is nowhere else you’d rather be.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #some spice this time oooo #i love this guy #and his snakes #this is peak male physique

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii! In the sugar and spice au, how did the roommates discover her stream, and how did they react?

Love from the other side of the world! ✨️

a/n: if i blew a kiss out of my window, do you think it would reach you all the way over there?

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

okay, so it would be after the whole breakup with ransom, after you moved in with the three of them

picture it: you think you're home alone, that none of your roommates will be home for hours, so, of course, you grasp the perfect opportunity and stream for a bit

but what you don't know when you're squirming against a vibrator and flirting with the chat is that one of them returned early (maybe a cancelled class?)

i'm thinking it's bucky

he'd probably be just swallowed up in the mundane routine, getting in the door and stuff, till BOOM! he hears your moan from down the hallway

and then he hears the way you're talking and what a dead giveaway it is to what you're doing in there

so what does he do? i mean...... he's just a guy.... he can't help it if he gets entrances on the other side of your door...

also mind you, this all happens after you've already slept with all of them

(let's pause a sec to go over that)

in my mind, with most of them it happened pretty early on in your friendships

or with curtis, that's how you met, he was a one night stand turned bff

bucky was a drunken hookup, the kind where you're both just so happy and lovey-dovey. like you just wanna show each other how much you love each other and appreciate each other as a friend, but you wanna take it a step higher than a hug, so naturally you kiss. buuuuutt, that then escalates because of the horndogs you are and you end up scrambling to the nearest bathroom to fuck (mmmmm, the eye contact in the mirror 🤤)

steve was probably the one you were the closest to before you two banged for the first time. but with him, i'm thinking it was a day where he was feeling super down and blue about something and you went over to cheer him up. in your desperation to find a way to make him feel even a little bit better you threw in the suggestion that you'd suck his cock, which was like a record scratch for him because he naturally assumed you weren't serious, only for you to show him just how serious you actually were by sinking down on your knees and slobbering all over him till a smile appeared on his face.

(okay, now that's settled, back to the story at hand)

so! bucky quickly spilt the beans to the others and the next chance they got, they were all spying outside your door, throbbing hard the lot of them.

when they confronted you about it, they did in a way that almost made you cry because of how polar opposite it was to the blow up with your ex

they were so sweet and respectful, sharing what they'd heard and asking if their suspicions were true.

and then (because they were all super into it) they asked if you'd share what your screen name was and if it was alright for them to watch you.

(urgh! i love them so much!!!! 😭)

then after that, it slowly became just another normal thing in your lives, openly chatting about it (your schedule, some ideas for content and stuff, letting them help brainstorm)

you sometimes let your door stay open during streams

they soon helped you upgrade your setup

and when you needed some help to snap the perfect picture or help lift the heavy fuck machine out of your closet, you had a sea of volunteers to choose from

do you need a dick as a prop for the perfect pov pic? why use a dildo when you have three real ones to choose from!

or filming a custom video? now you suddenly have the opportunity to do something other than just solo ones (were they the ones to point that out and slyly suggest that they'd be into it? 10000% yes. either its a pov style video so their identities are hidden, or if its not, if you just let the camera stay off to the side and capture it from there, then you just go in in post and blur their faces, easy peasy)

#lea’s writing #sugar and spice au #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #curtis everett smut #chris evans smut #sebastian stan smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett au #steve rogers series #bucky barnes series #chris evans x reader #stucky x reader #stucky x reader smut

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iamtired10 · 3 months ago

Text

sugar, spice, and everything...?

pairing - pham hanni x female reader

genre - fluff.

synopsis - you were trying your best to read your book in peace, but with hanni sitting beside you with a bunch of candies, your quiet evening was a thing of the past.

warnings - candy kisses, hanni being playfully sulky and dramatic, hyein walking in at the worst (or best) moment, a bit of swearing (?), cringe, don't read it, my failed project

word count - 1k

a/n - draft - 01

this is my last update of the month.

you’d had a long day—like the kind of day that makes you dream of nothing more than a cozy blanket. a good book. and absolute peace.

so you’d settled yourself comfortably in your little reading nook, sighing in relief as you opened to the first page, savoring the silence that finally blanketed the room.

perfect.

only… silence never lasted long with pham hanni around.

“whatcha reading?” she asked, plopping down beside you, her voice bright with interest.

you glanced up, trying to keep your reaction neutral. “just…a book. needed something relaxing after today.”

“uh-huh,” she said, like she’d heard but totally ignored the part where you were trying to relax.

instead, her eyes sparkled as she held up a bag stuffed with candy. “well, you know what makes a good book better? candy.”

you held back a sigh, barely turning the page. “enjoy, i guess.”

she giggled, plopping closer, the scent of fruity candies wafting your way as she unwrapped a piece and popped it in her mouth, crunching happily as if your mere presence made the treat better.

but when she tried leaning over to talk to you, you didn’t look up—still too caught in the chapter you’d just started.

and hanni, being hanni, wasn’t having that.

“oh, so we’re ignoring people now?” she huffed, her lower lip jutting out as she peeled back the wrapper of another piece, holding it near your mouth.

“babe. here. open up.”

you shot her a look, lips pressed together, but there was no way to say no to those hopeful eyes.

so you obliged, letting her press the candy between your lips, and you gave her a quick smile before turning back to the book.

but hanni was watching you carefully, studying you like you were a stubborn puzzle she just had to solve.

“wow, the book must be really amazing if you’d rather stare at it than me,” she grumbled, poking your arm.

you raised an eyebrow, but before you could reply, she yanked the book out of your hands, clutching it to her chest like she’d just won some kind of battle.

“are you serious right now?”

she looked at you, an exaggerated pout on her face, her eyes dramatically wide and wounded. “i am heartbroken,” she declared.

“here i am, trying to share candy and cuddle, and you’re over here acting like some tragic main character, glued to a book instead of your own girlfriend. this is betrayal.”

you just stared, lips pressed into a firm line of confusion, wondering if she was for real. “…babe, give the book back.”

“not until you pay attention to me!” she argued, straddling your lap and effectively trapping you in place.

she crossed her arms, looking every bit like a sulky child who wasn’t about to let you win.

“are you serious?”

“dead serious. i want attention,” she said, leaning close, a smirk forming. “and now that i’ve got it, you’re not getting away that easily.”

rolling your eyes, you tried to stay exasperated, but she was just too cute—and she knew it.

hanni wiggled in your lap, unwrapping another candy, and you watched as she chewed it slowly, her eyes glinting with mischief.

she leaned forward, close enough that you could feel her breath, and before you could react, she pressed her lips to yours, the taste of cherry lingering as she stole a brief, sweet kiss.

“see? this is way better than reading,” she murmured, the slightest hint of smug satisfaction coloring her tone.

your eyes narrowed, but she only laughed, popping a lollipop from her stash and twirling it like it was part of some grand plan.

“oh, and this? i’m calling it the ‘attention-getter,’” she said, waving the lollipop teasingly before tapping it against your neck, painting your skin with a sticky, fruity trail.

“oops.”

you gave her a look of disbelief, watching as she brushed her lips over the spot she’d just marked. “now, that is an artistic touch,” she said, grinning up at you as if she’d just created a masterpiece.

“is this a whole performance?”

“mhm, a little drama for effect,” she replied, pretending to be deeply thoughtful.

she leaned in closer, the lollipop tracing a new path down your neck, stopping just over your pulse.

your eyes fluttered, trying to keep calm as she brushed a gentle kiss over the candy-marked spot, then another, her lips dragging slowly, sending warmth through you.

she pulled back slightly, still perched in your lap, eyes sparkling with amusement at your exasperated face. “ah, there’s that expression! finally paying attention to me now, huh?”

“oh, i’m paying attention all right,” you muttered, trying to hide the fluster creeping up your cheeks.

“good,” she replied, voice soft and victorious, planting another candy-flavored kiss on the corner of your mouth.

then she leaned back, still grinning. “better than any book, right?”

you sighed, accepting defeat. “fine, you win. happy now?”

“ecstatic,” she purred, giving you another peck as her fingers traced small circles along your arm.

“but we’re not done here.”

she tilted your chin, a lollipop still clutched in her other hand, her eyes dancing with a playful, sugary mischief as she pressed a final, lingering kiss on your lips, then back to your neck.

and just as you thought you could relax into the moment, the door flung open, and a voice burst in.

“babies, dinner’s—”

hyein’s sentence cut off as she took in the scene before her: pham hanni draped across your lap, marking your neck, while you sat there with the most unimpressed look of the century.

hyein blinked, frozen in the doorway, her face morphing from surprise to sheer horror as she processed the sight. “oh my.. fucking god...”

you shot hanni a look, but she burst into laughter, covering her face with her hand.

“hanni…” you muttered, absolutely mortified.

hyein shook her head dramatically, raising her hands as if warding off the scene before her.

“MINJI UNNIE, YOU’RE PAYING FOR MAKING ME COME HERE!”

she yelled, already halfway out the door.

the door shut with a loud click, and you and hanni exchanged looks.

she reached for your hand, a glint of pride in her eyes. “so… ready to ignore books for a while?”

“just maybe,” you teased, wrapping your arms around her, letting yourself get lost in her laughter, realizing that, yeah, this was definitely better than any book.

#newjeans #new jeans x reader #fluff #fanfiction #oneshot #hanni x reader #hanni pham x reader #x female reader

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roosterr · 1 year ago

Text

only you

note: him. that is all.

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

summary: you and soap get to talking about your love life. gaz gets jealous.

warnings: little bit of miscommunication, jealousy, you and gaz make out, the mildest of spice

ao3

sleepless nights were not a rarity for you. it comes with the territory in this line of work, unfortunately, something you and your fellow sergeants have in common. it also wasn't out of place for the three of you to find each other in the rec room well into the early hours of the morning, which is exactly where you'd ended up tonight.

perhaps it was the result of the insomnia that had kept you up far later than your mind could handle, but you'd foolishly divulged that you hadn't been on an actual date in a depressingly long time – soap seemed to find that far more amusing than you would've liked, and quickly took it upon himself to demonstrate his unique ability to make you wish you'd kept your mouth shut.

"c'mon, you cannae be serious," soap wears a shit-eating grin as he leans forward in the armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees as you roll your eyes. gaz stays quiet beside you, which you're silently grateful for, but you do feel his eyes on the side of your head.

"i just don't have the time for it," you sigh, resting your elbow on the arm of the sofa and dropping your hand into your palm.

it's true, your job didn't allow room for much of a social life, what with being sent all over the world for months at a time– really, it was a miracle you did anything except work.

that wasn't the main reason, he was sitting on your other side, but you'd be damned before you revealed that to soap, of all people.

"well, if you can't get any, then there's nae hope for the rest of us." soap chuckles, reaching over and playfully nudging your arm.

you let out a groan, shoving his hand away and dragging your own down your face. "shut up, soap, that's not how it is…"

he laughs again at your reaction, still showing no signs of relenting. "maybe i'll have to take you out, then."

"on what? a pipe-bomb masterclass?" you scoff, the grin on your lips betraying your attempt at looking unimpressed. both of them laugh at that, soap raising his hands in a gesture that says 'so what?'.

"dinnae try'n tell me that wouldn't be an excitin' date." he reasons, tilting his head and quirking his brow at you. you narrow your eyes, humming in faux-consideration and playfully tapping a finger on your chin.

"for a pyromaniac, maybe…" gaz grumbles from beside you. the sofa moves under you as he shifts his weight around, and if you weren't so tired you would've noticed the way his voice trailed off in such an uncharacteristic manner.

"maybe," you laugh, shaking your head at the very idea of it, and the fact that soap definitely would if he could convince someone to go along with it. "that's if i don't wind up dead by the end of it."

"i wouldn't let anythin' happen to ya, bonnie, cross my heart." he grins, making an x over his chest with one finger.

"but you'd still make a homemade bomb right in front of me?" you lift an eyebrow at his teasing expression.

"my two favourite things; a good explosive and a good view,"

"oh god, shut the fuck up." you groan, reaching to swat the back of his head as you stand up. "that's enough for tonight, i need sleep."

"think i'll call it a night too." gaz mumbles half-heartedly from his spot beside you, quickly standing and making his way to the door without another word. you frown, confused by his sudden coldness, waving to soap and calling a quiet 'goodnight' before you step out into the hallway after him.

"night, bonnie, i'll pick you up at eight!" soap calls, loud enough for you to hear in the corridor, earning a soft chuckle and another shake of your head as you catch up to gaz.

he doesn’t even spare you a glance as you trail behind him, marching ahead with a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. his abrupt switch in attitude concerned you; he was fine not even five minutes ago, what could’ve happened to change that?

"you okay, gaz?" you ask with a hesitance that feels strange directed at him, someone you’re usually so confident around. for a moment there's no response, but he does slow down slightly, taking a right into a corner of the building with the lights shut off. you follow still, growing more concerned with every second that passes.

you’re about to ask again, but a few paces into the shadows gaz turns sharply on his heel, catching you off guard with how suddenly he stops walking and causing you to bump into his chest.

"gaz…?" you utter, your quiet voice a ripple in the stillness of the empty corridor. he meets your eye as you look quizzically back at him, a conflicted expression taking over his features.

you open your mouth to say something more, but before you can get the words out he's laying a hand on your shoulder and gently pushing you against the wall. the hand on you shifts to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder, while he leans the other on the wall with his hand next to your head.

your breath catches in your throat, and your previous exhaustion is completely forgotten. the way he's looking at you, staring straight through you with that deep brown gaze and right into your soul, it's like a spell has fallen over you.

kyle leans even closer, caging you in with his broad shoulders and blocking out the world around him, so he's the only thing you can focus on– as if you could possibly think about anything else when he's touching you so tenderly.

"don't go out with him…" he utters, his eyes flickering back and forth as they search yours. the pause between you hangs heavy in the air. when your questioning expression doesn't change, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth and drops his gaze, letting his eyes fall shut as he continues. "don't fuckin' go out with him, please…"

"wh…" you stutter, trailing off as you wonder inwardly what the hell he's talking about; and then it hits you.

there's another pause, and you swallow thickly at the realisation that he was talking about your earlier conversation with soap; that he was reacting like this because he thought you would actually take johnny seriously. "kyle… he was joking."

"i'm not." he mutters in response, shifting closer again by resting his forearm against the wall instead of his hand. he's looking at you again, with heavy eyes that keep you entranced by him. you can't help the uneven breath that escapes you under his intense gaze and the way his thumb begins to stroke your jaw. "let me take you out, i'll give you anything you want if you'll have me, love."

it's hard to concentrate on anything other than the sparks his touch creates as he caresses your skin. you're sure he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his fingertips. there's no one but him in this moment, the minimal distance between you still somehow feeling too great as you subconsciously lean your face closer to his.

the silence and your heartbeat are so loud in your ears, you almost don’t hear his next words.

"can i kiss you?" he asks, little more than a whisper, tilting his head so his lips ghost over yours. you breath another shuddering sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as you nod almost imperceptibly.

"please."

time seems to slow as the word hangs in the air, the warmth radiating from him seeps into your skin as he closes the final distance and presses his lips against yours.

the hand on your neck travels up to your face, cradling your cheek with a touch so soft, almost disbelieving, like he expected you to disappear at any moment.

"i'm yours, love," he mumbles against you, never straying too far from your lips as he caresses your cheek, "i'm all yours…"

you loop your arms around his neck, knocking his hat loose in the process, but neither of you pay it any mind as it lands on the floor at your feet – too lost in yourselves to care. in the brief moment you part for air, a breathy whisper of his name escapes you, and as if a switch has flipped, his mouth is back against yours with a fervour that you struggle to keep up with.

he's running his hand up and down the length of your waist, your hip, hiking your leg up and around his side, dragging his touch over your thigh, like he can't get enough of you. it's intoxicating, the way you pant into each other, flush against one another yet still itching to get closer.

your lungs burn as he pulls away again, just enough to whisper, his voice low and needy, "god– the things you do to me, sweetheart,"

his touch is reverent as he takes you in; your touch, your skin, your taste, the sounds he pulls from you as he kneads the flesh of your waist under your shirt. it sends your head spinning, the blood rushing in your ears stopping you from thinking about anything other than the feel of his lips on yours.

you trail one of your hands down his body, over his chest and down to the hem of his shirt, where you slip your fingers under to rest against his toned stomach. his skin is hot under your hand, drawing another groan of your name from him, and he slowly moves his hands up your own abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his fingers–

"awh, c'mon!"

the sound of soap's voice startles you into knocking your head against the wall behind you, both yours and kyle's hands darting back from their less than appropriate positions.

you look over to the scott, a sheepish grin on your face at his disapproving face. kyle buries his face into your shoulder, a groan of both embarrassment and annoyance escaping his chest. you resist the urge to laugh, instead running your hands up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him.

"fucks sake, soap…" kyle grumbles, wrapping his arms back around your waist. he doesn't look up at your friend, opting to keep his undoubtedly embarrassed expression hidden by your neck.

"think i'll have to cancel that date after all." you cant keep the amusement off your face when you speak, earning a dramatic eye roll from soap.

"too right, ye animals…" he mutters, shaking his head in exasperation as he disappears around the corner again. neither of you move as you listen to his footsteps retreating down the corridor, staying frozen in place until it's quiet once more.

only once you're sure johnny's gone does the laugh you've been stifling bubble up from your chest, escaping into the otherwise quiet night as kyle finally lifts his head to meet your gaze.

he eyes the bashful smile pulling at your lips and lets out a laugh of his own, pressing his forehead back to yours and letting his eyes fall closed again.

killing soap could wait until tomorrow; right now, it was just you and him, and that's how you want to keep it.

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #mw2 gaz #roosterr writes

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threepandas · 5 months ago

Text

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

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ellethespaceunicorn · 5 months ago

Text

You're Mine

Title: You’re Mine

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dark!Daddy!Geralt x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Prompts: Geralt of Rivia + Female Reader + Daddy Kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic, requested by @chibijusstuff

Summary: After coming back from a hunt, you find out that Geralt isn’t himself.

Warnings: Daddy Kink, pet names for Reader (little one, my sweet), Darkfic, dark!Geralt, drugged!Geralt, choking, biting, scratching, manipulation, Geralt rips Readers underwear off, non-con, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, memory lapse, bathtime as aftercare, cuddling, possessiveness, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Unbeta'd, because I was impatient about posting this. All mistakes are mine.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

My Masterlist

You’ve been watching him for hours from your spot in a nearby chair as he kneels in front of the fire. The silver wolf's face on his medallion shines brightly from the flickering embers, suspended from his chest. The remnants of the potion in his system show themselves in deep, black cracking lines on his ashen skin that radiate from his closed eyes. He has never taken this long to shake off the effects of any of the mixtures he carries in his pack, and your concern is beginning to grow.

He barely acknowledged you when he came home in the early morning hours. He placed his swords in their spot by the door, shed his armor, and took his place in front of the fire to warm himself and meditate. The longer he remains in that spot, the more you wring your hands with concern.

You were but a commoner; you hadn’t much knowledge of the Witcher lifestyle before meeting Geralt in that tavern. And even now, Geralt wasn’t the most forthcoming with things he deemed ‘unnecessary for you to concern yourself with’, as he put it. You hadn’t the faintest idea of what was in his potions, let alone how to make them.

You only knew that he was usually back to himself by now.

Another thing you noticed was that his scent had changed. He tended to keep the smell of whatever beast or monster he had slain. But all you could smell were flowers, and more specifically, the aroma of tuberose.

Heady and exotic, the scent of tuberose is one you are accustomed to. Your mother would use tuberose oil as a perfume, saying it would lure in men with its sweet honey and warm spice combination. Your poor father had died years prior, and your mother barely waited for the dirt in his grave to settle before she was out with other men. But that’s a story for a different day.

Even though the oil performed just as she promised, you couldn't quite grasp why she never revealed the source of that unique blend to you. Of course, you called it magic, but she would always shake her head and say there was no way it was magical. She claimed it was a gift from an elderly beggar woman to whom she had once given a handful of orens. You knew well enough not to push any further, but that doesn’t mean you forgot that story.

Or that smell.

You were so in your thoughts that you almost missed Geralt’s grumbling. Your eyes returned to his face, and this time, his eyes looked at you. Gone was the golden yellow iris you had come to love, only to be replaced with full, black eyes. Black, like you never saw black. Nothingness.

Rising from the floor, he bares his teeth and growls lowly. You stand up from your chair and raise your hands in front of you.

“Geralt?” You attempt, moving backward when he takes a step forward. “Daddy...” you trail off as he smiles at you, a devilish grin showing his sharp canines.

“My sweet little one. Don’t you look delectable?” Geralt coos, crowding into your space as you are backed into the wall behind you.

His hands rest on either side of your head on the wall while he noses at your neck, no doubt smelling the fear-induced arousal that is shooting through your entire body.

“Daddy? Why don’t we take it slow? You’re not yourself yet-”

His hand flies to your throat, tightening at the sides. “You wish to refuse me that which is rightfully mine?”

“Geralt, I-”

“Ah, ah. Try again, little one,” he cautions, his grip on your neck ever sure.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” you breathe, tears falling from your eyes.

“I know. I can smell it on you,” he confesses, leaning back in to sniff under your jawline. He stoops to pick you up and brings you to the bed, lying his body on top of yours. He doesn’t waste time in rucking your dress up and pressing his clothed sex against your own. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

His voice, so delicate as he speaks to you, sounds like your Geralt. But those eyes, the way he takes without asking, and his smell only serve to repel you. It feels like your partner has been swapped out for a harsher, more unkind version of who he used to be.

His hand reaches between the two of you and rips away your undergarments before unbuttoning his pants so his thick and ready length can fall free. As soon as his shaft is uninhibited from its confines, he is pushing and prodding at your entrance.

Without preparation or care, he enters you swiftly. You aren’t given a second to adjust to his girth before he withdraws his cock and forces himself back inside you. By the third thrust, you are crying and begging him to stop. Your hands are balled into fists as you pound on his chest, his shoulders, anywhere you can land a blow.

He only laughs at your feeble attempts to thwart his actions. He also teases you when your body eventually betrays you.

“Look at you, being torn apart from the inside out, and your sloppy little cunt can’t get enough of it. Always so soft and warm for me. Stop fighting and take it, little one,” he soothes. His warm, rich voice invades your ears, and you cease efforts to push him away from you.

Once he has you malleable and compliant, he focuses on chasing his release. Unconcerned with your pleasure, he fists one hand in the sheets of your bed while the other tangles in your hair to expose your neck. Biting and sucking at your skin until blood is brought to the surface, he takes pride in marking you.

Soon, your neck and chest are littered with bite marks and bruises. You can feel every welt as he takes his time poking them as he drives into you over and over. His first orgasm is so intense that he lets out a feral growl, slowing down for a bit before it’s evident that he isn’t done in the slightest.

Realizing your fate, you begin to hyperventilate. Your chest is heaving as you inhale and exhale shallowly; you feel as though your heart could beat out of your chest. But only momentarily as Geralt leans down to speak into your ear.

“You’ve never looked lovelier than you do tonight. I can smell your fear; I can taste your panic. Just have to hold out a little longer for me, my sweet,” he sighs, nosing at your neck.

By now, you can feel nothing but pain from the bites, the scratches, and his relentless pounding into your battered and bruised heat. The stuttering of his hips is a gift, alerting you to his impending climax. You’d already given up on experiencing your peak.

“So close. I can feel it coming, little one,” he whispers, his voice strained and gruff as he forces his eyes shut. He thrusts into you one last time, his hips flush with yours as his cock paints your insides. Once he stops spasming, he lets out a heavy breath and opens his eyes.

You watch as he comes back to himself, the black veins disappearing from his face and his eyes returning to their golden hue. Frozen where you are, you observe the realization on Geralt’s face as he looks down at your marred skin and wet eyes.

As he relaxes just enough to pull away from your body, he quickly adjusts himself back into his pants and settles down onto his knees. He’s unsure of what to say; what can he say that would make this situation any easier? His eyes are drawn to where his semen drips from you.

“Daddy? Are you back?” you ask, your hands pushing your dress down over yourself as you sit up.

The sound of your tiny voice washes over him like a cold shower. He finally looks back at you, and a single tear falls from his left eye. As if a switch were flipped, Geralt appears smaller than before. He shrinks into himself, hunching his shoulders.

“I did this to you?” he guesses, nodding to the angry marks on your skin.

“Geralt, I think you were poisoned. What’s the last thing you remember?” you question, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm.

“The wyvern nest. There were druids; they surrounded me. I felt pain in my neck and then smelled flowers before everything went black. Next thing I know, I’m in bed with you,” he replies.

“You weren’t yourself, Geralt. This wasn’t you,” you insist, feeling the urge to comfort him.

“Poisoned or possessed, I am the reason you’re hurt right now. I could have killed you if I hadn’t come back to myself,” he frets, holding up a hand when you try to move closer to him.

“I’ve already forgiven you, if only you would forgive yourself,” you plead, trying to hide your distress.

“You should have a bath. Let me draw it for you,” he suggests, leaving you on the bed before you can say anything in response.

After he fills the wooden bath with enough water, he uses Igni to warm the water to your liking. He helps you into the water, washing your body and hair when you ask him to stay with you. When you are done, he helps dry your skin. You don’t exchange many words, and neither of you knows how to start a conversation.

After you are dressed in a nightgown, you climb into bed and pull Geralt in behind you. He reluctantly lays next to you, afraid that he will hurt you again somehow. Turning onto your side, you face away from him. You sniff, holding back tears and the lump in your throat.

Before you could clear your throat, Geralt was pulling you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, and he inhales your scent. While he can still smell the faint echo of fear on you, the most prevalent fragrance is overwhelming love.

You were pushing down your fear with all your might and thinking only of good moments of Geralt. Images of a smile pulling at his lips, your hands in his, and a stolen kiss cloud your vision.

You snuggle into his embrace, his body heat keeping you warm. He peppers kisses over your hickeys on your neck, lulling you to sleep. But just before you can give in to the draw of slumber, you hear his voice in your ear.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” he whispers, laughing lowly. “You’re mine, little one. And I won’t let you escape.” His hand goes to your mouth, and you know your night is far from over.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this story. It took so long to write, but I am happy with what I have created here. Also, I feel like there are very few dark!Geralt or Daddy!Geralt stories out there. Is it because we don’t like these or it’s just too taboo? Let me know, cuz I could write more dark versions of this man.

#henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #you're mine #x reader #x female reader #sweet treats event 2024

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